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| The Other One | Back to C | Back to main page | |||
Collected by Djian
Here's a sad little tale of insanity and humiliation. Unlike my first
story, Land of Rape and Honey, a short story about a kidnapping and
brutal rape, "The Other One" is a full length book with very little
violence. While neither of the lead females in the book are the least
bit willing participants, neither are they actually physically forced
to provide the services demanded of them. But surely coersion and
mental cruelty are just as powerful, if not more so, than simple
forced entry.
My ambition in writing this, was to produce a work that had something
to offend everyone. To that end, each chapter is quite different.
But unfortunately, I don't think the first one is by any means the
best, so I expect to lose most readers long before they get to my
personal faves. Ah well.
Anyway, enjoy the book. And if you have any feelings about it either
way, I would love to hear about it.
Sickman
The Other One
(Or, It’s a Miserable Life)
Part #1
"Good Morning, Cunt"
(Another fine entry in the Diary of Sickman)
Wide awake. Alice brain did not rise from sleep so much as it turned on like
a light bulb. 3:10 in the morning; she did not have to look at the clock,
she knew. What an ungodly hour.
She quickly got out of bed. Back when she used to wake up at 6:40 she had
tried to sleep in once. That was when she started waking up at 6:30.
‘It’s ridiculous’, she told herself, as she did every morning, slipping
naked through the dark house. "He never wakes up before six".
But, like every morning, she dutifully sequestered herself in the rough
basement bath , "her" bath, with her thousand lotions and potions, dryers,
curlers, pluckers and paints. She lifted the cover on the filthy,
disgusting, old toilet and settled with revulsion on the sticky seat.
Lifting the broken seat seemed to be just too much work for some of
Stephan’s friends. She tidied the house daily, cleaned the house on Tuesdays
and Fridays and the ensuite and kitchen daily, but this room was not on her
schedule and had not been cleaned in years. It was Alice’s bathroom and the
Other One had explained to Paul that she was so pathetic that she didn’t
deserve cleanliness and would rather spend her time keep the ensuite totally
spotless for Paul because he was important and she didn’t matter.
So the shower-base was gray, the filth on the sink formed a crust around the
taps, the toilet bowl was caked with dried smears of years old shit and a
deep orange ring at the waterline. Alice cringed every time she came in
here. She hated touching anything, hated walking barefoot on the
piss-splattered floor. And not the least because dozens of naked women
stared lasciviously at her from the walls, her son’s idea of interior
design.
Her eyes squinted at the harsh light from the bare overhead bulb, making it
easy as she peed, to not look at the huge, horrible poster two feet in front
of her; the larger than life-sized tanned ass of a naked girl on her hands
and knees facing away from the camera, a finger of each hand buried deep in
her gaping wet pussy, spreading the pink hole gynecologically to the camera.
Still, ‘Primo FuckMeat’ passed through her brain, the vile slogan her son or
one of his horrid friends had scrawled on the girl’s ass.
No paper holder in this pit. The roll sat on the bare, piss-stained concrete
beside the overflowing wastebasket.
The cheap metal shower stall thundered in the spray as she started the long,
tedious process of becoming a woman; at least men’s bizarre idea of what a
woman should be. A Cosmo girl. A Playboy girl. A twisted abstraction of a
real woman. A mask of expensive cosmetics and cosmetic surgery, hair that
cost a fortune to maintain, fake breasts who’s price was almost as
ridiculous as their size, on a body that was plainly malnourished.
She was to find ways to fuss over herself for an hour and fifty minutes. It
was hard to spend that much time, but she knew that if her husband hinted at
even the slightest imperfection, She would be waking her up at 3:00 from now
on. She took infinite care on her hair, face, and nails –finger and toe-
darkening her nipples with lipstick, and inspecting every inch of her naked
body for any blemish or bruise that should be covered. This too was
ridiculous, not only because the basics of her makeup had been permanently
tattooed on her face, but because he never even looked at her in the
morning. But she did not really do it for him. She did it because that was
what The Other One had promised him, and Alice had learned to do as She
said.
She spent the prescribed ten minutes on just her pussy. Douching, drying,
applying lubricating gel to the sheath so it would be ready for him if he
desired to use it, (he seldom did in the mornings) and finally she even
squatted over a hand mirror to make up her baby-bald hole. Foundation on her
mounds and pubis, a little eye liner in the furrows between each lip and
mound, up either side of her clitoris to join together at the top continuing
up an inch or so to make her slit look longer and more pronounced, some
Brilliantly Bardot coral pink lipstick on the pronounced "pissflaps" as he
called them (carefully avoiding the tattoo), and just a dab of the
lubricating gel over this, so that she looked wet and inviting. She hated
doing this, firstly because she had always been a bit squeamish about
touching herself "down there", and secondly because it said to everyone who
saw it, that this woman is a first class whore, who works very hard at
making her pussy attractive so people will use it.
