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Subject: {ASSM} RP - A Deer in the Headlights - all (MF F/Car BDSM)
Date: Sat, 12 Aug 2000 17:10:04 -0400
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THE USUAL WARNINGS:
This is a work of fiction by a twisted mind. If you
are offended by graphic descriptions of natural and/or
unnatural sexual acts, if you are underage, or if this
type of material is illegal where you are, don't read
any further.
This is a fantasy. You will have to loosen your clench
on reality a little when you read it. This is a tale in
which physical acts and human responses are not limited
to, nor necessarily based in, reality. Some acts and
responses in this story may be physically impossible
and/or physiologically improbable.
Also, as is the case with most of the stories in this
newsgroup, all the women in this story are beautiful -
gorgeous, even. Gravity has not caused breasts to
droop nor have wrinkles creased unblemished faces. The
men (the leading men, at least) are hung like bulls.
They can get it up and keep it up often and at will.
In this special little fantasyland, there are no STDs,
morals, or unwanted pregnancies. Guilt is a four-
letter word. Most important of all, neither strength
of character, courage of convictions, nor moral belief
stand a chance against any erotic stimulus. This can
be as benign as an accidental glimpse of a bared ankle
or as stimulating as a whipping on the genitals.
For those of you who didn't understand the preceding
statements, GO AWAY!
This story is intended for the salacious entertainment
of consenting adults. Do not try to do any of the
things described in this story. You could injure
yourself or your partner, be arrested, or shot by her
father....
If you are under 18 years of age, GO AWAY! This story
will burn your eyeballs and fry your brain.
If material of a strong sexual nature is prohibited
where you are, GO AWAY!
By continuing, the reader accepts all responsibility
for any disgust, revulsion, jail sentences, or pleasure
that results from reading this story. If you don't, GO
AWAY!
You have been warned!
If you enjoy this story and feel the urge to post it on
a <free> site, at least give me (NightShade) credit for
it.
So, stick your tongue firmly in your cheek and enjoy
the story!....:)
NightShade
A Deer in the Headlights (MF, F/car, BDSM)
Chapter 01
by NightShade
11/99
"A deer caught in the headlights of an onrushing
truck." That was the image that stuck in my mind like
the red clay of Alabama sticks to a clean car.
Actually, Alabama clay is what started it all, now that
I think of it. We were short-handed at the office, and
I had been working double shifts, managing both the
regional office and doing a lot of the fieldwork for a
nation-wide insurance agency. One of the suspicious
claims I had to investigate was way the Hell out in the
Northeast corner of Alabama near the headwaters of the
Cache River. That doesn't have anything to do with the
rest of the story, other than the fact that it had been
raining steadily up there for about a week. The mud on
what passed as roads into the area was thick and
sticky.
Of course, it worked out that I had to take my personal
car. The only functioning company car had been totaled
by a herd of stampeding chickens (the honest to God's
truth, I swear. But then, Headquarters didn't believe
me, either...) earlier in the week, another reason I was
short handed. Worse, I could only get up there on my
one day off for the month. When I did get there and
finally located the "client," the claim was bogus, to
top it all off. The guy filing the claim couldn't have
kept his facts straight if he had a ruler to help him.
Not that he would have known what all the little
numbers on it were for...
Although not native born, I did know enough about the
area to understand that if you left that sticky clay on
the car, it would soon become a permanent part of the
vehicle. So as soon as I got home, I immediately
washed and waxed my `baby,' paying particular attention
to the undercarriage and wheel wells, a dirty job even
without the clay that was caked into every nook and
cranny. My baby, my jewel was a mint condition classic
Jaguar. Low and sleek, a car with character. A car
with a real hood ornament, not some wimpy plastic
stick-on.
Perhaps now you can understand why it was so easy for
me to be in a really piss-poor mood that day. Besides,
as much as I love my car, washing and waxing it is not
something I particularly like to do. When I spend that
much time rubbing anything, I prefer it to be a certain
part of my own body. Or better yet, someone else's who
is also rubbing mine.
To further set the stage, when I had arrived back home,
I found that my wife of 25 years had left a cryptic
note on the table for me to find upon my return. In it
she informed me that Momma needed her, and she didn't
know when she would be back. `Momma' lived four states
away in the Texas panhandle. She was the single most
demanding person I had ever known in my life and was
only woman I knew who made my wife seem pleasant by
comparison. Oh yeah, there was not a scrap of food
left in the house, either. She thought Momma might
need something, so she had taken everything with her,
right down to the salt shakers and dish soap. She must
have needed a fucking moving van to get all that shit
to Momma's house.
I never realized how much noise my wife made around the
house until the silence slammed into me that evening.
I was getting out of the shower, had slipped into a
pair of torn old boxers and an even older T-shirt, and
was sitting on the edge of the bed. I had my Dockers
shorts in one hand and my belt in the other, but I was
so weary, I just couldn't bring myself to finish
dressing. I was tired of the rat race at work, tired
of the traffic, tired of the responsibilities that come
with the middle-class lifestyle. A mortgage, car
payments, insurance. When you think about it, all you
do is work to buy things. Then you worry yourself to
death that someone will take them from you. When do
you ever really get a chance to enjoy them, anyway? I
sure as Hell didn't know. I was still waiting! I let
the silence wash over me, comforting me in its solid
embrace.
It took a while before I realized there was something
wrong. The silence wasn't silent. I was almost too
tired to care, but there was a nagging alarm going off
in the back of my head. I tried to listen carefully,
but the sound was too faint to pin down. I collapsed
back onto the bed and was almost asleep.
Then I heard it. Psst-psst .... psst-psst. Water-
sounds. They came and went, and it took me a while to
identify them and then even longer to realize the
potential dangers they represented. There shouldn't
have been any water-sounds in the house with just me
there. God help me if a pipe broke. I was hoping for
a stuck toilet, but it didn't sound like that was it.
I was rousted out of my near-catatonic state by the
possibility of having to explain any spurious water
stains to my in-house inquisitor. She considered her
precious wallpaper and other whatnots more valuable
than national treasures. A fast, but thorough search
of the house revealed nothing, much to my relief.
The sounds were still there, however, coming and going
with an almost recognizable rhythm. It bugged the shit
out of me, not being able to place the pattern. I knew
I was tired, but I prided myself on being pretty damn
sharp and on being able to figure most things out
faster than most other folks. This simple little noise
eluded definition and it was not making my foul mood
any better.
I went into the kitchen in search of a possible leak in
the plumbing in that room - although it was hardly ever
used. My wife only seemed to use those facilities to
celebrate presidential elections and lunar eclipses.
Then something caught my eye and I glanced out the
window.
I totally fucking lost it.
Some idiot - my neighbor idiot, specifically - had
turned on a fucking lawn sprinkler and aimed it right
smack dab at my freshly washed and waxed car.
A little background here might help. We, my neighbor
and I, were the only two dupes unfortunate enough to
have purchased houses in this particular development
before the developer went bankrupt. Actually, the
builder had gambled the town would grow out this way,
but, lucky guy that he wasn't, it didn't. So my
neighbor and I were the only ones in this secluded cul-
de-sac. And I mean secluded. The nearest buildings,
other than the odd farmer's outhouse or hunting cabin,
were over 6 miles away.
As part of the developer's bankruptcy, I had been able
to quietly pick up all the other lots in the
development using a dummy corporation. That little
tidbit has nothing to do with the story, either, but,
hey, I got a deal on the land, and if I can't brag
about it every anonymous chance I get, it would be
worth less than it actually is, which is almost
nothing.
We had electricity and telephone, but there were no
other utilities out this far. That meant we used well
water to do everything, like water the lawn and wash
the car. The water that came out of the ground around
here may not have been toxic, but it was damn close.
The shit was so laden with minerals, it could spot a
leopard, not to mention what it would do to my freshly
waxed car. So when I say I lost it, you can understand
why. Right, guys?
I didn't even think about what I was doing. I charged
over to my neighbor's front door and started pounding
on it with both fists. I know now I must have been a
frightful visage - half dressed, bare foot, uncombed
hair still plastered down from my shower, my belt in
one hand, my pants in the other, red-faced, angry,
yelling and pounding on the door. I'm surprised she
opened it at all.
I was so mad, I didn't even notice her then. I
couldn't even speak coherently. I remember looking
past her for her prick of a husband. Somehow she
communicated that he wasn't home, so I grabbed her by
the arm and dragged her out into the middle of their
front yard. I was gesticulating, waving my arms like a
madman, and grunting like an enraged elephant.
Eventually she understood what had enraged me. She
walked over to the sprinkler and reversed the setting
of the sweep to properly cover their yard. Which
promptly soaked me, as I was still standing in the
middle of their yard.
It's funny now, looking back, but then, well, then I
did something that changed my life - and hers. I don't
remember it as clearly as she does, but if she can
laugh about it now, I suppose I can, too. It would be
nice to say I had stayed in control of myself, that I
was calm and cool, and made a joke out of getting
sprayed by the sprinkler. Big deal, right? It's just
water....
Wrong. I went berserk. She told me later that I got
this strange, maniacal look in my eyes. She admitted
she was truly frightened for her safety, as well she
should have been. I stood there for several seconds,
head-cocked, staring at her with this wild look in my
eyes, a bloodlust coursing through me that I had never
experienced previous. I wanted some serious revenge, I
wanted a serious response. I was deadly serious.
For some unknown and still unexplained reason, she
giggled. That part I remember, only to me it seemed
more like a guffaw, a taunt. It was a big mistake. It
was the last straw, apparently.
I charged at her faster than my wife with a new credit
card. She was totally unprepared for my on-rush, and
that's the picture I remember to this day. A deer
caught in the headlights of an on-coming vehicle. It
knows it's dead, and it just sort of gives up and
stands there. Like she did.
I'm not a big man when you compare me to some of the
bubbas we have up here in the backwoods, but I hold my
own. At just over 6 feet, I towered over her 5'1"
stature. The adrenaline was flowing as I grabbed her,
sat down on the grass, flung her across my lap, and
proceeded to raise my hand. It still held my belt, and
it was poised to strike, held up over my head.
"Please, sir, not the belt. Please don't use your
belt."
Those were the only words she spoke, and somehow, they
penetrated the denseness of my bloodlust. I dropped
the belt and proceeded to beat the tar out of her ass.
Somewhere between when my hand was over my head and the
time it landed solidly on her tight little butt, the
old memory cells in my brain kicked back in.
Apparently this was one of life's little episodes they
wanted to be conscious of for a long time. To be able
to replay over and over.
I remember she struggled as best she could until that
first blow landed. Between the surprise and my size I
was too much for her, though. I don't know what I
intended to do, but I felt as if the dam had burst and
she was going to get the benefit of every frustration
in my life up that point.
I didn't hold back on that first strike. The sound of
my hand colliding with her gluteus maximus sounded like
a rifle shot. In the amount of time it took for the
pain from my hand to reach my brain, the fight was gone
from her. She stiffened slightly, I heard an
infuriatingly soft "Oooooh!" and then she just
relaxed over my lap.
Well, relaxed isn't quite the word. She sort of wedged
her ass up in the air, like she was begging for more.
I know it's impossible, but that tight little butt of
hers was looking at me with an attitude that said, "Go
ahead. Give me your best shot." She swears she
didn't say anything. But her pert little ass was
speaking for her, loud and clear, and it really ticked
me off.
I lit into her behind like there were fire-ants on a
baby. I hit my target fast, hard, often and
everywhere. It must have been around the fifteenth or
sixteenth swat that I felt something spray me in the
face when my hand connected. At first I thought it was
piss, but a quick investigation of my boxers told me it
wasn't mine. There was a distinctly musky metallic
odor wafting up from her upended bottom. I was not
totally unfamiliar with that smell nor its origins, but
I was totally unprepared for her to be enjoying this.
The little minx had climaxed on my lap.
As I continued to paddle her resilient cheeks with my
bare hand, she shifted slightly, managing to massage
the outside of my thigh with her tits. With every
squirm she made as I walloped her butt, she ground her
nipples into the bare skin of my leg and rubbed her
upper arm against my cock. Which was, by this point,
extremely hard. She continued to cum about every ten
or so swats, and her shorts were by now so dripping wet
that the spray was flying with each blow. This woman
was cumming like a river. And the smell that filled
the immediate area of their front lawn was like a fine
perfume.
Pausing, I rested my hand on her warmed ass cheeks.
