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| Stories Bingo’s Home Bingo’s Lair |
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Wren |
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| Chapter
Five
"Honeybunch, get your ass in here." Wren's collar was locked to the bedstead's foot. It had been an uncomfortable night for her, nose to the dusty floor. Brad came into the simple bedroom -- bed, dresser, closet without a door. "Dog shit, what's keeping you?" There was nothing she could do or say. Rather, she could say a lot but knew better. Brad slapped her ass a couple of times, to get her warmed up for his friends no doubt. She could hear Luther's giggles and others' voices. Brad released her from the bed, refastened her collar, and said, "Before you go. You can nod your head yes, but you can't shake your head no. They and I want to see eagerness to please. Don't let us down. Hear?" She nodded and followed him, crawling on her hands and knees, led by the leash. "What did you do to her hair?" Scott asked. "She fucked up. She won't fuck up again, will you, babe?" She knelt by his feet keeping her head down. "Will you, babe? Oh fuck, you're pathetic." He jerked the leash. "No breakfast this morning. She wants it up her ass. Don't you, dog shit?" She nodded, looking up to the three friends of Brad. They were slightly less astonished than yesterday. She thought they probably didn't have such opportunities as she offered very often. Brad cuffed her head lightly. "You can go in dry or use the crisco over there. You like it dry so it hurts, don't you, dog shit?" She nodded and tried to imagine what they saw and how they saw it. It? Her. It was her body, her face, her ass but somehow removed from her. She was a spectator and golly she wanted to cheer them on. "Ah," Luther said. "What if we want to do it normal like?" "You dumbo," Brad said. "She wants you to hurt her. Like this." Brad slapped her breast with the end of the leash. "You like that, don't you, dog shit?" He waited. She looked up to Luther and nodded. He blushed as if he only now noticed she was bare assed naked. "Show them." Brad nudged her with his knee. "Show them what you are." Wren didn't have to think too hard. She rose up on her knees, off her ankles, and masturbated, used her fingers roughly to fuck herself, while her left hand pinched and slapped her tit. She let her head fall back, mouth open and moaned. Luther giggled as she slapped, pinched and fucked herself. "Watch this," Brad said. She was pushed over onto her back, legs opened, and she resumed fucking herself. Brad slapped her tits hard, pinching and pulling her nipples. "Harder," he said. She slammed three fingers into herself repeatedly, pelvis rising for each thrust. "Harder, I said." He pushed her hand away and pinched her clit. She wanted to scream, raised her hips and felt his belt strike her. She shuddered through the strapping, lay quiet and limp as he rolled her over. "Throw a cushion here." Brad lifted her middle and left the cushion under her raised ass. "Get the dish towel from the kitchen." Brad slapped her rear. "She wants you to do anything you want. She likes it. Cocks up her ass, spunk down her throat. Beat her, slap her, piss on her, and she wants more." He shoved the end of the towel in her mouth. "Don't you, dog shit?" He was close. Not on the barrel so he'd win the prize, like her undying affection. He didn't understand her, her wants and needs and desire one iota. She nodded and moaned. Whoever was first used crisco, much to Brad's derision. Then Brad was gone and they took turns, trying to be rough like Brad but without spontaneity or flare. As she fucked back she could hear pounding and other noises from outside. What Brad didn't understand was that for her, just being like this in a room with men was enough. Being called names, made to perform, being struck like an old rug enhanced what was happening, but that wasn't her impetus, her fantasy. Being exposed, a movie screen where they could watch whatever movies were in their heads. Wren as whore, Wren as masochist, Wren as a pitiful, defiled object. When Brad came back she was alone on the floor feeling an intense need to use the bathroom. Fucked three times this morning and no one had felt the need to say I love you or kiss her. They could have gone on forever as much as she or Brad cared, though he didn't like not being in the center of attention. Otherwise he'd be keeping her all to himself, and displayed to his friends not so extravagantly. He'd be keeping her to himself and spend more time fucking and less time talking. So far she was only mildly impressed. "She bore you?" "We're just taking a break, Brad," Scott said. "That's the first time I ever did that," Luther said. Something hit her. "Dog shit, that's your new stick. Fetch." She rolled off the cushion and found a three-foot piece of broom handle, painted bright yellow, rounded at one end, cut straight through on the other. "What do you think you're supposed to do with it, dog shit?" "I think I like her pussy better," Luther said. "I don't think sticking it in her ass is clean. You know?" "Get her to clean you off, Luther." Brad waited by the couch. "Well, dog shit?" She stuck the rounded end in her cunt. "You'll play fetch whenever you're in here and not otherwise occupied. Fetch and clean Luther, you fucking whore." She held the broomstick in her as she crawled to the couch. Between Luther's knees, she used one hand to hold the stick, the other to open his jeans, not looking at him. "If you'd been good, you'd be getting breakfast this morning." She nodded as she licked Luther's prick. She'd never minded tasting herself though she'd met some girls who hated it. Wouldn't lick a cunt or swallow come either, thought it was dirty. Or lick a prick after it'd been in a cunt or ass. She didn't mind. Brad jerked her leash. "Leave your stick. I have something to show you." She crawled after him into the yard and the three friends followed them. She went into her shed -- her shed, not the shed anymore. Her shed, where he shut the door and locked the hasp. She really had to go to the bathroom. A click and a four-inch square of light showed. "Over here, dog shit." She crawled to the square opening, raised up to look out. "I don't trust my friends not to abscond with you. I think Luther's falling in love. Which is sick, Luther, sick." There was laughter. His pale eyes glowed. "Anytime this hatch opens, dog shit, you're on call. Ass, mouth, snatch, whatever they want, whenever they want it." He left the opening. "See how it works? Drop a quarter in the can, open the hook, drop the flap and tell dog shit which part of her sorry carcass you want her to fuck you with." She heard a coin fall into a metal can and an erect prick pop through the opening. "Ass," he said. She wondered what he'd do if she ever refused. Downright refused. He'd throw a tantrum for sure, but what else? He couldn't make her. Not really. If he killed her where would he be? Without his punching bag, girl friend, a toy for his friends. Who were watching him succeed or fail in his humiliations of her. She pressed her ass onto his prick, bent over, hands on her knees. She did the best she could, bouncing, since he didn't move. "You need lessons in fucking." He left her. Brad continued, "So she'll be here waiting and fair game for anyone with a quarter. Anyone, tell everyone you know. If she's not here, though, don't fucking knock on my door to see if she's available. Understand? The whole high school football team and I don't care. But if anyone knocks on my door, she'll be off limits forever. I have better things to do than peddle her sorry ass. If she were pretty it may be different but you've seen her. Who'd want to fuck a cunt who plays with a broomstick all day long?" The hatch closed. She really needed to use the bathroom. The hatch opened, a coin went into the can and Doer said, "Cunt." By the light of the opening she saw a rusty tin pail in the corner and a roll of toilet paper. She pressed her cunt, bent over, ass to the opening, onto the prick. When he thrust he banged into her shed wall. It was almost pitch black again. She could hear Luther giggling outside, wondered if Brad had gone back inside. Perhaps he had a good comic to read or something. Another quarter and Luther was next. She was torn between her need and the waiting bucket and Luther's prick. "Mouth," he said. She grabbed Luther's prick and sucked, took it as deep as she could while he giggled outside. Breakfast won out and she hoped Luther'd be quick. He was and as she swallowed her morning gruel, she realized she'd know who these three were, and Brad, but all the others would be complete strangers. All? She wondered how many there'd be and how long Brad would play this game. Go
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