Chapter 10
She was asleep, there beside the bed, when I woke up Sunday morning.
It was near ten already, so I hurriedly dressed, grabbed some breakfast and headed for Max Gaston's place. And she was still asleep at eleven, when I returned with Bruno.
Bruno, according to Max, was mostly German Shepherd, but partly Labrador, partly Saint Bernard, and one hundred percent sex maniac. He looked sort of like a grizzly bear with skinny legs. He was a mottled, smeared black-brown, with a huge, droopy-eared head, a massive chest, and deceptively slim hips underneath the shaggy hair that made him look barrel-shaped. All the way home, as he sat on the front seat beside me, panting at passing women on the street, I kept trying to get a look at his cock. But there was just too much snarled, matted, frizzy, billowing, hanging hair in the way.
I could, when he stood up, see the gigantic black ball sack that dangled between his hind legs, and if its size was any indication, then Bruno had more than enough cock for my purposes.
When I took him in the bedroom, he went straight to Sandra's crotch, sniffing and snuffing like a locomotive, and then he reeled out a gigantic pink tongue and began to lick.
She lay sort of crumpled up on her side, her lower leg almost straight, and the other one forward, knee bent, in figure-four position. It didn't look like Bruno could get at much but the back of one thigh and the inside top of the other, and of course the swells and crack of her ass. But there he was, slurping happily away. And when she moaned and shuddered in her sleep, straightened her top leg and rolled onto her back, he just zeroed in on her pussyfuzz and kept on lapping.
Sandra groaned and whimpered, then opened her eyes ... and screamed.
Bruno, straddling her legs, looked up where the noise was coming from, a puzzled frown shaping his dark face.
"H-help!" Sandra yelped. "Get away, you!" She looked wildly around, and seemed to see me for the first time. "Tommy, get him off me! He'll... Tommy, pleeeease!"
I remembered then that Sandra had once told me she was scared shitless of dogs, and especially big ones. I'd forgotten that. Crap! Maybe she wouldn't let him screw her, then.
But it was a kick just seeing her so panicked, anyway, and I decided to make the best of that.
Sandra had realized by then that I'd brought the dog, and that I wasn't about to save her from it, and she'd gotten desperate enough to start slapping at it with her hands. Bruno backed off, still looking bewildered, and Sandra scrambled to her feet and ran to the bathroom. But I was right behind her, and got a foot in the door before she could close and lock it.
"Listen, bitch," I called through the opening, "this is my dog out here, and he's staying. If you ever hurt him one tiny bit, or if you let him get out when Im not here, I'll kill you. I mean that, Sandra; I'll damn well kill you, and you know I could. So you'd just tough-shit better plan on being nice to my dog, understand? His name's Bruno. He's staying, and you're staying, so you'd better make friends with him."
I paused, thinking fast. Then I yanked my foot out of the way, and the door slammed shut, Sandra's full weight against it. And as the lock clicked, I spoke again.
"That's right, Sandra. You just stay in there a while and get your guts together. Take a shower, too, you whore, and get all those guys' cum off your slutty body. Then you come out and get acquainted with Bruno. I'm going to work for a while, and when I get back I want you to be here, and I want Bruno to be here, and I want you two to be friends. Understand? Or 111 KILL YOU, Sandra."
I was pretty sure she didn't have any clothes in the bathroom. I grabbed the empty boxes, still piled in a corner of the room, and cleared all her clothes out of the closet, out of the dresser, jammed 'em in the boxes. I cleaned out the hamper, too, and as an afterthought I stuffed all my own clothes into boxes and began lugging the whole mess down to the car.
After four trips, I was done. But.. . Towels? Bedsheets? The cloth on the kitchen table? I doubted if she'd have that much guts, even if she didn't really believe I'd kill her if she left. And would I kill her ... if she left, or if she got rid of Bruno somehow? At that moment, I thought I would.
Bruno, all this time, had been exploring- the apartment; sniffing his way around the walls, checking out all the furniture, the kitchen appliances... When he came back to the bedroom and started making the rounds, I suddenly spotted the telephone.
What if she called the cops? Or some old boyfriend, maybe. Well, I'd just have to take my chances on that; I wasn't about to rip the phone out.
I patted Bruno on the head, got a grateful tail-wag for my trouble, and left, locking the apartment behind me, so nobody could get in unless Sandra opened the door for 'em.
