SOUND ADVICE--PART 1_(1) by senorlongo
Rating: 94%, Read 65917 times, Posted Sep 22, 2015
I had just walked into the house after a busy and tiring Friday at the store. “I’m home, Gail.” She walked out of the kitchen in response, wearing an apron over her tee and jeans. I leaned forward to kiss her, but she turned her head at the last second and my lips found her cheek instead.
“Go into the bedroom. Get cleaned up and change your clothes. We’re having company tonight.”
“Oh?” That was news to me, but—then again—maybe not. I’d been expecting Gail to start trying her hand at bossing me around. Maybe all my preparations would prove worthwhile after all.
“Hazel and George are coming over at eight.”
“Please tell me you’re joking. You know how I feel about Hazel.”
“I know, but she is my friend and I haven’t seen her in a long time. It won’t hurt you to sacrifice one evening for me. It’ll be over before you know it and then I’ll make it worth your while.”
“How about I just go down to the bowling alley instead?”
“Don’t you dare--I don’t understand what the problem is.”
“Basically, I hate that bitch. She’s an arrogant domineering and intolerant bitch. Those are her good points and her husband is the biggest fucking wimp I’ve ever met. Doesn’t he ever stand up to her? Call her and cancel.”
“I can’t and I won’t and please don’t use that language. Don’t I do a lot of things for you? I won’t invite her again, but…please do this for me tonight.”
“I have your word? Never again?”
“Yes...you have my word.” I’d soon learn exactly how little her word was worth. Unfortunately, I’d have to learn the hard way, but it was exactly what I expected—what I’ve anticipated for weeks. I leaned down to kiss her again and this time she did respond as I’d hoped—by kissing me back. Five minutes later I was in the shower; and thirty minutes after that I was at the dinner table with Gail. She’d made goulash, one of my favorites. I spread the meat and thick gravy heavily over the egg noodles and dug in. Even after having seconds we were done and the kitchen completely cleaned thirty minutes later. Gail showered and spent the next twenty minutes doing her hair and make-up. I used that time to make an important call on my cell, making sure that I deleted the call from its records.
I answered the door at eight on the dot. Hazel may be a complete bitch, but at least she was punctual. I did my best to smile even though one look at her brassy red hair and her blotchy face was enough to make me retch. Instead, I welcomed her and offered to take her jacket. She handed it to me with never even a thought to thank me as she walked into our living room. “Hi, George,” I said to her milquetoast of a husband. His response was a barely audible grunt.
Gail bounced out of the kitchen a few seconds later, hugging Hazel and completely ignoring George. “Mike, sweetie, would you get us something to drink?” She had just deposited her ass on the couch as she spoke.
“Sure, honey—why don’t you get us some chips and salsa while I’m dealing with the drinks?” Two could play this game. She glowered at me as she returned to the kitchen. “What will you have, Hazel?”
“Have any Chardonnay?”
“Sure. How about you, George?”
I couldn’t believe that he hesitated, even looking to Hazel for approval, before answering. “Have any ginger ale?”
“I believe we do. Okay…two Chardonnays, a ginger ale, and a gin and tonic coming right up.” Gail was waiting for me, a scowl on her face, when I reached into the refrigerator for the wine.
“I thought you were going to be a genial host.”
“I don’t recall saying anything like that. I said I’d endure one evening with them…that’s all.” I removed the plastic seal from the bottle’s top and plunged the corkscrew into the cork and twisted, sniffing it once it was removed. After placing the wine glasses on the tray I took two tall glasses from the cabinet, filled them with ice from the freezer and poured one with ginger ale and made myself a gin and tonic right down to the wedge of lime. Once I had served the drinks I returned the tray to the counter and joined Gail on the couch.
I was surprised at the lack of conversation. The silence was deafening as though they were just waiting for something to happen so I asked George how work was going.
“Okay—business is a little slow.” I found that hard to believe. George was a banker. When is banking ever slow? After taking another look at his wife I thought I’d probably work twenty hours a day or more if I was married to her.
For two people who were friends and had wanted this get-together so badly Gail and Hazel didn’t seem to have much to say to each other. I was pretty sure I knew why, but I’d have to see how things played out to be sure. They had been visiting for less than an hour, saying nothing of consequence, when Gail rose and took my still half-filled glass. “Let me freshen that for you, honey.”
“That’s okay…I don’t want to be a bother.”
“It’s no bother. I’ll be back in a minute.” I looked up and I could have sworn that I had seen Hazel smirk. Sure enough, Gail was back shortly and my drink had more ice and, hopefully, more alcohol so I could forget this revolting evening.
I had taken three or four sips when my eyes had trouble focusing and my hand began to shake. I knew in an instant why Gail had wanted to fix my drink. I’d
been drugged. I looked at her as she removed the glass from my hand. “You fucking bi….” My head hit the coffee table as I passed out.
Of course, I woke naked and restrained in the basement. What a cliché! Even I had read some of those cheesy amateur stories about femdom and male slavery online. Where else would I expect to be? There was a little light coming through the small windows on the opposing wall so I looked around to check my situation. There were tight knots tied behind my wrists where I couldn’t reach them with my fingers. The ropes went up at about a twenty-five degree angle to the house’s main support beam, the rope running behind and around one of the floor joists. The ropes were tight, placing a lot of stress on my shoulders. Ropes tied to my ankles were wrapped and knotted to the vertical steel supports with my legs spread just about as widely as possible without causing me serious injury. I wasn’t going anywhere so I decided that I would just wait to see what those bitches had in mind. I stared straight ahead and grinned. The tiny red light flashed twice in response. All was going according to plan.
George was the first to appear. “George,” I whispered, “Untie these knots or cut me loose, will you? I can’t imagine this was your idea.”
He appeared to be terrified, looking to the stairs while he contemplated replying in a whisper. “I can’t. Mistress will hurt me. She likes to hurt me. You’ll understand once they come down here. I was told to give you some water.”
“And get drugged again? No thank you.”
“It’s okay…honest. See…the bottle’s sealed. Want me to drink first?” He opened and took a quick drink, again looking fearfully to the stairs. Finally, he held the bottle to my mouth and I drank, finishing it in a few seconds. A few minutes later Hazel and Gail walked slowly down the stairs, laughing all the way.
Hazel smirked as she got into my face. “You think you’re so smart, don’t you? That’ll change real fast…you’ll see. I know you hate me. Once we’re done with you you’ll hate me even more, but you’ll also fear me just as you’ll fear Gail. You’ll be completely under her control by the time we let you go and there’s nothing you can do about it.” She started to laugh, but stopped quick enough when I pissed all over her. Apparently, there was something I could do after all. “You’ll regret that, you bastard.”
