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Subject: {ASSM} Story: A deer in the headlights - 3 parts (MF, F/car, BDSM, rom) - deer03.txt [1/1]
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THE USUAL WARNINGS:
This is a work of fiction by a twisted mind. If you are
offended by graphic descriptions of natural and/or unnatural
sexual acts, if you are underage, or if this type of
material is illegal where you are, don't read any further.
This is a fantasy. You will have to loosen your clench on
reality a little when you read it. This is a tale in which
physical acts and human responses are not limited to, nor
necessarily based in, reality. Some acts and responses in
this story may be physically impossible and/or
physiologically improbable.
Also, as is the case with most of the stories in this
newsgroup, all the women in this story are beautiful;
gorgeous, even. Gravity has not caused their breasts to
droop nor have wrinkles creased their unblemished faces.
The men (the leading men, at least) are hung like bulls.
They can get it up and keep it up often and at will. In
this special little fantasyland, there are no STDs, morals,
or unwanted pregnancies; and guilt is a four-letter word.
But most important of all, no amount of strength of
character, courage of convictions or moral beliefs stand a
chance against an erotic stimulus. This can be as benign as
an accidental glimpse of a bared ankle or as stimulating as
a whipping on the genitals.
For those of you who didn’t understand the preceding
statements, GO AWAY!
This story is intended for the salacious entertainment of
consenting adults. Do not try to do any of the things
described in this story. You will injure yourself or your
partner. Or be arrested, or shot by her father....
If you are under 18 years of age, GO AWAY! This story will
burn your eyeballs and fry your brain.
If material of a strong sexual nature is prohibited where
you are, GO AWAY!
By continuing, the reader accepts all responsibility for any
disgust, revulsion, jail sentences, or pleasure that results
from reading this story. If you don’t, GO AWAY!
You have been warned!
If you enjoy this story and feel the urge to post it on a
<free> site, at least give me (NightShade) credit for it.
So, stick your tongue firmly in your cheek and enjoy the
story!....:)
NightShade
A Deer in the Headlights (MF, F/car, BDSM)
Chapter 03
by NightShade
11/99
That had all started and ended three months ago, like a
passing thought. Janet and I haven’t been together since,
although on occasion I see evidence of my car windows being
cleaner than I remember them. I swear the Jag runs a bit
faster on certain days, too. But things haven’t been going
well lately, for either of us.
The first thing of note that happened was an industrial
accident at the mortuary where Darrin worked. It seems he
was making some final adjustments or something to the body
of one of the deceased prior to cremating it. Somehow, the
lid of the coffin accidentally slammed shut on him and
latched itself in the locked position. No one ever did
figure out why Darrin had to climb all the way into the
casket with that dead young woman, leaving his shoes, socks
pants and underwear lying on the floor where the next shift
found them. Strange, no?
Even stranger, although the manufacture of the cremation
oven swears it is impossible to do, the automatic conveyer
feed into the oven turned on all by itself! Since the
coffin was already in position on the feeder track, the
coffin along with Darrin and the dead woman was into the
raging fire before anyone could do anything to save poor
Darrin. As his widow, Janet had to settle for a mere multi-
million dollar settlement for the loss of her beloved
spouse. So young, so beautiful, and now so rich. So
tragic, no?
My luck was even worse. The police report concluded that
the spouses of two clients (a.k.a. victims) of my wife’s
brothers apparently decided that the world would be a better
place without the two brothers. One of them was run down by
an 18-wheeler. It would have looked like a traffic
accident, except for the fact he was getting a massage in a
seedy motel room at the time. The front wheel of the truck
ended up parked right on top of his wallet. I thought that
was appropriate, somehow, as it was in the back pocket of
the pants he was still wearing.
That same tragic night the other brother died as well. I
guess he should have known not to have electrical appliances
so close to the bathtub. It is just too easy for it to fall
into the water and cause an accident. The authorities
couldn’t figure out what he was doing with a steam iron in
the bathtub. Maybe ironing out his legal briefs? (Sorry, I
couldn’t resist….)
Anyway, this incident might have been ruled an accident as
well, except it is really hard to fall on an iron and embed
it in your skull. Especially from the back. Then to reach
back and plug it in. To my way of thinking there were just
a few too many inconsistencies for this to be an accident.
