index


Message-ID: <48746asstr$1091880604@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: rache696@yahoo.com (Rache)
Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit
NNTP-Posting-Date: Sat, 7 Aug 2004 02:17:54 +0000 (UTC)
Subject: {ASSM} To Hell and Back (M/F, Fantasy, BDSM, Rape, Snuff, Edge play, Humil, Cheat, Enema)
Lines: 598
Date: Sat,  7 Aug 2004 08:10:04 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

codes: M/F, Fantasy, BDSM, Rape, Snuff, Edge play, Humil, Cheat,
Enema, etc


Copyright 2004 by Rachael Ross. All persons herein are based on real
people, except God and the Devil. Some events depicted are reasonably
accurate, but some are not. Any coincidences with other real people
and actual events is strictly prohibited. Please post, repost, and
rerepost as desired, just include my name, email, and the most
important part of the disclaimer...Do not attempt to pump anyone's
butt full of water without a permit.

now...let's get it on




To Hell and Back
fiction by rache


It's hot here. So damn hot. Sometimes I think I should go mad with it,
cackling and waving my arms at imagined demons, stabbing their pikes
into my blistered flesh. There is no respite from its oppressive
nature, pervading and insinuating, enveloping until I cannot separate
myself from it. I am the heat. Burning from the inside, consuming my
flesh not at all, but something far more precious.

I have visions, terrible and seductive and designed by my own lusts
and fears. My father is here, tall and powerful and commanding, making
me feel like a child again. He grabs my hair in his fist, pulling me
roughly, dragging me across the dust to my bed. The gravel rakes my
skin, cutting and bruising me. I scream then, oh how I scream and it
makes him laugh.

My bed, soft and pink and innocent, looms the way I've dreamt it so
many years. Everything as I remember. The colors and the smell, so
that I could almost touch it, we're so close now. I know it would be
soft and safe, and warm. Not like this awful place, but warm the way
it should be, the way I remember it. My father pulls me to my knees,
as if we would pray the way we used to. It gives the merest suggestion
of hope and I clasp my hands together, the way he taught me, ready to
whisper my hopes unto God Himself. But this is a hopeless place and he
slaps at my hands, stinging me as much by the gesture, as his touch.

"We're not here to pray, Rachael." His voice is gentle and patient,
the way he taught me my ABC's.

"Why are we here, Daddy?" I whisper.

"Because this is where you wanted to be." And he opens his trousers,
his other hand still in my hair, twisting so I have to see it. His
penis growing through the opening, swelling and lifting, erect the way
I've always imagined it would look.

"No..." I say, but my heart says yes.

He pulls back the pink and lace comforter on my bed and the sheet
beaneath is covered with barbed wire, sharp and silvery, seeming to
writhe as the heat shimmers off of it. I gasp and struggle and beg,
but I do not repent. There is a stain on my soul and we will wash it
with blood and incestuous semen until it is gone. My father lifts me,
throwing me on that horrid bed so that the barbs lance my skin,
stabbing me countless times, embracing and binding, loving me just as
I've dreamt.

My father tears at my clothes, ripping them away. I push and kick and
scream, all uselessly because I don't mean it. I'm playing a role now,
my favorite role, the innocent victim. Oh I've wanted this, so many
years wasted, longing for his love and attention. Now he loves me, now
he wants me, finally. I look in his eyes, old and sad, staring at me.

"I hate you." he says, stabbing his great prick into me. "I've always
hated you, Rachael."

"I love you, Daddy." I tell him, but the weight of him presses me into
that cruel bed and the steel bites deeper, sucking at my blood and
making me scream again.

He licks at my flesh, running his tongue along my neck and over my
face, gathering my sweat in his mouth. My father is like an animal,
jamming himself over and over into me, hurting me. I claw at his back,
ripping into his flesh with my nails and crossing my legs around his
waist.

"Fuck me, Daddy" I breathe and cry and sigh. "Oh please fuck me."

