KARMA OR KISMET?

How I Became A slave Owner Again

By: Charles E. Campbell

   It was really just a pretty typical day, really, thinking back on it now from the

comfortable perspective of eighteen months. What happened that day happened every day, on many a street, in many a town and city everywhere, actually. Mundane. Nothing innately unique or even noteworthy. At least, not right away.

   I was in my driveway replacing the radiator on a mid-sixties Plymouth Valiant. A buddy of mine had owned one as a kid in high school, and now, well into middle age, he had acquired another one, which he was trying to refurbish into it’s original splendor. Relive a corner of his youth. I have an auto repair business here at my house. Nothing big. No advertising. All word of mouth. All cash. I do pretty well, especially in this economy. I can undercut any dealer or local garage by about half. I don’t mark up the cost of the parts. What I pay for them is what my customers pay for them, so it’s just the labor costs, and being cash only, I do alright.

   A moving van had pulled up in front of the house next door. No big shock there. It was expected. It had been vacant for about nine months. The last occupants, if you could call them that, bought it about two years before as a run down fixer-upper. A couple of Yuppie Dinks, (double income, no kids). They had put on a new roof and siding, some paint, re-modeled the kitchen and bath, sold it and moved up. Not my kind of people really, as I surely wasn’t their’s either, what with all my tattoos, the ponytail, and ear rings. Never even bothered to get to know their names!. No loss to either of us.

   I spotted a woman I took to be the new owner as I was sliding my creeper out from underneath the Valiant. The lower radiator hose clamped in place. I pegged her at about fifty or a bit over. Average height, shoulder length auburn hair, sprinkled with some salt. No dye job here, or make-up for that matter either. Slim build, jeans, a white T-shirt, Timberland boots on her feet. She didn’t seem to notice me, and I didn’t call out to her. She headed for the house, directing the movers with the furniture. I finished up the radiator and went to get lunch and call my friend to tell him his car was ready.

   I didn’t run into my new neighbor for at least another week. I was under the hood of some car, just doing a basic tune-up, when she called to me, “Hi, I guess we’re neighbors.” Pulling my head out from the engine compartment I saw her standing on her back door stoop and looking in my direction.

   “Hey,” I called back with a quick wave of my grease covered hand.

   She stepped off the stoop and walked across her driveway, which abuts mine. “I’m Linda,” she said, offering her hand to me.

   “Rick,” I replied, “Rick Cummings,” extending my filthy hand, and then quickly pulling it back, adding, “Sorry. You don’t want to get this crap all over you.”

   “Oh,” she said, noticing how dirty my hands were. “Thanks!”

    An awkward moment of silence ensued before she broke it with, “I just moved in, but I guess you know that already.”

    “Yeah. I pretty much figured that all out.”

   She chuckled softly to herself, and said, “Um, could I ask you where you go around here for food shopping? I don’t have much left in the house.”

     “Yeah, sure. There’s a deli just down the street two blocks. It’s right on the corner. He’s got pretty much anything you might need, although his prices are a little high. There’s also a small mom and pop grocery store about three blocks past the deli. He’s got better prices. As for a supermarket, I’d have to draw you a map, as it’s about a fifteen minute drive from here. Not too hard top find, but written directions would help.”

   “Thanks,” she said. “The deli will work for now. Can I pick you up something for lunch?”

    “No thanks. Don’t trouble yourself,” I said. “I gotta get this car back together and get it back to the owner before lunch. I probably won’t get back here til 1:30 or 2:00.”

   “That’s alright, actually ” she said. “I have a few more things to square away in the house before I venture out. I could bring you back something.”

   I thought a second. I don’t like to socialize with neighbors. They’re not really friends, just circumstantial acquaintances. They usually end up trying to get something out of you for nothing. I gave her a quick once over though, before answering her. She was dressed like she was the first time I saw her, except, at this distance, I could see that she wasn’t wearing a bra underneath her white t-shirt, and her nipples were very dark and hard, pressing out against the tight fabric.

   “Like what you see,” she challenged me, with a knowing smile?

   “Huh,” startled, looking away. “Uh,......sorry, um,.........just,.....uh............sorry.”

   “No problem. It’s sort of nice actually. Not something I’m used to. I’ll pick you up something and surprise you.

   “See you at 1:30.”

   She turned heel and headed back to her house before I could weasel out of it.

   I finished up with the repairs to the car and drove it over to where the owner worked, and he in turn gave me a lift back home. I was finished for the day and thought maybe I’d spend some time on my bike, which I hadn’t been keeping up with of late. It was in desperate need of a new drive chain and sprockets, and now seemed the perfect time. Sturgis was coming in a couple of weeks and the old ‘54 needed some TLC if it was going to get me there and back safe and sound. Besides, the weather hadn’t been great lately, but fine riding weather was forecast for the weekend, and the itch was strong to get back in the saddle.