Gee, you think so?
The cops, however, had way too many suspects. It seems
everyone they talked to that had dealings with one or both
of them had a motive to kill them. Most of them almost
justifiably. And those two boys were really busy, too.
There were hundreds of clients, therefore, hundreds of
victims. Interestingly, I never was a suspect. I was in
Hawaii for a seminar that week. Hundreds of people saw me
give my presentation. Won a fucking award, too.
The upshot of those two happy endings was that my wife was
suddenly the front, and only, runner for Momma’s inheritance
money. I thought she may have jumped the gun a bit, but the
day after the dearly departed’s funerals, she filed for
divorce. I couldn’t believe it. If I had known it was that
simple, I would have gotten rid of those two fuckers years
ago. Years!
My lawyer got together with her lawyer and worked out a
settlement. She was in such a rush now that she was getting
Momma’s money, she would have agreed to anything. It seems
she wasn’t interested in anything from me but the furniture
she had been collecting and storing in the garage for the
past 25 years. That crap filled all three bays. Some
fucking French shit. It was as uncomfortable to sit in or
sleep on as the furnishings made for the Inquisition. Which
seemed fitting, somehow.
The bad news wasn’t over though. Janet’s dead husband’s
Momma decided to move in with Janet, to help her grieve and
to help her spend her settlement money. As she was packing
up her old house to move in, she had a terrible accident and
fell down the stairs to her death. Trouble was, some of her
old biddy friends told the cops she never, ever went
upstairs. She was deathly afraid she would fall down and
hurt herself. Damn! No wonder that old bitch had put up
such a struggle. The first and second times I carried her
up those stairs she really put up a fight. By the fifth
time, most of the fight was pretty well gone. Fortunately,
the detectives ignored that lead and didn’t pursue it. If
they had looked too closely, they might have found the tiny
little injection site behind her left knee. Like I say,
never leave an accidental death to chance….
To continue the bad news, shortly after that, my mother-in-
law suffered a fatal accident as well. She apparently
slipped on a throw rug while preparing to go to a knitting
class. She was still clutching those sharp knitting needles
in her hand when my soon-to-be ex-wife found her. The
needles went right through her heart, which I found ironic.
I would have sworn she didn’t have one.
I would have also sworn that Momma had never so much as
touched a pair of knitting needles much less owned a set,
but my almost ex-wife told the cops that she had taken an
interest in domestic things of late.
I just about choked on that one. But the cops believed it.
My soon-to-be ex-wife suddenly inherited Momma’s money, as
the Will had not been changed to give it all to the cats.
My favorable divorce agreement suddenly promised to make me
very wealthy. The lawyers had agreed to an arrangement that
we would split half of everything. My wife had agreed that
half of everything I had was the furniture in the garage.
But the settlement went both ways. God, I love that Equal
Rights shit! She nearly had a hemorrhage when she realized
I was going to get half of Momma’s money and that she had
already signed the papers.
Not a bad arrangement, I thought. I got rid of my bitter
old wife and a truckload of old shit and in return I got a
ton of money and my garage back. Not bad at all for 25
years hard labor. Except that my wife pulled a fast one.
She sucked up to an old judge friend and got him to nullify
her original filing for divorce. Oh, well. I still got my
garage back. And even though we weren’t getting a divorce,
my wife decided to live on in Momma’s house. So, three out
of four ain’t bad, right?
What happened next was just terrible, though. The movers
came and loaded the truck with all the furniture and the
antiques from my garage. I had been out of town for three
weeks straight when they came. My wife, not trusting the
movers, had driven along behind them. As they were headed
out of the state, one of the brakes on the truck must have
over-heated and it started a fire under that dry wood. That
old furniture lit off like a rocket, almost as if there had
been incendiary devices, like bags of gasoline and stuff,
stuffed in all the drawers and taped under the tables.
No one expected my wife to try to rescue that old shit. But
she did. Before anyone knew what was happening, she dashed
into the burning truck and started hauling out pieces. She
actually got three chairs out of the van before the fire and
smoke overcame her and she burned up along with her precious
furniture. The two drivers of the van and all the passers-
by were helpless to save her.