My blood pours from my body as we move, jerking back and forth. This
is what I wanted, what I needed. All the men I gave myself to, all the
awful things I did, none of them were ever enough. But now, he is
taking me, like I always wanted. I'm going to cum. My orgasm stretches
away to infinity, encompassing every part of me forever. I beg him to
join that splendid triumph, to give me his seed, the sperm that made
me so loong ago.

But before it happens, at the moment my body grows stiff with the
anticipation, my nerves tuat and screeching for that divine release,
he pulls away. Pushing me back and lifting himself. His erection gone,
his eyes filled with contempt.

"Please, Daddy...I love you..." I whimper and beg and pound my fists
with frustration, piercing my arms and hands a dozen times over. "Come
back...I'm sorry!" But he's already gone, melting away as a shadow
nearing noon.

Someone else is there then, stroking my furrowed brow, caressing my
face tenderly. It is him, my tormentor, my enemy and savior, who may
not judge, but only execute His will. I stare into those great orbs,
alien and soothing even as they tear into my very soul.

"Poor Rachael." He whispers. "You're going to be here a long, long
time." And the Devil rises from my bed, leaving me to weep and bleed
and wonder why I can't find forgiveness in my father's arms.

===

I wrote that for my husband, very quickly because he hasn't the
patience for long drama.

"Write me something Rache." He told me as we sat on our small veranda.
It was mid-afternoon, and the custom is to have coffee and bread that
time of day. The coffee is strong and black with a generous spoonful
of raw brown sugar.

===

I was naked, utterly, because that too has become our custom when
we're alone at our rest house on the mountain. My skin is so brown
now, enough so I am loath to go into the sun for fear of turning
black. But Paul likes it and so I will do as he tells me, it is a
promise I made. And perhaps it is the promise that I love, that I am
faithful to, more than the man himself.

We had spent the morning working. He worked on his reports, while I
typed up his notes from the previous few days. It can be tedious at
times, dreadfully boring, and I found myself looking off, between to
hills some distance away where just a sliver of the ocean could be
seen. I thought of nothing in particular, as I recall, just thoughts.

Paul looked over my shoulder and I wasn't sure how long he'd been
there. It gave me a small fright and I jumped just a bit. He smiled at
me. "Pretty dry, huh?" I nodded and he rubbed my shoulders, then slid
his hands lower down my warm dry skin to cup my breasts. "Let's take a
break then."

I stood up, stretching my arms and feeling better. There was a very
slight breeze and around us the broad lush leaves of the banana trees
waved slowly. Above us the coconut fronds also moved, with their
distinct rustle. "Tis a mild, mild day, Starbuck." I smiled at my
husband and he looked at me.

"You talk too much, Rache." He said and produced a gag. I knelt
without being told and he put it on me, a small plastic ball harnessed
to my mouth. It was attached with a long thin cord to a pair of Velcro
cuffs that fitted around my wrists, they were wide and the Velcro of
each of them wrapped around snug and strong. I had tried to free
myself from them once, just to test it. I couldn't break loose.

There were people around, I could hear them passing on the road that
went past the front of our house, but in the back there would be no
one, except perhaps one or two men collecting fruit. When we'd first
arrived here I'd been nervous when Paul had undressed me, but now I
was comfortable with it. A few times someone had seen me like this, or
worse, and people had talked, I knew. But I heard nothing overtly, the
people here were not so impolite. But when I would walk the half
kilometer to the small sari-sari store to buy snacks and soft drinks,
or maybe rhum for Paul, I would see the women looking at me, talking
and laughing. Or the men staring at me, mostly smiling, but a few
giving me unabashed and inviting looks. I always blushed and looked at
my feet.

Mario, he is our houseboy. He's 23 and we pay him 500 pesos a month to
carry water mostly, to look after the yard, wash our jeep, etc. He
plays a guitar he made himself and sings sad songs after the sun goes
down. He is beautiful, with hard muscles that no gym could create,
only a lifetime of hard work. I ask him sometimes to get some
coconuts, just so I can watch him climb 40 feet or more straight up a
tree. His back and thighs glistening and flexing, his ass moving just
so. I want him and Paul knows it, he can see it in my face.

