Torture The Widow

Chapter 6 – Medals on My Labia

Please take note! Adults Only Literature

The text in this story contains erotic material and is expressly written for adults only.

If you are an underage minor or offended by such material -or- if viewing this file is illegal in your locality, then leave, close or delete this file-story now.

This is a work of fiction, any resemblance to persons living, dead or otherwise is purely coincidental, etc.

Copyright 2004

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"Very creative, Mary Ellen," said General Corwin Donaldson USAF. He was my father-in-law's brother, Trace's uncle. Corwin was the black sheep who broke tradition and went to the Air Force Academy instead of West Point. His wife Cornelia and their teenage son Corwin Junior and daughter Priscilla were standing there too looking down at my medal festooned pussy and tits.

I'd not been to many military wakes and I hadn't recalled that one of the traditions was to display the fallen heroes medals beside the coffin. I suppose when you think about it, Mary Ellen had shown considerable creativity in pinning Trace's medals to my labia and using my pussy as a display case.

Flying home, I had expected that the Trace's family would treat me with the respect due their son's wife and widow. What I hadn't known was that some prick had sent Trace a DVD containing over two hundred images and a couple of MPEG videos of me going wild during hospital staff parties. He'd forwarded that on to his family right before his Humvee drove over the mine. Apparently, he also said he was going to divorce my whoring ass as soon as he got back from Afghanistan.

I guess the video of me pulling a train for a dozen black orderlies then doing some serious muff diving with a pair of Latino nurses struck them as improper behavior for their son's wife. The finale of the video was me doing a bukkake with the orderlies. My face was uniformly covered with jism that I greedily shoved into my mouth and swallowed. I was so fucking out of it I don't recall anyone with a camcorder taking close-ups of me acting like a pig whore. One other problem was that I appeared to be having the time of my life. I was the epitome of a cock-crazed slut.

My explanation that I was drunk out of my mind and doing serious drugs did not impress my in-laws. I made a note to never again inject 20CC of Demerol into my femoral artery. It had seemed like a great idea at the time.

As soon as I hobbled into the funeral home with Mary Ellen tugging on my leash, she unzipped my St. John's knit dress and made me step out of it. I experienced the utter shame and humiliation of being naked in front of half a hundred well-dressed members of the extended Donaldson family. Mary Ellen hadn't allowed me to wear any underwear so I was fully on display. I have to admit the exhibitionist in me came into play and my nipples hardened when I realized there were a hundred eyes staring at me.

I was left standing attired in black stay ups. They were the expensive kind, Wolford's Satin Touch 20 with the four-inch band of black lace at the top, very sexy but not entirely appropriate for a wake. For an all American family, they didn't have any problem with dressing their daughter-in-law in the finest German made hosiery. Not surprisingly, my ridiculously high five-inch Ferragamo pumps with ankle straps were manufactured in Milan, Italy. They were damn hard to walk in especially with my sister-in-law jerking my leash when she felt the urge.

Circling my waist was a leather belt of unknown origin. The belt arrangement included an adjustable round strap that connected the front to the back. It bisected my pussy threading it way through the eyelet at the base of the large dido that Mary Ellen had forced into my cunt. It traveled up my backside between my cheeks passing through another eyelet on the base of an anal probe that Mary Ellen had snaked up my intestines as if she worked for a drain cleaning company.

I became an object of interest as soon as Mary Ellen removed my dress.

"Where did you get that?" said a tall black haired woman I recognized as Patrice Munford, one of Trace's first cousins on his father's side. She was referring to the belt arrangement that made sure that I didn't expel either of the latex objects.

"A sweet little old man who lives near the Point makes them. He sells to upper classman who need a little something extra to train a plebe. His work is first quality. He learned his trade in Paris working at Hermes," said Mary Ellen.

"You can tell its first quality," said Patrice passing her hand along the holding strap pressing her fingers into my sex. Patrice had a husband who was a Lt. Colonel in Logistics and three teenage boys. But she was a hardcore lesbian at heart who would have loved to kneel down and start licking my cunt. Patrice reluctantly removed her fingers and spoke to me.

"And you catherized her?' said Patrice touching me where the tube entered my urethra.

"Just being practical. I don't want to fool with taking her to go to the ladies room," said Mary Ellen.

The bag wasn't empty. I'd drunk enough Jameson Reserve to get high. Irish whiskey makes for strong yellow.

"And of course later, you can make her drink it while we watch," said Patrice. "That's always so amusing."

"Yes, that would be fun, good idea," said Mary Ellen.

It looked like I was going to recycle my piss.

"I'm so sorry for your loss. Trace was a wonderful man, a true American hero, and I'm sure you'll miss him terribly. We all will. Please come and visit me sometime," said Patrice leaning down and speaking softly into my ear. Her lips brushed against my lobe. My God she was one horny dyke.

With that Patrice moved away but I saw her take a furtive lick of the fingers that had been sampling my cunt.

"Sit," said Mary Ellen ordering me into a Queen Anne chair at the side of Trace's coffin

"And don't move," commanded the diminutive West Pointer.