That was three days ago. After the funeral I just flushed
her remains down the toilet. I was back out in the garage,
my empty garage sweeping up and getting ready to finally get
my tools back out. Twenty fucking years I had wanted a
workshop. We never had any extra space, or she had been
afraid that there might be some dust or shit that would get
on her precious furniture. Well, that was all gone now, and
her with it.
The garage was empty except for the beginnings of a motor
hoist in the third bay. For years I had been planning on
restoring an old ’57 Chevy I had found in a run-down barn a
couple of counties over. No one owned it, and the farm was
abandoned as far as I could tell. I had installed a heavy
chain and a winch up in the rafters 20 years ago, and it
still looked good as new. I had made a couple of three-foot
bars of iron with center rings that could be hung from the
hoist chain and then used to lift a motor block out of the
car. I had cleaned up the area pretty well getting ready to
pull the rusted out hulk in from the back 40 where it was
tarped. I was busy sweeping and straightening
I heard the ‘click click’ of her heels echoing off the bare
walls. God help me, my prick got iron hard even before I
turned to look at her. When I did, she was everything I
remembered and more. A wet dream come to life.
A tiny smile played across her lips as she noticed the tent
in my pants. Her long erect nipples were doing a nice job
on the front of her tight shirt as well. It that’s what you
could call what she was wearing. It was one of those
sleeveless T-shirts that was cut short, just under where her
breasts rested on her chest. The rest of her outfit
consisted of a micro thong and a pair of very high stiletto
heels. She had come to get fucked. I had thought I was
ready, until I saw her. Now I wasn’t so sure if she wasn’t
more woman than I could handle.
She stopped in front of me, a curious look on her face.
“No glasses, John?”
“I got contacts.”
“Oh! Well, do you like what you see?” She did a slow
pirouette in front of me, gradually lifting her arms above
her head as she pivoted. That motion exposed her perfect
tits to my view as the hem of the short shirt raised up with
her arms.
“Yes. Yes I do!” I deadpanned a big sigh and went back
to sweeping. I wanted to see how far she would go to get
fucked.
I could sense her confusion when I didn’t jump her right
then. Unsettled, she wandered around the cavernous room. I
was watching her from the corner of my eye as I continued
sweeping. She touched an item here and there, then stopped
to seriously look at something on one of the shelves.
Something had caught her interest. She picked it up and
brought it over to me. When she held it out and I saw what
it was she had in her hand, it was like a fist had grabbed
at my stomach and twisted.
She held an old dog collar that I hadn’t seen in more than
20 years. I had forgotten about it until now, and now all
the pain of tragically losing a faithful pet came rushing
back to me.
I explained to Janet that the collar belonged to my Springer
Cocker Spaniel, Lady. Lady and I had been together since
High School. I had seen this scraggly little runt of the
litter in a pet shop window on my way home from school and
had been irresistibly drawn to her. She seemed to feel the
same about me, as the owner finally gave her to me. He
flagged me down a couple of days later as I walked by on my
way home. He said she cried the entire time I was out of
her sight and would bark wildly whenever I was in sight. I
offered to work for him for free to pay for her, and got my
first job that way.
My parents like the idea of me getting a job, but objected
to me getting a dog until Lady won them over. She was that
kind of dog. It took her about two minutes. From then
until she died we were inseparable. No one knows how she
died, but the theory was that Lady’s leash somehow got
caught on the bumper of the car my wife was driving without
her knowing about it. All that was left of Lady when my
wife got back from town was the leash and this collar. And
a 2-mile long bloody smear where her legs finally gave out
and she couldn’t run any longer.
Janet stared at the collar in shock as I finished the short
tale of Lady, ashamed and embarrassed at the raw nerve she
had touched. But she was a trouper.
She undid the buckle on the collar and slipped it around her
own neck. It was a tight fit, but she got it fastened. It
looked damn good on her. Better than I remember it looking
on Lady. I was visibly shaking when she looked up at me and
she misinterpreted my lust for anger. She paled.
“I – I’m sorry, Sir! I didn’t mean to make you angry.”
“I’m not angry. What did you mean to do by putting it
on.”
“I don’t know. I just thought all of a sudden that, well,
it kind of looked like a slave collar, and, well, you
know…” She tapered off.
“You want to be my slave?”
“Oh, no. I mean, yes! I mean, I…”
“Yes or no? Which?”
“Yes,” she said.
“My SEX slave?
