SEXY SALLY & BOSS BOB BY "JIGS"
Part Three
This is a continuation of the story of Sexy Sally, her husband Harry, and
Harry's Boss, Bob Simpson. The time is the next morning after Sally has spent a
very unpleasant and painful night in Bob Simpson's bed with Bob and Bob's long
time concubine Darla MacIntire.
*** When Sally had pulled herself together, she and I went to the kitchen after
some coffee. There at the table, Bob was washing down a sweet roll with a glass
of milk. "Did you enjoy your wife's recital this morning?" Bob asked me. I was
pissed. I bit my tongue and didn't say anything. Bob was grinning like the
Cheshire cat, he was enjoying Sally's humiliation too much to miss this chance
to rub her nose in it. "After a little encouragement, she did a fine job eating
Darla's pussy. Later in the evening she told us all about the dicks she has
enjoyed having in her mouth and pussy from time to time. Truly a remarkable past
for such a sweet thing. Darla and I enjoyed her story immensely. I trust Sally
appreciates how healthy it is to talk to someone about our little human
peccadilloes. Confession is good for the soul, a cathartic of the conscience, as
it were. I'm sure she will want to repeat the experience for you sometime on an
otherwise dull evening." I couldn't stand how smug he was any longer, and I
snapped back at him in anger. "Look Bob, you've gotten all you possibly could
want. Sally is standing here naked wearing a god damn dog collar and leash, not
to mention an ankle bracelet that identifies her as your slut and whore. You've
fucked her again an again. She has sucked your cock, and your girlfriend's cunt
as well. You've whipped her pussy and tits, and cropped her across the ass and
nipples. She's dead tired. She has had almost no sleep for two days. Enough is
enough! Back off, damn it!" Bob's reaction wasn't at all what I expected.
"You're quite right, Harry. I do push things a little too far sometimes." He
turned then and spoke too my wife. "Sally," he told her, "I want you to go to
back to bed right now and get some rest. Harry and I won't bother you until this
afternoon. Please be ready about three thirty in your best frock. You and I have
some shopping to do. Its Sunday but the big department stores will be open, and
I suspect some of the better jewelry shops as well. Later, I'll take you to
dinner at the Waldorf. I'm going to fuck you when we get home of course, but you
will not be mistreated this evening. I won't even keep you up late, and you can
sleep with me in my bed instead of on the floor." Sally's eyes lit up like a
roman candle. With a smile a mile wide, and hardly able to restrain her glee,
she was gone in a flash. It wasn't more than a moment or two before I heard
water running in our tub as she drew a bath. Bob offered me a sweet roll, along
with his apology. "I'm sorry to preempt your wife, and take her out of your bed
again tonight. I had meant for both of us to use her for our amusement today,
but you're quite right, the poor girl needs some R & R. Still, I'll be horny
again by this evening, and I'm pretty sure that she'd rather have my cock to
pleasure her pussy than yours. Nothing, personal of course, but after all these
years, yours is a probably little old hat as it were." I didn't have enough sand
left to even be mad at the arrogant son of a bitch. My pique had left me when I
saw how happy Sally was with the bone (if you'll pardon the pun), Bob had thrown
her. Why should she be pleased with him? I was the one who went to bat for her,
and made him relent
No, no," I said to Bob wearily. "It's not a problem. I'm damn tired myself. I'll
find myself something to eat and take in a movie or something." "No, I can't
have that," Bob answered. "I won't have you moping around alone, especially on
my account. In fact, your afternoon and evening are already taken care of. Darla
will be here at four o'clock. The Giants are playing the Dallas Cowboys on TV,
and may I suggest a long leisurely blow job while you watch the game? Darla has
been instructed that you are not to sleep alone tonight. She is such a lovely
slut. I'm sure you will enjoy her." I did my best to convince Bob to call Darla
and cancel me off her schedule. I was being very instant about it but Bob, being
Bob, refused to listen. "Look Harry, only a fool would turn down a blow job and
fuck from Darla MacIntire, but since you apparently have something against
getting laid by a beautiful red head, let me sweeten my offer. Darla will not
only fuck you, and suck your bone, she will tell you things about me you have
never known before. She has my permission to give you all the low down about my
women and my sex life. You know that Darla is privy to everything I do, and she
understands me better than anybody. Who else could explain what happened to
Sally, unless it was me, but I will lie to you. Darla won't. You will learn
things about how I live you have never imagined before. You have no idea what
you're missing if you don't fuck her too, but even if you keep prick in your
pants, you will find her visit worth your while." One thing about Bob Simpson.
