Chapter One
I knew they were following me – the same two men and the gal who checked me out so
carefully while I was grocery shopping. Perhaps I shouldn`t have so flagrantly flashed
the roll of bills at the checkout counter. It didn`t matter. Secretly – perhaps not so
secretly – I hoped they would do what I couldn`t do for myself.
I turned into the lane that led to my secluded house in the country – my dream house –
our dream house. My husband worked his ass off for twenty years, but it paid off. He
sold the company for three million dollars, designed, built and furnished our dream home.
Poor guy. A heart attack took him away the night we moved in. He grunted once and
collapsed into my arms. It was the last time either of us had sex.
I glanced into my rearview mirror. The old van was still behind me. I smiled as I
anticipated the immediate future. They were after my money, of course. They wouldn`t
find much. They would be furious. They`d search the house, take what jewelry they wanted
and blow my brains out. Three years of sitting in that damn house alone was about to
end.
I turned into the long dirt driveway and slowed to make sure they also made the turn. As
I approached the house, they closed the distance between us, no longer trying to conceal
the fact that they were following.
I didn`t want to appear too anxious. I had to make it look good. I threw the car door
open and tried to run to my front porch. The bearded guy caught me easily and threw me to
the ground. It hurt, but I didn`t really care.
The flat-chested, sandy-haired woman caught up and leveled a handgun at my face.
"What`s your name, bitch?" she spat out.
"Kasmira," I replied honestly, trying to sound as if I was frightened.
"Kasmira Mabe."
"Are you a smart cookie, Kasmira Mabe?"
"I ... I don`t know what you mean."
"Cooperate and you`ll live to see another day."
"What do you want?"
"Money, of course. We saw that roll of cash you flashed at the grocery
store."
Scarface showed up carrying my purse. He had searched my car. "Less than a hundred
bucks in here, Sandy – mostly singles."
"Your husband at work?" Sandy asked me as she placed her booted right foot on
my stomach.
"Dead," I replied simply.
"Children?"
I shook my head in reply.
"Get her in the house, Monk," Sandy instructed.
The bearded man pulled me erect by my hair, twisted my arm behind me and pushed me
towards the porch.
Once inside, Sandy sneered at me. "Don`t you ever clean this place?"
"Why should I?" I replied. "I died the day my husband died, but my
fucking heart kept on beating."
"Tough titty," Sandra laughed. "Live in filth if you like. Tell me where
the cash is and we`ll leave you to your pigsty."
"I don`t keep cash in the house. Once a week I go into town, cash a check and buy
whatever I need, usually just a few groceries."
"Look, bitch. Make it easy on yourself."
"There is some jewelry in a case on my bedroom dresser."
"She`s lying, Sandy," Scarface said.
Sandy grinned. "Let`s find out."
The two men threw me face-first onto the coffee table and ripped off my blouse. For a
moment, I thought they were going to rape me, but instead, they ripped the cloth into
strips and tied my wrists to the table legs.
"Want me to gag her?" Scarface asked.
"Boyd, you simple ass, if she`s gagged, how`s she going to tell us where the money
is? Besides, nobody`s going to hear her screams out here in the country."
Okay, now I knew their names – Boyd, Monk and Sandy, and Sandy was obviously the brains
of the trio. Things were not going right. They wanted cash, which I didn`t have, and
were not interested in jewelry. I felt Sandy unbutton and unzip my slacks.
"Save yourself some pain, Kasmira," Sandy said as she slid down my jeans.
"Where`s the money?"
Why didn`t they just shoot me and get it over with? I wanted to make Sandy angry enough
to get on with it. "Go fuck yourself, Slut," I heard myself say.
Sandy sighed. "You asked for it, old lady," she replied as she yanked down my
panties. "Hey, guys. The old gal has a nice ass. You might want a little of this
before we leave."
Monk yanked my head back with his hand wrapped in my salt and pepper hair. "Naw,
Sandy. I want her pretty little lips wrapped around King Kong."
I screamed in agony when Sandy applied the first lash with a belt to my naked behind.
White-hot pain flashed throughout my body and Sandy`s laughter made it even worse. The
second lash hurt more than the first. I had not counted on this. I have a low tolerance
for pain or I would have killed myself three years ago – the night my husband died.
"Where`s the money, Kasmira?"
"Please," I begged. "There is no money. I`ll ... I`ll write you a
check."
