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| Voices 2 | Back to K | Back to main page |
Collected by Djian
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| Voices 2 | Back to K | Back to main page |
Collected by Djian
The attached work of fiction is intended to be entertainment for adults in
locations in which it is legal. If it is illegal in your location, DO NOT
read. This is a copyrighted work. Reposting or any other use strictly
prohibited without the express, written permission of the copyright holder,
except may by posted as part of a review or posted to free-access,
noncommercial archive sights.
Voices
By Richard
Story Index
This story, while largely original, is based in part on the story Donna's Humiliation or Dog
Breath serialized in 1998 and earlier. I liked some of the ideas but felt the execution was somewhat
off. It appeared as if several different writers had worked on the story, with plotlines and
characters left dangling and earlier motivation completely forgotten. The first two chapters (at
least) of this story are completely original. Hope you like it.
Voices, Part 2
Donna shuddered and rubbed her hand over her swollen belly. She rolled over to her knees and
hoisted her upper body off the floor. She flipped her damp sweaty pony tail to her back and shuffled
herself around to stare out the window. The street was clear and no one was in sight on the
sidewalks either way. She couldn't see into the windows of the house across the way and she knew no
one could see from them into her windows. She was safe. No one had (probably) seen her rub herself
to orgasm. Still, what had she been thinking? The voices...
She could think clearly enough but when she thought about the voices and what they were telling
her the thoughts were...well, sort of cottony. Like she couldn't quite think clearly enough. She
could hear them clearly enough. She knew they weren't from anyone around. She knew she was alone.
That all by itself should have terrified her. Only nuts and psychos heard voices. You'd have to be
insane and yet she knew she wasn't. Insane, that is. She knew she wasn't. Even if she did hear
voices.
Donna used the arm of the couch to pull herself to her feet and then she pulled the couch out
from the wall to straighten it. She stepped back from the couch and felt the cold wet patch of her
juices on the carpet. She lifted her foot out of it and thought that she was going to have to get
some carpet cleaner for that and the everyday thought made her start to giggle. She padded out to
the kitchen, her sweaty skin cooling now that the almost overpowering heat she had felt earlier had
gone.
She drew a glass of water from the sink and looked out the small kitchen window into the back
yard. A green hose snaked out to a sprinker head and she could see the water stain rise up about 4
feet on the 10 foot high wooden fence. She stretched up on tiptoe, her belly scraping against the
edge of the sink, and touched the dangling stained glass ornament that her daughter had made. It
swayed back and forth and the early afternood light made red, green and blue streams of light that
her fingers cut and bisected. She lowered herself down and her belly again scraped the sink edge.
It felt good and made her pussy and thigh muscles tighten.
Good God, was she horny again? She shook her head and tucked a stray damp tendil of hair behind
her ear. She padded back, still naked, past her scattered cloths by the stairs and into the living
room, the room of her self-humiliation. She put her left hand on the aluminum back of the vinyl
kitchen chair she had cum on, with the intent of taking it back to the kitchen. Then the voices came
again.
There was an impression in the vinyl seat where her pussy juices and sweat had collected. Some
of it had sprayed out onto the carpet when she had slid out of the chair but some was still on the
seat, trapped there by the vinyl edging.
Still holding the back of the chair, Donna knelt down and shuffled herself around until she was
facing the back of the chair. She made sure than her knees were planted directly in the humid wet
spot on the carpet. Then she leaned down, her arms still extended upwards, gripping the aluminum,
and began to lick the seat. She licked around the edging, her tongue flicking back and forth, in a
long counter clockwise motion around the seat. When she got to the actual puddle of juices she began
to slurp it up, making a noisy, sloppy sound that seemed to echo off the ceiling and walls.
She knew her naked ass was pointed straight out at the window but she also knew that no one could
see her. Still, she began to wiggle her ass, clenching and unclenching her ass cheeks as she
finished sucking up the juices and began to rub her face over the wet vinyl. She began to move her
chest up and down and she discovered that if she moved her tits from side to side, her nipples caught
and scraped against the screw mounts on the seat's aluminum brace. The motion made her heavy breasts
hang down onto her pregnant belly's slope while the lower half of her belly pressed against her mid
thighs.
