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Chapter 8
Carol drove back to her hotel not quite quivering. Her crotch was steaming; she could smell a faint whiff of her scent. The recap of the gala plus the surprise tour of his dungeon had started her juices flowing and her imagination working. She had reacted by instinct when she refused the invitation to experience some of his skills; she still felt pangs of guilt over her story to David.
Robert had a point, though. She hadn't told him, she had only told Mistress Danielle. And it wasn't necessarily the Mistress's responsibility to tell him; it was Carol's. She hadn't been injured, quite the contrary. It had been a huge turn-on. That had been the culmination of the one of the most erotic weeks of her life; second only to her honeymoon. She had fucked herself silly that evening with the BOB – Battery Operated Boyfriend- that she traveled with. She WAS interested in more. But she preferred that it be with David. How could she do that? The trip home provided an opportunity to devise a plan to have her husband become the source of her excitement rather than Robert.
** Friday evening found a very horny Carol enticing me to carry our personal bedroom play to a new level. I both did and did not have a problem with it. The idea of combining a little pain with our pleasure wasn't new; we had tried it before. The problem came from two directions; first was her memories of punishment during her childhood. There was nothing there to relate to but fear, pain and guilt. Not exactly a bedroom turn-on. When I had tried to spank her or use any implement on her, the memories of those childhood punishments overrode any eroticism that could have been generated. The other difficulty lay in me. I don't just love my wife; I cherish her. And while I could bear to spank or lightly use a crop or similar instrument, doing so while it glaringly caused her grief was something I couldn't do.
There was another part of my life that it conflicted with as well. That was first time I killed a man. I was a Marine. I had actually enjoyed it a little bit. That part was something that changed later.
My high school years weren't exactly smooth. High school was boring. I made good grades, surprisingly good considered how little I actually studied. My parents, teachers and counselors all pushed me to take the advanced courses. Apparently my aptitude and my interest in school were at opposite ends of the spectrum. I was a tall, skinny kid with way too much testosterone fueled attitude. It didn't take me long to figure out that being tall didn't keep someone heavier and stronger from beating my ass. That started to change my senior year. An extra inch and sixty pounds of muscle turned me from a skinny, harmless pain in the ass into a serious pain in the ass. I didn't care for college so I worked construction after graduation, something I had been doing part time and summers all along. The atmosphere seemed to fit my attitude and the manual work aspect helped my physique. It didn't do a thing for the testosterone, however. After one too many altercations my father's patience wore thin. Okay, it wore out. He finally convinced me that if I was such a real badass then I might as well join the Marines and put it to use. In a moment of “Okay, I'll show you”, I did. And I liked it, enough to volunteer for Force Reconnaissance. Forecon evolved into Reconnaissance and Special Operations. Back then there were two divisions: Green and Black. Green did what the name implied: deep forward reconnaissance for advancing forces. Black was the tough stuff. The Army had the green beanies who jumped out of planes, the Navy had the Seals who came in under water. We did both. Hell, they would have delivered us by cruise missile if they could have crammed us into the cargo section. Force Recon never got the press of our counterparts. But we were the guys you called if it Absolutely, Positively had to be DESTROYED Overnight. I went Black.
I joined up just in time to pull two short semi-tough deployments in Forecon before Operation Desert Storm gave me a chance to fully realize the potential of my training. We were “delivered” into Northern Kuwait and were heading to check out one of the Iraqi “palaces” that also served as a weapons manufacturing center. For a nation that had no nuclear ambitions, they sure had an amazing inventory of yellowcake.
Just after dusk early in the mission, we – my two buddies and I – stumbled across three Iraqi men who had decided to have some fun with a girl. She was 12, maybe 14. Or 18. It can be hard to tell, especially considering how they dress. Regardless, she didn't seem too interested in having their style of fun. Essentially it consisted of one of the men holding a rather ugly knife to her throat while ramming his cock down her throat. She was kneeling and her hands were bound behind her. With all the gagging and crying she was doing, they didn't hear us slip up behind them.