When I pressed down a certain way, I could hear her
juices make a squishing noise. I felt along the leg
openings of her shorts, running my finger through the
rivulets of cum trickling down onto the grass.
I wasn't totally immune to the sexual connotations of
the situation, nor was I totally ignorant that this
type of thing could happen on those rare occasions. I
had always thought it was pretty well limited to the
realm of fantasy and the outrageous stories I read on
the Internet news groups. Having something like this
drop into my lap (pun intended) was completely
unexpected and I really wasn't sure what to do next.
Honest!
You have to understand something at this point. My
wife had retired from a professional position at a
large bank five years after we were married so she
could raise the kids. Problem was, she seemed to
forget that in order to have kids, you have to have
sex. To fuck and be fucked. Somehow that small detail
seems to have escaped her notice. It ended up that the
only one getting screwed at our house was I.
For years I tried. God knows I tried. Everything. I
was loving, I was tender, whatever. Hell, I was young,
horny and desperate. I would have done anything and
probably did. But after a while, it became clear that
the pearly gates were closed forever. After five
years, she was done. My constant craving for sex
changed to an occasional urge and then morphed into the
quiet bitterness of life that I had known the last 15
or so years.
Yes, you got that right. I hadn't had sex for going on
twenty years. I knew my right hand really well, but
other than that, I was celibate.
In the space of a week after her `retirement' from
sexual activity, my wife had changed from the beautiful
woman I had married into a younger spitting image of
Momma. Well, almost. Momma was still uglier. I
swear, the little button nose I had planted so many
kisses upon actually hooked out and down. It scared
the shit out of me for months after when I woke up in
the morning. Her tits - I distinctly remember she had
a very nice pair when we married - now applauded when
she did aerobics. When she did aerobics, you could
hear them clapping and flapping up and down as she did
her workout. Otherwise, they laid flat on her chest,
two empty bags thinner than my wallet the day before
payday. She had somehow managed to suck the life out
of them just as she had our marriage.
She had a pair of purple Lycra(R) bicycle shorts she
loved to wear around the house. I do not exaggerate
when I say that those shorts made her butt look like a
giant California prune, complete with wrinkles and the
crease down the middle. It didn't tighten up when she
bent over, either. I still shudder when I picture her
in those shorts.
Like I said, I did my best for a while to please her,
thinking if she were satisfied she would reciprocate.
I never found out if that theory was true or not, as,
try as I might, I never heard the slightest moan or
even flinch from that corpse-like catatonic body that
lay beside me in bed at night. I probed and prodded
with fingers and tongue for months in search of her
magic button, but I never did find it. I would lay
odds that if she ever had one, Momma had it cut off for
her.
The odor drifting up from the squirming woman on my lap
was nothing like the stench I remembered emanating from
my wife. What emanated from her was more like swamp
gas when the skunks are mating, not to mention the
revolting taste. It tasted like she wiped her ass the
wrong direction, not that I actually knew what shit
tasted like.
I was not surprised to learn later that she did wipe
the wrong way. Surprisingly, she never got a vaginal
infection that I can recollect. Apparently, all the
noxious germs in her bowel had declared her cunt a
hostile environment and stayed the Hell away.
Eventually, I did the same, as well. Of course when I
learned later of her poor hygiene, that helped explain
the painful burning sensations I had had for the first
five years of our wedded bliss and the bouts of
projectile vomiting I experienced the day after
sticking my tongue into that cesspool....
So, you may well ask, as I often did myself, why the
Fuck did I stay with that horrid woman? That's an easy
question to answer.
Fear.
Total abject fear that came from knowing with certainty
the horrible consequences of divorcing or even
separating from her.
You see, Momma had three children: Two sons and my
wife. Momma had made her fortune early and often by
gutting and filleting a series of foolish, rich
husbands. Two died paupers, one died mysteriously, and
the other three were still in the loony bin. At the
state's expense, of course. Momma had cleaned them all
out, then dumped them, if they were still alive. My
wife had learned her lessons well, she had just picked
the wrong horse. For all practical appearances, I was
in no hurry to get rich, dead or crazy. It was just
about the only means of revenge I had. Not to mention
survival.
Her two brothers were the only men I knew who
considered the institution of marriage a legitimate
profit center for their business. Well, other than the
Catholic Church. They were divorce lawyers. Figures,
right? More pain and suffering only meant higher fees
for them, and Heaven help the other side. They were
vicious, cutthroat amoral assholes. But I already told
you they were lawyers, didn't I. Sorry to repeat
myself.
With those two and Momma backing her, my wife, in her
oh-so-delicate manner, informed me on the day after our
wedding night that any attempt to divorce her would
result in my instantaneous transportation to the state
of abject poverty. The same went for philandering and
debauchery. Now, while I was in no apparent hurry to
get rich, I was in even less of a hurry to be poor.
That sucks, big time! Been there, done that, so to
speak.
There were too many raucous tales of their vicious
courtroom battles that had been re-told in gruesome
detail around the annual Christmas dinner for me to
doubt the outcome of any proceedings I might undertake
against her and them. Those haunting images of
eviscerated marriages were just too real to afford me
any hope for a way out of this marriage prior to death
doing us part. So I took the small revenges I could.
I refused promotions at my job and carefully hid my
investments in dummy corporations, mostly out of state
or off shore. Like the land I mentioned earlier.
Shit, I'm not stupid, just trapped!
You, however, are probably thinking about now that I
sure the fuck am too stupid. Here I am, in a sex-
charged situation the likes of which will probably
never happen to me again, and I'm telling you about
California prunes. So why the Hell didn't I just fuck
her right then and there on the front lawn? I hear
what you're thinking.
Well, two reasons, asshole. One, it would make a
really short, predictable story. You can get that
anywhere else in this newsgroup. Two, I really was
serious when I said I didn't know what to do next. I
was scared to continue, and petrified not to.
She felt me feeling her wetness and became a little
shy, I guess. She put her hands back to push mine away
from her, but I would have none of that. For one, I
wasn't quite done wailing on her butt, yet. Secondly,
her upper arm moved away from my cock, and I missed the
warm fuzzy feelings it had been giving me. That pissed
me off all over again, but as you have probably figured
out by now, it was just that kind of a day for me.
Everything pissed me off.
I snagged my belt from where it had fallen when I
dropped it and looped it around both her forearms. I
cinched it tight, looped it twice more and tied off the
end. It was a pretty thick belt so it wasn't a great
tie job. She could have been loose in three seconds if
she wanted. It's hard to tie a knot in a good belt, so
the end of it was just sort of tucked under and folded
over. It would hold, but only for as long as she
cooperated.
Tying her arms like that moved her biceps back into
contact with my own hard muscle. When she realized I
had tied her arms behind her back, it was as if a
switch had been thrown. I thought she had been
sexually aroused before. Shit, now I could literally
feel her quivering with sexual energy as she lay across
my legs. It was as if, by tying her up, she could let
it all loose. She had no option left to resist, and I
was free to do to her and with her whatever I chose. I
don't think she exactly understood that at the time. I
sure as Hell didn't, but that didn't stop me from
taking advantage of the situation.
I started spanking her again, this time with slow
deliberation. My frenzy was passed. When my hand
would get tired, I would rub her thighs, feeling and
marveling at the silky smoothness of her skin and the
continued wetness of her sex. At first she resisted
the insertion of my hand in between her legs, but soon
she allowed me to feel her freely, wherever I wanted.
And I wanted a lot!
When I couldn't lift my hand anymore, I stopped her
punishment. We were both breathing hard, and I sat
there for a while getting my breath back. My anger was
sated and my hand throbbed. So did my cock. I can
only imagine what her ass felt like. It must have been
hotter than a two-dollar pistol. The color of the skin
I could see below the bottoms of her shorts was a deep
red and radiated heat. Her breathing made her tits,
still hard-pressed against my thigh, massage her erect
nipples into my skin. I could feel their hardness
through her thin shirt.
I don't recall her crying out or screaming throughout
the entire spanking. I do remember hearing groaning
and panting and the tiny little gasps of `Oh-Oh-Oh!' I
had read about those sounds women make in the newsgroup
stories as signifying an orgasm in progress. What I do
remember, and I find this the most amazing part, was
that I had not ejaculated during all of this. Maybe it
was that fact that pushed me to do what I did next. I
truly don't know why I did something so out of
character. But I did, and it turned out to be the most
memorable thing I had ever witnessed in my life.
Leaving her arms tied behind her back, I leveraged her
backwards so she was on her knees. Standing up, I
helped her up onto her own feet. I started leading her
over to my property. When she realized where I was
taking her, she suddenly stiffened in fear. Somehow
being tied up in the open with a strange man was OK,
but going over to his house scared her? Huh? I don't
even pretend to understand `em, women confuse the Hell
out of me...
I turned and glared at her, not saying a word. The
wild look came back to me easily as I still did not
have a firm grip on my sanity. She lowered her gaze in
resignation and sighed. I led her like a lamb to the
slaughter over to the door to my garage. In the
cupboard just inside the door, I located a large beach
towel and held it up to her mouth.
"Open!"
She opened her mouth with a startled look and took the
towel. I think she was expecting to get fucked.
I pointed to the car. "Dry it off!"
She protested. With her mouth full, however, it was
difficult for her to talk. That was something I would
have to remember in the future! When I continued to
glare at her and point at the car, she finally turned
around and made motions for me to release her hands. I
wasn't quite ready to do that yet.
I shook my head. "No hands. Now get busy!" I
barked the words like I was giving instructions on a
noisy construction site.
She turned and looked at me. Again with those eyes! I
almost gave in but I held firm. She made her way
slowly over to my car. She looked back a couple of
times to see if I would give in, but I just stood
there, glaring.
Suddenly I gasped, short of breath, but this time not
from exertion. My neighbor's wife looked better the
farther away she got from me. That had nothing to do
with her beauty, but rather with my eyesight at my age.
She had just moved into clear focus. I had recently
hit that age where my arms were no longer long enough
to read the newspaper. I had glasses, but detested
wearing them for around the house stuff. It wasn't
vanity. I could never keep them clean. Now I wished I
had them on.
She stood about 5'1", like I said before. She was a
brunette, with wavy shoulder length hair. Even after
all she had been through being over my lap, her hair
just seemed to be perfectly in place. If she weighed
105 lbs., she would have to have been holding sack of
groceries while standing on the scale. It was no
wonder I could manhandle her so easily. I began to
worry if I had hurt her when I hauled her around so
roughly.
Her breasts were pushed forward by the position of her
arms, but what I could see would have been ample for a
woman with a larger frame. With them jutting out like
they were, young, firm and high on her chest, it looked
almost cartoonish. Each was a good hand's full and
then some, and she had great nipples. That I could see
clearly. Her hips flared slightly in a girlish
fashion, as if she had not fully matured. But her
magnificent ass, the one I had just pulverized, was
exactly that. Magnificent. High, firm, rounded nicely
and it had a great jiggle as she walked. The kind of
ass that could get a man fired for pinching it if it
were on a co-worker. Or rubbing it. Or just having to
worship it. Truly, a great ass.
I had already spent a great deal of time caressing the
smooth skin of her thighs, but seeing them under her,
supporting her, put them in a whole new perspective.
They really did go from here to there. The proverbial
never-ending legs. And each one ended in what the
Victorians would have called a `well-turned ankle.'
(That's not a sports medicine term for an injury, by
the way.) Even her toes looked suckable, and I had
never, ever understood that particular fetish. Then
again, you've never seen what grew in between my wife's
toes....
She must have heard me gasp, as she had stopped and was
watching me stare at her. She seemed pleased with my
reaction, or perhaps that I had finally noticed her at
all. I motioned for her stop where she was and to
wait. I dashed into the house and grabbed my glasses
and one of the pieces of office equipment I have to
keep with me.
She blushed when she saw me coming back out of the
house with my glasses on. It was very becoming. I
moved closer - now that I could see her clearly! - and
noticed she had beautiful expressive brown eyes. I
motioned for her to go ahead and start drying off my
car. She pleaded with me with those eyes.... Damn those
eyes. I almost gave in.
When I didn't, she carefully laid the towel down on the
hood (the bonnet, for our UK readers) of the car. At
first she used her forehead to rub the towel over the
surface of the metal, but the folds in the large towel
thwarted her efforts. However, I wasn't paying much
attention to how good a job she was doing on the car.
