Retribution

RETRIBUTION

(PART SEVEN)

BY

WALLACE

When I first met Sheila, and that meeting was strange enough in itself, the whole pattern of my life changed. My social life, my home life, my sex life even, altered beyond all comprehension because along with Sheila, as some kind of bargain package, came several, not hangers on but friends. Friends of Sheila, or rather people whom Sheila tolerated and who tolerated her and who soon became friends of mine.

People who knew Sheila tended to huddle together like a sort of raggle-taggle support group although whether the support was needed for her or for them was never obvious

Linda Hutton was the first and the most enduring. She turned up a week or so after I had rescued or even saved Sheila from her self-imposed bondage and a very uncomfortable night on the sofa with just her increasingly worried cat Bruce for company. Linda was a born actress and despite herself and Sheila being at each other's throats most of the time, she was very careful when it came to men, Sheila's men that is.

Of course in the light of later events you could put another spin on that but Sheila had been in one abusive marriage and had, it later transpired, been saved from rape by Linda who was also indirectly the cause and was subsequently very protective of her friend and got very little thanks for it in return.

Linda was a born actress; there were several Linda personas, the hard Cockney dominatrix being one. The louche bimbo who turned up on my doorstep one morning and tried to get me into bed with her to see how faithful I would be to Sheila was another. But the real Linda was much softer, quieter and gentler and she only emerged when the other Lindas thought it was safe for her to make an appearance.

When it became obvious that part of my duties as partner to Sheila would be to keep her tied up as intricately and ingeniously as I could for as long as possible I enlisted Linda to help me. I knew a fair bit about bondage and the like already, the reasons for which there are no need to go into right now, but I needed practical help. Linda suggested that I learn the way she did, from the "bottom" up because she believed that the only way to be properly" dominant" was to see things the way a "submissive" saw them and that without doing that it was impossible to fully appreciate the way a the person you were "topping" felt.

The tier needed to do the tying occasionally.

In other words she wanted to tie me up.

It didn't work.

The real Linda is a terrible giggler and it tends to be contagious. As soon as the whips and the chains came out and she started to show me her collection of occlusive hoods and told me to strip we started to laugh. Neither us could deal with the situation without collapsing into fits of laughter and we soon abandoned it as a bad job.

We had no such problems when it came to me tying Linda up but that is entirely another story.

When Barbara Jones suddenly suggested, whilst insinuating her tongue down my throat, that she wanted me to be submissive to her, you might therefore have expected a fit of the giggles to occur or at the very least that I would push her away in disbelief but I didn't do either of those things.

In fact I was incredibly aroused.

Her hand was now gently stroking my abdomen and upper thigh sending shivers up and down my spine. I wanted to push her away but it didn't happen. I tried to reason with her.

"Barbara, I …"

"Sssh!" She kissed me again. Her hand was wandering towards the zip of my trousers. "This is what I've always wanted…" I'm not quite sure if it was me, or her, or both us that took a deep breath as her hand reached my zipper and begun to tug gently at it. "I'm already half way there!" for a moment I wondered what she was referring to and then she reached up with her free hand, took the hand that I was holding against her cheek and guided it down to her right leg.

Despite the fact that heavy lorries and buses and coaches were passing us and despite the fact that rain was now drumming on the roof of the car I was conscious only of her as she began to rub my hand against the soft nylon of what I had always assumed were her tights and then began to guide it upwards. So, so, slowly upwards, kissing me all the while, easing my hand forward, sliding it under her skirt and ever onwards.

It seemed as if we were breathing together, in sync, as her soft hand urged mine forward until, instead of gusset, I encountered thicker nylon and then a sudden feel of soft flesh and the hardness of a suspender.

She was wearing stockings.

Kissing me all the time, rubbing her hand against mine, she helped me explore her soft, bare, upper thigh, taking my hand back from time to time to let me feel the silky stocking top. Suddenly she moved it forward. I didn't need to be Einstein to guess where and it already felt warm.