Roselyn is our maid and cook. She's 22 and Mario's cousin and has been
a maid since she quit school when she was 11 years old. Mario came
with the house and turned out very well for us, the maid who worked
here before was older, unaccustomed to change, and Paul let her go.
She was also unattractive with 4 children, unlike Roselyn who is
precious and virginal. We pay her 500 pesos as well, most of which she
sends to her mother. Roselyn has 4 brothers and 5 sisters, all younger
than she is, so she has a lot of responsibility. A lot more than I
will ever know.

Paul likes to watch her as she goes about her work. Making our bed in
the morning, folding our clothes, sweeping and cooking. She is taller
than I am, 5'6" and rounded nicely, with a little baby fat still on
her hips. She has large pointy breasts, only wearing a bra if she's
going to the market, or up the road to the little store for something.
Her hair is soft and black, and she smiles and agrees with everything
I might tell her. She is afraid of Paul I think, but not terrified,
only nervous. I am half-Filipina, but he is all American, and our
relationship intimidates her as well.

They are around, as I kneel on the balcony, Mario and his pretty
cousin, working to prepare our lunch in the kitchen. They will not
come out to the veranda unless we call them, and now I cannot, even if
I had a mind to. Paul might call Roselyn, he's done it before, to ask
for something to drink, or some cigarettes. Just to see the look in
her big brown eyes as she stares at me, it pleases him greatly. But he
hasn't called Mario yet, although he's speculated on what I would
feel, having him see me this way. I dread it, like taking a tiny bite
of something so delicious, so sweet that it fills you with the
overpowering need to eat it all, until you are gorged and sick and
still, you want more. That is the sensation I have when Paul wonders
aloud what Mario would think of me, bound and gagged and giving myself
totally.

Perhaps, Paul muses on occasion, he should offer me to the young man.
"Think he'd do it, Rache?" He asks me, teasing me with a smile. "Think
he'd fuck you if I told him it was okay?" And all I can do is blush
and look down.

He hasn't given me to anyone since we got married, not men at least. A
few times in Manila it amused him to see a bar girl going down on me
as we sat at our table. It seemed childish to me though, and I hated
it, which is perhaps why he did it. The first time to see my reaction,
the second time to assure himself that it was genuine. I'd been out
many times without him, with female friends, going to clubs in Manila,
or the small karaoke bars in the provinces. I'd been with a woman or
two then, looking for...something. Tenderness, I suppose, perhaps just
a human tough. And when I would come home I would tell Paul about it,
where I'd gone, what I'd seen, what I'd done. And he would punish me
for it, hurting me so that I would do it again.

Nor would my husband give me to anyone this day. He used clothespins
on my breasts, small plastic ones that came in bright pastels. He
clamped a half dozen to my flesh, and it felt good, sharp little pains
that only served to tease. He left my nipples alone, they were dark
hard protrusions, pierced with little rings. I wished he would give
them a pull, or a twist, or a pinch. But he left them alone and went
into the house proper to have his lunch, leaving me there alone with
my thoughts.

I heard a soft sound behind me, a faint creak, a little thud perhaps,
and then the gentle metallic hiss, like a fine toothed zipper, of a
blade cutting through the thin mesh screen that enclosed our veranda.
I jerked my head as if to turn and look, but I didn't. I felt a
delightful chill run along my exposed spine at that great unknown.
Someone was behind me, I was sure, one of the strong wiry men who
climbed the trees for coconuts and bananas and mango. He was climbing
through the hole he'd cut, over the short wooden wall, stepping
carefully around my plants. I could hear him coming.

I wondered if this wasn't something Paul might have arranged, a
surprise for me. I glanced towards the doorway leading to our bedroom,
half expecting to see him there, smiling, enjoying his little play,
but there was no one watching. I was alone with whoever was behind me.
I felt the first small hint of fear, like a sweet taste in the back of
my throat. I swallowed thickly and determined finally that I should
see who this person was. I started turning my head and felt the sudden
sharp touch of a machete at my throat.

