ONE
She waited until Maria had left for the evening before leaving her wine glass on the kitchen countertop and heading upstairs; with her husband overseas (again) on business, and the household staff all departed for the evening, she was completely alone, which was, she decided, the perfect time to take a bath. Maria had correctly guessed as much, and there was a large towel and her terry cloth robe, freshly laundered, waiting for her next to the enormous clawfoot tub in the master bathroom, along with a heaping scoop of bath salts and a full glass of her favorite red. Madelyn turned on the bath, dumping the salts in, and helped herself to the wine. Maria was a model employee, and the Salingers had been lucky to have found her; Madelyn just wished, with a little bit of shame, that Maria could have been a rotund woman in her fifties, preferably with a large facial scar, instead of an intimidatingly beautiful one in her twenties.
It was not a case of spousal jealousy; she had learned enough about her husband''s mistresses over the years to know that Maria, as lovely as she was, was not his type, nor was he impulsive enough to make himself vulnerable to the kind of scandal that could cost his shareholders quite a bit of money by sleeping with an employee. He kept his indiscretions discreet, and Madelyn tolerated them in exchange for her own indiscretions. Maria, with her long shiny black hair and her olive skin and impossibly slim figure, made Madelyn feel like the evil stepsister in a fairy tale, a lesser character whose primary characteristic was petty jealousy. It was a foolish little thing, she told herself, one that wine, a hot bath, and maybe a self-induced orgasm would help her forget about.
Self-induced because she was too tired, and perhaps too drunk to travel to the city alone, reserve a room, and arrange something. Another night, though, and soon, she thought, mentally cycling through her options as she undressed. The middle-aged woman in the mirror, blonde-haired and blue-eyed, smiling tipsily back at her, still had the air of debutante, but over the years, she had filled out, becoming, fortunately, hourglass-shaped, or, as one of her younger friends, Marcus, liked to call her, "thick." He was too, in his own way, she thought to herself, giggling as she remembered the first time she''d seen his member, how he''d so arrogantly drawn it out of his pants in front of her, how frantically she''d taken it into her mouth, and later, inside herself.
She lowered herself into the tub and let out a long sigh. This would do for this evening, she thought lazily, letting her fingernails trail down her collarbone and draw circles around one of her nipples, feeling it firm up under her touch. Her other hand moved downwards, palm gliding lightly along her belly, fingers parting around her engorged hood and slipping down along her labia, then curling and snaking inside of her.
She quickly found her rhythm, her fingers alternating between inside and outside, as she worked herself to the brink over and over, stopping just short of climaxing, each time penetrating herself a little more deeply, massaging herself a little more firmly. She thought of Marcus, again, his disrespectful tone as he ordered her around, the force of his hand on the top of her head, firm and insistent, as she bore down, fighting against her gag reflex as she bottomed out on him, chin resting on the saliva-covered flesh of his scrotum, tongue fervently slathering his frenulum.
The memory pushed her over the edge; she convulsed and cried out, riding the waves of her climax until they had subsided, and she was left gasping in the lukewarm water of the tub, her crotch sensitive and tingling. She would have to call on Marcus soon, she thought, gingerly climbing out of the tub and drying off. Maria had left Madelyn''s favorite set of silk pajamas underneath her towel; Madelyn decided she would have to get Maria a gift of some kind soon, although she was unsure if her motivation was to show her appreciation or assuage her guilt.
TWO
Madelyn dreamt of hands on her body, grasping her wrists and ankles, taking her by the chin, not gently, but not roughly either; the touch was indifferent, and she felt herself being manipulated, moved around like a marionette being untangled from its strings. She woke from the dream to the moonlit semi-darkness of her bedroom, wondering when she had turned off the lights. How much wine had she drunk?
She tried to close her mouth and realized she could not; when she tried to speak, to vocalize her surprise, she could only manage a muffled moan, and she realized it was a ball gag, the thick strap running around her head, the smooth, soft surface of the gag unyielding as she tried and failed to push it aside with her tongue. There were, she discovered as she tried to sit up, zip ties that had been cinched closed around her wrists and ankles; they were secured through the looped ends of braided metal cables that ran to the corners of the bed, taut enough to keep her spread-eagled across the center of the mattress.
The panic welled up in her throat, slowly but steadily, and she began to shake uncontrollably, an animal cry of distress reverberating against the ball gag as she struggled, involuntarily and ineffectually, against the restraints until she was exhausted, and could only lay limply and sob quietly in the silence of the bedroom.