    I had the rear wheel off and the sprocket loosened up when Linda drove into her driveway.

    “I didn’t know you had a bike,” she said, eyeing the vintage Panhead.

    “My last vice,” I replied, getting up off the ground, a wrench still in my hand. I happily saw that she hadn’t changed out of her white T shirt, and my eyes dropped reflexively to her chest, before I caught myself and raised my stare to her face. Too late, however, a knowing smile and the gleam in her eye told me I had been pinched again.

   “You want to come in or would you rather eat outside,” she asked?

    “I’m really pretty messy,”  I said, looking at my hands and clothes. “Outside’s good with me, unless you’d prefer sitting at a table.”

   “No, this is fine,” she concurred. “I got you an Italian combo. Hope that’s okay.”

   “Sure, it’s fine. I’m not fussy. Thanks.”

   I went to my garage to the fridge by the back wall, calling out, “I have water and beer.”

   “Beer’s great,” she answered.

   I grabbed two long necks and returned to where she was sitting near my bike. Linda watched quizzically as I undid my belt buckle to use it as a bottle opener. As I handed her opened beer to her she, smiled, and said, “I was beginning to wonder what kind of lunch this was going to be, eyeing my belt.”

   I didn’t get it at first, until I saw she was watching me buckle my belt again.

   “Sorry. Old habit.”

   “No offense, just kidding.”

   We sat and ate quietly for a few minutes. I caught her occasionally fixating on the wedding ring I wear on my left hand.

   “Are you married,” she asked, looking at her sandwich, trying to seem nonchalant about it?

   “No,” I answered, not looking at her, reflecting. “Not anymore.”

   She didn’t say anything, but it was very obvious she was still wondering about the ring. Almost waiting for an explanation.        

   “My wife died about six years ago,” I explained, staring at the ring myself. “We were married a bit better than thirty years. Just never took the ring off. Didn’t feel right without it.”

   “I’m so sorry,” she replied, embarrassed and genuinely remorseful for having put me in a difficult position. “I didn’t mean to pry. I’m sorry.”

   “It’s okay,” I tried to reassure her. “I guess it’s silly to still wear it after all these years. Another old habit.

   “What about you,” I asked, trying to ease her discomfort.

   “Divorced, finally,” she offered, clearly relieved. “Glad that’s finally in my past. Working hard to get it behind me. I moved out here to try and get as far away from him as I could get. I don’t ever want to see him again.”

   Our food was gone, but we sat quietly, each one reflecting on our own personal situation.

   “I have some more unpacking,” she said, jumping up and brushing off her form fitting jeans. “I’ll let you get back to your bike.”

   “Thanks for the lunch,” I said, watching her taut ass wiggle as she walked towards her house and into the kitchen.

   It was another week, I think,  before I saw her again. I was sitting at my kitchen table, I had the old carburetor off the bike and completely disassembled. Most of the tiny parts were soaking in solvent as I cleaned and scrubbed the float body. “Hate to bother you,” she said through my screen door, “But I’ve got a big leak in my bathroom, and I don’t know what to do. The water is everywhere.”

   “Show me,” I said, getting up.

   I followed Linda into her house and up the narrow hallway to the bathroom. Her house is an inverted clone of mine, all the ones on our street are; small living room in front, kitchen, two bedrooms and one bath, all on one floor, with a full basement, which for me is essential, and a one car garage.

   The water was pouring from the bathroom as I turned to look. There’s a linen closet behind the shower that gives access to the plumbing. I opened the closet door and was greeted by a ruptured valve. I had upgraded mine years ago, when Cindy was still alive, adding shut off valves for the sink, toilet and shower. Linda’s hadn’t been done.

   “Have to shut it off , downstairs,” I announced, heading for the basement door. I shut off the main for the house and helped her mop up the water.

   “You’re gonna need a new faucet set to fix this,” I told her, looking at the big crack in the faucet housing. “Wouldn’t be a bad idea to put in shut off valves at the same time, then you could still have water in the kitchen and toilet.”

   “Oh,” she exclaimed. “Do you know a good plumber?”

   “Sorry, I don’t. I do my own repairs around the house, so I’ve never really had a need for one.” Then I blurted out, “I could fix this for you, if you’d like.” I was shocked at myself for offering, as I have never done work for neighbors before, residential or automotive.

   “Could you? I mean, would you?”

   “Sure. It’s not a big deal. You’ll just need to pick out what kind of faucet set you want, get a couple of shut off valves and I could install them.”

   “That would really be so helpful,” she said. “I’ll pay you whatever you’d want for doing it.”