I raised my silenced HK to interrupt the little party; my second grabbed my arm and pulled me around. He motioned “NO!” and to slip on by. He was right. I knew that. This had nothing to do with our mission. What we were watching was a domestic issue. But that hardly mattered to me at that time. Testosterone listens to no one. Two rounds went through the face of one of the men watching and laughing. It was the laughing that got to me. The sub-sonic ammo and the effectiveness of the silencer meant that the bulk of the resulting noise came from the rifle's action banging back and forth. While the first one fell unnoticed, the other two looked around at the strange mechanical noise. The next two rounds caught the other spectator in the forehead. Most of the top of his head disappeared; that got the attention of the guy doing the raping. I motioned for him to step away from the girl, which he both understood and obeyed. He started to turn to run but I put another round in front of his feet and he changed his mind. I took the knife that he had dropped and cut the cord from the girl's wrists then motioned with the muzzle for him to kneel. I handed the knife to her and stepped around behind him. Her eyes grew wide as I reached down and pulled my Kabar out of the thigh sheath. I never gave him a chance to see what was about to happen; I just grabbed his hair and pulled his head back. The blood spurting from his severed jugular and carotids just missed splattering on her. She scrambled back as the body fell, a small hinge at the spinal cord was all that kept the head from separating from the body.
“Did you really have to do that?” My second asked.
“No... I guess not. But I wanted her to know that the son of a bitch would never be able to come after her. She might dream about tonight, but she won't have to look over her shoulder or be afraid that this piece of shit will be around anymore.” Was my reply.
He just sighed.
“Let's get on with it. We've got a cab to catch.” He meant a copter, of course. But that would come later. That wasn't the only blood that my knife would taste that mission. Nor the only time I watched a head turn into sausage. Always up close and personal.
The Marines will teach you a lot of things. Loyalty, duty, honor among others. But the first thing they teach you is discipline. That starts before you get off the bus at Parris Island. That was something I soon learned well and applied stringently. I sliced a man’s head off because I caught him sexually abusing a woman, but I didn't have the self discipline to ignore it and go on with the mission. That was a graduate level education that I acquired in about two minutes. I remember it as well as she probably does. By the time I mustered out at Camp Lejeune my testosterone had about run out; dealing death and destruction had lost all of its’ appeal. My personal discipline was well locked in.
School had a new appeal. Even the liberal, almost socialist, institution in Chapel Hill welcomed returning warriors. My grades from high school were fine, actually excellent, everything was acceptable and I found myself in the business program at UNC. I decided to accelerate my studies and found that university was a bit more challenging than high school. With a year left I met Carol, starting her second year of a six year program that would produce a PharmD.
She was one who had blossomed from a duckling to a glorious swan. She still retained the memories of being a small town girl who was too tall, too skinny and with too long a face. All I saw was a candidate for a Victoria's Secret catalog. She was shy and ignored the boys that tried to make a move on her. The girls on campus had resurrected my testosterone, Carol started it raging. I had maintained my physical conditioning so I was impressively intimidating; at least toward any guys that might want to sniff around her. To her I was the perfect, respectful, humble Marine. Okay, that last seems to be an oxymoron (to any sailors reading this, STFU. Oxy in this case means contradiction, not an inhalant.) But I behaved myself.
We dated, her parents hated me (because she liked me) I really didn't care and soon I was waaay past being in love. And lust, which she happened to enjoy, too. I graduated first, stuck around and found a job with a contractor in Raleigh. I took some extra classes in Construction Business and Management at NC State. “Moo U” was okay. No body gave me any shit about being a Tar Heel first. Even NC State guys could figure it out about former Marines. Eventually she graduated; I had found a house in the country that the realtor said was a “fixer upper” which means that the roof might not collapse before the deal closes. Hey, I'm a contractor. The price was right, I did the work; we got married and had a decent house in the country. I started my own contracting company and for a few years things went very well. Then the Great Recession came along and my business turned into shit.
So when the beautiful, wonderful love of my life asks me to start spanking her, I was just a bit apprehensive. I was also curious as to why this change had occurred. I was suddenly reminded about my nagging feelings about the bruises on her butt.
Chapter 9
I got out the toy bag when she said:
“Wait. I think I need a spanking.” She was looking coy and smirking at the same time.
“A spanking. Why do you need a spanking? Have you been a bad girl?” I asked.
“yes. A very baaad girl!”
“And what have you done?”
She paused. She didn’t expect this. “I’ve been thinking naughty things.”
“Such as…?”
“I…I’ve been thinking about sexy stuff.”
“Well, that’s not naughty. That’s good. Maybe I should do something else.”
Her countenance seemed more worried than guilty.
“I still think I deserve a spanking.” She pouted.
“Hmmm.” I sat down on the edge of the bed. “I think you should be naked to get a spanking.”
