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Wayward Wife's Punishment - Chapter 39
Three days after my resignation Lilith
Landry got around to phoning me at home. She was not too thrilled over what I
had done, especially the part where I didn't consult with her on this matter. I
did my best to let her down gently, which proved to be a serious error. My
former co-conspirator and current boss nearly melted the phone that remained
glued to my ear as she tore me a new one.
Then she giggled like a school girl and
shyly confessed that Cactus Bill had blown into town on a scouting trip and
they had been renewing old acquaintances at his hotel every evening after work.
Cheated death again, I thought to myself. L-squared had this great idea that
Bill and I ought to meet each other since we had something in common, namely
her. It took some tact on my part to explain that men didn't operate the same
way as women when it came to such things as sexual rivalries, even if the woman
didn't see it as any type of rivalry at all.
For once I made sense to Lilith and she
backed off and wished me luck on what I had to do. She made me swear that once
I got to wherever it was I was going, something even I wasn't that sure about,
to drop her a line or better still call her at home. I said I would, but my heart
wasn't in it. Then I casually mentioned the details of the grand unveiling at
my place for JJ and she burst into laughter and demanded that a set of the
photographs be mailed to her home or I would suffer from boils and carbuncles
for the remainder of my life. My last official act before leaving on my journey
was to mail her a copy of the evidence, knowing full well that she would use
that as a weapon to keep JJ and Frances
in line.
Right on time my two enemies made their
appearance. JJ had a problem walking, a very good sign that my effort to
cripple the bitch had worked as planned. Frances looked as if she was ready to
pounce on me once my back was turned; unfortunately she remained in my sights
for the entire time the two witches or bitches were in my apartment. JJ was
obviously in a world of hurt and as I had planned, the odor emanating from her
trussed up vagina was overwhelmingly foul. She offered no resistance to my
order for her to disrobe, only it came out as "Strip bitch!"
Half of the stitching was surrounded by
red, raw, swollen flesh, infection had set in. In some places pus was oozing
from the areas that had been double stitched. She would be in need of some
serious antibiotics once the heavy duty thread was removed. Let her make up some
cock and bull story to explain her situation, that was her problem! I felt no
pity for her, merely regret that her dear friend Frances wasn't double
stitiched as well, only in her case both her cunt and asshole would be closed.
Now the fun began.
Frances was seething, but could do nothing
but undress while I took pictures. It took a tearful plea from JJ to make her
start removing the thread from her cunt lips. She grimaced instead of smiling
when I asked her to say "cheese". Poor JJ started wailing once she
realized that the thread was literally buried in her swollen, infected flesh.
Ever the gentleman, I offered JJ the panties that her companion had been
wearing when the two of them entered, to be used as a gag. She had no choice
and soon she looked like a chipmunk with a pound of acorns in her mouth. It was
slow going and I must have shot sixty images using my digital camera.
Between the pus, blood and stench of her
putrifying flesh, it was difficult to breathe in my apartment, so I stepped
outside for a breath of fresh air, leaving the two to continue the process of
releasing JJ's pussy from the prison it had occupied for five days. When I
returned, the two of them were on the verge of hysteria. A point had been
reached when it was not feasible to just yank the thread through the decaying
flesh. I had anticipated such an event and produced the surgical scissors,
bought at great expense the other day for just such an eventuality.
To get them, all Frances and JJ had to do
was pose for me in a sixty-nine position with big smiles on their faces. When
they performed my request and it had been properly documented, I gave them the
scissors and told them to leave, since my apartment was reeking from the stink
of rotted flesh. Better they finish this at their own place so they'd have to
deal with the odor and be reminded of my victory over them.
Payback can be a bitch, especially if
you're the bitch! I slept very soundly that night and awoke unable to recall
dreaming, a situation that might be considered either very good or very bad.
Today I was an optimist. Then I heard the pitter patter of little snow pellets
bouncing off my window. Winter's cold, dead hand still held the city as its
thrall, time to shake the snow from my boots and escape south.
One week later, just as the sun was
beginning to announce its leaden presence, I pulled onto Interstate 35 heading
south, leaving my past behind. Anything of value had either been sold, put into
storage or was packed inside the car's trunk. I had a charge card that was a
virgin, a letter of credit from my bank and
approximately a thousand dollars in cash for emergencies. I felt elated
and that stayed with me until the leading edge of a blizzard that had been discounted
by the local forecasters announced its arrival.
It got progressively nastier and nastier
as I crossed the Iowa state line and finally convinced me to hole up at a
truckstop in a place called Clear Lake. There were a number of big rigs parked
around the restaurant, evidence that the storm had made driving a very
hazardous proposition until the edge of the blizzard blew through these parts.
Inside it was warm and smelled of steaming coffee and flapjacks and bacon, one
of my favorite meals. After ordering I took a look around and there she was.
Standing off to the side was this girl,
maybe sixteen or so with pale blue eyes and long straight blonde hair. She was
carrying what looked like a basket and there was a knapsack on her back. From
the way she was looking around, it seemed as if she had lost her way. Our eyes
met and she gave me a nervous smile. I couldn't resist and so I gave her a wave
to join me. It took her some time before she decided I wasn't a child molester
and approached my table.
She settled down and it was then that I
saw that the basket contained a
nondescript striped cat, I think they're called tabbies. I asked her if she was
interested in something to eat since we were doing to be here for some time,
and she nodded. We made some small talk before breakfast arrived and then she
concentrated on wolfing down her order, occasionally slipping the cat a little
tidbit. Then we talked some more and she admitted that she had been picked up
just north of St. Paul by a trucker who had roaming hands.They had parted
company here, leaving her and the cat stranded.
Her destination was Kansas City, which
just happened to be on my way. I asked her if anyone was going to meet her
there, but she was silent on that score for a moment until she said. "I
have a few kin that live close by and they'll come get me if I call them."
I figured we were maybe three hundred miles from there, but if the weather
broke within the next hour or so, we could make it before darkness fell.
My luck seemed to be holding as an hour
later the sun broke through and a snowplow went by clearing out the entrance to
the Interstate. We headed for my car, and as she trudged through the crackling
snow she finally told me her first name; it was Dottie. Then she introduced me
to her cat who was called Toto. Everything seemed to freeze solid as I heard
the wheezing associated with the calliope warming up to play a tune that I was
afraid to hear. What would be appropriate for a man who is helping Dottie and
Toto return to Kansas?
( To be continued
- lex ludite )