   “No you won’t. That’s not necessary. Least I can do for new neighbor.” (Didn’t know where that came from).

   “But I insist,” she countered.

   “I won’t do it for money,” I returned, sternly.

    She grinned slightly, and said softly, “What else would you do it for?”

    Not picking up, on her vibe, I replied, “Nothing. I either do it for free, or I don’t do it at all.”

   Her expression changed, I guess she was hurt that I missed her covert offer. She looked like she was about to continue the argument, but when she looked me in the eye, she quickly looked away. She changed her mind.

   “I’ve got nothing going tomorrow morning,” I told her. “Have to pick up some parts for a car repair and then pick up the car around three, so we could get the supplies you’ll need in the morning, and then I’ll fix it up. Should be done by lunchtime easy.”

   “Thanks so much,” she said, no expression on her face.

   “Not a problem. You can use my shower tonight if you want. You’re gonna be without water in your house til we get this thing fixed up.’

   “I don’t want to be a bother.”

   “It’s no bother. Just come over when you want.”

   I went back to cleaning my carb and putting it back together again. By the time it was all assembled and I was happy with it, it was too late to put it back on the bike, so I made a couple of grilled cheese sandwiches for myself and I sat down to read the paper.

   Linda knocked on my kitchen door about 9:00. I showed her where the shower was and turned on my TV to give her some privacy.

   The shower ran for about ten minutes and then stopped. I heard the bathroom door open, and then Linda appeared, naked from head to toe, her long hair still wet and clumped in thick strands. She had small breasts, which were firm and topped with thick hard nipples and tiny nickel sized areolas. A dense copse of curly sandy blond hair completely covered her pubic triangle and made it’s way half way up to her navel.

   She stood stock still for a few seconds, looking at my eyes, and allowing me to drink it all in. She exuded confidence in her nakedness. Then she walked slowly towards, me, and knelt between my legs. Never taking her eyes from mine, she reached forward and undid my belt buckle. She began undoing the buttons on my Levis, slowly, one at a time. I arched up as she pulled my jeans and boxers down around my ankles. My cock was already standing straight up at attention as she leaned over and slowly sucked me deep into her moist  velvety soft warm mouth. I groaned as the almost forgotten sensations began.

   It was immediately apparent that she had much practice in oral ministrations, and she kept at it until she was rewarded by ingesting my seed. Every tiny drop. She didn’t stop sucking until I was dry.

   “Ready for more”  she asked coyly? Linda stood up, turned to face away from me and bent over. She pulled her butt cheeks apart with both hands, exposing her sex and puckered rear entrance to me.

   I leaned forward and slid my thumb into her dripping pussy. Using my middle finger, I began slowly rubbing her swollen clit. She responded almost immediately with moans. Bending in even closer, I lightly flicked her wrinkled back door with my tongue. Experience has taught me that either one loves this pursuit, or hates it. Nothing in between. Judging from her response, she fell in with the former category and not the latter.

   A few minutes into this had my cock had re-energized and was raring to go. So I got up, bent her over the arm of my lounger and entered her. “Hmmmm,” she moaned softly as I slowly took her. I reached under her and pinched her meaty nipples. I was gentle at first, but quickly increased the pressure, squeezing the blood engorged buds harder between my calloused finger tips.

   “You like it rough?” she asked, grabbing my right hand and squeezing my fingers so I’d pinch her with even more force.

   “As a matter of fact,” I answered, “The rougher the better for me.”

   She yelped in pain as I curled my fingers and dug my nails into the top and bottom of her nipple. I was surprised that she didn’t try to pull away. In fact, it was quite the opposite, as she came a few seconds later, and I followed suit.

   We spent the rest of that night in my bed, exploring every inch of each other and learning what we each liked.

   The following morning, we had a light breakfast and then I drove her to the local hardware store I use, to pick out a faucet set and get some pipe and other things I would need to repair her shower.

   We slept together that night as well, and every night for the next two weeks. The last night, a Monday, (I remember because I was leaving for my annual trip to Sturgis for the bike rally the next morning), we were lying in bed. I was on my back, and she was lying with her head on my stomach, facing my cock, mindlessly playing with my pubic hair.

   “You really do like it rough, don’t you,” she asked, not lifting her head or stopping the motion of her fingers.

   “Yes, I do,” I answered her.

   “You like to hurt me, don’t you,” she continued.

   “No,” I disagreed. “I don’t like to hurt you.”

   “But you do hurt me.”

   “Yes I do.”

   “But you don’t like it?” She paused, ruminating. “I’m confused,” she confessed.

   “It’s complicated,” I began. “I like it, love it, actually, when you accept the pain I give you. When you look at pain as a gift, a very intimate and personnel gift, from one person to another, it isn’t about the hurt. It’s about trust, and wanting to please someone in a very deep and almost mystical way.

