Chapter 6
Certainly the black ugliness of guilt weighting Rita's heart must have left an outward trace on the smooth contours of satiny, unblemished flesh. Not so . . .
Rita stood before the long bedroom mirror, looking long and hard at the body that had betrayed her husband. Shades of pale morning light bathed the softness of her pristine nudity in a warm yellow glow. Her face showed not a wrinkle of stress. Of course I wouldn't change overnight, she reminded herself, laughing away the silly worry that word of her adulterous behavior with John Silverman had filtered back to her husband's office, bringing with it a storm of silence. There hadn't been time for that.
Yet he must be told. If he understood and forgave her, wonderful; and if he told her to leave in a rage, then so be it. At this point she wouldn't be breaking up much of a marriage; something that was never there can not be salvaged. There must be a better existence than living with a near-stranger in silence.
Rita had pulled open her lingerie drawer and was selecting a brassiere and panties when a sound behind her startled her. The unmistakable sound of breathing-heavy breathing-made her breath catch in her throat. Horror struck, she swung around, covering her nudity with the scanty garments that did nothing to hide her lushly curved body from the burning eyes of John Silverman.
"What are you doing here?" she burst, furious and a bit frightened at his sudden, unannounced appearance in her bedroom.
"Y-you didn't m-mean anyth-thing you s-said yesterday. You d-don't like m-me! I-I-I'm just your p-puppy dog . . . an-and you j-just want me around t-to to clean your t-toilets!" he accused. His fists were tightly clenched in rage, the cords of his neck visibly distended, adrenalin pumping blood to his rouged cheeks. An aura of red anger haloed his body. . . anger and spite.
Rita diagnosed the symptoms instantly, having read them before on her husband's face on that hapless night that started this see-saw of events. He must be quelled. Maybe, if she could show him that she really cared about him as a person, not just as a houseboy as he had accused, the signs of an infantile temper tantrum might be abated and the situation eliminated before something regrettable and irreversible occurred.
Choosing her words carefully, Rita asked quietly. "What gave you the idea I just wanted a houseboy to clean my toilets. . . and what's this about treating you like a dog? Why, I would never treat you that way. I like you, John." And the next words choked in her throat, bile rising in the pit of her stomach as she said: "Don't you remember what happened yesterday?
Didn't that make you feel good?"
Rover's coached scenes had not prepared John for a woman's kindness. Resolute, he stood, chin quivering, fists pumping, mixed emotions roiling about in his body like combating ping pong balls. Nervously, he glanced about him as if looking for a cue card, a hint as to his next statement. For a moment the glint in his steely blue eyes melted and Rita began to breathe more easily from the hope of softening defenses. That was not to be. Instantly, as if someone had pushed a button inside his brain, the corners of his full mouth drooped and his eyes gleamed icily as gun metal. Rita drew in a gasp of breath.
Instantly her hand shot up in a defensive, warding-off movement and a scream died in her throat as John lunged at her across the room, grabbing her arm in a brutal grip and dragging her backward until the backs of her knees caught against the mattress and Rita fell supine on the bed, naked and quivering, the flimsy armor of her brassiere and panties dropped by the wayside.
The telephone, she thought frantically. If only she could call Max. Struggling to one elbow, she tried to sprint free, but John's angered weight sent her reeling back across the bed in a heap of naked flesh. Pinning and holding her there with his broad palm over her slender throat, the thought that she might die sizzled in Rita Henshaw's miasmaed mind. John's handsome boyish face had become twisted into a frightening mask of cruel fury and his attempts to speak came out in garbled grunts, the cords of his neck standing out like telephone cables. His hot breath snorted over her fear-stricken face.
"I-I-I'll t-teach you!" he bellowed, following the dictates of Rover's instructions.
Although his hand was crushing her windpipe, cutting off her air supply until dizziness overcame her, Rita managed to croak out a cry for help. "You're killing me!" she gasped. "Oh, please . . . let me go!"
John looked down sympathetically at the face of the beautiful woman who yesterday had lain squealing and wiggling beneath his mastery. A tinge of pity, totally removed from his present actions, a thread of lingering adoration, caused him to remove his palm.
Rita lay trembling on the bed, gasping for air and rubbing the tortured softness of her neck. Slowly her watering eyes lifted to his and quickly averted their gaze from the horror of the compassionless glint reflected in them. The man was born with half a brain; he was half man and half instinctive animal, half boy and half man, capable of anything. And she was the target of his revenge!
Real, gut-knotting, throat clenching fear rattled her senses for the first time since this bizarre chain of events began. As she stared at him, his eyes left her face and began to roam over the smooth, ripe curves of her still-naked body, a sadistic smile playing over his lips.