“Get your clothes off, you worthless worm.” I took notice of George for the first time since the bitches—I couldn’t think of either of them as a woman—had appeared. He was kneeling behind his wife and trembling when he began to strip. He was as naked as I was in a minute. Well…not quite as naked. “Stand here in front of the new slave and show him what’s in store for him. Here, put this in place.” Seconds later there was a big stainless ring that hung all the way to his chin through his nasal septum. There was a brass coupling that screwed the two ends together. I noticed then the rings through his nipples. They appeared to be glued tight. Then I looked down, noticing the metal collar that hung around and just above his balls.
“Gail, why don’t you clamp his nipples while I get the parachute? We’ll get them nice and swollen for the piercing.”
Gail slapped my face, hers showing a hatred I’d never seen in her. “You couldn’t put yourself out even a little for my friend, could you? You said she was arrogant, but you’re the one with the arrogance. By the time we’re done with you you’ll be even more humble than George. You’ll grovel at my feet for any crumbs I decide to throw you. You’ll eat my pussy on command and you’ll clean me after I’ve had sex with a real man. In time you’ll also clean my lovers and even give them blowjobs and swallow their spunk. Hazel knows some really hung black men who cum buckets.” She pinched my tiny nipples between her fingernails, holding them there for more than a minute.
I wanted to provoke them so I sucked some phlegm from my sinuses and spit it into Gail’s face. “You fucking pig!” She released me to wipe her face, but returned with two small clamps like those I’d seen near the cash registers at Home Depot. I recalled that the springs were extremely strong. This was going to hurt, but I’d been hurt before. That’s why I had been asked to do this. I accepted because I was pretty sure this was going to happen regardless of what I did. The only alternative was to leave Gail and without any real evidence of wrongdoing by her I’d be taken to the cleaners in a divorce action.
I had graduated high school in 1990, joining the army only two weeks later. I was sent to Fort Jackson in South Carolina for Basic and then to Fort Benning in Georgia for AIT—advanced infantry training. I had only one expectation—do my three years and get out so I could take advantage of the G.I. Bill and attend college. I had been a good, but not spectacular, student in high school when old Doc Tobin took me under his wing.
I lived with my mother, a single parent, in a tiny one bedroom apartment because that was all she could afford. I worked doing odd jobs after school and on weekends to help out from the time I was ten. That’s how Doc Tobin had found me. I was sixteen and looking for odd jobs and lawns to mow. Instead, he took me to his pharmacy and gave me a job there, overpaying me for stocking shelves and sweeping up. I thought at the time that he wanted to see if he could trust me. There were tons of drugs that I could have stolen. I never did. For one thing, my mother would have killed me if I ever embarrassed her in any way. For another, I never hung with any druggies in school and I found the whole drug scene repugnant.
Long story short, Doc Tobin encouraged me to become a pharmacist like him. The Army was only a means to an end—a way to get Uncle Sam to help finance my education. That was the plan, but then we invaded Kuwait and Iraq. While masses of our troops were liberating Kuwait I was part of a team of five sent into Iraq to reconnoiter and gather on-the-ground intelligence for the imminent invasion.
We had parachuted in to the desert in the early morning just twenty miles north of the border with Kuwait and had slowly worked our way to what we had thought was a small knoll as the sun peeked over the horizon. It would have been an excellent spot from which we could have seen for miles…if only it had been a knoll. Instead, we learned as soon as we had arrived that it was a concealed bunker loaded with members of the Republican Guard. We were taken prisoner in seconds. They had spotted us while in the air and tracked us all the way to the capture point.
They were sure we had all kinds of information so when we refused to talk they resorted to torture. They could have beaten me or burned me with cigarettes, but that would have been too easy. Instead, they tortured my genitals. This one sergeant made me his personal project, spending eight or more hours every day squeezing my balls between two wooden spoons, one to hold my tender testicle and the other to apply pressure. I had to hand it to the man—he could apply steadily increasing pressure for hours at a time. The pain was incredible, but I didn’t talk. I couldn’t. I didn’t know anything. I’d come from Georgia to Ramstein Air Force Base in Germany to some unnamed base in Saudi Arabia in only three days. I was an E-1, just one level above a raw recruit. I was only there to carry the radio and radar equipment.
A week later he was talking to himself as he paced in front of my cell—deciding whether or not to kill me—as our tanks and troops advanced on their position. Finally, he just opened the cell door, called me out and handed me his pistol. “We are alone here. My comrades have fled. I surrender to you. Now you must follow rules of Geneva Convention.”
I ejected the clip, finding it fully loaded. Returning it to the Polish-made Makarov 9 mm pistol I racked the slide, slid the safety off and fired into my pillow just to make sure it actually worked. My captor/captive stepped back, hands up, his face showing the terror he felt. “Don’t worry—I’m not going to torture you.” Instead, I fired three times into his chest, killing him instantly.
Apparently, he had been truthful. I walked through the bunker finding no other person—living or dead-- there. The door located at the rear was open so I retreated to the small room they had obviously used for meals, finding a working refrigerator with a few cold cans of Coke. I sat at the table and took a deep slug, placing the pistol in front of me and breaking it down so it would not be seen as a threat to my approaching allies. I was almost finished with my first decent thing to eat or drink in days when I heard a commotion coming from just outside the entrance. “COME IN,” I shouted. “ Don’t shoot. I’m an American prisoner and I’m the only living person here.”
The coalition troops showed expected caution entering, but five minutes later the bunker was filled with infantry. I rose and saluted when a Captain entered. “What happened to that Iraqi soldier?”
“He surrendered to me, giving me this pistol. Then I shot the motherfucker.”
“You must have known that was a violation of international law and you’d be charged with murder. Why would you do that?” I didn’t answer right away. Instead
I dropped my pants and boxers, exposing my swollen testicles. They were at least five times bigger than normal and were red and bruised.
“Want to talk about international law? That bastard tortured me…probably ten…twelve hours a day…all times of the day and night. He squeezed my balls between two big wooden spoons while I was strung up spread eagled. Nobody deserved to die more than him. I’m only sorry I couldn’t make him suffer. Do what you want to me. I don’t care…sir!”