   “Pain heightens the senses. It also causes the mind to focus much more acutely. It serves as a means to bring two people very, very close together, almost as one being, sharing something. Giving pain. Accepting pain.”

   She made no comment, but by then, as she listened to me, her hand had slid down under my balls and was fondling them gently. I continued.                                                        

   “It requires a very strong will to relinquish yourself to someone. And conversely, it requires a compassionate person to live up to the responsibility of that act of relinquishment. For one to give oneself over to someone else. Completely. Totally. Not ever questioning their actions or decisions. This is the deepest level that true love can attain. The purest form of love.

   “And for someone to take on a person who gives up all control over themself to you,.........well that also takes a deep, deep love and commitment to preserving the sanctity of the gift they have been given.”

   I stopped talking, and let her mull over what I had said. If she had questions, I knew she would ask in her own time.

   “Did.......you,............did you.......you....and your wife................have........have that kind of relationship with each other?”

   Rather than answer her, I thought for a second then I just simply said, “Open the drawer on the night stand over there and tell me what you find.”

   She sat up, not sure which night stand I meant. I pointed to the one on the opposite side of the bed from mine. She opened the drawer and peeked inside tentatively.

   “You may take it out and look at it,” I said, sensing her confusion.

   Apprehensively, she reached in and took out my late wife’s leather slave collar, with her wrist cuffs still attached with small locks to the “D” rings on either side of the thick sterling silver buckle.

   “It’s a collar,” she remarked, examining it, studying it, feeling the soft well oiled thick black leather.

   “Yes, it is. It was my wife’s slave collar and wrist cuffs. She wore that collar all the time for me. Day and night. In private and in public. It was a deep symbol to her, and me, as well as a source of tremendous pride for her, of what she was, for me and to me, of what we were, and of what we shared.”

   “If I may pry,” she asked, still looking at the collar and cuffs, “If it meant so much to her, why wasn’t she buried in it?”

   “I presented her with a custom made steel collar,  a few months before she died,” I explained. “That’s what she was buried in. It will last forever around her neck,  with her in all eternity in her grave.

   “This one,“ I pointed at the one in Linda’s hands, “This one was her first collar, and I keep it as a reminder of her total love and devotion to me.”

   Linda handled it some more, and then reverently replaced it in the drawer. She looked at my face, studying it, and then said, “You both really must have loved each other more than I can imagine. I have never heard of such a love, I’ve never been fortunate enough to love like that, or be loved like that.” She stopped for a moment, forming her words carefully. “ Do you.............do you think you could teach me to be like that? Like she was? To love like that? To give myself over to that kind of love?”

   I looked into her eyes and cupped her chin, a tear was forming in the corner of her right eye. “Yes. Yes, I could teach you to give yourself like that. But it’s not easy. In fact it is incredibly hard, and takes a lot of time, patience ,and fortitude. You must understand that from the outset. It will be hard. Probably the hardest thing you have ever done, or even attempted to do. You will need to muster all of your resolve in order to succeed and become what this requires. You must learn to trust me implicitly.

   “Do you think you can do that?” I asked her, studying her eyes for a sign of some sort.

   “Y......yes,” she whispered, looking down, away from my face.” Tears were sliding out of both eyes now, and she trembled slightly.

   “Are you sure you want to do this?”

   “Y.......yes. Yes, I’m sure. Very sure”

   “Very well then. I will begin slowly at first. Just some very basic rules which you must obey, without question or pause or hesitation. Is that understood?”

   “Yes. I understand.”

   “You will not like much of what you must do. In fact, you will in all probability, detest it, fear it, even loath it. But you must follow my orders to the letter, or we cannot continue. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

   “Yes. I.......I will do my best to obey you.”

   “Alright. I will start simply at first, assigning you easy tasks that will aid you and help make you focus constantly on your condition, on your place. You will obey everyone of these directives, even though I will not be here to check up on you. It will be your desire to obey me that will bind you to my wishes, nothing more. You will do as I say solely because I say so. You need no other reason.  Here’s how we will begin.

  “I’m leaving tomorrow morning, as you know, and I will be gone for three weeks.”

   “Yes.”