“Naked? Or Nekkid?” She asked.
“Nekkid. We’re up to something. Or at least I will be before long.” (Naked means you don’t have any clothes on. Nekkid means you don’t have any clothes on and are up to somethin’.)
She slowly began to strip, teasing me. She wasn’t a stripper and we had only been to one or two strip clubs before, so she didn’t really know the routine. She understands sexy though and it doesn’t take much for her to get me worked up by simply getting undressed. Just trying to be sexy is enough to get me started.
Once she was nekkid I patted my lap.
“Here. Lay down. You need a spanking.” Actually by now I was thinking that maybe she did need a spanking. She lay across my lap and I put my hand on her left cheek and rubbed it lightly. I never miss an opportunity to rub her ass. I gave her a pop, then another on her other cheek. Several more and she began to squirm. I hadn’t used enough force to really hurt so her squirming indicated something else.
“Have you been naughtier than that?” I asked. She just nodded her head. I began again, this time harder.
“Is…this…what…you…think…you…deserve?” I punctuated my spanks with my question. Each one got a little stronger. I stopped and she nodded.
“I’ve been naughtier than that.” Was her reply. This was certainly a change.
“How naughty? What should I use other than my hand?” She didn’t answer for a minute. Then she said:
“A belt.” I swallowed hard at that one. This was going back into a part of her life that I wasn’t comfortable to participate in. I lifted her off my lap without a word and placed her on the bed. I stepped over to the closet and drew a belt from my closet. I then returned to the bed and sat back down. I motioned her back onto my lap and she slowly returned.
I could see that whatever she had expected earlier wasn’t exactly what was happening now. She moved with some trepidation and slowly got back on my lap. I gave her two quick, though not very hard, swats with the belt. She squirmed around then settled and I gave her two more, but harder. She was tense; so was I. My apprehension didn’t enhance my erection in the least. I took a breath then gave her two more. She started sobbing and said:
“Stop! No more. I’m SORRY!” I threw the belt to the floor and grabbed her into my arms.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you. I’m sorry! I’m…” She put her hand on my mouth to shush me.
“It’s…It’s all right. It’s okay. I thought I wanted something…I thought…I didn’t think that…It’s okay. I’m fine. It’s okay.” She held me tightly and breathed into my chest. She took deep breaths.
“It wasn’t what I thought it would be. I thought it could be sexy. Like the way I get when you tie me up. But it wasn’t. It… it reminded me…” She couldn’t finish and didn’t need to. I knew what she meant. But I still couldn’t quite figure out why the sudden interest.
“What made you want to try it?” I asked. She thought for a minute. Her head was still close against my chest.
“I thought maybe it would spice things up a bit. One of the extra activities in Orlando that sent me an e-mail was from a dungeon. It looked interesting. It gave me the idea.”
So that was where the bruises came from.
“Did you go there?” She nodded. “Will you tell me about it?”
“Maybe later.” She answered. What I wanted to ask was ‘Why in hell didn’t you tell me before now?’
Chapter 9
The next morning I fixed French toast with cinnamon and powdered sugar for breakfast. After we finished and I had cleaned up, I took her hand and looked into her eyes.
"We need to have a little talk."
"What about?" She knew. I figured she was stalling.
"About last night." I said.
"That's the name of a movie."
"Yeah. Well, besides that I have a few questions. Let's go sit down." I said. She looked away, then sighed.
"Let me show you something first." She lifted the screen to the laptop on the table next to her and worked the touchpad. A website came up that seemed rather...exotic.
"This is where I went." She proceeded to show me the page and some of the secondary views of the dungeon. I noticed that there was a disclaimer about "other pages" that she didn't bother to show me. It was all quite impressive. The lady had a very complete setup and the website seemed very professional.
"Now let's talk." She said, getting up. We went over to the couch and sat next to each other. I held her hand and looked at her as she looked away. Reddi, our neutered red headed male cat jumped into my lap. He’s sweet, but sometimes can be a pest. I gently pushed him to the side of my leg and petted him with my other hand. Freddi, our white cat, sat on the floor and watched. She finally looked down at her feet and began speaking.
"I got an e-mail at work. The announcement about "The Show" included a statement about "other attractions" that might be sending us invitations, attractions that had been coordinated by the company. The one from Mistress Danielle came just a few minutes after the show invitation. I though that it was sponsored by the company since it had made it past the spam filters. I don't know if it was or not, now. Anyway it looked interesting. We have so much fun playing games that I thought that it would be an opportunity that I might not get again. So I went." She looked up at me then, I tried to look as understanding as I could. Since I didn't quite understand enough, I may have not conveyed what I wanted. She looked down again.
