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40
At 9:02 Monday morning, Rik Cronin’s puffy eyes opened wide.
“What’s this? Come here. Let me see.”
A naked Carol Edwards walked around his desk and stood with her bare legs brushing his clothed ones. Without being told, she spread hers apart.
“Another lock?”
Brad Tomalin had come by the condo just after her morning rounds. She found him waiting when she came out of the shower. Although it happened frequently, she was still startled to find someone unexpectedly in her home. He said, “Finish drying yourself.” Then he leaned back against the bathroom’s granite topped double basins--one for her; one for Ross had been the idea--and unzipped his suit pants.
She went to her knees and sucked him off.
After he came, he wiped his cock on a towel and took a heavy combination padlock from his pocket.
She looked at it curiously.
“Stand up.”
He reached down and passed the shackle through the ring on the helix, snapped it shut, spun the combination. When he let go, the pull of added weight was dramatic. A sensation of pressure, not pain though it could grow into that. Of labia being stretched.
“From now on wear the nose ring when you’re at home.” And he turned and left.
The new lock swung when she walked. Pulled. Bounced against naked thighs. Caused her to walk differently. Feet wider apart. And to sit with them apart too. The lock resting on the chair.
“Obviously,” she said to Rik.
“Why?”
“You would have to ask Brad. I suppose to make me even more conscious of my locked cunt.”
Rik reached out and enclosed her with his hand. Lock. Cunt. All the flesh between her legs. And squeezed. Not hard. Just to get the feel. Metal pushing up against flesh.
“Hmm,” he said thoughtfully.
Releasing her, he stood.
“Turn around.”
Bending her over his desk, he forswore his nine o’clock head job and fucked her in the ass. Lock clanking against desk top.
...
The first thing she noticed when she got home that night was a two inch bronze square embedded in the hardwood floor between living and dining areas. Mentally she repeated Rik Cronin: ‘What’s this?’
Knelling down, she saw the square had two parts. She lifted an edge and a pad eye rose 90º. A standard flush mount boat fitting. Brad would know boat fittings. She let go and the eye fell back into place.
41
“Go and get your tail,” he said, and they both laughed.
“Not a sentence I ever expected to hear or you to say.”
She would miss him, she thought, as she walked toward the bedrooms, and perhaps that was a kind of love.
He would miss her, he thought, as he watched her retreating naked back. No, he repeated to himself: he would really miss her.
Carol Edwards returned with the red butt plug on which she had smeared lubricant.
“Are you going to do it or shall I?”
“You.”
She stopped several feet from where he was sitting in the living room, turned, spread her feet, bent over as she had that first day in his office--a moment that remained vivid in both their minds--reached back with her left hand and separated her cheeks.
The end of the tapered plug entered her well-used ass easily, but even with the lubricant the widest part stuck. She grimaced and pushed. It popped through. Her sphincter closed like a mouth as the plug narrowed at its base.
Cunt locked. Ass blocked. There was only her mouth. He filled that too.
“Come here. Kneel. Open.”
Brad took a black leather penis gag, pressed the life-like synthetic cock between her lips and fastened the buckle behind her head. Her eyes widened in momentary panic as she had the anticipated trouble breathing with the ring in her nose.
“Stay calm. Breathe slowly. I’m not going to let you suffocate.”
She could do nothing about her racing heart, but did consciously slow drawing air through her partially blocked nasal passages. It worked. There was enough oxygen.
Brad reached out and hooked his right forefinger in the nose ring and pulled her to her feet. He smiled. “This really is quite interesting. I’m glad Ooni showed me that photo. I would never have thought of it. Or at least not for a while.”
She had no choice but to follow him across the room, though she would have anyway. He stopped at the recessed pad eye. Tugged on the nose ring. She went to her knees.
“All the way down. Spread your knees. Sit back on your heels. Move forward. I want to see something.”
Brad sat down on the floor facing her. His legs outside hers. He reached between her legs for the combination lock, spun the cylinder right and left and right again. She heard the shackle click open. Felt his other hand doing something. Groaned as tender flesh was stretched close to tearing point.
“Almost there.” And the lock clicked shut. He straightened and sat back.
