A Bestiary of Unnatural Women (29 page)

I knew that my face was at the level of his
crotch so I was not surprised when I felt the smooth head of his
cock against my lips. It was erect, thank God, so I stuck my tongue
out and began licking and sucking like my life depended on it.

My life did depend on it.

As I drew the flesh into my mouth, I prayed
that I was working with all my skill on Rick's cock and not some
stranger's. As I tried to work my erotic magic on the man, I cursed
myself for not giving my husband a lot more head. I had only had
him in my mouth a handful of times, never for long and not more
recently than five years ago. I wouldn't know the difference in
size and feel between him and any random stranger. What kind of
wife doesn't know the feel of her own husband's cock in her
mouth?

I was going to die wishing that I had been a
better wife to my husband. If I survived this and lived to be
ninety years old, would I regret that I had not served my husband's
needs better than any callous whore would have eagerly done for a
few bucks? As I sucked some stranger, using all my meager and rusty
skill to excite him to climax and fill my mouth with his cum, I
vowed that my husband would get a lot more head from me from now
on. Never again would I be unable to recognize the feel of my own
husband's cock in my mouth. I made that unholy vow to God with
utmost sincerity.

As I worked, I heard my rapist grunting
quietly and felt him pulling on my hair and pumping harder into my
mouth. When he hit the back of my throat, I gagged, but he ignored
my distress and kept banging into me as deeply as he could. I tried
to open my throat wide to admit his entire length without gagging
but nothing helped.

I struggled against my bonds but my hands
remained uselessly taped to my ankles.

I dared not relax my jaw for even a second
lest I accidentally nick him with my teeth. My jaw was aching
horribly when, after an eternity, he finally filled my mouth with
his salty spunk. I was surprised how long it took. I always thought
that a man squirted a couple of times and that was it, but he kept
pulsing on and off for a long time. Even after the last pulse, he
did not withdraw, but kept his cock in place as it slowly relaxed.
I could feel even more cum dribbling across my tongue as his cock
slowly retreated. In my estimation, only a portion of his semen was
ejaculated in the first, biggest squirts. Most of it followed
later. I was embarrassed by the amount that I was learning from
this foul stranger rather than from ministering to my own sweet
husband.

After a few minutes, he pushed my head away.
As soon as he was clear of my lips, he slapped a piece of duct tape
across my mouth, sealing his juices inside for my gustatory
pleasure. Spit his cum out? I couldn't even casually let it dribble
down my chin from the corner of my lips. And there wasn't a hope in
hell of rinsing out with a nice glass of cool water and then
brushing my teeth. I had no choice but to swallow as vigorously as
I could in a futile attempt to clear the taste of him from my
mouth. It didn't work. He was all over in there. I would keep
tasting him for as long as he kept me gagged.

He left me kneeling on the floor for a long,
long time. I heard bedsprings creak and knew that he was lying
down. The man had worked hard and now he needed a rest. Maybe he'd
even take a nap. I prayed that he wouldn't fall into a deep sleep
until he had released me from this position. The manner of my
restraint had already become a source of relentless agony. My
shoulders were aching from the constant pressure on them, my knees
were on fire from being bent so sharply, and I was suffering a
million needle stabs in my calves and feet from lack of
circulation.

I eased myself onto my side and tried to
straighten my legs as much as possible to restore the blood flow
through my knees. It was like trying to touch my toes in high
school gym class, but doing it when lying on rough carpeting. The
exercise helped a little, but at the cost of straining my back. I
could not get my knees completely straight and could not hold even
this partially straight position for long.

I didn't think that I could survive an entire
night of being bent like this. Blood clots would form in my veins
at my knees, break away, and clog the vessels in my brain and heart
and lungs.

I could hear my rapist breathing slowly and
regularly a couple of feet away. He was enjoying unlimited comfort
in the bed that I had rented with money that Rick had earned.

After some time, it seemed like hours, the
bed creaked again. Heavy feet hit the floor by my head.

More pain was coming and the duct tape
covering my mouth couldn't keep a soft whimper from escaping.

