by Paul Blades
THREE BY BLADES
BRENDA AND DAVID
SHE DIDN’T UNDERSTAND
THE STUFF THAT DREAMS ARE MADE OF
By
PAUL BLADES
Copyright©2010 Paul Blades
Dark Visions Publications
[email protected]
All characters and events portrayed in this work are fictitious
All rights reserved
BRENDA AND DAVID
They were in David’s ‘special room’. Brenda was fastened down on his medieval like wooden turntable, her collar chained to it, her ankles and thighs strapped into place. Her wrists were joined behind her back. David was thrusting his remorseless, long, thick cock into her pussy from behind.
It was part of their regular Friday night routine. She had been coming here three nights a week for over a year. She had no choice really.
The cock was driving Brenda’s passions. It sawed back and forth, caressing the energized interior of her fevered cunt. Her hands, bound behind her back, writhed as her lust rose higher and higher. David’s hands were on her hips, using them as a fulcrum for his fierce, determined thrusts.
You might not believe it, but Brenda wasn’t really like this. During the day, she was a prim social worker at a day care agency. She helped the mothers file for support payments from their wayward husbands or lovers, assisted them with their Medicaid applications, counseled them on landlord tenant problems and a myriad of other things. She had a whole list of public agencies she could refer them to. It was a job she loved and she was a respected, conscientious worker.
Of middle height, about 5’6”, with deep black hair that came down to just below her shoulders, Brenda was an attractive woman. Her breasts were not voluptuous, but more than adequate to satisfy her and the few lovers she had had. 27 years old, she felt that she was in the prime of her life, working at a job she loved, living in a comfortable, well furnished apartment. She had loving friends and a good relationship with her parents and siblings. There was little wrong with her life. Except David, that is.
David was grunting loudly as his climax neared. Brenda’s was coming too. Her breath was labored, made more difficult by the fact that her chest was pressed up against her knees. She let out a low, almost mournful moan.
Suddenly, as if her moan was a signal for action, David pulled his cock from her oozing crevasse. He spun the turntable around until her mouth was in position. Her lips were spread wide by the ring gag he had installed earlier and David thrust himself inside her mouth, pressing against the entrance to her throat.
“Does the little slut want to come?” he snarled as he thrust his cock back and forth. “I don’t think I’ll let you tonight. Whores don’t get to come. They just swallow their masters’ spume and like it.” He laughed. Brenda moaned from frustration.
Her assailant had a grip of her hair on either side of her head, holding it still. His thighs began to shiver and his head rolled back. “Here it comes fuckbucket!” he called out. “Here it comes!”
He pushed himself in as far as he could go. Brenda started to gag and choke. She could feel the bulbous head of his prick in her throat.
“Ahhhhhhhh! Ahhhhhhh!” David yelled as his fat cock began to throb and pulse within her.
Brenda was straining for air. She started to squeal and strain at her bonds. David paid her no mind as he reveled in the moist heat that surrounded him.
When he was fully done, the last fading spasm of his cock spent, he pulled himself from her throat. Brenda wheezed as she struggled to suck in enough air to overcome her oxygen deficit. Tears were running down her face, snot oozing from her nose. David looked at her and laughed.
He moved over to a side table against the wall and picked up his snifter of brandy, taking a large chug. “Ahhhhhhhh!” he said as it warmed his insides. David was a little under 6’ tall. He had brown hair, cut short. He was at least ten years older than Brenda, more like 15. His chest was broad and hairless. His face stern and handsome.
Brenda had known David for a few years. He was on the board of the social service agency she worked for. He was wealthy and knowledgeable. It was natural that Brenda had turned to him in her crisis. If she had only known what she was getting into, she would certainly have found someone else. Maybe she would have turned herself in. She might have been able to convince the police that it was an accident, or maybe self defense.
Brenda’s last boyfriend had been an abusive prick. She had never thought that she would allow a man to slap her around, call her a stupid cunt, demean her like he did. She had fallen in love with a very different man. Somehow, all of her psyche had become invested in the relationship with Tom. He had become her whole world. She tried to rationalize her acceptance of his abuse by the fact that Tom was having a hard time. His job was going nowhere and he never seemed to be able to get his head above water financially. And afterwards, when she lay crying on the floor, nursing her spit lip or bemoaning the bruises she knew would arise on her flesh the next day, he would say he was sorry. He would smother her with kisses, hold her tight and promise that it would never, ever happen again.
And then one day, Tom had told her that it was all over. It was in her apartment. He had just finished fucking her, up the ass as he especially liked it. Her anus was still burning. The purple bruise under her left eye had almost healed. And he said, “Thanks for the fuck, pig. I’ll remember you fondly.”
Brenda stood there speechless. What could he mean?
He was putting on his clothes. She had expected him to stay the night.
“I don’t want you calling me anymore,” he told her as he buttoned his shirt. “We’re through. I’ve found someone else.”
“Wha…?” was all Brenda could say.
“Yeah, I’m splitting. You were a great fuck, Brenda and you suck cock really good, but Cheryl has tits out to here and is better looking than you. And she’s got money. We’re leaving for her little vacation house down at the beach tonight. I don’t think I’ll tell her that my cock was up your ass. It’ll be funny having her suck it, knowing where it’s been and all.” He laughed heartily.