Carol’s view was blocked by her own body, but she knew she was locked by her cunt to the pad eye. Already there was pain. Distended labia. Knees, ankles, tops of her feet against unyielding hardwood. Her ass pressed white against her heels. And it would only become worse. She panicked. Lost control of her breathing. Brad’s hand on her shoulder. “Calm down.” Gradually she did. But the pain became worse. Her upper body was inclined forward. She could not sit upright. She could not move a fraction of an inch to ease the pressure. Tears came to her eyes. She stared at Brad watching her. Her tongue moved over the penis gag, trying too speak. Only unintelligible sounds. She reached out her hands, palms up. Beseeching. And when there was no response, slowly, tentatively, she slumped forward, causing a new pain as the butt plug shifted against some internal organ, until her breasts flattened against her knees and her head rested on the floor in abject agony and submission.
When after only a few minutes Brad released her, at first she could not stand. What will happen if I am left that way for very long? Crippled? I wanted to be truly helpless, and I certainly am.
While she was still crumpled on the floor, but on her side not her knees, Brad pulled the plug from her ass and removed the penis gag. Grateful breaths.
He poured Lagavulin into two heavy crystal glasses and set one on the floor beside her. In time she took a sip; but when she started to try to stand, he said, “No. Stay there. There is something else I want to try.”
“Please.” Pleading.
“I don’t think this will hurt. Finish your drink.”
Naturally graceful, he thought, as he watched her, her upper body braced by her left arm, right breast partially concealed by the arm with the glass, legs partially bent.
“Ooni might have been right about nipple rings,” he said.
“Yes. I’ve thought that.”
Glasses empty, he had her turn and lie face down on the floor Removing the combination lock from her cunt, he locked her nose to the pad eye.
“Can you get onto your knees.”
There was a little leeway with the nose ring, but not much. She tried.
“No.”
“O.K.” He went around the room turning out the lights. “I’ll be back in the morning.”
42
What’s this? Ross Edwards thought when he checked rossedwardswife.net at his desk.
His beautiful soon-to-be-ex-wife was not in her usual doggie position, ass toward the door and the webcam. She was several feet to the left, all the way off the carpet, lying face down perpendicular to the camera on the hardwood floor mid-way between the living and dining areas. Her arms were free, elbows bent, palms flat on the floor near her head. He could see the bulge of her right breast pressed against the floor, the curve of her ass, the long lines of her legs. It was an odd position. There was something about her nose.
The sound of the door opening, voices, the tops of two men’s heads, then their backs moving away from the camera.
“What’s this? That’s not the way she was last time.”
“I told you, Brad’s locked her nose to the floor.”
“No. You didn’t.”
“Well, then I forgot. She can’t move. All you can do is fuck her in the ass. If you don’t want to, don’t.”
“Of course, I’ll fuck her ass. Greatest ass I ever fucked. I just didn’t know. Surprised. That’s all.”
“Sorry. I said I forgot.”
The men stood over Carol Edwards’ supine form.
“Can you talk?”
“Yes.”
“But you can’t move?”
“Only a little.”
“Can’t get up on your knees?”
“No.”
They pulled chairs back from the dining table, sat, and began to undress.
“How long are you going to be that way?”
“Until Brad releases me. Sometimes all night.”
“Do you get any sleep?”
“A little. Finally. But I wake if I move my head.”
“Tough.”
The men were both middle aged. Naked one had a once strong hairy body, whose muscles had softened. The other was flabby and always had been. Both had paunchy guts.
‘Once muscled’ was naked first.
He sat on the backs of Carol Edwards thighs, pulled her cheeks apart, stared down.
“What do you expect to see there? A road sign? It’s her asshole. You shove your cock up it and pump up and down. You want a demonstration, I’ll go first.”
“Shut up.”
The man spit on exposed asshole. Extended a thick finger and poked the spit in.
“Ohh.”
“Don’t pretend one finger’s a big deal. I’ve seen pictures. You’ve had a lot more than one finger up there. Dogs. Fists.”
A resounding slap.
“Ohh.”
Red hand mark.
Squat hairy body covered perfect naked body and began to rise and fall. From the camera angle Ross couldn’t see, but the man’s cock must have slid right in.
Thick body pounded harder. Carol’s head jerked. She cried with each thrust, crushing her into the floor.