I froze in place, holding my breath and I could just see the man's
hand, leathery and scarred, gripping the smooth wooden handle of the
large knife. "Dali!" He whispered and his mouth was next to my ear, I
could smell his sweat and the sweet cloying odor of coconut wine,
tuba. I felt his hand on my body, running across my skin, my breasts.
He grabbed my left tit, squeezing it hard so that half the clothespins
popped off, scattering across the hardwood floor. I moaned softly,
closing my eyes to the sensation, and he did the same to my other
breast.

He reached down further, spreading his rough calloused fingers across
my soft belly and down, between my legs as he breathed into my ear. My
unknown lover rubbed across my clit, across my labia, teasing me first
before splitting my lips and pushing a finger inside. I spread my legs
wider to accomodate him, taking a sudden sharp breath and feeling that
cold razor-like edge against my throat. "Init ka!" He chuckled and
pushed another inside me, twisting his fingers and stretching me
little by little. My sex was humid, damp already from Paul's teasing
and now this stranger was bringing a small flood of my juices.

He removed his hand from my pussy and worked to free himself, exposing
his cock so I could feel it hard and hot against the small of my back.
I wriggled my fingers against it and he grunted, removing the blade
from my throat and pushing my shoulders down until my cheek rested on
the floor. I turned my head and tried to catch his face, but he
pointed the tip of his machete at my eye. "Bulag, na?" He asked,
meaning I was blind.

"Oh..." I whispered in agreement, nodding slightly because my gag had
made even that small sound unintelligible.

I closed my eyes as he rubbed his cockhead across my slit. "Balik..."
He said, and I pushed my ass slightly so that his swollen prick split
my labia, easing slowly into my vagina and making me moan softly. "Oh,
sigi na..." he sighed and then pushed himself the rest of the way
inside.

It felt so good like that, being fucked as he took my hips in his
strong hands and pushed and pulled me, stretching my walls pleasantly.
He was quiet too, except for his small grunts and soft groans when I'd
squeeze my vaginal muscles to keep him inside. I loved the way he
filled me, the swollen head of his cock plumbing my depth. So
different from my husband. I was being raped, but I wanted it, I was
giving myself to this stranger, this man whose face I hadn't seen. I
was going to cum soon and I wanted it to be with him, to feel his cock
throbbing and filling me at the same instant pleasure coursed through
my veins.

I wanted to wait, but I couldn't, it was unbearable. Thoughts that my
husband was a few feet away, enjoying his lunch, while his wife was
raped in his own home. That I would see this man again, without
knowing who he was, that he was the one who had taken me. I would
wonder every time I saw our neighbors if it had been one them, and if
not, whether this stranger had sat drinking with them, telling them
what he'd done. The thought of everyone knowing about this filled me
with excitement and it boiled over, spreading like a fire through my
belly and across my flesh. I cried out briefly, before biting my lip
in an effort to keep secret this awful betrayal.

As my orgasm peaked, the stranger behind me began fucking me harder,
driving himself with ever increasing fury. He'd felt my body tighten
around him, a hundred little contractions to tease his manhood,
begging his release. I was panting, breathless on the brink of a
second orgasm and I opened my eyes, unthinking, turning my head as if
to smile, to urge him on and give me more.

When he saw my eyes, filled with desire and greed for him, he cursed
me for seeing his face. With his cock still sheathed within my womb,
he picked up his machete, bringing the razor sharp edge down with a
heavy thud across my neck. My head rolled with a great gout of blood,
pumping thickly with every beat of my racing heart. I saw him arch his
back then as my body jerked wildly, and he climaxed inside me with a
guttural roar. I tasted blood and stared at my headless body, still
alive, still moving, but dying and I wondered if I too was cumming one
last time.

Then I saw a pair of feet and Paul's fingers were in my hair, lifting
my face to look at him as he squatted beside me. "I thought I left you
kneeling."

I was curled up in a fetal position, my hands behind my back and my
thighs pressed together. Wetness ran between them so that my thighs
were slick with my juices. I'd been daydreaming, trying to get myself
off the way I had when I was young, squeezing my thighs and rubbing
the folds of my sex together as best I could without the use of my
hands.