   “During that time, you will do the following, without fail: # 1, you are to refer to me from now on as “My Lord.” #2, no more shaving your arm pits, and you are to use no perfumes or deodorant. In fact, you will discontinue using anything that might mask your natural body smells.#3, you will have all that disgusting hair removed from your belly, cunt, and ass hole by laser treatment. A true slave never hides her body. It should be displayed, with no shame whatsoever.  #4, until I return, you will dress exclusively in a white tank top, and the shortest skirts you own, everywhere you go, in your house, or in public, no bra or panties underneath. And heels, at least three inches, although I would much rather they be four inches high. You must learn to accept your nakedness and constant availability to me. And lastly, #5, you are to play with your cunt a minimum of ten times each day, and especially whenever  you are in your car. You may not, however, under any circumstances, allow yourself to cum. Only I can grant you permission to release. You are to bring yourself to the brink of orgasm every time you diddle yourself, but you may not cum. If you do you are to do two things. First, you will keep a log of when you came, where you were, and how it made you feel disobeying me, disappointing me.  And second, as punishment, you are to insert five ice cubes into your cunt and five more into your asshole and allow them to melt inside of you, as a reminder that you broke my rule.

   “Do you think you can do these things?”

    “Yes. I will do as you ask.” Her head was still bowed, but her trembling had stopped. She seemed calm, at peace with herself.

   “No. Not ask. I never ask. I demand. Now say it!”

   “I will do what you demand.”

   “That’s better. When I get back from Sturgis, we will assess your ability to comply with my demands, and decide if you are worthy of being taken to the next level.

   “Now, have you ever been properly fucked in the ass?”

   Linda looked away, mortified at the prospect, her face turning bright crimson. “N.....no. Never.”

   “Then it’s high time you were. All of your holes mush be ready for my use. Get on you elbows and knees  and spread your cheeks. Open yourself to me..”

   She did as she was told.

   “Now, beg me to fuck your ass. Convince me you need it, and are worthy of it.”

   I could see she was struggling with the words. This is a big step, huge in fact, pleading with someone to take that most private of access holes. But she had to do it if she was going to give herself to me. This step, this first step, was a big one. If she could take it, she would be starting out on her journey into slavery. This major barrier had to be broken down if she was ever to be able to lose all her inhibitions and give herself up to me totally.

   Her body was shaking slightly. I’m sure her stomach as in knots. Fear, revulsion, embarrassment, controlling her mind. 

   Then finally, after a minute or so, “Please, .....please my Lord............pl.....please.........f.......fuck my............my ass. Use it as it pleases you.”

   Her head sank to the mattress as she said the words. Resignation. Defeat. Not broken, not quite, but bending.

   I spit on her hole to make it a just a little easier for her to experience her first anal fuck. I didn’t care if she liked it or hated it, that was neither the point, nor was it my intent. She had to open herself up to me completely, and this was a good place to begin. It was going to hurt, maybe even draw some blood. Not a concern.

   I lined my cock up with her hole and shoved it all the way in with one hard stab. Linda screamed and fell forward, flat on the mattress, disengaging us. She was crying.

   “Get on you elbows and knees again cunt. How dare you pull away from me.”

    “I’m..........I’m  s......sorry......sorry, my Lord. Pl.......please forgive me.” She pushed herself back into position and reached behind her to offer herself to me once more.

   Without warning I drove into her again. She grunted against the force of my invasion, but held the position.

   I pumped her ass hard, burying myself to the hilt with each thrust. Linda cried out as the delicate inner membranes were stretched and torn in the assault. Her muscles contracted involuntarily,  squeezing me, fighting me.

   Spilling my seed in her bowels, I pulled out, and decided to push her limits a bit further. Humble her. Begin the process by which I would break her. She’d have three weeks to think tonight through, over and over again. This would give her more to mull over. More things to flood her mind.

   “Kneel before me, cunt.”

   Slowly, she gathered herself and got up off the bed. She got on her knees, facing my now limp cock.

   “Clean me! Lick your shit from your Master’s cock.”

   Her eyes shot up to meet mine. Disbelief registered across her face. It was apparent that never in her wildest of nightmares and dreams could she have imagined this. She wanted to balk, to argue with the command, but before she could speak, I stopped her, “Have you already forgotten that you are to obey without question, or pause or hesitation? You will do as you are told, or this ends right here and right now!”

   Tears fell from her eyes, but she remained silent. Forlorn. Dejected. With her right hand she took hold of me and put my dick to her lips. Eyes shut tight, she opened her mouth and tasted herself on my cock. Fighting internally to not throw up, she took me into her mouth and sucked and cleaned me.

   When I was satisfied, I pushed her away, and said, “This is the beginning. I will be back in three weeks time. You have your instructions to follow. Follow them to the letter. Your are bound to these demands by your need to serve me. Do as you have been told, and you will be well on your way in your journey to slavery. Now, go home. Do not bathe or shower tonight And as my cum seeps from your ass, you are to scoop it up with your fingers and eat it. Do not waste a drop of my precious seed.

   “Now leave me, cunt!”

   She got up from the floor and went to gather her clothes.

   “You have no need of these clothes. The clothes remain here. Go home naked!”