She craned her head to look at the alarm clock on the bedside table and found it dark, nothing visible on its screen. The exterior lights outside the windows, which she had complained about repeatedly to her husband, were dark, as well, and none of the standby lights on the television or any of the other electronics on the console beyond the foot of the bed were visible. The power was out.
And then she heard the footsteps, in the foyer. Not the staccato clicks of heels or hard-soled formal shoes, but something softer, quieter, and numerous; there were multiple people in the house with her, Madelyn realized. They had cut the power. They had put the gag and restraints on her, hands all over her body as she had slept.
She could hear footsteps on the stairs, growing closer; the door opened smoothly, and a masked figure in black stepped into the room, and locked eyes with her, closing the door quietly behind him and taking up a spot at the foot of the bed.
"Would you like me to remove the gag, Mrs. Salinger?"
She tried her best to nod slowly, her heart pounding in her chest.
"You realize," he said as he moved around the side of the bed, "that there''s nobody within miles of us. That means no matter how loudly you scream, nobody is going to hear you. Nobody is going to come. You follow?"
Something about the man''s relaxed tone, the hint of condescension, made her blood boil. She''d always been bad at concealing her anger, past a certain point, and she had no doubt he could read it in her eyes as she nodded again in response.
"I can tell you''re angry, Mrs. Salinger, and that''s fair. But angry people aren''t always rational, and I don''t feel like being screamed at, or having to stuff that thing back into your mouth right after taking it out. So," he paused and withdrew a small but fearsome-looking blade from somewhere on his waist, "I''m going to need to impress upon you the need for you to be on your very best behavior." And he leaned in, deftly maneuvering the blade so that the point was very lightly bearing against her throat. "You''re going to behave, now, aren''t you?"
She felt herself trying to shrink, trying to withdraw from the blade; her anger unraveled into terror, and she could feel tears well up in her eyes. There was a horrible synergy between his demeanor and his handling of the blade, a kind of understatement that made Madelyn certain he would, without hesitation, butcher her with that horrible little piece of steel if she disobeyed him. She blinked back tears and nodded slowly, her eyes downcast.
"All right then." He reached around her head and unfastened the gag, a long strand of her saliva trailing from it as he drew it away from her and casually dropped it on the floor with a thud while she worked her jaw and swallowed several times, trying to avoid eye contact with him. "Would you like some water?"
She did, and her thoughts of resistance were quickly swept aside; she nodded, and he produced a small, unopened plastic bottle of water, breaking the seal on the cap and carefully putting the bottle to her mouth, incrementally tipping it forward as she drank, until it was empty.
"Thank you," she said quietly.
"So," he said brightly, setting the bottle down and tucking the knife away, out of sight. "let me get right to it. I need the numeric code to the safe. Not the little one in here, with the jewels, or the one in your husband''s office. I mean the other safe."
She felt cold, sick; there was no other safe.
"I don''t know about any other safe, I swear, I don''t."
He paused, mulling her answer over. "You might actually be telling the truth, Mrs. Salinger."
"I am, I swear I am."
"The thing is," he continued, the blade reappearing in his hand, "I need to be absolutely sure."
She could hear herself make a small, sorrowful noise as the future, brief and unpleasant, unfurled in her mind''s eye. Her life would end here, in violence and blood, because she did not know the correct secret. She screwed her eyes shut, bracing herself for the first strike.
Instead, she felt the fabric of her pajama top drawn upwards, and with a pop, split open, the buttons clinking as they bounced off the walls and the floor, her breasts exposed, nipples firming in the cool evening air. She opened her eyes in time to see the blade trace a path across the front of her pajama bottoms, and then, with a firm tug, the masked man ripped them away, throwing them aside, leaving her completely naked.
"Last chance," he said, somewhat wearily, reaching over and picking up the gag off the floor, "what''s the code?"
"I don''t know! I didn''t even know there was another safe. Please-"
The masked man shook his head, disappointed, and re-inserted the ball gag, securing it as Madelyn continued protesting. "OK, Mrs. Salinger, we do this the hard way." He retrieved a walkie-talkie from his hip pocket, activating with a jarring burst of static. "Alfa, this is Actual."
The response was garbled but understandable: "Go ahead, Actual."
"Negative on code. Start drilling."