I was a little late getting to work, but I broke records on the delivery route, and was completely caught up by quarter to four.
Back at the apartment, I listened a minute at the door before I unlocked it. There were whimpering sounds... from the living room, I decided. Was that Sandra? Crying? Or was it Bruno? Or was it...?
I unlocked the door and pushed it open. Wow!
Sandra was on her hands and knees on the floor, her head up against the couch. Bruno was hunched over her, his forelegs squeezing her waist, his hips vibrating like crazy against her squirming ass. And every once in a while I caught a flash of deep pink as the base of his carrot-thick cock came out of her clutching slot for a second.
She hadn't heard the door open. And if Bruno had, he was having too much fun to give a shit. His chin was pressed down on the small of her back, that mottled pink tongue lolling off to one side. And his bitch ... my bitch ... was making ecstatic faces at the rug and urging him on.
"Yesss, doggie! Ohhh, ram that cock in! Fuck me! Make me come again! Oooh, I'm... I'm gonna ... Aaaaaggh! Uuuh! More! Move it, you fucking dog! Don't... stop! More cock... more... ohhh, FUCK!"
Bruno was frozen now, his prick about halfway out, but apparently stuck fast. He raised his head and looked around, as if wondering where to go from there. But he slammed it down on Sandra's back again as she started slashing her hips from side to side, screaming, "More! FUCK ME, damn you! Gotta ... have more cock!"
She was hurting Bruno now. He yelped once, struggling to back off, and finally he made it, jerking from her snatch a pointy bulb of pink, shiny flesh that was half again as thick as what I'd seen before.
He lurched away from her about five steps, then flopped down on his side and began licking that long, gleaming pink torpedo as it slowly shrank and retracted into the hairy mat at the base of his balls.
Sandra had rolled onto her back and was going at herself with both hands now, gasping, eyes clenched shut. She still hadn't seen me. But watching Bruno prong her had given me a hard-on that wouldn't quit, and I decided maybe she'd earned a little reward, anyway, so ...
I unzipped and wrestled my rigid prick out of my skivvies, then took three strides and a flying leap that brought my crashing down full-length on top of Sandra, smashing her hands in against her snatch, banging her head on the floor as her eyes flew open.
I wrenched her arms out of the way, braced up a little and stabbed my cock into the slut's hot slot.
"Ohhh, Tommy, yesss! Fuck me!"
But she was all loose and sopping wet. It was like sinking my prick into a bag of lukewarm stew. I pulled out, grabbed her legs and whipped them up to rest against my shoulders, found her asshole by Braille and jammed my thumb up it a couple times, then grabbed my pud and popped the head in.
Tight. And she was squirming like mad, still screeching, "Fuck me, Tommy! Fuck meee!" and I couldn't get the angle right to push more of it in.
Angrily, I slammed both fists against the sides of her head simultaneously. "You want cock, you bitch? Then hold still, for Christ's sake!"
"Ohhh, YES, Tommy! Hurt me! Smash-crush-fuck-fuckfuckfuck. AAAAHHUGG ... Yessss!"
It was in, and I was coming almost immediately, smashing down against her like mad, machine-gunning my cum into her filthy guts... And when I'd ground out the last fiery spasm against her upthrust crotch, I got a foot under me and pulled out, going straight up, so that she flopped back to the floor from a shoulder-stand, her groan of protest cut off as the impact knocked the breath out of her.
Every night that week, Sandy was after Bruno for more cock, and the brute did his damnedest, but he couldn't satisfy her. She started waking up early in the mornings and going after him, too, but at that time of day he didn't seem interested at all. He'd go crouch under the kitchen table, and Sandra, naked, her slot already juiced by her own fingers, would scuttle under after him, grab his head and force his nose into her gap.
He'd lick her a little, most times, but he never got up and tried to mount her except at night, and by Thursday night he was pretty slow on the uptake even then.
I screwed her for a while after work on Wednesday, before she went after Bruno, but the rest of the times I just watched and told her what a corrupt, perverted bitch she was, and slapped her around a little when she'd worn the dog out and started panting after me. Then I'd take Bruno for his nightly walk, and Sandra was usually asleep when we got back.
Friday, she even managed to come home on her lunch hour. I was there, scratching Bruno behind the ears while I ate a sandwich, when she came in, unbuttoning her dress before the door was even closed behind her.
"Oh, no you don't, bitch," I said. "He's got to go for his walk, or he'll piss all over the wall this afternoon."
