Nate pulled his ratty Chevette into the driveway of Nora's new digs and parked behind a rental truck from whose wide-open back a couple of men and a woman were removing articles of clothing and other items. "Guess you ain't moved in yet..."
"Maybe not, but things are apparently well along..." Nora recognized the stuff on hangers going in the door. "Let's go in."
"You sure?"
"Daddy SAYS you're welcome. No time like the present to see if he's serious..." Nora opened her door.
Nate got out and looked around, just as a dapper individual in a grey uniform appeared. "Good evening, Sir."
"Uh, hi. You want me to move?"
"Not necessary, Sir. If you'll just give me the keys, I'll move it to the garage."
"Uh, okay." Nate, nonplussed, handed over the keys.
"Thanks, Jorge," Nora smiled.
"Miss." Jorge touched his cap and slid behind the wheel.
Nora passed a significant glance at Nate, "We've met before." Nate watched his car pull away, around the horseshoe driveway to a wing near the gate where a garage door opened. Nate was frankly amazed that they'd bother to park his beater indoors... "Come on," Nora prompted.
A black woman opened the door for them, admitting Nora with "Good evening, Miss," and looking blankly at Nate.
"Good evening. Can you point me to my new room?"
"Yes, Miss. Follow me, please." The woman led them to a room in what Daddy had referred to as the 'north wing' on Nora's last visit; from the sound of things, Mom was in the somewhat larger suite at the end of the hall. The Mexican woman who had caught such Hell the last time she was here was taking piles of Nora's clothing from the bed and hanging them in the closet, along with her daughter. The black woman murmured, "Can I do anything else for you and your..."
Nora took notice of something that Nate had been fuming about for some time; the woman apparently was in the process of assuming that he was a servant, or something. "That would be boyfriend," she simpered, "Or, more accurately, lover." She eyed the black woman sidelong.
Leticia was taken aback! Just exactly what Miss Nora was doing with a black boy trailing her hadn't been clear, but the answer she just got... "You aren't serious! Does Mister Wilson know?"
"I AM serious, and, yes, Daddy is well aware, thank you." Nora turned away, dismissively, and Nate stood there glaring at Leticia.
"I EXPECT that shit from white folk!" he growled, "but YOU?"
"Uhhh, sorry sir!"
"Shhh, Honey. It's okay. We're going to have to put up with that, sometimes, but I'm sure she'll never do it again!" Nora nibbled Nate's neck, while eyeing Leticia.
Leticia had seen that look before -- in Nora's father's eyes. "No Ma'am! No Sir. I'm sorry, Sir!" She got out of there.
Nate was still grouchy. "Why do I get that shit from a sistah? Jeezus!"
"Now, Honey. I'm not expecting the warmest welcome in YOUR neck of the woods. The good news is that we have control over it, here. It won't happen more than once..."
"Well, okay." Nate looked around; things were pretty opulent. "Shit, I can't compete with this!"
"Nobody's asking you to, Honey. This is as new to me as it is to you -- we'll figure it out. In the meantime, you and I have our own thing that this has nothing to do with."
"Well, okay, if you say so." Belief wasn't strong with him.
"It was my impression that your relationship with Nora had little or nothing to do with money," a voice rumbled form the doorway.
"Uh," Nate gulped. This was Nora's Daddy, in person! "Yeah... I didn't know she was rich when we met..."
"Neither did she," Armand pointed out. "She had been carefully insulated from that reality. Is it now, suddenly, relevant?"
"Well... It's just... I can't DO this!" Nate waved his arms.
"Not today, perhaps. Nora isn't so dazzled by the trappings of wealth that she can't do without. In fact, she has as little experience with them as you do."
"That's gonna change, though, ain't it?"
"The second part? Yes. The first? I hope not..." Armand's eyes bored into his daughter's.
