It wasn’t unknown to have one older woman but no one could remember a display with two. There was the kid’s mother and now this one. You could see that she was flushed with excitement as the skinny, homely, young man hooked her to the cart. She was well aware of the danger even from the very beginning. It wasn’t as though she thought it out or reasoned about it, that wasn’t her way. But the danger was always there and, in fact, was one of the forces that propelled her. She had always found dangerous situations, and the fear that those situations caused, exciting, sexually stimulating. She’d never really been raped. As a young girl she regularly found herself in predicaments that made her fearful of being raped. Every time she came close, without exception, in a fit of excitement, her juices flowed and she offered herself to be taken and ravished, each time managing to believe that had she not made herself readily available, she would have been attacked and beaten.
Marriage changed all that. She settled into a staid, regular life, sleeping with a husband who adored her and raising two sons both in college. It wasn’t too long ago that everything changed. The danger, though very different, became equally exciting. She had become involved with a man more than twenty years younger than she, a sturdy young man, full of life and raw energy. He was rough, uneducated, simple and direct. In the depths of her soul perhaps she saw in him a chance to regain her youth, her own vitality, to restore her own fading looks and sexuality. Recently separated, she knew that he might return to his wife and child at any moment. They were never far from his thoughts and he mentioned them to her quite often. Meanwhile, she used every sexual trick learned in a lifetime of pleasing men, to hold him close to her, to make herself an essential part of his life. And, though she knew eventually she was bound to be thrown over, either to go back to his family or in favor of someone younger, she fought off the fear by being the perfect mistress, attempting to respond to all his wants, needs and desires as diligently as she was able, hoping that so long as she was able satisfy him, she could hold on.
She first met Steven at the garage. He was one of the mechanics at the place she had her car serviced. They chatted in the friendly but distant way that customers chat with
workmen. Though she was aware of his compact, muscular body, his pleasant face, and air of sexuality, she hadn’t thought much more about him. That is, until she met him completely by accident at a Wendy’s. She was returning home from her hairdressers where, in addition to having her copper colored hair styled, she had also had some tinting to deal with the grey hairs she saw in the mirror. Usually she went straight home after her hair appointment but that day, for some reason, decided that she wanted to stop. He was staring at his coffee and burger with about as forlorn a look as she had ever seen. His eyes were red as though he had been crying. He smiled when he saw her and invited her to sit at his table. It turned out that his wife had just left him, taking their daughter and going off to her mother’s. How perfectly cliché, she said to herself. She stayed and talked to him most of the afternoon, going for a walk toward evening. Eventually they ended up at his almost empty apartment. He became angry at his wife, at the world, at women. She found his anger erotically stimulating.
Their lovemaking that first night had been languorous, sweet, long lasting and exhausting. As they lay snuggled together she told him that his wife must have been an awfully silly girl to leave him.
Splitting from her husband had been a wrench, far more difficult than she could have imagined. But she had done it, taking very little with her. Three nights after their first encounter, she showed up at Steven’s apartment rolling a small suitcase with the few things she needed or wanted. At the last moment she worried that someone else would be there when she showed up. Perhaps his wife, perhaps some other woman. She stood at the door to his apartment, listening. There was only the drone of his TV, no voices. She rang the bell. Surprised, he stood motionless in the doorway looking at her, at her suitcase, at the wall behind her. At last he smiled broadly opened the door and invited her inside. Moments later, with hardly a word passing between them, they were in bed together.
She managed to support herself, barely, finding a job as a hostess in an out of the way, mid-range restaurant. The slick, expensive restaurants had not been interested in an older woman, they wanted young girls. The upscale places used men in tuxedos or flashy blonde women. It was the sort of restaurant that no one she knew would ever go to.
“Where ‘ya been, babe?” Steve asked as she opened the door toward the end of her second week at work.
“I had to stay late. The other hostess, who was supposed to take over, never showed up and I had to do all the work.”
“Are you tired?” he raised his eyebrows.
“Never too tired for you, my sweet,” she smiled her best smile.
“That’s my good girl,” he leaned back in his chair.
Shrugging her coat from her shoulders, she swiveled her hips suggestively. Steve spread his legs. She’d always been good with her mouth. Even as a girl she’d instinctively known how to use her lips and her tongue to entice and excite. She licked her lips and leaned down to press her face between his legs. He rested a hand on the back of her head as she lowered herself to her knees. Continuing to nuzzle his crotch, she unfastened his belt and unbuttoned his pants. Using her shoulders for leverage, he lifted himself a few inches while she struggled to loosen his pants and underpants. Soon she had them down to his knees and Steve settled back in his chair with a satisfied sigh. She unlaced his shoes, removed the shoes and socks and then pushed them aside. Slowly, she worked her way back up caressing his ankle, calf and thigh with her tongue before darting her tongue under him to lick his soft sacs. As soon as she touched her lips to his swollen, extended member, Steve put a hand into her brown hair, lifted her head until she touched the tip. He was close to finishing. When he pushed her down, she was impaled on to his warm, pulsating member. Her lips closed tight about his shaft, she stroked her head up and down two or three times until he could no longer control himself and he let go, filling her mouth with a warm, white, salty, sweet gel.