The man reached out with his right hand and grabbed a fistful of blond hair.
“You like it, bitch? Tell me you like my cock up your ass? Tell me you want me to flood you with come? Tell me, or I’ll pull back hard on your hair.”
“Don’t do that, man. Brad said not to damage her. He’ll kill us. I mean maybe really kill us.”
Fingers released hair. “All right. Shit.”
“I love your cock up my ass. Flood me with come. Fuck me like the bitch I am.”
…
An hour later Ross Edwards was sitting at the Kricket Klub’s Sticky Wicket, He was a full member now, and smiled to himself at the double entendre. He was carefully nursing a martini, not wanting to be drunk, when a young man he had not seen at the club before came in and sat four stools away. Even in the dim light, the man’s skin was pale. Brad moved to the stool beside him.
“You haven’t been long in Singapore?”
“What? No. Sorry I didn’t see you.” With, as Ross expected, a British accent.
“No need to ask if you’re here on business, everyone in Singapore is on business.”
The bartender, Wei, a Chinese man of indeterminate age, put a gin and tonic in front of the man, who raised the glass, said, “Cheers”, and took a big gulp.
“Take another,” Ross said.
The young man did.
Ross extended his hand. “I’m Brad.”
A moment’s hesitation before, “Um, Tony.”
“Well, Tony, shall we get to the point?”
Ross let his hand drop to trousered thigh, which twitched at the touch, but did not move away. He slid the hand up. Tony glanced about the bar nervously.
“No one cares, Tony. That’s what this club is all about. You knew that. No one stumbles in here by accident.”
Fingers reached cloth covered balls, one traced up a hard bulge. Felt dampness through fabric.
“You didn’t just come?” asked Ross.
“No. Almost. Please.”
“Please, what?”
“Is there someplace we can go? Someplace private?”
“Indeed there is.”
…
The boy--he was in his twenties, but seemed younger naked--whimpered. Ross had arranged him face down on the bed. Hands tied to rings in the wall. A rope wrapped several times around his neck and tied to another ring, secured his head nose down. He couldn’t move without choking. Ass up. Legs straight. Ankles tied together. He had big, flat feet, rather than Carol’s high arched elegant ones. Tony was no Carol, but he would have to do.
Ross took the belt from his trousers and, holding it by the buckle, struck as hard as he could.
“Aggah! No. Please. You don’t have to be mean. I’ll do whatever you want.”
“I know you will.” As leather slashed white buttocks again and again.
When Tony was sobbing uncontrollably, Ross dropped the belt and climbed on. Red beaten ass was hot against his groin. He spread the cheeks and spit as the hairy man had a few hours ago on Carol, then without other preliminaries forced his cock in. Tony shrieked.
“Hurt?”
“Ye..yes.”
“It’s what you wanted, What you came here for. Say it.”
“It is,” the young man whimpered as Ross fucked him. “It is what I want. Make me your ass slut.”
43
“This one.”
Brad and Carol were standing in the walk-in closet in her bedroom. He was wearing a tuxedo. She was naked except for body jewelry. He was pointing at a strapless floor length ivory sheath dress with a five inch wide rose colored band between bust and waist.
He went back to the living room to wait while she dressed. It didn’t take long. High heels tapping in the hallway, then there she was. Breathtaking. Literally. Brad found himself involuntarily forgetting to exhale.
Shoulders. Arms. Throat. Bare. From just above her breasts, the dress closely followed the curves of her body. Large breasts and small waist accentuated by the rose band. Long legs by the long fall of material to an inch above the floor. Only the tip of matching ivory shoes. Perfectly respectable. Perfectly sensationall. She could have been going to an Inauguration Ball.
“You want me to leave the nose ring in, don’t you?”
He had not said anything about this. As always she was perceptive.
“Yes.”
Well, perhaps not an Inauguration Ball after all.
They rode the elevator down.
He was driving the Lexis tonight, and turned down the hill toward the city skyline. She had not asked where they were going, but when he took the approach to the Coronado Bay Bridge, she knew.
On the highest arc of the bridge she was looking down on sails far below on the harbor; then ahead at Coronado and in the far distance, the Coronado Islands fifteen miles offshore in Mexican waters.