He took his time undoing his trousers, possibly savoring her increasing terror, her ever more desperate struggles against the zip ties, or maybe he just did not care. In the semi-darkness, his member, already firm, standing out against the black of his clothing, was like a predatory thing stalking towards her, towards her exposed slit, her legs firmly held apart. By the time he began to kneel onto the foot of the bed, Madelyn had already expended too much energy to even move against her bounds with any real force. He took her the way he had spoken to her, directly, without fanfare, putting his hand on her forehead and forcing her head down, as he let his shaft grind against her mound several times, growing harder before he wordlessly mounted her, unconcerned by her muffled crying. His thrusts were steady, consistent, filling her, overwhelming her; Madelyn''s body revolted, growing undeniably moist as he continued to use her, the impact of their bodies punctuated by wet noises, until he finished inside her, with little more than a sigh of release, withdrawing and fixing his pants, leaving her raw and sensitive, her skin covered in a sheen of perspiration, a growing wet spot on the sheets beneath her.
Such insolence, a voice in her head fumed, and she briefly thought of Marcus, reminded, perhaps by her uncontrollable wetness. No, Madelyn thought, this is different. This is wrong. And yet, at that moment, she craved more. Not just his member inside of her, but to be used, so casually, to be treated as a thing to be entered, flooded, and then put out of mind. She felt bifurcated; her rational mind mourning her loss of power, her lizard brain clamoring for the distillation of herself into an unthinking sensory toy. He stepped out through the door, and she closed her eyes, feeling tears roll down her face, and his load, warm and thick, continue to slowly run out of her.
THREE
Madelyn woke up, still in darkness, unsure of how long she had slept for, goosebumps on her skin, her inner thighs sticky. She could hear a low mechanical rumble, most likely the drill, and echoing, indistinct conversation drifting up from the foyer. His voice, and others, along with something else; breathing, or whimpering, higher pitched than the others. Female. And then, multiple footsteps trudging up the stairs.
The door opened, and she tensed; was he going to take her again? Or do something else, something worse?
But it was Maria who shuffled through the door, her eyes red and swollen, her posture limp, defeated. There was a moment of eye contact that was quickly broken, and Madelyn''s face burned with humiliation. The masked man stepped into the bedroom immediately behind Maria, and Madelyn could see the gun in his hand, held low, pointing at Maria as he walked her forward, shutting the door behind him.
"I''m sorry, Mrs. Salinger," Maria mumbled, making a pointed effort not to look at Madelyn in her spread-eagled, fluid-covered pose on the bed, "I forgot my wallet."
"So, another guest for the duration," the masked man said, reaching up underneath Maria''s arm and cupping one of her breasts, "and what a lovely one, at that."
Maria whimpered, but did not resist, and Madelyn found herself unable to look away.
"Get undressed," he ordered, stepping back slightly, and Maria, sniffling, obeyed, hesitantly removing her clothes, unveiling her smooth, lithe form, pert breasts with small, dark nipples, and a neatly trimmed triangle of pubic hair. Maria''s terror was evident, but her compliance was total; she stood there, nude, her arms at her sides, eyes downcast, fully cowed.
"Get on your knees," he ordered, using his free hand to undo his pants and withdraw himself, moving in front of Maria, glancing briefly at Madelyn as if to check that she would be able to watch. And Madelyn, for whatever reason, very much wanted to, no matter how much she tried to convince herself otherwise, becoming aware of the heat on her skin as Maria gingerly knelt, the masked man using the barrel of the gun laid sideways across the top of her head to guide her downwards.
Madelyn tried to speak, tried to shout the man away from Maria, momentarily forgetting about the gag, managing nothing more than an incomprehensible mumble of indignation, but Maria had already read the writing on the wall, and took the masked man''s cock into her mouth without hesitation, causing him to groan in appreciation and grasp the back of her head. She quickly fell into a steady tempo, accompanied by the rhythmic slurping of her head''s mechanical bobbing on his saliva-covered shaft, punctuated by the occasional gag. It was not the passionate, devoted pleasuring of a lover, Madelyn realized; this was service. This was the practiced, diligent coaxing of a load out, the bread and butter of the loose woman, of the streetwalker.
And Maria, from what she could tell, was very, very good at it. Like so many other things about Maria, it made Madelyn strangely jealous. She watched, transfixed, as Maria noisily sucked the masked man off, without hesitation or shame, spittle dribbling off her chin onto her chest until, with a loud groan, he came, gripping her head tightly while she dutifully swallowed everything, gulping away until he withdrew from her mouth with a wet pop.
"Now that," the masked man said breathily, "that was some primo head."
Maria''s face was hidden from view as she stared at the floor, shoulders shaking slightly. He patted her on the head mockingly and looked over at Madelyn, asking, "You ever get head from her, Mrs. Salinger? Ever put her to work?"