I was evacuated to a hospital in Germany where I spent the next three weeks before being given a medical discharge and a medal for killing an Iraqi officer in a hand to hand struggle. Honest…that’s the way that captain had written it up. I turned it down. I was a civilian again with no need for a medal that I didn’t deserve. Five months later I was enrolled at the Philadelphia College of Pharmacy. I studied my ass off, never dating or going out drinking with my classmates. Five years later I had my Masters in Pharmacy Science. Mom, Doc Tobin and Mrs. Tobin were there at my graduation to cheer and support me. I went to work with him a week later.
I’d been with Doc for five years when he called me into the tiny office at the rear of the pharmacy. In those five years I’d met and married Gail and thought we were sublimely happy. Then Doc told me his health was failing and he wanted me to buy him out. He gave me extremely good terms—nothing down and twenty percent of the profits for twenty years, less if both he and his wife passed on. Doc passed only three years after retiring and his wife Rosemary five years later. They had no children and no other family. I was the only person named in the will. The business was officially and legally mine at the age of thirty-six. Their money was dispersed between a dozen favorite charities and our shared alma mater.
Everything was going well until six months ago when one of my employees wanted to buy a majority share of the business. I refused and he was angry, but not angry enough to quit. In retrospect I probably should have fired him, but he was a good employee and he had a family to support so I kept him on. That would prove to be a mistake. Then, two months ago a scrubby bearded man asked for a consult.
I always encourage my customers to ask for information about their medications so I wasn’t at all surprised. I stepped up to the area at the counter to ask how I could help. “Um…do you have someplace more private…like an office or something?”
“Sure, just follow me.” I led him to the side of the lab and down the hallway to the small office with room for just a single pedestal desk, a file cabinet, my chair, and one other. I had just closed the door and asked, “Now…how can I help you?”
His answer shocked me. “Actually, Mr. McCafferty…I’m here to help you.” He held up a badge—FBI. “Do you know a Hazel Browning?”
“Unfortunately, I do. She’s the biggest bitch I’ve ever met. She treats her husband like shit and most people not much better. Why?”
“It’s a long story. About two months ago our Manhattan office was contacted by a man who said he had information about a white slavery ring. It was a bit different than most. According to him adult men were being forced into slavery by their wives and Hazel Browning. He told us that others were involved, but he didn’t know who. He managed to escape his wife by going to work one day and disappearing from there, leaving his car, his phone, and everything else behind. He stripped to demonstrate what had happened to him. His nipples were enlarged and pierced with stainless steel rings that had been soldered together. A ring had been placed into the loose skin at the underside of his penis and another to his scrotum. They were soldered together so it was impossible to use his penis for anything but urinating and that he had to do sitting down.
“He also had another piercing—his nasal septum—and his wife required him to carry a big ring that hung down to his chin. There was a big brass coupling that screwed the ends together. He told us that his wife used to clip a leash to it and walk him around the house like a dog and sometimes she’d fasten his nose to his penis with a short chain to keep him under control while she had sex with a lover. You can use your imagination to figure out some of the things she made him do then.
“He told us that she was planning to take him to a big celebration where he’d be on display and sold to the highest bidder. The only person involved other than his wife was this Hazel Browning. Did you know that your wife has been meeting with Mrs. Browning every day for almost a month? Something’s up; we think you may be the next victim.”
I was shocked. “What can I do?”
“Basically, I’d say you have two choices. You could bail out of your marriage and avoid all the torture they used on this man, but you’d have no evidence and your wife would likely take you to the cleaners in the divorce.”
“What’s the other option?”
“You allow yourself to be captured and tortured.”
“Why the hell would I do that?”
“To allow us to trap the leaders of the ring; we’d like to install cameras to capture everything that goes on in your home. We wouldn’t invade your privacy—like when you’re having sexual relations with your wife or when you’re showering or using the toilet, but we’d tape any torture and use it for evidence. We know you were tortured in Iraq so we’re pretty sure you could handle everything they do to you. Remember--they want to hurt you in order to break you, but not harm you.”
Then I asked him what I could expect them to do. I cringed several times when he mentioned what had been done to the man’s genitals. He finished by telling me, “Keep in mind that we have no idea what their timetable is. If you decide to move forward with this we’ll need to move quickly. Also, we have no idea who else is involved so you can’t tell anyone—not a single soul--male or female. He did tell us that his wife invited Hazel and her husband to their home the night he was captured. Keep in mind that you could save literally hundreds of men from potential slavery.”
I’d given the FBI permission to install cameras and audio in my house and to tap my phones—land line and cells. Both Gail’s and mine were rented through the pharmacy and I paid the bills. They also installed a GPS app into both in such a way that it couldn’t be detected except by an expert. That had taken the better part of a week. They also gave me a foam to insert into my urethra—something to deaden the pain they were sure I’d receive there.
The pain of the clamps on my nipples brought me back to the present. “I had no idea you hated me so badly,” I told my “wife.”
“I don’t hate you, Michael, but I’m not so sure that I still love you. I do know that I love the idea of having you as my slave—not only working to support me, but doing all the cooking, the cleaning, and the laundry when you’re not providing sexual services—eating my pussy or licking my ass. Yes…I really enjoy that. Hazel has allowed me to use George in that regard. Soon your tongue will be as strong as his. I plan to keep you, but if you piss me off I’ll not only punish you severely, I’ll also sell you to someone who will be much crueler than me. That’s something for you to consider while you’re serving me.”
She stepped aside to allow Hazel to fasten a parachute around my scrotal sac. A second later Hazel grinned wildly as she dropped a one pound weight stretching my sac and causing me severe pain. It only got worse when she dropped a second weight onto the ring. Looking down I could see my sac stretched almost five inches. I doubted I could take any more. I was glad the FBI was monitoring everything. I could call an end to everything with but a single word, however I was committed to stick it out as long as possible.
Then Gail brought out the implements I dreaded. Enclosed in a faux-leather case were a total of eight surgical stainless steel rods of increasing diameters and with a sharp twisting ridge running the length of each. “Care to guess what these are,” she asked me, obviously not caring even a bit for my welfare.
“I’m sure you’ll enjoy telling me,” I groaned from the pain in my testicles.
“I most certainly will, especially the ‘enjoy’ part. These are urethral sounds. They’ll fit into your urethra—the most sensitive part of the human body. I’m going to stretch your urethra until the pain is unbearable. You’ll beg me to stop. You’ll promise me anything to relieve the pain, but I won’t—not until I use Hazel’s ‘secret weapon.’”