Warm and inviting.

I felt a shiver run through me as she suddenly slid my zip down.

"I want you!" she whispered as she eased my hand against her soft warm panties with one hand and slipped the other inside my now open trouser front. "I want you Bill. I've already got one slave… It's a fantasy I've always had to have two slaves… bound and gagged and doing everything I asked… and now I've got one and I want…" she paused for a second. Her hand was now running around the edge of my underpants teasing me, making me grow, making me hard and wanting more. I was shivering as I felt soft fingers against the sensitive flesh of my abdomen and then the sudden shock and elation as those soft gentle fingers touched me. Touched my now erect penis just as she urged my hand into the leg of her panties and rubbed it gently into her amazingly soft pubic hair.

"Mmm." She kissed me again "You're bigger than I imagined and it's hard! Very, very hard!" she kissed my ear and whispered, "Don't you ever have sex?" then she urged my hand forward again even as her own was forming a fist and wrapping itself gently, so, so gently, round the shaft of my penis. "That's it!" she mouthed against my neck, biting and nibbling it gently. "Feel my pussy! It is sooo wet! So juicy!"

It was.

It was warm and moist, more than moist, and very inviting. Her hand was beginning to rub faster against me. It felt blissful. I began to slowly finger fuck her.

She was whispering again,

"Imagine what this will be like when I've got you tied up and I leave you in charge of my girl slave whilst I go out to work. She's at home now. Tied up. With a big fat dildo in her fanny and a little cover over her clit so she can't get off on it!" she kissed me again. "I keep her hands tied and only I can touch her clit. Some nights I ungag her and she begs me! She begs me Bill. She begs me to touch her clit and put her out of her misery but I don't. And that's what I'll do to you Bill. I'll have you tied up in rubber!" she kissed me again more passionately than before, more passionately than I thought was possible. "I love rubber, " she whispered, "I love the feel and I love the smell and so does my slave!" she ran a delicate finger around the glans of my penis almost making me jump out of my skin. Automatically I pushed my fingers as far into her as they would go and she groaned with pleasure.

She kissed me on the cheek.

"She'll look after you Bill. She'll look after you while I'm away and she'll have strict instructions to keep you tied up and gagged and your cock HARD!" she spat the word at me. She had gripped me again and was moving her hand against me purposefully now whilst I was easing my fingers in and out of her and bringing my thumb into contact with her clitoris. "I want your cock fucking hard. Just like it is now! So that I can come home and fuck you whilst my slave watches you from the chair where I've tied her up!" she was running her hand from the very tip of my knob to the base and then pulling quite forcefully up again as if trying to literally jerk the spunk out of me.

She kissed me hard.

"Oh, I shall enjoy you Bill! I shall enjoy you both! You AND my little slave." If it were at all possible her voice seemed to become even huskier," I've named her after a book." The friction was beginning to build. "I've named her after another slave!" and just when something else should have been going on alarm bells started to go off in my head.

She kissed me yet again.

"You know, the one in "The Story of O"!" and as Barbara Jones climaxed my mind suddenly went into overdrive.

*

Suzanne Prescott gave herself a cursory glance in the mirror and then smiled a dazzling white-toothed smile, the one she had become famous for on television. She adjusted the shoulder strap on her long black dress and put out a high-heeled sandaled foot just so she could see just how far the slit up her thigh extended, then she bent forward and ran her hands slowly and sensuously up her bare and freshly waxed left leg. She made a mental note to wear a black thong with the dress in future because what remained of her pubic hair was just visible through the slit.

It was dark in the bedroom but there was enough light to see. She looked over to the bed.

"Well Richard? What d'you think?" Richard did his best to answer but all he could do was raise his head a little and make mmphing noises through the three pairs of previously worn panties that were currently stuffed into his mouth and secured there with tape. Suzanne smiled and moved sensuously over to the bed. She looked good for her age, everyone told her she did.

