Tombstone

by Candace Smith

  She could almost feel his hands wrap around her hips, and she hissed when he entered her. He thrust gently, in a rocking motion. When Claudine began moaning she heard him chuckle softly. “Such a hot thing, you are.” He came quickly after he felt her climax, then reached his hands around to her breasts and raised her.

  Donald did like whipping her breasts, but for the most part, Claudine remained by his side throughout the day being pampered in a strange way. He personally washed her and fed her, stopping several times a day to thrust into one of her orifices but always making sure she had her own climax. Sometimes, he made a game out of arousing her, trying to force her to break the rigid confines of the costume. No matter how she struggled, shrieking with desire, the outfit never moved.

  For the Valentine display he had pierced her nipples, and chains threaded with black onyx and amber hearts hung from them. The seams at the top of her thighs had been relaxed slightly so she could take short, stiff steps. It was the first freedom of movement he had returned to her, and Donald enjoyed her ambitious gratitude.

  The Valentine Display at Tombstone’s club was a grandiose affair. Donald watched Claudine’s fascinated stare at Jonathan’s erotic twins. He had had collars embroidered with ‘Pleasure’ and ‘Pain’, though the terrified look on the black costumed twin’s face and the ecstasy scribed on the features of ‘Pleasure’ made the embroidery almost a mute, unnecessary endeavor. Donald stroked the side of one breast and he whispered the story of what the irresponsible young women had done to Jonathan’s son. He stroked the tears off the latex, beneath his mannequin’s eyes. “You see, Claudine. Someday, you will understand your contribution to your circumstances.”

  Claudine could feel the pain in the room, from all of the mannequin owners. She felt calmed that Donald had turned out to be a rather kind to her, and nothing as chaotic as the family with the twins. Currently, Pain was squatting immobile on her feet, crouching down while one son held her hips and plunged brutally into her little red bottom. Purple bruised ridges of welts were visible across the tortured flesh. Another son was thrusting with equal enthusiasm into her pussy, while still another gripped the sides of her mask and his cock disappeared down her throat. Claudine could not imagine having three men take her at once, and yet the little pixie’s bottom clenched and her throat swallowed as if she were insanely aroused.

  Next to her, Pleasure was also squatting. A man was sitting on a stool placed beneath her, with his hands on the floor and his feet braced in front of him while he rocked into the white suited twin’s pussy. A woman was smiling down at her, spreading her labia over her mouth while the girl stretched her tongue. Claudine shivered. The scene reminded her of a baby bird being fed by its mother. The woman was surprisingly gentle, stroking the eager twin’s rubber coated brow. It seemed several of the sons or the sister were constantly tormenting the twins.

  There were many other unique mannequin furnishings, most frozen and holding trays or posed in lewd display. Donald guided Claudine to observe all of them, but he did not go out of his way to overtly humiliate her. The one frightening moment was when Tombstone approached. He ran his hands around the suit, checking for wear or blemishes. Pleased, he stroked her clit, and she squealed in panicked response. “I considered her my masterpiece, Donald. Her body is perfect.”

  Claudine pleaded for her neck to move so that she could beg Donald with her eyes. Her thoughts echoed back to the promise that she would eventually be returned to Tombstone. Claudine was terrified.

  “The suit is remarkable,” Donald agreed.

  “Jude will give you the solvent. Use it sparingly and give it three days to see how pliable the material becomes. It would be difficult to stiffen again, without adding another layer of latex,” Tombstone warned.

  Claudine’s eyes were all that could transmit her confusion. Donald smiled at her. “I love the rubber suit, but I’ve decided I want you to be able to move. It’s become quite a chore to keep directing and manipulating your positions.” He was pleased with the shine of appreciation in her eyes. He turned to Tombstone. “Thank you. I know the contract states…”

  “You’ve been a good friend to me, Donald. You were the one to purchase the land and help me set up. Giving her to you allows me a small measure of repayment… considering you’re canceling the rest of my debt to you,” he added.