   Her eyes grew wide at the prospect of going outside naked. It was pretty late by this time, after 1:00AM, so I knew that the chances of her being discovered were nil. She wasn’t so sure, but still she obeyed.

   I left for South Dakota the next morning early, before sun up, not wishing to see her again until my return.

   My trip to Sturgis every year has evolved into a pilgrimage of sorts. Seven of us Army buddies from Viet Nam. Time and disease has dwindled our ranks down to four now. Each year we all secretly wonder who’s next, and who will be the one left making the trip solo. We don’t talk about it, but it’s there on all of our faces each year, plain as day.

   The first stop is just outside of Youngstown, Ohio. Johnny T. lives there. Gunner and I meet up with Johnny and the next day we all push off for Ames, Iowa, where we collect our last comrade in arms, SSGT Orville Shoemaker, “Shoe” as we called him. From Ames we push straight through to Sturgis, and the camp ground where we pitch our tents and get settled in.

   The first thing I always do, is head into town and find a vendor selling motorcycle tires. I like to work four or five hours a day, 9:00 - 1:00 or 2:00 doing tire mounts. Gives me my spending cash, and leaves plenty of time for riding in the afternoons and evenings. I’m not much of a party hound, so staying up half the night getting shit-faced with a bunch of wannabes doesn’t appeal to me.

   Putting tires on bikes is pretty mundane work, so it allows the mind time to side track, and for me, that meant thinking about Linda. Was she in this all the way? Was she following my demands? Playing with herself, dressing as prescribed? Did she go and have her pubic hair removed? Had she stopped shaving under her arms? Had I pushed her too far, too fast?

   No way of knowing, that was for sure. I wasn’t about to call her and check up on her. She had to impose all of my demands on herself. She had to obey, even though I couldn’t possibly know if she was following my orders. It all had to be from her. From within. She had to want to do it just because it was I who had told her to do it. No other reason needed.  Pure and simple.

   When the rally was over, we retraced our route, parting, and heading for home. Bear hugs, and heartfelt promises about next year’s run ended the trip. As I made my way across Pennsylvania towards Jersey, my mind became more and more fixated on Linda as each mile passed.  

   I pulled into my driveway at 8:00PM, the evening sky was darkening up, a harbinger of the shorter days and longer nights that were rapidly approaching. There was a late model Lincoln in Linda’s driveway, and all the lights in her house were ablaze. As I killed the engine on my bike, I heard a loud scream and an even louder crashing sound come from Linda’s back door.

   Yanking off my helmet, I sprinted for her door, but stopped short. Old instincts from the jungles of Nam kicked in, and a little recon seemed prudent. Peering into her kitchen window, I saw Linda, lying on the floor. Her face bloody, nose obviously broken. The kitchen chairs were strewn around the small room, and a big man was standing over her, yelling, “So you think you can just pack up and leave me, huh, bitch? You thought I wouldn’t find you, you stupid sow whore.”

   He was a good four to five inches taller than me, about 6' 3" or so. Had to have a good fifty to sixty pounds on me as well, although a lot of it was soft padding.

   I backed away from the house out of earshot and punched 911 into my cell phone. “We need an ambulance at 982 Henry,” I said. “Police as well.” Then I hung up, took a deep breath, and pulled open the screen door.

   The man had Linda lying on her back on the kitchen table, his left hand pinning her arms above her head. Her clothes had been torn off, or so I surmised, as she was naked. He was just sticking his meaty cock into her as I interrupted him.

   “Who the fuck are you,” he bellowed. “Can’t a guy fuck his wife without being disturbed around here?”

   I had learned many long years ago, that when you have a size disadvantage like what I was facing, you had to have some kind of edge to counterbalance it. Mine was usually my ability to stay cool and calm, while causing my adversary to fly into an uncontrolled rage.

   “You’re about to find out, ass hole. You like beating up women, I see, chicken shit.”

   “Yeah, I do, as a matter of fact,” unfazed by my name calling. “And bein’ the nice guy I am,” he continued, “ when I’m through with this little skinny ass tramp, you can have some sloppy seconds, if you like, biker boy.”

   “I don’t think so, big man. You’re about done here, I figure.”

   He pulled his cock out of Linda and pulled up his pants. With an enormous shove of his right hand, he pushed the table and Linda up and out of the way, sending her flying into the cabinet by the sink. “You want some of this,” he smiled, “Come and get it.”

   I stood my ground, waiting, measuring, reading. His smile faded, and he hurled himself forward at me, swinging a wild roundhouse punch with his right hand. Luckily for me, he telegraphed the punch a mile out, so I was able to move inside it and duck, while throwing two quick hard jabs into his fat belly. His paunch absorbed a lot of the force from my jabs, but I knew it hurt him none the less.