Hazel appeared from behind Gail, pulling something from her pocket. “I’ll bet you know what this is, don’t you, slave? Well…answer me!”
“It’s a tuning fork,” I groaned.
“Right…now watch what George does when I strike it against this post.” She struck it lightly, the high note ringing clearly, but George curled into a ball, crying and whimpering and begging Hazel not to hurt him. “That will be you by Sunday afternoon. You’ll do absolutely anything to avoid the tuning fork. Go ahead, Gail.” Gail selected one of the sounds. It looked much thicker than my pee hole, but she only laughed when I shook my head to tell her no.
She submerged the sound in alcohol and rubbed a thick lubricant over its surface. Then, with an evil smile on her face, she forced it into me. Even with the numbing compound I’d applied while Gail was doing her hair the damned thing hurt like hell. I watched as she pushed more than six inches in—almost all the way to my bladder. My cock hurt like hell, but when she struck that tuning fork and held it against the sound I would have gladly cut my cock from my body. I thrashed wildly in my bonds. Gail seemed to find this amusing so she did it again and again for what seemed to be an hour or more. Finally, she pulled the sound from my body. It was covered with blood and more dripped from my pee hole to the floor. I hung limply while they laughed and retreated up the stairs.
I was just recovering when they returned, laughing and joking at my expense. This time Gail selected an even bigger sound. I was sure she would rip my cock apart when it was forced into me. That was exactly what it felt like and when she applied the tuning fork I wished I was dead. Over and over this excruciating torture was continued. I was physically and emotionally exhausted when she finally withdrew it. An hour later they were back with one that was even larger.
I was given a little water by George who urged me to give up. “They’ll kill you soon at the rate they’re going.”
“Good…that’s preferable to being a slave. I’d rather die. I don’t know how you can live with it.”
“I’m weak and Mistress Hazel knows it. I broke after the second sound. You’ve seen what the tone of that tuning fork does to me. I’d rather take a whipping.” I looked at him with shock in my eyes. “Yeah, I’ve taken plenty. I told you how Mistress Hazel enjoys hurting me.”
“Why don’t you rebel? You’re stronger than she is.”
“Because of this,” he said pointing to the steel collar fastened just above his balls. “Just one push of the remote sends a horrendous shock to my balls. I’m paralyzed for about twenty minutes and when I can finally move I can barely walk. Sometimes my balls are sore for days after. Mistress Hazel put it on me when she captured me and it hasn’t been off since. You’ll get one, too. That’s why Mistress put the parachute on you…so your scrotum would stretch enough for it to fit. You’ll get pierced later today, too. I’m sorry…I really am.”
Later that day they used the largest sound on me. It must have been three times as wide as my urethra and the pain of insertion and withdrawal was horrible. The tuning fork felt like lightning had struck my cock. Once they were done a young woman with black spiked hair, her arms, legs, and neck covered with tattoos and more than a dozen piercings on her ears, nose, eyebrows, and tongue walked down the stairs with a big black case.
My nipples were the first to be pierced then a ring through the skin under my cock head and another at the bottom of my sac. These rings were soldered and my cock and balls joined by a small, but obviously strong stainless steel padlock. Finally, something resembling a pair of pliers was pushed into my nose on either side of the septum. I tried to fight, but Hazel grabbed my balls and squeezed until I couldn’t resist. A large needle was pushed through creating a hole that must have been a quarter of an inch wide. My eyes seemed like silver dollars when I saw the stainless steel grommet that was next. “NO! NO! NO!!” I was screaming and thrashing about until I felt a hand shaking me.
“Michael…Michael…wake up. You’re having a nightmare. Michael…are you okay?” My eyes opened and I looked up into Gail’s face. My hands flew to my head, my nipples, and my crotch. All were normal--thank God!
I looked at Gail, my wife, and asked, “Do you have a friend named Hazel?”
“Hazel? No…I’ve never known anyone by that name. Why?”
“I just had the most horrific dream in the most terrible detail.”
“So I gathered. You were screaming and thrashing around like a mad man. Do you remember any of it?”
I did and so I explained over the next half hour every frightful detail. By then it was almost time to get up. Instead, Gail reached over to stroke my cock. “You’re not working today, right?” I nodded with a grin. She lowered her mouth and teasingly licked all around the head until I could see the arteries pulse with every beat of my heart. Gail rose to straddle my hips then slowly lowered herself onto my granite pole. Just as she had patiently initiated our actions she began a slow and gentle rhythm on me. Grinding her clit into me with every slow deep thrust, she moved us to our inevitable climax.
This was the instant that I noticed something was off. Not the sex—that was as spectacular as always. No--Gail had always told me that she wanted to look into my eyes as we made love. “It’s like looking into your soul, Michael. I can always see the depth of your love for me.” That was why I always looked into hers, as well. This morning, however, Gail was looking everywhere but at me. I knew right away because I was looking straight at her. Why couldn’t she look into my eyes…into my soul?
I began to move faster. I had a bad feeling and I wanted this over with, so much so that I faked my first orgasm ever. I had always wanted Gail to cum at least once, but not this morning. “Sorry, honey, I think that damned dream had a bigger impact on me than I thought. I’ll make it up to you tonight or tomorrow.” I rolled out of bed and into the shower. Gail and I never showered together. Neither of us thought it very practical or sexy, besides our shower stall was barely big enough for one.
I was dressed in jeans and a Philadelphia College of Pharmacy sweatshirt when I walked into the kitchen almost thirty minutes later. “I made you a cup of coffee, Michael.” I put my lips to it, but didn’t drink. It was cold and I like my coffee really hot.
“Thanks honey, but it’s cold.”
“No problem…I’ll make you another.” She reached into the cabinet to retrieve a K-cup for our Keurig brewer while I sat at the table. Our kitchen is really modern with stainless appliances and black granite countertops. The backsplash is a gun-metal gray in a high mirror finish. Gail never was too good at science so she obviously didn’t realize that I could clearly see everything she did in the reflection, especially when she tore a small glassine envelope and poured the contents into my cup. She served it with a smile and a kiss to my cheek before telling me she wanted to change the bed linens.
I’m a pharmacist so I deal with drugs every day and I’m familiar with how many of them smell. Moreover, I’m a compounding pharmacist. Unlike Walgreens, CVS or Rite-Aid I actually make medications from raw materials. Other than the normal aroma of the coffee I thought I picked up the odor of a strong opiate. I poured two thirds of the coffee down the drain then turned to the cabinet over the refrigerator and removed my pistol, a Sig Sauer P229, .40 cal. automatic with a twelve-round magazine. I often had large sums of cash that had to go to the bank so I had a concealed weapon carry permit. Gail hated guns so I always stored it in the high cabinet where it would be out of reach. I tucked it into the waistband under my sweatshirt, placed my head on the table and pretended to be unconscious.