Which was not the case at all. She only did it because the Other One made
her. You see, Alice had a little problem: a multiple personality. And the
Other One - She did not seem to have a name, so "The Other One" was how
Alice thought of her alter ego - the Other One was quite determined to make
Alice's life an utter living Hell.
Finally, Alice spent ten minutes on the her mouth. Flossing, brushing,
gargling, and then taking painstaking care to apply half a dozen different
lip colours, liners, and gloss over the tattooed colour of her provocatively
full lips.
She chose a negligée at random: it didn’t matter as they were all equally
sleazy. This one was sheer off-white gauze, and fastened only with a little
bow at her waist so that half her breasts were bare, but at least the
ruffled edge sort of hid her pussy, except when she walked. Dangly pearl
earrings, a pair of insanely high heels, and she stopped to inspect her
work; too often a single missed detail had shortened her nights by a further
ten minutes and she was so permanently exhausted now that she dreaded any
more oversights.
Paul would like it. She looked like a man’s wet dream. An elegant, expensive
slut. Her beautiful dark blonde hair ($60 every six weeks), highlighted with
lighter streaks ($55 for the roots every three weeks), was mounded on her
head ($40 every week), a few curls judiciously hanging down to frame a truly
stunning face, as if she were going to a state dinner. Exotic, almond eyes
($2,400) lined in black($150). Full, pouting ($1,750) lips tattooed deep red
($165) under the various cosmetics so she would look as good at the end of a
blowjob as at the beginning. Delicate nose ($2,500). The rest of her face
was her’s. She missed her old face. It hadn’t been beautiful, but it was
her. And it looked real instead of freakishly (to her eye) perfect.
But she would have taken twice the work on her face, if only she could have
her old breasts back.
But, no time to dwell on that. With a last, wistful look at all the hard
work she had put into making her face look beautiful, she stretch her mouth
wide open and popped a 2" rubber-clad O-ring behind her front teeth so that
it wedged her jaws wide apart. Her lips formed a perfect, cock-sized "O" of
glossy red. She looked stupid. Which was the intent. Paul said it made her
mouth look inviting, "made for cock", but Alice knew very well that the ring
gag really just made her look totally pathetic - "Lamprey Mouth" he called
her. It was Paul’s favourite gag. Not only did this reduce her speech to
that of a severe mental retard, something he found vastly amusing, it also
gave unobstructed escape to the tiniest grunt, whimper or gasp so he could
hear every little nuance of her misery and discomfort when he mounted her.
But mostly, it made her look asinine. Which is why he had her wear it in the
mornings. She would be neither speaking nor grunting; he just liked to wake
up to see his wife kneeling beside the bed looking stupid, her mouth open
and ready for cock.
Finally, she had put it off as long as she could. She took her nipple clamps
and, parting the negligée, screwed them on. Very tightly. The familiar pain
started spreading through her chest.
She tottered up to get Paul’s breakfast things. For the first time she
looked at a clock: 5:20. Same as every morning since October, as if The
Other One were running a Swiss clockwork in Alice’s brain.
And then, with breakfast makings and the paper on a silver tray, she went
upstairs and knelt quietly beside the bed, nipples throbbing, jaw aching,
mouth hanging open, waiting in patient pain for more than an hour to suck
her husband’s cock.
This is where it had started. When She had first come, a few years
after their marriage, She would some times wake up early, while
Alice was still asleep, and wake Paul with a blowjob. All Alice
knew is that she would wake up to the sound of Paul whistling in
the shower, her mouth foul with sperm. She didn’t know how he’d
done it, but she knew what he had done. At first she thought he
was drugging her. How could you sleep through a thing like that?
And Alice found the entire act so repulsive that she knew she
would have to be comatose before he could use her like that.
Over the next few months it happened more and more frequently
until it became a daily occurrence. They had had a huge fight when
she accused him of drugging her. He told her that she was "a
fucking lunatic" because she had been begging to suck his cock
just that morning.
She thought he might be right, maybe she was nuts.
The very next morning she woke up on her knees with a mouth full
of cock!
Horrified, she recoiled, or tried to. But nothing happened.