My attention was riveted to her luscious body. When
she bent over to press her forehead to the towel,
gravity exerted its own forces on her tits, making them
hang down to the full extent of their magnificence.
They were each a hands full, but only if you could palm
a basketball. Well, maybe a volleyball. OK, OK.
Croquet ball. But that's the absolute truth. Nice
tits and a great firm jello-like action when she tried
to rub the car.
My own reaction was painfully evident as it was
sticking out of the fly of the torn boxers. I still
had not cum, and I knew the slightest touch would make
me erupt. My terrible mood had evaporated in the heat
of my burning lust. I hadn't noticed her looking back
at me from her bent over position, but I did notice she
suddenly got very involved with rubbing the car, using
her whole body to try to move that towel. It was at
that point that I guess she decided to get a little
back at me. She really started to put on a show for
me.
She started by grasping an edge of the towel and
standing up straight, so that the cloth fell down and
unfolded along her body in a single thickness. That
towel had never looked so good.
Then she moved to the driver's side window. Keeping
the edge of the towel in her mouth, she pressed
forward, forcing her tits against the window, with that
lucky towel trapped between her body and the window.
She then moved them over and over and around and around
the glass, again using her whole body in a writhing
motion. I noticed that she spent a long time on the
edges of the window, where they seated into the
weather-stripping. At first I thought she was being
careful, then I noticed she was using her nipples and
brushing them over and over the uneven surfaces, using
the edge to flip them back and forth. She was really
getting into - and off on - the job of drying my car.
Well, two could play that game.
I lifted the piece of office equipment I had brought
out with me and aimed it at her. I fired five shots at
her point-blank before she looked up and noticed.
Those little digital cameras don't make much noise, but
I was getting into it now. Anyway, the shots I got of
her were hot. She came across through the lens like
the sexiest vixen imaginable. I only hoped the jpegs
would be as hot. She saw the camera in my hand when
she looked back at me. I saw a brief flash of what
could have been fear, quickly replaced by one of
defiance in those deep brown eyes of hers.
She spied a pool of water that had collected in the
side mirror. She bent down and used the surface
tension of the cloth of her shirt to draw the water
onto her own body. The part of her shirt she used to
soak up the water was that part which was directly over
her left breast. As any red-blooded Southern boy
knows, thin cotton T-shirts, water and boobs were one
of God's greatest combinations. I could see her breast
as clearly as if she were naked. Only this was somehow
sexier. She walked, hell, she sashayed, to the other
side of the car and soaked up the pooled water in the
other side mirror with her other tit. She came back
and did a shimmy-shimmy for me that nearly made me
loose my load right then and there.
As the windows on the driver's side were done, she used
her toes of one foot to grasp the towel by one edge and
lift it over the rear side panel. I thought she would
set it up there and then use her body again. I was
actually looking forward to seeing that one more time.
But she surprised me.
She kept her foot up and slid with the towel under her
leg up onto the car until she was kind of straddling
the rear fender, one foot on the ground, the other leg
on the trunk of the car, folded back a bit. She then
proceeded to use her inner thighs to rub the towel over
the rear quarter-panel of the car and about half of the
trunk. I think she surprised herself a little, when
she raised her foot that was next to the tire and tried
to use it to dry the chrome wheel. When her foot came
off the ground, her cunt came into close personal
contact with the slight ridge that ran from the back
window to the taillight. The look on her face was
priceless, and I captured it with the camera for
posterity.
When she stopped cumming from that sudden assault on
her privates, she scooted her hot little body up and
down that fender like she was trying to sand it smooth.
I think it was at that point she completely forgot
about the camera and me and just began making love to
my car. She did remember to do the other side, and it
was rubbed equally smooth. Her face looked relaxed and
satisfied when she finally opened her eyes and
remembered where she was. Looking at me with a Mona
Lisa grin, she got on with the rest of the job.
She propped her bare heels on the back bumper and used
her rubbery ass to rub out any imperfections in the
finish of that area. She breast-rubbed the passenger
windows and then, using her teeth, dragged the towel to
the roof of the auto by climbing up on the back bumper
and over the lid of the trunk. I held my breath,
hoping she wouldn't fall off with her arms tied behind
her like that.
She was very careful. Careful not to fall off the
precarious perch and careful to get every last drop of
moisture on that roof. You wouldn't believe it if I
told you what she did up there to move that towel
around, but suffice it to say, I was ready to die a
poor man. My wife could have everything. This woman
was phenomenal. I have never seen a woman writhe and
twist and squirm quite like that before or since. The
camera captured a lot of it, but the stills, while
stupendous, just didn't do justice to the motions she
went through.
Then came the grand finale. Flushed and breathless,
she ended up sitting at the front of the roof, just
over the windshield. I was still snapping shots like
crazy, swapping disks as needed. I saw when the idea
came to her. It was those damned eyes, again. A
mischievous gleam lit off inside them that was
noticeable even in the pictures. I saw her rearrange
the towel a bit, then she looked at the camera and
licked her lips as sensuously as possible.
She did the splits, spreading her long legs almost
straight out on each side of her body. Then, with a
little scootch, she launched her body off the edge of
the roof and slid down the windshield. Her widespread
legs pressed the towel against the window and dried it,
but by that time, I couldn't have given a shit about
the fucking car or the water spots. By using some more
little scootches with her hips that made my cock ache
with jealousy, she maneuvered her widespread legs and
her tight little ass all the way down to the front of
the car. There she stopped, propped her heels on the
front bumper and leveraged herself off the hood of the
car.
I thought she was done. I was wrong. She had other
plans. She used her ass and tits to dry the grill and
headlamps. The collected water kept the cotton of her
tight shirt translucent. I was breathing in short
ragged gasps, as if I had just gone five rounds with
the WWF champions. Licking her lips again, she bent
over in the front of my car and gave the fucking hood
ornament a blow-job. That fucking lucky chrome Jag
ornament. I swear I heard the damn thing purring, but
then again, that may have been her.
After several minutes of mouthing the chrome ornament,
she stood up. I again thought she was done, but she
did one more thing. With her eyes firmly locked on
mine, she stood with her back to the car she had just
so charmingly dried off. With slow deliberation, she
backed up, until her ass touched the hood ornament.
There she paused briefly, sort of shifting her weight.
Then she eased back further. As she settled her ass on
to the hood, her eyes closed and I heard her groan.
I looked down at the juncture of her thighs, expecting
to see the tip of the Jag hood ornament protruding from
between them. I did a double-take. No Jag! The slow
rhythmic motions of her hips left no doubt as to what
was happening. My baby, my pride and joy, my Jag had
just bagged his first piece of ass! My baby became a
man that day- so to speak.
I continued to capture the entire event on disk after
disk, through her gut-wrenching climax to her using her
dainty tongue to clean all of her fluids from the no
longer virgin hood ornament. When she was finished
with the car, we both just kind of stood there staring
at each other. I don't think either of one us could
believe what had just happened. Neither one of us
wanted to do or say anything to ruin the moment,
either.
Finally, after what seemed like decades, she came over
to where I was standing.
"I'm sorry about the sprinkler. Will there be
anything else, sir?" Her gaze was directed not at my
face, but at my crotch - and my exposed cock - just so
there would be no misunderstanding what `else' she was
referring to.
"No, I don't think we'd better do anything else." It
came out as a cross between a croak and a groan. It
was one of the most painful sentences I have ever had
to utter. Like I said earlier, abject fear and total
certainty of the consequences. A man does strange and
perverted things to avoid pain and poverty. Her eyes
whipped up to meet mine in surprise.
"Don't I please you, sir?"
"Oh, God, yes. Very, very, very, very much. But,
well, it's complicated. I, well, I just can't."
"It sure looks like you can!" she quipped, with a
nod of her head at my crotch.
"No, not like that. It's my wife.... Damnit all! I
just can't. Not now."
She misunderstood what I had been babbling about and
got a horrified look on her face. "She's HERE?" I'm
sure she pictured the old bat peering at her erotic
performance through the upstairs window and that she
would be critiquing her technique later. That thought
made me shiver, too.
"No, she's out of town for a while. But if she ever
found out, and believe me, she would, I stand to lose
everything."
"Oh." That concept she understood. Figures. "So
there's nothing I can do for you?"
I thought about that for a moment. Then I grinned.
"Yes there is. Two things, in fact."
Her face lit up and so did my heart. Her innocent joy
was so pure it was infectious.
"You can tell me your name..." her face fell "...and you
can make breakfast in the morning." Her eyes turned
into saucers at that. I had just told her I couldn't
mess around, and now I was talking about breakfast.
"Come over and knock on the door at 7:30. That is, if
your husband is out of the house." I knew he was. He
was almost always gone on weekends.
The play of emotions across her face was delightful to
watch as she put the pieces together. She blushed at
the trick I had pulled on her, then burst out laughing.
When she calmed down, she grinned up at me. "It's a
deal," was all she said. She then stretched up and
kissed my cheek, turned and walked across my driveway
and onto her yard. Just as she stepped off the paved
driveway, she wiggled her arms and the belt came
undone. She pulled her arms free, and rubbed them to
get the circulation going again. With her hands free,
she gave my belt a little cowgirl whirl over her head
and turned towards her house.
About halfway to her door she looked back over her
shoulder to see if I was still watching. I was. There
was nothing in the world I would ever want to look at
again. It was quite a distance, but I swear, when she
saw me watching her she stuck her tongue out at me,
then turned and pulled her shorts down and mooned me as
she scurried the rest of the way to her door. Bare-
assed and laughing.
Just as the door closed I heard her call out, "Oh,
yeah, my name. It's Janet."
Chapter 2
It was not lost on me that on that particular day my
car had gotten royally fucked by the little minx and
all I had gotten was a peck on the cheek and set of
seriously aching blue balls. I had learned to shrug
off most of life's little injustices, but somehow this
one really galled me. Yeah, it had been by my own
choice, I know. But still, it rankled.
I spent most the rest of that day and far into the
night burning the whole series of jpegs onto a writable
CD-ROM. I had taken a lot of pictures of her
performance, but even then it took longer than it
should have as I had to keep cleaning off the keyboard
and the monitor screen. Yeah, I jerked off, but, well,
you would have, too. She was one fine looking lady.
Needless to say, the photos were sensational. Even as
biased as I was, having taken them, I could tell these
were golden, hot. The whole story was there, from the
first ass-giggling movements when she started by
bending over the hood and ending with her gut-wrenching
orgasm on the hood ornament. I was blurry-eyed when
the last photo was cropped and enhanced, but the
slideshow I produced was first class. It was hot
enough to melt the computer chips that would run it.
Damned if Janet didn't ring that fucking doorbell at
7:30 sharp. I staggered to the door, forgetting to put
on my robe. Her grin nearly blinded me when she saw me
in my shorts, my tired and sore pecker sticking out at
half-mast with a morning woody.
"Grab a shower and come on over, sir. I've just put
the coffee on. I, uh, saw your lights on late and
figured you wouldn't be ready quite this early." With
that she turned and bounced back over to her own house.
I showered, shaved, and dressed - complete with my
Dockers and sandals, this time. I also grabbed a small
bag I had prepared the night before - just in case...
Her back door was open and there were more aromas than
coffee spilling out into the dew-laden morning air. I
identified bacon immediately, that being one of the
many forbidden foods at my house. I also recognized
the smell of fresh baked croissants. I'm afraid I
stood in the door and just salivated for a minute or
two. If the way to a man's heart was through his
stomach, Janet had prepared for open-heart surgery.
As I stood there, the investigator in me automatically
cataloged the details of her home, or what I could see
of it. It struck me that the room reflected her
personality perfectly. Feminine, but with the wit and
humor of a strong intelligence. The colors were
blended perfectly, giving an impression of warmth, but
having an undercurrent of strong sensuality. And she
could cook, too!
Janet had to take me by the hand and pull me over to
one of the places she had set at the table. A sudden
attack of shyness overcame me as I stood there. I
suddenly wondered what the Hell I was doing there, and
if it had all been a glorious dream yesterday. I knew
that if I followed through today with what I had
planned last night in the heat of those pictures, it
could be a huge mistake. But the food smelled so good.
Maybe just a few bites, then I would leave. I let her
force me to the table. Yup, she did it. It was all
her fault. Hey, if Adam can blame the woman, so can I.
