MRS. X AND MRS. Y
By V.P. Viddler
I can't tell you their names because you would recognize who it is and such
grand famous society women can't have that. Mr. Big told them nobody would find
out and nobody will. Nobody knows anything about it, and when those fancy
columns talk about them, always with pictures, of course, for these are young,
beautiful, lovely aristocratic fashion ladies, nobody can imagine what they did.
What we did to them.
So I'll call them Mrs. X and Mrs. Y. But you know them, the young sleek
fashionplates, slim, tan, smiling. Young Mrs. X and young Mrs. Y.
What Mr. Big did, he put Mrs. X in the living room, just sitting there because
Barry was sitting and pointing a gun at her, and Mr. Big wanted Mrs. X to listen
to what was going on in the bedroom. Which she did.
What was going on was Mrs. Y screaming as Mr. Big broke all of Mrs. Y's fingers.
Oh yes, Mrs. Y was tied down, spread eagled on the bed, stark naked, and I was
on top of her, lying on that soft body with my cock in her cunt. And Mr. Big was
standing by a corner of the bed, holding Mrs. Y's hand, which couldn't get away
on account of how her wrist was tied to the bedpost, and Mr. Big was breaking
the fingers on that hand, one by one, slowly, pulling them back and back, harder
and harder until they wouldn't go any further, as Mrs. Y cried and babbled and
tried to talk, to say no, and then that finger would snap as it broke and Mrs. Y
would scream crazily and that body would spasm and jump and jerk around, and
each finger going brought that fantastic motion, and it was fabulous for me.
And Mr. Big, finishing with that hand, went to the other side and started in on
the other hand. Pull. Snap. Spasm. Scream. Babble. Plead. Pull. Moan. Snap.
Scream. Body thrashing against me.
Fantastic.
And after finishing with Mrs. Y's hands, Mr. Big moved again and started in on
her toes.
It went on and on, ten more times, screaming and spasming and snapping. Until
finally I had to come in Mrs. Y's jouncing, writhing cunt.
That wasn't all, though. Mr. Big was mad as hell at Mrs. Y for not doing what he
told her in the first place, and he made Mrs. Y do a lot of stuff, broken
fingers and toes and all. Which Mrs. Y did, flopping about with her agonizing
useless hands and feet, crawling and rolling and sucking Mr. Big's cock and
fucking us all and all that time screaming with pain, screaming and screaming in
agony and horror and pain.
And this is what Mrs. X had to listen to in the living room. For hours.
So that when Mr. Big got to her, Mrs. X was ready to do anything, she was so
scared. Mrs. X was shaking and moaning, but she did just what she was told.
Mrs. X was crying as she took off her clothes for us and displayed that soft
smooth tan sensuous body. She was still crying as she was crawling around the
room on hands and knees, and sobbing hard as she was sucking Mr. Big's cock,
exactly as he told her to, slavishly following his commands, licking, tongueing,
sucking, swallowing.
And then Mr. Big made Mrs. X fuck us all, again and again, with cunt and mouth
and ass, and Mrs. X got on top of me and put my dick into her pussy and bounced
up and down for my pleasure. And I told Mr. Big I would love for him to break
Mrs. X's fingers as she was fucking me and she screamed and said no no no please
no and promised all kinds of dirty things but Mr. Big did it anyway and Mrs. X
was howling and twisting and I shot and shot and shot...