Confused, she again tried to stop, but she couldn’t - as if
watching herself in a dream but unable to effect what was
happening. She watched in helpless panic as her mouth bobbed
hungrily up and down, slurping loudly. Her hand pumped the slimy
shaft eagerly, urging it to spit it’s slime into her mouth!. Alice
brain screamed in fear and frustration at her inability to command
her body. And she wanted to die when she realized that the sound
she heard was herself, moaning and grunting as if in heat. And
worse, after he had flooded her throat with his scum, she was
forced to listen to herself as she cooed and actually thanked him!
Thanked him for letting her suck his cock! She cried while he was
in the shower.
At first Alice thought she was a nymphomaniac or something. Like
maybe she secretly wanted to do it.
But she couldn’t! I mean, it was so disgusting! So repulsive! She
could not believe that any woman would willingly let a man put
his…thing in her mouth. That she had to let Paul do it to her the
normal way was bad enough. But in her mouth was so perverted! So
disgusting! I mean, he peed out of that thing!
Gross!
And she never had lost her revulsion to it. Sure she did it all the time,
now. She had even been forced to learn how to do it well; how to turn a man
on, how to make it last for hours and how to finish him quickly, little
tricks when he needed a some extra help cumming, and even how to look as if
she enjoyed it (men like that). But she hated it. Every time. The whole
time. She hated it. If only she had any choice she would have been
completely asexual. But she had no choice.
After that first morning, she had to endure that ordeal every
morning. Sometimes Alice would regain control just after his last
spurt, at which point she would inevitably break down crying;
heart-tearing sobs of humiliation. Paul was disconcerted the first
time, but after a couple of weeks of sometimes thanking him like a
filthy whore and sometimes breaking down crying, she knew both
that he thought his wife was certifiably insane, and that he
didn’t at all mind that his wife was in tears after she had sucked
his cock, so long as she had sucked it. She almost believed that
he actually liked it when she cried in humiliation.
Soon she was waking up in time to listen to herself coo in Paul’s
ear, "oo, baby, can I suck your big cock for you? Gonna let your
little slut wife suck those big balls dry?"
She actually said that! And the next morning she called herself
his "dirty cunt"! Alice had never used that word in her life!
She heard a lot more choice words come out of her own mouth in the
months that followed.
But even worse, she hated the taste. Her own juices mixed with his
hours-old sperm, dry and crusty in the wrinkles of his wizened
cock, gooey and rank beneath the foreskin from when he had mounted
her the night before. Those times she was actually grateful to be
out of control, for she would surely have thrown up all over him.
At first, she would gently wake Paul with her vulgar pleas. Paul
would start grinning before he had even opened his eyes. And he
always thanked her afterwards, and told her how good it had been.
After years of putting up with what Alice knew was a completely
useless sex life - she would allow him to stick it in her whenever
he wanted because she was supposed to, but nothing could make her
enjoy it or even participate, – after years in an erotic desert he
had found himself in paradise. Not only had his wife suddenly
started giving him blowjobs, but she loved it. She had become a
total little slut, like something out of his wildest dreams.
But, as the months passed, he grew used to her whorings, and he
lost respect for her. How could you respect a woman who referred
to herself as his "useless cunt"? A woman who acted like the
filthiest whore on the planet?
It was hard to treat her considerately when he did not really
respect her. But respect or no, she sucked him off just as
voraciously, so he stopped trying. Soon he snarled his displeasure
at being woken up, beginning the practice of her waking up and
waiting for him to roll on his back and, often without even
opening his eyes, pulling down the bedclothes to reveal his limp
cock, certain that she would obligingly suck it. He expected it,
now. As if it was a God-given right of birth. And to Alice’s
horror, she always did, and she still asked his permission,
assuring him that she was his "stupid cock-sucking slut" or his
"ugly pig wife". After he had cum, he occasionally grunted a
"thanks", but usually he just got up with a bored, disgusted
sneer, and left her kneeling on the bed with a sperm fouled mouth,
suddenly in control and able to cry.
Then one morning, close to a year after she had last skipped a
morning, Alice suddenly found herself in control of her own body
half way through the blowjob.
She stopped.
She tentatively tried to lift her head off his hard-on, and it
worked.
She threw herself away from the loathsome thing with a disgusted
shudder.
"Wha…?" Paul was looking at her over his fat belly.
"Nothing. I just don’t feel like it this morning."
"What? Well what the fuck am I supposed to do with this?" he spat,
waving his hard-on at her.
"Well, you don’t have to have an orgasm every morning."
"Fuck that! You started it, now finish it"
"But I don’t feel like it", she complained, determinedly.
Smack! He back-handed her hard, splitting her lip. "LOOK, you
DIRTY WHORE! I don’t give a FLYING FUCK WHAT you FEEL LIKE…. SUCK!