He had finished dressing. He turned to her, his face mean, his fists clenched. “And if you think that you’re going to tell her about you and me, you better think again. What you’ve seen ain’t nothing to what I’ll do to you if you fuck this up for me. I’ll knock you into next Tuesday!”
As he was exiting the door, he turned to her again. “If you’re good, I’ll come around once in a while and let you blow me.” His laughter echoed down the hall as he left.
Brenda was devastated. She felt dizzy and collapsed to the floor. She cried all night. She was too ashamed to call any of her friends. She couldn’t understand how she could have let him do this to her.
The anger started later. It rose and rose inside her. She thought of all kinds of things she could do to him for revenge. She kept seeing his laughing, cruel face, remembering the insults he had done to her body, her self image, her life. She thought of all the money she had spent on him, all the abuse she had taken.
It was hard to say exactly when she had decided to do it. She had bought a gun a few years ago from a friend, a .38. She had never registered it. It was when she was living down near the rough part of town and she had been scared for her life. Her living circumstances had improved since then, but she never had gotten rid of it.
She spent hours caressing it, holding it in her lap, envisioning Tom’s surprised look when he saw it in her hand.
Tom worked in a factory over on Sheffield. He often had to work overtime. She knew where he parked, a couple of blocks away. She waited there one night. It was freezing cold, the middle of winter. The sidewalks were icy and it was sleeting out. Hardly anyone was
on the street.
She hid in an alley next to his car. She saw him coming down the sidewalk from a block away. Her hand was gripping the stock of the pistol tightly.
She really just wanted to scare him, make him apologize maybe, get down on his knees and beg for his life, something like that. When she stepped from the alley, he didn’t see her right away. His coat collar was pulled up and he was looking down at where he stepped. Then, when he was about ten feet away, something made him look up.
His eyes went from her face to her weapon. For a moment, a look of fear crossed his face. And then he smiled. “Hiya, Brenda,” he said mirthfully. “Did you come to give me that blowjob?”
“Fuck you, Tom,” Brenda returned. “I’m going to blow your head off!”
He laughed. “Put the peashooter away, Brenda. You don’t have the balls for something like this. Put it away and I’ll let you get in the back seat of my car so I can fuck your ass. You’re just a stupid slut. You always have been and always will be.”
A wave of red passed over Brenda’s eyes. She felt her body move towards him. She saw his shiteating grin. She pulled the trigger.
The sleet deadened the sound. Tom clutched his chest and took a step back. He looked up at her. “You stupid cunt! You shot me!” He took a step forward and she fired again. This time he went down.
She stood there for a few moments. He was lying still on the ground, his face in a puddle. She knew he was dead. It was when she saw the blood oozing out from under his body that she came awake. She put the gun in her coat pocket and ran through the alley. Her car was parked on the other side and she jumped in and drove away.
“What have I done? What have I done?” she kept saying to herself. She drove around for over an hour. She needed help. She needed someone to tell her what to do. And then she thought of David. He was her friend. He was wealthy. He would know a good lawyer. He would help her.
She was too afraid to call. She drove to his house, a large mansion on the east side of town. She drove up the long driveway and parked in the back. She didn’t want anyone to see her car in case the police were looking for her. She needed time to decide what to do.
It was David who answered the door. It was his servant’s night off. She must have been quite a sight from the expression on David’s face. He brought her inside and sat her down in his library. She told him everything. She sobbed and sobbed. He got her something to drink.
He stood by the fireplace deep in thought for a few minutes. And then he spoke. “Brenda, you’ve been here all night. You never went to the factory. You never shot Tom. We’ve been lovers ever since you and Tom broke up and you came here tonight and we fucked. I’m your witness. I’m your alibi. I’m sure there were a lot of people who might have wanted Tom dead from what you have told me about him.”
“You’d do that for me?” she asked, tears streaming down her face.
“Of course I will. Tom got what he deserved and I don’t want to see your life ruined because of him.”
He told her to give him the gun. As a precaution, he said she should understand, he had her write out and sign a confession. “It’s only in case the police ever trace the gun back to me, Brenda,” he said. “You wouldn’t want me charged with murder, would you?”
She agreed that it was only fair.
That was a year ago. It had started that night in fact. He had shown her to his bedroom so that she would know what it looked like if the police ever questioned her about it. And then he told her that she should get undressed and sleep in his bed so that her DNA would be on the sheets. And then he undressed and got into bed with her. She was just grateful to have somebody to hold on to. She let him fuck her, it was the least she could do.
It was about a week later that he explained to her how it would be. She was his slave now. She would do what she was told. She would fuck him or suck him off whenever he wanted. She would do everything he told her. Either that, or the confession and the gun with her prints on it would go to the police.
It had gotten worse and worse as time went on. He called her at work and she would have to run out to his limo and give him a blow job. He fucked her, fore and aft whenever he wanted. She was aghast when he brought her down to his little dungeon and screamed and pleaded for mercy the first time that he beat her. It was a hundred times worse than what Tom had done to her, but she had no choice. He might get in trouble for lying for her, but she would go to prison for life.
