Chapter 8
It was only after I descended from my post-climactic euphoria that I realized things were not so rosy as I had orgasmically imagined. One thing in particular was quite disconcerting.
Where was Ben King?
He still hadn't returned to the room—even to watch Bo fuck me. Whatever was occupying his attention had to really be something.
What if the others noticed his absence, also. It was only a matter of time until somebody did. If Ben didn't return before then, they might go looking for him and catch him in the act of communicating to the outside. He could even have a miniature radio transmitter stashed somewhere.
This kind of discovery, of course, would lead to sudden and violent death to the one man who suddenly seemed to mean more to me than any other.
With Ben on my mind, all of the other convicts seemed to slip back into their molds as monsters. I musn't let myself to forget they were capable of anything.
All of a sudden I knew I had to find Ben before they did. What instant tactic could I come up with?
"Oooooh," I giggled, as I got up from the floor, "I have to pee. My bladder is about to burst.
Do I have permission to leave the room?"
They nodded, respectful of a woman's right to privacy during her toilet. Begrudgingly, I had to admit that in some ways these murderous brutes were downright chivalrous.
I headed right for the bathroom, where I opened and slammed the door so they'd think I'd gone inside. Then, on tip-toes I began my stealthy search of the house for Ben.
He was nowhere to be found. There was no trace of him. What's worse I sensed that my captors were getting antsy about why I was taking so long in the bathroom. I had to get back in there before somebody knocked on the door and asked if I'd fallen in.
As it turned out, I won a race with Johnny Otis, the kid who banged on the door just seconds after I'd sealed myself in the bathroom. "Hey, Mrs. Haley, what're you doing in there?" he wanted to know.
"Giving myself a douche," I improvised. "The cum was starting to harden in my cunt and it was getting itchy."
"How long'll you be?" he seemed to buy it.
"Just a few more minutes."
"Okay, but hurry it up, some of the boys are starting to get suspicious."
I sighed, as I heard the whisk of him turning around to leave and his footsteps walking away. But then the footsteps stopped and my heart was in my throat.
Now Otis had come back to the door. "Hey, what's that funny noise in there? Sounds like crying."
I suddenly realized that I heard it, too. Until now my fear and tension had blotted it out.
"Lemme see," I hastily pleaded for the few seconds I needed to come up with an acceptable response.
I'd dashed into the bathroom so feverishly that I hadn't even looked at any part of it except for the door I was hiding behind. Now, motivated by the whimpering noise, I turned around to survey the scene. What I saw!
Ben was sitting hunched over on the toilet with his head in his hands. The reason I hadn't been able to find him anywhere was because he'd been right here in the bathroom the whole time—the last place I'd think to look. And he was crying.
I wanted to go instantly to him. Comfort him.
But I couldn't. I had to quell this passionate desire. Before I could go to my man I had to get rid of the convict outside the door.
My eyes darted around the room for a clue to my salvation. Suddenly it was mercifully there in the gleaming form of the faucet.
"It's the hot water," I said. "Sometimes it makes that noise. Rusty pipes or something."
"Can't you make it stop."
"I'm sorry I'm annoying you," I replied with just enough poutiness to keep him on his heels.
"But if I'm going to douche, I'm going to need that hot water."
He mumbled and this time left for good. Now, at least, I could turn my attention toward poor, blubbering Ben.
"Oh, darling," I found myself uncontrollably calling him, "what's the matter? I thought you were signaling the police."
He shook his head and looked up at me with bloodshot eyes. "Bitch!"
It was as though the ceiling had suddenly fallen on me. I couldn't have been more stunned.
"I thought you felt about me the way I feel about you," he bitterly continued.
"But I do-I do!" I desperately tried to reassure him.
"Then how do you explain what you just finished doing? Don't think I don't know just because I wasn't there."
"Oh—that," I self-consciously shrugged. "It was just to keep the boys occupied while I thought you were getting in touch with the outside. It didn't mean anything, I thought I was helping."
"Didn't mean anything?" he fumed. "A woman lets herself be fucked by the neighbor's German Shepherd and then says it doesn't mean anything. I guess I shouldn't be surprised, my mother warned me about her miserable sex."
