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The Importance of Being Jennifer
By Adrian Hunter


Jennifer's eyes followed the second hand as it swept past the 12 for the 197th
time. It looked pretty much exactly like the kind of utilitarian wall clocks
you always found in elementary-school classrooms, the ones you were positive
the teachers had rigged to run slow.

Not this one, though. The dozens of "one-one thousand, two-one thousand" tests
she had conducted had validated its accuracy beyond all doubt.

How had Robert managed to mount it on the ceiling, she wondered. Well, he
certainly wasn't lacking in the clever department. Like the way he had extended
the thin wire from the vibrator all the way to the other room where he was busy
watching some interminable sporting event on television.

She had long since stopped trying to determine if there was any pattern to his
manipulation of the controller. Low murmur, buzzbomb, short bursts,
marathons…she had timed them all, to no avail.

And where did he learn to braid hair like that? Her skull ached more from the
tightness of his plaits than the strain of holding her bound feet suspended
behind her.

Jennifer considered struggling hard enough to knock the chair over. But what
would that accomplish? She'd still be facing the wrong way, kneeling on the
cushion with the chain between her nipple clamps wrapped around the backrest,
arms and legs and breasts and crotch wrapped tight with thick leather straps,
ankles twitching in midair behind her thighs, dildo rasping away at his
leisure.

And the last thing she wanted to do was lose track of the time. Robert had been
very explicit about her knowing to the second how long she had spent in this
particular position if and when he should ask her for a report.

Jennifer was quite aware of the exact number of minutes…203…she had been
genuflecting backward in the chair, but she wasn't exactly sure what day it
was.

She flinched as the machinery inside her suddenly sprang to life, knowing it
wouldn't take long before her earthquake graph started zig-zagging again.
Unless, of course, he decided to turn it off seconds before her insides
imploded, a trick he had practiced too many times recently. Maybe he would
wheel it down to a languid hum, dangling her on the brittle edge of whenever.
Or he could just leave it on high until the spaces between orgasms dwindled to
heartbeats.

In the days, or perhaps weeks, following that fateful night in the garage,
Robert had learned how to play her pussy like Chopin caressing a Steinway, but
he treated the rest of her body like a drummer auditioning for Metallica.

She remembered a random moment from yesterday, him leading her on a leash to
the couch in the living room.

"Up," he had said in a dangerous monotone. "Turn the other way. On your knees."

He pushed down her head so it was hanging over the edge, then lashed down her
collared neck with a long piece of rope, the ends stretched diagonally to the
rear legs of the sofa. Arms squashed together behind her back…then a spreader
bar stretching over a yard between her ankles…her every secret
disclosed…examined…worse…

But not as bad as the sound of his echoing laughter when he had thrown open the
door to the storage space and found her suspended and squirming like an animal
caught in a trap…

Jennifer couldn't stop herself from trying to grind the dildo even deeper
inside her, purposely stretching her nipples away from the back of the chair
because she craved the bolts of electricity that shot straight down to her
throbbing sex.

Consequences. Actions creating reactions. Making messy with her best friend's
husband leads to best friend doing likewise to her, and then back again.

The hunger. Irrefutable. Inescapable.

Jennifer now realized she had suppressed it since childhood. But the longing
was as much a part of her as the color of her eyes. Disavowing its existence
had made her perpetually anxious, mean even. Denial as self-medication. Madness
in reverse.

The second hand of the clock suddenly stopped halfway between the six and
seven.

What the…

Beads of sweat began to form under the straps of the harness gag around her
head as she frantically started counting to herself while trying to calculate
how many ticks she had already missed. Meanwhile, the edges of a
soon-to-be-spectacular supernova began pulsing in the middle of her brain as
the vibrator hummed its tuneless elegy.

The fucking battery must have died, she heard herself try to say out loud. Then
she realized the time wasn't nearly as important as was calculating the number
of seconds before the bomb in her groin detonated like a third-world nuke in
Times Square on New Year's Eve.