She hung onto the back of the seat, the chair threatening at any moment to topple over backwards,
while she wiggled from side to side. Then she let go of the top of the chair and leaned backwards,
stretching her thigh, leg and belly muscles until her head rested on the floor. She could feel her
toes, trapped against the middle of her back. Her 8 months pregnant belly was pointed right up at
the ceiling. The muscles along her ribs, around the bottom of her belly belly and from her knees to
her hips were strained and taut. Her legs were apart and she reached her right hand around the curve
of her belly and grasped her pussy hair, then tugged it hard, straight up towards the ceiling. She
gasped with the sudden pain and her left hand snaked around her belly from the other side and grabbed
her clit, twisting it roughly back and forth. The ball of her thumb rubbed harshly against it.
She could feel juices again sliding from her pussy and trickling down over her asshole, a short
way down her asscrack and then onto the stained carpet below. She was grunting now, loudly, and the
pain from her clit and the pulling of her pussy hair matched the strain in her tight taut muscles.
She felt that if she didn't cum soon than her bladder would explode and soak her thighs and the
carpet with her pee. It didn't happen though. With a great wild cry that was halfway between a
scream and a moan she came. Her juices again sprayed out over her thighs (She had never cum in a
gusher before, but both times today she had)and even with her feet and lower legs trapped beneath her
legs tried to scissor themselves together and then back apart. Then she passed out.
When she came to she was lying on her side. Her right foot was still trapped beneath her but her
left has sprung free and was halfway extended, the foot itself lying beneath the kitchen chair. Her
clit burned just a little and she was aware of an almost complete exhaustion. She could hear the
voices, muttering, all around her.
"Slut. Cunt. Twat. Fat cow. Whore. Twisty little slut. Look at you. You stink. You stink
like a whorehouse. Look at yourself. Look at what you are."
Over and over they repeated it and tears began to stream from her eyes. This wasn't her, she
thought. She didn't do this. She wasn't what the voices claimed. She was a good mother. A good
wife. A good mother to be. She wasn't those things the voices said. She wasn't. She just couldn't
be.
She rolled over, freeing her right leg. She struggled up to her hands and knees but that was as
far as she could rise. Her mouth was brick dry and she desperately needed a drink of water. She
turned around and rested her head for a moment on the seat of the chair, then began to crawl to the
half bathroom opposite the stairwell. Her body was coated with sweat.
She left the carpet and felt the cool tile of the hall on her hands and knees. She moved slowly
past her clothes, abandoned there what seemed to her to be at least a hundred years ago.
She crawled into the bathroom, the voices following her. Thank God the bathroom door was ajar.
She nudged it with her head until it opened enough to let her in. The sweat dripped down her face
and splattered on the bathroom tiles. She looked up at the sink and knew she could never get to her
feet to get the drink.
With a sob she shifted over to the toilet and, bracing herself, she lifted the lid but it fumbled
out of her hand and banged down. The lid just missed her fingers and the sharp crack of its landing
echoed and reechoed in the tiny bathroom.
She got the lid up again and placed it back against the tank, her hand shaking. She leaned in
with her tongue extended but the seat cushion wouldn't let her get all the way down. She pulled back
again and pushed the cushion up, then leaned down again and began to suck up the water in the bowl.
At least the toilet was flushed, she told herself. She drank, the cold porcelin resting against her
breastbone. Her nipples were plastered against the front curve of the bowl. She rested her chest on
the edge and put her right hand into the water, splashing it on her face and neck. She could hear
the voices behind her, taunting her.
"Look at you.", they said, "Your big ass hanging out the door. Your legs covered with pussy
juice. Your head in the toilet, lapping it up like a bitch in heat. Like a hot bitch in heat."
She began to sob as she lowered herself to the floor. The voices were so mean! Yet she could
deny what they said. She had spent most of the morning just abusing herself, like a common slut. At
least they weren't real, she thought to herself. At least the voices were real.
Little did she know.
Story Index
Next partsuggestions please richarda11@hotmail.com