  The mannequins remained at the club for the night, with Jude scheduling their delivery back to various estates the next day. When the last member left, Sabrina, Teresa, and Jude met Tombstone at the bar. The three had discussed it at length, and Teresa was the one to speak up. “I need you to design something special for a friend of mine.” Teresa watched his eyes.

  Tombstone was intrigued. He had no idea that his friends from the ally talked to anyone outside the clients at the club. “Is it local?”

  “Jude and I are going to collect her,” Sabrina informed him. The trio decided it would be better for him if he knew he had all of them supporting the decision.

  “Do I need to speak with the client?”

  “No,” Teresa replied. “Her training and costume will be left to your discretion. The client is from the West Coast, and he won’t want the mannequin returned there.”

  Tombstone was trying to figure out what she meant. “He’s leaving her here?”

  Teresa reached out, took his hand, and she stared straight into his blue eyes. “Tombstone, the client, is Jerald Fry. The pickup is the daughter of the woman who killed his mother, and she desecrated Susanne’s headstone. Felicity is angry because her mother died while she was in prison.”

  Tombstone’s face took on a nervously bewildered expression, and his eyes seemed to glaze to an even glassier blue. “He’s real,” he murmured. He looked up at Jude, but Teresa answered.

  She kept holding his hand, and she reached up and held his chin with the other one, stroking down his jaw with her thumb. The trio recognized that Teresa had become almost a surrogate mother to the man. “Jerald is you, Tombstone. He was you when we first met. Think back before you blocked out the pain. Remember when you came to the club?” She smiled warmly and held up two fingers, as she had done the first time they had met. “You were so frightened, and you had absolutely no idea what you were supposed to do. I was incredibly flattered when you kept returning to see me. It definitely made the trip to the ally easier to bear.”

  Sabrina smiled in agreement. “I couldn’t figure out why the hell you were so committed to room number five, but honey, I was glad you were. We had some good times.”

  Tombstone felt as though he was remembering across a canyon of black, but he sensed Jerald waiting on the other side. His head began throbbing and he tried to block out the migraine that would not let him think. Jude reached under the bar, and he held up a picture of Susanne that Gertie sent him. Jerald was about seven or eight and standing beside her.

  Tombstone stared in an uneasy astonishment. “I’m crazy,” he stated.

  A few seconds later, Jude laughed. “Hell, Tombstone, we’re all crazy.”

  “No, I mean…”

  “You’re a survivor, Tombstone, and thanks to you, so are we,” Teresa said.

  Sabrina smiled warmly and rubbed her hands together. “Now, are we going to pick this bitch up, or what?”

  “Jude and I will go,” Tombstone replied. “We’ll take the hearse and he can fill me in on a few things while we drive.” His mind was churning with memories, and Teresa led him upstairs to bed. She held him while he twisted and turned in his sleep.

  * * * *

  Susanne in her black mannequin costume, without the mask. Smiling at Jerald… no, Tombstone, the man… and crooking her finger, beckoning him closer.

  Tombstone trembled, awed by her beauty. He reached out to caress her cheek. Her eyes closed for a moment while she drank in his touch, and then she opened them again and looked over her shoulder. Bethany walked up by her side, wearing a gold utility costume from the front room. Her green eyes fixed on him, but she did not move.
/>
  Tombstone turned back to Susanne, wondering why she did not look angry. His eyes dropped to her breast, expecting to see the red blossoming bullet hole. Her skin was unblemished. She held up her hand and Bethany’s arm lifted. A ribbon tied their wrists together. Susanne reached out and lifted his hand. There was a ribbon tied around it, with an empty loop hanging from the other side.

  CHAPTER V

  When Tombstone woke up, he told Teresa about the dream. She said she thought it meant that as much as Susanne’s death was tied to Bethany, Tombstone was supposed to be tied to her daughter. She reasoned that both of them had lost their mothers to the rash action.