Three…twoooo ooooh…whuh…whuh…

Jennifer closed her eyes redundantly as everything went black, then her senses
were slammed by searing white.

Later, she remembered noticing that the clock had somehow started up again. But
that was the only memory she could dredge up as she sat in the front seat next
to Robert, watching him navigate through the city streets with the nonchalant
expertise of someone who had played "Carmageddeon" once too often.

He pulled into a down-on-its-luck strip mall, the kind that split the
difference between the fulfillment of someone's lifelong dream ("Comix
Express") and the ones that functioned as virtual coffins for their owners
("Speed-ee Mart").

Jennifer glanced around anxiously while Robert pulled the keys out of the
ignition and opened his door. Not a soul in sight, thank god. She really wasn't
keen on being seen wearing nothing but a loose halter, spandex hotpants and
fuck-me Candies, not to mention her wrists in handcuffs behind her back.

She already knew where they were going. The store on the end. "Infinity
Intimacies."

Dusty headless mannequins draped in trailer-park lingerie beckoned behind the
window as they pushed through the entrance. Once inside, she was surprised to
see no one in the aisles, or even behind the register. Were they even open?
Maybe Robert had arranged for a private visit.

They walked past the racks of satin, lace and "novelties" toward the beaded
curtain in the rear that politely shielded vanilla civilians from the more
aggressively amorous accessories. He led her past the various displays of
shimmering bodywear, skyscraper boots and diabolical contraptions toward a door
that looked like it led to the storeroom.

As he turned the knob, she happened to notice the signs hanging over an array
of nipple clamps: "50% Off!" and "Try Before You Buy!" In the middle of the
myriad chains and black-tipped devices were two round holes about the size of
grapefruits carved into the wall. But she didn't make the connection until he
shut the door behind them and she saw the dim light from the store seeping
through the openings.

A fluorescent light flickered to life overhead, revealing some kind of rubber
gag mounted in the wall with several thin straps hanging down from its sides.
It was joined by three wide leather belts bolted to the wall and spaced maybe a
foot apart in a vertical line below the holes.

She felt Robert's fingers on her back untying the halter. When her breasts were
free, he guided her toward the holes.

"Open your mouth," he said unnecessarily.

Jennifer hesitated for only a second, then she pressed the front of her body
flush against the rough surface of the unfinished drywall and grimaced as the
sour industrial stench of rubber overwhelmed taste and smell.

Mutinous goosebumps blossomed like May dandelions as the store's air
conditioning swirled around her breasts poking through the holes, in sharp
contrast to Robert's hot breath behind her as he buckled the straps securing
her head, torso, thighs and ankles to the wall.

She soundlessly begged him to relieve the ache in her soaked crotch with
something huge and humming, but he feigned oblivion to her squirming and
muffled shrieks.

The doorknob clicked, followed shortly by the light switch. A creak. A slam.
The sound of a key turning a lock.

She felt fingers stroking and tugging her nipples into hard little bumps, then
positioning something cold and clammy around them.

The lightning struck a short second later.

"I thought you'd want to know," he said from the other side of the wall as he
began adding weights to the clamps.

"I get a commission on all sales today."

Hours later, Jennifer could have sworn she heard her husband David talking to
someone, maybe even Robert, about the finer points of tit whipping. But it had
become increasingly difficult to differentiate the delusions from the demons as
the flogger snapped repeatedly against the underside of her breasts.

The next day dawned like all the others…the blackness of the blindfold replaced
by the glaring sterility of his kitchen floor as she contemplated her breakfast
in a dish.

You wanted this, she reminded herself as she sniffed her gruel. Then a burst of
clarity pushed aside her doubts like the proverbial tidal wave that flattens
Manhattan.

The trick, she suddenly realized, was giving herself the permission to enjoy
it, to dance with serpents rather than lose sleep over the opinions of mice.
Most people spend their miserable existences living up to society's desultory
expectations, blanding into Stepford sameness and trying to win Oscars for
cameo roles in someone else's movie.

