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| Stories Bingo’s Home Bingo’s Lair |
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DISCLAIMER:
Some of the things the characters do in this story are seen as offensive
or frightening (even terrifying) by some if not most people. Please
don’t surprise anyone. Always ask first. Have an agreed upon
safe word even if you don’t do BDSM. See Cecilia
Page for story codes and additional information. Part 1 — Chapter 3 |
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She took the quiche out of the oven and set it on a rack to cool. Dinner was more or less done. She still had to prepare vegetables and a salad but that only would take a few minutes. She felt good about herself. Her day wasn't so much a list of things done as a list of things not done. She hadn't gone to a bar and picked up a man. She hadn't gone back to the bar and picked up another man. She hadn't gone back to the bar and picked up a third man. In the time available she could have done it quite a few times. Instead, she masturbated. She made a list, hour by hour of things to do today. Mostly tickle her kitty but also wash clothes. She remembered sorting and coming across a stained pair of Ashley's panties. She sniffed them and smiled, then tossed them into the washer. Ashley's Dave was a very lucky boy. She hoped he knew that. She had her list for her discussion tonight with William. She had a pretty good idea how it would go - badly. She was prepared for that. She had planned as well as she could. It was hard to negotiate with someone who wouldn't communicate. Her demons had given her a breathing space this afternoon, perhaps because of her schedule. She set herself time to play with them, but that time was strictly rationed. Ashley hadn't stopped by after school; she said she might not be in until late. Dave was on the football team, not a player, captain, and Ashley wanted to watch practice. Imagine, her daughter a jock. Sweet Ashley. She smiled to herself as she nervously played with the napkins on the kitchen table. Four o'clock. William wouldn't be home until sometime after six. She straightened the napkins, rose to her feet and removed the apron, all she was wearing besides her high heeled sandals. She slowly walked to the game room. The floor was cold, glazed quarry tiles which were murder during parties on dropped glasses and plates. The coolness of the floor was nice in the summer. In the winter the floor seemed to hold some of the heat from the fireplace. She lay on her back and waited on the hard floor; her newly shaved pussy felt every breath of air. She brought her knees to her chest, held her shins with her hands. She needed to start using fingernail polish. Fingernail polish, eyeliner, lipstick. Too much makeup. Too clean and too polished and she would be ready to visit bars. She shut her eyes and imagined the last time William had been in her like this. She could feel her asshole relax, her pussy lips open, as he looked at her, on his knees between her legs. He stroked her legs, both, a hand on each, moving together, pressing her legs down, raising her cunt upwards. He leaned forward, kissed her. She could feel his magnificent cock rub against her cunt lips. He settled back on his knees, used his hands to rub his cock against her clit. They hardly ever talked when making love; didn't seem to need to talk. Each was fully aware of the other's needs. While he rubbed his cock head against her clit his thumb tapped her anus. Her flower he sometime called it. It made her hot to be so open to him. It made her hot to know when he fucked her in a moment or two he could watch his cock go in and out of her. Her legs under his shoulders, him fucking her, deep inside her. Full, complete. She wanted to scream, stopped screaming when Ashley was two. It wasn't easy to be silent. She felt him fuck her. Not William, the man in the masked hood. He was rough. Ashley was a big girl now so she could scream. Before she could scream he left her. She opened her eyes, saw him stand, erection in his hand. "Please," she said. She watched him turn his back, saw his arm move. Heard him grunt and his cum spatter on the floor. She was on her knees without thinking. She crawled to him, touched his boot lightly with her fingers as she licked his cum from the floor. She convulsed, felt her fingers touch her sensitive clit. It burned all the time. After coming her fingers were hotter than fire on her clit. She shook uncontrollably. It hurt. She licked the spot of drool from the floor, banged her forehead against the cold tile as her fingers kept on. Too much. She collapsed and slept.
When it was time to talk she went to the TV set, turned the cop show off and stood in front of it. William was angry. She spoke first. "We need to talk, William." "There is nothing to discuss." "I can't live here like this. Do you want a divorce?" He looked like he wanted to scream obscenities at her. "Just a few minutes. Do you want a divorce?" "Never. You'd ruin me." "I'm not interested in taking your business or the house. Create a trust fund for Ashley. Pay me two thousand a month, buy me an inexpensive house, a handyman special I can fix up. That's it." He shook his head. "I can't go on like this any longer, William." "You seemed so pure. You lied to me, Cecilia." "My love for you has been pure. I never lied to you. Never." "You're a slut, for Godsakes. How many men have you fucked since we've been together? A thousand? Ten thousand? You do it here? Where do you take your lovers?" She shook her head. They'd been over this before. At first she could say nobody else. Now she wasn't sure. It might have been legions. "I should leave, then." "Go, you won't get a penny from me." He prepared to stand. "I'm leaving tomorrow. I'll move to a hotel while you talk to a lawyer. You know what I want." "Over my dead body." He stood. His face was beet red. His lips were working against each other. There was a shiny spot of spittle on the lower one. He clenched his hands so hard the knuckles were white. Hit me, she thought. Get it over with. That's what you want to do. She happily smiled, "Or I can talk to a lawyer." He shoulders slumped. He made a cut off motion in front of him with his right hand. "Leave. I can't believe you did this to me." Did what, William? She stepped aside from the TV set. "We're almost done. Ashley?" "Leave her out of this. I don't want her to ever see you. You're poison to us both. You're evil." "I want to see Ashley. She must be able to decide on her own. That's a condition." "If I ever see you with another man I'll kill you both." He grinned. "That's a condition, slut." "Trust fund for Ashley. Twenty-four thousand a year for me. An inexpensive house. A divorce." She waited. "No divorce." "Talk to your lawyer. It would be better if you were free of me, I of you." He came to within inches of her. "If I ever see you . . ." She could hear his teeth grind. She could see a vein pulse on his temple. "I'll leave tonight, William." She turned to step away. He held her arm. "How many?" His fingers bruised her. "Just you, William. It's always been just you." "Liar." He pushed her away from him, left the room. She heard the front door slam. She heard his car back out of the drive, gears clash and the car tear off down the street. "Just you, William," she said softly. She touched her cheek. She'd pack and leave a note for Ashley. So many loose ends.