(Smack!) MY! (Smack!) FUCKIN’! (Smack!) COCK! (Smack!)"
He grabbed her by the hair and shoved her face to his still-hard
cock.
And she sucked it. Tears pouring down her face, for the first time
in her life Alice forced herself to suck cock.
The pain in her bruised face made her think of the first time he
had hit her, their first date. The pain and humiliation of being
date-raped by Paul Dowker at the tender age of seventeen on her
first and only date, came back to her in a rush, melding with the
same emotions from her current rape.
And it was rape that morning. He held her skull by two fistfuls of
hair and forced her head on and off his cock. Then, when he found
he could not cum, he shoved her onto her back and fucked her
mouth, fucked her throat, reveling in her gagging and her tears
until the power rush pushed him over.
The temper out of his steel, he slunk guiltily away leaving her
coughing and, as usual, in tears.
In a blink, her body was up and walking of its own volition. And,
as she watched herself go down to the laundry room, she knew with
certainty what until now she had only suspected: there was someone
else living in her brain! And if this revelation was not enough,
imagine her horror as she watched the other person clamp a wooden
clothespin on her gumdrop of a nipple! She told her lungs to
scream, her hands to clutch it off, but nothing happened except
that she, or She, the Other One picked up another pin and clamped
her left nipple, too.
When Paul came out of his shower, She was waiting on her knees in
the bedroom, clothespins proudly jutting forward. When he stopped
dead in his tracks, She crawled to him until she knelt at his
feet. Opening his robe, she licked his balls like a dog sucking up
to his master’s hand, the whole time looking him square in the
eye, before launching into a groveling, tear-filled speech.
"Oh, Honey, I’m sorry!"
‘She’s apologizing!’ Alice screamed to herself.
"I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I was such a stupid cunt. No, please, let
me finish. You know how hard I try to be a good little slut for
you. To keep you happy. To suck your cock every morning, just the
way you like. But you have to know how hard it is, sometimes. Its
so humiliating for me to suck your cock like dirty slut, to be
your little whore, and I’m so stupid, I guess, that sometimes I
forget that that’s why I am here.
"I just want you to know how glad I am that you hit me and
reminded me what I am good for. See…",
She leaned back so he could see her flip the clothespins. Needles
shot through Alice’s breasts.
"See, I am punishing myself for not being a perfect little whore
for you. I do want to do it just right and I promise I’ll try
harder. So from now on, I will ask you for criticism every
morning. And to help me learn, whenever I do something wrong, I am
going put these on the next morning and leave them there until you
tell me that I did better and can take them off. Is that okay?
He’d muttered assent.
"But honey, sometimes I get confused, like this morning, and I may
need help. So you have to promise to hit me again, if I need it,
okay? I know you don’t want to, but it sure helps me from being a
confused little cunt. You know how easily us stupid little cunts
get confused. Please Paul, please say you’ll hit me again if I’m
stupid. Say you’ll help me be the perfect whore for you? Please?"
Now that his balls were empty, Paul had, only minutes before, been
castigating himself with guilt. But when she put it that way,
actually begged for it, noblesse oblige demanded he agree. Not
that he thought he would ever do it.
"Paul, my tits really hurt a lot, but I think I deserve a worse
punishment for what I did, don’t you? They would hurt a lot more
if you pull them. Will you tug them for me and give me the
punishment I deserve? Please? Pull them really hard and twist them
and make me scream, but," and she held them back from his too
eager clutches, "but promise me you won’t stop, even if I tell you
to?"
"Ok," he said with a smirk.
"And promise me you’ll slap me again if I try to stop you?"
He swallowed.
"Please? Please don’t let me be confused again. You have to be
strong for both of us. Promise?"
And again, he promised. His wife was a fucking fruitcake, but the
idea of hurting her teats until she screamed…yeah, he would like
that.
"Ok, do it, Honey," and she held her big, saggy sacks up to him.
"Do it really hard, ‘cause I was such a bad cunt, wasn’t I? And I
deserve to be hurt really bad, don’t I?"
No sooner had he gripped them then She disappeared to avoid the
pain and Alice suddenly found herself able to gasp, to complain of
the pain, to beg him to stop. Then he gave them a firm tug and she
just about went through the roof. With a shriek she instinctively
grabbed his hands.
He stopped. Looked her in the eye a moment, and did it. He slapped
her so hard she fell off her knees, yanking her right nipple out
of the clip he still held. She fell to the floor crying and
clutching her tortured breast. But, after a few moments, she
realize that he had not moved. Looking up, she saw first the empty
clothespin, held out to her, then his eyes; determined,
lust-filled and she knew that her punishment would continue no
matter what she said.