"I'll take him," she promised eagerly. "Just let me ..." She was down to pants and bra already. "I just need one little fuck, Tommy, and then 111 take him out and make sure he pees. Even if I'm late getting back to work. I promise. And Mason won't care; he's too busy planning nasty things for the party tonight at Cahills'."
She didn't even wait for an answer. And Bruno hadn't waited, either; he had his nose in her asscrack before she could step out of her panties, and when she dropped to her hands and knees, he was on her in a flash, humping to beat shit! It was almost like he knew he wasn't going to be getting any that evening.
Cahills' place was down by the lake, and it was an old-fashioned house with a huge, dark basement, two thirds of which was decked out like a medieval dungeon.
I found this out before Sandra did, because ... after a couple rounds of drinks in the living room upstairs, overlooking the lake ... Eldridge herded all the men down to the basement, leaving Alice Cahill in charge upstairs, to "get the women ready and await our summons," as he put it.
"The Chamber," as Eldridge called it, was a big, high-ceilinged rectangle with stone walls and floor. There were small, high-barred windows on three sides. The fourth wall, where the stairs came down, set off the furnace area and a small, well-lighted alcove containing a bar and a tiny bathroom.
One long wall of The Chamber was studded with iron rings, set in matched pairs of floor level and just below the high windows, and to each ring was attached a short length of thick chain. From two of the heavy beams overhead, more rings and chains were suspended.
In the end wall was a small fireplace in which a short, thick log blazed, and flanking this were two low, deep benches of rough-hewn dark wood. Four more such benches were set along the other long wall, and at the end of the room near the stairs was a huge, sturdy table of the same rough wood as the benches.
Several lengths of coarse rope lay coiled under the table, and to one side of it stood a tall, shallow, double-doored cabinet, which Cahill opened to reveal a frightening array of whips, steel pikes, leather and metal manacles and collars.
From this cabinet Cahill took six small bags . made of black fabric. He handed one to each of us, then showed us how to fit them on our heads, covering the ears and the face to the tip of the nose. With strips of black tape, we fixed them in place so that the eye holes wouldn't shift. They were like the executioner's caps I'd seen in movies.
Now we all undressed, stashing our clothes in the alcove, and then Eldridge lined us up at the room's far end before he shouted up the stairs, summoning the women.
They were naked too when they came down. First Alice, then Sharon Harvey, Myra Deering... and then Sandra, flanked one step beck by the two tallest women, Irene and Laurel, each holding one of her arms.
The first three went silently to benches on our right, where they sat with knees up and spread, their cunts blatantly exposed. Then Sandra's guards brought her to the center of the room, facing us.
Eldridge and I stood in the center, with Harvey and Cahill on my right, Deering and Skowron on his left. Deering had a full erection already, and Eldridge, Cahill and I were about half-hard. Skowron's raw-looking, wrinkled cock hung straight down, as did Harvey's massive roll of meat.
Sandy was biting her lower lip, and there was sheer terror in her eyes, even before Eldridge spoke.
"This will be the final stage of your initiation, my dear Sandra," he said silkily. "After tonight, you will be a full and equal member of the club." He paused, then added in a clipped, distinct tone, "If... you... live."
A shudder swept through Sandra's naked form, and she closed her eyes, her lips trembling.
"You may not speak tonight, Sandra. You may scream when necessary ... and it will be necessary, but if you speak one word, you will quickly regret it. You have nothing to say to us, anyway, except that you want cock, always more cock, filling you till it kills you ... And we all know that already, Sandra. Therefore you will not speak, and cock you shall have.
"Do you understand all I've said, my dear? If so, merely nod your head."
Sandra's eyes opened, fixing hungrily on Eldridge's downward-arching cock as she nodded.
"Good," her tormentor said. "Let's begin, then, with your husband's cock. You will get on your knees and come to him, Sandra. You have exactly four minutes to make him come, using your mouth alone. If you fail, you will then go on trying, but we will give you a rather painful sort of assistance in your efforts.
"All right, my dear. On your knees now, and come get the cock."
Alice and Laurel released her arms, and Sandra went to her knees and staggered forward a little before she dropped forward onto her hands. "No!" Eldridge barked. "Up on your knees! Come!"
She straightened and came on, arms dangling at her sides, desperate eyes fastened on my slowly stiffening prick, until she had its head in her mouth.