   I backed away from him as he threw a right cross that caught me in the left shoulder. Fire and numbness erupted from the impact, but he was off balance and I connected with a nasty upper cut to his mouth. My hand stung like hell, and I looked down at it to see one of his teeth imbedded between two of my knuckles.

   He was stunned, and I took advantage of the situation and connected with two fast left jabs to his nose, followed by another right upper cut to his face. The satisfying crunch I heard told me I had broken his nose. “That one was for Linda, shit head,” I muttered.

   He came at me faster than a man his size should be able to do, engulfing me in a monstrous bear hug. I was unable to breath, and I knew it would only be a few seconds before he’d have me beaten. I slapped my hands against the sides of his head on his ears as hard as I could. He screamed, and let go of me, grabbing his head. Taking advantage of his agony, I reached out with my motorcycle boot, and kicked his left knee, hyper-extending it, and he fell backwards to the floor.

   Thinking he was through, I let my guard down, as he lunged up and slashed at me with a kitchen knife, slicing my left forearm open. I kicked him in the face, and he fell back against the refrigerator. He was done.

   I could hear sirens approaching in the distance. I grabbed his collar and shook him awake. “This’ll make sure you don’t try this shit again, ass hole.”

  He looked at me in a daze, and he watched, confused,  as I placed the heel of my boot on the back of his right hand and crushed it into the linoleum floor. He screamed and passed out. And just for good measure, I stomped down on his hand as if I was kicking over my Harley, just as the police cars pulled into the driveway.

   The cops had a lot to sift through to determine what had happened. Fortunately, Linda woke up and was able to tell them that her ex-husband had broken into her house, against a restraining order,  and had attacked, threatened, beaten and raped her. She further explained that I was her neighbor and had saved her life. That, at least, had gotten them to remove the handcuffs from my wrists. All three of us ended up at the hospital that night.

   Linda had suffered three cracked ribs, contusions, a broken right wrist, broken nose, and a mild concussion. Barry, her ex, had three teeth knocked out, was deaf in one ear, had a broken nose and shattered patella, and virtually every bone in his right hand was broken in multiple places. For my part, there were a lot of bruises and fifty stitches in my left forearm, and a couple more in my hand where they had extracted not one, but two of Barry’s teeth.

   I spent that night in the hospital, in a chair, in ICU next to Linda’s bed. She was in and out of it, with a lot of pain. They were afraid to give her any pain meds due to the concussion, so she had a fairly uncomfortable  night.

   Early the next morning, I sensed before I saw, a man standing in the door to Linda’s room. With a groan, I pushed my sore body up from the chair, “Can I help you with something, buddy?”

   “It seems you already have,” he answered, taking a step into the room. “I’m Linda’s brother, David. David Wright.  And you must be Rick. I can’t tell you how indebted I am, we are, to you for what you did. I think Barry meant to kill her this time. If you hadn’t have come when you did.............” He let it trail off. I didn’t answer him.

   “Is that you, David?” Linda whispered.

   “Yes, Linda. It’s me. Just talking to your knight in shining armor here.”

   Linda turned her head and saw me standing at the foot of her bed. “You.......you’re still h....here?”

    “He’s been here all night,” a nurse interrupted. “Now you two scat on outta here. Let me take care of this brave little lady. Go get a cup ‘o coffee. And bring me back one too while your at it. I’ll call ya’ll when I get her ready for some comp’ny.”

   David and I headed for the cafeteria, slowly. I was stiffer than I had been the first day heading to Sturgis. Old bones don’t bounce back quite so fast.

   “Grab a seat,” he said, “How do you like your coffee?”

   “Black, no sugar, thanks.”

   “Should have figured,” he said, smiling.

   We chatted for a while over three cups of coffee. David filled me in on most of the gory details regarding Linda and her marriage/divorce from Barry. They had met in college, kept in touch as Linda went through two failed marriages, and then embarked to law school, finally landing a position in a big Chicago firm. They had been married only a few years before Linda found out she couldn’t have any children. It wasn’t long after that before the abuse started. Verbal at first, the cheating, drinking, and whoring around, came later. When Linda told Barry she wanted a divorce was the first time he hit her.  She tried leaving him, but he seemed to have an uncanny knack of finding her, no matter where she went, pleading with her to take him back, promising the moon.

   Finally, about eight years ago, she had emptied all her bank accounts and she ran. Small towns, never more than a year to eighteen months at a time before moving again. She had thought she had lost him for good this time. Last night proved his tenacity.

   We headed back up to see Linda. She looked better cleaned up, bruised and bandaged, but her color seemed better. She and David talked a lot. I felt like a voyeur eavesdropping, so I looked for an opening in their conversation and said, “Hey, listen. I’m gonna head home and let you two catch up. You take care now.”