The croissants melted in my mouth, and there were more
of them than I could eat. She must have baked 3 or 4
dozen of them. She watched me eat each bite with an
innocent joy, seemingly fascinated by my huge appetite.
Piping hot eggs, creamy grits, crispy bacon and chicory
coffee. I half expected to see biscuits and gravy
appear on my plate next, but apparently she wanted to
eat light that morning.
Sated and stuffed, I sat back, thoughtfully caressing
the thick mug of hot coffee between my two hands. I
looked up to see Janet watching me.
"Outstanding, Janet. Simply the best breakfast I have
ever had. Honest."
She blushed at the praise. "Thank you." She
hesitated a moment. "And thank you for yesterday,
too."
Oh, Damn! There it was, lying right there on the table
among the detritus of an excellent breakfast. Damn!
Damn! Damn! The topic I was dreading and hoping for
all at the same time. Ball's in your court, mister.
"Yes. Well, uh, you know..." I tapered off. A great
start, no?
She sensed my embarrassment. Hell, a dead man could
have sensed my embarrassment.
"I never did anything like that before..." We both
spoke at the same time and stopped at the same place.
And burst out laughing at the same time.
The ice broken, we began to talk, openly and honestly.
She told me of her short, loveless marriage to my
neighbor. It was, in some ways, worse than my own.
The guy was a mortician and thought it was an exciting
job. He came home smelling like death and was then
even more lifeless in bed than his clients. She was
not a virgin any longer, having waited for marriage,
but she might as well have been for all the fucking she
didn't get.
When she told me she was as celibate as I was, I looked
at her in disbelief. She must have seen the look on my
face as she asked me if I thought she should have gone
out and picked up something from a bar or a street
corner. I stammered that it was hard to believe
someone as beautiful as she was would be forced into
abstinence. She shot back that she couldn't understand
how someone as handsome as I was should be in the exact
same situation, and I had a job where I could get out
of the house and therefore had more opportunities than
she did, locked in her suburban prison.
Touch . Point to the lady.
Despite the compliment she paid me, I had never
considered myself handsome. Rugged, maybe, but not
gigolo handsome. I kept myself in shape, and for my
age, my doctor said I was doing fine. I still wish he
hadn't used that fucking qualifier, though. I was well
aware of the effects of my age. Remember the glasses?
I asked her straight out how she had ended up with my
neighbor. I had never even known he had gotten
married, and we had lived next to each other for close
to fifteen years. She said she had developed an
unfounded deep-seated fear of dominant men growing up,
probably helped along by too much `women's' propaganda
and all the white-male bashing, testosterone hating
feminists in the public school systems. She had fallen
for her husband because of his passiveness, which she
has misinterpreted as gentleness. She had had no idea
how lonely you could get living with someone else.
I asked where he went every weekend.
"Oh, he goes to Momma's."
A sudden surge of panic flashed through me when I heard
that name and I bolted upright, suddenly alert for
danger. I damn near tipped over the chair. I
envisioned that this whole thing had all been an
elaborate setup, just to get my wife her excuse for a
divorce. The panic began to well up within my throat,
spoiling the excellent breakfast. Then sanity kicked
back in and I took a deep breath. Janet's eyes were
huge as she watched this silent drama play out on my
face. I smiled sheepishly.
"Let me guess," I ventured weakly, after I could
finally talk again. "`Momma' is a short, beady-eyed,
sharp-nosed woman with a voice like fingernails on a
blackboard and a face that makes her voice sound
soothing. Her kids hate her, but dote on her every
whim. She makes frequent demands on their time, which
they can only fulfill by giving up all their time with
their own spouses. She has money, which she never
spends, and she holds the possibility of that
inheritance over their heads, clubbing them with her
`Will' at every opportunity. You and I both know all
the money will go to the fucking cats, but her stupid
kids, blinded by greed, haven't figured that out yet.
Besides, she will probably outlive them all, anyway.
"Only one opinion counts, and that's hers. If your
opinion turns out to be right, it was hers all along
and you stole it from her. She picked you out for her
son, but you have never been good enough. She berates
you in front of him at Christmas for your shortcomings,
and berates him all the rest of the year for his. She
has never contributed anything to society, but acts as
if the rest of the world should be thankful she is
alive. Oh yeah, she has six trophy heads mounted on
the study wall. That about right?"
She had been laughing so hard she had to hold her sides
as I described `Momma' to her. She queried me about
the trophy heads.
"Ex-husbands," I explained.
This brought such a violent fit of laughter, I thought
she would choke on her tongue. Getting back a bit of
control she simply held up four fingers. I took that
to indicate that her husband's Momma had been a
slacker, and said as much.
She looked around with a horrified look on her face to
see if anyone had heard my derogatory comments, but
then remembered it was just the two of us. Still, the
sudden spontaneous flash of fear in her eyes at that
moment touched a kindred feeling in my own soul. We
were perhaps more alike than we had realized.
It was after noon before we knew it. By then, we had
gone over both my situation and hers in agonizing
detail. I found I liked her, and that she felt the
same way about me, in spite of our ages. I was old
enough to be her father, as she was barely into her
twenties.
The silences lingered as we listened to the big
grandfather clock strike the hour. It continued to
linger until it became obvious and awkward between us.
"About yesterday..." What the fuck. Might as well
just jump in, right?
"Yes?" She was suddenly serious and alert. Intense.
Her willingness and readiness to talk about it cared
the shit out of me.
I looked her right in the eyes. "Did you, uh, enjoy
what happened?"
She blushed. "You couldn't tell?"
It was my turn to blush. My hand still smelled of her
juices, as I had held it outside the shower door when I
washed up that morning. "Well, I thought you did, but
I just wanted to make sure."
"Yes, I did." She said it simply, as if she too had
wrestled with the question all night, as well. She
probably had, but didn't show it. Ah, the resiliency
of youth.
Now the killer question. "Would you like to do
more?"
"Yes," no hesitation, no doubts, "I want to do it
all." Damn! She had thought about this.
"Now?" My voice was quivering, in both hope and
fear.
"Yes." Her voice was a bare whisper. I looked up
from my intense study of the tabletop and saw her eyes
were closed. Tears were leaking from them but, as she
was smiling, I didn't think she was sad.
"Just one thing."
I jerked back to attention as she continued.
"Yes. What?"
"You have to wear just your boxers, like you did
yesterday." She was grinning so impishly, I half
expected to see half-eaten feathers, paws and whiskers.
I thought about that, then grinned. "I can live with
that. Any other restrictions?"
"No, sir.... but it would be nice to know your name."
I nearly crawled under the table from shame. I hadn't
even noticed. Shit, damn, hell and fuck, what a dunce!
According to one of the manuals I had downloaded from
the `Net last night, "Domination for Dummies" I
think, or "SDBM for Dyslexics" maybe, it had said to
never allow the submissive get the upper hand. I was
supposed to turn any smart-ass banter to my advantage.
Of course, as I had browsed through the manual, I
realized I had pretty much broken every rule in it
already, and I had only been a Dom for less than 24
hours at that point. So I figured I'd wing it. It had
seemed to work for me so far. I mentally crawled out
from under the table. I thought back to the emotions I
was feeling yesterday. The anger, the heat, the
passion. I tapped into the memories.
I scowled at her, eyes blazing, "`Sir' will do nicely,
but if you do need to address me in public, you may
call me `John'." I pitched my voice just short of a
shout.
The effect was amazing. She paled and seemed to shrink
in front of my face. I could see her lip trembling.
She really thought she had screwed up. She looked like
she was going to cry. I guess I'm just a big softie,
and I couldn't help myself. I couldn't stand to see
her afraid. I wanted - and she wanted - domination,
not terror. I winked at her.
She blinked as she suddenly realized I was just acting.
As she began to relax, I stood suddenly, this time
sending my chair crashing to the floor behind me. I
moved to stand behind her chair. I towered over her.
She was forced to tip her head all the way back to keep
me in view. I fixed her gaze with my own, continuing
to glare at her angrily. Her bottom lip trembled so
daintily, I almost melted into the chair with her. But
not yet.
"Stand up!" I snapped the command, leaving no room
for questions. There were none.
"Are you wearing panties?"
She nodded. I simply held out my hand and waited. The
silky undergarments soon rustled to the floor and then
settled into my palm. They were damp. I stifled a
grin as I felt the dampness cool on my skin. I raised
them to my nose and inhaled in an overly obvious
manner. This caused her to blush a deeper red, as it
was obvious even without holding them to my nose that
she was secreting her juices. When I stuffed them into
the pocket of my shorts it looked like she was about to
protest. They were a delicate and expensive pair. She
had been hoping I might see them, I think, just not in
this manner. Tough shit.
I took stock of what she was wearing. It would not
suit what I intended to do for the rest of the day.
They were too nice. I needed something I could rip up
or cut off if I needed to.
"Bring me the clothes you were wearing yesterday."
She didn't move immediately, so I leaned forward and
swatted her ass sharply.
"NOW!"
She squealed in mock fear as she scampered out of the
kitchen. I heard her thumping footsteps on the floor
directly above, which told me where the master bedroom
was. Soon she was standing in front of me, panting
from the exertion of running up and down stairs. She
held the soiled T-shirt and shorts in her hands.
"Where are the panties?"
Her eyes widened as she realized her mistake. A second
swat caught her behind as she rushed back up to get the
dirty undergarment. She seemed to enjoy the swats so
much, I almost wondered if she had forgotten the
panties intentionally. I wouldn't have put it past
her. She was sharp and good at getting what she
wanted. Well, today I intended for her to get all she
wanted and more.
Flushed and with a fine sheen of perspiration touching
her forehead, she handed the missing panties to me. I
sniffed this pair as well, and stuck them in my pocket
with the others. This pair was mine. Plain cotton,
dime a dozen, but God, what a fragrance!
She had lost her shoes in her hurry. They were high-
heeled sandals, totally inappropriate for around the
house. So was her tight black leather mini-skirt and
peach-colored silk blouse. She definitely knew how to
dress to bring out her colors. She looked as if she
could have stepped straight out of a fashion photo-
shoot.
I stared at her bare feet until she realized what I
wanted. I got to spank her a third time as she bolted
to the bottom of the stairs, where she had kicked them
off. I held out my hand out for them as well. She
placed them in my hand.
I folded the shirt neatly, then the shorts, then placed
the high heels on top of the neat stack of dirty
clothes. I handed the neat stack to her and pointed to
a small room off the kitchen I had already determined
was the pantry.
"Go put these on. Just those, nothing else.
Understand?"
She nodded silently.
"Bring me the clothes you are wearing."
Two minutes later she was again standing before me,
dressed as she had been the day before, with the
addition of the shoes. They were a nice addition.
I took her expensive silk blouse and retrieved a hanger
from the hall closet. I hung it neatly on the hanger
and hung the short skirt below it. Her eyes widened as
she saw the care I took with her expensive clothing. I
think if she had had any doubts about what we were
about to do, the care I took not to ruin the things she
cared about eased them completely. The dainty bra I
placed over the hanger then took the matching pair of
panties from my pocket and placed them with the bra.
Next, I dropped my shorts, having only my boxers on
underneath. She couldn't keep the grin off her face as
she saw the head of my prick peeking out at her. She
licked her lips as she looked at it and I nearly raped
her then and there. But I had a plan. Stick to the
plan, damnit! I whipped off my shirt and sandals with
a flourish, and stood posing in front of her in just my
boxers. God, I loved to hear her laughter. It was
like water to a man in the desert.
When I finished posing for her - or ex-posing, more
correctly, I turned to glare at her again.
"Is there a computer in the house?" I knew there
was. I had seen the boxes they came in being tossed in
the trash.
She nodded, taken a little aback by this question.
Good. At least I could surprise her.
"Well? Take me to it!" I got to spank her perky
little ass again. I was beginning to like this dom
shit.
She led me to a locked door on the first floor of the
house and then hesitated again. It was obviously her
husband's office. This time I didn't push her. She
was afraid of something, and I didn't want to make her
do anything that might get her into real trouble with
him. Sure, as if what I had planned was any less
despicable than breaking into a locked office.
Taking a deep breath, she seemed to come to a
resolution of the conflict in her mind. She reached
down and lifted a loosened edge of the carpet. Hidden
under the loose flap was the key to the door. She
unlocked the door and eased it open. She replaced the
key and the carpet carefully, and then stepped inside
the darkened room. She stepped so lightly I thought
the room was wired with an alarm, so I waited outside
the door for her to disarm it.
