When she was finished she lay is her mess feeling the piss begin to go cold ass clammy against her skin. It had come out of her so hoe and now the wetness on the bed felt almost icy cold. Her face was scarlet, and the flush spread well past her tits and her eyes filled with tears.
"Are you satisfied?" she asked. "Are you fucking satisfied?"
Her language was becoming as crude as his own. Normally she did not speak like that.
"I'm satisfied enough, but it didn't make my cock as hard as I thought it would, so I guess I won't fuck you right now. We'd better get you cleaned up, though. I might want to eat your hot pussy again, and I'd prefer that it didn't taste like fresh pin when I stick my tongue up your hole." He turned from the bed. "Greta!"
Emily heard the bedroom door opening. Straining, she turned toward the sound. A woman stood framed in the doorway.
"You finished with her already, Dukey?" she asked. "You must be losing your touch. It used to take you a couple of hours to get the best out of a woman."
She came into the room.
"Sweet Jesus, smells like a pissoir in here! Somebody have an accident, maybe? I bet it was Emily, mmmm?"
Emily's face went even redder. It shamed her to be brought so low in front of this crude bitch, the kind of woman for whom she had never felt anything but contempt. She was obviously cheap, a dirty blonde in her mid-thirties by all indications, fat and blowsy. She wore a thin T-shirt that clung to her pudgy, oversized tits, a miniskirt that rode high on fleshy thighs, and spike heels that elevated her five-feet-nothing to an almost noticeable height.
Even when she was standing still, her fleshy body seemed to jiggle. Men always seemed to be drawn to women like this one. Greta, the man had called her. Emily filed the name in her memory. It would come in handy when these animals were brought to justice.
"Why don't you take her in the bedroom and clean her up?" Duke said, leaning on the bedpost. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a key, tossed it to Greta. She caught it, her braless tits bouncing as she moved, and she turned to undo the handcuff that fastened Emily's right wrist.
Emily gasped in sudden relief as the shackle loosened and her hand dropped free. She looked at her wrist, at the cruel white dent left by the handcuff, and she wondered if her captors might remain off guard long enough for her to make a break.
"Don't even think it, sugar tits," Greta said, leaning across Emily to unlock the other handcuff from the bedpost. She left it fastened to Emily's wrist. "I'm short and I'm ten pounds overweight, and I don't play tennis, but I'm athletic enough to kick your sassy ass if you try one fucking trick out of turn, bitch."
Emily believed her. She lay motionless while Greta finished unlocking the handcuffs, untying the ankle bindings.
Greta led Emily out of the room, guiding her by jerks on a handcuff. They went down a narrow hallway, into the bathroom.
"C'mere, bitch," Greta said, tugging on the cuff. She pulled Emily over to the shower and fastened the cuff to the curtain rod. "Don't want you going anywhere."
She snapped the other cuff to the curtain rod as well, then stepped back, studying Emily's aged, exposed body as the tall captive stood bound and helpless.
"Mmm," Greta said, tilting her head to one side, "you really are built like a wet dream. I wish I had your tits. Mine are so big they can't help but sag, no matter how nice I treat them. See?"
And she rolled up her T-shirt, baring her big fleshy tits. Emily recoiled in disgust. Greta's tits were the least interesting topic she could think of at this terrible moment in her life.
"On the other hand," Greta said, cupping her tits and pointing them at a shivering Emily, "a guy could drawn in these jugs, and believe me, baby, a lot of them have tried!"
She pulled her T-shirt down. Emily sighed in relief. But then Greta came toward her captive, her hands coming up, the fingers curling even before they made contact.
"Oh, these are sweet, though," she said, squeezing down on Emily's tits. "Firm, but not hard. Mmm, and warm, and smooth as fucking satin."
"Please, no!"
"Please? Oooh, soooo fucking polite!" Greta smirked. "But what can you do to stop me, bitch? You gonna fight me, maybe? Slap me? Try to jab me with your knee again, and I'll rip these cute little fuckers off, baby."
She sounded dead serious. Emily slumped, her uplifted, restrained arms bearing the weight of her body.
"Relax, baby," Greta purred, her voice soft as honey now. "We're gonna have some fun, you and me. I bet I know some tricks that will curl the hair on your pussy."
She was so short she hardly had to stoop. She just leaned forward slightly and kissed the cherry-red tip of the nearest tit, her lips smacking as they brushed across the terror hardened nipple.
"Aggghhh!" Emily gasped, lifting up, her fists clenched. All the motion did was to bring her tits even more squarely into Greta's face. The blonde looked up her hazel eyes sparkling.
"Offering them to me, are you, baby?" she asked, squeezing the tits again. "Do you want me to suck 'em?"
"No," Emily whispered, "I don't, oh…"
By that time Greta was sucking-greedily, brutally, her lips pulling voraciously at Emily's hard, straining nipple.
"Stop!" Emily gasped, struggling.
Greta switched tits. She bit down into the flesh, her tongue lashing at the nipple. She sucked hard, pulling the nipple stiff, and her lips twisted. Drool flowed from her mouth, the mound of Emily's tit, and she sucked the drool back into her own mouth, only to salivate it forth again as she continued to feed on Emily's tit.
"Sweet, sweet tits," Greta purred, working the end of the tit in and out of her mouth. She squeezed it into a sharp conical point, and she licked it, sucked it, kissed it, fed it to herself, making noises like a pig as she feasted.
Emily squirmed, shivered, whined in protest, but Greta didn't stop for an instant. She sucked, she bit, she chewed, she dug her teeth into the tender nipple points and the heaving mounds of tit tissue while her hands squeezed and molded the delicate curves with a vicious sexual hunger.
Emily struggled, almost ripping the flesh of her wrists in the iron grip of the handcuffs.
"You like it, huh, bitch?" Greta smirked, looking up. Her mouth was dripping wet. She licked the saliva off her lips, her chin. "Maybe you like this, too?"
She reached down for a fistful of Emily's bare pussy.
No one, not even Duke had ever handled Emily's cunt quite so roughly as Greta did now. She clawed at the delicate bun of pussy flesh, her fingers avid and eager. Her eyes glittered with a horrible look of lust as she stared into Emily's convulsing face.
"Your pussy's all wet," she said throatily. "You dig this, don't you, cunt?"
She split the lips as she spoke, and she rammed her finger deep inside Emily's cunt. Her eyes gleamed as she felt the tube opening to make room for her.
Emily went up onto tiptoes as Greta's finger probed deeply.
"Oh, nooooo!" she shrieked, her head shaking frantically.
The finger rotated inside her cunt, showing not the slightest trace of delicacy or gentleness. It reamed her tight hole, and Emily could only sob and whimper and choke out her protests.
"Dripping wet," Greta purred, "but of course it is. You pissed all over yourself, back in the bedroom, didn't you? That was a nasty thing to do. I'll show you just how nasty. Your piss is all over my finger, and what I warn you to do is clean it off. Right now."
She took her finger out of Emily's cunt. Emily gasped in relief, but it was short-lived. Greta stuck her finger up, moved it back and forth in front of Emily's face, showing the woman that the finger was indeed soaking wet.