"Did you cum?" Paul asked and I shook my head slightly. I wasn't sure
if he believed me or not, he'd seen me cum before without being able
to touch myself. "I think you did." He sounded disappointed and I
looked at him, my eyes wide and beseeching.

"Mario!" He called sharply. "Come out here please." He didn't take his
eyes off my face and I felt the blood rushing through me, turning my
brown skin even darker with a subtle ruddy glow.

"Yes, manoy?" Mario stepped out and I closed my eyes. I knew he was
staring at me and I was suddenly afraid, terrified of the possibility
of losing his respect, of his friendship. I felt like the worst sort
of woman, like a crackwhore willing to do anything for a quick fix. I
would do anything for Paul's love. I hated myself right then, as I was
meant to.

"Rachael has been a bad girl." I heard Paul say. "Bring some water and
get that funnel we use for the generator." My husband's Visayan is
terrible, and Mario's English isn't the best either, so the word
funnel was a problem. If I hadn't been gagged I could have helped, but
Paul wasn't going to do that. Instead he put me on my knees and spread
my ass, making me moan with humiliation as he demonstrated what he
wanted. "Tubig dito, mmm....ligot ng labut si Rachael." He pushed a
finger in my ass and I wished I were dead as I pictured Mario standing
there watching us.

I heard the young man leave and I waited while Paul smoked a
cigarette. I kept my eyes shut until he told me to open them, his
voice soft and commanding me to obey not by its tone, but only because
it was his. "What were you thinking about, Rache?" he asked, knowing
full well I couldn't answer. "Thinking about your little Mario fucking
you?" I shook my head. "You're just full of lies today, aren't you?
Just full of shit today. We'll have to do something about that."

Mario had returned, carrying a 5 gallon plastic jug of water and the
big plastic funnel they used for putting fuel in the emergency
generator. Paul smelled it and pronounced it clean enough for me to
use. I couldn't bear to look at Mario, but I did because it was what I
wanted, to see how he was looking at me. He looked a little nervous, a
little confused and sympathetic maybe. There wasn't a dominant bone in
his body, let alone a sadistic one, not that the two must always go
hand in hand of course.

Paul worked the plastic funnel into my ass slowly, being very careful
with it. It was smooth, there wasn't even a molding edge to be seen or
felt, but his idea was to humiliate me, to cause me discomfort
emotionally and physically, not injury. The water could do that by
itself. The narrow part of that funnel was perhaps four inches long,
as big around as my pinky at the end and widening to 3 times that
before the cone shaped bowl started properly. I tried to relax, but it
was difficult and a couple time I gasped with pain and Paul would rest
a moment before continuing. It wasn't long however before the neck of
the funnel was completely inserted in my rectum. I supposed it looked
rather ridiculous, humorous even, but I was much too busy feel sorry
for myself to think about it too much.

"Bring the water, Mario." My husband said and the houseboy hefted the
five gallons easily. "Okay, pour it in slowly. Very slow, okay?"

"Slow, okay." Mario said and he started pouring the water into the
funnel so that it drained into my rectum and further into my colon and
further still, into my large intestine. Mario did pour slowly and my
husband kept his hands on my back, keeping me still and giving the
younger man instructions on when to pour more or pause as my cavity
filled.

It wasn't unpleasant at first, but quickly it became like a cramp,
small at first, and then worsening. The water stretched the thin walls
of my tissue, pushing unevenly against my muscles. I had no idea how
much was inside me when I felt the first real pains. My intestine was
being stretched now as well, pushing out against the pelvic artery so
that every time my heart beat I could feel it as a small distinct
throbbing sensation. I started resisting it and I made noises to
indicate my discomfort. I was afraid of it, wondering if it could
burst my colon or intestines. Too much water was dangerous, I knew,
but how much was too much? The only gauge was Paul's eyes as he
watched the water pour into me. I wasn't sure I liked this game.