But, to my surprise, I heard the door to the
room open and then close again. I strained to hear footsteps, but
could distinguish no meaningful sounds apart from the cars rumbling
down the highway.

Unlike my husband, the stranger walked
silently, either because he was naturally light on his feet or
because he wanted to surprise me. Should I hope that the evil
sociopath had left or should I hope that he was still here? If he
was still here, then he would undoubtedly hurt me again in terrible
ways before long. But if he had sated himself and left for good,
then I was doomed to spend at least twelve hours in agony with my
hands taped to my ankles until a maid or manager came to find out
if I had left without checking out. Even if he was a sociopath,
surely he could have shown a sliver of mercy. If he was finished
with me, he could have left me restrained in a position that kept
me equally helpless but was less painful and less humiliating.
Hadn't I given him a good enough blowjob? I'd done my best. I must
have pleased him. He had come copiously in my mouth. I could still
taste his stale spunk. Didn't I deserve a reward for my
efforts?

Without warning, heavy hands grabbed me and
rolled me onto my back. I was startled because I was sure that he
had left the room. I would have screamed if my mouth had not been
taped shut.

A strong arm slipped behind my knees and
another one under my shoulders. I was hoisted off the floor and
dropped on the bed.

I knew this couldn't be Rick. I'm not a large
woman, I'm definitely not fat, but I still weigh nearly a hundred
and thirty pounds. Rick spends his days sitting at a desk. He'd
never be able to lift me off the floor when I was trussed up like a
side of beef. This man must be some kind of body builder. A body
builder who walked like a cat.

Lying on my back on the bed with my hands
taped to my ankles, my knees automatically flopped open. It would
have taken more energy than I had left to keep them closed and that
would have increased my pain to unbearable levels. Spread wide like
this, I must have made a pretty sight for the man. I assumed that
he was enjoying the view because he didn't move for the longest
time. I imagined him standing at the foot of the bed, staring at my
naked, splayed cunt and felt myself blush. Isn't that a hell of a
thing? My mouth was filled with his cum and I was still concerned
about my modesty. I know that Rick would enjoy a view like this and
I'm ashamed to say that, if he were in the room and I were not
bound and blindfolded, I would have closed my legs to deprive him
of that little bit of joy. I made a second unholy vow to God that
if I were ever alone with Rick again, I'd be happy to turn around,
spread my legs wide, bend over as far as I could, reach back, pull
my cheeks apart and let him stare at my most intimate geography as
much as he wanted. How could I have ever thought that my dear
husband deserved anything less than everything that I could give to
him?

I knew what was coming but I was still
surprised when the bed creaked and tilted towards the foot, the far
end sinking under the stranger's weight. Strong hands grabbed my
knees and forced them even further apart to allow his heavy hips to
slid down the insides of my thighs. I felt the weight of the man
roll along my torso from crotch to clavicle until he was entirely
supported by my pelvis, abdomen, and chest. Hot, moist breath
filled my right ear as I felt his rigid cock pressing against my
juicy cunt. Why was I so wet? I sure as hell wasn't welcoming this
second horrible violation.

I was vaguely thankful that he was about to
stab me in my cunt with his cock and not in my belly with his
knife.

The penetration was harsh and quick followed
by a long and painful pounding. My clit was crushed against my
pubic bone, my crotch stretched and scraped. I tried to move in
rhythm with him, not to stimulate him better, but to ease the force
of his thrusts against me. My efforts were useless; with my hands
fastened to my ankles, I couldn't move nearly far enough or fast
enough to make any difference. When he finally came, his orgasm was
silent but strong. So strong that I wondered if this was the same
man who had come in my mouth only a couple of hours ago. Wouldn’t a
man who had come once have trouble coming so hard a second time so
soon?

Then a truly horrible thought entered my
mind. Maybe this was not the same man. Maybe the sound of the door
opening had been rapist number one letting rapist number two into
the room. Maybe both men walked equally silently. Maybe it was even
worse than that. Maybe there were more that two silent men in the
room. Maybe there were a dozen. Maybe I would spend the night being
the guest of honor at a gang rape.