He seemed to be searching for something, someone perhaps? John craned his neck from side to side, listening intently then leveling his gaze back at her nude body. He appeared to be satisfied, cogitating something. For a long moment the two people stared at each other, neither moving, neither daring to speak. Had it not been for his promise to Rover, John might well have thrown himself at this woman's feet and cried. But he had made a promise with a man and this woman had hurt his feelings.
In a sudden movement following the silence, he reached over to pinch one of her nipples into a hard peak of tingling sensation. Rita could feel her body coming alive under his fingertips, throbbing and burning with growing excitation. Quite against her will, she arched her back, trying to get even more of the delicious sensation that was beginning to boil inside her body. A tiny moan escaped her parted lips as the too-familiar need churned in her loins.
He pinched both nipples hard, as if trying to twist them off. Jagged spears of pain shot from Rita's twin peaks as he twisted and brutally pulled at her tortured nipples and, wrenched from her dreamy arousal, she struggled frantically to free herself from his excruciating grip. With a strength and determination born of pain and desperation, she managed to tear herself from his agonized grasp and leapt up from the bed to dart for freedom. But mid-leap, before her feet touched the floor, his hands clamped over her arm, slamming her back on the bed with a bounce.
"Y-you d-don't try to r-run. H-he s-said if you d-did, I sh-sh-should tie you up!"
Oh my dear Lord! Rita's mind screamed. He? Who was he? Who was the dictator behind this rape? Was it a figment of this demented brain's imagination . . . a real person . . . himself? Who was he?
Manfully taking charge of the situation, John rose from the bed, his muscular body unfolding to its stocky height and turned the key in the old-fashioned door and carefully placed it in his pocket. For a moment he stood dumbly, put his finger to his mouth, eyebrows knitting, looking more like a sixth grader in a Spelling Bee than a rapist. Abruptly his eyes lit up and decisively he stomped toward the bedroom closet and rummaged about inside, emerging from the door-jam with a drapery of neckties over his arm.
Rita's eyes widened in terror as she realized his intent. "No, please . . . John, please, remember I like you?" She attempted to laugh but hysteria and incredulity mingled to form a nervous titter that smelled heavily of fear. "Please, I won't go anywhere."
John glared at her sternly, his chin quivering as he tried to speak. He examined the neckties for length. "H-He said I sh-should if if you t-tired anything and . . . and y-you d-did. Y-you tried to r-r-run away f-from me!" His soft boyish lips pursed in displeasure and accusation.
Then, sniffling, he brutally yanked one of her slender wrists to a corner bedpost. With quick, efficient movements, he knotted the strip of heavy cloth around her wrist, then wound the ends around the wood post, drawing her hands up tightly to it. After his slow-motion tying, there was barely enough slack to allow for circulation. Not a chance of her pulling free. Working at her other wrist, she lay staring up at him, her face impassive. When he had finished, he stepped back to inspect his handiwork.
Rita watched in silence as John moved away from her and began unzipping his jumpsuit. When he shyly turned to step out of his uniform, Rita tried to wriggle out of the neckties binding her hands to the bedposts. No use. The knots were cutting tight into her wrists and as he swung around, Rita quickly abandoned her efforts.
From her experience of working as a secretary to doctors in Gary, she was well aware of the instant fury and revenge that could easily be proviked in the minds of the feeble. Already she had one strike against her in this battle: She was tied defenselessly and there was this mysterious He who would dictate her fate. He could declare she be knifed. He could decide at the snap of a finger or cross-look that she be raped in every orifice, left bleeding for Max to discover later. She knew she was as good as dead if John lost his temper.
Tied like a slave to the bed she and Max shared, she felt more humiliated than yesterday. She was completely at the mercy of this half-wit who was so filled with hatred that nothing could slice through his anger. To cooperate was her only way out, to cooperate and cajole him, make him believe she cared for him. Fleetingly, Rita realized that same compassion (though under diverse circumstances) had got her into trouble in the first place.
Instantly her train of thought screeched to a halt as John Silverman turned around, completely naked, to walk back to the bed. His long thick cock was only partially erect, but the tip was an angrier red, a pear of pre-cum already oozing from the slitted eye. The sight of it started the double-edged knife of guilt and longing to play in the emotionally tangled pit of her stomach.
To have his huge pulsating hardness throbbing in the warm hungry mouth of her vagina was a fantasy she could not obliterate. Oh, God, just the idea made her shiver with goose bumped anticipation! As she felt the weight of his body lowering onto the bed beside her, she closed her eyes in delicious expectation of the titillating touch of his fingers on her tingling body, his warm lips pressing sweetly onto her own. The fantasy refused to be suppressed.
To her shock, she felt him lifting her head and opening her eyes to see him gathering up both billows from the bed.