She'd been relatively famous in a Soap Opera nearly twenty years ago but her career had flagged until she'd been persuaded to take part in a reality TV show that had boosted her popularity, not to mention her bank balance, beyond all recognition.

Suzanne was nearly fifty but didn't look it. She had been lucky, she didn't need cosmetic surgery and she didn't need make up to look good. She, unlike some of the other celebrities on the show, including some of the men, did not need two hours in the morning to make herself up, she could wash and dress and wander straight into the harsh view of the camera with no problems whatsoever. No one even mentioned the fact that she had put on more than a pound or two over the years, in fact the public loved her for it and she had become yet another overnight sensation.

Now she made guest appearances, advertised coffee, electrical goods and clothes on TV, had her own makeover show in the pipeline and wrote a weekly column for one of the more right wing tabloids.

Suzanne pretty much had it all including a twenty five year old toy boy called Richard.

After two failed marriages in which both husbands had run off with much younger women, Suzanne had decided that what was sauce for the goose was also fairly attractive to the gander and so she had blatantly picked Richard up in a night club nearly a year ago and they were still together. He hadn't strayed. He was attentive. He was good looking and vibrant and at the moment he didn't seem overly bothered about her money although she had already had her lawyers draw up a gagging contract in case of difficulties later. He showed every sign of loving her although Suzanne wasn't sure quite how SHE felt about that one.

But it all came as a bit of a shock when Suzanne walked in one day unexpectedly and found a strange woman in the house. A strange woman who was admiring her very feminine figure in one of the bedroom mirrors and it took her a few moments to realise that she didn't have a potential stalker on her hands but a boyfriend who liked to wear the clothes she still kept from when she was younger and slimmer and who, apart from the obvious style problems, looked very good in them.

She wasn't mad, she wasn't even vaguely upset, she just threw him on the bed as he was and without even bothering to close the curtains, stripped off her black stockings, tied his wrists to the bed, shoved her by now very damp knickers into his mouth and slipped her hand inside his, or rather her, Agent Provocateur panties.

Richard had a fair sized cock. It was wide rather than desperately long and it filled her to perfection. She was amazed when she slipped a well-manicured hand into his warm, soft and silky panties. She tossed her head to move her hair out of the way and then put her mouth close to his ear.

"You dirty fucking bastard!" she whispered hoarsely. "You've never been so fucking hard since I've known you." she slipped off her dress and her bra and then she pulled aside his panties and impaled herself on his rigid cock. It felt good, so good. She leaned forward and kissed him on his taped lips.

"Don't come!" she ordered and then she half closed her eyes and luxuriated in the feel of his firm thick cock. She couldn't get quite as much penetration as she would have liked with her on top but just to have Richard helpless and dressed in her own soft silky clothes, writhing underneath her and loving every minute of it more than made up for that.

From that moment on the pattern of their life changed completely. Suzanne, who had already been in charge, became bolder and Richard, who had secretly been wearing her clothes for months, could now do it almost all the time and now had his own wardrobe. With his long blonde hair and less than prominent Adams Apple he could easily pass as a female when dressed and they had recently taken to walking in the grounds of her large detached house near Reading, he wearing the underwear they went shopping for together, including black seamed stockings, underneath a black leather coat whilst she wore little more than a huge fake fur that made her feel warm and cosy and very, very randy and high heeled mules with a four inch heel.

Richard was loving and subservient. He loved his role. He loved being her maid. He loved wearing rubber clothes, stockings and six-inch heels and fulfilling her every whim, which could include anything from running her a bath, to cooking her meals and licking her eager and very wet cunt whenever she required it.

They had recently moved into water sports and Richard had, earlier that evening, been stripped to high heels, stockings and underwear and tied over a kind of vaulting horse in the "playroom" a large, airy, polished pine floored, ex bedroom on the second floor that housed their bondage equipment and whilst gagged and having his cock stroked had received a warm soapy four quart enema which had then been held in place by an inflatable butt plug whilst Suzanne had gently and sensuously stroked his rampant cock through his soft silky panties until he literally screamed for release though the soiled underwear stuffed in his mouth.