I wasn’t surprised to hear Gail tip toe back into the kitchen. She felt my pulse and pulled back my eyelid. It was all I could do to stare blindly—playing dead—throughout this drama. She took the cordless phone from the wall and placed a call.
“Hi! It worked. I put it into his coffee like you suggested. He’s out cold. No…I had to do it twice. He said the coffee was cold by the time he got out of the shower so I made another. When can you be here? Oh, okay…I’ll see you soon.” I wondered who she was talking to—obviously someone who had access to drugs. That meant either someone with criminal connections or another pharmacist. I doubted she knew the former so that only left a pharmacist. Even a doctor wouldn’t have as much ready access to opiates as a pharmacist.
Sure enough, my questions were answered when the doorbell rang. I could hear Gail speaking and, unfortunately, I recognized the man who responded. It was my employee, Paul Sheridan—the man who had tried to buy the store out from under me. I had wondered how he could afford to pay the millions the business was worth. I found out less than a minute later.
“Just think, Gail, in another hour all our months of planning will come to an end. We’ll get a hundred grand for him from the Africans and I’ll be able to pay you five million for the pharmacy. It’s the perfect way to launder the money I’ve been getting for the illicit drugs I make and sell. It’s kind of ironic, don’t you think—laundering drug money in a drug store.”
“Michael had a dream last night. He dreamed that I tried to make him my slave.”
“Gee…maybe he’s psychic.”
“He told me that I used urethral sounds and a tuning fork to break him and I was going to put a collar onto his scrotum that would shock him.”
“Fuck! He MUST be psychic! They will use those sounds and a tuning fork to torture him, but the shocking collar will go onto his neck. His cock will be caged permanently in a stainless steel chastity device.” They had walked into the kitchen where Paul examined me just as Gail had done earlier. “Once I get this into him he’ll be completely helpless. Our worries will be over.”
“Will that keep him unconscious?”
“Better…he’ll be conscious, but unable to move for at least twenty-four hours. He’ll see and know what is happening, but he’ll be powerless to stop it.” I knew then what he was using—a synthetic derivative of curare that we had discussed last week. It was primarily intended for use on livestock or wild animals and was illegal for human use in the United States. I waited until he had turned his back, placing his equipment on the counter when I made my move.
My hand went to the pistol as I jumped up from the chair. Less than a second later I brought the barrel down forcefully onto his head. Contrary to the movies, TV, and popular literature it’s not all that easy to knock someone out with a blow to the head. I had to strike him two more times before he went down like a rock. Gail had been screaming the entire time, but she went silent in a second when I turned the gun to her. She was terrified of guns, and seeing the large diameter barrel staring straight at her caused her to faint to the floor.
I moved to the syringe on the counter, pulled four milliliters of the liquid into the device and plunged it into a vein in Paul’s arm, not bothering to clean the skin with an alcohol swab. Why would I care if he developed an infection? Once I was done with him I used the syringe on my wonderful loving wife. Then I dragged them to the living room floor and waited.
Sure enough, about forty minutes later the doorbell rang and I opened the door to two men wearing uniforms for a delivery service. “C’mon in,” I told them, my pistol hidden in my hand behind my back.
“Think of it as a bonus—two for the price of one.”
The leader pulled a photo from his pocket then looked at me. I knew this was the time to show my pistol. “Yes…even the best laid plans sometimes backfire. I assume the money is in that briefcase.”
“There are no buts. You have two choices…Plan A or Plan B. In Plan A you count out the money on the coffee table, take these two with you and go.”
“What’s Plan B?”
“That’s where I shoot you, keep the money, and give them an overdose that will certainly kill them. Then I call the cops and tell them that you forced your way into the house and had drugged them when I came in and stopped you. Two other things…first, don’t think that I won’t or can’t kill you. I’ve already killed one asshole while I was in the army. Second, if one of you comes within ten feet of me Plan B will automatically be invoked. Any questions?”
“No…just don’t shoot us. We don’t want any trouble. We’ll stay over here.”
“Good; now show me the money.” He did, placing twenty wrapped packets of hundred dollar bills on the table. “Okay…get them out of here.”
“We got a big box in the truck. I think both of them will fit.”
“Fine, but don’t try anything stupid like bringing in a gun. You’ll both be dead in less than ten seconds.” Pointing to one of them I told him to go outside while I kept the other covered. He was back with a big cardboard box, a roll of strapping tape, and a heavy-duty hand truck. They put the box together, reinforcing it in several places with an ample supply of tape. It was about two feet on a side and almost six feet high.
“Step away for a minute,” I told them. “I want to speak to my wife.” Looking down into her terror-stricken eyes I smiled. “You never have been satisfied, have you? It wasn’t enough that I cleared more than 250 thousand last year. You wanted more and more. This is what greed gets you. How could I ever trust you? How could I possibly close my eyes to sleep? Enjoy the rest of your miserable life. Here’s some sound advice for you--women have urethras, too. Okay, guys…wrap them up.”
They were done in less than ten minutes. On their way out I tossed each a packet of hundreds. “It goes without saying that you’ll never come anywhere near here again. I’ll shoot you on sight. This is a ‘stand your ground’ state. I’m sure you know what that means. I’m a highly respected member of this community. I’ll plant a weapon on you and claim I shot in self defense. Now…get out!” Five minutes later I was alone, but I still had a lot to do.
I placed most of Gail’s clothes—the better stuff—carelessly into plastic trash bags, leaving them by the front door. Next, I shredded her credit cards and bent her keys in two. I also shredded our checkbook, her license, and passport, and everything else in her wallet other than the money; that I kept, placing the bills into my own wallet. I carefully poured the shredded debris into a plastic kitchen bag and I was done until late tonight. I wanted appearances to indicate that she had skipped town. The disappearance of her clothes, toiletries, and purse would surely point in that direction.
I had just finished when I received a phone call from Sheila, one of my pharmacy technicians. “Michael, Paul never showed for his shift. I’ve tried calling his house, but his wife said he left for work and there’s no answer on his cell.”
“Okay…I guess I’ll have to come in. I’ll be there in half an hour.” I dressed as I always did in a shirt and tie over jeans and white sneakers before backing my car out of the garage and pulling Paul’s in. Then I drove off just as I did every other day, but with a big smile on my face.