  Jude spent the day returning the mannequins that were leaving the club to their prospective estates. When he dropped Claudine off, Donald asked him to have Tombstone stop by in a few days. He was using his broad net to gather information on Bethany Wilson’s daughter. The entire idea was beginning to intrigue him. No one could imagine what Tombstone would do to the young woman so close to the catalyst event.

  Tombstone drove over to Strickland’s estate a few days later. He was surprised to see Claudine in an almost transparent rubber suit, kneeling by Donald’s side. The thinned latex would barely restrict her. He looked closely and was astonished to see Claudine’s eyes shining with desire while she watched Donald’s eyes and lips.

  Donald handed Tombstone a sheet of paper and a photograph. “Her name is Felicity Wilson and she was raised by Bethany’s mother. At least, until she was fourteen. That was the first time she ran away. She dropped out of school in eighth grade, though she was judicious about visiting her mother. God only knows why Bethany was never moved to an asylum. They say she committed suicide in prison when Felicity was sixteen. It’s still unclear whether she did it herself or had the help of another inmate. She was not popular during her incarceration.”

  Tombstone studied the picture of the girl. Bethany’s emerald eyes gazed back at him, enhanced by dark lined makeup. Short black hair, probably dyed, surrounded an oval face. Her lips were full and painted deep red. Her body was perfectly proportioned, with ample breasts, a slim waist, and nice hips. The note said that she was average height and, unlike her mother, the girl did not use drugs. She also did not work and had had a few minor skirmishes with the law. “Why do you suppose she went after Susanne’s grave?”

  Donald noticed he did not say ‘mother’s grave’. “Her grandmother doted on her, and although a bit of a religious fanatic, she seemed to have given her a stable life that should have worked out well for her. Bethany had wanted to put her up for adoption, but her mother insisted on taking the baby in. She had legal custody of her granddaughter, just shy of outright adoption. Felicity had never even lived with her mom, so I don’t know why she seemed compelled to follow this course. It must have been something Bethany convinced her to do when her grandmother took her to visit her in prison.”

  Tombstone looked into the haunting green eyes and shivered. There was an unmistakable quiver in his cock while his balls tightened at the thought of working with the girl. “I might really hurt her, Donald.”

  Donald’s face took on a cold expression that caused Claudine to stop stroking his knee. “Well, then, we have a place to take care of that, Tombstone. Fifty acres right behind your house.” Donald placed his hand over Claudine’s, and he encouraged her to stroke again. “When are you and Jude leaving?”

  “Tomorrow morning. We should be gone about ten days. I hope you don’t mind, but I told Teresa she could call you if there are any problems at the club. It’s slow after Valentine’s, so I don’t think anything will come up.”

  “That’s fine. I’m sure Teresa and Sabrina can handle things, but I’ll be here if they need me,” Donald assured him. “I have my jet on standby for you.”

  Tombstone looked up in alarm. It had not occurred to him not to drive the hearse. “You’re lending me your plane?”

  “I assure you, the pilot is most discreet. I don’t think any of the members would be comfortable with you driving the girl cross-country,” Donald replied in a tone that announced the matter was settled. “You can leave the hearse out back by the airstrip.”

  Tombstone left to make final preparations at his house. He was still unclear as to exactly what he would do with the girl, but after he had seen her picture the strange feeling had stayed with him. His original thought was to place her in a rubber coated freeze and leave her at the club, eradicating her from his presence as soon as possible. Now, that thought gave him a queasy feeling of dread… almost something like loss.

  As he worked late into the evening adjusting the tools and furnishings he wanted, his thoughts turned to keeping the girl and tormenting her. Most of his ideas were confused, but he was sure he was on the right course concerning his new plans to keep her.

  After Tombstone had left, Donald received more information on Felicity Wilson. Claudine remained kneeling between his thighs with his cock in her mouth, working him slowly the way he enjoyed. She kept feeling little jerks of excitement through his rod that had nothing to do with her efforts.

  “I’ll be damned,” Donald whispered. He dropped a hand to stroke absently through the auburn tail resting on the warm rubber mask. By the time he finished reading Felicity’s propensities and interests, he was pushing harder into Claudine’s warmth and deciding that Tombstone might actually be pleasantly surprised with the girl. She had certainly suffered admirably over the years.

