Chapter 8
But, this was New York. Nothing ever actually got thrown out with the first try.
One of the construction workers on the project noticed the brass sticking up out of the dumpster and looked over the side. "Hey, keep an eye on this while I get my station wagon over here."
The man had his buddies help him put the brass bed, in four pieces, in the back of his station wagon. "I'll be able to fix this up," Ben said. "I'll be able to turn this into something."
Many of the others laughed at that. Some of the others encouraged his efforts.
That night when he drove out to his Long Island home he immediately started to unload the brass bed from the back of the station wagon. His wife looked out the kitchen window and saw what he was doing. "Oh, hell, Ben, did you have to bring home more junk. Don't we have enough?"
"Shut up, Muriel. You don't know what you're talking about."
"Well, put that old piece of junk over there in the garage."
"Where the hell do you think I was going to put it, in our bedroom?"
"Thank goodness we have a two-car garage, Ben. That's all I can say."
The brass headboard and footboard and side pieces were dropped onto the floor next to all the other things that were there in the garage. There was quite a collection of things.
Once again it was left alone. It was locked inside the garage and no one ever saw it. Ben, the construction worker, didn't do much with the things he saved from the trash. He didn't care if the other men laughed at him. Once a year he always had a garage sale and always made a couple of hundred dollars on the junk he had saved from construction sites.
He kept that part of it a secret from the other men. If they knew the profits he was making, they would start taking things home with them. He liked things the way they were.
But, the bed was given an awful home. In many ways being in the boarded up Times Square room had been better. At least it was surrounded by furniture. At least it was s still considered an article of furniture there. Now it was junk in a garage.
However, even in the garage, the bed seemed to attract trouble of its own.
It was on a late evening that the door in the front of the garage was pulled up. It was dark out, except for the bright, full moon, and the young couple who slipped into the garage did not turn on any light. The girl was holding a blanket but the boy didn't give her a chance to put it down. He wrapped his arms around her body and started to kiss her.
"Joey," she sighed in a sensual way. "Let me get comfortable."
She pulled away from the boy and put the blanket down on the floor of the greasy garage. When she leaned back, she leaned her head against the side of the brass headboard. But she pulled her head away from there. It was a dirty, unwashed surface.
The boy slammed down on top of the girl and started to kiss her immediately.
He seemed to go through a set routine that he had worked out. He started to kiss her and he would feel up and down on her blouse. Then he pushed his hands up under her blouse and he kept on squeezing against her breasts. He pressed hard on her breasts.
And then his hands worked their way down, feeling at the rest of her body. He felt her legs and then moved his hands up inside her skirt so that he could feel the soft fuzz of her pussy patch through the fabric of her tightly clinging panties.
His fingers brushed up and down continually against the soft and responsive flesh. He could feel the moisture that was already seeping through the fabric of the panties.
Then he reached into her panties and he brushed his fingers against her pussy patch. He started to stroke her cunt lips themselves. "Let me do it. Please, let me do it."
"You won't lose respect for me, will you?" she asked softly.
"How could I lose respect for you? After all, we've been going steady for four months. If you really love me you'll let me do it. Anyway, you said that you'd let me do it tonight."
"Oh, okay," she said, sighing softly as she arched her hips up toward him.
He pushed her skirt all the way up and then he worked her panties down her legs very quickly. He wasn't giving her any time to herself. He was ready to go right at it.
Once he had her pussy bare, he pulled down his pants and shorts, leaving them bunched around his knees. Since he was so young, he just didn't know that there was anything more to sex than this. He figured that once a girl agreed to let you do it, you just did it.
His dick was certainly hard enough and as he spread her legs out wide and pressed himself against the tight opening, she bit into the side of his neck and shut her eyes.
He was awkwardly trying to position himself at the right spot and then he pushed forward. He could feel the cunt lips spreading apart and the next thing he knew he gave a shove and he had busted her cherry. She cried out and her teeth dug into his neck.
It was as if she were using her teeth to brand him in that way.
He worked his boner into her slowly, spreading open a little more of her at a time and then he rested his body down on her, trying to relax, as he asked, "You okay?"
She nodded her head and he started to pull his dick back out of her. She could feel the way the flared head of his cock was massaging the insides of her cunt. She could feel the juiciness that was being pulled out of the spongy walls of her cunt.
And he could feel the sensual massage that he was getting as her cunt walls kept on undulating and relaxing and then tightening and sliding against the sides of his stiff prick.
He pulled on her hips and pulled her up a little bit towards him.
Just then, the light went on and it flooded right across them. There, at the side door of the garage, with a baseball bat in his hand, was Ben, the girl's father.
"What the fuck do you two kids think you're doing?" It was a typical insane shout of a parent in such a circumstance and it made no sense at all. But, that was what the man said.
When he swung the baseball bat, the boy who was lying on top of the girl immediately pulled away. His dick was still hard and swinging in front of him. He tripped over his pants as he tried to stand up. The girl screamed in a high-pitched voice.
"Get out of here, you punk. Get out of here or else I'll lose control of myself and kill you."
It didn't matter to Joey that he still had a boner and that he hadn't been able to pull his pants all the way up yet. He ran out of there. Then, the man turned to his daughter.
Beth had been frozen with fear from the time her father had come into the place. Now she tried to get up. She tried to cover her nakedness, but the man was on top of her. He pulled her toward the brass headboard that was lying there. He pulled her hands back through the bars of the headboard and he tied them together near the elbows so that she thought her shoulders were going to actually come out of the sockets. It was a terrible pressure that she felt.