"She's really an interesting person. She's a licensed psychologist; she had had her own practice. But she gave it up to become a professional dominatrix. She says that she helps more people this way and that the money is better." She snickered at this and looked up at me. I smiled and she resumed, not looking at me.
"Anyway, I went. She did a lot of things, some of them hurt, some of them felt really good. So that's why I wanted you to spank me. I thought maybe I was past the memories because she could spank me without the fears coming back."
"Did you tell her about your past?" I asked. She nodded.
"I told her that before I went down to Orlando. I needed to know about her before I went. She understood and I thought with her professional background that she might be able to help. She said that she would stop anytime I had a problem. But I didn't have a problem."
I thought about that. Then I asked:
"So you have a problem with me?" I had to know.
"I think I have a problem because I love you. And you love me. I could tell you were...apprehensive about it. I was too. It wasn't the same. She wasn't someone I love. It was a neutral place. Actually the setting helped. The dungeon looked like an appropriate place for punishment play... or rough sex... or something completely different from home. It was different."
"So tell me the details. What did she do? What did you do? Did you like it?" I was more than curious.
"Yes, I liked it. She did a lot of things." She proceeded to tell me about the afternoon; but I had the feeling that I got the Reader's Digest version. Very abridged and cleaned up. I was still very attentive. By the time she had finished my mind was zooming through a variety of scenarios. And that erection that didn't work the night before was trying to make up for lost time. When she finally looked up at me and smiled, really smiled, I thought that the sun had come up in her eyes. Apparently remembering the afternoon in the dungeon had rekindled some emotions in her as well. We never had lunch that day. Actually we had a snack. Make that a feast of pussy and a slab of cock.
Chapter 10
Things carried on. I struggled to find work; she went about her usual travel. Two Fridays later she returned from her trip to the Charlotte area and again she was hornier than a two headed billy goat. Hmmm. That feeling again.
I managed to find the money to go to the pistol range on occasion. Usually I practiced at home in the back yard. It's rural enough to do that, but I still like to get some time in on a regular range. It makes it a lot easier to find my brass for reloading, plus I get the camaraderie of being with fellow shooters. That can be half the fun of shooting. One of the guys that frequent the range is a fellow former Marine. He's also a private investigator. I mentioned my "feelings" without getting into too many details.
"Standard shit." He said. "Either she stops fucking or she starts fucking your eyes out. The first means she's about to leave. Or just soak you for a while. Then she leaves. The other means she's guilty. It's kinda like a mercy fuck, but she really means it. She still loves you and doesn't want to hurt you. So she fucks you to make up for it. Whoever is fucking her is getting her interested in sex. So you get dessert too. It still isn't a long term good thing. It will come down to you or him. The question is, what do you want to do about it?"
"What the fuck can I do about it? I can't just ask her why she wants to fuck like a bunny every so often. Okay I could; but I'm not that stupid. Got any suggestions" I asked. He grinned.
"Sure. You can hire me to follow her for a month. Of course, I don't work cheap. Since she travels I'd have to travel. I could farm it out to a gofer, but that's still not cheap. YOU could follow her. Once you catch her you'll end up paying an attorney more than you'd pay me so he can handle the double homicide charge. You might get off with justifiable. Better to try insanity. But that's tough in this state. And then there is the sensible option." He paused, waiting for me to bite.
"All right. Quit dragging it out. Tell me."
"Okay. You do your own car maintenance, right? Oil and filter changes, tune ups?" He paused again, waiting for my response. I had an idea where he was going. I nodded.
"I've got a system I bought to tail a lady who was suspected of cheating on her husband. They both traveled around. He thought she was fucking around on him. She was. Of course, he was fucking around on her, but she wasn't paying me. I bought this nifty GPS surveillance system. To do it right it needs to be installed where it doesn't show and can still get power when the engine is running. It uses a battery but is recharged by the power source. If you can get access to the fuel pump circuit then you're all set. Think you can do it?"
"Shit yeah. Even if I have to tell her I need to do a brake job or something and she has to take the spare wheels, I can do that. What does the GPS show?"