Nora looked defensive. Without removing her eyes from her father, she enlightened Nate, "Getting all caught up in money is frowned on in Daddy's family. They don't believe in handing you everything on a platter. Daddy is where he is today because he had a couple of cousins who enjoyed spending money more than earning it. If I get too comfortable around here, I might end up living in a grass hut somewhere."
Armand chuckled, turning his attention to Nate. "See? You have potential. Let's see if you can actualize it. In the meantime, why don't you stick to the things that the pair of you have in common, and worry less about comparisons with someone twice your age?"
"Uh, yessir." Armand waved vaguely and moved off down the hall. Nate hopped from foot to foot for a bit, but Nora needed to get settled in -- they weren't going to get much quality time tonight. "I oughta go. You got stuff to do."
Nora sighed, capitulating. "All right." They headed back down the hall. "I'm not sure how I get someone's attention to get your car out..." She eyed an intercom panel in the hallway. There appeared to be one primary button... She punched it. "Hello?"
"Yes?" A contralto voice issued from the speaker.
"This is Nora. My boyfriend is getting ready to leave. Could you have Jorge bring his car around?" Was that what you said? Around?
"Certainly, Miss. He'll be right there."
"Who was that?" Nate wondered.
"No idea." Nora shrugged. In a moment, they were at the door. "I know this has been weird and strange, but look at it this way -- I'm going to YOUR house tomorrow..."
"Yeh," Nate managed a grin. "THAT should be a trip." They stood waiting a moment, then Jorge opened the door and walked in.
"Your car is ready, Sir."
"Thanks."
"You're welcome, Sir. Will there be anything else?"
"Uh, no."
Jorge nodded and moved off. Nate turned to Nora and, somewhat embarrassedly, started a kiss. Nora didn't let go, so it got better over time. He went back for seconds, and thirds... Finally, he sighed, "Car's gonna run out of gas..."
"All right." Nora hugged him. "I'll see you in the morning, then."
"Okay." Another quick kiss and he let himself out. Driving away, he wondered if he'd ever be comfortable in Nora's new digs...
People had come in while Sharon was in the tub, carrying box after box and putting other things like on-hanger clothing on the bed. The Wench had gone out to observe the commotion, and on her return had merely responded, "Your things have arrived," to Sharon's query. When Sharon started to get out of the tub, she forestalled her, murmuring, "Haven't enough people seen you naked today?" Sharon blinked and settled back.
A few minutes later, Armand stuck his head in the door. Sharon snatched for a towel, but he merely eyed her steadily until she put it down. "You are unharmed?" Armand asked. "I can send for the doctor..."
"I'm fine."
"All right. I'll have dinner sent up." He eyed the Wench. "See to it that she has all she needs to settle in."
"Yes, Master."
That was the end of the interview. Sharon soaked for another twenty minutes, then the Wench helped her shampoo and shower. Sharon felt she could have done fine by herself, but it wasn't going to happen, so... The Wench even got in the shower with her and washed her back, which made her vaguely nervous, but she was obviously avoiding anything sexual. When they re-entered the bedroom, it held a large quantity of moving clutter -- boxes and other loose items awaiting Sharon's attention. "God, I'm not up for this!" she complained.
"Then don't worry about it," the Wench said, breezily. "They're just clothes, mostly. I'm an expert at clothes." She started moving hanger-bound items to the closet. "Just sit and relax."
Sharon settled in a chair, but couldn't really relax. Eventually, they started working as a team, the Wench fetching clothing and Sharon arranging it in drawers and the closet. Sharon slid into a light robe, but the Wench's nudity demanded that she not act prudish, so she left it at that.
After about an hour, Nora stuck her head in the door. "Mom? How are you?"
Sharon looked up from a drawer half-full of underclothes. "I'm fine," she said tiredly. "I was better earlier, but then all this showed up..."
"Yeah, I had a pile, too," Nora agreed. "Daddy seems to be in a big hurry for us to settle in."
The Wench said nothing, but got a knowing look. "What?" Sharon demanded.