He always cuts right to the chase. Certainly, uppermost in my mind was this
sudden transformation of the seemingly asexual Boss Bob into a satyr. What did
it mean for Sally and I? I gave in, and told him to send Darla to me if that is
what he wanted. I left him then and went back to bed. I slept the morning away
along side Sally. She was dead to the world, and didn't even know I was there,
but it felt nice somehow. About noon I awoke, showered, shaved, and went to the
short order diner down the street for a hamburger. Rather than sitting around
our apartment watching Sally get ready to go off with Bob, I killed time for a
while in an off track betting parlor. I had lost a hundred bucks, and it was
almost three thirty, before I arrived back at the apartment. Bob and Sally were
just leaving. Her hair was back in one of those bouncy pony tails she wears so
well, and she had on a new dress that showed off her body like a million
dollars. Damn, but she looked good. I went in and turned on the Giant's pregame
show and waited. At ten minutes to four, the phone rang. It was Pete the
security guy down in the garage again. "The same lady that was here last night
is back Mr. Carr. Shall I send her up?" "By all means, Pete," I replied, and
hung up.
**** Shortly the doorbell rang, and there was Darla again. Her dress was
different from last night. She was more casual, and now her hair was combed out
and loose. She wasn't showing as much leg or tit as she had last night, but
damn, she was still one good looking woman. "Hello again, Harry," she greeted
me, "I was told you might be lonely and like some company." "You're a damn liar,
Darla MacIntire, I replied. "Bob didn't tell you I was lonely. He told you to
come here and fuck me." "Well yes," she said smiling, "as a matter of fact
that's all true, but it seemed a little crude of me to open the conversation
that way. Are you disappointed? Would you rather I had said right off that I was
here to give you the piece of ass Bob promised?" "Darla, the way you look," I
told her, "no man could be disappointed, no matter why you are here. I'd say
that you look good enough to eat, except that old saw has a double meaning, one
that is a bit crude under the circumstances." "Let me start us over. Welcome,
Darla, won't you come in." Darla took the seat I offered her, and she came right
to the point. "Do you want me to strip now?" she asked. "Bob said to start you
off with my best head. The Boss likes me nude, leashed, and on my knees when I
suck him off." "No, Darla," I told her, "no offense, but I really don't want a
blow job right now. This fetish thing about collars, leashes, being naked and
all that, is a part of Bob's fantasy, and I'm already tired of it. God help my
stupidity, but I told Bob that I didn't want to screw you this afternoon, or
tonight either. Now that you're here, I must admit that I'm having second
thoughts about my decision, but at this moment, I don't want to even think about
sex. I am certainly in no mood to play the role of a master to your role as a
female sex slave." I could see uncertainty and hurt in her eyes at my refusal. I
didn't want that, so I smiled at her and tried to patch things up with an
alternative. "What I do want is to get out of this apartment. In answer to your
original question, yes I am lonely, and yes I do want some company. Let's go
somewhere, anywhere, where we can just be friends enjoying each other in the
conventional way." Twenty minutes later we were in a horse drawn cab circling
through Central Park. For the first few minutes we sparred with each other,
trying to joke around while we avoided what was really on our minds. Finally
Darla said, "Harry, Let's quit this. You don't really want to swap funny
stories. Bob called me again late this morning and told me you were pissed about
the way Sally jumped on his cock. He asked me to explain the relationship he has
with his women, and why we will do almost anything to have him fuck us. That is
what you really want to talk about isn't it, Harry?" "Of course it is Darla," I
replied, "but I can appreciate what a spot that puts you in. You are not only in
some kind of sexual servitude to him, you are also his trusted employee and
personal confidant. I know Bob Simpson. It may be all right for me to know the
outline and some scattered details, but he doesn't mean for you to tell me
everything. I don't want to push you farther than you can go in good
conscience." Darla was thoughtful for a moment or two saying nothing. Then she
began slowly, "That's all very true, but although Boss Bob may own me, I have no
illusions about him. He is a Son of a Bitch of the first order, and the words,
'good conscience' shouldn't be spoken in the same breath with his name.