She could see Maria shift uncomfortably from her spot on the floor, and the masked man''s hand closed, taking a fistful of Maria''s hair, causing her to cry out. He made a clicking sound, like one commanding a pet, and moved towards Madelyn, half-pulling Maria along, until she was positioned directly at the foot of the bed, between Madelyn''s opened legs and her sticky, glistening slit. He released her hair, and quickly pivoted, resting the muzzle of the gun against Maria''s temple.
"Why don''t you help Mrs. Salinger out?"
Madelyn strained against the restraints, but could only watch as Maria, visibly shaking, crawled onto the bed, the gun seemingly attached to her head, guiding it down between Madelyn''s legs. She could feel hesitant, probing flicks of Maria''s tongue across her lips, sullied with the creamy remnants of the masked man''s seed, and she screwed her eyes shut, wishing herself away, telling herself not to react, determined to deny him any kind of feedback.
"Don''t half-ass it," he said, pulling the hammer back with an audible, menacing click. Maria''s tongue began to work with urgency, and Madelyn could feel her body began to tense and quiver in response. No, she thought frantically, this is not me. She looked down, at the top of Maria''s head between her legs as she serviced her, and felt an uninvited, unwelcome thrill.
That''s it, another voice in her head said, feral and hungry, tongue that hole, whore.
Her face burned with embarrassment; she could feel the wetness coating her thighs, and there were squishy sounds emanating from her crotch as Maria''s tongue began worming deeper inside her, Madelyn''s body accepting what her mind would not. She became grateful for the gag, for the ambiguity it provided; it would never be made explicit how much pleasure Madelyn was experiencing. She had never imagined how much she would enjoy seeing Maria broken, degraded, never realized how much she had long wanted nothing more than to dominate Maria to appease her own jealousy.
"Keep going," the masked man said, "I think Mrs. Salinger''s about ready to pop."
If she had not been restrained, she would have forced Maria''s face further into her crotch, herself. Instead, she could only push upwards against her mouth, mewling through the gag, and Maria, the dedicated servant that she was, upped the intensity of her ministrations, not nudging Madelyn over the edge, but shoving her, wallowing in her wetness, refusing to relent as Madelyn wailed through wave after wave, finally going limp on the soaked sheets, while Maria, face wet with her tears and Madelyn''s juices, sat numbly at the foot of the bed.
"Like I said," the masked man said, "primo." He withdrew the barrel from Maria''s temple, and she slumped forward onto her hands and knees, her breaths ragged and slow. "So, how about it, Mrs. Salinger? Ready to return the favor? I''d say your maid here''s earned it."
Madelyn managed a tense shake of her head. She had been with women in the past; there had been several sorority sisters during her pledge period who had taken to her, and Madelyn, eager to earn the favor of the older sisters, had spent many evenings in the basement on all fours, servicing multiple sisters back-to-back as they sat in a row on the couch. But to service Maria was against the order of things. She realized that tonight, as she felt the muzzle of the gun press against her forehead, the order was different.
"Remember what I said about the screaming."
She nodded and felt a tug as the gag came away; the masked man took Maria by the upper arm and guided her, without resistance, up the bed, where she straddled Madelyn''s face and waited silently as the masked man zip-tied her wrists together and lashed them to the headboard. Madelyn could feel the warmth off Maria''s legs against her cheeks and smell her, the scent bringing back not-unpleasant memories. Maria''s hair tickled her nose as she opened her mouth and let her tongue glide lightly along her lips, making the younger woman squirm, the pace of her breathing increasing. There, Madelyn thought, as she heard Maria sigh breathily, knowing she had found the right spot, and fluttered her tongue against it, the sigh opening into a quaking moan. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the masked man''s waist, his member still exposed, and saw him gesture with his arm to Maria, who reached out and began stroking it as his free hand fished a phone from his pants pocket. As Maria''s scent grew stronger, and Madelyn''s cheeks became slick with her wetness, she delved deeper, watching as the masked man''s cock swelled under Maria''s manipulations, her tongue matching the rhythm of Maria''s hand, wishing she had been able to watch him take Maria, use her the way he had used Madelyn. Neither Maria nor the masked man made much noise as they climaxed, almost simultaneously; instead, Madelyn''s mouth was flooded as Maria gushed forth, and several thick, ropey strands landed on her face and head, Maria''s hand dutifully intensifying its motions, coaxing shot after shot from the masked man''s girthy, veiny shaft.
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