He just stood there, imperious, towering over her, waiting for her
to take the clip from him. And as if hypnotized, she did. She
spread the jaws over the bruised bud, but could not bring herself
to release it.
Smack! "Do it, you cunt!" Smack!….Smack! And she let the clamp
close.
‘How could he be so cruel?’, she asked herself.
"Hands behind your back, bitch."
‘Because you asked him to’, she thought.
He pulled and twisted the devil clips up and away from her until
the weight of her breasts pulled her nipples free. Then he clipped
them on again and this time pinching the jaws tightly between his
fingers, crushing her tender nubs so that he could pull them
harder.
She screamed. She cried. She begged him to stop. But she made
herself keep her hands behind her back.
When at last he let them go, it was a stiff cock that bobbed
inches from Alice’s face. He wanted her to suck it.
She looked at it. And at him.
"Well?"
She hesitated another few moments, and then gushing tears of
misery at her pathetic life, she gave in, too afraid of more pain
to protest. She hated herself. As she licked horrible thing, she
knew she had no one to blame but herself. For being too spineless
to stand up to him. And too weak to kill herself.
So, for the first time in her life, Alice was actively pleasing
Paul, forcing herself perform that most disgusting act.
And she knew that this would just be the beginning
He tugged at the clothespins to make himself cum. His pleasure was
her pain, her pain his pleasure.
The next morning, as if her own brain were testing her, she woke
up beside her sleeping husband in the graying room and found for
the first morning in months she, Alice, was in control of her
body. She lay in quiet terror, unsure of what she would do when he
woke up. Seemingly hours later, Paul rolled over, pulling back the
sheets to reveal the fat worm that lolled against his thigh.
She hesitated just a moment, instinctively touching her nipples.
They throbbed in memory of yesterday. Beaten, she bowed before his
cock and she did it for him: she sucked his cock.
They had won.
That morning and every morning since, after she had done it for
him, sucked his cock and had a stomach full of scum to show for
it, the Other One took over and asked how She could have made it
better for him.
Unfortunately for Alice, Paul had found that he liked hurting her,
so he worked very hard at finding flaws:
"That was fantastic, Honey, but I sure like it when you suck my
balls."
The next morning he purred
"That was great, Honey, but I like it better when your hair is up,
so I can watch."
"Not bad, but I felt your teeth once."
"but it looks better when you wear lipstick"
"but you didn’t sound slutty enough"
"You made me cum too soon"
"You swallowed too soon"
"Your hair is dirty"
"You’re getting fat"
"You used your hand too soon"
"You are fat"
"You’re still fat"
"Your tits are too saggy"
"You got tears on my ass"
"I wish your lips were not so thin"
"I wanted to cum on your face, slut."
"I wanted to cum on your mouth, you fuck-up"
"Look at me, bitch"
Every one of these meant that the next day she would have
clothespins on her nipples while she sucked him. But worse She,
the Other One, would eagerly promise to correct the deficiency. It
might mean losing another ten minutes of sleep to make up her eyes
more flawlessly, or She would set a whole new level of degradation
that Alice would be expected to match. "Cum too soon" had brought
their breakfast ritual. "Fat" had sent her on a starvation diet to
reach the ludicrous 110 pound limit which had, in turn, lead to
her breast job. What had been a blowjob had turned into daily four
and a half hour ritual.
As she knelt there in the dark room, waiting to lick Paul’s asshole, all the
pain of those early years often came flooding back as if emanating from her
throbbing breasts.
The nightmare of being forced by Paul on her first date. At 17 she
had never been on a date, never been kissed. Every school has a
"loser", and Alice had been it. Shy, awkward, intelligent, ugly,
and stacked; a horrible combination for a teenage girl. Her
nickname had been "Beak" because of her huge, bulbous nose.
When a college boy had been able to see beyond her flaws and asked
her out, she summoned her courage and accepted. Paul had since
assured her that his only interest in her had been her big
breasts.
They went to a drive-in movie. "Alien". But she never saw it. He
was on her before the opening credits were done.
Her first kiss. And it was just as wonderful as she could have
hoped. Except that it soon turned into a slavering assault while
his hands grabbed at her breasts.
No romance. He was pawing at her like she were a piece of meat.
She told him to stop, but he ignored her. Buttons on her dress
were ripped off as he rudely fought to get at her breasts.
She was so frightened she started crying, begging him to stop.
He yanked her bra up to reveal his huge, fleshy heavens.