Moreover, you're not just the husband of another of his female conquests. You
are my colleague whom I have worked with, and whom I like and trust. You must
have guessed long ago that Bob was fucking me, but you have never once treated
me like the company whore because of it. That's more than I can say for most of
our fellow executives at that God damn corporation." Darla went on, speaking
faster now. "Anyway, you deserve all the truth. This hasn't really been sudden,
you know. You and Sally were lambs for the slaughter from the very beginning.
Oh, you are smart, capable, and efficient but those things were just an
unexpected bonus to Bob. They are not the reason you were hired or even the only
reason for your promotions. Bob Simpson meant to slice your wife from the first
time he saw her. He's just now getting around to cashing in on his investment."
I looked at her incredulously. "You mean to tell me it has taken him ten years
to get around to fucking my wife? The Bob Simpson I know moves a lot faster than
that." "No," Darla replied, "I mean to tell you it took ten years for Sally's
turn to come up. He's a busy man, and there have plenty of others around to
amuse him in the meantime. Besides, you're a pretty talented and valuable guy to
have around and it was prudent not to push something that might have unfortunate
repercussions or otherwise cost him your services. There was plenty of time. Bob
could afford to let his fruit ripen on the tree, but trust me, he has always
meant to eventually get around to fucking your wife." "Anyway, Bob always takes
his time with women. Bob's seduction method is the drip, drip, drip of the
Chinese water torture. Strand by strand he weaves a sensual web from our
feminine desires and imaginations. We don't even realize that we have been
caught until his cock is already in our pussies, and by then it is way too late
to escape. "Before I go any farther tho," Darla continued, there are two things
that you must remember when you deal with Bob from here on out." "First, both he
and Alex Carmine are front men for the Mafioso. Carmine is a high level 'capo'
with one of the New York 'families,' and Bob is his first lieutenant and
consigliere. The company you and I work for has grown too big and successful to
be the convenient little money laundering machine as originally intended, but we
still move illegal funds from time to time. Even when we aren't actually the
funnel for dirty cash, we are the valve that turns the flow on and off through
other pipes. You are dealing with men who have unlimited money and political
power. And the company, big as it is, and rich as it is, is only the tip of the
iceberg." "Second, your phone is tapped, and that is not nearly all. Your
office, and your apartment, and your car, are all full of bugs. Tiny camera
lenses hidden in the pictures on the wall are watching. Bob has a digital
record, vocal & visual, of everything you say or do at work or at home,
including making love to your wife. You have no privacy, and haven't had at any
tine since you came to work the first day. Only in places like this cab ride
would I dare to speak about all this." "Come on," I protested, "Alex Carmine is
one of the biggest names in the business world, and a leading philanthropist.
And to think that my apartment is bugged is simply ridiculous, and hidden
cameras are more so." "Trust me, its all true." Darla replied. "Carmine may
donate to the Cripple Children Fund and the United Way, but that's just part of
the front. In another life he's nothing but a bent nose Sicilian Mustache Pete
who will cut your throat in a heart beat. The 'families' operate differently
now. The muscle-bound hoods who sell dope, book bets, and pimp for the cat
houses and escort services, etc., they are still out there on the streets.
Now-a-days, however, there is a second level of thugs with college educations
and better manners who find a way to deposit criminal profits into what appear
to be legitimate business bank accounts. From there taxes are paid on it just as
if it had originated as lawful profit. The money after taxes is then invested in
legal enterprises and made to grow. The mob learned an important lesson when AL
Capone went to jail for tax evasion. These days the mobsters accept the payment
of taxes as just another kind of bribe. They know that Feds don't really care
what goes on as long as the government gets its cut. The state and local police
and politicians aren't any better, probably worse. More often than not they get
theirs personally and off the top." Darla's face was serious and her jaw set as
she continued her story about the people I have been working for. "And as far as
the cameras in your apartment go, why do you think the company was so willing to
finance such an expensive place for you to live? Sure, you living there made it
easy for Bob to get to Sally, but that was only part of it. 'They' own that damn
building. Installing bugs from one end to the other was both safe and a piece of
cake. Now, I know you're sceptical, but if you still don't believe you are
monitored around the clock, I'll bring you a floppy disk tomorrow with pictures
of Sally with her nose in my cunt." "But, Darla," I protested, "I'm no threat.