I worked from noon until closing then drove home, still smiling. The pharmacy had been unusually busy and I’d rid myself of my duplicitous wife and my asshole employee. It was dark as pitch early the next morning when I loaded the back of Paul’s SUV with the clothes, shoes, accessories, and debris. I also put five thousand dollars and a plastic bag with a number of pills—all controlled substances--into a small storage space in the rear side of the vehicle. Of course, I was extremely careful not to leave any traces of my DNA or fingerprints on any of the car’s surfaces by wearing a pair of blue powder-free nitrile exam gloves the entire time.
It was two in the morning when I strapped my bike to the SUV’s roof and drove off. I dumped the shredded remains from Sheila’s purse into a dumpster behind a strip mall almost ten miles away. The bags of clothes went into receptacles for the Salvation Army and a local shelter for abused women. I left the SUV on a dead end street near the county airport with the windows open and the doors unlocked—the keys lying on the dash and the syringe/curare derivative poorly hidden under the front seat--and rode my bike twelve miles home, arriving around three.
Once home I drank the dregs of my drugged coffee. It tasted terrible—cold and bitter after all the hours that had passed since it was made this morning, but it was an essential part of my plan. There was enough of the drug to make me drowsy and unsteady on my feet, but not enough to knock me out if I concentrated on staying awake. I was sure I sounded woozy thirty minutes later when I phoned the police. “My name is Michael McCafferty. My address is 14 Buccaneer Circle in Brewster Hills. I came home from work at Tobin’s Pharmacy tonight and had some coffee my wife made for me. It must have been drugged. I just woke up and my wife is gone. Her closet is almost empty and so is her dresser. I don’t know what’s happened to her. Will you send an officer?”
A patrol car arrived about ten minutes later. The officer took one look at me and called for an ambulance. I spent the next day in the hospital where blood was taken for analysis. Sure enough, there was a powerful opiate in my blood. The police came to interview me that afternoon, but I couldn’t tell them any more than I had in my brief phone call.
“Are you aware that Paul Sheridan has also disappeared?”
“Paul works for me. One of my technicians phoned yesterday to tell me that he hadn’t shown up for his shift. That’s why I went to work…to cover for him. Do you think the two are related?”
“We don’t know for sure. We do know that a delivery truck was outside your house in the morning.”
“Yes…I was there then. They had the wrong address so I invited them in to use my county atlas. I think they were there about twenty minutes. It was after that I was called…called about going to work. A pharmacy isn’t any good without a pharmacist present. The techs can do some of the work, but only under the supervision of a licensed pharmacist, like me...or Paul.”
“Do you know what kind of car he drives?”
“Some kind of SUV…cranberry, I think.”
“One of your neighbors saw a car like that in your driveway, but wasn’t sure what time of day it was.”
“Was it Mr. Wilson? He suffers from dementia. He probably did see it, but I’m not surprised he can’t recall the time. He has a lot of short-term memory issues.”
“All the same, it’s something we have to check out. Umm…Did your wife know Mr. Sheridan?”
“Sure…we have social events all the time. All of my employees have been to our house plenty of times. I assume you have people looking for them?”
“Yeah…we issued a BOLO; know what that is?”
“I think so—look for, or something like that?”
“Be on the lookout for—every cop in the county will look for them. By tomorrow it will be every cop in the state. We don’t know that there’s been any wrongdoing, but your being drugged is a huge red flag for us.”
“Yeah…I’m concerned, but at the same time, I’m pissed off at being drugged. Why the hell would she do that?”
“She might if she wanted to take off without a trace.” I couldn’t help myself. I broke down and cried. I thought at the time it was an Oscar-winning performance. I lay back on the bed and closed my eyes. They took the hint and left. I was discharged the next morning. It was Sunday and the pharmacy was closed. Everyone knew what had happened when I opened the store at eight Monday morning. The story had made page one in all the local papers and had hit CNN and MSNBC, too.
My entire staff was very supportive although everyone had the good sense not to ask questions. Even the customers made a number of positive comments. I acted as though I was distressed, even stepping away from my station in the lab several times to regain my composure in my office. I knew I’d have to advertise for a replacement for Paul when I went in that morning. My ad in a professional journal and its website stated that I was looking for a temporary replacement that could evolve into a full-time position.
I had an excellent reputation in the state among my peers so I wasn’t at all surprised to have more than a dozen resumes faxed to me two weeks later. After interviewing five I decided to hire two—I’d been thinking about expanding for some time. One was a divorced woman with a young child. She told me she would live with her mom if hired and that working here would be a godsend for her. The other was an older man who admitted that he just wanted to work for ten years then retire. He had compounding experience that would come in handy.
Things were almost back to normal a month after Gail’s disappearance, except that I could still see concern etched into Sheila’s face every single day. Sheila had a tough life, losing her parents while still a teenager—her dad to a heart attack and her mom to cancer. Like me she’d joined the Army, but she’d taken pharmacy tech courses while serving and had stayed in the service for six years, joining me three years ago. I’d always thought she had a bit of a crush on me—now I was sure. However, she was a real asset to me professionally and I was loath to destroy that by trying to coax her into a relationship she might not want.
Initially, I had phoned the detective almost every day, but last week he told me that he’d phone me if he heard anything. Their only clues were Paul’s car which was found trashed about twenty miles away. A passerby found it following an accident in which joy riders lost control and crashed into a huge oak. They found $5,000 and some capsules in a “secret” compartment in the rear and a large syringe with an illegal drug under the front seat, but no information that might lead to his whereabouts. The other was a plane that had taken off from our local airport ultimately en route to Nairobi, Kenya, but that had died when it was determined that there had been no passengers on board. The plane was filled with relief supplies headed to refugees from Somalia. That was when I decided I needed an attorney.
I knew several from my involvement in our Chamber of Commerce and Kiwanis, but one was a close personal friend. We’d attended high school together with him going to Harvard after graduation and me going to South Carolina and Georgia for my infantry training. By the time he was in Harvard Law I was back home lucky to have my nuts in one piece and letting Uncle Sam fund my collegiate career. Like me, Ben had returned home, but to join his dad and granddad in the practice of law. I phoned his office just after nine when I knew that Joanne and Steve, my new pharmacists, were safely on the job to ask for an appointment. I walked into his office less than an hour later.