Ben's was a most unlikely position in which to be for an undercover policeman. Instead of steely contemplating bringing these criminals to justice, he was sitting on the toilet carrying on like a jilted suitor. He was clearly neglecting duty, yet I was completely in sympathy with him.
I think it was his remark about his mother's words of wisdom about women that drew me emotionally closest to him. After all, I had a mother who had given me identical advice about men. Ben and I were truly soul-mates.
"Well, what do you have to say now for yourself, bitch?" Ben interrupted the lift from my discovery.
"That dog meant nothing to me, Ben," I pleaded for his understanding. "Please believe me."
He wasn't buying. Instead, he grabbed my wrist, twisting it until I fell to my knees. Then he held me there.
"Would you let me fuck you that way?" he snarled. "Over on all fours like you were a goddamn bitch in heat?"
"Of course, Ben," I grimaced through clenched teeth because of the pain shooting up my arm. "You know that I'd let you fuck me anyway you wanted."
"Like a dog?" he snorted contemptuously.
"If it turns you on," I replied reasonably enough.
"Fucking like that makes an animal out of a woman. Are you an animal, Donna?"
"When I'm with you, Ben," I broke down and sobbed. "I'll do anything you want, no matter how degrading."
"We'll see," he said and then cackled. "We'll see, Mrs. All-American Housewife."
"Wha-what do you want m-me to d-do?" I inquired.
"Nothing," Ben smiled evilly.
"In that case, would you let go of my arm?" I ignored the treachery of his expression and optimistically requested.
"You don't have to do anything because I'm going to force you every step of the way," he etched the bottom line. "You need discipline, Mrs. Haley."
Before I could respond, he grabbed my other wrist and twisted both of my arms inward as though he were wringing wash. The intense pain streaked down both sides of my body, finally coalescing in the pit of my gut until I had to keel over like a closing jack-knife.
When Ben abruptly let go of my wrists, my forearms snapped like rubber bands. My upper body came crashing to the floor, elbows first. The violent impact left me numb.
Not so numb, though, that I couldn't feel the sting of Ben's slaps, as he hit my face with one cruel swat after another. "Mother said this is the only way to treat you bitches," he explained himself. "Knock the shit out of you so you'll get some humility. The only good woman is a humiliated woman—and she knows it."
I pondered this, as the slaps finally abated. What were the actual facts, anyway?
It started to come to me all at once, as though a faucet of wisdom had been turned on in my mind. Of course, why hadn't I seen it before?
What, after all, were the only two occupations in which women had distinguished themselves in history? Housewifery and hooking were all there were.
And, if we didn't like prostituting ourselves to either a husband or a trick, then why had we been doing it for centuries? The lesson was clear. Ben was right.
In the meantime, Ben had circled behind me and was overlooking my pooched-up ass. I wanted to wiggle it at him and spread my thighs, but I resisted this impulse and fiercely clung to my appropriately passive role. Man was dominant and I had to let him make all the moves.
Ben's big hands plunged into my crack and violently pried my buns apart. Now my pussy was gaping and my anus throbbing under his critical gaze.
"I'm going to do worse than just fuck you like you were a dog," he snarled. "I'm going to fuck you in the ass, too, without a drop of lubrication."
I winced from his threat. I'd taken plenty of slick jism up my butt since the day had begun, but that had all congealed by now. Instead of lubricating, the crusty residue in combination with a pumping cock would feel like coarse sandpaper against my delicate rectal lining. If Ben went through with it, I was in for an excruciating ordeal, ordeal.
He put some fingers into my anus, apparently testing for tightness. "Clamp down," he instructed when they went past the second knuckle. "Really constrict those muscles so it'll hurt even more when I put my cock inside you."
To make sure I complied, Ben delivered some of the force which he'd promised would precede every action on my part. Grabbing my clit, he twisted it around like he was trying to tear it from my pussy. The resultant shock-waves of pain tightened every muscle in my body, including the ones in my ass.
"Very encouraging," he voiced his approval. "You're really going to feel this."
All of a sudden his fingers were out of my ass and his prick was knocking at the door. Or, to be more precise about the metaphor, knocking it down.
It was a phallic battering-ram that crashed through whatever resistance my asshole offered and surged inside. With the engine-like head leading the way, inch after inch of hard thickness chugged up the narrow tunnel of my asshole. In the process, the lumps of congealed cum already in my pussy gouged into my tender vaginal lining like gravel.