Realizing herself exposed to any passers-by made her quiet her
pleas to desperate whispers, not wanting anyone to see her
humiliation. Paul took this as tacit consent so while he wallowed
in her huge jugs, nursing like a calf, he thrust a hand up her
skirt causing an explosion of whispered complaints.
But, being the quintessential "breast man", Paul was quite
contented for a long time to drown in her bountiful breasts. And
given this respite, Alice managed to lose her panic. As long as
all he wanted was to suckle on her breasts and rub her through her
panties, she thought it would probably be okay. Even when he
pulled her panties to one side she kind of wanted his touch on her
bare pussy.
But then a finger started poking at her hole and she realized that
he would not be satisfied with sucking her breasts. She tried to
squirm away but he yanked the lever that let her seat-back drop
back like a bed.
He was on top of her like a lion on it’s kill. Any delusions she
had been trying to cling to were gone, he was trying to rape her!
She clenched her knees together, determined.
He slapped her hard, saying "Open your fuckin’ legs, you fuckin’
little tease."
And she did! She was bawling like a child, and wished she could
die, but she relaxed her legs and let him climb between them. The
shock of being hit? Fear of the anger in his voice? She didn’t
know and within seconds regretted it, but by then he was between
her legs and she had lost her last defense.
Her panties were yanked to one side and he mounted her, his thick
cock shredding through her maidenhead without his knowing or
caring it was there. Once he was in her, she got very quiet,
sobbing to herself as he took his pleasure. But Paul sort of liked
her tears and felt no need that the female sheath he was shoving
into enjoy his presence or even be willing. He was up to his balls
in cunt and his hands were mashing copious mounds of tit-meat. A
successful date.
Kneeling in the graying room, Alice remembered with self-pity.
Remembered a pathetic teenager crying herself to sleep after her first date,
sperm leaking from her vagina.
The desperate fear of a missed period.
The horror of the positive test.
The shock when her father called his parents and then announced that she was
going to marry him.
Her frustration at being too humiliated by the rape to tell her father why
she didn’t want to. Looking back, it seemed crazy that she could ever have
made herself believe that it would be okay.
She scarcely saw him again before the wedding, but by the end of her wedding
night, she realized her mistake.
He had started the consummation with romantic comment, "Nice titties". He
probably thought it was a compliment, but being sensitive due to all the
unwanted attention her large breasts had brought her, she immediately lost
what little interest she had in intimacy.
But Paul was not to be denied his just on his wedding night. He made it
quite clear that she would be expected to perform her "wifely duty", like it
or not.
Poor Alice Habshat. That the shy, straight-A student with the big tits and
the big nose, who’s only curiosity about sex had been "how and why would a
woman let a man do that to her?", and who’s ambition in life was to prove
herself a great female physicist in a man’s world, should find herself in a
loveless marriage where her role was babysitter and sperm-receptacle was an
absolute tragedy.
After that first night, she let him do "it" to her whenever he wanted. How
many times had she cried herself to sleep after he had mounted her like an
animal, forced his way into her dry hole, using her like a piece of meat.
Every night, even in her ninth month and the night she got home after the
birth.
Until he started coming home late, smelling like another woman.
Alice was probably the only woman ever to be glad that her husband had a
lover, because it meant he wanted her less. Sure she was hurt and insulted,
and she worried that he might leave her, destitute. But those three years
were probably the happiest of her miserable marriage. Paul spent most of his
time at university or with his girlfriend and Alice was left to enjoy
raising their son.
Then he graduated, they moved here, away from his girlfriend, and her
nightly raping began again. Of course he never thought of it as rape. She
was his wife. A man fucks his wife, right?
That’s when the Other One came.
6:06. Paul rolled onto his stomach with a grunt. That meant he was ready.
Before the ring gag, she had to ask his permission. "Morning, Honey. Ready
for your ugly, cow wifey to lick your asshole clean?".
Yes, she had learned her lines; so well that they sounded natural. She was
any combination of wife, wifey, slut, pig, stupid, ugly, whore, fuck-pig,
cunt, useless, cocksucking, cocksucker, cow, bitch, big-titted,
worthless…the list went on and on. And she had cooed this stuff so often
that it just flowed out like sweet self-degrading syrup.
Now, his grunt was her command.
She slid up under the side of the duvet and, with a final gasp of stale air,
Alice buried her face between his fat, sweaty ass cheeks. In doing so, she
crushed the nipple clamps to the mattress, causing intense pain.