David put down his brandy and took down from the wall a three foot long, thick maple cane.
“It’s time for your beating, Brenda,” he said sickly sweetly. “I’m going to start off with your ass and then maybe I’ll do your thighs and breasts. It’s been a while since I used the cane and I miss seeing all those deep purple black and blue marks.”
Brenda moaned with fear. She didn’t want to beg and plead for mercy, but she did anyway. “…eeeease! ..on’t! …eeeeease!” she cried out through her ring gag. It was a waste of time. David never punished her for begging and pleading for mercy. It made beating her all the more fun.
When the first blow came down, Brenda screamed with pain. “Ahhhhhhhhhhh! Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!” A line of deep red formed on her rear cheeks right away. She strained at her bonds in a desperate and hopeless attempt to evade the fiery bite of the cane.
He lashed out at her again. “Ooooooouuuuuuuu! Ooooooouuuuuuu!” she called out. She was sobbing hysterically, cursing her fate, cursing David, cursing Tom. Again and again the hard, rigid instrument came down on her proffered and defenseless rear mounds. She screamed at each one and blubbered uncontrollably between them.
After the fifth, cruel blow, David tossed the cane aside. “What a fine ass you have, Brenda,” he said. “I think I’ll fuck it.”
He stood behind her and put his hands on her hips. He maneuvered himself into position and pressed the helmet of his cock against her anal ring. “It’s good you don’t need lube anymore, Brenda. You’ve been stretched nicely back there. You just keep wearing that dildo every night like I told you and you should never have any problem with getting cornholed.”
He slowly pushed himself in, filling her bowel. Brenda moaned with shame and self pity.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It was a couple of weeks later. Brenda walked into the saloon looking carefully about. It was a seedy, dark place, down by the waterfront. On the left, as she came in, there was a long bar. Three decrepit men, bent over their drinks, sat there. A tall, heavyset bartender, wearing a white shirt, bow tie and an apron was standing behind it.
To the right were some booths. He had said he would be in the last one. She picked her way through the empty tables and made her way along the line. Sure enough, in the last one was sitting a small man. He was wearing a nondescript, black raincoat and a wide brimmed hat. Brenda slipped into the booth across from him.
She shivered as she took in his features. His face was long and narrow, his eyes beady and close together. He had a sharply pointed chin. His left hand was on the table surrounding his drink and his right was on his lap under it.
“Are you Mr. Green?” she asked him. She knew it wasn’t his real name. That was all right. She hadn’t given hers.
It had taken months and months to find the guy. She had trolled seedy bar after seedy bar, seeking out a contact that could bring them together, or someone like him. It was the son of one of her clients who had finally given her the lead that she needed. The man she had met two weeks ago had assured her that Mr. Green was good at what he did and the soul of discretion.
“Did you bring the money?” he asked, ignoring her question.
Brenda was also wearing a long, dark coat and she pulled an envelope out of the right inside pocket. She put it on the table. His left hand abandoned his glass and he drew it to himself. He put it in his coat pocket.
“Aren’t you going to count it?” Brenda asked.
“Later,” the man said. “If the $5,000 isn’t all there, the deal will be off and I keep the
deposit.”
“It’s all there,” Brenda told him.
“Okay, where’s the place and when do you want it done.”
She gave him David’s address. “Friday night, around 10 o’clock, he’ll be in his basement. I’ll be there with him. No one else will be in the house. The safe is in the library behind a portrait of an older man with grey hair.”
The bartender had shuffled over and he asked Brenda if she wanted a drink. She shook her head and Mr. Green waved him off.
David had shown her where he kept the gun and her confession. He had laughed at her as he pulled them out of the manila envelope. He was always careful not to get his fingerprints on the gun. He let her beg and plead to give them back to her, but he always refused and later beat her heavily for even asking. “You’re my whore for life,” he would tell her as he flogged her breasts or belly. “When I’m tired of you, I’ll sell you to some Russian mobsters.”
She knew that she had to do something. If she could get hold of the confession and the gun, she could be free of him. $5,000 down and $5,000 when the job was done. She had mortgaged and pawned everything she owned. She had borrowed some from her family. She had saved and scrimped ever since that very first night he had whipped her.
“Inside the safe is a manila envelope. Don’t open it, just take it and bring it to me. Don’t touch anything else.”
“Sure, sure,” the man said. “And what’s in this envelope?” he asked.
“Nothing you need to know about,” she told him. “It’s just something that I need desperately.”
The man just nodded.
“Are you sure you can open it?” Brenda asked him.
“Lady, there ain’t a safe made I can’t open. Don’t worry about a thing.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Brenda was shivering inside the next Friday night when she reported to David’s mansion. As always, he made her strip when she came in and then he brought her down into the dungeon. As she sucked him off, her hands bound behind her, her knees pressing on painful, steel ridges on the floor, she assuaged her shame and suffering by the thought that upstairs, even as she mouthed the cruel man’s prick to completion, her liberation from his clutches was underway.