A deep, satisfied sigh was her reward as she continued to caress his softening shaft, coaxing his half erect member into its last stages of continued alertness. Eventually, she swallowed his entire effluence and he shrunk away almost to nothing.
“Got a beer?” he asked, knowing full well that the fridge was stocked with his favorite beer. She rose. “Look at this,” he said. “Here I am half undressed and there you are with all your clothes on. It don’t seem right.” She stood a few feet in front of where he sat and began a slow strip tease. Half turning away, she unbuttoned her blouse, letting it hang open a few seconds before removing it. Unfastening the zipper at the side of her black slacks, she slid it down slowly, undulating as she worked it to the floor. She took off her shoes, twirled around, feeling young and sexy then reached back to unsnap her bra. Before pulling down her panties, she waggled her breasts in his direction.
“Can’t think of nothin’ nicer than being served a beer by a naked lady,” his way of reminding her to get him his beer. She handed him the beer and sat on the floor to snuggle against his leg. Steve patted her head. “Just like a little puppy dog. Just as sweet and affectionate as a puppy. You know I never had a puppy. Never. Always wanted one. Wrote to Santa every Christmas asking for a puppy but never got one. Not ‘till now, that is. You my sweet little puppy dog that Santa brought. Shit, this is better than anything I could of had as a kid.” He leaned back in his chair, sipping his beer.
She sat on the floor at his feet, her eyes closed, feeling young and strong and still able to please a man. “You tired, babe?” he asked.
“No,” she said, instantly alert.
“I see you with your eyes closed, dozing off down there and I think you might have been too long at work.”
“Not at all. You excite me and keep me alert.”
“That’s good ‘cause I think I could go for a double header.”
In response she pressed her bare breast against his leg and began rubbing her naked body against him. She didn’t know whether wiggling his toes was a signal but she stretched herself prone to put her tongue between the toes and proceeded to lick the soles of his feet. When she rose to her knees, Steve spread his legs and raised them, resting the back of his knees on her shoulders, his calves draped down her back. As she took him into her mouth, he pressed his thighs together, feeling her face and cheeks against his skin. He lifted her head so that only the head of his penis was available to her. She twirled her tongue round and round. He grunted his approval. When he let go, she lowered her mouth taking as much of him as would fit in to her warm, moist mouth. Now it was not merely two or three strokes to bring him out, she had to work a long time, pulling with her lips, pressing with her tongue, moving her head up and down, up and down. At last he began to gasp for breath, his fingernails clawed against her shoulders. Low, rumbling animal sounds built up in his chest and burst from his lips as he burst forth into her mouth. His ejaculate wasn’t as substantial as the first go round, but there was still enough that she had to work to swallow it all. He had made it clear these last few times that she wasn’t to pull away at the end or let the sperm flow from her mouth. She was to take it all in. They remained coupled in that odd position, her head between his legs, his thighs pressed tight against her cheeks for five or ten minutes after he was done. It had been so satisfying an experience that Steve hated to end it. Eventually, however, he had to pee. He thought for a moment, about peeing right in her mouth to see what she would do. But in the end he rose and went to use her toilet. I’ll bet she’d let me do it, he thought as he watched his stream flowing into the bowl. Sometime, when the moment was right, he’d do it. The thought pleased him.
When he returned she had put on a bathrobe. He shook his head. “That ain’t sexy,” his voice made his annoyance clear, “not at all.”
“But Steven, I’m cold.” He pulled off the robe, spanked her behind and told her to put on something better. She rubbed the sting at her backside and pouted. “And hop to it.” Looking at her when she returned in a sheer, pink peignoir and high-heeled slippers, Steven nodded his approval. “Y’know, I wish my wife minded me like you. Does what she’s told,” he patted her, “and as affectionate as a puppy dog.” Steven nodded as though to endorse what he just said. “There’s a little box over there. I got you a present.”
Her heart fluttered. It was working. He was beginning to appreciate her. He had never brought her anything before. This was a first. Her determined efforts to please him must be paying off. Plush Pup it said on the thin box. Opening the box she stared at it in disbelief. “Put it on,” he ordered. “Put it on.” She took the bright red, leather dog collar from the box and held it with two fingers as though it were dangerous. “I told you I always wanted a puppy dog and now that Santa has brought me one, I got to dress her right.” When she didn’t move, Steve took the collar from her hand, placed it around her neck and fastened it.