She turned and looked at me.
"Is it safe?" I asked.
"What?"
"You were being so careful. I thought maybe there was
an alarm or something."
"Oh, no! It's just, well, Darrin doesn't like me in
here even when he's here. He'd shit if he knew I knew
where he hid the key."
"Oh. We don't have to - ..." I was stopped by a
derisive snort. Very ladylike, that.
"Fuck him," she interrupted me. She pointed.
"There's the computer."
I was still outside the room and as I looked in, I
noticed something odd. The monitor's screen was not
visible from either the door where I was standing or
from the window. Not that that was odd in itself, it's
just that it would have been a whole lot better use of
the available space if he had arranged the furniture
differently. The investigator in me was piqued and I
filed that question away to be researched later. Right
now I had a hot willing woman to defile, and I was
looking forward to it.
I walked over to the desk and looked at his office
chair. It was perfect for what I had in mind. I
motioned her over to sit in the chair. I studied the
PC briefly, then turned it on. As it was booting, I
walked around the room, opening the curtains wide and
adjusting the lamps in the room to cast their light on
the quiet figure in the desk chair. When I was done,
the light was adequate for my needs.
The PC beeped at me, asking for a password. Figures
the old fart would try to keep everyone out. That just
raised my curiosity another notch. What was this guy
trying to hide? A double set of books, perhaps? Nah,
not from a mortuary. Maybe he had a double life?
Maybe he was a hit man for the Mob! Wouldn't that just
be a fine twist?
I took a special disk out of my small bag and re-booted
the machine using the floppy drive. Poof! The
password was no longer needed! The computer guys in my
home office would deny providing us with that disk, but
most times folks didn't realize how incriminating a
home computer could be in a fraud investigation. They
would leave all kinds of stupid incriminating shit on
them.
I slipped in the CD I had made the night before into
the D:> drive and started the program I had put on it.
Suddenly, Janet saw herself in brilliant color on the
21" screen. I watched her eyes widen as she realized
who and what she was watching. She glanced up briefly
at me, blushed a delightful pink, smiled and then glued
her gaze on the screen. The slide show started at the
beginning with her bent over the hood of the car. I
had set the timer for about 5 seconds between shifts,
with some shots getting a longer duration.
She gasped as the pictures progressed. She literally
oozed sex on the screen, and I was glad to see it was
affecting her. I moved to stand behind her chair, then
got down on my knees so that our heads were at the same
level. Her eyes were riveted to the screen, as her
suggestive poses became more and more erotic. I saw
her moisten her lips and her breathing became
shallower.
I leaned forward and began to whisper suggestive, dirty
ideas into her ear. "Look at that slut. Look how hot
she is. See how she teases the men. She deserves to
be spanked for acting like that. She deserves to be
punished. Spanked hard." Things like that. On and
on, whatever came to mind.
As I whispered these things and others to her, she
tipped her head back against the headrest, her cheek
next to mine, moving her ear closer to my mouth. She
kept her eyes on the screen. When she began to squirm,
I felt she was ready.
I reached forward with one hand and slid it under her
knee. Gently I urged her to lift her leg up over the
arm of the chair. I whispered to her to do her other
leg the same way and she did, as if in a dream.
"Touch yourself, Janet." It was my first direct
command to her to do something like that, and I
wondered if she would surrender something as intimate
as that for me. I waited, holding my breath.
Groaning from deep within herself, she moved her hands
downward towards her splayed crotch. Her hands moved
so slowly, it seemed as if she were fighting an inner
conflict. But first one hand, then the other slipped
under the band of her tight shorts. I could see by the
movement of the cloth over her cunt that both hands
were active. I let her get going good, then dropped
the bomb.
"Don't cum, Janet, until I tell you to. If you do,
I'll have to punish you."
As I spoke to her I reached around the chair and gently
fondled her unfettered breasts through the T-shirt. It
was my first grope of them, and they were everything
they promised to be. Firm and spongy, they molded
readily to my hands as she moved her chest to force
them harder into my palms. She was already worked up
from the picture show, so I focused on her rock-hard
nipples. As I tweaked them, I admonished her to keep
her fingers busy but not to cum. I used the word
`punish' a lot as I continued to whisper to her. It
seemed to incite her lust. I could sense her orgasm
building in her, and I pinched her twin peaks
particularly hard, rolling them as I did so.
"AAAaaahhhhh sshshhshshit. You bastard!" she hissed
as she came on her fingers. She wasn't mad at me, I
don't think, just sorry it had happened so fast. But
she wasn't done. Not by a long shot.
"Keep those fingers working, Janet. That's just the
first one."
"Oh God, you're a tyrant. Oh, don't stop what you're
doing." I had moved my hand down over hers and was
pressing them down into her cunt. I smiled.
"You know I'm going to have to punish you now."
She nodded, meekly. But I noticed a tremor pass
through her as she sat there.
I removed my hands from her crotch, and then stood
after telling her to keep watching the show and to keep
her hands busy. I also nuzzled her hair before I stood
up. She smelled so good. She noticed me smelling her
hair and I saw her grin in happiness. She was a
picture of contrasts, the wanton waif, the innocent
slut. A Beauty.
The first thing I did was to shift the desk chair out a
bit from the desk and position it at an angle. She
could still see the slideshow of her lewd car wash, but
I could also see her clearly as she sat legs akimbo in
the chair. She didn't even notice when I pulled out
the small camera and took several shots of her
masturbating. When I began to give her directions, she
looked up, grinned and went back to her own pleasure,
following my obscene directions but ignoring the
camera. It looked like an innocent girl caught
unawares in a very private moment.
She licked her fingers clean of her own juices at my
suggestion, held a bared tit up towards her mouth and
touched the tip of her tongue to her nipple. That shot
was a particularly hot one. Don't know why, really. I
guess guys are just jealous that girls have tits and
tongues that can touch. Whatever. I got hot just
thinking about that shot. But others were just as
good. Like the ones where she pressed her fingertip
against her ass-hole from the outside of her shorts.
The look of bewilderment at the pleasurable sensations
she gave herself when she touched herself back there
made me swear to myself to introduce her to anal sex at
the first opportunity.
After a while I put the camera down. She had
`disobeyed' me several times by now, and I felt it was
time to let her know a little of her punishment. Her
sandals were dangling from her toes, sexily swaying
with her spasms. I lifted each slightly, keeping them
on her feet. I hooked the long heels onto the edge of
the seat. This tipped her foot and forced her toes to
point straight down and widened her knees as wide as
possible. It made her lift her ass off the chair
slightly, too. I slid her ass to the edge of the seat,
making her slouch in the chair even more. Not
uncomfortable, but not a natural position either.
She whimpered just a little when I pulled the soft
thick cords from my small bag. Her fingers were a blur
inside her shorts as I looped the rope around first one
ankle, then the other. It was as if we were in a race,
as her finger actions became almost frantic. Just
those two ties were enough to bring her to four major
climaxes and she was chasing the fifth hard as I looped
a third rope around her chest. This rope passed under
her breasts and arms, leaving her arms free. I tied
this one off tightly to the back of the chair. She was
now pretty well locked into the position I wanted her
to be in. As she tried to move and realized her
helplessness, her hands moved even faster. Her eyes
never left the 21" screen. The slide show was having
more of an effect on her than I had even hoped. She
was really turned on.
I moved back and took more photos. Since she couldn't
move much and was preoccupied anyway, I moved around
and shot her from every angle I could think of. The
one I liked best was from down low in front of her,
looking up between her thighs. I had her look down and
give me a `sexy' look. The look she gave me nearly
sent me diving for her pussy in a fit of lust. Then
the camera started beeping, and whirring. For a
moment, I thought it was having an orgasm of its own,
but it was merely a low battery notice. I plugged in
the adapter and continued taking pictures.
The next tie went around her tits. First, pulled her
shirt back down over those lovely mounds. It was hard
to do, but I didn't want them marred in any way. I fit
a sturdy rubber band around the base of each pliant
orb. I pushed the tough elastic bands as close to her
chest wall as I could before releasing them. The
elastic compressed the firm flesh, eventually making it
bulge out away from her chest like it was being
squeezed off. But it wasn't that tight. Each band had
a small metal ring attached to it that I positioned in
the lower medial quadrant of each breast.
Then I used a thin cord and made several loops around
each bulging tit. The loops started at the nipples and
spiraled inward towards her chest. I pulled the cords
taut, but not too tight. The cloth of her thin T-shirt
protected the soft skin from the digging twine, and it
also allowed the twine to slide without making a
friction burn on the skin. I ran the long ends through
the metal rings and left the ends of the thin cords
hanging down her stomach. I committed that tie to
digital memory as well, zooming in on the visible
nipples pressing hard against the thin fabric. The
site of her deformed tied tits was disturbingly
mesmerizing, and even though the tie didn't cause her
much pain, their misshapen forms sent a sinister quiver
pulsing through my iron hard cock.
Her eyes were blurred pools of lust as I eased her
hands out of her shorts. Her protests were half-
hearted as she stared at the screen. The rear fenders
were making acquaintance with her cunt lips, and her
arousal on screen seemed enough to drive her toward
another climax, even without the fingers. The heavy
stainless steel handcuffs clicked in the silence as the
ratchets tightened on her slender wrists. It wasn't
until she tried to slyly slip her hands back down to
her twat that the pain from her tits knifed through the
haze of lust and cleared her eyes.
The surprise, the wonder, the sudden flash of fury as
she realized that I was preventing her from finishing
herself off this last time. Then, as she looked at the
final tie, the realization sank in that I was not
stopping her at all, just making the price of her
ultimate pleasure higher, so to speak. The long
strands from the cords that spiraled around her swollen
tits had been tied to the center links of the
handcuffs, then pulled taut and tied off. Because the
cords ran through the metal rings, if she pulled her
hands towards her cunt, the cords would tighten on her
breasts. Tit for twat, if you don't mind a bad pun.
The slideshow was building to a climax as she
masturbated her way down the hood of my car. We both
knew the grand finale was next, with her fucking
herself with the hood ornament. The breath hissed out
of her as she forced her hands a fraction lower. My
camera never stopped clicking as she squeezed and
tortured those soft globes so that they bulged out
between the cutting strands of twine. She screamed
when the tip of one fingernail grazed her clit. I
thought she would tip the chair over backwards with the
shaking and shuddering she was doing.
"God damn you, sir. This is torture. Oh, God, I'm
cummmmmmmmmming.... Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you. Oh,
oh!"
My, my. Such naughty words! I remembered the idea of
stuffing that pretty little mouth with something to
keep it quiet. I reached into my little bag once more.
Her eyes widened as she saw my makeshift ball-gag. I
had threaded a thick rope through a tennis ball. It
was a bit large going in, but as the ball was
punctured, it collapsed easily. Of course, it wanted
to expand back to its original size once it was behind
her teeth, but that's what the rope was for. To keep
the expansion of the ball pressing down on her tongue.
God, she looked beautiful. Now all she had to
communicate with were her eyes. Those big brown puppy-
dog eyes.
After commemorating this new addition to her bondage
with another couple dozen pictures, I moved to the
front of her and got down on my knees. Fortunately
Darrin, her husband, kept his chair seat low to the
ground, because I didn't have to spin her down. She
was at just the right height. I walked on my knees
until my aching balls rested against her ass cheeks.
Then I rested my forearms on the arms of the chair and
leaned forward into her. She finally realized what I
was doing when her fingertips grazed the tip of my
throbbing cock. I thought she would tear off her tits
as she lunged to grab on to me. She didn't seem to
mind the pain at all.
When she had lunged, I had shifted back just slightly
so that she couldn't get a good grip. She could only
use her fingertips. As she got the idea, she resigned
herself to only having that much contact with my cock,
even though she craved more. She kept trying to stuff
it into her cunt right through her shorts. Ouch!
The glaring look in her eyes told me I just might have
pushed her too far with this bit of teasing. But I
didn't give in to her. I did let her stroke me until I
coated her chin, tits and chest with a deluge of my
thick cream. Still throbbing, I just had to get some
shots of her mussed up like that.
As that last effort by her had really strained the
limits on the amount of torture her tits could bear, I
quickly loosened her from the bonds. She remained
seated until all the ropes were off and put away. I
looked up at her as I knelt to zip up my bag.