"Well, this whole thing has played into his hands," the Wench replied. "I'd push things as far as I could, too, if I was Master."
"Yeah, I guess." Sharon sat down. "I knew we'd probably end up here, but I figured to hold out longer."
"It would only have been more painful," the Wench counseled. "You have saved yourself trouble."
"The whole thing was such a surprise..."
Nora settled on the bed and asked quietly, "So what happened? Not the fifty thousand foot view -- the whole thing."
"These guys showed up, in a van with a plumbing company logo. There were three of them. When I came to the door, two of them were watching a third guy come up the walk carrying buckets. There was an older white guy, and a black guy -- I'm not even sure what the third guy looked like, because he had his head down. They said your father had sent them. I figured the people he had spying on us had told your father and he hired someone, so I opened the door. The white guy went through and I turned to watch him and the black guy grabbed me from behind. Next, a bag went over my head, and they tied my hands behind me. I tried to scream, but they knocked the wind out of me..." Sharon sat there, remembering.
Dinner showed up. Inez and a woman Sharon had never seen before -- a beautiful, light-skinned Hispanic woman -- brought trays of food and beverages. The Hispanic woman was in charge; she announced, "Please ring when you're finished, Ma'am, and we'll clear this away." The pair withdrew quietly.
Sharon eyed the Wench. "Why didn't they expect you to do that?"
The Wench shrugged. "I'm a specialist. In some ways, they probably assume I'm not skilled enough to be a servant. In others, they expect me to carry the ball. This is something they do that I don't -- unless you direct otherwise. I'm a... 'body servant'." She looked sheepish.
Sharon took a look at her tray -- salmon and asparagus spears and a rice pilaf. Not bad... The wine was one she'd had before...
"Do I have to wait?" Nora complained.
Sharon grimaced and took a sip of wine. "Oh, all right -- where was I?"
"The plumbers bagged you and tied your hands..."
"Oh, yeah. Well, I tried to start trouble and got a good slap for it, then tried to scream and got the wind knocked out of me for it. Things got kind of quiet for a minute or two, then they started dragging me around by the pants legs. I tried to fight, but one of them stuck his foot in my stomach and another one stripped them off. Kicking didn't seem to help me -- in fact, it might have helped them, for all I know." She stopped to take a bite of salmon, chewed, swallowed, and continued, "Somebody shredded my panties, which wasn't unexpected, but then they started talking about the merits of just killing me versus raping me first. It scared the shit out of me; I tried to scream again, and took another punch in the stomach..." She shuddered, and took a sip of wine. "Things got weird about then. I got a lecture on cooperation and they took off the hood and stuck these strange goggles on me..."
"Goggles?" The Wench blinked in surprise.
"Uh huh. They were special. They were at least totally blurred, if not silvered, every direction but straight down. That's the only direction I could really see in. The mirroring sucked; they took a flashlight and shined it on them and I was totally blind!"
"Then what happened?" Nora prompted.
"Well, they undid my hands and told me to get out of my top and bra, then they plopped me on a kitchen chair and started asking questions..." Sharon shook her head as the memories poured past. "They seemed to think I knew a lot about Armand's business dealings, and that we were a lot more cozy than we really are... When they didn't get anything much in the way of answers, they started doing things that hurt like Hell."
"Like what?" The Wench was fascinated.
"Trying to make my breasts two sizes smaller was a favorite," Sharon replied, rubbing her right breast. "Then they spread-eagled me over a table and somebody rammed a telephone pole up my ass, dry -- shit, that hurt!" She speared some asparagus, and chewed a bit, then, staring at her plate, said dully, "I wasn't any too brave -- I spilled my guts. But the problem was, I didn't know anything, anyway..."
"Nobody blames you," the Wench soothed. "You did what you had to."