As her surprise diminished she knew instinctively that this was moving into new, uncharted and frightening territories. She knew too that it was her own behavior that encouraged Steven to feel superior and masterful enough to fit her with a dog collar. At first he seemed so loving and warm, thoroughly enjoying her attentions and her willingness to please him. As they went on, her repeated praise of his prowess, of his manner and of his commanding presence, together with her squirming whines of pleasure, generated and subsequently reinforced in him a sense of dominance and supremacy. The first few weeks after she moved into his almost empty apartment he was almost pathetically grateful for the fact that she stayed with him, that she slept with him and allowed him to make love to her. That wasn’t at all what she wanted. Late one afternoon when Steven was just home from his day at the garage, she popped out of the bathroom wearing just a pair of panties and high-heeled shoes. Pretending surprise, she covered her breast, twisted around and wriggled suggestively. A moment later she was rubbing her bare skin against his rough clothing grinding her hips against his. “God, Steven,” she cried out, “You excite me!” Pulling open his shirt she pressed her lips against his chest, taking a nipple between her teeth. Continuing to squirm against him she slowly lowered herself to her knees, unfastening his belt and undoing the buttons of his pants as she moved. Soon she had him undressed and was kneeling before him. She rubbed her cheek against his swollen shaft and took him inside her mouth. Holding him tight with her lips, she bobbed back and forth several times and let him explode in her mouth.
Steven was as delighted as he was amazed. His wife rarely let him use her mouth and only with the greatest reluctance. Now here was this woman initiating it and praising him for being so wonderful. After the first few times he began to feel as though it was no more than his right and due. She loved pleasing him and he liked being pleased by her. Bit by bit the confidence he had lost when his wife left him was being restored by this much older woman. He found that she expected him to be firm and demanding with her, that she responded physically to his growing confidence.
In fact he was more than a bit annoyed when she found the hostess job. It meant that she was no longer waiting for him when he returned from work. He had very much come to look forward to being greeted with an afternoon blowjob. It had become almost a ritual. He would walk through the door after a long day of work. She was there in just her panties and high-heeled shoes. In just a few moments, she undressed him, fell to her knees and sucked him dry. Now he had to wait for her to get home from the restaurant before satisfying him. He wasn’t a reflective young man but he did sense that the collar was in some way a punishment for his disappointment in having to wait until she finished work.
The next morning while she was serving him his coffee he grabbed her wrist. It had been a few years since she made breakfast. That chore had ceased when her youngest son went off to college. Now here she was again making coffee, cooking and serving breakfast. “You ain’t wearin’ your collar,” he said angrily. “You think I bought you a present to go in the drawer. I got it for you to wear.” His open palm crashed loudly against her backside.
Most of the night she had lain awake, trying to decide how to handle the situation. He had made love to her two more times that night. Thinking about it she was truly amazed at his stamina. He had already come twice in her mouth and when she snuggled into the bed next to him, he was immediately excited. Turning on to her back as he crawled between her legs, she moaned a pleasure that she wasn’t sure she felt. But he was so tender and sweet and gentle with her, that she thought her pleasure was genuine. In the middle of the night he returned from the toilet, lay back and, when she sat above him, thrust himself inside her. It was a dreamy, half-sleeping coupling. Later, neither of them could be sure that it really happened. After that she lay awake, wondering, thinking.
Removing the collar had been a deliberate act of disobedience. She had to show him that he had gone too far. What they already had was enough. She didn’t want to be his obedient puppy. She wanted him to accept her as a loving woman who liked him and wanted to please him. Convincing him to think of himself as dominating and masterful was one thing, but this was too much. “Get your damn collar,” his voice was sharp. “And right now!” He slapped her other cheek. She whined in pain. Fear and her natural inclinations were her undoing. Afraid and excited, she felt a tingling sensation between her legs. “Please Steven,” she said softly.
“Now,” he said menacingly. In response she ran to the bedroom, returning a moment later, strapping the red collar around her neck. Reaching out, he put his index finger through the collar’s ring and pulled her toward him. “I think my little puppy’s got to be trained, got to be taught manners. Can’t have a puppy that decides what it wants to do and doesn’t listen to its master. Puppy’s got to do what it’s told”
“I can’t breathe,” she gasped.
“Do we understand each other?” Half bent over, unable to back away, frightened and excited, there was nothing she could do.
“Yes,” she managed. “I understand.”
“That’s better.” He pulled her down until she fell across his lap. Holding her in place with one hand, he slid her panties to her thighs and spanked her very hard. Again and again his hard, calloused palm smacked against her bare behind. “Bad girl,” he said with each stroke as she whined in pain. “Bad girl.” And he let her go.
Immediately she fell to her knees, burying her head between his legs. “I’m sorry,” she said, bringing him out. “I’m sorry.” From that time on, she donned the collar as soon as she walked in the door of the apartment and only took it off when she left. Steven realized that he enjoyed spanking her and resolved to look for reasons to do so. He gave some thought to buying a riding crop but decided that he really liked the burning sensation in his palm at the end of each slap.
It was about a week later that he brought her a second present, also from the Plush Pup. She arrived at the apartment after a particularly trying day at the restaurant. She was tired and out of sorts, hoping that Steve would be out with some of his friends and she could be left in peace. No such luck. The TV was blaring as she opened the door. Without looking away from the screen, he said “Clothes off. Collar on. Quick. Quick.” On her arrival back in the living room now naked except for the collar that chafed below her chin, Steven told her to open the box on the table. It was a little squeaky toy in the shape of a mouse. “Give it here,” he ordered when she took it from the box. Throwing the toy across the room, he yelled, “Fetch!”