I saw a shudder pass through her as she began to realize
what she had gotten herself into and where this was headed.
Then, “Yes, Master.”
“Stay here.” I walked over to where she had picked up the
collar and got a couple of items. Then I moved a couple of
things around, arranging them to fit my purposes. I had no
idea what I was going to do, and was stalling for time. As
I was looking through my toolbox, the glimmer of an idea hit
me.
I quickly left the garage and ran to my bathroom to grab
some things I needed. Then I dashed back and found her
standing right where I had left her. So far, so good.
I moved set up a video camera on a tripod, put in a fresh
tape and turned it on. I rechecked the angle and the
lighting. It was good. Then I went over to the sawhorse I
had placed in the center bay. “Come here, Lady! Come on,
girl.” I slapped the leash against my thigh a couple of
times to indicate where I wanted her to come to.
‘Lady’ got the strangest look in her eye when she realized
who – or what – I was referring to. She hesitantly came
over to me, a questioning, fearful expression on her face.
I think she already sensed it would be a mistake to speak.
“Good girl! That’s my girl!” I scratched her familiarly
behind her ears, as one would an animal. Then I snapped the
leash on her collar. I let it hang down between her breasts
to let her feel the weight of it. I intended her to feel
the sting of it later. Just for the hell of it, unless she
would give me an excuse to really punish her.
I turned her so that she was standing with her back to one
end of the sawhorse and sat her down on the end of it,
facing away from the other end. I took duct tape and firmly
taped one ankle to one leg of the sawhorse, the other ankle
to the other leg. Then I helped her lie back along the top
of the horse, the narrow top board barely supporting her
spine. After both wrists were taped to the other legs, she
was completely helpless and more than a little
uncomfortable. The sawhorse was sturdy but inflexible.
I kissed her hard on the lips and then quietly asked her if
she was sure this was what she wanted. She thought about it
this time, but the lust in her eyes when she nodded was an
inferno. I wondered briefly at that time just who was
controlling whom in this relationship. Then I saw her
nipple peek out at me, and didn’t give a second thought.
I reached down with my hand and got a firm grip on her thong
panties. I had always wanted to rip a pair of panties off
of a woman, and I did it now. I won’t say it’s over-rated
as a fantasy, but if you ever do it, make sure they are
either the cheap kind or really old, or ever better, the
old, cheap kind. Thank goodness this pair was miniscule,
because as it was, I was barely able to snap the seams. Any
more fabric and I would have hurt myself - or worse, Janet!
They came off in a quite dramatic fashion, ruined and
smelling of cunt. I savored them for an appropriate amount
of time and then stuffed them into her mouth. I made sure
they stayed there by applying two strips of duct tape across
her luscious lips. I think it was then that she realized
she might have been in over her head. She could trust me or
panic. Thank God she decided to trust me.
One of the very few mementos I had from my grandfather was
an old fashioned straight razor. It was exactly like the
kind they use in horror movies to slit people’s throats,
dismembering bodies, and cutting off other body parts. I
held that up now for her to see, and with a flick of my
wrist, opened it up so that the gleaming blade was exposed.
It took her a minute to realize what she was looking at.
The fighting began when she did. I thought she was going to
rip that sawhorse apart with the struggles she was putting
up.
Carefully, as she was still bucking, I made three cuts in
the material of her top. One at each shoulder and another
right up between her tits. No more Mr. Macho for me. She
froze the moment I moved the razor close to her body. I
slid the ruined shirt from her body and left her naked, but
for those fabulous shoes and a small patch of hair, which I
intended to remove next.
I lathered up the shaving brush, whipping up a big glob of
foam. When it was nice and thick, I applied it to her pubic
area, lathering it up much more than necessary. It took a
second for her to comprehend what I was doing, but when she
did, she began to violently shake her head from side to
side. I decided to ignore her protests and to pretend
instead that she was in the throes of passion.
Urging her to stay still, I lightly stroked the razor
through her already neatly trimmed bush. In three or four
strokes, it was all gone. I got the hot towel I had brought
down with me and laid it on the newly denuded area. That
got a completely different kind of reaction from my new
slave. She was much more appreciative this time, keening
into her muzzle and thrashing around my finger I had
‘accidentally’ slipped into her cunt.