"Well, are you just going to sit there smelling like a
whore? Or would you like to go get cleaned up, and
dressed up again like you were this morning?" I
grinned as she squealed happily and ran up the stairs
to the shower. I gave serious thought to joining her,
but I had something to do first.
Darrin had a few too many secrets that didn't set
right. I know, we all have our little private stashes
that we really don't want anybody else to know about,
but to my profession sense, this felt like it was
something different. I sat at his desk and browsed the
computer for a while. I didn't notice anything
peculiar until I searched his desk. Neatly, of course!
Lock picking was a skill that they taught at the
insurance investigator's training course, although you
won't find it in the syllabus. It was just another one
of those handy little things. And desk locks. Ha!
Might as well leave a florescent note on whatever it is
you're hiding behind it saying, `Look at me! I'm in
here.'.
Inside a locked drawer, neatly filed away, Darrin had a
whole collection of photos of guys having sex with dead
people and dead animals. Necrophilia. Fuck! As if he
didn't get enough of that at work. Suddenly, it struck
me. I looked back up at the family picture of a man
and an old woman on his desk - obviously he and Momma.
I recognized with a start that he was in some of the
pictures. A lot of them. Having sex in coffins.
Knowing what to look for now, I found a whole trail of
photos and letters in a log file for a chat room. As
the water shut off in the shower upstairs, a germ of an
idea was planted in the back of my fertile brain.
Janet interrupted my growing germs by walking back into
the den. She had retrieved her clothes and two stemmed
glasses and a bottle of champagne, apparently to seduce
me with. Her tits bounced nicely behind the silk
blouse. I made a bet that the panties were still on
the hanger with her bra. I won.
She came up to me and held up her lips for a kiss. I
knew I could have had her then and there. She knew it,
too. But something told me to wait. Call it caution,
call it chicken shit, but I had heard that tiny voice
too many times to ignore it. I kissed her lips gently,
not allowing her to pull me into a passionate kiss.
"Go get my belt, Janet."
Her look was priceless. Here she was, ready, willing
and available, and I wanted my belt.
"Now!"
It was amazing how beautifully she responded to firm
commands. The belt was in my hands within minutes and
I had the added benefit of seeing her tits bouncing
crazily as she scurried back into the den with it. She
blushed as she noticed me watching her tits.
"Thank you. Now turn around."
She did so and I bound her hands behind her as I had
the day before. It was more symbolic than secure.
Taking her by her shoulders I turned her around to face
me, then gradually increased the downward pressure.
Her eyes widened as she realized what I was doing. I
sensed a momentary panic.
"Please, Sir. I've never..."
My finger on her lips silenced her. I lowered myself
down with her so that we were both on our knees, facing
one another.
"Janet? I thought you wanted to do it all? You WILL
do this. I'll go slow and explain everything. But I
want no more protests. Is that clear?"
She nodded slightly, a tear sliding down her cheek. I
kissed the tear away and kissed her lips. Then I stood
up.
My engorged manhood presented itself to her lips. It
stuck through the slit of my boxers and bounced a
little, in time with my racing pulse. I let her stare
at it for a while.
"Stick out your tongue....That's right....Now, just touch
it to the tip, right there where the hole is....Oh,
that's good!" She had made contact with it and had
not died or vomited. For the next twenty minutes I
walked her through the basics of cock-sucking. She
actually swallowed it all when I came in her mouth. I
was proud of her and told her so.
"It, it tasted, well, funny, Sir. I thought it would
taste bad. I...," she blushed "I liked it."
Not being ready to leave her yet, I lifted her up and
set her ass on the edge of the desk. Immediately she
spread her legs and lifted her heels up on the desk,
spreading herself wide open. I surprised her again
when, instead of burying my cock in her juicy cunt, I
fell to my knees and instead buried my tongue in it.
Later she admitted that had been the first time she had
ever been eaten out. She had never even imagined it
before. I gathered as much from her reaction, which
just about gave me whiplash as she bucked up and down
on the desk. I wanted her to remember this as a
pleasant experience and did the best I could to bring
her off as many times as possible.
After 30 minutes or so my knees were getting tired but
she wasn't, so I pulled her off the desk and lay down
on the floor on my back. I had her straddle my head
with her knees so that she was facing my feet. She
thought I was brilliant for knowing about the '69'
position and she caught on real quick that this could
be a mutually beneficial experience. The rest of
evening was spent in an oral Olympics.
Janet responded to every touch, every probe like it was
the first time she had ever been touched down there.
It most likely was. Her enthusiasm for cock-sucking
kept me hard most of the evening, but it didn't seem to
matter to her if I was hard, soft or in between. She
loved to suck on it.
Not that I minded sucking on her sweet little cunt,
either. It had been a long, long time since I had had
that particular pleasure. I intended to sample this
twat again.
I finally brought her to a last screaming climax, using
tongue and fingers in both bottom holes at around 9:00
that night. She came for what must have been three or
four minutes, thrashing and spasming on top of me.
When she finally lay still, I discovered she had fallen
into a deep sleep.
With great difficulty, I lifted her off me and carried
her upstairs. I untied her arms, stripped her of her
clothes, retied her arms loosely behind her back and
tucked her into the master bed. I hung her clothes up
on a hanger and left her house.
I slept soundly that night, better than I had in years.
It was only as I was drifting off that I realized I
hadn't fucked her. Oh, well.
Chapter 3
That had all started and ended three months ago. Now
it seemed more like a passing thought than actual
events. Janet and I haven't been together since,
although on occasion I see evidence of my car windows
being cleaner than I remember leaving them. I swear
the Jag runs a bit faster on certain days, too. But
things haven't been going well lately, for either of
us.
The first thing of note that happened was an industrial
accident at the mortuary where Darrin worked. It seems
he was making some final adjustments or something to
the body of one of the deceased prior to cremating it.
Somehow, the lid of the coffin accidentally slammed
shut on him and latched itself in the locked position.
No one ever did figure out why Darrin had to climb all
the way into the casket with that dead young woman,
leaving his shoes, socks, pants and underwear lying on
the floor where the next shift found them. Strange,
no?
Even stranger, although the manufacture of the
cremation oven swears it is impossible to do so, the
automatic conveyer feed into the oven turned on all by
itself! Since the coffin was already in position on
the feeder track, the coffin along with Darrin and the
dead woman was into the raging fire before anyone could
do anything to save poor Darrin. As his widow, Janet
had to settle for a mere multi-million dollar
settlement for the loss of her beloved spouse. So
young, so beautiful, and now, so rich. So tragic, no?
My luck was even worse. My wife's brothers had been
mysteriously murdered. The police reports concluded
that the spouses of two clients (a.k.a. victims) of my
wife's brothers apparently decided that the world would
be a better place without the two brothers. One of
them was run down by an 18-wheeler. It would have
looked like a traffic accident, except for the fact he
was getting a massage in a seedy motel room at the
time. The truck had exploded through the flimsy wall
fo the motel and the front wheel ended up parked right
on top of his wallet. I thought that was appropriate,
somehow, as his wallet was in the back pocket of the
pants he was still wearing. Ouch!
That same tragic night the other brother had died as
well. I guess he should have known not to have
electrical appliances so close to the bathtub. It is
just too easy for something to fall into the water and
cause an accident. The authorities couldn't figure out
what he was doing with a steam iron in the bathtub.
Maybe ironing out his legal briefs? (Sorry, I couldn't
resist....)
Anyway, this incident might have been ruled an accident
as well, except it is really hard to fall on an iron
and embed it in your skull. Especially from the back.
Then to reach back and plug it in. To my way of
thinking there were just a few too many inconsistencies
for this to be an accident. Gee, you think so?
The cops, however, had way too many suspects. It seems
everyone they talked to that had dealings with one or
both of them had a motive to kill them. Most of them
almost justifiably. And those two boys were really
busy, too. There were hundreds of clients, therefore,
hundreds of victims and hundreds of suspects.
Interestingly, I never was a suspect. I was in Hawaii
for a seminar that week they died. Hundreds of people
saw me give my presentation. Won a fucking award for
it, too.
The upshot of those two happy endings was that my wife
was suddenly the front, and only, runner for Momma's
inheritance money. I thought she may have jumped the
gun a bit, but the day after the dearly departed's
funerals, she filed for divorce. I couldn't believe
it. If I had known it was that simple, I would have
gotten rid of those two fuckers years ago. Years!
My lawyer got together with her lawyer and worked out a
settlement. She was in such a rush now that she was
obviously going to get Momma's money, she would have
agreed to anything. It seems she wasn't interested in
anything from me but the furniture she had been
collecting and storing in the garage for the past 25
years. That antique crap filled all three bays. Some
fucking French shit. It was as uncomfortable to sit in
or sleep on as the furnishings made for the
Inquisition. Which seemed fitting, somehow.
The bad news wasn't over though. Janet's dead
husband's Momma decided to move in with Janet, to help
her grieve and to help her spend her settlement money.
As she was packing up her old house to move in with
Janet, she had a terrible accident and fell down the
stairs to her death. Trouble was, some of her old
biddy friends told the cops she never, ever went
upstairs. She was deathly afraid she would fall down
and hurt herself. Damn! No wonder that old bitch had
put up such a struggle. The first and second times I
carried her up those stairs she really put up a fight.
By the fifth time, most of the fight was pretty well
gone. Fortunately, the detectives ignored that lead
and didn't pursue it. If they had looked too closely,
they might have found the tiny little injection site
behind her left knee. Like I say, never leave an
accidental death to chance....
To continue with the bad news, shortly after that, my
mother-in-law suffered a fatal accident as well. She
apparently slipped on a throw rug while preparing to go
to a knitting class. She was still clutching those
sharp knitting needles in her hand when my soon-to-be
ex-wife found her. The needles went right through her
heart, which I found ironic. I would have sworn she
didn't have one.
I would have also sworn that Momma had never so much as
touched a pair of knitting needles much less owned a
set, but my almost ex-wife told the cops that she had
taken an interest in domestic things of late.
I just about choked on that one. But the cops believed
it. My soon-to-be ex-wife suddenly inherited Momma's
money, as the Will had not been changed to give it all
to the cats.
My favorable divorce agreement suddenly promised to
make me very wealthy. The lawyers had agreed to an
arrangement that we would split half of everything. My
wife had agreed that half of everything I had was the
furniture in the garage. But the settlement went both
ways. God, I love that Equal Rights shit! She nearly
had a hemorrhage when she realized I was going to get
half of Momma's money and that she had already signed
the papers.
Not a bad arrangement, I thought. I got rid of my
bitter old wife and a truckload of old shit and in
return I got a ton of money and my garage back. Not
bad at all for 25 years hard labor. Except that my
wife pulled a fast one. She sucked up to an old judge
friend and got him to nullify her original filing for
divorce. Oh, well. I still got my garage back. And
even though we weren't getting a divorce, my wife
decided to live on in Momma's house. So, three out of
four ain't bad, right?
What happened next was just terrible, though. The
movers came and loaded the truck with all the furniture
and the antiques from my garage. I had been out of
town for three weeks straight when they came. My wife,
not trusting the movers, had driven along behind them.
As they were headed out of the state, one of the brakes
on the truck must have over-heated and it started a
fire under the dry wood of the truck flooring. That
old furniture lit off like a rocket, almost as if there
had been incendiary devices, like bags of gasoline and
stuff hidden in all the drawers and taped under the
tables.
No one expected my wife to try to rescue that old shit.
But she did. Before anyone knew what was happening,
she dashed into the burning truck and started hauling
out pieces. She actually got three chairs out of the
van before the fire and smoke overcame her and she
burned up along with her precious furniture. The two
drivers of the van and all the passers-by were helpless
to save her.
That was three days ago. After the funeral, I just
flushed her symbolic remains down the toilet. I felt
that was symbolic, too.
I was back out in the garage, my empty garage, sweeping
up and getting ready to finally get my tools back out.
For twenty fucking years I had wanted a workshop. We
never had any extra space, or she had been afraid that
there might be some dust or shit that would get on her
precious furniture. Well, that was all gone now, and
her with it.
The garage was empty except for the beginnings of a
motor hoist in the third bay. For years I had been
planning on restoring an old '57 Chevy I had found in a
run-down barn a couple of counties over. No one owned
it, and the farm was abandoned as far as I could tell.
I had installed a heavy chain and a winch up in the
rafters 20 years ago, and it still looked good as new.