He shook my hand and asked his secretary to bring us some coffee. “Gee, Mike—maybe I shouldn’t offer you coffee seeing as how that’s what started all of this for you.”
“Ben…I think I can trust you which I obviously couldn’t do with Gail and I’m sure the whole mess began long before the coffee,”
“Yes…you’re probably right; God…what a disaster. I’ll bet you’re here to find out what your rights are.”
“Exactly…what do I do? Do I file for divorce?”
“I’d wait if I was you. In this state a spouse can file for divorce using desertion as a reason after one year. I doubt you have any other grounds and if you did file what would stop Gail from returning and cleaning you out? I don’t think you need that.”
“What about dating? Right now I’m not in the mood, but after getting it several times a week I’m going to get pretty tired of my hand after a while.”
“Considering that she deserted you I doubt it would be an issue. Right now you’re feeling the weight of the world on your shoulders, but that will pass. If you’re worried about public opinion--don’t! There’s not a person in this county who doesn’t feel for you. You could get every single woman and most of the married ones without even trying.”
“Thinking about Gail possibly being involved with Sheridan makes me want to throw up. I couldn’t imagine myself doing something like that to another man. Okay, Ben—you answered my biggest question; what do I owe you?”
“Dinner with Lisa and me Saturday night. Come around six.”
“You’re not going to fix me up with one of Lisa’s friends, are you?”
“Shit! Was I that obvious? Seriously…we’re having two couples and Lisa’s cousin so you’ll just round out the table and you don’t have to worry. Cindy lives in Oregon and she’s going home on Monday morning. It’ll be good for you to get out and you won’t have to eat carry-out Chinese.”
“I was planning on leftover pizza.”
“It’s good you can laugh at a time like this.”
“Okay, see you then…casual dress?” His look said it all. I knew Ben only dressed up for work.
Dinner was better than good—much better than the pizza would have been--and Lisa’s cousin was charming, but there was no connection—physical or otherwise--between us. I thanked her for her attention during the evening and she thanked me with a kiss on the cheek. Five minutes later I was back in my lonely house. However, I was sure that being there beat the hell out of where Gail and Paul were.
My life was—well, it was boring. I went to work, ate at our local diner or pizza joint, went home and sat alone either watching TV or checking out some porn on my laptop then I’d shower and go to bed, taking the time to spank my monkey two or three times a week. One thing I never did was worry about Gail. I had loved her completely, but that had ended when she conspired against me and tried to drug me. Wherever she was and whatever she was doing it was well-deserved. Then, about five months after that fateful day, my life changed big time—one hundred and eighty degrees from what it had been!
I was in my office just after 10:30 checking the day’s receipts and preparing the bank bag for the night’s deposit while Sheila was out front cleaning up the lab area and making it ready for tomorrow. This was a procedure that Doc Tobin had instituted years ago and it worked so well that I had never seen any reason to change it. The characters changed depending on who was scheduled to work, but the procedure never varied.
I was just about done when I heard Sheila enter. Having just locked the bank bag I looked up to find Sheila in tears. I was up and around my desk in a flash, wiping the tears from her face with my thumbs as I gently gripped her head. “Sheila, honey—what’s wrong?” She choked and gasped as I looked straight on into her eyes. Gail may have been a stone cold bitch, but she was right—I could see all the way into Sheila’s soul. Our faces were very close. It seemed completely normal when my lips brushed hers. Despite the brevity of our kiss I felt a jolt and I was pretty sure that Sheila felt it, too. “I’m sorry, Sheila. I shouldn’t have….”
Her finger to my lips silenced me as she spoke. “Michael…you talk too much.” Then she gripped my head between her hands and mashed her sweet plump lips into mine—her tongue deep into my mouth. We pulled each other into a tight embrace and at that moment I felt that I never wanted to let her go. I did after about five minutes, pulling back about a foot before leaning in again. It was more passion than I’d felt in months. We were covered in spit when we finally broke from each other.
“So…you going to tell me why you were crying?”
Sheila rolled her eyes. “Men! You can be so thick sometimes, you know? Do you have any idea how I feel about you?”
“I think I do…now. I’ll explain it to you later.”
“How much later?”
“After we’ve showered…after we’ve made love, hopefully more than once.” If I had any doubts they vanished when she leaned in for another kiss. We both laughed when we saw each other’s face covered with our oral secretions. I handed her my handkerchief while I wiped my face with a paper towel. I double-checked the safe and the bars and locks on the heavy steel delivery door then we walked through the dimly lit front of the store. Sheila stepped through as I set the alarm and locked the front door then pulled the steel security curtain down, locking both sides in place with ultra heavy-duty padlocks.
I led Sheila to my car and held the door for her, joining her a few seconds later. “What will everyone say when they see my car here tomorrow morning?”
I had just pulled out of the parking lot when I turned to her with a grin. “We could still go back.”
“Not a chance; it’s taken me months and at least a gallon of tears to get here. I’m not giving you up so easily.”
“Good, I’ll call in the morning and tell Joanne that I had to drive you home and that I told you to stay in bed all day.”
“All day? Oh, you nasty man; what do you have in mind that will take all day?”
“Doing it as many times as I can. I’m afraid that my first will be kind of quick. It’s been too long so I’ll need a few attempts to take care of you. That’s my top priority for the next twenty-four hours and then I’ll want to hold you for hours and hours.” I continued my drive through town, stopping quickly at the bank for the deposit and back onto the road until turning off toward my house. We walked in, hand-in-hand, a minute later. I turned after locking the door and, holding her tightly, whispered, “You can still back out. I won’t…” I never had the chance to finish. My mouth was covered with hers. Her hands led mine to her firm ass while hers rubbed up and down my crotch.
She broke the kiss after a minute and took my hand again. “If I recall correctly, the bedroom’s back this way.” She led me with a smile.
I had always enjoyed walking behind Sheila; she had a sensational ass! Sheila wasn’t what one would call beautiful, but she was cute and--I thought--sexy. Her dark reddish brown hair was long and she kept it always in a high ponytail with bangs that hung just half-way down her forehead. She had sparkling blue eyes over a narrow pert nose that was covered with tiny freckles, just like the rest of her face. Despite her difficult childhood her teeth were perfectly straight and as white as snow. She had a wonderful smile and she smiled often. Sheila had outstanding people skills that helped make her one of the most effective techs I’d ever known.