Her orgasm was explosive and left her drained. She must
have been primed for weeks before she had come over today.
I know I sure was.
I stood back and admired my handiwork. She was laid out on
the sawhorse like a feast at a banquet. Sleek and bare,
sexy as any woman I could have ever imagined. It was beyond
my wildest dreams, and, to be honest, I was quite at a loss
as to how to proceed.
Janet seemed to want to pursue the Dom/Sub relationship. I
was more interested in fucking the hell out of her every
night for the rest of my life, which would be significantly
shortened in span if I did exactly that. I didn’t care, I
intended to make her the offer. In addition, I didn’t want
our first fuck to be the result of a kinky bondage session.
Somehow, I wanted more romance, soft light, roses, candles,
tenderness, that kind of stuff. Call me a romantic, call me
soft, just be sure to call me for all your insurance needs –
Oh, sorry. Got a bit carried away. Professional hazard.
I walked over to the bound girl. I knelt down by her side,
putting our heads at the same level. I tweaked an aroused
nipple to get her attention. For some reason, she seemed to
have drifted off.
“Janet?”
Her eyes focused lazily on my face. When I thought she was
all there, I continued.
“I need to talk to you.”
She thought I was going to remove the gag. When I didn’t
she got the most adorable frustrated frown and made a couple
of unintelligible noises that I assumed were protests. They
could have been swear words, but I chose to ignore her
frustration. It was kind of cute.
“No. I just want you to answer ‘Yes’ or ‘No.’ You think
you can do that?”
She nodded, glaring at me.
“Is this what you had in mind for today?” I indicated her
being tied up.
First she nodded, then she shook her head.
I thought about that for a minute, then she repeated the nod
and the shake very deliberately.
“Let me guess. Your answer is yes and no. Right?”
She nodded.
“So. You wanted to be tied up today?”
Again she nodded.
“Is this all you wanted? Just being bound.”
She shook her head.
“Oh. Did you like it when I shaved you?”
She blushed, but nodded her head. It was a kind of personal
thing.
“Do you want to stop now?”
She shook her head vigorously.
“You want more?”
Nod.
“You want me to tie you up some more?”
Nod. Shake.
“Yes and no, huh? You want more than being tied up?”
Hard nod.
“What? Like when I took pictures?”
She made a kind of waddle, which I took to be noncommittal.
I was stumped. She looked around for a moment, then started
to move her eyes and chin in a motion to indicate something
in my direction. I stood up, and her direction of motion
changed slightly. OK, it was something about me. I looked
down at myself. Other than a huge hard-on, there was
nothing out of the ordinary about what I was wearing or
about me.
I pointed at my hard cock. “You want to be fucked?”
Hard nod. Then a definite shake. We had been through this
before.
“OK. You definitely want to be fucked, but something more,
too?”
She nodded.
“It has to do with me?”
She didn’t nod or shake, just did that chin and eye thing
again.
“What?!!” I was confused. She just continued to nod at
me.
I thought, ‘What the Hell.’ Maybe she wanted me naked, too.
I took my shirt off.
“Is this what you wanted? You want me naked, too?”
She gave me that maddening nod and then a shake thing.
“More, huh?”
If you could make a salacious nod, she did, her eyes riveted
to my crotch.
I took off my sandals. I held them up, teasing her.
“More?”
This time she rolled her eyes in total frustration.
I undid my belt and pulled it out of my pants, slowly, like
a striptease, man-style.
Her eyes widened, and she began quivering, using her chin to
point at the belt in my hand. Something told me that this
was what she had been trying to get me to ask.
“You want me to do something with my belt?”
Hard nod, eyes glued to the belt.
“You want me to tie your hands with it, like the other
times?”
She shook her head and gave an exasperated groan.
“You want me to use my belt, but not to tie you,” I
puzzled out loud. It hit me like a ton of bricks. “Oh
shit! Janet, do you want me to use my belt on you? To hit
you with it?”
She closed her eyes, tears leaking from the corners. Then
she nodded, and sighed.
I stood stock-still. Paralyzed, frightened, excited beyond
action. My desire was evident to both of us, but what she
couldn’t see were my reservations. I wanted the first time
to be special, but not special kinky. I wanted it to be
special romantic.
I also wanted with all my being to beat her with my belt.