"God . . . what are you doing?" she whimpered.
"H-He s-said th-that's how I sh-should do it." Then he wedged the pillows down under her head and neck, elevating her until her chin almost rested against her chest. She glanced up into his sparkling blue eyes dancing with enthusiasm.
"I-I'm g-going to p-put my c-cock in your m-mouth!"
"NO!! " Oh not that! He couldn't be serious! Why couldn't he be satisfied with using her body in the natural way. He was responsible for this travesty too, no doubt. Rita watched in terrified disbelief as he lifted a leg over her torso and positioned himself with his buttocks above her breasts, his knees snug into her armpits, his throbbing penis dangling before her face.
"No! Please," she whined, knowing that argument was futile. "I've never . . . done that before," she choked.
"B-but you will n-now! Or-or-or else!"
Rita closed her eyes. The humiliation, the debasement she was about to suffer today simply was not worth it. When she refused, rolling her head from side to side to avoid contact with the mushroom tip heady with male scent, the man grabbed her cruelly by the shoulder, digging into her soft flesh until she cried out from the biting pain.
"K-kiss my cock!" he bellowed angrily. "You fa-better kiss it or-or-or I'll I-lose my temper!" the boyish enthusiasm had dissipated like fog, leaving behind a angry mask of adult lust.
When he noticed her slowness in responding, he grabbed a handful of her golden curls and yanked until her eyes watered from agony.
"Oow! You're hurting me!"
"O-open your mouth!"
Obediently, Rita slowly opened her mouth, her lips trembling from fright and suppressed pain.
"He he s-said you should put y-your lips ar-around it!"
Moaning with fear and a mortification so hot she feared her insides might explode, Rita reluctantly followed his wicked wishes, closing her lips hesitantly around the blunt, distended tip of his fleshy staff. To her shock, the musky scent was not unpleasant to the taste buds. The warm, male semen on her palate was a sensation she had never imaged experiencing. Experimentally, she twirled her tongue over the thick, purplish head and her efforts were rewarded by a deep groan from the man kneeling above her.
The breath snorted from his nostrils, a slow, masterful grin growing on his face, deepening the boyish dimples. The sight of his cock buried between the lips of this beautiful woman's mouth filled him with awe and pride. Reluctantly, he withdrew the salty tasting sausage from her lips and said: "L-Lick it."
Rita stared at the long, rigid pole rising like a rubbery monolith before her face. It was hard, so hard that the skin stretched tautly over its surface shone as if it were polished and the thick, blue veins that covered it like a map pulsed madly against the tightly drawn skin. Below the awful weapon, his two huge balls hung in their softly swaying sacs, swollen and heavy with the sperm that boiled within them. Cautiously so as not to hurt him or rile his temper, the blonde prisoner ran her tongue down the instrument, daintily licking it all the way, lavishing her tongue over its trunk-like base, along the thickly veined underside to the dark ridges sticky and protruding from the thick foreskin, playing and caressing it with every lapping
SO stroke. Then, as she licked at the hardness of her master's penis, Rita began to feel a strange perverse glimmer of excitation growing in her tied-down body at the thought of being used thus, as though she were the dirty street whore that Max had accused her of being. She was merely fulfilling a prophecy she reassured herself, rationalizing away the guilt and shame of being forced to orally copulate with this man's monstrously throbbing penis. Deep in her belly, she could feel a fire kindling.
Above her, John trembled slightly from the exquisite sensation of her pointed tongue slaving over the rigid length of the stone-hard cock held tight to her face. "S-suck!" he commanded, recalling Rover's revelation, a bitter attack on his instinct born sensitivity, that he was no friend of this woman-just a low-down dog. The thought sparked his temper and he entangled his strong fingers in her honey hair and twisted cruelly, his upper lip snarling with contempt.
Quickly, Rita trailed her tongue back over the blood-fed shaft and ovaled her soft lips and slipped them gently over the rubbery smoothness of the pungent tasting cock head. John groaned and grunted from deep in his throat and flicked his hips forward, ramming the dripping, shiny cock head into the warm, moist hold of Dr. Henshaw's wife's mouth and down over the velvety slide of her tongue until the seeping tip banged brutally against the back of her throat. Panic flooded her mind and pain dizzied her brain as she gagged at the sausage of male flesh thrust deep into her throat. Yet compliantly she sucked, remembering the crude instructions and threats behind this attack. Suck she did, slipping her tongue up and down taut hunk of flesh, nibbling softly at the base with her pearly teeth.
"Aaaaaagghhh!" he gasped. "Sssssuck!" He threw back his blonde head, his eyes rolling in their sockets.