Why would they want to bug me?" "Oh, just a lot of reasons," she answered.
'Suppose, for example, you get suspicious about who you really work for. That
would be important for them to know. Then there is Sally, and me, and the
others. He needs to be sure he can control his sluts. The pictures are his
insurance policy. I don't mean he uses them to blackmail his women for sex.
There are too many of us around more than willing to give him all the pussy he
wants without that, and besides, something so stupid might go public." Darla
quit talking for a moment while she took my hand. "No," she continued, "the
pictures are to prove, should it ever be necessary, that your wife is a whore.
Soon he will arrange through an escort service run by his business associates to
have Sally turn a trick or two. The Johns will be legitimate businessmen, who
will sincerely believe they have bought themselves a good looking piece of ass
in the usual way. What they don't know is that their names and addresses, along
with pictures of their cocks in sweet Sally's mouth and cunt, will be in a
digital file inside Boss Bob's computer. Should Sally ever try to turn on Bob,
he has the perfect antidote to blackmail or exposure. It would be the word of a
rich, respected and politically powerful corporate executive against that of a
woman whom he can prove is a whore. Moreover, the legitimate Johns who were set
up will be pulling every string in their political reach trying to hush the
whole thing up. Cute, huh?" "It's more than just cute," I replied. "It's
absolutely unbelievable." "Well, you'd better believe it," Darla continued, "or
you and I will be dead meat on a hook. If anyone in the Boss's organization
finds out I told you all this, they'll kill us both before the sun goes down.
For my sake and your own, you've got to play dumb. You have no choice but to
ignore the bugs and cameras, and go on like you have in the past. Otherwise, the
security people that surround Bob will smell a rat, and our jig will be up. At
the same time, be careful what you say and where you say it" "O.K., then Darla,
Mum's the word," I promised her, "but Sally didn't turn her pussy over to him
because he is Mafia. Neither did you. Tell me, how did that happen?" "That's a
long story, Harry," Darla replied, staring at me seriously, "but before I start,
can we have dinner? I slept away the morning without any breakfast. I didn't
have much sleep last night as I'm sure you know all about by now. As it
happened, I missed lunch as well, and I'm famished. We can eat while I talk."
"Of course," I replied, "I know just the place." A little over an thirty minutes
later we were seated in a hole in the wall Greek restaurant down in the Village
that I regard as my personal gastronomic hideaway. We had both avoided the
subject of Bob Simpson during the main course. We were finishing our meal, and
were working on our deserts, when I asked Darla if she was ready to tell me
more. "There may be a few bugs in here," I assured her, "but they are of the
insect variety rather than electronic." "No matter," Darla said. "I have Bob's
permission for whatever else I have to tell you. Only the knowledge that he,
Carmine, and the company are Mafia fronts, and that they keep almost everybody
under constant surveillance, are dangerous to us. On the other hand, he doesn't
mind at all for you to know about his women. Matter of fact, he's rather proud
of the way we submit to his big cock and let him mistreat us. He has always been
a bit put off that he has so few opportunities to brag to other men about it."
Darla hesitated, and gave me a coy smile. "But, you said you were tired of sex?
Maybe you don't want to hear the dirty stuff about how he seduced me and turned
me into a whore?" I grinned back at her. "Yeah so, after spending an afternoon
smelling you and your perfume, it seems that I'm not as sex weary as I thought I
was." "Well," Darla smiled back at me as she began, "at the time I applied for a
job as Bob's personal girl Friday, my marriage was going into the shit can. My
husband, Sam, drank heavily, but worse than that, he bet money we didn't have on
slow horses and bad basketball teams. He was into the bookies for maybe $45,000
and he owned the IRS $20,000 more. The IRS guy was about to seize my car, and
the bookies were threatening to break his knee cap and maybe mine as well." "I
had loved Sam when I married him, and I wanted our little girl to grow up with a
father, but I couldn't take his drinking and gambling any more. I quit a job I
liked but didn't pay much, and went looking for one that did. I heard on the
grape vine that Bob Simpson needed a new personal assistant. I was determined to
do whatever it took to get that job. If my new boss wanted me to jump into bed
with him, I was more than willing to do so right from the get go. Much to my
surprise, tho, a romp on his couch wasn't a part of Bob's job interview. The
subject of my sexual favors never came up, and without even a hint of a pass at
my body, I was suddenly gainfully employed at a salary beyond my wildest hope."