“Steven,” she began.
“Fetch!” he repeated in a much sterner tone.
“Not like that,” he said as she turned. “Crawl after it and bring it back in your mouth.”
She shook her head. Jumping up, he grabbed her collar and pulled her after him. He bent her across a chair and attacked her rear end. Again and again and again his hand tore against her raw and reddening cheeks. Her tears began flowing as she tried to deal with the increasing pain. When at last he let her go, she simply sagged to the floor. “Fetch!” he said loudly, “fetch.” She raised herself to all fours, made her way across the room, took the mouse in her mouth and returned to where he was standing. “Good puppy,” he said as he took the mouse from her mouth and tossed it away again. “This time make it squeak while you bring it back.” Over and over he threw it, making her crawl after the grey mouse. She took it between her teeth, bit down to make it squeak as she crawled back to him, waiting on the floor beside him until he decided to take it from her mouth to toss it away again. At last he tired of the game. Spreading his legs, Steven slapped his thigh. “Come!” he ordered and when she was at his feet he told her to beg. She sat up on her haunches. “Paws up,” he ordered. Paws up.” When she raised her limp wrists to her shoulders, he stroked her hair approvingly. “Ready for your reward?” He lifted her chin. She reached forward. “Puppies don’t use their paws. You know that.” He slapped her hand. “I’ll help,” he said, opening his belt and unfastening the top button on his pants. Pressing her mouth tight against him she managed to get the tongue of his zipper between her teeth. Slowly, gradually, millimeter-by-millimeter she worked the zipper down to the bottom. When he stood up, his pants fell half way down. Working her way around him she managed to get his pants all the way down to his ankles. Stretching herself on the floor she tugged at the cuffs of the pant legs until he stepped out of them. Raising herself again, she began working on his plaid boxer shorts. Using her nose, mouth and teeth first at the elastic top and at the lower hem she eventually dragged his shorts below his knees. “You better hurry,” he put his hand in her hair. “I ain’t gonna last very long.”
Not long after she finished swallowing his second emission, Steve leaned down and kissed the top of her head. “Let’s try for three in a row,” he whispered. “A triple header.” It was a lengthy and arduous undertaking, using her lips and tongue to bring him back to fullness and an even more strenuous task to get him to come in her mouth. But at long last she managed it. Exhausted, she lay naked on the floor at his feet while he watched TV. “If you want,” he said, wiggling his toes, “you can lick my feet. He laced
his fingers behind his lolling head, beginning to doze, while she lapped his left foot and the TV announcer went on about some miracle new kitchen gadget. A great, satisfied yawn escaped his open mouth. Steven raised his right foot so it was resting on her hip. “That’s my good puppy,” he murmured.
As he became more and more demanding, she began to think seriously about walking out on him. His increasing demands led her to wonder what sort of a monster she had created when she made him feel so superior. No, it was beginning to be too much. When he starting leaving bondage magazines around the apartment for her to look at, she was sure that their relationship was nearing its end. Pictures of women being chained and caged and whipped were more frightening than exciting.
And then it all changed. In a moment everything changed. Steven gave her away. Gave her to one of his co-workers at the garage.
“Come, Grandma” her new owner said, pushing himself up from his chair, stepping over her. “Heel,” he said, slapping his thigh.
Immediately she rolled from her side and struggled up to all fours. The chains on her arms and legs tinkled as she tried to straighten them. If they were tangled they hindered her ability to move, often causing her to fall. It took several seconds but at last she managed them. Taking the handle of the metal leash in her mouth, she started forward. Crawling as quickly as she could she finally caught up, half way across the room. As she settled in next to his right leg, he reached down, scratched the back of her neck to indicate his approval and took the leash from her mouth, letting it hang loosely. That was another good sign. Calling her Grandma was also positive. Cunt, Bitch, Asshole, and Fucking Bitch were signs of a blacker mood. And, when he was in a bad mood, there was never any slack in the leash. When there was no slack, the silver choker collar was constantly painful, pinching her neck, its prongs stabbing into her throat. Of course, when there was slack, there was always the chance that he would jerk on the leash,
pulling the choker tight and pressing the thin needles deep into her throat. It all depended on his mood.
Everything in her life depended on him and his moods. As a result she had learned to be perfectly sensitive to every nuance of his temperament. Was he tired? Upset? Unhappy? Satisfied? Uncertain? She had to be aware of his every want, feeling and desire. Her well being depended entirely on the way he treated her, and the way he treated her depended on the way he felt. Even the slightest mistake might lead to spanking, caning or whipping. Causing him any annoyance might mean being locked down on the floor of the toilet for days on end or left in her cage indefinitely. And always at the back of her mind was his once mentioned branding. She found the thought terrifying.