Slowly he began to rock his hips back and forth in an instinctive motion, fucking into her mouth as if it were a smoothly shaven cunt. It felt tight and wet, just as Rover had promised it would, a fact that made him swell with pride at his decision to follow the dictates of a man instead of a woman's whims.
Obediently, Rita tried to suck softly on the burgeoning mouthful, but it was difficult drawing a breath before her imprisoning rapist had rammed it down into her throat again. Her cheeks hollowed on each out-stroke, then bloated balloonishly each time he rammed back in, grazing her tonsils and almost choking her. Her eyes watered and the corners of her mouth felt torn, abused.
Emotional survival had called for a separation from shame and humiliation. The bonds tying her wrists to the bedposts cut into her flesh, but the agony in her heart cut far deeper. Yet, in a strangely perverse way, it thrilled her to know that she had no choice, she could not move her head to escape oral impalement. like a cork in water, her head bobbed up and down in cooperation with her captor's slamming thrusts into her mouth.
John Silverman had never known such ecstasy could exist for him-for others, perhaps, but never for him. He had been cheated of the sensual joys of life too long, he decided in a burst of contempt, and this blonde -haired woman would make up for it. Oh, would she!
Glancing down, he stared at the oval of the young bride's lipstick rimmed lips stretched tightly around the thick stump of his meaty cock, then rammed forward even harder, trying to make her take it all into her mouth. He could see tiny ridges of soft pink flesh as he pulled back from her gently sucking lips that disappeared back inside as he thrust forward again even deeper into the tightly confining depths of her tender throat. His blue eyes widened as he eyed his pubic hair brush against the sides of her tender mouth as she all but swallowed the full length of his fleshy male hardness.
Power and pride were John Silverman's companions now! He straightened his posture, wishing Dr. Henshaw could see him now straddling his wife, her lips wrapped tightly around his hard prick. He wouldn't say anything bad about John in the group therapy sessions then-wouldn't call him insecure and all the other strange terms used to describe him. Grinding his jaws together, he began a slow, rhythmic sawing back and forth, never quite drawing it all the way out, but leaving the hardened tip just inside the warm moistness of her mouth, then ramming forward, screwing her throat deeper, deeper. He felt her throat constrict around his cock head and felt her gag beneath him, but that bothered him none. Nothing mattered but shooting his white hot load into that warm, sucking hole in her beautiful young face!
"Ohhhhhh ssssssuck h-harrrrrrder!" he screamed, locking his hands hard around the back of Rita's bobbing head, drawing it over his rigidity until all he could see was a quarter-inch at the stalk protruding wet and glistening from her wildly sucking lips. He watched in animal delight as his balls erupted and her throat tightened and loosened, swallowing in great, desperate gulps the hot, sticky fluid he was shooting into her mouth.
Rita's cheeks bloated and hollowed as she gulped at the warm flooding gushes to keep from choking. Her lips and tongue and throat moved with instinct. She continued sucking as he emptied his sperm into the wetness of her mouth. Finally, he moaned his last and grunted in complete fulfillment, complete satiation. Slowly his cock deflated in her mouth and yet she gently sucked, drawing every last drop of the warm sticky sperm from the tip of his still seeping, softening cock.
As John's thick, wormish cock slipped from his prisoner's mouth, he collapsed spent on the bed beside her. His mind was blank, his strength gone. A long sigh of drawn out relief breathed from the female prisoner's heaving chest and she closed her eyes in exhaustion, vaguely conscious of the painful throbbing in the back of her throat.
She needn't be reminded of the vileness of her act, nor of the shame or disgrace. The muscles in her arms ached throbbingly and in her shattering state of consciousness, she struggled to roll over to her side to relieve the pressure; the movement brought another sharp stab of pain to cut into the numbing throb of her wrists. A deep moan of ravished pain drubbed in her throat. Oh God, she thought, fighting to keep her horror and fear under control, I have to get him to cut me loose! Then she remembered the mysterious He behind this travesty. Would the image be blocked from John's feeble mind now that his body was at peace, satiated?
A gentle snoring was the only sign of life, that and the gentle sucking of a grown man laying in prenatal position, thumb stuck in his mouth, eyelids closed in slumber.
Perhaps that was best, reasoned Rita. And sleep began to drift over her, too, mercifully dulling the pain of her debasement. Yet she would not give up, for if she succumbed, living with herself would be an emotional impossibility. Compared to this horror, marriage was easy and it was certainly worth a try to save whatever she and Max had together.
Yes, when the boy-man awoke, she would plead with him. Oh, Max, help me! Forehead furrowing with agony, Rita clamped her teeth over the chafed, swollen line of her lower lip, the saline taste of inmate sperm too painful a reminder of her sins. A trembling spasm rampaged violently through her naked, tied-down body and then she slept.