Call me twisted, sick or perverted, but there is something
powerful about having a beautiful woman tied helplessly in
front of you, begging you to hurt her. Well, OK, not
begging, but she was damn near hinting real hard. I decided
to give her the choice. She could have both, just what
order did she want them in?
“Uh, Janet?” Her eyes flew open at the sound of my
hesitancy.
“I have a problem. No, no, it’s not that I don’t want to
be your master and punish you. I want that very much.
Maybe more than you know. It’s just that, well, we haven’t
ever, you know, fucked. I was sort of hoping to do that the
next time I saw you, which is today. But I don’t want our
first time to be connected with, well, this kinky stuff,
whatever it is.
“So I have to ask you: Do you want to fuck today or do you
want me to hurt you?”
OK, so I’m a chickenshit coward.
She looked up at me, seriously considering what I had said.
She seemed to understand what I wanted and why I wanted it
that way. Then she nodded, again pointing with her chin
towards the open garage door where she had come in earlier.
I turned to look what she was pointing at. There, in the
doorway, where I hadn’t noticed it before, was a small gym
bag.
I walked over and picked up the light nylon bag. There
wasn’t much in it. The top was unzipped, so I pulled it
open and looked. She had come prepared. Ropes, a gag, and
a crop. I pulled the things out and held them up for her to
see.
“Were you intending to use these on me?”
She shook her head.
“You brought these for me to use on you?”
Nod.
“You really want me to hit you with this thing?” I held
up the crop and swished it a couple of times.
Nod.
“How hard?”
That stumped her, as it wasn’t a yes/no question. So she
started whipping her head around, almost violently. I got
the idea.
“Really hard, huh?”
Nod.
“I don’t understand. Do you want me to really punish
you?”
Blush, tears, and finally and slight nod. Then she turned
her head away. I couldn’t get her to answer anymore
questions. It was now up to me.
Not quite ready to pass up a golden opportunity, and not
quite comfortable or ready to whip her, I did the next best
thing. I ate her out.
You would have thought I had stuck a cattle prod up her butt
the way she came off of that sawhorse. I swore she was
going to break her back. From the moment I first knelt down
between her spread thighs and kissed her freshly shaved
mound until I reluctantly pulled my aching tongue from her
dripping swollen gash, she didn’t stop bouncing up and down
on that narrow board. I guess she enjoyed it. I know I
did.
After catching my breath, I carefully unwound the duct tape
and released her from the awkward position she had been in.
She sort of crumpled to the ground, halfway gasping and
sobbing. I let her stay there for a moment while I grabbed
a couple of things from the shelves in the garage and moved
a few things around. Then I went back to her and lifted her
to her feet. She swayed unsteadily on her heels.
I helped her over to a spot underneath the winch I had
installed 20 years ago. I had one of the bars already
attached to the chain and had it elevated to about waist
height. I carefully wrapped one of her wrists with a thick,
clean oil rag, then looped a chain attached to the end of
the bar around her wrist. A snap of the hasp and she was
chained to the bar. I repeated the process of protecting
and chaining the other wrist to the other end of the heavy
iron bar.
I moved to the switch and activated the motor. It purred as
it raised the bar and her arms until they were above her
head. I stepped back to her and repeated the process on her
ankles with the other bar, leaving about six inches of slack
in the chain between her feet and the lower bar. Then I
raised the winch again until she was dangling in the air,
her feet spread by the lower bar, her arms held apart by the
upper bar. The extra weight of the heavy iron dangling from
her ankles would have been too much strain on her shoulders,
so I didn’t raise her all the way. I just wanted the lower
bar to keep her from spinning around as I whipped her tender
body. I did pull her taut, however. She looked sexier than
ever.
For the next hour or so I whipped her beautiful body. I
didn’t think I had that much rage in me, but 25 years of
anger surfaced that day. Janet took the whole of it. When
I finally stopped, she looked terrible. I had used my belt
for most of the time. I found the whip to be too
uncontrollable and I left a couple of nasty welts on her
creamy skin that would probably scar. I had more control
with the belt, and although I tried to avoid the really
sensitive parts, like a direct blow to her cunt or face or
across her hard nipples, she seemed to get off on it when I
slipped and had a near miss.
We both came a couple of times. I would see her in the
throes of a staggering orgasm and it would set me off.