"With a fat new paycheck every week, I moved out on Sam, filed for divorce,
found a nice apartment for my daughter, Mary Anne, and myself, and began a new
life. I kept waiting for Bob to hit on me but he made no move. I'll tell you one
thing, however, that was the sexiest 'no move' that a woman ever went through."
"Women are always radiating sexual signals. We do so in an attempt to get the
message across to you dumb men that we are available, and we want your
attention. Its not that we are necessarily that slutty or even all that horny.
Sexy signals are simply natural and automatic to us. Often they go out
unconsciously when we are only fantasizing. Sometimes they are more bluntly
erotic than is good for us. Fortunately for our chastity and our reputations,
very few males out there are tuned in to the feminine subliminal network. Most
of you men never hear anything we say unless we shout it directly into your
ear." Darla smiled, enjoying her dig at masculine insensitivity. "There are a
few men, however, who do hear our quiet our whining messages. Their
eavesdropping tells them that we are frustrated, horny, and eager to spread our
legs if the right erect penis happens our way. They answer us in the same quiet
code, assuring us that they have for us the very thing we need so badly. We are
so glad to have a suitor, we can't help but signal back, probably hinting that
we just might be available for sex." "Boss Bob is one such predatory male who
regularly taps into the female party line. Sometime early on I must have sent
out the usual passive signal of a lonely female. I don't know if I expected, or
even wanted, any response. It makes no difference. Bob heard me. His reply was
soft, subtle and reassuring. To a woman alone and horny, the message was
unmistakable. He found me beautiful and desirable. He wanted to fuck me." "You
would never known that by anything he overtly said or did, however," Darla
continued, still smiling. "To the contrary, for three months or so he was
painfully correct and proper. He complemented me often, but he never said
anything out of line. He managed to touch me regularly, but always in a way that
seemed innocent enough. He would take my hand or arm and assist me at a
revolving door, or in and out of a car. Perhaps our legs would brush when we
were caught in tight quarters like that. In a crowded elevator he would be
firmly crushed against my back from thigh to shoulder. His fingers would linger
on my hand or arm when handing me a paper. A favorite was the file on his desk.
It was always where I couldn't see what he was pointing at unless I bent over
him and pressed my breast against his shoulder and cheek." "He would focus
intently on my face when we were taking, and I would become lost in the depth of
those black eyes that were staring into mine. It was so embarrassing. I would
lose track of what he was saying and he would have to repeat it to me. Other
times I would look up and find him staring at me, for no reason. Unlike every
other man I've ever known, however, when I caught him at it, he would not drop
his gaze. He just kept his eyes locked on mine until I would be the one who
looked away, feeling guilty somehow, and blushing a little." Darla paused for a
moment. She had a dreamy look about her as if she was recalling a time she
treasured in spite of herself. "At time went on he began to do things that made
me uncomfortable, but at the same time left me sensually titillated. For
example, there was the way he was always smelling me. Oh, I don't mean he would
come up and sniff my crotch or anything. He was very subtle and casual about it,
but you could see his nostrils flare when he liked my perfume, and he was always
finding ways to be up close with his nose in my hair. One of the sexiest things
a man can do for a woman is to smell her, and to let her know that he is aroused
by her odor. Today, when you said you had been enjoying my smell, my knees
trembled a little. Every other mammal on earth attracts its mate by smell, and
surely we once did too. When was it men and women forgot that and dropped it out
of our courtship?" "So there I was," Darla continued as she finished her desert,
"separated from my husband, living like a nun with my nine year old daughter,
while this hunk of handsome virile male was sniffing around me and sending dirty
messages on a private line to my imagination. To Bob's eyes, the words 'hot to
trot' must have been plainly written across my forehead in big black letters."