Mary Ellen pulled two polished black leather belts out of her purse. With my brother-in-law Robbie's help she looped the belts around my ankles. They lifted my legs over the arms of the Queen Anne and pulled my legs back. This caused my cunt to extend upward and forward. Mary Ellen positioned my piss bag so it hung off the edge of the chair. Robbie got behind the chair and pulled the straps back until I started to feel the ball shaped top of my femur straining to leave its socket in my pelvis. Robbie secured the straps behind the chair leaving me in a position bordering on agony.

Two more straps were used to bind my wrists and fasten my arms behind the chair back.

"Here, help me with this, "said Mary Elle to Robbie producing a complicated head harness. The strapping held my jaw firmly in place. It included an O-ring gag they forced between my teeth. Two hooks were inserted in my nostrils. When he finished buckling it behind my head, the hooks pulled my nostrils upward. My hair must have looked like shit.

Mary Ellen reached down to part my labia. She wrapped a small leather belt around my upper thigh and buckled it. Then she hooked an elastic band that ended in a large alligator clip to the thigh belt.

When I looked down I saw that the buckle on the belt encircling my thigh contained a bright shiny American flag. The elastic band that connected the belt to the alligator clip was red, white, and blue. The Donaldson's never missed an opportunity to display their patriotism.

"This is going to pinch," said Mary Ellen as she allowed the alligator clip to capture the edge of my labium major and pull it smartly outward.

Pinch was an understatement. It hurt like hell. When Mary Ellen had clipped my other side I looked down to see that my fallen husband's medals were displayed for all to see.

Now for the peace de resistance," said Mary Ellen fishing two additional medals out of her handbag. They were Trace's Bronze Star and the Legion of Merit he had won while in Liberia keeping the peace with a UN contingent.

"Suck her nipples," said Mary Ellen to her brother. Robbie took my left bud between his lips and sucked hard. A little of that and my nipple was fully extended. Mary Ellen pushed the pin of the Bronze Star right through my nipple and flicked the tiny catch closed. In a matter of seconds, the Legion of Merit was attached to my right tit.

Various Donaldson's drifted by to express their sympathy and admire Mary Ellen's handiwork. I could sort of babble a "Thank You" through my O-ring. I was hurting all over. My nostrils felt like they were being ripped off my face. My tits were in fire with pain. My labia were in agony and bleeding on the chair cushion. And deep inside my body cavities, I was experiencing sharp aches and cramping. And to top if off, my pelvis and shoulders were screaming in agony. However, between the physical discomfort and the mental anguish of being exposed to the family in such a grossly humiliating and shameful fashion, I was dying to be whipped and fucked.

"Where did Trace win that one?" asked Corwin Junior reaching down to touch Trace's NATO Peace Keeper's Medal. The younger Corwin allowed his fingers to linger on my cunt as he sought the information he desired. He moved his fingers around checking on each of the medals.

"What's in her cunt, Mary Ellen?" asked Corwin Junior pushing the dildo deeper inside me. I moaned in response.

"Ten by five Doc Johnson with the punishment head, go ahead give it a half turn," responded Mary Ellen.

Corwin Junior grabbed the end of the dildo and twisted it with his fingers. I felt an explosion of pain deep inside my birth canal. It felt like the younger Corwin had just ripped the lining off my uterus.

"Oh Jesus fuck that hurt," I whined unintelligibly through my gag.

"Using bad language at your husband's funeral merits more punishment. Give it a couple of more turns, Corwin," said Mary Ellen apparently able to discern my babbling. Possibly she got sufficient practice at West Point torturing plebes to understand words spoken in anguish.

Corwin Junior displayed his budding talents as a sadist by quickly responding to Mary Ellen's instructions. Two half turns and I was certain that I no longer had a uterus. A large rounded object that was very sharp and jagged was ripping and gouging my flesh as it rotated. In spite of enough pain to blind me with a bright white flash, I managed to avoid profanity only emitting a loud shriek. The shriek caused the attendees to laugh. Something that was terribly inappropriate at Trace's funeral.

"Where can you buy these?' asked Corwin Senior glancing at Cornelia who didn't seem at all happy with the prospect of having a ten by five Doc Johnson with the punishment head fitted into her love canal next time she and the General got together for lovemaking.

"I'll email you the address, General," responded Mary Ellen.

Cornelia looked resigned to spending time with a similar arrangement to mine creating hellish pain between her legs. Oh well, when you married into the Donaldson's it was truly for better and much worse.

I looked straight at Priscilla whose teenage mouth was practically watering as she stared at my cunt. I recalled how four years ago at my wedding reception I woke up to find little Priscilla who was a freshman in high school licking deposits of semen out of my well fucked cunt. If anyone had said the word, I wouldn't doubt she'd kneel right down in front of the Queen Anne and enjoy a piece of pussy pie. Strangely enough, the Donaldson's often complemented their macho warrior males with females possessing an insatiable appetite for tongue working pussies that were leaking semen.

