He cackled again, sounding assured. She didn't bother to correct his history. It would only hurt. She heard a shoe scrape on a wooden step above her, and then she stumbled over the first one, bumping her shin painfully.
"Her room's ready, honey," Velma said, standing startlingly close. "Where's Cy at?"
"In the car jacking off. Stay away from him until he's finished. He's all horned up from fucking her."
"Don't worry," Velma said quietly, a little shiver in her voice. She touched Ellen's arm with the tips of her fingers for just a moment, a gesture of compassion.
"You cooking the Goddamn hamburgers? I'm hungry as fuck! What the hell are you standing around gawking for!"
"Jay's watching them, honey," she answered. Then, somewhat hesitantly, "Do you want me to take her?"
"No."
He was abrupt. He pushed Ellen up the steps into the house, where the aroma and the sizzling of meat in a pan assailed her.
"Are you… honey, are you going to fuck her?" Velma asked, the sound of jealousy and inner hurt very thick.
"Don't start with that shit again!" he bellowed. "Goddamn it, you're sounding like a fucking wife again, and I've warned you, haven't I?"
"Sure, honey, sure," she said quickly, "I didn't – I just."
"I'll fuck her if I wanna fuck her, understand?"
"Then I'll have to see you don't get horny enough to want to," she said, trying to laugh and sound suggestive at the same time, failing at both.
There was some activity next to Ellen. "Not now, for Christ's sake," Stan growled. "Get the Goddamn rope."
He steered Ellen crudely through the house, letting her knock into the door-frames and walls. He spun her around finally and nearly kicked her legs from under her. She sat down hard on a wooden chair.
Her hands were yanked in back of her, her arms encircling the chair back. She felt her wrists being tied together with firm tugs and sound knots.
"Oh, please don't…" she pleaded uselessly.
Then her ankles were tied to the front legs, on the outside of them, so that her thighs were spread apart and her knees went over the corners of the hard seat.
"There," Stan said. "She won't get out of that. Now, get out of here and go fix my food. And close the door on the way out."
"You're going to fuck her!" Velma wailed. "Oh, Stan!"
"How am I gonna fuck her when she's tied up in a Goddamn chair, you stupid cunt! Get out of here! Now!"
Ellen heard the girl leave the room and shut the door behind her. She sensed that it was a bedroom. She heard a rustle of clothing and the rasp of a zipper, and her heart pounded.
"No…" she choked, her pussy twitching and sucking closed reflexively. "God, don't."
"Don't, hell," Stan growled. "A classy bitch like you – I'll bet you fuck hotter than a two-dollar whore. All you classy bitches do. Isn't that right? You put on all your sophisticated airs and pretend you're pure and marry the pricks with all the money so you can strut around the country club like something swell. But down inside, you're nothing but two-dollar whores."
He passed his hand down the slope of her breast and curled it until he was cupping the firm cone. He squeezed the flesh through her dress until she whimpered.
"How old are you, baby? You're built like eighteen, but I know that isn't right. That can't be right. Come on, answer!"
"Thirty-two!" she cried.
He cackled wickedly. "See? Nothing but a hot-cunted bitch, just like I said. How else could you have a kid of fifteen, huh?"
He cackled again, and Ellen flushed all over. How did he know about Tish! Who in God's name was he! Then the sinking feeling she'd nearly forgotten after so long came back to her in a rush.
"Okay, baby," he said quietly. "Missus rich-bitch. Open wide. Open your soft, pretty mouth wide and pretend you're sixteen again, doing all those passionate things you did to get yourself knocked up."
"Ohhhhh, God," Ellen whispered. The sound was a rasp of agony. She squirmed in the chair, moving her head from side to side as if she were taped by something more binding that ropes. She wasn't sure which she was trying to avoid more – the degradation to come or the reminder of all she had so desperately tried to forget.
She smelled it before she felt it – the slightly acrid stench of his prick. Then it brushed her lips, warm and velvety at the tip, slightly moist.
"Open up and suck my cock, bitch," he growled.
Ellen twisted her head to the side with a cry of agony. This couldn't be happening. It was a bad dream. Only an hour ago, she'd been watching an evening fashion show, comfortable and secure, sure of the life she'd finally attained as Mrs. Burke Chidsey.
Now, she'd been raped by a cunt-splitting cock, ass fingered and probed, and tied to a chair so that a growling animal could prod at her soft lips with his hard prick.
"Ahhhhh, no!" she cried again, sobbing.
He twisted her head around cruelly. He wrapped his fingers in her auburn hair and pulled the strands tight. He positioned his hands so that his thumbs were pressed lightly but commandingly against her closed, blindfolded eyes.
"I told you to suck my cock, baby," he said, his voice low and warning. "I thought you had a good understanding of how it was now, didn't you?"
"Oh, God!" she gasped.
"Didn't you!" He pressed inward with his thumbs until purple and white flashes came to her dark world.
"Yes!" she cried.
"That's better, sweetheart," he said grandly, easing the pressure again. "Did you feel what that was like? Do you get the idea what's going to happen to you if you try anything silly like biting down on my prick?"
"Yes," she choked.
"Fine, baby, fine. Now, let's start all over. And we'll keep starting over until you get it just right. Now, pretend this is just ol' Burke's big hot prick and pretty soon you won't even know the difference, huh?"
He prodded at her lips again. The velvety head throbbed against them, and another drop of oil seeped from the slit and smeared over them, somehow getting into her mouth and onto her tongue.
Flavor burst through her senses. Her throat jerked convulsively, and she nearly gagged. She fought down the urge, knowing it would bring nothing but more pain.
Suddenly, a wry thought pulled at her mind and nearly made her hysterical with laughter.
He wanted her to pretend it was Burke's cock she was sucking on! That was funny! That was absurd!
She didn't know what Burke's prick felt like or tasted like in her mouth because she'd never sucked it! Not in the whole seven years she'd been married to him.
In fact, she hadn't sucked any man's prick since… since that last party, the one that had become an orgy of spasming young… not since…
God! Why had he made her remember what she'd spent sixteen years trying to forget!
She made a choking sound, wanting to blurt it out, wanting him to know the absurdity of it all. Would it do any good to tell him she hadn't sucked a prick since she was a crazy, wild, stupid little teenager?
Would he believe she hadn't let anybody fuck her body willingly and freely in all that time – not even her husband? Was there any way to make him believe she hadn't even had an orgasm in all that time?
It was true! Every bit of it was true. She wasn't a hot-cunted bitch who fucked like a two-dollar whore. He had her all wrong! Sixteen years ago, maybe, but not now.
Now, she was frigid!
And she'd been that way since the day she'd learned she was pregnant with Trish, sixteen long years ago. How could she tell him that? Did she even dare tell him that?
Lots and lots of money to get her back! God! Burke might even pay for them to keep her!
"No. No!" she choked, moving her lips against the insistent head of his pulsing prick.
His oil seeped into her mouth. It was on her tongue in a thick coating now. The flavor of it harked back over the years to a time she'd willed from her mind.