"I was hired very late in the spring, and as the leaves turned that fall, Bob
changed gears and began to come on to me openly and directly. His complements
became bolder, goading me to arousal. At first it was nothing dirty really, only
sexy and suggestive. As time went on, tho, the more bawdy he became. He would
wink, and ask me if I had gotten laid during a holiday or over the weekend. One
of the girls in the office was a newlywed. He kidded her that since the wedding
she was walking around with a constant smile on her face. I knew he wasn't
really talking to her. He was talking to me. When she would go back to her desk,
he would leer at me, and tell me that I too needed to find myself a man who
would screw me regularly. He assured me I would be less bitchy if I did. Of
course, we both understood who the man was who could improve my disposition."
The glassy look in Darla's eyes grew more and more intense as she continued to
recalled her experience with Boss Bob. "As time went on, Bob managed more to
find a way to keep me with him almost all the time. More and more often he
touched me, or found an excuse to press against me, all very innocently, of
course, but I knew better. Every time his leg brushed against mine, an electric
shock would hit my clit. My pussy was wet from the time I arrived at work each
day. It got so bad I had to wear a Kotex as a regular thing. It was ridiculous.
Here was a man I had never even kissed; a man who had never indicated in any
direct way that he was attracted to me; a man who had never caressed me, or even
touched me in an overtly sexual way; and I'm walking around leaking juices down
my leg over him." Darla shook her head as if trying to clear it, and then went
on. "It was one Friday evening that it finally happened. Bob and I were working
late at the office, and we had just finished when he came over to where I was
standing by the copy machine, pulled me to him, and kissed me hard on the lips.
His tongue jammed past my teeth deep into my mouth. I could feel the growing
erection that he was pushing hard against my belly." "I reacted like a bitch in
heat. Whatever he wanted of me, I would do. When he told me to strip for him, I
couldn't get my clothes off fast enough. Then he had me undress him. I was in
such a frenzy that I could hardly manage the buttons on his shirt. I went to my
knees to get his pants off and pull his jockey shorts down; and there it was,
all ten inches or so of it, right in front of my face, already partly erect. I
knew what he wanted, and I wanted the same thing. I wrapped my arms around his
thighs and began to suck the head of that huge male thing for all I was worth.
After all these months of sparring, having his hardening penis in my mouth
released all the tension from my gut. The feeling of relief was incredible." "It
is that release that does it for him, Harry, not his dick," Darla said as she
continued. "He picks at us, and picks at us, until we convince ourselves that
sex with him would be the greatest any woman ever had. Sure enough, when he
finally fucks us, it always is. Our anticipation has never failed him..., or
disappointed the woman. Does all this sound familiar, Harry? Isn't this exactly
the same as what he did to poor Sally?" "You really can't blame Sally," Darla
told me. "We females become convinced that without this man's big cock in us,
we'll die. I know because I've been there; on my knees sucking the penis of a
man who had kissed me exactly once, and that was only minutes before; on my
knees starving to be screwed by a man who did not love me, hadn't said he did,
and who wanted my body with nothing offered in exchange but the opportunity to
take ride on his cock ." "What makes a woman crumble like that? Who knows? Is
Bob the evil Rasputin reincarnated? He must be! Who else could know exactly how
to cloud the female mind with such an overwhelming power of suggestion. Over and
over he plants dirty thoughts about his big prick in our heads so that when it
is finally offered to us, it just has to be the best prick in all the world. Bob
has a good one, of course, but it would make no difference if he didn't. For
weeks before my big day, I had been fucking myself over and over with his
imaginary prick. I was addicted to the damn thing long before I ever even saw
it. By the time I had it in my hand, it would have been irresistible to me if it
had only been three inches long." Darla stopped here for quite a long time. It
was as if all this was becoming too painful to go on. We sat there, sipping on
our coffee, neither of us saying anything, until finally she was ready to go on.
