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31
And then one afternoon it ended with a single word. Or seemed to.
…
Ransom--as in “He cost a king’s ransom,” as Joyce Russell frequently reminded her husband, Buzz--was frantic.
Usually Ransom had the run of the Russell’s avocado grove near Escondido, thirty miles northeast of San Diego, but today he was confined to his kennel.
Ransom was handsome, as Joyce also frequently noted, 127 pounds--which happened to be exactly what Carol Edwards weighed these days--of champion Great Dane, who more than earned his purchase price in stud fees of one kind or another.
Ransom paced and pranced. Ransom barked, growled and whined. Ransom drooled from both ends: streams of saliva rolling over his pink tongue and black lips; streams of other fluids from the tip of his red Great Dane size penis that kept protruding from and retreating into its furry sheath.
A bitch in heat was nearby. Ransom could not see her. She did not reply to his barks. But he could smell her. Ransom opened his long jaws, exposing perfect teeth, and howled.
And this time he got results. At the sight of Buzz Russell Ransom stood upright on his hind legs, more than six feet tall, forepaws on the kennel’s chain link fence, and yelped a greeting, quivering with anticipation from wet black nose to long black tail.
Ransom knew better than jump on Buzz when Buzz opened the gate. Buzz Russell outweighed Ransom by a hundred pounds, and though Ransom was his favorite, had no use for disobedient dogs. Or people.
“Hold still,” he said. Half laughing at the dog’s evident excitement. “You’ll get it soon. Hold still, I said,” as he hooked a chain leash to Ransom’s wide leather collar. When Ransom pulled toward the kennel gate, Buzz jerked him back. “Stay. We’re not going anywhere until you sit.”
Ransom sat and stared up at Buzz with pleading eyes.
“All right. Good dog. Now walk. Normal pace.”
Although the smell of bitch grew stronger, Ransom walked beside Buzz and did not pull on his leash. The big dog had no concept of patience, but he had been well conditioned. He had been through this many times before, and he had always gotten his reward. Part of his doggy brain was troubled as they turned away from the other kennels toward the house and the smell of bitch in heat receded.
When Buzz opened the back screen door, Ransom looked up at him inquiringly. “It’s o.k. Go ahead.”
Ransom’s nails clicked on the kitchen’s tile floor.
“Stop. Sit.”
Ransom sat while Buzz laced leather boots over his paws, one by one. There was a new smell here. A different kind of sex. Ransom remembered it.
“Good dog.”
The smell grew stronger as they passed through the dining room and entered the living room. Ransom could not suppress a quick bark of recognition. This was one of those furless bitches. Ransom was not familiar with Twentieth Century poetry, but in his small brain he paraphrased Gertrude Stein: a bitch is a bitch is a bitch. Smooth skin. Odd shape. Made strange noises. But warm wet holes that felt good. Ransom’s cock jutted from its sheath.
Carol Edwards entire body trembled. The doggie position she assumed at 8:30 every night in her home was particularly appropriate. And she certainly smelled of sex. Joyce Russell’s juices covered her face. Buzz Russell’s come leaked from her asshole. Brad Tomalin’s come from her cunt.
Joyce and Brad were sitting together on the sofa with a side view of Carol. Joyce’s skirt was back down. She did not herself have sex with Ransom, but she liked to watch him take others.
Joyce and Buzz were a perfect match. Both cruel jests of nature. Perfect bodies topped by homely, even ugly faces. From the neck down Joyce was nearly Carol Edwards’s equal. From the neck up. Well, from the neck up, Joyce had a face that men joked about covering with a paper bag in order to fuck her. She’d heard the jokes. They’d hurt. And until she’d been fortunate enough to meet Buzz, she’d had to put up with them. With Buzz she didn’t have to any more. They loved one another just as they were. But they had decided not to risk having children.
Joyce loved seeing the beautiful faces of other women twist in surprise, shock, pain and horror as Ransom fucked them, as his knot enlarged, as his animal come boiled out, as helpless woman and dog were locked together for long minutes.
Carol Edwards heard the dog’s wild panting. She closed her eyes.
“Keep your eyes open,” ordered Brad. “And your face toward us.”
She opened her eyes. The black dog’s hot breath was on her ass. She heard him sniff. A rough wet tongue licked her crack.
“No!”
Carol scrambled forward. Away.
“No. I can’t do this.”
Ransom growled.
Buzz was ready. Brad had told him what to expect. “Good dog. That’s o.k.” His forearm knotted as he pulled the massive neck back. “Good dog. Come this way. I’ve another bitch for you.”
32
She did not know what to do.
Carol Edwards was sitting on the sofa in a living room of long shadows. Alone. Empty.
Brad had not been angry on the drive home, rather he was cheerful, almost pleased, but she didn’t know at what. A fulfilled expectation? To be rid of her?