If he was screaming for orgasm then his cries went unheeded but if he was screaming for release of the enema then his protestations were eventually rewarded and, collared and leashed, he was led on his high heels to the light blue en suite bathroom where he was finally allowed to let go of the high volume enema.

Now, still wearing a pink and white corset with breast forms that were made from the same substance as real breast implants, black panties and black seamed stockings, he was tied and gagged on the bed whilst Suzanne slowly and seductively stripped for him.

The sight of her plump tanned and naked body only added to the engorgement of his cock, which had been teased mercilessly for nearly four hours now. She always wanted to kiss him and thank him for still managing to get a hard on at the sight of her but she didn't. Instead she walked over to him, naked apart from her mules, sat delicately on the side of the bed, slipped her hand inside his panties and began to move her hand gently up and down his cock.

The plug in his anus had helped keep him erect and Suzanne's gentle masturbation made him harder and harder.

"Good boy!" she whispered softly running her free hand over his large testicular sac. " I think you need emptying," she intoned as if confiding some deep dark secret, "These bollocks are so big and fucking heavy!" then she looked into his eyes, "But I think you need a bit of ball torture first." He groaned and closed his eyes because he could guess what was coming.

Suzanne leant forward and picked some things up off the bedside cabinet. They were small and innocuous looking but they provided her with a great deal of pleasure, the phrase "little things please little minds" often echoed at the back of her head when she did this. She picked up the elastic bands, stretched them a little, pulled the first one as far open as it would go and began to ease it over Richards's vulnerable, defenceless and clean shaven balls.

Normally she would have ignored the phone when it rang at this time of night but she was expecting a phone call from her agent. Giving herself just enough time to snap all three bands in place she gave his gonads a quick squeeze said,

"Think of me darling!" in a slightly ironic tone and walked over to the chair where she had left her bag.

As a newspaper columnist Suzanne had to have an opinion on everything including current affairs and her stance on Iraq was a fairly radical one. She believed that all Allied Troops should be pulled out of the war zone immediately because, she believed, it was American intervention in world affairs that had caused the rise of Islamic Fundamentalism in the first place. She repeated this belief most weeks in her column and received almost as much praise as she did criticism for it.

She answered the phone half expecting to hear that she had been "bumped" off a late night talk show for the second time in two weeks but when a male voice asked her to listen because the lives of hundreds, maybe thousands of people were at stake a simple Friday night television programme suddenly became the least of her worries.

*

So Barbara had a slave. A female slave and she had named her "O" after the slave in "L'Histoire D'O" by Pauline Reage. It sounded familiar, very familiar. At the very least it was a coincidence. Less than 8 hours after that surreal conversation I had heard outside Charlie's office in which O had been mentioned, here she was cropping up out of the blue.

Now I was intrigued and also causing concern to Barbara who, having climaxed herself, wanted to know why I hadn't. I brushed off her worries saying that we were getting very late and she immediately became business like, apologised for what had happened and told me not to worry but before we set off she pleaded with me not to get on the plane that evening.

There are times when I wish I had listened to her.

*

Juliet went downstairs about one O'clock in the morning

"You know I don't know which are the more troublesome," she said, grinning at first Val and then me, "men or horses!" and disappeared to check on Carlton Prince and his two travelling companions, Gingersnap and Go Solo.

Val and I chatted for a while but when Juliet didn't reappear after about an hour she too went down to check that everything was okay.

Left to my own devices I thought about Barbara, feeling mildly embarrassed for doing what I had nearly done and at my age as well, whilst Charlie's words echoed over and over in my head, " …maybe you're a switch. Maybe you're really a submissive…"

Was I?

If I was I'd never had the slightest inkling about it, but my reaction to Barbara had taken me completely by surprise. I hadn't even told her where to get off as I should have done, in fact I'd promised to ring her as soon as I got back, partly because I felt there might be more to Barbara than met the eye and partly because, well you can probably work it out for yourself.