"I guess." Sharon was still troubled. She picked at her asparagus for a bit, then went on, "When it became apparent that I wasn't going to be any too valuable as an information source, they started using me as a cum dumpster. I already had a cock in my ass; when the black guy shoved his cock in my face, I just opened up..."
"It's okay, Mom! What were you SUPPOSED to do, for God's sake?" Nora consoled.
"Maybe..." Sharon took another bite of her salmon, but to the two observers, it looked like she was tasting something else. "He... He made me vomit, deliberately, jamming his cock down my throat. I know how to take it, but..."
"I've had that, recently," the Wench affirmed. "If they don't give you time to get it under control..."
"He didn't. He seemed to want me to puke -- he kept jamming it in deep... I vomited into a trash can. He dragged around a glass of water and said something about kissing me later, and that now that my stomach was empty, there wouldn't be further problems, then he started shoving it in again. I couldn't fight -- the heaves had taken everything I had left..." She just stopped, her face a mask of guilt.
"What's wrong? C'mon, Mom, you aren't to blame for anything, here..."
But Sharon's shoulders began to shake. "God help me, I started to enjoy it..."
The other two rushed in. The Wench took the tray while Nora gathered her mother into her arms to hold her while she wept. "You shouldn't blame yourself for that, Mistress -- Master has been training you to enjoy the rough stuff for a long time, now."
"I couldn't help it!" Sharon wailed. "They rolled me on my back and I had one in my ass, and the black guy riding my throat, and then a third guy showed up from somewhere and started riding me... He was right there, making everything else good, and I just couldn't help myself! The black guy backed off and started playing with my nipples, and the guy in my ass came -- and I got mine, too, at the same time..."
"Shhhhh," Nora consoled. "It's the way you do sex. It's no surprise that you managed to enjoy it."
Sharon nodded, washed out. "It was just... so much... The guy in my pussy kept pounding... I forgot I was being raped, and grabbed the black guy and tried to swallow him whole the second time I came..."
Nora rubbed her mother's back, but she was somewhat shocked. Twice?
Sharon, now in full confession mode, plowed on, "The guy came in me, then came around and ordered me to clean him off with my mouth, but then the guy in my ass rolled me over and pulled out. The black guy circled around and slid into me from behind and started pounding away, talking wild trash about getting me pregnant. I was so fucked up, I believed him! I finished cleaning the one guy, and the guy in my ass stuck HIS dick in my face -- and there was no denying him! Gawd, that was awful!" The Wench handed her the wineglass, and she emptied it. "When I finished, the other guy came back, but the black guy bitched about having to take it easy, so they rolled me on my back again, with my head hanging over the edge of the coffee table, and went at both ends... The black guy kept talking about me raising his little bastard kids..." She shook her head. "He came -- and I did, too, BIG..."
The Wench, watching Nora, murmured, "Master has been training your submissive streak for a long time; that's just the thing you're trained to go into ecstasy over. It's no big surprise -- go easy on yourself." Sharon nodded, and Nora did, too, grateful for the reality check.
Sharon waved a hand. "That was pretty much it. They duct taped me to the coffee table, arms and legs taped to the table legs, while one of them kept shoving his cock down my throat. I was pretty much gone... They flashed a light in my eyes and took off the goggles, and the guy using my throat squirted cum in them, but it didn't matter; I was already blinded... Then they stuck a vibrator in me and turned it on, but I wasn't really capable of noticing, any more. I was wasted, but they managed to scare the Hell out of me, anyway, by sticking a lit candle in my mouth and another one on my belly. I couldn't move, and couldn't see, and if I moved wrong and the one on my belly fell over... Thank God it wasn't five minutes before Jason came roaring in with a bunch of guys behind him! After that, it was mostly embarrassing..."
"Okay," Nora said, "so why are we here?"
Sharon scratched her head. "Well, it seemed clear at the time... Ummm... Oh! While I was getting worked over, somebody went up to my room and fixed all of the holes, but apparently made new ones, or something. Your father said it was probably done to cover installation of other equipment, and that the house was compromised. He said that to put us in a hotel, he'd have to block off as many as twenty-seven rooms and man them all -- AND put a team in the room with us..." Sharon shrugged. "So I gave up, and here we are." She just sat there, not looking up.