There was sticky stuff all over the garage floor.
I stopped when I couldn’t lift my arm anymore. She was
hanging limp in the chains, her skin a blotchy red mass of
welts and bruises. She was going to hurt for a long time.
I removed her from her bonds, ripped off the gag and lifted
her down. I carried her up to the master bedroom. I had
just installed a hot tub, something my ex-wife would have
thought frivolous. Especially as you had to use it naked.
I stepped into the steamy water and lowered us both into the
soothing comfort of its embrace. She didn’t even flinch as
the water embraced her sore body. She slept. I cried. It
was had been a cathartic experience for both of us and I
felt a changed man because of it.
Sometime later she stirred. She twisted her head around to
see me. She smiled.
“Thank you, John.”
I kissed her forehead. “Thank you.” I paused. “Janet?”
She murmured something back to me.
“I don’t ever want to do it that hard again.”
“Good.” She paused. “I’m glad we did, though.”
“Huh?”
“Well, when we do this kind of thing again, you’ll know you
don’t have to hold back. I’ll know you won’t injure me,
too, so I can relax and enjoy it.” I noticed she said
‘when’ not ‘if.’ Amazing.
We were quiet for a while. “I wish you had told me
Darrin’s Momma never went upstairs. That could have caused
problems.”
“I didn’t know what you were going to do! How was I to
know? And while we’re at it, how did you ever get Darrin to
get into that coffin with that corpse?”
“I didn’t. He climbed in all by himself.”
She didn’t understand. I almost hated to destroy her
innocence.
“Darrin was having sex with the dead body. It’s called
necrophilia.”
I heard her gasp as the light bulb went off. “So that’s
why he didn’t like me to move when we….” She tapered off.
“How did you find out?”
“He had some stuff in his computer and in his desk. I, uh,
ran across it that night we were in there.”
“Does anyone else know?”
“I think everyone has guessed, but no one knows for sure or
has proof. I, uh, broke in your house and destroyed the
files the night he died. I didn’t want you to be
embarrassed.
“Janet, it gets worse. I think he was planning on killing
you and embalming you in the garage. He had all the
equipment and chemicals. Some of the things he had written
on his computer indicated he was going to do it soon. I
didn’t know what else to do.”
“Thanks. Really. That bastard! Everyone else knew about
that stuff? Do a lot of people have sex with dead people?
Oh, God! I’ll never look at a cemetery the same way
again.”
I let her babble for a while. “So, tell me. Where did you
learn to drive an 18-wheeler?”
She stiffened.
“How did you know?”
“There was a single report of a slim figure in black
slipping away from the crime scene. Both crime scenes, in
fact. It must have gotten lost in all those other reports
the police had to go through.”
“Oh. Thanks, again. One of our neighbors when I was
growing up was a trucker. I had a crush on him, which he
took advantage of. He taught me to drive a big truck, while
he felt me up. It was thrilling for while, then he wanted
to share me with his friends. I didn’t want to and he beat
me. I still wouldn’t. I got back at him and started his
truck on fire.”
“Like the furniture van?”
“Yeah. There’s a lever that bleeds the air from the air
brakes underneath the trailer. If you put in just the right
position, it looks like it is working, but it isn’t. After
about 40-50 miles at speed, the whole tire assembly bursts
into flames. It’s almost impossible to put out.”
“But the reports said the trailer almost exploded.”
“Oh, that. I overheard my neighbor and his buddies
laughing at all the folks that insisted their fine stuff be
protected from scratches and nicks and stuff by being
wrapped in shrink-wrap. There were a couple of kinds that
were found to be highly flammable. I had to look for weeks
to find any of that old stuff.” She grinned. “The guy
was so happy to give it to me, he didn’t even bother to give
me a receipt.” Clever girl.
“Was that all?”
“Yeah, other than the bags of gasoline I had strapped
underneath all the tables and couches. That’s why I shrink-
wrapped them all. I didn’t want them to be discovered.
Your wife was so amazed you had taken such good care of the
stuff. She knew you hated it.”
“You talked to my wife?”
“Oh, no. But I couldn’t help but hear her. God, that
voice…! I didn’t mean for her to get burned like that.
Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. If anything, I should thank you!”
“Oh, don’t. I would feel funny.
“That was a nice touch with the knitting needles.”