She found herself strangely thinking about Frank Sinatra, the way he bulldozed
through life not giving a damn about anything but what his own heart told him
to be true.

The real winners are the ones with too few regrets to mention.

For the first time in a long time, she couldn't wait for the day to begin.

After breakfast, Robert led her down the basement stairs into what she had
discovered was his and Karen's fully-stocked dungeon. She wasn't surprised it
existed. But how had she missed it all these years?

A video camera on a tripod stood sentry in the middle of the room.

Jennifer was surprised when Robert began removing her bonds and hanging them up
neatly on the wall with the rest of their impressive collection of toys.

"Do you remember show and tell in school?" he asked her when he was finished.

She nodded affirmative. Who didn't? Standing in front of the class, babbling
excitedly and probably incoherently about her favorite dolls, then later, her
beloved horse books, especially the ones that featured plucky heroines in the
evil clutches of dastardly…

"Well, I want you to pretend that the video camera is your husband. Show him
what you've learned. And tell him what you want him to do about it."

David? Poor, sweet, innocent David? Jennifer felt a sudden chill. Lately, she
hadn't given much thought to anything but her own predicament. But she presumed
he was aware of her whereabouts since that night in the garage. And where was
Karen keeping herself? With him? Thanks to the ceaseless gag, she hadn't
exactly been in a position to inquire as of late.

"But…" she started to say.

Robert interrupted her with a dismissive wave toward the wall of implements.

"Impress us."

With that, he turned and headed up the stairs. A few moments after the door had
closed, a light blinked red on top of the camcorder.

"Oh…OK," she said out loud, tentatively. She moved her naked body in front of
the lens.

"Uh, hi, David," she said to the camera. "This is kinda weird, y'know? I'm
supposed to, um, I guess, well…"

Do what? She felt herself blush. It wasn't her nature to be a sexual showoff,
but then she decided, what the fuck, that particular skin had been shed in the
storage shed. Today would be day one of Jennifer II. David could damn well love
it or leave it.

"Hey, babe, how come you never do this to me?"

She reached up a hand to a breast and began pulling and twisting the nipple.

"Harder," she commanded herself, suddenly husky.

Her fingers curled around the pinkness and squeezed tight.

"Like this…only with your mouth."

As Jennifer's hips began swaying gently, her other hand slipped down to her
sparsely-forested triangle of fur and started rubbing.

She closed her eyes and pretended she was auditioning for a porno movie.

"I want you to make me come," she purred, "like a cannon."

Her entire body began undulating like a snake being charmed out of its basket.

"But I want you make me beg for it."

She stopped suddenly and gave the camera a leer that would make Jeremy Irons
nervous.

She skipped out of range over to the wall of toys and started selecting
items…wrist and ankle cuffs, a belt for her thighs, a collar, a ball gag,
nipple clamps, and a wide leather chastity belt with twin plugs mounted on the
crotch strap.

After she dumped the collection on the floor, she walked behind the camera and
pointed it downward.

"Show and tell? Try watch and learn, David dear."

She sat down behind the pile, found the collar and buckled it around her neck.

Next came the cuffs, then the nipple clamps.

She got on her knees, picked up the chastity belt, and brought it to her mouth.

"This is what I'm going to do to you," she smiled as her tongue began licking
the plug for her butt.

When she was satisfied with its state of slippery, she positioned the straps
around her waist and groin, and pushed the prods deep inside her.

"I want you to keep all my holes filled all the time," she whispered hoarsely
as she held the gag out to the camera. "That way, you can do whatever you want,
whenever you want."

She put the rubber ball between her teeth, then took it out and smiled broadly.

"Your wish is my command."

After the gag was in place, she connected the ankle cuffs, wrapped the belt
around her thighs and fumbled for a moment until she finally hooked the wrist
cuffs together behind her back.

Just as she started wondering how long she would have to wait, she heard the
door to the basement open, accompanied by a burst of applause.

"Bravo!" Robert said grandly. "What a performance."