The Wench caught Nora's eye. "Mistress is tired; it's been a long day for her, and this has been cathartic. I'll put her to bed."
Nora nodded. "Okay." She kissed her mother's cheek and backed out of the room.
The Wench rang for Consuelo and Inez to pick up Sharon's picked at meal, and turned back the bed, then went after Sharon's hair with a brush. "Here, want some more wine?" Sharon, totally adrift, took it and sipped distractedly, luxuriating in the impromptu scalp massage. When the others had come and gone, the Wench got Sharon out of her robe without demur and slid her under the covers. "Do you want me to stay?" she asked.
"No, s'okay." Sharon was far gone.
"Just ring if you need anything," the Wench offered, and swept out, turning out the light.
Nate went home expecting to have to tune up his mother's usual mess -- but she hadn't come home. That wasn't unusual, on a weekend -- Hell, it wasn't unusual, PERIOD. Nate, pleased with his luck, fine-tuned things and got ready for Monday. With any luck, Mama would forget and still be out when Nate brought Nora over Monday night...
Tabitha was out stalking her usual territory, in reasonably good shape. The dope at Julio's party hadn't been exactly premiere shit; as a result, she'd been mostly attached to the ground at the party, rather than flying. To extend the buzz, she'd hit the booze harder than usual, which seemed to do a half-assed job; she figured the lights went out about five a.m. Julio hadn't dumped her out, either, but had let her bag it on the couch -- but then Tabitha seemed to remember the chubby little spick going to town between her legs at one point or another. Well, it HAD been his party, and his shit... Tabitha's main complaint was that the bastard wouldn't wear a rubber -- but then, he'd be the only one, since all of her johns did... She was pretty sure he was clean -- Hell, she was pretty sure she was the only pussy he was getting! Well, if it brought her invitations to his parties, and a free source of shit, who cared if he was takin' it out in trade? Certainly not Tabitha! Any shit she got from Julio was shit she didn't hafta buy... And as long as neither of them came up with anything, the couple of nuts Julio might get off her was a lot less pussy work than she had to do to pay for shit from a street vendor. Maybe she should offer him the occasional sober freebie? Naaah, he thought he was gettin' away with somethin', gettin' her high and rippin' it off; doin' him sober might fuck that up... Anyway, she'd stuck her head under a faucet, chased her skirt and stockings down and strapped on her push-up bra about five-thirty (Julio didn't seem to mind the sag of her breasts, or the flop when she got going), and stalked out to go to work, rubbin' Julio's brush cut and talkin' trash about how great the party had been as she hit the door, (Julio looked like shit with that haircut, but it was his head, she figured... ). He was lookin' all happy; unless he found another hole to tap, there'd be another invite, soon.
The weather wasn't great, but it wasn't awful, either -- just a bit nippy for her skimpy outfit, but that was advertising, after a fashion. Besides, she was still a bit disconnected from the sensations that caused an occasional shiver... Tomorrow, things would be different, but tomorrow was Monday, anyway -- a dead night. Some of the local girls actually lowered their rates on Monday, something Tabitha didn't believe in; how much it improved business was SERIOUSLY open to question...
A car came slowly around the corner -- a dead giveaway, as good sense said you wanted out of this neighborhood fairly quickly. Tabitha put on her game face and checked to make sure her bra was doing its job, then waved.
Sure enough, the car pulled to the curb and the window came down. Tabitha leaned down and sized up her catch.
Frankly, there was nothing impressive about him. He had regular features, thinning hair -- maybe forty. The look on his face said he was nervous and had no fuckin' idea what he was up to, so Tabitha readied her 'sucker' price list. The suit he was wearing said he could pay for it, anyway... "Hi, Honey. Lookin' for a good time?"