“I didn’t do that one. I thought you had!”
The obvious answer hit us both at the same time. My dearly
departed wife had knocked off her own mother to get her
estate. We laughed at the irony of the situation for a long
time.
We lay there soaking in the steaming water, but I could tell
something still wasn’t right. She was bothered about
something but didn’t know how to start. I decided to help.
“You want to tell me about it?”
She snuggled back into me before answering. “John, are we
bad people?”
“What do you mean?” I thought she was thinking about
killing each other’s families. I guess that would fit most
people’s definition of bad, but somehow I didn’t feel sorry
for doing what I had done, or that my wife was dead.
“Well, I went kind of crazy after Darrin was gone.” Don’t
I know it. At least four dead and counting. “What we did
that day, on the lawn. It frightened me. You know I how
was always terrified of dominant men? Well, I discovered I
liked it when you did that me. You were so masterful, so
strong. I had never felt so alive.
“Darrin was the only man I had ever known. The trucker
never did get me to, you know. Well, I, uh, well, I was
bad. After the funeral I was all alone. You were gone
somewhere. I seduced that young lawyer who handled the
lawsuit. And a couple of his friends. I was their
plaything for about a week solid. It wasn’t the same. I
wanted you.
“I’m sorry, Sir. I was bad. I needed you to punish me.
Before we made love. I’m sorry.
I softly kissed her hair. I had to be careful where I
touched her as she hurt all over.
She wasn’t the only one who had gone crazy. I told her
about what I had done. It’s still amazed me how many women
would agree to fuck you if you simply came out and asked
them. Only one turned me down, and I think she reconsidered
later and tried to join in.
I went to work one week after the funeral, walked up to my
secretary and told her I had lusted after her since the
first moment I had laid eyes on her. I had lusted after her
every time we had been in the room together. I had had to
be a gentleman for 6 years because of my wife. She was now
dead. Did she want to fuck?
I thought she was going to hit me at first. Then she
started to stalk out of the office. At the door she
stopped. I heard the door lock. When she turned around,
she had this funny smile on her face.
She said that her immediate reaction was to be insulted, but
when she thought about it, she really was flattered. She
said the only reason she was still here was that she was
getting married in a month. The only man she had ever
known, or was likely to know, was the man she was going to
marry. She wanted a no-strings-attached fling at least once
before she got married.
She was naked by the time she finished her explanation. I
hope I gave her something to remember. I know I will. I
think we came up for air around three o’clock. I spent the
night and the next day at her place.
She was a screamer. The whole office knew what we had been
doing that day in my office. The next day when I went back
in to the office, I said the same things to a co-worker
whose body and face could have graced any glamour magazine
anywhere. Same result. She had heard and masturbated to
sounds of our love-making two days earlier. If anything she
was louder.
I didn’t come home for about two weeks. It got so that the
women in the neighboring offices would be waiting outside
the office for me to come in to work. Very little got done
for a long while.
Janet was in stitches laughing, which hurt terribly given
her condition. She didn’t think I was serious. I offered
to show her the videos. She started believing me around
about the third tape. By that time we had retired to the
bedroom and I was massaging her aching body with salve.
I didn’t stop fucking until I had had every woman in the
building that wanted to. Word spread pretty quickly, so I
didn’t have to ask very hard. They were waiting in line.
Married, single, divorced it made no difference. To them or
to me. But it wasn’t the same. Janet had it right. I
wanted her. I told her so.
Two very long weeks later I blew out the candles on the
dinner table, casting the remains of a glorious meal into
shadow. Janet was in my lap, warm and soft to the touch.
There were no marks on her skin now. I had rose petals
strewn all over the bed. Soft music playing. A scented
candle was burning on the sideboard, casting just enough
light to see her glorious body as I disrobed my beautiful
neighbor.
Our first time was great. Better than I could have
imagined. I found I liked her to move when we, well, you
know… She told me tomorrow that she wants me to tie her up
and take her virgin ass out in the front yard where it all
started. Then she wants to make love in all 15 rooms of my
house and all 18 rooms of hers – at least twice. I asked
her why she was looking at me funny when she told me all
that. She just shrugged and said, for a minute, I had
looked kind of like a deer caught in the headlights… ;-)
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
End of Story
I hope you enjoyed it. :)
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