  Donald lay the report on the table and lifted Claudine’s chin. His stiff cock slid out between her lips and her eyes pulsed a beat of arousal. Whatever he had been reading had excited him, which usually meant a measure of torture for her. Donald was fair, however, and he would offset whatever torment he planned with equally passionate pleasure. Claudine had not thought of her old life of manipulative games in weeks. This stern man compelled her attention and fulfilled her in ways the money never had.

  He picked up the cane, always within reach, and ordered her to crawl around the edges of the broad loomed carpet covering the huge living room floor. The first strike landed on the full, fatty part of her bottom, and she shrieked and bolted forward. The rubber coating was so thin that she was able to really feel the stinging blows. It was a disadvantage she had discovered as her mobility was returned.

  Thwack. “Aaahyeee!” she screamed, tears brimming her eyes. The seams at the crease on the top of her thighs had been thin before the solvent was used, and she was now down to practically bared flesh. Faster and faster she crawled in an attempt to escape the lashing cane.

  Donald had two purposes for this particular exercise. Naturally, he enjoyed whipping her, but he also wanted to strengthen muscles that had been confined for many months. He gazed down at the panting woman while keeping his fast pace. “Once more,” he ordered, and his jutting cock quivered with her wail.

  Donald ordered her to stop by his chair, and he reached for an ice cube from his tea. “Turn.” He waited for her to present her detectible backside and ran the ice across the welts. The streaks were visible through the suit, and he knew that he had to decide if he would continue to dissolve it the rest of the way.

  “Do you have the mobility to sit in my lap yet?” Donald watched her nod her head. He kept the ring gag in her mouth and she never made the mistake of trying to remove it. Claudine shuffled back around and steadied herself to stand with her hands on his knees. She stared at his thick cock, anticipating the feel of him inside her. It took some maneuvering, as the legs of the latex were still quite stiff, but eventually she rested her knees on the sides of his thighs and hoped the position would please him. She closed her eyes, and gasped when his hands cupped her breasts and fingers brushed over her nipples. Sinking down slowly… Oh, god. Oh, yes. Oh, yes, Donald… her pussy gripped in spasming tight squeezes, leaking her fluid down the sides of his shaft and onto his expensive slacks.

  It was difficult to rise and lower, but the sensations of her building climax encouraged her. One of Donald’s hands lowered to h
er pussy and he began tickling her clit. She forced the image of Tombstone away and continued to rise and drop down with increasing intensity, until she felt her body burn through the suit, exploding within her latex confines in a shattering orgasm.

  Donald held her against him, absorbing her gasping breaths through the heaving breasts crushed against his chest. His thoughts turned to Tombstone and Felicity… and he hoped he was right.

  Claudine also thought of Tombstone, with a small measure of gratitude for leaving her with Donald. She had picked up pieces of the conversation earlier and she felt truly sorry for the girl who held personal meaning for the gravedigger. Claudine was merely a client’s job for him. Felicity was solely for Tombstone’s pleasure.

  Reluctantly, Claudine let Donald’s cock slip from her sheath and she climbed down onto the floor. He picked up his drink and the report on Felicity, and Claudine sighed and leaned forward. Cleaning his cock was not nearly as distasteful as it had been at first, and she was certain that if he did not stop her, she could work him to another erection and possibly another sexual interlude.

  His hands began sifting through her hair and she smiled around his cock. “I know what you’re up to,” he snarled.

  Claudine could tell that he was pleased, because his fingers kept roaming through her auburn tail. A few minutes later, his cock began to stir, and she sucked him deeper down her throat. The hand in her hair gripped hard and he tilted her head back. “Stand and present your tits.”

  Oh, shit. She had pushed a little too fast and her breasts were in for a throbbing caning. Even as Claudine considered the burn, her pussy squeezed excitedly and she groaned. You were right, Donald. I am a slut.