Then the man pushed his daughter down on her face. She hit her forehead against the cold floor of the garage. The headboard of the bed was on top of her as if it were some dark and sinister torture device, something that was going to hold her in bondage.
That was precisely the way it was working. The man was on top of her, he pushed her skirt up, and he smacked her naked ass. Since her panties were already off it was a simple thing to do.
"I didn't raise my daughter to be no whore! You understand me?"
She was weeping and couldn't respond to anything. All she did was howl.
"No daughter of mine is gonna be the town slut and let all the boys fuck her pussy."
"He was. . . the only one. . . Papa. He was. . . the only one."
"I don't believe nothin' that no whore tells me!" the man hissed, his beefy palm hitting her ass cheeks continually. "As long as you're gonna put out like that. . . "
His last thought had been left uncompleted, but the girl knew that her father was doing something back there. She could feel something thick and fleshy against her cunt lips.
His cock head was pushing at her from between her legs. He was going to fuck her from behind. But, he was aiming at her pussy and not at her ass. However, he did grab a thick handful of her ass.
Then the head of his cock disappeared along the route that the teenaged boy's dick had taken just a few minutes earlier. The girl could feel the cock head pushing between her cunt lips. She could feel the pressure of the erect prick that was pushing into her body.
And then the full length of the cock slid all the way into her body. She felt her father's hard belly pushing right up against the soft cheeks of her ass. She could feel his hanging balls slapping right against the soft and wispy hairs of her pussy snatch.
The girl didn't even struggle with her bonds. She wanted to remain in that position. She wanted to hide her face against the floor of the garage. She was being abused and humiliated by her father. She couldn't believe it. It was a horror that she would never forget.
But, Ben chose to pretend that it had never happened. He told his wife that he had caught the girl fucking with a boy. He forbid her from dating any other boys. She was too frightened of her father to go against his word or to accuse him of anything.
He had abused the trust that was given to him the day he became a father.
Unlike Guido who had paid immediately for his crime of harming an innocent girl, Ben would pay a slow price that would cost him dearly over the years. He would have to pay for his one cruel indiscretion with years of his daughter's cold hatred for him.
Once she was old enough to leave home, she left. She never returned, not even for a visit.
But, the bed left long before that. Ben kept busy with all the things that usually occupied his time. If he paused to think, he was afraid he would think about that terrible night and the things he had done to his daughter on the floor of the garage.
So, he felt that he had to get rid of everything in his garage. He scheduled his garage sale even sooner than he might have done it otherwise. This time he didn't haggle so long on the prices. He really wanted the garage to be empty of anything that would bring back memories to him.
The brass bed, now in four pieces that didn't even look like they went together, was marked at twenty dollars and, at that price, everyone was passing it by all day long.
Then a couple drove up in a small car. They walked up the driveway and just looked around at the junk. Then the wife pulled her husband over and whispered excitedly in the man's ear. They looked at each other and giggled. He went over to the brass bed and inspected it.
And then he took out twenty dollars and handed it to Ben. It was the biggest sale of the day.
"Take good care of that bed," Ben called to the couple as they tied the pieces on the roof of their little imported car. "That was in my family for years and years."
He was not beyond lying, even after he had already made the sale.
The bed had sunk through many levels. It had never found the right world for it.
Its first home had been a stuffy place. The couple was too proper to know how to deal correctly with the bondage and discipline impulses that seemed to come to life because of the bed. Because they couldn't deal with those sides of their natures, they had to lash out with hatred. They used anger with each other as an excuse for playing out bondage and discipline games.
Unfortunately, using a shallow excuse like that led to the destruction of their lives.
The same thing had happened to the husband of the second couple to own the bed. Horace Kramer received his pleasure from letting his wife tie him to the bed and from being abused by the woman. But, he felt that he had somehow degraded himself with that pleasure. He felt self-hatred because of the way he got his pleasure and, unable to live with himself, he made his mind up to die in the war. That resolve on her husband's part left Gwendolyn Kramer with a life that would never again know true sexual satisfaction.
Valerie Colby, the third mistress of that bed would suffer a rape at the hands of two veterans who were robbing her apartment. Spread nude and bound to the bed she would be forced to perform acts she had never imagined she would have to perform.
The very thought of the bed would become a nightmare for the woman. She would end up never again able to achieve an orgasm through sex. It took many years of therapy before the woman learned to live with the terrible fears that she felt inside her.
The bed's next home was a imagine brothel where it earned its keep along with Serena, the leggy model with the high black boots and the whip. It proceeded to lesser and lesser homes until finally it ended up in the Times Square hotel where it was the scene of a passionate crime as a mother shot her own lover dead while he was raping her virgin daughter.
In between, there had been many years of storage. There was storage in the locked and chilly vaults where the Colby's placed the bed after Valerie's rape. There was the storage in the awful, dank hotel room that was boarded up for years in the condemned building.
And finally there was the depressing storage in the suburban garage, denigrated to the level of garbage and forced to witness the rape of a young girl by her own father.
Now the bed jangled together on top of the little foreign car. It was heading back toward Manhattan. If it was possible for the bed to have feelings, then it could be said that the bed held little hope for the future, for its future life, for the future of sex. Everyone who had had contact with the bed had been influenced into bondage and discipline sex and none of them had been able to deal with it well. What hope could there be?
But, just when it seemed time for the bed to be ground up into garbage or melted down for the content of the brass, there seemed to be one more home for it. What would this one be?