There were a couple of times when I thought that I had heard noises downstairs but nothing came of it. Then came the announcement about turbulence, which I took at face value. It was only when the plane went into a steep dive and I heard screams from downstairs that I realised that something was going horribly wrong. I'd seen it all in films but I had no idea that one day I would really experience it. One moment we were moving steadily through the air, jets almost whispering, the next we were plunging toward the ocean, the engines screaming as if in pain.

I could vaguely hear Val's voice shouting for help but even standing up was difficult. When it came to walking it was like trying to negotiate one of those Crazy Houses they have at the seaside. I'd heard about G forces but never experienced them. My cheeks felt as if they were being torn from my face and my limbs were so heavy I could hardly move them. It was like walking in a gale.

Finally I reached the spiral staircase and half walked, half fell down it and when I finally reached the bottom I really wished that I had stayed where I was, in the comparative safety of the cabin.

I was looking at a scene from hell.

Gingersnap and Go Solo were whinnying with fright but lying down in their stalls. Carlton Prince wasn't. Val had been concerned about him all night and, it seemed, rightly so. Even now he was rearing up on his hind legs and bringing his front hooves crashing down onto the gate of his stall, which was already bent and buckled and looked like it would collapse at any moment.

I suppose my mind had blocked it out at first because suddenly I noticed what looked like a bundle of rags on the floor below the rearing horse, a bundle of rags which was leaking red stuff all over the floor and which I realised with mounting horror had to be Juliet. I ran over to her as best I could, trying to avoid Carlton Prince's flailing hooves but even as I did it I realised that her head had been smashed in.

We were still plummeting downwards; the jets were still screaming, the wind seemed to be wailing all around us. From what seemed like far, far away I heard something behind me. A voice. A female voice.

"Leave her! You can't do anything for her now. She's dead!"

I turned as best I could. Val was propped against a bulkhead, blood running from the side of her mouth, clutching her stomach with both hands.

It was like walking up hill but I managed it. I crouched down on the floor beside her, my hands shaking, wanting to throw up, scared, scared for me, scared for Val, scared for the frightened animal that was threatening to kick its way out of its stall at any moment.

I touched her hand and was about to ask the question I dreaded asking but she beat me to it,

"He's got a torsion," she jerked her head towards the shying horse and shouted over the screaming engines, "A torsion of the bowel. Fucking stable vet should have noticed it; we tried to calm him because he was frightening the others. We sedated them but when we tried him he just lashed out. Juliet didn't stand a chance and I stood there like an idiot," tears began to run down her cheeks, "then he kicked me in the stomach." I touched her lip and wiped the blood away. I looked into her eyes, worried, scared. How badly was she hurt? She tried to smile.

"It's not that bad. I bit my lip when he kicked me, nearly bit through it!" then in a tiny voice she asked, "What's happening?" I shook my head, I knew as much as she did. There was a crash. Two of the bars on the stall gate had hit the floor. Carlton Prince was almost free. Val's hand was already reaching into the bag that had landed close to her when she fell. What she bought out was an odd looking thing that had a pistol grip. She handed it to me.

"It's a bolt. A humane killer." She must have read my mind, "If he gets free he could kick his way through the fuselage of this plane and kill us all!" she looked up at me, "Look at his right leg, his fetlock, it's broken, he's dead already. We can't do anything for that!" my stomach turned over. There was blood running down the horse's right leg and bone was quite clearly sticking out of it. The plane was still diving. I wondered how long it would be before we hit the water and then Carlton Prince finally broke free and was flying headlong towards us.

THE STORY CONTINUES IN PART EIGHT

© Wallace 2004. The writer maintains the right to be recognised as the author of this piece. This is a work of fiction and bears no resemblance to any places, either real or imaginary or any people or characters real or fictitious, living or dead.

Sent October 4 ^th 2004