"It's pretty neat. It reports GPS locations as often as you want, based on the programming, until the power is turned off. It then reports the current location and goes to sleep. When power is restored, that is the car is started, it then reports its' location again. You can set it to report every five seconds to every hour. It reports to a web site that gives verifiable time and date stamps. You can include VIN numbers and other specific information for evidentiary tracking. It blows the hell out of defense attorney's excuses." He grinned again.
"What does it cost?" I asked. "Where can I get one?"
"Just borrow mine. I don't think I'll need it for a while. If I do, I'll tell you. If you're not through, then you can replace it. Sound fair?"
"More than fair. When can I get it?" I was excited.
"Call me tomorrow. You can pick up it anytime you want." He handed me his business card.
"I'll call in the morning." I said. "Thanks. You have no idea." He looked at me with a sad smile and I could tell there was something else there.
"Actually...yes I do. Semper Fi." And we left.
The next day I went by and picked up the unit. He had it in the original box with all the software. He handed me a sheet of paper with the device.
"Here's the setup password and the website password and instructions for the website. Doing this in preparation for a trial is a bit laborious, but I don't think that is what you're interested in yet. If you need to you can do a resetup; but usually just showing the print out to a defense attorney is enough to get your point across. Just do the quick setup and you're good to go. Call me once you've got it installed and we can go over what you get."
"You get paid for doing this. What do I owe you?" I didn't want charity but I didn't want another debt, either.
"Look, you've got a problem. Let's just say that I've lived a version of your problem. I also see this happening all the time." He hesitated, then continued. "This thing is paid for. The online service doesn't cost that much, I'll send you a copy of the bill. I help you out now, when I need some building work done you'll help me out later. Deal?" He stuck out his hand.
"Deal. You know I may need some heavier assistance later?"
"So call me. I'm not cheap...but I'm cheaper than an attorney. Plus I might be able to prevent you from needing one." **
Chapter 11
Two weeks after Carol made her confession about the visit to the Orlando dungeon, her schedule had her returning to the Charlotte area. A lot of thought and more than a few sleepless nights had convinced her to e-mail Robert and arrange a return visit. On the way to Charlotte she gave him a call.
"I've got a few..." she paused, "actually I've got a lot of reservations about this. I want to sit down and go over some things before we even start to go downstairs. Understand?"
"Absolutely." Robert replied. "You set the rules. I'll do what ever you require. By the way, do you like beef stew?"
"Well...sure. Why?" Carol asked.
"Because I started a pot going this morning and I thought we could have it for dinner. It saves time that way." He answered.
"Sure. Beef stew is fine. I'll be there around 6:30."
She was there at 6:35. He opened the door and grinned at her, sweeping his hand around to usher her in.
"Welcome. I'm glad you came back. Let help you with your coat." He took her coat and laid it across the back of a convenient chair. She stepped into the house and sniffed.
"It smells marvelous! It doesn't smell like a beef stew. It smells like more than that." She exclaimed.
"Nope. Beef stew. It just takes a little more preparation to make it right; but it's worth it." He answered.
He served the meal and they talked shop. The life of a pharmacuetical rep, like many specialty jobs, has its’ own peculiarities and it's hard to relate them to a non-rep. He related to her some of the same issues detailing his particular line of products that she faced with hers. Carol relaxed during the dinner; the nervousness that had accompanied her through the day had retreated. Robert stood to clear the table and take the dishes to the kitchen. He stacked the dishes, making sure the slow cooker was turned off and returned to the table. He reached out his hand to her.
"Let me take you to my dungeon, said the spider to the fly" He smiled at her. She smirked at the misquotation and rose from the table. She picked up a small carry bag she had brought in.
"May I have a minute to change?" She asked.
"Certainly. Use the quest room." He led her to a bedroom and turned on the light for her.
Once downstairs she appraised her surroundings. She had changed out of her work clothes and put on a pair of snug fitting shorts and a tee shirt. The swell of her breasts and the outline of her nipples revealed that she had left off her bra. The cool of the basement made her nipples harden and pucker. Robert led her over to an X cross mounted close to one wall. Suspension cuffs hung from the arms, ankle cuffs attached to coiled chains were against the bottoms. She looked at the apparatus, then at him.
“I’m not taking the shirt off. Just because you’ve seen them once, I’m not showing tem to you again.” He nodded. “And I don’t want to be chained.” He nodded again.