At the door to the toilet he dropped her leash, lowered his pants and sat down. She felt grateful that, at least, he wasn’t going to piss on her. She moved closer and kissed his hairy calves. On weekends, when he didn’t have to rush off to work, this was one of his favorites, a blowjob while he was shitting. A fart resounded in the ceramic bowl. She raised herself to her knees, licked his rapidly enlarging prick and took the head of his engorged penis into her mouth. Dropping the leash on to her back, he squeezed out a large turd that slid, just below her chin, into the pool at the bottom at the toilet. He was becoming more and more excited. “Oh, oh, oh,” he chanted, when he couldn’t hold it any longer. “Oh, Jesus,” he cried and let go. He thought about making her wipe his ass with her tongue but now, feeling warm and pleasant and mellow, he wiped himself. “You go too,” he said when he softened.
She crawled to the other side of the bathroom and squatted over the box of kitty litter that she was forced to use as a toilet. “Atta girl,” he said when she managed two tiny pellets and a dribble of urine. At least he hadn’t urinated on her.
That thought led, as it so often did, to that evening when she had been urinated on, to a decision that she thought about so often, one that she rued every single day. She and Steven were finished. He and his wife were getting back together. Far from being dismayed, the news came as a relief. His demands were getting to be too much, no longer fun. She didn’t want to be treated like a puppy dog any longer. And when he began bringing home Bondage magazines and leaving them around for her to look at, she knew it was time to split. Women in chains, women being whipped, driven, humiliated and abused weren’t her idea of sexy reading. She arranged to stay with one of the waitresses at the restaurant where she was working until she found a place of her own. She was not going back to her husband, of that she was absolutely certain.
Steven’s wife was moving back into the apartment on Saturday. Friday was to her last day. Instead of going to work, she packed her little rolling suitcase and prepared to leave. She made the fateful decision. She would wait for Steven to return from work in order to say goodbye. Originally she thought she would just leave him a note. But it wouldn’t be that long until he was home, she decided, and it was the right thing to do. So she sat at the kitchen table and waited until he returned. When the door opened, she stood and extended her hand. “Goodbye, Steven,” she said softly. “Good luck.”
His face was bright red; he seemed to be quite agitated. “Clothes off, collar on!” he ordered. “Clothes off, collar on.”
“Steven,” she said reasonably, “it’s over. Let’s just go on our way.”
“Clothes off, collar on,” he repeated, grabbing her arm.
There came that feeling, that mixture of fear and sexual excitement. It was better to give in than to fight. She undressed in front of him, donned the dog collar, and rubbed her naked body against him. Steven put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her heavily to the floor. After opening his fly and lowering his pants, she lifted him in her palm and guided him inside her mouth. It took him much longer than usual but at last he let himself go.
He looked down at her with great, sad eyes. This was going to be a terrible loss. He hated giving her up. Now he was committed, committed on all fronts, and there was nothing else he could do. She held him between her lips, as she had so often done before, until he was shrunken and soft. This was the moment, he thought, he would let go, pissing right in her mouth. But he couldn’t do it. Not that he didn’t want to do it. He did, desperately want to make this one final statement. Nothing happened. First he pushed, and he tried relaxing. Nothing happened. It wasn’t until he slipped out of her mouth that he released his stream. It was full and open and powerful. He soaked her eyes, nose and neck, directing the flow into her bright red hair.
“Steven,” she cried. “Don’t.” He aimed for her open mouth and was rewarded with a wordless gurgle. Almost done, he stepped closer, dribbling himself in the hair on the top of her head. When she rose, he stepped away not wanting to touch the urine-covered woman. “Go, clean yourself up.” He turned away, his anger at her for what he was going to do to her only slightly diminished. It served Lester right, he thought, to give him a woman that he had just soiled.
She showered for a very long time, the warm water mixing with her freely flowing tears. Once out of the shower, she found a towel to wrap over her hair and began drying herself. When the bathroom door burst open, Steve entered followed by a man she recognized but couldn’t, for the moment, place. “Grab her,” the other man shouted and Steven moved behind her to wrap his powerful arms around her body, pinning her arms to her sides. She tried to squirm free but Steven only gripped harder. “Hurry up, Lester,” Steven shouted. Lester, that was it. One of the men who worked with Steve at the garage. Lester. Lester was fitting manacles, first on one wrist and then the other. A short chain, no more than six inches, ran from one manacle to the other. “Okay, got it,” Lester said, when both shackles were clamped shut.
“Steven,” she screamed. “What are you doing? Let me go. Right this instant. Let me go.”
He didn’t respond.
“Please, Steven. You can’t do this. Please let me go.”
Lester turned around, picked up a leather girdle, and fit it around her waist. Grunting with the effort he pulled the laces tighter and tighter until no further progress could be made. It was a shiny, black, leather girdle with red hearts stitched into it, scalloped below each breast and cut off just above her hips and belly. Lester fastened the chain between the manacles to a ring in the center of the girdle.
“’Member Superwoman?” he asked. “This is like the thing she wore.”
“Stop this immediately,” she shouted at them. “This is intolerable.”
Lester took a black object from his pocket, a large, smooth, round, black ball, like the ones that racquetball players use. He stuffed it into her mouth. Attached to the sides of the black ball were two small screw eyes. The device held her mouth open and her tongue depressed, all her cries now reduced to soft, wordless grunts. Lester stretched an elastic band attached to the ball behind her head to hold the gag in place.