The drive had been mostly in silence. Not even Brad’s usual classical music. Until finally, desperately, Carol had stammered out one of her earliest memories. She was walking with her mother. The details were vague. It must have been near their home. She had seen two dogs back to back on a lawn. Anxious expressions on both faces. “Look how the funny doggies are playing, Mommy,” she had said. Her mother had not noticed them, but when she did, took Carol’s tiny hand and walked faster. Carol turned her head to keep the dogs in view. One began to hop, trying to get free, tugging the other backwards, who yelped in surprise and pain. “What are they doing, Mommy?” “Nothing dear. Just playing. Come along.”
But the memory stayed with Carol, and when several years later her father asked if she would like to have a puppy, he was surprised at how vehemently she said no.
“I want to do everything,” Carol Edwards told Brad Tomalin, “but I can’t do that.”
Brad said nothing, and when they reached her condo, he waited for her to open her door and get out, and he drove off. She watched the silver Lexis disappear and knew she would never hear from him again.
Carol turned and walked into the building, rode up to her unit, showered, threw on a top and skirt and sat on the sofa, not even bothering to make herself a drink.
What did she do now?
A forlorn voice in her mind said she could telephone Ross. But that was absurd. She didn’t want Ross. He didn’t even seem real. Not someone she had known, slept with, married, thought she loved. More like a character, and a minor character at that, in a movie she had once seen.
How long ago had it been, that fateful charity dinner? Not quite a year of her thirty-three. Yet nothing before that night seemed real. And now everything that had happened since was at an end.
The shadows deepened. Filled the room with darkness. The sun set.
With a start, she looked across to the digital time on the television cablebox. 8:32. She turned on a light. All the lights. The curtains to the balcony were open as always. The door unlocked. She pulled off her top and skirt and knelt as she had that afternoon. A shiver passed over her as she remembered the horrid touch of the huge dog’s wet tongue.
She knelt waiting, knowing that no one would come.
Before she went to bed, she routinely checked her email. Momentary elation at one from Brad, until she opened it and found: Your morning rounds have been cancelled.
…
Monday morning she nicked herself shaving. Not seriously, but she didn’t want blood on her skirt and it took a while to be certain.
At 8:58 she left her office and walked the short distance to Rik Cronin’s. The door handle did not turn. She jiggled it. Then turned herself to find his assistant watching with an amused smile.
“Rik said he is not to be disturbed.”
Carol stood a little straighter. She would not appear defeated. And returned to her own office, where she realized that since she was no longer the company whore she had nothing to do.
Rik did not summon her. Brad did not call. No one called.
At noon she went out and ate alone at a nearby cafe. She could not recall the last time she had not had sex for lunch on a weekday.
…
Evening.
Carol Edwards sat naked on the sofa, finishing her dinner of a pitcher of martinis. She had come home from work, stripped, and not bothered to put on any other clothes. She knew she was drunk. A sudden thought. Clumsily she picked up her MacBook Air, opened Safari, and typed in rossedwardswife.net. After a few seconds an error message appeared: unable to find server. She typed in the address of the gallery Brad had opened after that first gangbang and been adding to ever since. It, too, was down.
She ate the olive from her martini and poured the last from the shaker into her glass, but didn’t drink it. Instead she stood unsteadily and staggered out to the balcony. The sun had already set and as usual all the lights, including the one on the balcony, were already on. She fell into a deck chair and, after a while, managed to get her bare feet up on the balcony railing. She slid them apart, wide, as she had spread them into a V for the first strangers at Brad’s place in Julian. Lights were on in buildings farther along the crest. She reached down and pulled her cunt lips painfully far apart. ‘Look at me,’ she thought, silently pleading. ‘Look at me!’
With her forefinger she touched her clit. That felt good. A finger from the other hand entered her. Then another. Then her entire hand. Shoving in and out. Pulling tender folds of skin. She began screaming, “Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me.” She didn’t care who saw. She didn’t care who heard. Her body bucked. Labia clenched wrist. She came, tears streaming down her face.
When her convulsions ended, she managed to pull herself to her feet and make her way all the way to the back of the condo, to the master bathroom, where she fell on her knees on the hard tile, lifted the toilet seat, inserted her head, reached up blindly, slender hand, elegant red-tipped fingers, fumbling, until they found the lever, and flushed.
33
Carol Edwards didn’t go to work the next day. She had a brutal hangover, but that wasn’t the reason. There simply was no point.
Coffee helped. And a long bath. By afternoon she was feeling human again, but then remembered that she wasn’t.
She knew that she could get dressed and go out to any of a number of bars and find someone to fuck her, although it wasn’t quite that simple. Most men were intimated by her looks, both in an out of bed. And it wouldn’t be the kind of sex she needed. She would have control. Women did in modern societies. ‘No’ meant ‘no.’ But she didn’t want it to. And she would have to make decisions. She couldn’t just go into a bar and say, “Anyone, everyone, here can do anything he wants to me. Please fuck me senseless.” Or could she? Maybe somewhere, but not any place she knew.
At 6:00 p.m. she made herself a single drink, a weak gin and tonic, just to have something to do to kill time. She sipped it slowly, sitting naked again on the balcony, gazing down at the lights coming on around the harbor.