Attaching her Lamprey Mouth onto the crack of his ass, she forced her sweet
little tongue deep into the crevice, probing, searching for what she did not
want to find. Her hands parted his enormous hairy cheeks to allow her access
to his shit hole and she cleaned it. She lapped and licked at the horrid
dried filth like a kitten at a puddle of milk, and kept on licking it until
his brown ring was flavourless. How many hours of her life had she spent,
would she spend, with her tongue in Paul’s sphincter?
God she hated this. Every morning for years now, yet her stomach still
wanted to the heave at the mere thought, let alone the smell. But she held
her stomach and cried instead. She usually did. She had done this same
debasing act literally thousands of times, and yet she never felt any less
humiliated, no less pathetic. All the time she spent making herself look
beautiful, all the money she had spent of her meager inheritance, all for
nothing but to lick the dried shit off her husband’s ass.
She was pathetic.
The Other One did not come much any more. She didn’t have to; She
had Alice so well trained that she went through weeks of all her
disgusting rituals, from waking up Paul with her tongue in his
ass, to sucking cocks in the parking lot and licking the rim of
Mr. MacClyde’s toilet, without ever needing the Other One to step
in to discipline her. Like an actress, she knew her role, she knew
all her lines by heart, and acting it out was second nature. In
fact, if the Other One had not felt the need to make things a
little worse every so often, Alice might have performed her duties
with no guidance at all for months.
Paul loved having his ass licked. It made him feel like a king to lounge in
bed, drifting in and out of sleep while his stacked wife licked his fuckin’
shithole. What a pig she was! Sure she was fucked in the head, but what a
great life he had! Last night he’d been buttfucking Nancy and now his wife,
who had world’s biggest jugs, was tongue-fucking his asshole. And the cunt
would just keep on until he told her to stop! Stupid cunt! And he drifted
back to sleep.
As if she was hungry for more shit, Alice had started jabbing her pink dart
deeper, in search of fresher sewage. And deeper still, until her face was
mashed into his ass, her tongue buried an inch inside his shit tube,
wiggling and lapping the sensitive tissue until it too was clean. "And make
sure you get right into the corners.", she could hear her mother telling
her, when she’d been asked to scrub the floors, "That’s where the dirt is,
in the corners."
Her tits were in agony. Did he know? Did he care? Was he even awake?
He drifted awake again and just let her keep working.
6:33. Better get on with it. "’t’s enough’", he yawned. He sounded so bored;
spoiled from years of her tongue up his ass. If she didn’t cry almost every
time, it would not have been half as enjoyable.
She withdrew, tongue aching and conscientiously licked her own tears from
his flabby cheeks.
"Please Sir, can your dirty cocksucker clean your balls for you?" is what
she was supposed to ask; what she tried to ask. But the ring gag made it
into the incomprehensible gruntings of the most pathetic mental retard. But
he knew what she was asking.
"yeah, go for it." She carefully laved the hairy sack, licking and gently
sucking over and over, her nose buried in his asshole, until he got bored.
"That’s enough, bitch.", and he rolled out of bed and, throwing his robe on,
went to the table in the window bay.
Alice crawled after him, her nipple clamps dragging painfully along the
carpet. She slid the prepared filter basket into the coffee maker and
switched it on. She put two pieces of bread in the toaster, and then took
her place under the table. Hands behind her back, she nuzzled into his lap
to place her gaping maw beside his limp dick, looking up at him from her
degradation. There she waited in resigned submission for him put his
shriveled worm into her open, waiting mouth and use her as a toilet. He
liked this part so he took his time. She looked so pathetic peering up at
him with obvious revulsion, mouth hanging open in helpless anticipation. If
he waited long enough, either like this or after his cock was arching from
his black bush into her waiting mouth, sometimes she would start crying. She
knew how pathetic she was.
But today the look on her face was more questioning. She had forgotten until
just now that it was Thursday, and that he had been at a "Teacher’s
Association" meeting last night. Every Wednesday night Paul went to his
"Teacher’s Association" meeting, which meant he had a date with Nancy
Kingston, the beautiful, young, blonde grade 3 teacher. Alice knew where he
was and what he was doing, and Paul knew that she knew, but they continued
using the "Teacher’s Association" euphemism out of habit. But that said, his
cock did not have its usual Thursday morning taste of old sperm and another
woman’s dried pussy juice. No, it tasted?… it tasted like shit. And it
dawned on her where he must have had it the night before.
He had not thought of this, and laughed at her look of total disgust.
‘That’s right, you slut’, he thought, ‘Today you get to suck another woman's
shit off my cock’.
Not that she found licking his girlfriend’s pussy leavings any less
disgusting. But this was new, and in a new way re-enforced how low she had
sunk. That he expected his wife to lick his lover’s shit off his dick made
clear how little respect he had for her. That she would do it without a
hesitation showed how little respect she had for herself.