I heard Monk say, "Let me have that belt." He worked on my back and thighs
before returning to my blistered ass. I begged, I screamed, I cried. Nothing stopped the
beating.
"My turn," Boyd said as he moved out of my line of sight.
"Please," I begged. "I`ll do anything you want. Just don`t hurt me
anymore." A fresh muscular arm swung the belt, which landed full force on my
tortured rear. Mercifully, I passed out.
When I came to, the room was empty. My bottom felt as if it were nestled into a furnace
of red-hot coals. I was still tied to the coffee table. The pain was so intense I could
barely think, but there was a new problem. My bladder was bursting. I fought against it,
but the more I tried to control my bladder, the greater was my need to pee.
I was on the verge of relieving myself right there in my living room when they returned.
"Please," I begged, "I need to go to the bathroom."
Apparently, Sandy gave her permission. Monk cut away my bonds, twisted my arm behind my
back, yanked me to my feet and marched me to the back of the house and into a bathroom. I
screamed when my flaming red butt touched the toilet seat. Monk thought it was funny.
"Please don`t watch," I pleaded.
He grinned evilly. "Spread your legs nice and wide and pull apart your pussy
lips," he demanded.
I know my face must have become as red as my butt. Not even my husband had ever watched
me urinate. I felt humiliated, but I had no choice.
"Damn," he said as my urine flowed. "You really did need to piss."
Suddenly, he cupped the back of my head with his hand and pulled my face between my knees.
He roughly ripped away the remnants of my blouse, leaving me dressed only in a rather
dingy brassiere.
He pushed me up, cupped my face in his hands and said, "For an old broad, you`ve got
a nice cunt. Don`t think I`ve ever seen a clit so big. You turned on by all this?"
"No," I replied truthfully. "It`s just big. My husband used to say I was
a wonderful freak of nature."
"You really loved the guy, didn`t you?"
I nodded as the tears returned.
His attitude seemed to soften, but then he said, "May as well show me your ancient
knee-knockers."
At fifty-two, I don`t consider myself old, but I suppose, to these people in their
thirties, I must, indeed, seem ancient. I do have large breasts for my overall size, but
they sag very little. Monk had watched me urinate with my legs splayed. Why not show him
my boobs.
When the bra slid down my arms, he whistled. "Look at the size of those nips."
He fingered the brown spikes at the end of my breasts and I silently cursed myself as I
felt them enlarge. In spite of my predicament, I shivered as he rolled them between his
thumbs and index fingers. They are so sensitive that my husband frequently brought me to
multiple orgasms just by fondling my breasts.
Monk cupped my boobs and squeezed gently. "You know what I want," he said.
"Don`t force me to hurt you."
I leaned forward, my ass still on fire, loosened his belt, unzipped his pants and
shrugged down both his jeans and boxer shorts. I tried to hide my surprise. Although he
called it "King Kong," his aroused penis could not have been more than five
inches long and the circumference was only slightly larger than my thumb.
I pretended it was my husband`s magnificent organ in front of my face. I fondled his
balls while licking the small appendage from base to tip. Gently I closed my lips around
its head and let my tongue explore the tiny slit. Monk moaned and I pushed my face
forward until my lips disappeared in his tangled, curly hair.
I felt Monk`s fingers tighten on my breasts, heard him dreamily urge me on, applied
suction and put my tongue to work the way my husband loved so much.
"Suck it, baby. Oh, God, suck it, honey."
Well, at least he wasn`t calling me an old broad any more. His balls tightened and all
but disappeared from my stroking fingers. I knew the end was near. I remembered how
happy my husband was the one and only time I swallowed his semen, although I immediately
threw up. I slid my hand from his testicles to his humping ass and fingered the puckered
hole.
He gasped and I felt his hot juice splatter against the entrance to my throat. I gulped
down the thick fluid and kept on sucking until he pulled away.
As he adjusted his pants, he looked directly into my eyes and said, "Thank
you."
"I hardly had a choice," I mumbled. I crumbled to my knees and hung my head
over the toilet. I felt his hand on my forehead as I added the contents of my stomach to
the urine in the bowl.
"I was thanking you for not making fun of my tiny dick."
I sank back on my haunches, enduring the pain. "Size doesn`t matter, Monk," I
said. "It`s how you use it that counts." How many times have women told that
lie?
He helped me to my feet, allowed me to wash my face, gargle, and return to the living
room without force.
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