I had made a couple of three-foot bars of iron with
center rings that could be hung from the hoist chain
and then used to lift a motor block out of the car. I
had cleaned up the area pretty well getting ready to
pull the rusted out hulk in from the back 40 where it
was tarped. I was busy sweeping and straightening.
I heard the `click-click' of her heels echoing off the
bare walls. God help me, my prick got iron hard even
before I turned to look at her. When I did, she was
everything I remembered and more. A wet dream come to
life.
A tiny smile played across her lips as she noticed the
tent in my pants. Her long erect nipples were doing a
nice job on the front of her tight shirt as well. It
that's what you could call what she was wearing. It
was one of those sleeveless T-shirts that was cut
short, just under where her breasts rested on her
chest. The rest of her outfit consisted of a micro
thong and a pair of very high stiletto heels. She had
come to get fucked. I had thought I was ready, until I
saw her. Now I wasn't so sure if she wasn't more woman
than I could handle.
She stopped in front of me, a curious look on her face.
"No glasses, John?"
"I got contacts."
"Oh! Well, do you like what you see?" She did a
slow pirouette in front of me, gradually lifting her
arms above her head as she pivoted. That motion
exposed her perfect tits to my view as the hem of the
short shirt raised up with her arms.
"Yes. Yes I do!" I deadpanned a big sigh and went
back to sweeping. I wanted to see how far she would go
to get fucked.
I could sense her confusion when I didn't jump her
right then. Unsettled, she wandered around the
cavernous room. I was watching her from the corner of
my eye as I continued sweeping. She touched an item
here and there, then stopped to seriously look at
something on one of the shelves. Something had caught
her interest. She picked it up and brought it over to
me. When she held it out and I saw what it was she had
in her hand, it was like a fist had grabbed at my
stomach and twisted.
She held an old dog collar that I hadn't seen in more
than 20 years. I had forgotten about it until now, and
now all the pain of tragically losing a faithful pet
came rushing back to me.
When I could talk without shaking, I explained to Janet
that the collar belonged to my Springer Cocker Spaniel,
Lady. Lady and I had been together since High School.
I had seen this scraggly little runt of the litter in a
pet shop window on my way home from school and had been
irresistibly drawn to her. She seemed to feel the same
about me, as the owner finally gave her to me. He
flagged me down a couple of days later as I walked by
on my way home. He said she cried the entire time I
was out of her sight and would bark wildly whenever I
was in sight. I offered to work for him for free to
pay for her, and got my first job that way.
My parents like the idea of me getting a job, but
objected to me getting a dog until Lady won them over.
She was that kind of dog. It took her all of about two
minutes. From then until she died we were inseparable.
No one knows how she died, but the theory was that
Lady's leash somehow got caught on the bumper of the
car my wife was driving without her knowing about it.
All that was left of Lady when my wife got back from
town was the leash and this collar. And a 2-mile long
bloody smear where her legs finally gave out and she
couldn't run any longer.
Janet stared at the collar in shock as I finished the
short tale of Lady, ashamed and embarrassed at the raw
nerve she had touched. But she was a trouper.
She undid the buckle on the collar and slipped it
around her own neck. It was a tight fit, but she got
it fastened. It looked damn good on her. Better than
I remember it looking on Lady. I was visibly shaking
when she looked up at me and she misinterpreted my lust
for anger. She paled.
"I - I'm sorry, Sir! I didn't mean to make you
angry."
"I'm not angry. What did you mean to do by putting it
on."
"I don't know. I just thought all of a sudden that,
well, it kind of looked like a slave collar, and, well,
you know..." She tapered off.
"You want to be my slave?"
"Oh, no. I mean, yes! I mean, I..."
"Yes or no? Which?"
"Yes," she said.
"My SEX slave?
I saw a shudder pass through her as she began to
realize what she had gotten herself into and where this
was headed. Then, "Yes, Master."
"Stay here." I walked over to where she had picked
up the collar and got a couple of items. Then I moved
a couple of things around, arranging them to fit my
purposes. I had no idea what I was going to do, and
was stalling for time. As I was looking through my
toolbox, the glimmer of an idea hit me.
I quickly left the garage and ran to my bathroom to
grab some things I needed. Then I dashed back and
found her standing right where I had left her. So far,
so good.
I moved set up a video camera on a tripod, put in a
fresh tape and turned it on. I rechecked the angle and
the lighting. It was good. Then I went over to the
sawhorse I had placed in the center bay. "Come here,
Lady! Come on, girl." I slapped the leash against my
thigh a couple of times to indicate where I wanted her
to come to.
`Lady' got the strangest look in her eye when she
realized who - or what - I was referring to. She
hesitantly came over to me, a questioning, fearful
expression on her face. I think she already sensed it
would be a mistake to speak.
"Good girl! That's my girl!" I scratched her
familiarly behind her ears, as one would an animal.
Then I snapped the leash on her collar. I let it hang
down between her breasts to let her feel the weight of
it. I intended her to feel the sting of it later.
Just for the Hell of it, unless she would give me an
excuse to really punish her.
I turned her so that she was standing with her back to
one end of the sawhorse and sat her down on the end of
it, facing away from the other end. I took duct tape
and firmly taped one ankle to one leg of the sawhorse,
the other ankle to the other leg. Then I helped her
lie back along the top of the horse, the narrow top
board barely supporting her spine. After both wrists
were taped to the other legs, she was completely
helpless and more than a little uncomfortable. The
sawhorse was sturdy but inflexible.
I kissed her hard on the lips and then quietly asked
her if she was sure this was what she wanted. She
thought about it this time, but the lust in her eyes
when she nodded was an inferno. I wondered briefly at
that time just who was controlling whom in this
relationship. Then I saw her nipple peek out at me,
and didn't give a second thought.
I reached down with my hand and got a firm grip on her
thong panties. I had always wanted to rip a pair of
panties off of a woman, and I did it now. I won't say
it's over-rated as a fantasy, but if you ever do it,
make sure they are either the cheap kind or really old,
or ever better, the old, cheap kind. Thank goodness
this pair was miniscule, because as it was, I was
barely able to snap the seams. Any more fabric and I
would have hurt myself - or worse, Janet!
They came off in a quite dramatic fashion, ruined and
smelling of cunt. I savored them for an appropriate
amount of time and then stuffed them into her mouth. I
made sure they stayed there by applying two strips of
duct tape across her luscious lips. I think it was
then that she realized she might have been in over her
head. She could trust me or panic. Thank God she
decided to trust me.
One of the very few mementos I had from my grandfather
was an old fashioned straight razor. It was exactly
like the kind they use in horror movies to slit
people's throats, dismember bodies, and to cut off
other body parts. I held that up now for her to see,
and with a flick of my wrist, opened it up so that the
gleaming blade was exposed. It took her a minute to
realize what she was looking at. The fighting began
when she did. I thought she was going to rip that
sawhorse apart with the struggles she was putting up.
Carefully, as she was still bucking, I made three cuts
in the material of her top. One at each shoulder and
another right up between her tits. No more Mr. Macho
for me. She froze the moment I moved the razor close
to her body. I slid the ruined shirt from her body and
left her naked, but for those fabulous shoes and a
small patch of hair, which I intended to remove next.
I lathered up the shaving brush, whipping up a big glob
of foam. When it was nice and thick, I applied it to
her pubic area, lathering it up much more than
necessary. It took a second for her to comprehend what
I was doing, but when she did, she began to violently
shake her head from side to side. I decided to ignore
her protests and to pretend instead that she was in the
throes of passion.
Urging her to stay still, I lightly stroked the razor
through her already neatly trimmed bush. In three or
four strokes, it was all gone. I got the hot towel I
had brought down with me and laid it on the newly
denuded area. That got a completely different kind of
reaction from my new slave. She was much more
appreciative this time, keening into her muzzle and
thrashing around my finger I had `accidentally' slipped
into her cunt.
Her orgasm was explosive and left her drained. She
must have been primed for weeks before she had come
over today. I know I sure was.
I stood back and admired my handiwork. She was laid
out on the sawhorse like a feast at a banquet. Sleek
and bare, sexy as any woman I could have ever imagined.
It was beyond my wildest dreams, and, to be honest, I
was quite at a loss as to how to proceed.
Janet seemed to want to pursue the Dom/Sub
relationship. I was more interested in fucking the
Hell out of her every night for the rest of my life,
which would be significantly shortened in span if I did
exactly that. I didn't care, I intended to make her
the offer. In addition, I didn't want our first fuck
to be the result of a kinky bondage session. Somehow,
I wanted more romance, soft light, roses, candles,
tenderness, that kind of stuff. Call me a romantic,
call me soft, just be sure to call me for all your
insurance needs - Oh, sorry. Got a bit carried away.
Professional hazard.
I walked over to the bound girl. I knelt down by her
side, putting our heads at the same level. I tweaked
an aroused nipple to get her attention. For some
reason, she seemed to have drifted off.
"Janet?"
Her eyes focused lazily on my face. When I thought she
was all there, I continued.
"I need to talk to you."
She thought I was going to remove the gag. When I
didn't she got the most adorable frustrated frown and
made a couple of unintelligible noises that I assumed
were protests. They could have been swear words, but I
chose to ignore her frustration. It was kind of cute.
"No. I just want you to answer `Yes' or `No.' You
think you can do that?"
She nodded, glaring at me.
"Is this what you had in mind for today?" I
indicated her being tied up.
First she nodded, then she shook her head.
I thought about that for a minute, then she repeated
the nod and the shake very deliberately.
"Let me guess. Your answer is yes and no. Right?"
She nodded.
"So. You wanted to be tied up today?"
Again she nodded.
"Is this all you wanted? Just being bound."
She shook her head.
"Oh. Did you like it when I shaved you?"
She blushed, but nodded her head. It was a kind of
personal thing.
"Do you want to stop now?"
She shook her head vigorously.
"You want more?"
Nod.
"You want me to tie you up some more?"
Nod. Shake.
"Yes and no, huh? You want more than being tied up?"
Hard nod.
"What? Like when I took pictures?"
She made a kind of waddle, which I took to be
noncommittal.
I was stumped. She looked around for a moment, then
started to move her eyes and chin in a motion to
indicate something in my direction. I stood up, and
her direction of motion changed slightly. OK, it was
something about me. I looked down at myself. Other
than a huge hard-on, there was nothing out of the
ordinary about what I was wearing or about me.
I pointed at my hard cock. "You want to be fucked?"
Hard nod. Then a definite shake. We had been through
this before.
"OK. You definitely want to be fucked, but something
more, too?"
She nodded.
"It has to do with me?"
She didn't nod or shake, just did that chin and eye
thing again.
"What?!!" I was confused. She just continued to nod
at me.
I thought, `What the Hell.' Maybe she wanted me naked,
too. I took my shirt off.
"Is this what you wanted? You want me naked, too?"
She gave me that maddening nod and then a shake thing.
"More, huh?"
If you could make a salacious nod, she did, her eyes
riveted to my crotch.
I took off my sandals. I held them up, teasing her.
"More?"
This time she rolled her eyes in total frustration.
I undid my belt and pulled it out of my pants, slowly,
like a striptease, man-style.
Her eyes widened, and she began quivering, using her
chin to point at the belt in my hand. Something told
me that this was what she had been trying to get me to
ask.
"You want me to do something with my belt?"
Hard nod, eyes glued to the belt.
"You want me to tie your hands with it, like the other
times?"
She shook her head and gave an exasperated groan.
"You want me to use my belt, but not to tie you," I
puzzled out loud. It hit me like a ton of bricks.
"Oh shit! Janet, do you want me to use my belt on
you? To hit you with it?"
She closed her eyes, tears leaking from the corners.
Then she nodded, and sighed.
I stood stock-still. Paralyzed, frightened, excited
beyond action. My desire was evident to both of us,
but what she couldn't see were my reservations. I
wanted the first time to be special, but not special
kinky. I wanted it to be special romantic.
I also wanted with all my being to beat her with my
belt. Call me twisted, sick or perverted, but there is
something powerful about having a beautiful woman tied
helplessly in front of you, begging you to hurt her.
Well, OK, not begging, but she was damn near hinting
real hard. I decided to give her the choice. She
could have both, just what order did she want them in?
"Uh, Janet?" Her eyes flew open at the sound of my
hesitancy.