I wanted to scream, but I knew I couldn't risk it. Everyone would hear and Ben and I would have a hell of a lot of explaining to do to a lot of curious convicts. Even if they didn't tab him as a cop, they'd still be plenty resentful that he had paired off with me in secret. The mandatory code for escaping from prison was all-for-one-and-one-for-all.
So I suffered in silence. Suffered as Ben drove his hard-on to the depths of my bowels without a drop of lubrication. Shit was gurgling as though my colon were an interior volcano.
When his cock was hilted he began pistoning it. The effect was like being cornholed with a drill.. Every jerky thrust was felt from my toes to my scalp and in every cell in between.
God, how I wanted to scream. It would be so natural to let out a blood-curdling yell.
But I couldn't do it. Couldn't let Ben down. Even when he twisted my right arm in a hammerlock while he continued to fuck my ass with every inch of his prick.
"Thought I'd double your pleasure," he hissed. "Tell me how good it hurts, Donna."
"Oooooh," I moaned, "it hurts sooo goood. I need the pain. Need the discipline."
"Does the pain make you come?" he inquired.
"It would-if you said it was all right," I breathlessly acknowledged that he was my master.
He bent my arm behind my back until I thought I could hear the bone snap. "Okay, bitch," he said at the peak of my agony, "it's all right for you to come."
The floodgates of my senses flew open. All of a sudden I was inundated with orgasm, all of my stored-up passion cascading through my body in a crested tide.
The pain was an explosive catalyst. When Ben tightened the pressure on my contorted arm, the affect was as erogenous as the lurch of his cock in my ass. Pain and butt-fucking go together for a woman like that other old standby, love and marriage, probably with fewer exceptions.
"How do you feel, bitch?" Ben asked in a cutting tone that indicated my answer had better be self-depreciating.
"Low," I had no trouble answering. "Like a woman brought to her knees by a man willing to treat her the way she deserves."
"You're scum, aren't you, Donna?" he kept up with the insults.
"The lumpy cum that oozes out of a used rubber, if you say so, darling," I played my role to the hilt; belief the most powerful force in my performance.
"Now I'm going to come in you, bitch," Ben announced. "It'll be like getting hot lead poured up your ass. You won't be able to stand it."
"Is that a threat or a promise?"
He jerked my hammerlocked arms and twisted my ear with his free hand. "Don't get cute, tramp."
"Just go ahead and come in my ass and I'll be your slave forever," I gasped with anticipation. "I don't think I can wait much longer."
"You won't have to," he chuckled, just before he turned into a human dynamo.
All of a sudden he was a whipsawing bull of jerks and moves. The result was a radically twisting surge of his cock that felt like nothing I'd ever before experienced. I was being cornholed by a savage master of the ancient Greek art.
Right away he was breathing hard. Then, when his balls slammed together against my cunt, the breaths began coming in oooofs. He sounded like the steam drill that drove John Henry to his grave.
I ached to scream, come, come, you bastard! But I couldn't—not with them outside.
I'd had this problem before and temporarily licked it. However, this latest flare-up of the urge to cry out was much harder to quench than previous manifestations. The incipient sound seemed to be building up inside me, exerting stronger and stronger pressure.
How long could I hold in the verbal expression of my runaway emotions without erupting with a high-pitched wail? If I could just barely control the urge to scream now, what would happen once my ass was drenched with the cum I was so eagerly anticipating?
Right on cue, I was tested. Ben's cock spastically jerked in my rectum and then blew its head apart. All of a sudden my bowels were being over-run with scalding jizz.
While he was ejaculating, Ben continued to subject me to pain. Along with twisting my arm, he had re-discovered my clit and was twisting it, too.
I was quaking with orgasm. My lover was in my ass so deep, so hard—and, now, so wet.
The pain he applied was like an aphrodisiac.
I was going to scream, I knew it.
He tried to put his hand over my mouth, but I bit him. Abruptly he was fighting the impulse to cry out, too.
"Yeeeooooowwwww!" an anguished wail rattled the fixtures on the wall.
I looked at Ben. He looked at me with equal astonishment.
Neither of us had done it!