At the wedding reception, Priscilla had waited until all the male relatives had unloaded their cocks in Trace's comatose bride. I'd passed out almost unnoticed at the reception from too much French Champagne and slipped quietly under the table. I recall fuzzily that two of Trace's army buddies who had noticed the bride sinking below the table immediately reacted as officers and gentleman They joined me underneath the long table, removed my panties and mounted me for a quickie. At that time, I wasn't too far-gone to suck officer number one while I fucked officer number two. At some point, I was missed. Trace and Robbie found me sleeping quietly with cum leaking out my orifices. They took me to a nearby bedroom and removed all my attire save my wedding veil, garter belt and hose. The two brothers enjoyed me together in a necrophiliac fashion then quietly passed the word to the rest of the attendees that the bride was pulling a train and all were welcome. I suppose that falls under the heading of wedding hijinks. There were several hundred guests and a large number of the males and more than a few females got to sample the bride's wares. Too bad I was too stoned to enjoy it.

Priscilla had a talented tongue and a love for eating cream pies that was surprising in one so young. She was licking and slurping the content of both my cum-dripping holes when her mother and Aunt Patrice showed up and joined us. We wound up in a daisy chain that ended when we ladies were too exhausted for additional orgasms. More champagne was found and the four of us slept together in a naked pile until the next morning.

Needless to say Trace and my wedding had not gone as I had thought it would. I had expected a sedate classy affair. It did start that way but ended as an all out orgy that cost me some good friends and left me with a sister who no longer speaks to me.

After a storybook wedding at Saint Marks Cathedral, the wedding reception was held at the Donaldson Estate. A large tent was erected on the lawn and the New England weather had cooperated for once. It was a beautiful June Saturday.

I had every reason to expect a respectable wedding. Father Mankel the Priest who married us was invited. I told myself that with the Priest attending it would be a straight affair. My beautiful younger sister, Brooke, was also there. She was a freshman at UNH and my only living close relative. Mom and Dad had died in a car wreck three years ago.

Brooke was my maid of honor. My two best friends in college, Regine and Chloe were bridesmaids. Mary Ellen and Denise completed the bridesmaid contingent. Trace's brother Robbie was best man. Three of his fellow officers were groomsmen. My only living male relative, Uncle Garrison, gave me away.

There were only a handful of my family and friends and a great host of Donaldson's at my wedding. The reception started off in a traditional fashion. We were introduced as Captain and Mrs. Trace Donaldson and we danced the first song. I felt incredibly proud to have made such a great match. The band was really good and the crowd liked to dance. There was delicious buffet and free flowing booze. I danced and drank until I passed out. I recall that as the reception got drunker, it got wilder. I remember looking over the dance floor during a slow song and seeing that a number of the women had hiked their skirt up to their waist and their partners were cupping their butts pulling them against their groins. Some even had their hands inside their panties on their bare bottoms. And this wasn't just the younger set. My father-in-law had his wife's dress hiked up and she was grinding him. I thought the grind was a dance only performed in big city ghettos but there was Lois bent over holding her ankles while she rubbed her panty clad tush over the General's groin. I remember thinking that things were getting out of hand but I was too drunk to react not that I could have stopped anything if I had tried. The Donaldsons were a force of nature.

But my understanding of what happened later is mostly based on the more sober accounts of my erstwhile friends and estranged sister.

I do recall that when I stumbled inside the house to pee, I heard noises from one of the bedrooms. Curious, I moved to a door and quietly opened it. There were Father Mankel and my Uncle Garrison sodimising two of the altar boys who had served the wedding Mass. I had always suspected that my bachelor uncle was gay but how he got hooked up with Father Mankel so quickly surprised me. The two boys were on their all fours with their butts in the air. There was a lot of grunting and nasty talk going on.

"Fuck that boy pussy," my Uncle kept repeating as he slammed his meat into the boy's hole. The youth squealed each time Uncle Garrison sunk his meat home. The boy was no novice to cornholing. He was pushing back each time my uncle drove forward. Father Mankel was cock deep inside a boy's butt also. He was wearing a leather cock ring to maintain his erection.

I snuck quietly away leaving the sodomites to their fun.

It was three weeks after the wedding that I got a long letter from Brooke, Regine, and Chloe informing me of what happened to them at the reception. The letter ended by informing me that my sister and friends intended to have nothing to do with me in the future.

My recollections of the wedding were frequently interrupted by mourners expressing their condolences. All the males and most of the females took the opportunity to examine Trace's medals. They allowed the their hands to linger over each medal and some said to hell with the pretense and just played with my pussy and fondled my tits. All that stimulation got me aroused. I desperately needed to be fucked. I was encouraged by a casual question that Robbie asked Mary Ellen.

"Are you going to keep her that way for the entire wake?" asked Robbie.

"After the eulogies, we'll have a public gang bang of the cunt," said Mary Ellen.

"Knowing Rozz, she'll probably love it," said Robbie.

"Your husband's wake should be a memorable event in your life," said Mary Ellen.

As I sat there trying to cope with the excruciating pain and resulting lust of my predicament my mind wondered back to that letter.