"I have a problem. No, no, it's not that I don't want
to be your master and punish you. I want that very
much. Maybe more than you know. It's just that, well,
we haven't ever, you know, fucked. I was sort of
hoping to do that the next time I saw you, which is
today, now. But I don't want our first time to be
connected with, well, this kinky stuff, whatever it is.
"So I have to ask you: Do you want to fuck today or
do you want me to hurt you?"
OK, so I'm a chickenshit coward.
She looked up at me, seriously considering what I had
said. She seemed to understand what I wanted and why I
wanted it that way. Then she nodded, again pointing
with her chin towards the open garage door where she
had come in earlier. I turned to look what she was
pointing at. There, in the doorway, where I hadn't
noticed it before, was a small gym bag.
I walked over and picked up the light nylon bag. There
wasn't much in it. The top was unzipped, so I pulled
it open and looked. She had come prepared. Ropes, a
gag, and a crop. I pulled the things out and held them
up for her to see.
"Were you intending to use these on me?"
She shook her head.
"You brought these for me to use on you?"
Nod.
"You really want me to hit you with this thing?" I
held up the crop and swished it a couple of times.
Nod.
"How hard?"
That stumped her, as it wasn't a yes/no question. So
she started whipping her head around, almost violently.
I got the idea.
"Really hard, huh?"
Nod.
"I don't understand. Do you want me to really punish
you?"
Blush, tears, and finally and slight nod. Then she
turned her head away. I couldn't get her to answer
anymore questions. It was now up to me.
Not quite ready to pass up a golden opportunity, and
not quite comfortable or ready to whip her, I did the
next best thing. I ate her out.
You would have thought I had stuck a cattle prod up her
butt the way she came off of that sawhorse. I swore
she was going to break her back. From the moment I
first knelt down between her spread thighs and kissed
her freshly shaved mound until I reluctantly pulled my
aching tongue from her dripping swollen gash, she
didn't stop bouncing up and down on that narrow board.
I guess she enjoyed it. I know I did.
After catching my breath, I carefully unwound the duct
tape and released her from the awkward position she had
been in. She sort of crumpled to the ground, halfway
gasping and sobbing. I let her stay there for a moment
while I grabbed a couple of things from the shelves in
the garage and moved a few things around. Then I went
back to her and lifted her to her feet. She swayed
unsteadily on her heels.
I helped her over to a spot underneath the winch I had
installed 20 years ago. I had one of the bars already
attached to the chain and had it elevated to about
waist height. I carefully wrapped one of her wrists
with a thick, clean oil rag, then looped a chain
attached to the end of the bar around her wrist. A
snap of the hasp and she was chained to the bar. I
repeated the process of protecting and chaining the
other wrist to the other end of the heavy iron bar.
I moved to the switch and activated the motor. It
purred as it raised the bar and her arms until they
were above her head. I stepped back to her and
repeated the process on her ankles with the other bar,
leaving about six inches of slack in the chain between
her feet and the lower bar. Then I raised the winch
again until she was dangling in the air, her feet
spread by the lower bar, her arms held apart by the
upper bar. The extra weight of the heavy iron dangling
from her ankles would have been too much strain on her
shoulders, so I didn't raise her all the way. I just
wanted the lower bar to keep her from spinning around
as I whipped her tender body. I did pull her taut,
however. She looked sexier than ever.
For the next hour or so I whipped her beautiful body.
I didn't think I had that much rage in me, but 25 years
of buried anger surfaced that day. Janet took the
whole of it. When I finally stopped, she looked
terrible. I had used my belt for most of the time. I
found the whip to be too uncontrollable and I left a
couple of nasty welts on her creamy skin that would
probably scar. I had more control with the belt, and
although I tried to avoid the really sensitive parts,
like a direct blow to her cunt or face or across her
hard nipples, she seemed to get off on it when I
slipped and had a near miss.
We both came a couple of times. I would see her in the
throes of a staggering orgasm and it would set me off.
There was sticky stuff all over the garage floor.
I stopped when I couldn't lift my arm anymore. She was
hanging limp in the chains, her skin a blotchy red mass
of welts and bruises. She was going to hurt for a long
time.
I removed her from her bonds, ripped off the gag and
lifted her down. I carried her up to the master
bedroom. I had just installed a hot tub, something my
ex-wife would have thought frivolous. Especially as
you had to use it naked. I stepped into the steamy
water and lowered us both into the soothing comfort of
its embrace. She didn't even flinch as the water
embraced her sore body. She slept. I cried. It was
had been a cathartic experience for both of us and I
felt a changed man because of it.
Sometime later she stirred. She twisted her head
around to see me. She smiled.
"Thank you, John."
I kissed her forehead. "Thank you." I paused.
"Janet?"
She murmured something back to me.
"I don't ever want to do it that hard again."
"Good." She paused. "I'm glad we did, though."
"Huh?"
"Well, when we do this kind of thing again, you'll
know you don't have to hold back. I'll know you won't
injure me, too, so I can relax and enjoy it." I
noticed she said `when' not `if.' Amazing.
We were quiet for a while. "I wish you had told me
Darrin's Momma never went upstairs. That could have
caused problems."
"I didn't know what you were going to do! How was I
to know? And while we're at it, how did you ever get
Darrin to get into that coffin with that corpse?"
"I didn't. He climbed in all by himself."
She didn't understand. I almost hated to destroy her
innocence.
"Darrin was having sex with the dead body. It's
called necrophilia."
I heard her gasp as the light bulb went off. "So
that's why he didn't like me to move when we...." She
tapered off. "How did you find out?"
"He had some stuff in his computer and in his desk.
I, uh, ran across it that night we were in there."
"Does anyone else know?"
"I think everyone has guessed, but no one knows for
sure or has proof. I, uh, broke in your house and
destroyed the files the night he died. I didn't want
you to be embarrassed.
"Janet, it gets worse. I think he was planning on
killing you and embalming you in the garage. He had
all the equipment and chemicals. Some of the things he
had written on his computer indicated he was going to
do it soon. I didn't know what else to do."
"Thanks. Really. That bastard! Everyone else knew
about that stuff? Do a lot of people have sex with
dead people? Oh, God! I'll never look at a cemetery
the same way again."
I let her babble for a while. "So, tell me. Where
did you learn to drive an 18-wheeler?"
She stiffened.
"How did you know?"
"There was a single report of a slim figure in black
slipping away from the crime scene. Both crime scenes,
in fact. It must have gotten lost in all those other
reports the police had to go through."
"Oh. Thanks, again. One of our neighbors when I was
growing up was a trucker. I had a crush on him, which
he took advantage of. He taught me to drive a big rig,
while he felt me up. It was thrilling for while, then
he wanted to share me with his buddies. I didn't want
to and he beat me. I still wouldn't. I got back at
him and started his truck on fire."
"Like the furniture van?"
"Yeah. There's a lever underneath some models that
bleeds the air from the air brakes underneath the
trailer. If you put it in just the right position, it
looks like it is working, but it isn't. After about
40-50 miles at speed, the whole tire assembly bursts
into flames. It's almost impossible to put out."
"But the reports said the trailer almost exploded."
"Oh, that. I overheard my neighbor and his buddies
laughing at all the folks that insisted their fine
stuff be protected from scratches and nicks and stuff
by being wrapped in shrink-wrap. It seems there were a
couple of kinds that were found to be highly flammable.
I had to look for weeks to find any of that old
stuff." She grinned. "The guy was so happy to give
it to me, he didn't even bother to give me a receipt."
Clever girl.
"Was that all?"
"Yeah, other than the bags of gasoline I had strapped
underneath all the tables and couches. That's why I
shrink-wrapped them all. I didn't want them to be
discovered. Your wife was so amazed you had taken such
good care of the stuff. She knew you hated it."
"You talked to my wife?"
"Oh, no. But I couldn't help but hear her. God, that
voice...! I didn't mean for her to get burned like that.
Sorry."
"Don't be sorry. If anything, I should thank you!"
"Oh, don't. I would feel funny.
"That was a nice touch with the knitting needles with
Momma."
"I didn't do that one. I thought you had!"
The obvious answer hit us both at the same time. My
dearly departed wife had knocked off her own mother to
get her estate. We laughed at the irony of the
situation for a long time.
We lay there soaking in the steaming water, but I could
tell something still wasn't right. She was bothered
about something but didn't know how to start. I
decided to help.
"You want to tell me about it?"
She snuggled back into me before answering. "John,
are we bad people?"
"What do you mean?" I thought she was thinking about
killing each other's families. I guess that would fit
most people's definition of bad, but somehow I didn't
feel sorry for doing what I had done, or that my wife
was dead.
"Well, I went kind of crazy after Darrin was gone."
Don't I know it. At least four dead and counting.
"What we did that day, on the lawn. It frightened me.
You know how I was always terrified of dominant men?
Well, I discovered I liked it when you did that me.
You were so masterful, so strong. I had never felt so
alive.
"Darrin was the only man I had ever known. The
trucker never did get me to, you know... Well, I, uh,
well, I was bad. After the funeral I was all alone.
You were gone somewhere. I seduced that young lawyer
who handled the lawsuit. And a couple of his friends.
I was their plaything for about a week solid. It
wasn't the same. I wanted you.
"I'm sorry, Sir. I was bad. I needed you to punish
me. Before we made love. I'm sorry.
I softly kissed her hair. I had to be careful where I
touched her as she hurt all over.
She wasn't the only one who had gone crazy. I told her
about what I had done. It still amazed me how many
women would agree to fuck you if you simply came out
and asked them. Only one turned me down, and I think
she reconsidered later and tried to join in.
I went to work one week after the funeral, walked up to
my secretary and told her I had lusted after her since
the first moment I had laid eyes on her. I had lusted
after her every time we had been in the room together.
I had had to be a gentleman for 6 years because of my
wife. She was now dead. Did she want to fuck?
I thought she was going to hit me at first. Then she
started to stalk out of the office. At the door she
stopped. I heard the door lock. When she turned
around, she had this funny smile on her face.
She said that her immediate reaction was to be
insulted, but when she thought about it, she really was
flattered. She said the only reason she was still here
was that she was getting married in a month. The only
man she had ever known, or was likely to know, was the
man she was going to marry. She wanted a no-strings-
attached fling at least once before she got married.
She was naked by the time she finished her explanation.
I hope I gave her something to remember. I know I
will. I think we came up for air around three o'clock.
I spent the night and half the next day at her place.
She was a screamer. The whole office knew what we had
been doing that day in my office. The next day when I
finally went back in to the office, I said the same
things to a co-worker whose body and face could have
graced any glamour magazine anywhere. Same result.
She had heard and masturbated to the sounds of our
love-making the day earlier. If anything she was
louder.
I didn't come home for about two weeks. It got so that
the women in the neighboring offices would be waiting
outside the office for me to come in to work. Very
little got done for a long while.
Janet was in stitches laughing, which hurt terribly
given her condition. She didn't think I was serious.
I offered to show her the videos. She started
believing me around about the third tape. By that time
we had retired to the bedroom and I was massaging her
aching body with salve.
I didn't stop fucking until I had had every woman in
the building that wanted to. Word spread pretty
quickly, so I didn't have to ask very hard. They were
waiting in line. Married, single, divorced it made no
difference. To them or to me. But it wasn't the same.
Janet had it right. I wanted her. I told her so.
Two very long weeks later I blew out the candles on the
dinner table, casting the remains of a glorious meal
into shadow. Janet was in my lap, warm and soft to the
touch. There were no marks on her skin now. I had
rose petals strewn all over the bed. Soft music
playing. A scented candle was burning on the
sideboard, casting just enough light to see her
glorious body as I disrobed my beautiful neighbor.
Our first time was great. Better than I could have
imagined. I found I liked her to move when we, well,
you know... She did, too.
She told me later that night that tomorrow she wants me
to tie her up and take her virgin ass out in the front
yard where it all started. Then she wants to make love
in all 15 rooms of my house and all 18 rooms of hers -
at least twice.
I guess my eyes kind of glazed over at the prospect of
all that homework she was assigning. When I realized
she had stopped talking, I asked her why she was
looking at me funny.
She just shrugged and said, for a minute, the look on
my face had reminded her of a deer caught in the
headlights... ;-)
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
End of Story
I hope you enjoyed it. :)
All my published works are archived and can be read or
downloaded free. The archive is located at:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org
Then open "authors", then "NightShade"
Comments to: i_m_nightshade@hotmail.com
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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