“You’re right sweetie, that was becoming intolerable.”
“You want this?” Steven held out the leather collar.
“No, no. That’s all right. I’ve got something better.”
Lester took the towel from her hair. Slipped a metal collar over her head and onto her neck. “I’ll show you,” he said to Steven. “It closes when you pull it, like that. And those spikes shoot out and jab her.” Though she screamed with all her might, the only sound was a sorrowful, high-pitched whine, which couldn’t be heard at any distance.
“Shut up, Bitch,” Lester ordered. “Stand still and just shut the fuck up.” Moving close behind her, Lester attached a pair of shackles to her ankles. These were also connected by a link chain, which he fastened to a ring at the back of the girdle. “Okay,” he said. “Okay, you can let go now.” Steven loosened his grip. “See, she can only move her hands a few inches. And she can’t run away.” He slapped her bare behind making her stumble forward with little, mincing steps.
Attaching a metal leash to the choker collar, Lester jerked it sharply, said “Come!” and started forward. She tripped on the chains that bound her ankles and she fell forward. Unable to use her arms she fell hard to the floor. “Come on, bitch.” He yanked the leash, driving the prongs into her neck and throat. There was nothing to do but obey and she crawled along after him.
All this was as much for Steve’s benefit as it was for hers. The whole operation could have been accomplished much more simply but Lester wanted Steve to see this demonstration, to feel the pain and jealousy that Lester had felt for so many months. Ever since Steve confided to him that this woman with the dark red hair had given herself to him, had moved into his apartment and set about pleasing him in any way she could, Lester had been beside himself with envy and resentment. Oh, Lester knew immediately who Steve was talking about, remembered the woman exactly and his own longings for her. The guy’s got a gorgeous young wife, Lester thought, she walks out and this older woman walks right in. It wasn’t fair. Lester fantasized about lots of the women customers and he remember this one especially, long legs, great face. Nothing old or decrepit about her tits or her ass either. Oh, yes, he remembered her and he set about scheming to get her from Steve.
He started by bring up her age. “How does it feel to be a real motherfucker? Y’know she really is old enough to be your mother.” Lester urged Steve to find out her age. “Forty- four,” he crowed. “She’s forty-four and you’re twenty five. Nineteen year’s difference. That’s a lot. Does she have grandchildren? Jesus, you’re getting it off with a grandmother.” He began referring to her as Grandma. “What’s up with Grandma?” It
upset Steve, Lester could tell that and he kept it up, talking about her getting to be close to fifty, much too old for him. Lester suggested the dog collar and, when he found out she let Steve make her wear it, talked about making her fetch a toy. Convincing Steve that a woman like that had to be mastered and dominated, Lester gave him the bondage magazines to leave around the apartment. “See how she reacts,” Lester counseled. “Just watch.”
At last he simply called Lynette, Steve’s wife and tried to effect a reconciliation. He talked to Lynette about Steve and to Steve about Lynette. At last it all began to pay off. “I hate to give her up,” Steve moaned. “Even to get back to my wife. I thought about setting her up in an apartment but I can’t afford that. And, with Lynette, I’d never get away with it.”
Aware that he was very close to succeeding, Lester made his suggestion. “Give her to me,” Lester said, “and I’ll share her with you some times. That’s all there is to it.”
“What do you mean? Give her to you? That’s crazy.”
“You let me worry about it. Okay?”
The two men stood over her. “See,” Lester whispered to his friend, “it wasn’t all that hard, was it?”
“Son of a bitch.” Steven’s amazement was obvious in his tone.
“And I don’t think she’ll be too hard to train. Will you darlin’?”
Lester yanked her chain. “You respond when you’re asked a question or given an order. Do you understand?” She nodded.
“That’s better. Now you’re going to be right easy to train. Isn’t that right?”
Again she nodded.
“You speak when you are spoken to. And you will speak only when you are spoken to. Got it?”
Once more her head moved up and down. Exhausted by their exertions, the men shared a beer before packing her into a large, padded steamer trunk and wheeling her outside and into a small rental van.
While he was helping his wife move back into the apartment his daughter found the little gray mouse. She squeezed it between her thumb and forefinger. Steven jumped. He took it from the little girl. “That’s dirty,” he said sharply. I’ll get you a better toy.”
“But I want this one,” she cried.
Lying in bed with his wife the next night, Steven was absolutely convinced that he had made a dreadful mistake. “They are not toys,” Lynette said sharply when he began fondling her breasts. “God did not put them there for you to play with.” She would not allow him to knead her fleshy behind nor would she please him with her mouth. How different the two women were. He liked being encouraged to play with the woman’s breasts, to suck on the nipples and kiss her cleavage. He liked squeezing her round cheeks and using any part of her he chose, whenever he chose.
Lester, on the other hand, was amply satisfied with his acquisition. There were no neighbors close to his refurbished barn. No one to spy on him, no one to find out about his new pet. The people who used to farm the land had long ago given up and he had bought the place quite cheaply, doing all the fix up work himself. It was the perfect place to keep her, lots of room for his devices. Every morning he availed himself of her body. While he showered, she fixed his breakfast. After she put his food on the table, she
lowered herself underneath the table, sucking gently while he ate. Afterward, there was always the same conversation.