Sheila had once told me that she was chubby as a child. Her narrow frame made her look fatter than she was. However, the Army had whipped her into shape quickly and she had stayed there through sensible eating habits and regular strenuous exercise. Her breasts were small--barely a B-cup--but they fit her slender body beautifully. Sheila had what I thought was the perfect runner’s body with incredibly long slender legs that came complete with a wonderful three-inch space between them. Her body was lithe and graceful, much like what I’d expect of a professional dancer.
I stood perfectly still while Sheila removed my clothing. My cock jutting forward and slightly upward, she literally tore the clothes from her body. Even now in the dim light I could see the tiny droplets of her nectar—something I’d come to love in future months. I cupped her pussy, noticing her thick, but neatly trimmed hair. She leaned into me to whisper, “I have a big surprise for you. You can see it after I shave it for you. C’mon, I’ve waited much too long for this.”
Sheila led me to my own bed, pulling the blanket almost completely onto the floor. I was delighted that she was taking such an active role. I’d hate to have to convince or trick her to couple with me. Once at the bed she turned me around and pushed me back with a giggle then climbed over me. She began with a light kiss to the head of my throbbing cock. “I’ll ride you this time if you don’t mind. Why don’t you lie back and relax? I’ll do all the work. You can pay me back later, although just being here with you is all the payback I’ll ever need.” Another kiss only made my dick throb even harder. Then Sheila took mercy on me. She was incredibly wet even though there’d been no foreplay and she slid effortlessly down my pole despite her obvious tightness. I could feel her vaginal walls compressing my organ more tightly than any pussy I’d ever experienced.
At 38 I was nine years older than Sheila and I beat her five feet nine by five inches at six feet two. I doubted she weighed even 120 pounds while I weighed 210, exactly fifteen more than what I had when I was discharged from the Army. I’d gained those fifteen pounds eating fast food and pizza over recent months because I had no motivation to do otherwise until tonight. I marveled at how tight Sheila was around my slightly bigger than average cock. I’d never measured, but I’d never had any complaints either—not before Gail and she seemed to like it well enough although her actions on that last day had led me to think she was capable of the worst deception.
As directed by my new lover I lay back on the pillow to relax as much as one can while actively making love, although our first time together was better described as raw animalistic fucking. I lasted long enough to build up a good sweat and I stayed hard long enough after ejaculating to allow Sheila her first orgasm of the night. She was lying on top of me, her head on my shoulder while our abdomens leaked down my legs to the sheet.
Suddenly, my head was up with a jerk. “Damn, Sheila—I didn’t even think about a condom.”
“Not to worry, Michael—I did. I know you’ve been monogamous and I haven’t had sex for years…well, not with another person. I’ve been saving myself for someone special.”
“What if Gail hadn’t disappeared?”
“Then I would have wasted all that time and my surprise would have been an even bigger one for the man who finally got me. Will you tell me now…you know--what we discussed earlier about my feelings?”
I looked up into those incredible blue eyes, sparkling even in the low light coming from the hallway. After leaning up for a kiss I explained, “No question that Gail was a Grade-A Bitch, but she was right about one thing, in fact it was that which had tipped me that something was off. Whenever we made love Gail would stare into my eyes. She always claimed she could look into my soul so I always looked into hers, but it wasn’t until tonight that I saw what she described; I looked into your soul and I saw then how much you love me. I’ve had very strong feelings for you, too, but I’d never act on them for fear of destroying our relationship. What would happen if I was wrong and offended you? I’d never forgive myself.”
“What was it that tipped you off?”
“Gail woke me by playing with my cock that morning…you know…when.” I couldn’t even say the words to describe my feelings. “Then we made love with her on top. She’d always looked into my eyes, especially in that position when she had the control. That morning she didn’t. She couldn’t look anywhere near my face. I knew then that something was wrong. I found out what later on when I was drugged.” I wasn’t yet willing to tell anyone what had actually occurred that morning.
We lay like that for almost an hour while I marveled at the softness of Sheila’s skin. I knew that women’s skin was soft primarily due to a layer of fat just beneath the skin. Sheila didn’t look like she had even an ounce of fat on her body yet her skin was as soft as velvet. I spent most of that time running my hands up and down her body. She spent it licking and kissing my neck. I almost objected when she began to nibble my flesh…almost. Finally, I was ready for her again
I rolled her over and climbed between her legs. She welcomed me to her warm moist sex by gripping my cock and pulling me into her. She began to move beneath me with her legs wrapped tightly around my waist, but within a few minutes she pulled them forward onto my shoulders. I had Sheila bent in two while I ravaged her poor cunt. As much as I loved it, Sheila seemed to love it even more. Our rocking motion not only forced me deep, my cock head banging into her cervix, but also threatened to rub her clit raw.
Sheila’s clit surprised me. Her body was small, built like a runway model’s, but her clit was big, thick and sticking almost an inch out of its hood. Having just cum about an hour earlier my staying power was much better. I had brought her to two powerful orgasms by the time I felt the rumbling deep within my core. Sheila pulled me down for a long tender kiss just as I exploded into her depths. We held the kiss as I released her legs and we embraced even as my gooey cock popped from her tunnel.
We remained there while we regained our strength until Sheila shimmied out from beneath me, extended her hand and pulled me to the bathroom. Seeing that she was about to move us into the shower I tried to stop her. “It’s too small,” I told her.
“Good…we’ll be really close. I’ll shave my puss when you’re done and drying yourself and you can see my surprise.” We slid in together once the water was warm. It was a really tight squeeze.
“See…it’s too tight.”
We were skin on skin from our shoulders to our knees when she responded, “Oh no, it’s not; it’s perfect. You’ll see.” She moved up to kiss me as I felt the soap on my shoulders, back and ass. Then she handed the soap to me and I reciprocated. Then Sheila opened the shower door, stepped out, and returned with her back to me. I washed her shoulders, chest, abdomen, pussy and thighs before she moved out again, returning this time behind me so she could wash the front of my body, finishing with my cock and balls.
I stepped out, grabbed a towel and handed her a can of shaving soap and a disposable razor. She turned her back as she shaved, delaying my surprise for several minutes. I was dry when she turned the water off and stepped out. I laughed like crazy when she turned around. There on her abdomen, previously hidden by her thick bush was a small tattoo just above her cunt—Property of: M. McC.—written neatly in a flowery script.
“What would you do if we hadn’t gotten together?”
“Simple…the same thing I did after it was done—trim, but not shave. Only you get to see it.” I kissed her quickly and led her back to bed. We fell asleep quickly--spooning--my hand covering her breast all night.
Rating: 94%, Read 65917 times, Posted Sep 22, 2015