Part 3
On the kitchen table was a musty, dusty old-style satchel. He dipped a hand into
it and came out with a coil of white rope. He stepped behind her, undid the
silky bonds, ordered her to keep her wrists crossed, then slowly, carefully,
wrapped them in strand after strand of rope. When he had finished, she tested
her bonds. She was trapped for good. He pulled the end of the leash down behind
her, tying it off on a high rung of the stool.
"Pretty Christmas tree," he observed. She glanced over at it, a towering 8
footer with a few presents scattered at the foot of it. Lights alternately
winked on and off. The tree was the only illumination in the living room.
Looking toward the open windows she could see the reflection of the tree lights.
Couldn't anyone out there see her? Save her?
He stepped around her with another length of rope and went to the head of the
big dining table. He shoved chairs out of the way, moving the big chair at the
head of the table, near the window, well out of the way. He knelt under the
table and tied a length of rope to the table's ball-and-claw foot. Then he
walked around the table and repeated the process. Susan didn't like the way this
was going.
"Who are you? Why are you doing this?" She asked pointedly.
The ski-masked head turned to look at her, then back to watch his hands finish
the knot. He rose and walked past her, around to the kitchen. He found the roll
of tape and slapped it down hard on the counter in front of her.
"Speak when spoken to."
She pressed her cracked lips together and nodded.
He opened cabinet doors one after another. Over the microwave, he hesitated,
then brought down her candles. She loved candles, long ones, short ones, in jars
or long tapers. She loved the look of the flame, the aroma of the various
scents. He carried the candles around her again, to the huge dining room table,
where he set them all in a kind of pattern. He lit them from a book of matches
he had palmed in the kitchen, dropping the dead matches to the high-gloss table
top. He didn't care if he ruined the finish, Susan told herself angrily.
"Since I finished my Christmas rounds earlier than I thought, I figured I'd come
back a wrap a special present for you and your husband," he said in his baritone
voice. "Maybe even a gift for the whole town, you fucking rich bitch."
He untied the leash binding her to the stool. He pulled at her leash, and she
got to her feet, head downcast, following her new master to the head of the
table, a few feet from the dark glass. Outside, she could see the frozen lake,
and brightly lit houses across the shore road.
He grabbed a handful of her long hair and pulled-pushed her face against the
glass, pushed with his free hand so her bare breasts were smashed flat against
the cold glass. The shock awoke her from her dull sense of desertion. "Let's
give the town an eyeful, huh? After all, it's a Christmas celebration for
everyone!"
She was dragged backwards, her hands and ass bumping into the table.
"Get on your knees, bitch."
She hesitated. "I- I- I can't, I shouldn't. My knees --"
He kicked out, sweeping her leg from under her. She collapsed. His hand in her
hair again, pulling her to a kneeling position. Hands and rope at her ankle,
lashing her to the table. She felt tears well up anew.
Both ankles were tied to separate table legs. He had retreated to the kitchen,
but was returning with ever more accursed rope. A half-dozen passes through her
tied hands, then more knots. The rope thrown across the table top to the far end
of the table.
Her bound arms were drawn high behind her, across the face of the table as he
maliciously made his knots at the foot end of the table. She was immobilized,
kneeling, her back stretched backwards almost to the breaking point, her breasts
thrust upward.
The dark glass before her offered two views. In one, she could see the
picturesque winter scene below her, with all those houses. Please, couldn't
someone just look up here and see the horror she was trapped in? she thought.
But of course, the house was dark behind her.
The other view was of the pinpoints of light behind her: the Christmas tree and
the candles flickering. There was enough light to see her shadowy face, loose
hair on her face and throat, her heavy breasts pointing up. She saw his shadow
straighten from the table, and retire down the hall to the bed and bathrooms. He
returned almost immediately, stepping around her.
He had one of her silken Hermes scarves, and carefully folded it into a smooth
band. He approached her and things went dark as he blindfolded her yet again.
What was he going to do to her now? Her heartbeat rose.
She heard the unmistakable sound of a zipper.
"No, please no, don't..."