She gave it all she had, too ... tongue, tight lips, scraping teeth, now and then jamming forward till the knob snubbed into the top of her throat. I was fully hard now, and stayed that way, but I was nowhere near coming when Eldridge, who still wore his watch, intoned ominously, "One more minute, bitch."
Sandra tried to grab my ass for leaverage, but Eldridge leaned over and slashed her hands away. And so, wobbling and trembling, she did the best she could with just neck-action and balance, her clutching lips jerked up and down over two-thirds of my length, tongue coaxing on every upstroke...
Cahill had moved silently to the cabinet, and he returned now with a short-handled whip of several foot-long leather strips, each with a small black bead at its end ... a cat o' nine tails, I guess they're called. He positioned himself behind Sandra and to her left, watching Eldridge eagerly as the rangy older man peered down at the second hand of his watch.
Then, silently, Eldridge nodded, and Cahill swung his arm back and brought it slicing around, the beaded thongs spraying out to pepper Sandra's lower back and left buttock with pain.
Reflexively, she bit down on my cock. But Eldridge had apparently foreseen this, and before her teeth closed painfully, he had sent a jolting kick into her belly; her jaws snapped open in a grunting gasp, her head slamming forward against my belly.
"No teeth, Sandra," came Eldridge's syrupy command, "or we'll have to pull them. We have all the necessary equipment, my dear."
Sandra's hands were scrabbling over the scorched flesh of her back and ass now, my cock still in her mouth.
"You may hold onto him now, my dear," Eldridge went on. "And the whipping will continue until you make him come."
She began to sob as she flattened her hands against my thighs, her blubbering lips tickling my cock's shaft. Then Cahill's second stroke snapped across her shoulder blades and she clamped down hard, somehow keeping her teeth covered, and as she stripped those gripping lips back toward the head, I began to come, my hips socking forward of their own will.
Cahill got in two more slashes before I stopped pumping, and then Eldridge signaled him off.
"I'm next, my dear bitch," he said, taking a handful of her hair and drawing her toward him. "Four minutes again. You've done it in less, you know."
But this time it took her five, and during that last minute, she took at least a dozen cuts from Cahill's cat o' nine tails.
Deering was next, and this was a break for Sandy, since he was hot as hell from watching, and came in just under three minutes. Then Eldridge moved her on to Skowron, gave his watch to Deering, and took his own limp cock over to Alice, who set about reviving it while Sandra's vilification continued.
Skowron, when he had lasted nearly four minutes, reached out over my wife's bobbing head and took the whip from Cahill. At Deering's nod, he flicked it down and inward, several of the stinging leather strips wrapping themselves around her right buttock to bite into her crotch. She lurched fully erect, losing his cock for a moment as she let out a whinnying groan of agony.
Then Skowron concentrated on her thighs, reddening them solidly on the backs and sides before his balls broke his mental control and shot their load of cum into Sandra's throat.
Sandra looked faint as, in response to Eldridge's curt instructions, she knee-walked back past me to where Harvey waited, his lengthy, thick hose still pointing straight down.
Cahill took the whip back, and Skowron went over to the bench where Irene had perched, stuffed his half-hard cock into her skillful tunnel and proceeded to work it back to full rigidity therein while he watched Sandra's next ordeal.
Harvey took a full ten minutes to come. And long before he did ... perhaps two minutes into the whipping phase ... Cahill began to jack his own cock frantically with his left hand, while his right sent the wicked beaded strips whistling onto Sandra's back. After four or five such strokes, he dropped the whip and grabbed his balls, his spine arching monstrously, knees shaking, cum spurting from his bullet-shaped cock to spatter and ooze irfSandra's hair.
Skowron had leaped up, snarling scornfully at Cahill as the thin sadist's hips jerked spastically. Now he scooped up the whip and took a vicious backhand swipe across Sandra's ass, then got into position and began a series of wrist-flicking uppercuts into the ripe undercurves of her buttocks. On each of these, one or two of the slashing thongs curled into her crack, to bite the compressed lips of her cunt.
As Harvey came, finally, he toppled stiffly forward, bending Sandra back painfully over her lower legs and scraping feet. He caught himself on bent arms, in pushup position, but Sandra's head thonked down on the stone floor, unconciousness cutting off her choked scream.
Harvey still pumped his cum into her mouth, even as someone to my right began to clap, and the others joined in, applauding his inventive conclusion to the evening's first round of sensual savagery.