I wanted to protest and I lifted my head of the floor, grunting as I
felt my tummy beginning to swell and grow heavy. How much of that
sensation was purely psychological I cannot know, I feared it though,
more than anything else. There wasn't an emergency room for 20
kilometers, and even then what kind of doctor would they have? I
groaned and wished fervently I wasn't gagged. I made noises, trying to
speak, but they were useless and Paul ignored them in any case. We had
no safe word.

"Half?" Paul looked at Mario, who stopped pouring and set the jug
down. he shook his head and indicated to Paul with his hand how much
had been drained from the container. "That's not very much!" Paul
chuckled. "That's only about a gallon, Rache, you can do better than
that!"

He had Mario pour some more and I squirmed as my bowels swam in the
cool liquid, feeling my muscles burn around it. I was shivering and if
my muscles had ever been relaxed, now they were anything but. I was
squeezing instinctively, putting even more pressure on my straining
body. A series of hard cramps came and my stomach seemed to be making
low gurgling sounds. I felt my eyes growing wet and my whole body
ached, the efforts of my body to resist this torture drew became
incredibly painful. It felt like someone was stabbing me in the guts,
twisting a fluid knife so that the sensation was acute and ever
changing. A terrible viper tearing through my stomach, coiling and
striking over and over.

I shuddered and wept, breaking finally in front of my husband and our
servant. I didn't notice that Mario had stopped pouring water, nor
that my husband had removed his hands, sitting back to watch me as I
tried to cope with the new experience. I could only feel that
desperate swelling inside me, distending my lower belly noticeably. I
could see it as I knelt there, looking down my body with increasing
consternation. I was afraid to move, terrified of putting any undue
pressure on my body.

Another series of cramps passed through me and I felt my stomach
muscles tighten as though I were retching violently. I felt dizzy and
nauseous. Paul removed the funnel from my ass slowly and I had already
felt some of it being expelled when Mario stopped pouring, but it
seemed my rectum had only been waiting for the opportunity to close as
my muscles had tightened painfully. It seemed to snap shut, almost
trapping the liquid inside, and for a moment I feared that was the
case, but of course it was still leaking.

"Do you think you can make it to the bathroom, Rache?" Paul asked me.
"Or will I have to call Roselyn in here to clean up your mess?"

Our bathroom was on the other side of the kitchen, up some steps and I
groaned at the thought of it. The side door was closer, down some
steps and I could release myself on the grass outside like an animal.
I didn't know if I could make that, but I would try, heedless of the
fact that anyone passing by our house would see me. I looked up at
Paul, waiting for him to remove my handcuffs at least, but he made no
move and I stayed there, unwilling to crawl or risk falling if I tried
to stand up by myself. My entire pelvis, from my thighs to my belly
button, felt like it was on fire. Cramps seized me every few seconds
it seemed and I begged my husband wordlessly to help me.

"It doesn't seem like she wants to go, Mario." Paul said. "I guess she
likes it." He told Mario he could leave, giving him the funnel and
telling him to go to the store and buy some Tanduay.

I was filled with a dreadful certainty that Mario would tell the men
drinking there what was going on at our house. There were always men
there and they'd buy the young man a lot of drinks for a story like
this I was sure, but who would believe him? They all would, of course.
I shut my eyes to the warm tears that flooded them as another cramp
stole into my guts, forcing my muscles to contract painfully.

"Mario? Send Roselyn in here on your way out, please." Paul looked
down at me. "I was going to fuck you, Rache, but you look like a
little frog down there. Is your belly gonna pop?" He chuckled. "But I
need to fuck someone, Rache. You don't mind do you? After all, you've
been fucking Mario, haven't you?" He tapped my stomach with his toe
and I shook my head, crying out against my gag that I hadn't.

Roselyn appeared then, looking very shocked and embarrassed. I was
down on my knees, gagged and cuffed with my face on the floor. Water
leaking from my ass and swelling my belly beneath me. Paul motioned
her to come closer. He put his arm around the young woman, caressing
her breast through the thin slip-like duster she wore and she jumped
slightly.