"Um, yes, actually."
'Actually, huh?' Tabitha chuckled to herself -- a sucker for sure... "Well, if you've got the money, Honey, I've got the time..." She opened the car door and settled into the passenger seat, reaching over to fondle the john's cock through his trousers, "What do you think you want?"
"Well, it depends on what things cost..."
Tabitha chuckled. "It always does, Honey."
Dumbjohn was perfect for his role. He was absolutely anonymous- looking, intelligent, and a consummate actor. He also had a vicious right cross; Tabitha caught it as she was preparing to present her price list. Things went black, and Dumbjohn drove off with his unconscious passenger.
Tabitha came slowly awake, draped over a sawhorse, her arms tied to the legs at the floor level. Looking around, she noted that the cement walls said basement, but the wood floors -- to which the sawhorse was nailed -- said something else. The taste in her mouth, the headache, and the sore spot on her arm said the punch wasn't all the john had used to keep her quiet. She couldn't see her ankles -- this side of the sawhorse had a hunk of plywood loosely nailed to it for some reason -- but they were tied, too. Of course, she was buck naked; that sort of went with the territory. The only open question seemed to be whether she'd get out of this room alive; if the john was just a hired killer, she'd be dead already, but there were worse things, and it looked like she was going to experience them...
The john came in, from behind her somewhere -- at least she thought it was him. There was no telling, since he was now wearing a mask. Well, it figured; what he was probably warming up for would be a lot more memorable than just sticking his dick in one or more of her holes. Tabitha tended to forget a john's face as soon as she looked away; she had regulars who were somewhat disgruntled by that fact. This guy, however, would no doubt be different... He came around and pulled her up by the chin. "Awake, are we? Good -- we can begin."
Fucker was downright conversational as he stepped off to the side, pulling on rubber gloves and digging through some implements on a tray... "Word on the street is that you've been pretty independent, and pretty lucky -- and you don't have a personal representative to look out for your interests. Tsk, tsk -- I'm afraid your luck has changed..."
Tabitha raised her head and glared at him. "You mean a pimp? Somebody to steal three-quarters of my fuckin' money and slap me around?" That apparently wasn't the smartest thing to say, because the fucker planted himself in front of her and proceeded to slap the living shit out of her a half-dozen times, rocking her head on her shoulders. Then, while she was still seeing stars, he shoved some kind of dentist's clamp between her jaws, ratcheting it open and racking her jaws in the process. Shit, this wasn't going too good... She was bent the fuck over, her ears were ringing, and now her jaws hurt... What next?
Whoever the Hell he was, the fucker didn't waste any time. He went back to digging in his instrument tray and came up with a couple of things, then came back to stand before her, "Raise your head, bitch." When she did, he put a hand under her chin, then brandished a pair of something that looked like steel cooking tongs before inserting them in her mouth and grabbing her tongue with them.
'Oh, shit!' Tabitha thought, but all she could manage verbally was a strained, "Eeeeehhhh!!!" He was gonna cut out her tongue! But she couldn't struggle very much -- she was tied tightly, and besides, he already had a firm grip on the damned thing! He tugged on it a couple of times to prove it, which hurt like a sonofabitch. Tabitha could barely see him through the tears the pain brought to her eyes. Then he whipped out a needle! a BIG needle! Tabitha didn't know whether to be thankful or horrified -- at least it wasn't a knife! But he made her watch it, all the way to her tongue, and "AAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!", all the way through.