"Anyway, there I was on my knees by the copy machine worshipping the penis I had
been lusting after. He grabbed my hair and pulled my head back so that I was
staring up into his eyes. 'Do you want me to fuck you,' he asked. I didn't
answer. I couldn't see why an answer was necessary. Then it was no longer a
question but a demand, 'If you want me to fuck you, Darla, you must beg me for
it.' Sound familiar to you, Harry? It should. On the tape from the bug in your
bedroom, I heard him work poor Sally in almost the exact same way ." "Well of
course I begged him. To have him fuck me was the only thing in life I did want
right then. In those first moments, the nature of our relationship was
established forever. Whenever I want his cock, I must beg him for it. If I beg
with sufficient passion, he will fuck me. He fucked me twice that first night,
and I begged him for it, long and hard, both times. He ate me once, but only
after I had begged him to do me, of course. I sucked him off once. Of course I
had to beg him to let me do that too." Darla looked as if she was ready to cry,
but she kept on with her story, talking faster now as if to get it all out and
over with. "I was on my knees, a prisoner between his thighs when he explained
my new life to me. He said he owned me, that every hole in my body was his to
use. I said I didn't care! He said he would stick his cock in my mouth, in my
cunt, and up my ass whenever he pleased. I said I didn't care! He said he would
beat me, degrade me, give me to other men and women as a sex toy. I said I
didn't care! We have both kept our word. He has treated me like a common whore.
I haven't cared. He has done all of the humiliating degrading things to me he
said he would, and I haven't cared. You just can't imagine the things I have let
him do to me, Harry! God, he made me stand me naked on a coffee table, showing
my wares as he put it, while he auctioned me off to his hoodlum pals for a night
of fun and games. I still didn't care. He keeps my pussy stuffed, and I just
don't care. I have become such a whore." Telling me all this was obviously
becoming more and more a trauma to Darla. I tried it interrupt and say that I
had heard enough, but Darla wouldn't stop. "No, Harry, I'm not through. You
haven't heard all of it yet. Please let me go on." Taking a deep breath, she
began her story once more. "He made me call off my divorce, and go back to
living with Sam. He said that he couldn't afford to have a mistress from the
office who wasn't on record as a happily married woman. Still, he didn't pull
any punches when he told Sam all about my infidelity and what a slut I had been.
He didn't miss one single dirty detail. Then, just to show off, Bob made me
strip buck ass naked right then and there. I was humiliated, but the bastard had
something even worse in mind for me. He made me crawl on my hands and knees to
between his legs, take his cock out of his fly, and suck him off while my
erstwhile husband watched. I had just swallowed his load when Bob first
suggested to Sam that to be fair he would 'buy me'." Darla's face blushed with
shame as she went on with her story. "Bob was in a generous mood. After some
sham negotiation, he agreed to pay off Sam's debts to the bookies and the IRS.
To sweeten the deal, he agreed that Sam could continue to fuck me whenever Bob
didn't have some other use for my pussy. Since then Bob's hoodlum friends have
given Sam tips on fixed races sufficient to keep him out of serious debt. The
tips are sporadic, tho. The come just often enough to keep Sam only
intermittently solvent. That way Sam is always under pressure to be a good boy
and not make trouble for Bob." That was my market value, Harry," Darla said,
almost in a whisper. "Seventy five thousand dollars, maybe a little more, and a
few insider tips on the races. I refuse to count Sam's occasional use of my
mouth or pussy, as part of the payment. That was thrown in as a seller's bonus
because it didn't really cost the Bob anything, and he enjoyed shaming me like
that. Anyway that was the deal that was made! Sale closed! This red headed whore
had a new owner! It made me mad as hell to listen to them bicker over my price,
but I was not angry with Bob. He didn't need to pay Sam anything, and he knew
it. It was all a game to Bob, one more humiliation that his slut had to live
with. I understood that. No, it was Sam that angered me. He had never 'owned'
me, nor did he have any right to sell me. I'm sure Bob knew that, but the
charade of 'buying me' from my husband tickled his fancy somehow." Tears were
just starting to well up to Darla's eyes now. "Bob wouldn't let the thing end
there tho. It wasn't humbling enough that I had to listen to the two of them
negotiate a price for my cunt while I knelt naked on the floor with Bob's spent
dick in my mouth. Oh, No, Bob just had to put icing on the cake! After the deal
was struck, he insisted that Sam give him a bill of sale for me. The bastard
even had it framed and hung on the wall of his private den. It made a nice
trophy, and it reminds me always that I was purchased like a cow on the cattle