When he finally let go, the acrid jet flooded her mouth and she had to gulp
it down to keep ahead of it.
Then, finally, after three and a half hours of preparation, she was allowed
to start sucking his cock. No hands, at first. Just her lips and tongue
working him with all her skill. Slowly, gently. This had to last most of an
hour, and she must not distract him from reading the paper for at least
twenty or thirty minutes. Which meant it took quite some time to get all the
caked shit off it. Just lightly licking his shaft and balls and slowly
mouthing him until he was at the entrance to her throat, her lips were
firmly pressed to his belly. Gagging was permitted, and in fact, he throbbed
his approval when she did, but she was not allowed to withdraw until her
gagging had stopped. This alone had caused her more whippings then she could
remember.
And over her head she heard the paper rustle, her humiliation ignored for
the daily news.
The sound of pouring of coffee. Without stopping, she reached to the side
and accepted the full cup and saucer, placed it on the carpet under her. The
pain when she removed the nipple clamp was unbelievable. Tears flowed as she
tried to endure. Tried to make herself milk her throbbing teat into the cup.
A cow. Two years ago, for his birthday, She decided that if Alice were to
look like a cow, she should make milk, too. Dr. Dixon had done it with
hormones. God, Alice hated Her.
When he had finished the sports page, he folded the paper, poured himself
another cup, and after she had milked it, he sat forward on his seat and
finally relented, "Ok, bitch, way you go."
This was her cue.
"where oo hoo whan hoo cuh, hohey?" meant "Where do you want do come,
today?"
He mused. "You can keep it, today"
"Oh, thak-hoo, Her". She lolled her tongue as far down her chin as it would
go and moved her whole head to lick him. She looked particularly wanton when
she did this. Then she dove to her task. She had about ten minutes to get
him off. She did not know what time it was, but he wanted to start his
shower at 7:30. Yesterday he had only left her a couple of minutes. She had
not gotten him off until 7:33, which is why she was being punished today.
She couldn’t fail again today. The clamps were so painful the second day
that she would do anything to avoid it.
She honked and slurped, pumping him with a slick hand. But he was stubborn
today, still drained from his "T.A." meeting. It meant he would need
something extra to make him cum.
She put the middle finger of her right hand, the only one with a short nail,
into her mouth to wet it and then held it up, which meant "Sir, may I slip a
finger up your ass to make you cum?."
"No. No treats for you. Your being punished"
"Thak-hoo, Her ". He wanted her to wear the clamps again tomorrow. He knew
if he let her stick a finger up his ass the combination of the sensation and
the knowledge that he would be watching her lick it clean later – her
"treats" - would be enough to send him over. He preferred increasing her
pain to increasing his own pleasure. What a monster She had turned him into.
She fumbled around and found the crop on the window ledge. That got his
interest. Paul was basically an okay guy, and had never felt comfortable
whipping his wife except at her own request. Mind you, he was always glad
when she asked, and, since she kept asking no matter how hard he hit her, he
thrashed her as hard as he liked. His wife seemed to get off on pain and
humiliation, and he was glad to oblige. He took the crop from her and
started flaying her ass. He liked the crop because she said it hurt the most
and it bruised her the most. Causing her pain while she gave him pleasure
always got him off, and the closer he got to cumming, the harder he beat
her. Then, just on the brink, he grabbed the "cat" from beside the toaster
(Paul preferred his tits unbruised) and blindly thrashed at her monstrous
jugs behind his calves. She screamed in pain around his spewing cock. Over
and over the flail flicked at the dangling clamp, wrenching at her tortured
teat, but still she kept sucking him.
‘Its almost over’, she screamed to herself. ‘Don’t screw up now. Please,
don’t screw up now.’
He slouched back with a sigh. "Good morning, Cunt"
Recovering, she tipped her head back and opened her mouth to display her
trove of sperm. She was not to swallow without his permission. The ring gag
did not permit her to play with it and blow bubbles, so his sperm clung to
the roof of her mouth and pooled at the back of her throat.
Disgusted, he went for his shower.
All she could do was move to the centre of the room and kneel waiting for
him. When her returned he stood over her with a haughty look, and gave her
permission to swallow. Then he studied her as he unfastened the remaining
nipple clamp, drinking in her gasps of pain. Only then was she permitted to
remove the ring gag.
Ignoring the cramp in her face, she asked,
"Was that okay, Sir? Was there anything your cunt could have made better?"
He grudging admitted "no, it was okay". She sighed in relief.
Little did she know that her entire performance would be viewed by half the
neighbourhood.
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