He left it there, skewering her tongue through the holes in the tongs while he went to collect a ball stud. "I like my cunts to blow me with a tongue piercing -- aren't you glad I'm increasing your value like this?" he chuckled. "Of course, if I'm your last customer, it won't matter, will it?" Re-grasping the tongs, he finished pulling the needle through by pushing it with the stud. The procedure hurt like Hell, but there was nothing for Tabitha to do but endure it and him installing the bottom ball on the stud and twirling the assembly in the raw hole in her tongue. "Ookay," he announced, releasing the tongs, "time to make everything clean and antiseptic. You'll find that I'm big on that." He reached over to the instrument tray, collected a squirt bottle, shook it and began squeezing it, squirting the contents into Tabitha's open mouth. At some point, he made a bucket appear to collect the dribbles from Tabitha's open mouth, but she was entirely too busy trying to scream to notice! Jeezus fuckin' Christ, that shit burned!
"Like that?" the fucker asked. "It's my own concoction -- Listerine, some rubbing alcohol -- oh, and salt..." He produced a toothy grin below the mask. "Burns a bit doesn't it? But it's good for you -- sort of -- and entertaining to me..."
Tabitha was busy discovering that you can't spit with your jaws jacked open. All she could do was lower her head and let the fiery liquid run into the bucket. Her tongue was on fire from the assault! The fucker then raised her head and poured in a second batch, holding her head up so that she couldn't expel it for a few moments to provide full effect. When he let go and allowed her to drop her head, Tabitha had nothing else on her mind but emptying her mouth.
In a minute, though, he was back, with a garden hose. "Rinse time! I'm gonna stick my cock in there -- we don't want me bothered by cleaning solution, now, do we?" Holding her head up by the hair, he began shooting water from the hose into her open mouth. This wasn't pleasant for a number of reasons, chief among which was that he didn't seem to be too concerned about his aim; Tabitha took water in her eyes and up her nose, half-drowning as she tried to find an opening for her lungs that wasn't taking in water.
After what was probably a little more than a minute, but seemed like an eternity, the fucker let go of her head and shut off the water. Tabitha hung there, gasping, trying to upchuck swallowed water. In a moment, he returned with a collection of rings, which he checked against the opening of her mouth, spread by the jaws of the clamp. Tabitha barely had the energy to turn her head sideways to discover what he was up to next; apparently, it consisted of taking the ring he'd selected and mounting it in a leather harness, which he then threaded past the clamp to insert in her mouth and buckle behind her head. As he removed the clamp, he muttered, "I'm sure a woman as worldly as you is familiar with the concept of a ring gag? Can't have you succumbing to the urge to bite..." Producing a rubber stopper, he continued, "Most ring gags aren't gags at all -- they don't stop sound or air. I've modified this one..." He inserted the stopper, which had a groove around the circumference to seat it in the ring. Tabitha found that her poor, abused tongue didn't have the strength to push it back out, but in a moment it became frankly impossible as the bastard torturing her snapped a leather strap across the outside of it, one with a flat rubber cup that extended beyond the edge of her mouth in all directions and snaps that attached it to the leather straps of the ring gag at her cheeks. That mounted, he announced, "Okay, let's check for air tightness!" and pinched off Tabitha's nose.
"Uuuuuh! Uuuuuh! Uuuuuuuuuuuh!" Tabitha couldn't breathe! The situation was made worse by the instant panic that accompanied the discovery. Actually, she discovered that she COULD breathe OUT, if she worked at it, forcing air around the rubber cover -- but THAT didn't help AT ALL; it merely robbed her of resources that might have carried her a few more seconds. Breathing in was impossible; the rubber clutched tight against her mouth, creating a vacuum. She thrashed and screeched within the constriction on her bonds, fighting for air, for life...
Dumbjohn let up when she reached the point of semi-consciousness, allowing her the use of her nose. She hung there, lungs pumping like bellows, while he prepared to assault his next target. When she started showing some signs of awareness, he fixed her attention with the comment, "Oookayyyy, now that that end is clean, let's go to work elsewhere!"
Tabitha watched the fucker screw a cone-shaped end onto his garden hose in bitter fear. The way things were going, the chances that she was going to leave the room alive seemed pretty slim. What he was going to do with that hose wasn't absolutely clear, but she could guess... Speech, aside from "Oooo" and "Ahhh", was impossible, so she didn't try. The big questions were "What's next?" and "How bad will it hurt?"