Coronado itself is almost an island connected to the mainland only by a fortunate sand spit that runs to just above the Mexican border and makes San Diego a great natural harbor. By far the biggest building ahead and below them was the white painted, red-roofed Hotel Del Coronado, a sprawling Victorian beach resort, built in wood in 1888, and a celebrity in its own right, appearing in many films, including SOME LIKE IT HOT.
The most elegant of the Hotel del Coronado’s many dining room is The Crown Room, with a high intricately wood paneled domed ceiling from which are suspended crown-shaped light fixtures. Persistent legend says that the future abdicating King Edward VIII first met the divorcee Wallis Simpson there in 1920, although both of them deny that.
Carol Edwards had been the cynosure of all eyes everywhere she went for twenty years. With her looks, in that dress, and with a ring through her nose, this was the dawn of a whole new era.
The valet who opened the car door for Carol was struck mute and motionless.
As they walked into and across the lobby, it was as though a tsunami had passed.
People respond to self-confidence. Although everyone has doubts and fears, and many people are dominated by them, some have learned to control and hide them and present only an assured front to the world. Dig deep enough into Brad Tomalin and you would eventually find the bewildered little son of a poor farmer. Brad Tomalin would not deny his existence; but he had left that boy far behind. His life had not been transformed by chance. He was truly and justifiably confident. That was one of the qualities, perhaps the essential quality that had attracted Carol Edwards to him. He did not ask. He acted, not impulsively, but decisively, and he was accustomed to being obeyed. So when the distinguished maitre’ d at the Crown Room took a startled glance at Carol Edwards, he started to say something but was saved by years of experience. Before he spoke he looked at Brad Tomalin and didn’t.
When Mrs. Black made the dinner reservation, she had specified a table at the center of the room. Deferentially, as the room fell silent, Carol and Brad were shown to their table and wishes for their enjoyment of the meal and the evening expressed.
Their waiter had time to compose himself, and managed to act as though nothing was out of the ordinary. He did have some difficulty in finding a place to fix his gaze. If he looked Carol Edwards in the face, his eyes inevitably fixed on her nose ring. To look lower was to stare at her breasts. He tried to fix his eyes on her eyes, which were indeed lovely and worth looking into.
Brad and Carol acted as though they were nothing more than an exceptionally attractive couple having dinner in a fine restaurant. They ate, they drank wine, they chatted. Though both were aware that in a room of heavy startched linen, cyrstal, Wedgwood, flickering candles, they were the subject of hushed conversations and several unsuccessfully sureptititous photographs with cell phones.
How can she look so untouched by all the things she has willingly done and had done to her? Brad wondered. Covered in come. Sodomized by men, women, fists, dogs. LIcking come from floors. Swallowing piss. Licking countless hairy assholes. Screaming. Begging. A year ago she had been with seven men and no women, now she’s been used by hundreds. Day after day. More than almost any whore. It must have changed her. And yet the wonder of it was that, except for the nose ring, there was no outward sign. He did not understand.
Over dessert, Carol said, “I take it that I am to wear this all the time from now on.”
“Yes. This was your coming out party. You’ll attract so much attention, you might start a fad.”
He raised his glass of forty year old armagnac in a toast. “To the confusion of our enemies.”
She clicked glasses with him.
“And who are our enemies?”
He thought only a moment.
“Everyone who never recognized your true worth.”
44
This is what it must be like to be a rock star, Carol Edwards thought as she walked from her office to Brad’s. No wonder Ooni has become a recluse.
She walked because Brad told her to walk.
She had been to Brad’s office so often, that she began to recognize people on the elevator. Three young women stepped on just before the door closed in the lobby. Carol had already pushed ’31.’ One of them hit ‘25’. For a few floors they all remained silent, but then one of the women said, “You don’t work in this building, do you?”
“No.”
“Making outcalls?”
Carol smiled, “Something like that.”
“That was come on your face that day, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
Staring directly at Carol’s nose ring, “Anything else pierced?”
“Yes.”
The door opened for the 25th floor. The other two women stepped out, but the one lingered, reached into her purse, took out a business card and hurriedly pressed it into Carol’s hand, “Call me. Please.” before leaving too.
31st Floor. Mrs. Black looked up from her desk. “Very becoming. Go right in.”
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