By 7:00 everyone should be home from work.
Carol pulled on her trench coat and, not bothering with shoes, walked down to the fourth floor and lifted Ravi’s elephant head knocker. She heard sounds. She saw the light darken behind the peephole and opened her coat wide. The door remained closed.
“Ravi, I know you are there.”
The door remained closed and after a while she tried another door.
She left Faye for last, and Faye opened her door.
Carol let her coat fall to the hallway floor.
“Please use me. I know you love me. I’ll be your slave. I’ll be good.”
Faye smiled ruefully. “I’m not smiling at you, but at myself. Who would have ever thought I’d turn down so beautiful a woman. I don’t love you, but I could have.” And she, too, shut the door in Carol’s face.
The naked woman bent down for her coat, but she didn’t bother to put it on.
…
Brad Tomalin did not answer his cell phone. She had not expected him to. She left the message in his voice mail and sent an email.
I will do anything you tell me to. Anything. Carol
At first she had written: I will do anything you ask. But he had never asked. She didn’t want to be asked. Not asking was the point.
34
Two mornings later Carol Edwards put on her ‘hooker’ dress, the one Brad had given her to wear that night in Las Vegas. It was crimson, thin, and what there was of it, clingy. Backless almost to her ass, with a halter top that tied behind her neck, and cut in front almost to her navel. When she stood the hem fell just below her crotch. When she sat it didn’t. Barely legal, but more bare than legal. Untie the top and the dress would fall away like a leaf. She would be naked in a second.
She stepped into the backless black heels she knew he liked and looked at herself in the full length mirror. She could move to Las Vegas and become a full time whore. She could call Ooni and be his full time slave. She did not know what power Brad had over everyone else, but Ooni was rich and independent. Nothing more than passing thoughts. She rode the elevator down, got into her yellow Beetle, and drove to Brad’s office building.
Riding the elevator up to the thirty-first floor, she ignored the stares. After all she had ridden this elevator with come dripping from her face. Bare skin was nothing.
The ever immaculate Mrs. Black glanced up from her desk and said, “Well. Well.”
“Is he in?”
“I have been given clear instructions not to provide you with that information.”
Carol Edwards walked past her and tried to open Brad’s office door. It was locked. Turning, she said, “Will you please tell him that I’m here?”
“I can’t do that either.”
“Then I’ll wait.”
As she sat down on the sofa, even the unflappable Amanda Black’s eyes widened.
The morning passed slowly.
Brad did not come out. No one else went in. Carol concluded that he really was not there. But she remained.
At noon Mrs. Black locked some papers in her desk and left. When she returned an hour later, Carol Edwards was still there, and she took pity.
“I really shouldn’t tell you this, but there is another entrance to his office. He’ll never come this way while you are here.”
Carol smiled. “Thank you. But I’ll wait.”
She ate nothing. She left only once briefly to use the restroom.
At 5:00 Mrs. Black stood.
“You have to go now.”
“Tell him I’ll be back tomorrow.”
“Really, you shouldn’t.”
…
Carol Edwards sat through a second day. Same dress. Same shoes. Same slowly dragging hours. However more of the staff did find reasons to stop by Amanda Black’s desk that day.
…
Shortly after 10:00 a.m. on the third morning of her desperate vigil, the door to Brad Tomalin’s office opened.
Ignoring Carol Edwards as though she were invisible instead of blatantly eye-catching, he crossed to Amanda Black, leaned over and exchanged a few quiet words, than started to walk right past Carol. But she reached out and grabbed his hand and would not let go. He stopped and turned, face impassive.
“I’ll do it. I’ll do anything,” she pleaded.
He remained silent.
“Please. I’m begging.”
“You’ve said that before.”
“I know. And I have. Everything but this. And I’ve told you why it’s so difficult. But’ll I’ll do it. I have to.”
“What will you do?”
“What you want.”
“What exactly?”
“What you wanted me to do Sunday.”
He pulled his hand from her grip and started to turn.
Hurriedly, “I’ll fuck the dog.”
Brad stopped. “Will you now?”
“Yes.”
“And will you suck the dog, too?”
She swallowed nervously. “Yes.”
“Say it.”
“I’ll suck the dog.”
“And swallow his doggy come?”
“I’ll swallow his come.”
“And what about other animals? How about a donkey? They still have donkey shows in Tijuana. Will you fuck a Mexican donkey? How about a horse? Or a pig? I believe they have corkscrew cocks. I’m not quite sure how that works. Will you fuck a pig?”
Half sobbing. “Anything. I’ll do anything you say.”
“Have you ever seen an act of bestiality, Mrs. Black.”
“No. I have not.”
“Would you like to?”
“It is not...something I have ever considered.”
Brad took out his cell phone and pushed a button.
“Hi. Tonight at 8? O.K.” Then to Amanda Black, ”Here,” and he wrote something on the back of a business card and handed it to her. “If you, or your husband, decide, for the novelty, this is the address.”
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