"If you don't want me to fasten the cuffs, I understand. Just put your hand through the cuff portion and hold the grips. I'll put the ankle cuffs on loosely. You can let go any time you want. But if you just stand there you lose the effect." She nodded this time
“Okay.” And gripped the handles above the cuffs. He secured the ankle cuffs lightly and adjusted the chains to stretch her legs apart. Then he tightened the chains so that she had to stretch to hold on to the cuffs.
"Still okay?" He asked.
"Yes. So far." She answered. He went to the cabinet and selected a three foot long whip with suede tips. He slashed the whip back and forth, producing an angry whistle. She jumped and looked around.
"Just for effect." He said smiling at her. "Limbering up a bit, that's all. No marks, right?" She nodded vigorously.
"NO MARKS!" She exclaimed. "Just tickling. If I say stop, STOP. No touching...other than with whatever you’re using. I'm not here for anything else. No sex, no nothing. Got it?" She no longer sounded relaxed.
"Sure. I might go a bit beyond just the tickling, but only to enhance the experience. If you say stop, or slow down, or anything like that, then I'll stop. I want you to enjoy this. That's what it's all about." He began to move the whip at a slower speed.
He was pretty good. He tickled her and lightly stung her; not enough to leave marks but enough to spark emotions. By the end of an hour he was worked into a lather but didn't let her realize it. She, too, was worked up and it was very evident. He had used the whip, a paddle and a small version of a cat, but with latex tails. They stung a bit, but the way he used it left no visible evidence. The only evidence was soaking through her panties. He finally called enough for one night and she agreed. They went back upstairs, she changed, and they said their farewells. Once she got to the hotel and to bed she had retrieved her BOB. By the time she finished she realized that he was due for fresh batteries. She was ready for some real sex.
Chapter 12
** The following weekend I changed the oil and filter in Carol's car. I also used the pretense of some other maintenance which I did do. I needed the Monday to finish so she took my truck to work that day. The GPS tracking system worked perfectly. I felt guilty about installing it. I used every justification I could think of to convince myself that I was doing the right thing, but it didn't help. By the time she got home on Friday I had reconciled it with myself. Two Fridays later I had started a slow burn. Reconciliation wasn't required. On both Tuesday and Wednesday nights she had spent two hours at a residence just outside Mint Hill before returning to her hotel. What the hell was that about? I wanted to know...but I was afraid I would find out. **
The next trip to Charlotte had been similar to the previous one, but things had smoothed out. Carol had allowed Robert to fasten the cuffs on the second night; he was right, it did enhance the experience. He had prepared a jacket for her to wear as well. He had obtained a denim jacket from a thrift shop and cut off the sleeves. He had added a leather lining so that he could take a stronger swing.
"It's for me to practice." He had told her. "It's hard for me to get into a rhythm if I'm always having to hold back so much. This way I can practice hard strokes, you get to feel them, but no marks and little pain. Okay?" It seemed to work. He got to unwind by whipping her and she didn't suffer from the impact. She could still feel the strokes, though. They didn't sting, but she could feel the force of the whip as they landed. He imagined her hanging there, nude, her back red, stripes running in opposing diagonals across her back, butt and legs. He could imagine her shrieks, her tears, her cries. In his mind he could see her jump with every stroke, sagging after so many that her muscles had fatigued. Then he could see himself ripping off his jeans, stepping up behind her and plunging his manhood into her soaking wet pussy. And it was wet. He could see it; he could smell it. It was all he could do to not just drop the whip and satisfy his urges right there. But he controlled himself. Soon, he thought; be patient. Soon.
When she had changed he walked with her to the car.
"The next time, why don't you stay here?" He held up his hand as she started to speak. "Guest bedroom. You can lock the door if you want. Send an e-mail to yourself at work that you're going to be here. But if you stay here it gives us more time to play plus you can relax without having to go to a hotel. I don't bite. Really." He smiled as charmingly as he knew how. And he was good.
"I...I'll think about it. I don't like the idea of staying at your house. I probably shouldn't be doing this at all." She said.
"Good. Just think about it. There are a lot of advantages. What's the harm?" He said.
"Okay. I'll think about it." What was the harm? She thought.
The next trip to Charlotte, she was prepared to stay with Robert. Things at home had seemed strained, for some reason. She didn't understand why David had seemed so uptight, but his business was still extremely thin and bills kept coming in. She made enough money to keep things comfortable, but she knew that the situation took a heavy toll on his ego. No man wants to be a failure; it made it worse when there wasn't anything he could do about it. He was dependent on the economy to give people the confidence to spend money, especially on a house that might lose value while the work was being done. He was also dependent on his wife for their income. It was a bitch of a time. Perhaps that's what had him so down.