   David stood up, and gave me a hug, whispering, “I can’t thank you enough for what you did.” Linda gave me a weak smile.

   In the lobby of the hospital I called a cab for home and a nice long shower, easing some of the aches and pains from my muscles.

   Feeling somewhat better, I pushed the Pan into the garage, (good thing I live in a solid neighborhood), and gathering up some tools, I went next door to straighten out the damage from last night.

   The front door jamb was toast. Barry must have hit it with his full weight, like a linebacker run amok. It was in splinters, hinges torn loose, deadbolt ripped out, shot. She’d need a whole new door here. I closed it and nailed it shut for the time being.

   I was getting the kitchen back into some semblance of order when I heard a car in the driveway. Looking out the window, I saw it was David. “”You’re like a guardian angel,” he said, coming in the back door.

   “Nah. She just shouldn’t have to face this shit when they let her out is all.”

   “They said they might discharge her tomorrow,” he offered. “She sent me here to pick up some things for her”. Looking at the mess, he added, “You don’t have to do this. I could hire a crew to spruce it up”

   “It’s okay. I don’t mind. Listen, the front door is shot. Her ex really did a number on it. She’s gonna need a whole new door and frame. I have it nailed shut so no one can get in.”

   “Thanks. She’ll figure out what she wants to do. I’m trying to convince  her to move back near me and my wife, now that Barry should be heading off to jail for a while. Settle down near family, not be so far from home.”

   “ Yeah,” I agreed. “He’ll be on ice for quite some time I’d think. You’re right,” I agreed, a pain in the pit of my stomach, as I said, “She should be with family. Listen, I’ll gonna stay and clean up the kitchen and then I’ll lock it up,” I said.

   “Thanks. Thanks again. I really mean it.” David shook my hand and the headed for Linda’s bedroom.

   David found an overnight bag and filled it with some clothes and toiletries on a list Linda had given him before heading back to the hospital. I got the kitchen presentable, locked the door behind me, and went home. I hadn’t even unpacked my duffle bag from the Dakota trip.

   I didn’t go back to the hospital, as I figured David would be there, and he’d stay with her til she was discharged. After that he’d pack her off to wherever it was he called home. So much for our relationship getting established. Barry fucked that up as well, the son of a bitch, I chuckled to myself.

 

   The next morning I was under the hood of my old pick-up changing the points and plugs, when I got a phone call from Linda at the hospital. “Good morning,” she said, “Can I ask you a big favor,” she said quietly.

   “Sure, what do you need?”

   “David had to get home last night, his son was in a car accident. Nothing too serious, but he’s really upset. Anyway, they’re going to discharge me this afternoon, and I’m going to need a ride home. They won’t let me take a cab. Someone has to get me.” She was quiet for a second, and then said, “And you’re the only person I know here.”

   “Yeah, no problem, what time?”

   “I guess 2:00 is good. And Rick?”

   “Yeah?”

   “Could you,................could you come for me on your bike?”

   “Yeah, sure, but are you up to it? It’s not a very smooth ride.”

   “I don’t know if I’m up to it, but I do know I need it. I’ve never been on one before, and I want to make it memorable, I want  my first ride.............. with you........if that’s alright.”

   “Okay. If that’s what you want. See you at 2:00.”

   I figured she just wanted to get in a ride before packing her things and heading to her brother’s place and out of my life forever.

   Finishing up the truck, I checked the time and got cleaned up a bit before lunch. At 1:30, I strapped a second helmet onto the sissy bar and rode over to the hospital. I signed in with the old gent at the security desk, musing at his chances of stopping someone hellbent on getting in. I took the elevator to the fourth floor, and walked down the corridor to Linda’s room. I wasn’t really prepared for what I saw. Both of her eyes were black, tape across her swollen and battered nose, and a cast on her right wrist. All these things bore testament to Barry’s wrath. It took me a minute to see past her injuries, and realize that she was standing there, facing me, in a tight tank top and extremely short skirt. Four inch black heels adorned her narrow feet. Her nipples were protruding hard against the tight fabric, proudly proving to the all the world that she was not wearing a bra.

   Looking me in the eye, she reached for the hem of her skirt with her left hand, and lifted it, revealing her bald pussy to me. Dropping the hem, she raised her arms, displaying the tufts of hair that now sprouted under both arms.

“My Lord,” she began, dropping her arms, and looking at the floor, respectfully, “Your slave waits to serve you.”

   An orderly helped her into a wheelchair and brought her out to the front door, where both he and the old security guard protested my putting her on my bike in her present condition. Paying them no heed, she slowly got on behind me, and whispered in my ear, “I am ready to learn to obey, my Lord.”