"Nicely done, honey," a second voice added from behind him.

Jennifer looked up the stairwell and saw David following Robert down the steps.

And behind David was a naked woman being led on a leash whom she found herself
desperately hoping was Karen.

She was right.

At first, Jennifer thought it looked like she was doing an imitation of Jesus
on the cross. When she came into the light, she realized her former friend was
in a rather advanced exigency that dramatically surpassed her own
self-inflicted condition.

Thick bands of metal encircled Karen's head and neck. Twin rods maybe two feet
long stuck out of the sides of the collar and held her wrists suspended in
midair. Matching brass cuffs surrounded her ankles, with two thin chains
trailing up to her pussy.

Upon closer inspection, Jennifer realized that Karen was sporting a variety of
new piercings, including hoops through her labia that were not only connected
to her ankles, but were also padlocked together to seal her sex from any
possible intrusion.

Her nipples had it even worse, trapped in training devices consisting of a ring
encircling her aureole and two thin bars sticking out and up maybe an inch.
These held a third rod that passed through the piercing behind the tip. The
result was a state of permanent, and doubtlessly agonizing, stretch.

It wasn't until Karen got close to her that Jennifer realized there were no
locks or restraining clips on any of her bonds, save the padlock between her
legs and a small one holding the metal plate closed across her mouth. She
looked closely at the seams of the cuffs, and gasped when she saw they were
bolted shut with the kind of one-way screws that couldn't be undone.

"A tragedy," Robert intoned solemnly, noting Jennifer's palpable unease. "Seems
your friend was perhaps a day away from graduating to mouth slave, but alas,
David caught her touching herself in an impure manner. Consequently, she's
being held back, as it were, and will have to repeat her ass slave training."

David burst into giggles. "Start again at the bottom, so to speak." Then he
threw his arms around Robert and gave him a deep, soulful kiss square on the
lips, if not beyond.

Jennifer felt something small and hot explode in her stomach.

David kissing Robert? David doing Robert? Karen she could understand, but
this…this…this was…

Still embracing, the two men turned and faced Jennifer with huge smiles
plastered across their faces.

"Yes to all the above," David replied to her questioning eyes.

"One big happy family," Robert chimed in as he reached down and gave David's
crotch a squeeze.

"Before you ask, I've always known," David continued. "I wasn't quite sure when
or how to tell you, then you made it easy by messing around with Karen. Please
don't think I don't love you…I do. Always have, and always will. But…"

He winked at the wall of toys.

"…we all have secret desires. Only now, they're not so secret, are they?"

Jennifer found herself grateful for the gag, as it permitted her to remain
dumbstruck and speechless. Her brain pinballed violently from the onslaught of
emotions. Was David gay? Or simply mad? Was she? Shouldn't she be? Weren't they
all?

After maybe a minute, she realized it really wasn't going to be important
anymore. They would live their former lives like actors in a play, but the real
drama was going to unfold right here in this basement.

Robert held out a new gag for Jennifer's inspection, this one with a foot-long
dildo sticking out of the faceplate. He glanced over at his wife's backside and
smiled.

"Care to do the honors?"

She turned to David, who threw her an encouraging grin, so she shrugged and
nodded affirmatively.

As Robert applied lubricant to the prod and then began unbuckling the strap
behind her neck, Jennifer found herself thinking about a theory someone had
shared with her recently. It seems that most religions preach that
non-believers go to hell. But we're all non-believers in the eyes of someone's
religion. Therefore, we're all going to hell.

Only some of us will get there smiling, she decided as Robert positioned Karen
so her ass faced Jennifer's now-missiled mouth.

She nudged the tip between Karen's quivering cheeks and leaned forward.

"It's an anal probe," she imagined Karen tittering, thinking back to the day
when their journey had first begun. So many changes…so many dreams come true.
What better way to thank her former and perhaps future best friend than…

"Like this."

___________________________________________
Story archive: http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/Gallery/9911/door.html
Mail: adrianhunter-at-geocities-dot-com


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