Robert helped Carol bring her things into the house and led her to the guest room. He put the suitcase, and two other bags down. One he figured was a makeup and personal effects bag, but he inquired about the other.
"It's a CPAP machine." She stated.
"You have sleep apnea?" He asked.
"Yes. It's a pain to use, but it does help me sleep. Why?" She asked. She noticed an odd look on his face.
“Is there something wrong?” She asked.
"Oh...I just thought...I thought that only fat...er...heavy people had sleep apnea. You certainly aren't like that."
"Oh, no. Body size can certainly have an impact, but not always. I know really skinny people who have apnea. I've got very narrow nasal passages. Plus when I go to sleep the relaxation effect lets them almost collapse. If I don't use the machine my blood O2 levels drop way too low." By now Robert's face seemed to return to normal. It was all he could do to keep from shouting and running around in joy.
"Do you use a machine with a humidifier?" He asked.
"Yes. Otherwise my sinuses dry out and that interferes with my breathing as well." Robert nodded. He looked solemn.
"It reminds me of a ventilator. That was what I was thinking about. My grandfather was on one for months before he died. He had worked in a cotton mill. The fibers got to him. They said it wasn't actually brown lung, but I wonder." He looked sad.
"I'm so sorry. That's must be a terrible way to die. Before I got the machine I had dreams that I was suffocating, then I would wake up gasping. It's terrible." Robert nodded again. But he wasn't thinking about his grandfather, or about suffocation. He was thinking about the CPAP machine. Besides, his grandfather had died from colon cancer; so dosed with morphine that he didn't have a clue where he was.
Robert was prepared for the second night. He had already installed two surveillance cameras in the guest bedroom, both equipped with low light sensing capabilities. That, plus the two nightlights installed, one on each wall provided more than enough illumination to show everything happening in the room. He had watched as she filled the humidifier tank with the distilled water he had provided her and gotten into bed. He had watched and recorded her actions as she eagerly, almost frantically, worked her pussy over with her vibrator. He imagined that he could hear it without the help of the hidden microphone. She had teased herself mercilessly until she had finally succumbed to its' magic. Then she slipped the CPAP mask on and pushed the button to start the machine. And to also start the vapor from the GHB that Robert had injected into the sealed gallon jug of distilled water he had offered her.
He waited until her sleeping seemed even deeper than it had the night before. He had used the previous night as a baseline to learn her nighttime routine and her sleeping habits. This night she was even more relaxed. He used his cell phone to call his home landline number. The phone next to her bed was set on the loudest ring setting; she didn't stir. He eased into her room and looked down at her loveliness. He shook her gently; when she didn't respond he shook her more forcefully. She stirred, but barely opened her eyes. She wasn't really there. He removed the mask and turned the machine off. He removed the water tank and took it to the bathroom where he washed it out and refilled it with plain water. He then returned to the bedroom. He placed the CPAP machine exactly where it had been and pulled the covers off of Carol's drugged body. Her nightgown was pulled up to her waist; her pale skin glowed in the dim light. Robert eased her over toward the middle of the bed. He then took a condom package, ripped open the foil and rolled the latex sleeve onto his cock. He moved onto the bed and spread her thighs wide apart. As he eased himself down and positioned his cock at the entrance to her pussy, he thought "FINALLY!" Then he pushed himself inside her and slammed down as hard as he could. The first cum hadn't taken long. After the workout downstairs – she had removed her tee shirt at last-and then watching her pleasure herself with her vibrator he almost came just putting the condom on. The next two times took a while longer. It was almost 3:00 am when he had finished, cleaned her up a bit and put the CPAP mask on and then climbed into his own bed. He had left no evidence. It had taken a long time, but it had been worth the wait. Now he had to arrange things so that he could fuck her while she was awake.
The next morning Carol felt like something was wrong, but everything seemed perfectly normal. She had slept well enough, though she was tired from the previous night's activities. Her pussy was sore, but she had given it quite an energetic working over with the vibrator. She hadn't realized that she had plunged it that deep and that hard. But she had certainly been horny, and the release had been wonderful. Now it was time to get home and get some serious fucking!