"It's okay, Roselyn. You don't have to worry about Rachael anymore."
He turned her towards him and kissed her softly on the lips. She
looked terrified, but not of Paul, she was looking at me. "Tell her
it's okay, Rache. Tell her you want her to make love to me." He
tickled my belly with his toes. "We've been fucking like rabbits for a
month now, haven't we Roselyn?" He kissed her again, this time harder,
more deeply and I watched with shock as she whispered 'yes' in her
native tongue, responding to his kiss with passion.

"So tell her, Rachael that it's okay." He smiled at me and my face
burned as I braced myself for another wave of pain.

I nodded and made some noises and that seemed to satisfy Roselyn that
I didn't care that she was fucking my husband. Her eyes seemed to
harden in a way I didn't think possible, her mouth took on a little
smile of superiority. She put her hand on Paul's bulging cock, rubbing
him in front of me and I looked away so that she laughed at me. A real
wife would kill the woman who tried to take her husband away, I was
giving him to her and that made me worthless. I'd never have her
respect again, nor that of any other woman around the mountain,
Roselyn would see to that I knew.

She wanted to complete her conquest and I watched Roselyn undressed,
exposing her beautiful body for my husband and then undressing him as
I knelt there, wracked with pain and humiliation. She made love to
him, both of them watching me as I tried not to look. Paul was on his
back and Roselyn straddled his hard beautiful cock, stroking it up and
down with her wanton cunt. She moaned and gasped and Paul reached down
to grab her ass with both hands as he fucked into the girl hard. I
wept and screamed into my gag, but the sound only seemed to spur them
on.

"Oh, Rache! This feels so good without a rubber!" Paul breathed
heavily, pulling Roselyn's hips down as she rode his thick cock. "I
didn't...uh! Want to get her...Oh! Pregnant..." He grinned at me.
"Until...Until you were...ah! Watching!" He pulled the girl down hard
and his body went tense as he climaxed into her fertile womb. "ohhh
fuck!" He sighed, pulling her on top of his chest and kissing her.
"That was soooo good, Roselyn. We're gonna do this a lot!"

Roselyn lifted off my husband then, and I watched his still hard cock
emerge from the pink slit between the woman's legs. She walked over to
me, looking down and smiling. She nudged my bloated stomach with her
foot and Paul laughed as I cringed, feeling it as a little stab of
pain.

"Give her a good kick, Roselyn." My husband said. "Show her who's boss
around here now."

Roselyn looked at him and said something I couldn't hear as I felt my
body burn with another sudden cramp. And then I felt Roselyn's foot
kicking me hard in my belly, once...twice...three times she kicked me,
each one harder than last and I screamed against my gag, feeling my
stomach bursting with a terrible agonizing pain. I fell over, curling
and my bowels gave way finally, expelling a gallon of dirty water with
a disgusting sloppy gurgle. But the remainder of all tht water poured
through my ruptured intestines, spilling into my body, spreading
through me and drowning me from the inside. It was the most horrible
experience I'd ever felt and I was paralyzed by it.

Roselyn gave me a look and walked back to my husband, taking his hard
strong cock in her hand and guiding him back into her slippery cunt.
They made love slowly as I died a slow agonizing death.

===

Paul nodded and took another piece of bread, dipping the hard crust
into his coffee. "Good story Rachael, three for the price of one. I
knew I kept you around for a reason."

I smiled back at him, sipping at my hot coffee and typing this with
one hand. "I thought it was for my cooking." He laughed and so did I
because I'm a lousy cook; popcorn and peanut butter sandwiches pretty
much test my skills.

"Well...there you go thinking again!" I kicked my foot in his
direction, wary of spilling our coffees. "Hey, you really think
Roselyn and me...?"

I stared at him. "You were gonna stop doing my friends, remember?" I
wasn't teasing him now. We only have a couple rules, but they are
infuckingviolable.

He just nodded and leaned forward, kissing my nose. "You're cute when
your angry."

And everything was alright again.

the end
rache696@yahoo.com

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ------ send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com>|
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderators: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|ASSM Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org>   Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org> |
|Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}|
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+