“I certainly enjoyed my breakfast,” he would say. “And how was yours'?”
“You are delicious.”
“I’m glad you liked it,” he would say, scraping his leftovers from his plate to the floor next to her. Her reward, he told her, for a breakfast blowjob. “Thank you,” she mumbled as she leaned down to eat.
He was delighted each evening on his return from working at the garage to find her exactly as he had left her, whether it was locked inside the cage, lying chained to the bed, or spread-eagled on the wooden frame he made or up on the wall, like a butterfly. While tinkering with engines or brakes all day, he knew just what he would find on his arrival at home. Relieved and grateful for her release, she strove to satisfy the powerful desires that he generated at every return. Very often it was a round robin, once each in her mouth, her behind and between her legs.
“Are you pleased at my return?” he would ask on entering.
“Yes, Lester,” she would say nervously. “Very pleased. Now may I please you.” Or if she had been left gagged, she would nod vigorously, wriggling whatever parts of her body she could manage to move.
An insufficient display led to immediate punishment. “Goddamn it bitch, I don’t think you’re pleased at all.” Out would come the whip or the riding crop and she would be beaten until she wailed in pain. “Please master,” she whimpered, “I want nothing more than to please you, to suck you and fuck you and make you happy.” Eventually he would be mollified and he would allow her to have him as many times as he could manage. Like anyone else put in a similar position, she developed strategies to please him, so that she might be spared any additional pain. The double header, as Steven named it, was often effective, sucking him dry twice without ever letting him slip out from between her lips. The blowjob on the toilet was good too. And there was kissing his ass, literally kissing his ass. Caressing his cheeks with her mouth, forcing her tongue into the crack between the cheeks, worked to calm his soul. She was as sensitive to his every thought or feeling as a teenage girl is to her first boyfriend. From his first step in the door after work or returning from some weekend errand, she weighed and judged her responses, desperate to please and delight him.
She guessed that Lester had held her captive about two months when the man came to install nipple rings. Although she couldn’t be sure of the length of her captivity, she was sure that it was on a Friday. As he invariably bound her or locked her in a cage while he was at work, she could count the days from Monday to Friday. It was a Friday night. Calling the guy who put the rings in her nipples a man was a bit strong. He was a boy, no more than eighteen or nineteen with blond spiked hair and rings in his cheeks, lips, nose, ears and even one in his tongue. He cleaned her bare breasts with a pungent smelling liquid and began filling a small syringe. “Just a mild anesthetic,” he said.
“You won’t need it,” Lester announced, “she don’t mind a little pain.”
“Can’t take a chance,” the boy said. “She might squirm around if I don’t do this and it wouldn’t take.” Disappointed, Lester agreed.
She closed her eyes tight while the boy worked first on one of her nipples and then on the other. “Good,” he announced when each of the rings had been inserted through its hole and snapped shut. “Very good.”
The nipple rings made things so much simpler for Lester. Now she could be immobilized with almost no effort on his part. He just had to fit a short chain between the rings and lock the chain to almost anything handy. The easiest was just to attach it to the shackles on her legs. She could barely move, much less stand or walk. Or the nipple rings could
be attached to the leg of a table or a chair, to the bed or even to the toilet seat. A great addition, Lester thought. Better than the nose ring he had been considering as that would surely have spoiled her pretty face and Lester didn’t want that lovely face disfigured. He thought too that a ring in her tongue might prove a distraction when she sucked him off and he wanted no such distractions. He bought a light, gold colored leash to attach to the chain between her nipples that he could use instead of the choker collar. A light pressure served to bring her along quite well. For her the benefit of the nipple rings, once the pain subsided, was that he used he choker collar much less often, preferring the light leash from her breasts to control her.
It was August 12, her birthday. Her forty-fifth birthday. How should he present her, Lester wondered, both to shock Steve and at the same time to exhibit her to best advantage. It was worth thinking about. After considering all sorts of fantastic ideas, Lester decided that simplicity was best. No fantastic costumes or great amounts of chains or ropes. He’d show off her with as little on as possible. That was it.
It was going to be a very delicate situation. On the one hand she knew that Lester wanted her to be at her best when he showed her off for Steven. But she also knew that Lester was resentful, jealous of Steven and her previous affair with him. There was no doubt that she would have to be on her toes and alert every second if she wasn’t to enrage Lester either by being too accommodating to Steven or by not being sufficiently agreeable. On her toes. She shook her head ruefully. Of course, she would be on her toes; Lester’s newest device would certainly keep her on her toes. It had been so simple. All he had to do was glue three tacks, points facing upward, into the heels of her shoes.
Whenever she forgot, or simply could no longer remain on her toes, and let her heels down, the tacks jabbed upward into her soft flesh. The effect was sharp and immediate, and in a moment she was back up, leaning forward, trying to ease the jabbing pain. She had to walk very gingerly in those shoes, almost on point, as though she were a ballerina. Aching calves and feet meant that she sometimes had to let herself relax downward and met by an immediate painful impetus driving her back upward. “Keep you on your toes,” he would say.