Chapter 13
** She had spent two nights with him. The GPS coordinates revealed the address; the property tax website had revealed the owner. Robert Hazleth. A web search revealed that he was another employee at Orstine Pharma. Probably also went to Orlando. Had he also gone to the dungeon? Had she gone with him to the dungeon? I didn't know, and didn't really know how to find out. I could ask her, but what do I say? 'Hey, babe, is the guy you're fucking in Charlotte the same one that gave you the whip marks in Orlando?' That would really go over well. So how else do I go about it? If I reveal that I know that she's staying at some guy's house overnight, how do I tell her that I bugged her car? That reveals that I don't trust her. Which I don't, now. Who's the bigger jerk, me for bugging her car, or her for fucking around on me? My answer to that question was a bit biased. The bottom line was that I was crushed.
The woman I loved more than anything in my life; more than life itself, was cheating on me. Worse, when she comes home she's as horny as a mink. She hasn't been this horny since our honeymoon. But is it for me or for him? It sure seems genuine. If it's an act, then she deserves at least an academy award. Even with all her enthusiasm it's still difficult for me to get it up for her. All I can think of is her doing it with someone else. It's killing me.
I almost relaxed until it came time for her next trip to Charlotte. Telling her goodbye was almost impossible. I contemplated going down and watching her go into the guy's house. I talked to my PI buddy for advice.
"Don't." He said. "If you want, I'll go. You have the address and you know her schedule. I can go down, take some video and some stills. Then you find an attorney."
"Sure. I kick her out. Then how do I pay the mortgage? What are the chances of me getting any alimony before I get foreclosed and evicted?" I asked.
"Somewhere between slim and zilch. I'd bet on zilch. But don't you go down there. You'll have free room and board for the rest of your shortened life if you do."
I knew he was right. What could I do? **
This trip was even more intense for Carol than before. Robert had removed the leather insert from the jacket but had eased up on his whipping force. He said he was working on his aim and his technique, and that he didn't need to strike quite so hard while he concentrated on that. He worked on her legs, though. They were sensitive and quite red when he had finished. The exertion from pulling and straining against the restraints left her tired and winded. The next day her muscles felt like she had lifted weights all evening and then been fucked half the night by a madman. And she was right. When she got home she realized that her pulling on the restraints had left bruises on her wrists and ankles. She hoped that David wouldn't notice.
** Of course I noticed. I had started looking at her as closely as I could without pulling out a magnifying glass and going over her inch by inch. Sunday evening I couldn't take it anymore. She had fucked me twice on Saturday and once that afternoon. I hadn't been up to my best performance. As we got ready to go to sleep she kissed me and said:
"You've been worrying too much. Things will be all right. My job is secure. The bills are getting paid. The work will come back before long." I picked up her hand and looked at her wrist, tracing the bruise with my finger. Then I did the same thing with the other one. Then I reached down and traced around each ankle. When I looked at her I couldn't focus. My eyes seemed to be swimming.
"I'm not worried about work. But I can't take this anymore." I got up and went into the other bedroom and got into the bed. But I didn't sleep. Reddi came with me. He did sleep, nestled under my armpit as usual. Freddi stayed with her.
Monday morning was rough. I was up and had made coffee before she came into the kitchen. She looked like she hadn't had much sleep, either. She got a cup of coffee and sat down without saying anything. Her mouth was taut, eyes red. I finally spoke.
"I'm not going to share you. I love you. I love you too much to lose you. But I can't sleep with you knowing that you're sleeping with some one else." She looked incredulous.
"Is that what you think? That I've been screwing around with another man? Because I HAVEN'T! I haven't slept with anyone but you since before we were married. NEVER! NO ONE!" Now she was pissed. "How DARE YOU accuse me of THAT!" She glared at me. It took a few minutes but she took a sip of coffee; her hands trembled so much she almost slopped it over the rim of the cup.
"Then what about the bruises? They sure look like you've been tied up. And you haven't been too interested in me tying you up. Not in weeks. Yes, the sex has been great. What do they call it - 'guilty sex'? Trying to make it up to me? I'm not stupid!" Now I was pissed.
“Every time you come back from a Charlotte trip you can’t wait to jump into the sack. Does he get that worked up? You can’t get enough but you have to come home anyway?”
I still didn't know how to tell her about the GPS tracking device that showed where she had been. Her eyes widened and her face grew a bit pale, but she didn’t respond. She slowly got up and put her cup into the sink, then left the room.
Ironically, she didn't know that she HAD been fucking, or at least had been fucked, by someone else. We were both right; we had both been wronged.
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