 |
| Stories Bingo’s Home Bingo’s Lair |
|
Wren |
|
| Chapter
Four
She was woken by the sound of someone in the shed. It was pitch-black but cold so she knew the door might be open. "Wren?" A match flared and the lamp was lit, the wick adjusted. Brad stood over her, a smile on his face. "Come in and have some dinner." She uncurled from her warm spot in the blanket. He waited as she got to her hands and knees, bare skin reacting to the cold air. "Inside." Brad left her, the lamp still burning. She took a moment to pee in the yard and crawled to the back door. She peed because of the cold, not because she'd drunk much today. Her stomach was used to short periods of hunger; she'd gone for a day or more without eating in the past year. That didn't mean her stomach ever gave up complaining. She let herself into the house, went into the kitchen were Brad was making burgers. He turned and smiled at her. "You must be hungry." She knelt at the door, noticed for the first time his new shoes, brown leather shiny where not dusty with light colored powder. "They weren't too rough on you today, were they?" She shook her head. "You look like you're in one piece. No marks or signs of abuse." He turned back to the stove and flipped the two patties in the frying pan. "Did you like it?" He wasn't looking at her when he asked the question. She'd learned the dark one was called Doer, she guessed that was his last name. Doer, Luther and Scott were okay. Pretty unoriginal and without much imagination. Did she like it? She wouldn't have traveled to Texas just for that. She could get that anywhere, anytime. It was a pity none of them had much staying power. "Did you?" Still not looking at her. She shrugged her shoulders. Okay, I guess, was what it meant. He turned toward her and frowned. She shrugged again. "You can talk, you know." He waited. "It was okay, I guess." "You have a nice voice, you should talk more. And smile more." She cocked her head at him. He put the two cooked burgers on a plate in the oven and started on another two. He faced her while those cooked. "You don't need to stay there on the floor. Take a seat." A new pair of shoes made Brad a different man. She stood by a chair; he shook his head. "Better wash up first, don't you think?" The bathroom was dark like the rest of the house. She clicked on the light, a fixture over the mirror. Water ran in the toilet. The mirror didn't show her anything new. She filled the sink and used a washcloth and soap to clean herself. Her knees and hands were dirtiest, plus the leavings from earlier. She washed her face and used her fingers to get the worst tangles out of her hair. An earring was missing -- unlike most women her ears were pierced; it had been gone for some time now. Before New Orleans at least. Her history wasn't dependent on dates -- it was structured by locations -- Savannah, New Orleans, Texas coast and north, were the most recent ones. Plus all the small towns with no name. "Dinner's ready," Brad shouted. She dried her hands a second time and left the bathroom, turning out the light. He pointed to a seat at the small table in the kitchen with a place set for her -- another chair and placemat were across from her. "Upsey daisy," Brad said, fingers dancing under the hot plate between oven and table. He said the same bringing his own plate. "Just okay, I guess?" Brad watched her from his sat. "You need to tell me. And this morning?" He grinned. "Better," she said, reaching for her burger. "Two things before you start. One," his voice changed. "The hamburgers aren't garnished yet. Two, who the fuck said you can use your hands?" She let her hands fall into her lap. "Sorry." "Dog shit, when will you ever learn? Not a peep. Remember? Don't move an inch." He left her. His new shoes must pinch. She waited, enjoying the warmth, only a little afraid. "This," he said behind her, "is sorely needed. Lean forward." She felt him brush her hair from her back, forward, so it fell around her face. He strapped a leather collar, it smelled new, around her neck. A leash, cold chain, was fastened to the collar, and the leash end was tied to the chair. He gave the leash a jerk and she sat upright, staring straight ahead. "Hands on the table." She placed them on either side of the plate, palms down. "Look at me." She turned sideways and up. He held a black bladed kitchen knife. "Good. You'll be punished, dog shit. Don't you dare move." He lurched forward with the knife. The knife came down and chopped her burgers in quick, short strokes. Then he gathered her hair, stroked it, and hacked it off, tossing the clump onto her plate. She was frozen stiff, thinking, I can take whatever you do to me. I can take it. He cut her hair haphazardly, tossing handfuls onto her plate, over her hands or onto her lap. "And this," he said, standing opposite her, across from the table. He slashed her workshirt, stabbing and dragging the blade, cutting only on some of the blows, the knife was too dull to cut cloth, or hair for that matter, without sawing and force. He tossed her workshirt aside. "Your name is dog shit. You don't talk. You'll never wear clothes again. You're a sorry fuck at best and fucked you'll be until it pleases me to get rid of you. You fuck up again I'll carve your face. Understand?" He smiled, laid the knife on the table. "Understand?" She nodded. "Good. I'm glad you're enjoying your brief stay here, Miss dog shit. We aim to please and please and please. And when we're done with you you'll fucking well know how to behave, suck and fuck. Like a proper young piece of dog shit. Understand?" She nodded. She realized she was shaking, about to cry. "Good. Final garnish and then you'll fucking eat every bite." He stood by her, took her hands and held them behind the chair back, forcing her forward. He wrapped the leash around her wrists, lifted her head and spat on the plate covered with hair. She waited, counting; it was twenty-six when he shoved her face in the mess. "Eat, goddamn it." She tried to find bits of burger and bun with her tongue, choking on the hairs. She didn't raise her eyes, concentrated on looking good, even though she wasn't eating, to Brad. Brad didn't talk while he ate. She heard him get up, get something from the refrigerator, pop a cap and she was sure she smelled beer. She didn't need a shirt to leave. She'd like to have her clothes and rucksack but if she needed to flee stark naked she could. Hoping this was all a game Brad was playing, she'd stay the night and see. Brad left her, face down on her plate, and went into the living room where he watched TV. She heard him laughing in the other room. Once a hair got in her mouth she couldn't get it out. Her mouth was full of hair. "Hey, dog shit," he said. She raised her face and listened. "Come here." She got up as best she could, knocking the chair over backwards. She knelt unsteadily and walked on her knees, arms behind her, still leashed. "Good girl, you piece of shit. Over here." He undid the leash, pushed her forward onto her hands, so she faced the TV. She heard him undo his pants, say, "A little ketchup," and he forced himself into her ass. She gasped, fell forward onto her elbows as he fucked her, felt the tug of her leash and raised up onto her hands. The hairs in her mouth made her gag; she tried spitting them out. "Doer said he'd give me a hundred, cash for you." His prick jerked in and out of her. "Think you're worth it?" His fingers dug into her hips as he finished. Her ass shot him out when he was soft. "You sorry piece of shit. Clean me off." It took a moment and a tug of the leash to realize what he wanted. She turned around and saw his prick, slimy and limp with red in his pubic hair. She could smell the ketchup. "Do it." She licked him clean as best she could while he watched TV and laughed. He shoved her away. "Go lie over there and play with yourself." She looked up to his face, saw his eyes, pale, watching her. She lay on her stomach, fingers under her and masturbated while he watched. The
room was almost too hot to be in. Go
to the next chapter
|
|