5
Jerry kept her crawling around the room for a long time.
As she crawled, her knees caught the hem of her skirt, and the garment
began to pull down over her hips. She knew how ludicrous she must look to the
three youths, crawling before them half naked, her skirt sliding gradually down
to reveal her pink silk panties. But she crawled on. Nothing could worsen her
shame.
The skirt slid lower, tangled in her legs, made her movements awkward.
She went on. Her sobbing continued. Tears fell on her hands.
"Stand up," Jerry said.
She got to her feet. The skirt fell to the floor.
"Turn around."
She turned. She knew what was coming now. He was going to tie her. Her
heart was beating hard. She needed it. She so needed to be tied, to feel the
ropes cutting into her flesh, binding her, making her helpless. A thing. His
thing.
She heard him coming up behind her, knew he was pulling the rope from
his pocket. Her mouth was dry. She put her hands behind her, crossing her
wrists, ready for the rope.
Instantly she knew she had done the wrong thing.
"I'm sorry," she whispered into the terrible silence. "Jerry, I'm
sorry." She put her hands down at her sides, as if that could undo her
presumptuous anticipation of his order.
"You're getting too damn eager, Susan," Jerry said softly. "Maybe I
won't tie you at all today."
She felt as if her stomach had dropped out of her. "Oh, no," she
whimpered.
"Please tie me, Jerry. Please."
"I don't think you deserve it, Susan."
"Oh, please. I'll do anything."
"You'll do that anyway," he said.
It was true. If he didn't want to tie her, there was nothing she could
do about it. She wouldn't beg any more. She wouldn't. But the rope...the rope on
her flesh...
"Please," she said desperately. "Please. Please. Please."
"Shut up," Jerry said. "Take those fucking pants off."
She slid the panties down and stepped out of them, leaving them on the
floor. He told her to turn around again and she did, facing them in her
nakedness, keeping her hands at her sides.
"Isn't she something?" Jerry said. "You like her, boys?"
"Are you kiddin'?" one of them said. "Jesus, those tits are too much!"
"Larry likes your tits," Jerry said. "Go over there and let him feel
them."
Susan walked over to the boy who had spoken. He was blond, pimply and
moronic-looking. He grinned obscenely at her and put his hands over her breasts.
His nails were dirty. He squeezed her breasts hard, and she gasped.
"Ask him if he'd like to fuck you, Susan," Jerry said.
She forced herself to look into the boy's eyes. "Would you like to fuck
me?" she said.
His grin got wider, the grip on her breasts tighter. "What do you think,
baby?"
The pain. The pain in her breasts, shooting in sharp spasms through her
body. She heard herself breathing harshly. How she loved it! Had Jerry told him
that, told him to hurt her and see how it turned her on? Tom, she thought. What
would he think if he could see her now, his sweet, respectable wife, Susan
Glendinning Garson, his pride and joy. Filled with sick lust because some idiot
stranger was manhandling her tits, ready to take on him and his drooling
friends, ready to give them her body, to be their slave, their plaything, ready
to comply unquestioningly with any shameful demand they might make of her.
Then the pressure was gone from her breasts, his hands were on her
shoulders, pushing her down to her knees, he was unzipping his fly and pulling
out his thick, evil-smelling cock. She didn't need to be told what to do. She
opened her mouth and took it in with a moan, dimly hearing his gasp of pleasure,
and the sharp, mocking sound of Jerry' laughter.