She’d known for several weeks that Lester was going to have Steven out for a visit. Deep in the recesses of her heart she hoped that when he saw what Lester had done to her, Steven would be moved enough to rescue her, to take her away. It wasn’t a thought that she allowed to surface in the forefront of her mind, that would be to court disappointment, but there was that constant ray of optimism that she allowed to remain hidden in her soul.
In all the months that Lester held her captive, she seen no one else, spoken to no one else. At least this would be a break in the routine. Before leaving that day, Lester made her take extra care with her hair and make-up. He’d given her earrings and a pearl necklace to put on, beside that she wore nothing except the shiny black shoes designed for her discomfort. All day she waited with her arms were extended above her head, both hands grasping the metal bar that swung over her head. Holding the bar relieved the pressure on her legs and she would have kept hold even if her wrists weren’t fastened. Even so it was a constant struggle to maintain her balance, fighting to keep her heels from dropping onto the always-waiting tacks. Ting, ting, ting, ting, and every movement was accompanied by the sound of the little bells that dangled from her nipple rings. It seemed to her as though she had been standing there forever when she heard the cars arriving and the men’s voices as Lester speaking to Steven. The muscles in her arms and her legs were burning from the effort.
She wasn’t far from the door and Steven stared in amazement when he saw her. Lester had built a large wooden frame in which she was displayed. She stood there on tip toes, arms extended, her face flushed with the effort, a dazzling sight, a very different woman from the one Steven remembered, only distantly related to the woman he so often fantasized about.
“What have you done with her? I hardly recognized her.”
“Doesn’t she look great,” Lester beamed.
Lester stepped next to her, tracing around her breasts with his finger. He unfastened her arms from the bar. Gratefully she shook her arms at her sides. In accompaniment, the bells on her breasts rang their chimes. Lester jiggled her breasts and the sounds continued. “What do you think of tinkle tits? Pretty nifty. Well, aren’t you going to greet our guest?”
“Hello, Steven. How are you?” she said the words without ever looking at him, keeping her eyes fixed on Lester. It was Lester’s reaction that was crucial. Steven wasn’t going to be her savior. She knew it with an absolute and devastating certainty. Steven was a weak man without the strength necessary to rescue her. He would do nothing to get her away from Lester. She had been foolish even to allow herself to hope. After all, it was Steven who first let Lester have her. God, she thought for the thousandth time, what if I had just written Steven that note of goodbye and left the apartment. Why, oh why did I ever decide to sit and wait. She pictured herself that afternoon, finishing the note to Steven and getting away.
“Want a drink?” Lester asked. “Beer, glass of wine, whiskey?” Steven didn’t answer. “Bitch,” he snapped, “get Steve a beer. Okay, Steve?”
She pranced over to the fridge, took out a beer, opened it, and presented it to Steve, her every step accompanied by the tiny tinkling on her chest. “Whisky for me, with one ice cube.”
“Why is she walking like that?”
“Isn’t that great,” Lester clapped his hands. “Something I made. See, there are pointy tacks inside the heels of her shoes. So she can’t let her feet all the way down. She’s always on her toes.” She jerked as one of her heels came down on the short spikes. “Or almost always on her toes,” he nodded approvingly. “And the straps insure that she can’t just take them off.” Lester sipped his whiskey. “You want to fuck her, or have her suck you? Whatever you want,” Lester waved an arm. “It’s the least I can do for you. Shit, if it weren’t for you. Well you know.” She heard the anger in Lester’s voice. He was beginning to work himself into a fury and she started shaking. “Cunt,” he snapped, “see what you can do for our honored guest.”
Instead she fell to the floor at Lester’s feet. She licked his shoes for several minutes before raising herself to bury her head between his legs. “Let me please you first, Lester.” She held on to Lester’s hips, pulling down his fly with her teeth. It was something that never failed to please him. Her little bells tinkled constantly as her head bobbed back and forth. After he finished, Lester sighed with pleasure. “She’s a great cocksucker, ain’t she, our little grandma.” Lester was sufficiently contented with her that he allowed her to remove the devilish shoes. Relieved that her ploy was successful, she felt much more relaxed.
They sent her shuffling back and forth between them, satisfying them both with her mouth and between her legs. After she made them sandwiches they used her together, lowering herself onto Steven while Lester used her mouth.
“Please, Lester,” she asked while the two men were relaxing. She had put off the moment as long as possible but now she had reached her limit. “Watch this,” Lester said to Steven. She crawled across the floor. In the corner of the bathroom with both men watching, she squatted over the litter box to relieve herself. When she finished, Lester put his foot in the middle of her back and pushed her to the floor. Not daring to rise she used her arms to pull along and she inched her way along behind them.
After all she’d been though, she thought, she could manage this in a breeze, although she dearly wished that at least it would have been the handsome Steve in the cart behind her instead of Lester.