This was more than I had bargained for. I had
asked for a simple rape by my husband, not pulling a train of
strangers all night long.

As the man rolled off me, I began to cry. Not
the high-pitched whining caused by physical pain, but deep,
heart-felt sobs of self-pity. I don't know how my tears escaped the
duct tape that was plastered over my eyes but there must have been
some tiny gaps because they kept rolling down the sides of my face
until the hair at the back of my head was wet with salty water.

Crying was a terrible idea. My nose got all
stuffed up and I couldn't breath through the tape covering my
mouth. I almost suffocated trying to get enough air to blow my
nose. My rapist made no move to rescue me. If I hadn't forced
myself to stop crying and managed to blow enough snot across my
chin to get the air that I so desperately needed, I would have
died. What would the coroner's report say? “Stupid rape victim
cried until she drowned in her own snot.” I concentrated on
continuing to breath and blow snot out of my nose until I felt safe
again.

It must have been a disgusting sight for my
rapist but he didn't seem to care.

I stopped paying attention to him and lay on
my back, immobile and suffering for a long time. What had he done
while I was struggling to breathe? Did he spend that time
dispassionately watching me fight to stay alive, not caring about
the outcome? Or had he already fallen asleep and was ignorant of my
distress? Or had he left the room? I hadn't been paying attention,
but I had the impression that he had risen from the bed some time
ago. I didn't feel a man's weight pulling down on the mattress.

Once again I was surprised by a touch. This
time it was not a rough, heavy hand, it was the cold, sharp edge of
the knife lightly slipping over my body. I could not tell if it was
cutting me or not but I froze, daring not even to twitch for fear
that I would force myself against the finely honed blade. It
circled around and around my breasts. I didn't feel like I was
being cut and I silently prayed that I was right because my breasts
would look like raw hamburger if all those strokes were slicing
through my skin. Surely it would hurt a lot more if he were cutting
me. But, I knew that sometimes shallow cuts with a very sharp edge
could feel numb for a while before the nerves woke up and began to
fire.

The blade left my breasts and traveled down
the length of my stomach, over my hipbone, and down the outside
length of my thigh. After describing some kind of intricate pattern
there, it continued past my knee and down my calf to where my hands
were taped to my ankles. I felt the tip of the knife slip between
the tape and my skin and began to cut – not my skin but the tape.
It seemed to take a long time, but I finally felt the tape part
along one edge of my hand. Then the real pain started. First, the
tape was ripped violently from my hand and ankle. I don't know if
any of my skin had been pulled off and was still stuck to the tape,
but it felt like the back of my hand and my ankle had been flayed.
Then, even worse, my knee slowly, involuntarily extended, pulling
the big muscles in my thigh and calf taut from their cramped
position and letting the blood flow again. The pain was agonizing;
only the tape over my mouth kept me from screaming so loudly that I
would have been heard by the drivers in the cars on the
highway.

And that was only the right leg; I suffered
the same agonies all over again when he ripped the tape from my
left hand and ankle. Any thought of using my sudden freedom to bolt
from the room was laughable. I could barely move my legs and
shoulders.

The issue of escape was moot. Within seconds,
the man taped my ankles together. Immediately, he rolled me onto my
stomach, roughly pulled my arms behind my back, and taped my wrists
together.

That was how I spent the night: lying on my
stomach, hands taped behind the small of my back and my legs taped
together, blindfolded, my mouth gagged and awash with stale semen,
listening to my rapist snoring softly beside me. I spent the night
trying to convince myself that my rapist's snores sounded exactly
like my husband's.

I almost succeeded.

I don't know if I dozed off or not but I was
totally exhausted in the morning when I felt the man stirring
beside me. Stirring and horny. He wasted no time slicing through
the tape on my ankles, rolling me onto my back, forcing my thighs
apart with his knees, and raping me again. He was fast and rough;
even faster and rougher than the previous night. I hoped that he
was taking a quickie for the road and not using me one last time
before slicing my throat.