"We can do this one of two ways," his voice came. "You can be a good girl, and
finish what you started. You've played the cock-teaser. Let's see if you're the
kind of cocksucker I think you are. Or plan B, I can really hurt you." Silence.
"Your call."
"I can't..."
His open-handed slap staggered her.
She felt the long leash wrap around her throat, and his body moving in close to
her. "Say it," he said.
She stayed silent. His fingers were in her hair, pulling her head up.
"Say it."
"Yes, o.k., I will..."
"Suck your cock," he said. "Say it."
"Yes, I will suck your cock. But then you'll let me go, please..."
He tightened the leash around her neck. "Are you good?"
She sighed, all hope destroyed. "Yes, yes I'm a great cocksucker. Put your meat
in my mouth and let me show you what a good cocksucker I can be."
She felt the bulbous head at her lips, and began to kiss it tentatively. With
one motion, he shoved his manhood past her lips, to the back of her throat.
She couldn't move freely to give him the pleasure she had promised, but it
didn't seem to matter. He fucked her mouth with abandon, and she caught herself
from gagging or retching as the thick head pounded at the back of her throat.
Susan willed herself to be anywhere but where she was, naked from the waist up,
clad only in sheer pantyhose, bound on her knees in front of a picture window
facing the whole sleepy town. Her arms pulled impossibly high behind her back.
She had never known such abuse, such a sense of desertion.
She felt his cock swell in her mouth, and tried to twist away, but he held her
head and blasted his cum down her throat, filling her mouth. She squealed around
his thick member, and as he pulled out, coughed and gagged, the thick liquid
escaping her lips, dripping on her chin, breast and tummy.
"You bitch. That was nothing. I've had better." He sneered above her.
She felt tears well, and gave a half-sob. She had never been physically abused
and so cruelly mistreated.
Susan heard him arranging his clothes and zipping up. Quickly the blindfold was
pulled away. Her knees, tender from too much tennis in her youth and a frequent
concern, were in agony. She had no feeling in her hands, outstretched behind
her. She prayed for release. Where was her husband, her protector?
"Now to finish this Christmas present," the man in the ski mask said. In the
reflection, she saw him pick up a candle. "On the first day of Christmas, my
true love gave to me -
He tilted the red candle over her, and searing hot wax spilled down her left
breast. She didn't feel it at first, but then the burning, the pain as the wax
trailed over her nipple and began to harden. She screamed, sobbed, pleaded for
release.
He put the candle aside, picked up the discarded scarf, tied a large knot in the
center of it. He fitted the thick silk knot between her teeth, wrapped the scarf
around her head and knotted it impossibly tightly behind her head.
"On the second day of Christmas..." The second pour was higher, and caught loose
tendrils of her hair at her shoulder. She screamed around the thick gag. A
rivulet of wax trailed down her chest, another path to her tortured nipple.
"Maybe a little green wax now. On the third day of Christmas..." He poured, she
screamed.
Twelve days. Nine candles. Wax on her shoulders, in her hair, all over both
breasts and nipples, down her flat stomach, even hardened at the waistband of
her pantyhose.
At some point, he left. She wished she knew when, but couldn't turn to see a
clock. Her gag had been loosened, more underpants shoved in her mouth and
cheeks, the scarf gag replaced and reinforced with strips of tape.
She raised her head from its sunken position. The phone was ringing. Mike!
Please, please let it be Mike!
The answering machine. And Mike's voice. In an instant, she lost hope.
"Well, I don't know where you are, but I hope you're happy." Mike's hurt pouting
voice. "You missed Christmas. I know you're there, because you're not answering
your cell. And it's Christmas Eve, I know you're not at some bar. Fine. Just
think about what I want, and what you want. I'm spending the night here at
Claire's -"
She wailed anew, her eyes wet with tears, one escaping and rolling down her
bound cheek.
-- and I'll be home sometime tomorrow. Good night." The final click.
Beneath her, on the little shore road, she saw a car riding the edge, heading
toward town. Her attacker. The thief. Her only hope. Driving away.
# # #