market." Darla's hands were gripping the arms of her chair in frustration as she
continued. "Bob has always kept women around who were willing to be sluts for
his amusement. He may not have a bill of sale for the others like he does for
me, but he treats all of us as his property. He had his hooks into two other
women when he took me over, and he has had four more since. Whenever he becomes
bored with a woman, he may give her to one of his thug business associates just
to be rid of her. However, if she is especially pretty and sexy, he will hold on
to her until some rich hood comes along and offers to take her off his hands for
a price. He may even hold an auction where the poor woman is exhibited nude
before the gangsters he brings in as bidders." "As I told you, I was once the
merchandise in one of his auctions. My 'sale' was only for the evening, but I
didn't know that at the time. Bob thought it was terribly funny that I was so
scared, but for me it was an absolutely horrible experience, made more so
because I know who the buyers are and what they do for a living. Some of these
men operate whore houses, and I suspect that when they buy a cunt, it is for
professional use. I'm afraid to think about it, but I'm afraid Bob will sell me
to a whore house. I may be a slut, but I don't want to end up in a crib as a
professional whore. I'm closing in on forty now Harry. I am surprised that Bob
has kept me around as long as he has, but maybe what I do for him at the office
is more valuable to him than the few bucks he can get for my cunt, at least I
keep hoping so. Here I again tried to interrupt, but Darla would have none of
it. "No, Harry, you can't imagine how evil and cruel Bob Simpson is. There is
more..., may God help me, something a lot worse than turning me into his
submissive slut. Until Sally gave herself to him the other night, Bob's stable
of concubines was down to just two women. Those two were myself and my daughter
Mary Anne." Darla tears had begun to come in a flood, and her distress at what
she was telling me was clearly both extreme and painful. "That's right, Harry,
to keep Bob Simpson's cock pleasuring my pussy, I have even allowed my daughter
to be caught up in his dirt. She had just turned eighteen when Bob's antennae
began to pick up her signals. No female sends louder sex messages than a
teenager, and Bob, as usual, sent all the right answers back. Mary Anne thought
Bob was just the dreamiest man on earth, and I was in no position to tell her
otherwise, at least not without admitting that I was his whore. As things turned
out, I might as well have told her. Mary Anne eventually found out anyway, and
both of us might have been better off if she had known the whole story up
front..., but then, knowing Bob, maybe nothing I could have done would have made
any difference." "Anyway, after a leisurely dose of Bob's usual subtle
courtship, poor Mary Anne was so hot to trot that she was absolutely beside
herself. When Bob was finally ready to make his move he wanted me to give Mary
Anne to him to fuck, altho he put it differently. He wanted "to date her," but
we both knew how that would end up. I refused at first, but he hung me by my
wrists from a ceiling beam, and with my toes just barely touching the floor, he
whipped me.., hard. When he finished, he took me down and fucked me on the
floor. Then he hung me up again and whipped me once more, this time without
fucking me. That was even worse. I gave in." "Bob took Mary Anne to the very
best night clubs, restaurants, and Broadway shows. He wined her, he dined her,
and in less than two weeks he had fucked her. Three weeks later, Bob as usual
had to show off. He brought my daughter home in the wee hours of the morning
naked on the end of a leash, her ass and thighs striped with marks from his
crop. He sat on the couch and while I watched, my sweet little daughter knelt
between that bastard's legs and jacked him off with her tits. He shot his cum on
her face and tits..., and then..., then he made me lick it off her. He finished
the evening by fucking me while Mary Anne licked his balls and my clit." "It was
only a couple of nights later when Bob brought over one of his Mafia hoods, and
they fucked both Mary Anne and myself on the rug of my living room. There we
were, my mouth around a stranger's cock, Mary Anne's tongue in my pussy, and
Bob's cock buried in Mary Anne. Then we switched. I have never been so ashamed
as I was on that night, but there was nothing that I could do about it. Bob
Simpson owned me. It had been years since I first knelt at his feet and begged
him to fuck me, and my lust for that big thing between his legs was as
overwhelming as ever. That's the only excuse I have for laying on my back with
some gangster's prick in me while I licked my own daughter's cunt. May God help
me, how could I be so weak and degraded that I would let him make my darling
Mary Anne into another one of his whores?" "Can we back to your to your place
now, Harry? I want you to fuck me, and then spend the night laying against you,"
Darla asked. And that's where we went.
************************* (To Be Continued)