She sat in the motel room. It had a leaky faucet which in a day or two would either drive her crazy or become too familiar, like a pet cockroach. She wiped her cheek, returned to her list on the pad on her lap. There were too many things she could do. She could drive out to the adult bookstore on the highway and purchase marital aids. She could offer herself to the customers there. She could haunt bars; there was one next to the motel. She could visit the truck stops on the highway. Hang out at rest stops. Find a street corner. Park on the outer edge of the massive mall parking lot fifteen miles from here and see what happened. There were libraries, grocery stores and gunshops. There were motorcycle clubs, pizza joints and a Dairy Queen for a refreshing quickie. There was the phone book. "Hello. My name is Cecilia and I like to fuck. I'm in room twenty-three at Coronet Motor Lodge." Too many choices. She had hours and hours, each one requiring a choice. She wrote down, "Talk to Janice if possible." She was worried about Ashley, William, too. Neither could really manage on their own. Perhaps Janice could move in with them. She wrote down the numeral one beside that. God, twenty-four hours. How would she fill the days? She felt the whip strike her butt, low, on her legs, too. She tried not to move. He had her lean forward so her hands were flat against the moist stone wall. Arms forward, head hanging, his hand lower down, pressing on the small of her back. She heard the whip before she felt it. Legs straight, apart, slightly more than shoulder width. Her weight was supported by her arms. Another blow. She heard footsteps in the grit. Another blow. A hand took one breast by the nipple, attached a clamp. Another blow. The other nipple was done. Another blow, hardest of all. Her feet were kicked further apart and light chains were clipped to the rings in her labia. She felt a tug. The hand left her back. She heard grit scrape. She felt her labia being tugged. She waited. "She ever been used by a hound?" one of them asked. She heard several of them chuckle. The chains were attached to her collar. They hung from her neck, to her knees, then rose to her cunt. The hand returned to her, this time to her shoulder. It grasped her, turned her and forced her to her knees. Her pelvis was a ball of fire, her tits burned, the hand stroked her cheek with the knuckles of its fingers. Softly. A caress. "Not yet," a voice replied. "Open." She opened her mouth. Hands held her wrists behind her, arms straight. Her arms were lifted slightly so she bent forward. She could see seven in front of her; she didn't know how many were behind her. The first one rubbed his cock on her face before plunging it into her mouth, against the opening of her throat. "Two," she wrote. She thought she might try to be a docent at the museum. She thought she could do that. "Three," she wrote. It was hopeless. She was crazy. She burned. She laid the pad aside and resumed fucking herself with two fingers. Slowly, her other hand moved her skirt out of the way. No more underwear or bras. She was done playing straight. She shook her head. No. No. No. She was going to be a museum docent. She fucked herself as she wondered whatever became of Tom. After the first few days he stopped coming around. There were always at least three or four in the house using her. If she slept it was while they were fucking her. The crazy thing was she anticipated them. She looked forward to seeing what new thing they'd come up with. Fucked out they did other things to her. She was a mess. Dirty. Tired. Shaking with a palsy born of exhaustion and desire. She lived in a world of sensation. Good, bad, soft, hard, painful, pleasurable, all mixed so one was indistinguishable from the other. She was a mass of yearning flesh. Even no meant yes. She tried to analyze it later, in Ohio where she stayed for a while on a farm with a bunch of freaks. She couldn't analyze it. She wanted so much to be back there, in Florida, having it happen again. It frightened her. She stopped her fingers, left them in her, dropped her skirt and laid the pad on her lap. She'd buy a VCR and hook it up to the TV. She'd rent movies; she could watch movies. Dietrich, Bogart and Brando. "Four," she wrote. Her fingers wiggled inside her. She wondered where Tom was now. She fucked herself hard. She moaned, watched her face in the large mirror on the wall next to the TV. She could just see her face. She looked crazy. She wrote, "Get labia pierced." Go
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