Dumbjohn removed the rubber cover and the stopper from the gag. "Feel free to yell," he announced, "We're both remote AND virtually soundproof. That little exercise wasn't for sound-deadening, it was for me to enjoy watching you deal with the lack of any air supply..." Tabitha, panting, glared at him. Speech was still impossible; why bother to try? In fact, maybe she would just be quiet -- keep the fucker from enjoying hearing her screech. Yeah, why not?
Dumbjohn went back to his instrument tray, and picked up an enema syringe and a bottle of antibacterial soap. "THIS will clear you out," he taunted, squeezing the bulb and sucking a quantity of the soap into the syringe. "Of course, it'll make the cramps worse, and it'll cause you to spew shit all over the place -- and if I allow you to survive this encounter, your digestion is likely to be disrupted for a few days..." He shook his head dismissively. "Nah. Food and water would be a waste of good money. I can't imagine any of your worn-out holes being worth keeping you for..." He circled around behind her, then appeared to have second thoughts. Coming back around front, he lifted her head by the hair again, "See here, do you want to watch? Or would you rather just feel?" He watched Tabitha's eyes flicker while she thought about it, working on her with, "Of course, not knowing sometimes makes things more intense. There's the anticipation and the lack of other senses to get in the way of the experience..." He dropped her head and rolled a television on a stand to a position in front of her, off-side a bit, a few feet away. "I'm filming this for future enjoyment; you might as well get the benefit." He circled back around and palmed a remote control, clicking the 'On' button and rolling a thumbwheel. The TV lit and the field filled with Tabitha's ass as the camera zoomed in.
Tabitha looked; she couldn't help herself. She watched, as well as felt, the syringe tip penetrate her cringing asshole, watched Dumbjohn squeeze the bulb, and felt the soap squirt into her colon. 'Okay', she nerved herself, 'This isn't fun, and it'll get worse, but... ' Unfortunately, she was a bit early in her assumptions; Dumbjohm picked up the water hose and applied the conical tip of IT to her sphincter. Then he turned the valve at the hose end...
"AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!" Tabitha screamed as ice cold water went shooting into her defenseless colon. The cramps came instantly and hard; only the fact that she was already bent over the sawhorse and tied tightly kept her from curling into a ball. The water just kept on coming; while it probably was less than a minute, it seemed like eternity -- Tabitha felt her belly swelling and hardening, and it was SOOOOO COLD!!!
Finally, her tormentor shut it off, leaving her writhing from the cramps and shivering from the chill of the water. Control wasn't possible; as soon as Dumbjohn removed the tip, Tabitha began to spew. But this had been planned for; just behind the sawhorse, the wood floors gave way to tile, and the shower area that Tabitha couldn't see, but which provided the hookup for Dumbjohn's water hose. The slop poured out onto the tile, and slid toward a drain in the floor. "Oooooh, we're nasty inside, aren't we?" Dumbjohn asked, but Tabitha didn't respond; her core body temperature had dropped to the point that she lost consciousness.
It took Dumbjohn a few seconds to realize that Tabitha wasn't
conscious, as her body was automatically trying to clear itself out,
but he noted the quiet and moved around front to check her. The woman
was grey and cold, shivering. "Wups!" he grunted, and went around to
the hose, where he set the faucet for much warmer water. "Can't have
you crashing on me!" Again he inserted the hose, this time flooding her
with water much nearer body temperature -- perhaps even a bit TOO warm.
This time, he didn't go for a fill, either, but let up pretty quickly
-- besides, she was running clean -- this was just a rinse... Tabitha
recovered her color; Dumbjohn decided to step out for a bit, to give
her time to recover. He examined her closely, making sure that she
appeared to be stable -- after all, her wasted ass had been on drugs a
long time, and might just give up and crash if he pushed her TOO
hard...