The Facility (9 page)

“That’s true, we need to learn,” she tried to block the sight of him from her mind. “You and men like you can teach us. You, Master Abul, are strong and forceful. That is why I have come to you like this tonight, why I have tried to make myself beautiful for you...why I am here. It is your...your commanding presence that makes me tremble...that makes my...my cunt hot and wet.”

“You would like me to fuck your hot cunt wouldn’t you, Mrs. Ryan? You came here to my bedroom, naked under your gown, hoping I would fuck you. That’s what you were thinking about all afternoon wasn’t it, Mrs. Ryan? You were imagining how my big cock would feel sliding in and out of your cunt?” His thin lips stretched into an evil grin, and his bulging eyes mocked her.

She hated him in a way she thought she could never hate anyone. Yet, hearing him say the words, ‘I would fuck you’ and, for a moment, believing he might give her what she so desperately needed sent a wave of heat from her hard nipples to her crotch. “Yes, this afternoon that’s all I thought about...your...your... big cock and how much I wanted to feel it deep inside me. I will do anything, anything you wish if only you will...will please fuck me.” She looked down at his heavy prick. It was corrugated with thick, irregular dark purple veins, which bulged and twisted along its horrible length. She reached out and tenderly touched it. “Anything,” she said, “my...my cunt aches. The ointment Miko rubs in it makes me so...so.” She looked away from him, then whispered, “I...I...need...”

He grabbed her wrist and squeezed until she winced in pain. “Are you bargaining? Are you saying you will do what I order only if I fuck you? Have you learned nothing, American bitch?” His face was red. He drew back his hand as if to strike her.

“No!” she cried, trying unsuccessfully to pull away, “please, Master...I just meant that I long to feel you inside me. I imagine it...I imagine it all the time. I imagine your manly prick...how it would feel. I imagine the fierce way you would take me.”

He lowered his hand. “Mr. Satomi has decreed that while you are here no one will fuck your cunt. Madam Khe has told you that. Are you just as anxious to feel my prick in your ass?”

He still held her wrist which he suddenly twisted causing her to lurch to the side. “Yes,” she gasped, “your prick in my ass. Yes, that’s why I have come to you. That’s what I want... I... I... mean it’s what I wish for. I long to feel your...your prick deep inside my anal passage.”

He released her and once more placed her hands on his cock. She stroked him. He pulled her gown up to cover her breasts. He seemed suddenly calmer. Leaning back, he closed his eyes. When she saw that he was not watching her, she turned her head to avoid looking at him. “Keep me hard,” he said, “and describe for me the way you lived with your husband in America.”

Remembering her home, and Jeff; recalling her friends and her life there, which was safe, comfortable, and sane brought tears to her eyes. She saw herself as she now was: sitting on the lap of this filthy, stupid brute, her make-up perfect, her body perfumed with oil, her satin gown reflecting the candle light, her long nipples still pushing against the smooth fabric of her gown. She watched her small, pale hands slide gently up and down the hated Abul’s thick veined cock. This close to him, she could smell not only his sweat and urine, but also his excrement. She was sure he deliberately chose not to wipe his ass. She shuddered. She tried to breathe shallowly to avoid the fetid stench. His cock, too, smelled vile. Soon, she knew, she would have to take it in her mouth. Then, she would kneel and lift her ass and spread her ass cheeks. She would beg him to take her, beg him to drive his obscene prick into her anal passage.

“Your life in America,” he said, “I’m waiting.”

Using both hands, she continued to masturbate him slowly. She did not pull the uncircumcised skin all the way back over the fat knob of his cock but only far enough to expose its tip and piss hole. “As you know, Master, my husband and I lived in a large, well appointed house. We had an acre of land, lovely trees and gardens. We owned two cars, a BMW and a Lexus.”

“Maids and gardeners?” he asked.

She felt his cock becoming harder as she spoke. “No, but a woman would come to clean twice a week, and landscapers took care of the lawn and gardens.” Kathy concentrated on her bright red fingernails. They were pointed and long. She thought of quickly digging them into his cock like ten small daggers. His blood would spurt everywhere. “We were going to put in a swimming pool this spring. I’d also been making plans to begin taking courses at the university toward a Doctorate in Art History.”

“What fucking foolishness,” he said. “You and your kind are useless...a useless waste. Tell me about the club you belonged to. Tell me about that and your useless friends.”

“We were members of the country club. We played tennis and golf. There were dinner parties and dances. Our friends were mostly our age, and they were well off. No one wanted for anything.”

“They fuck each other’s husbands and wives? You go to fuck parties and put keys in a bowl and go with whoever owned the key you pick? I know that’s what happens among the rich in America.”

His cock was pulsing under her hands. “No, Master. It’s possible that some of our friends may have occasionally traded partners, but Jeff and I were never involved in those things. We respected each other and were faithful. We were truly happy with each other.”

Unexpectedly, he slammed both hands down on the arms of the chair and grabbed her hair. His bulging eyes burned into hers with hatred. “A short time ago you were a rich American college lady happy with your husband!” he hissed spraying her with spittle, “But in three months things have changed, isn’t that right, Mrs. Ryan? Tell Abul what you are now.”

His sudden rage terrified her. She thought he might fling her across the room. “I...I...I’m your woman. I belong to Abul. You are my Master. I want only to please you.”

He let go of her hair and pushed her down so that she was kneeling between his spread legs. He pointed to his stiff cock. “You can please me by skinning it back,” he said. Carefully she placed both hands around his cock and pulled down. His purple cockhead emerged from the bunched gray skin like a dark plum. She found it impossible to believe her anal opening had ever accepted this huge bulbous knob. Yet, she had taken it and the thick, long horrible length of his penis into her anal passage several times. The moist, rancid smell that came from his exposed cockhead made her nauseous.

She tried to back away, but he held her wrist. “Your nipples are almost coming through your gown, Mrs. Ryan,” he sneered. “You have very long nipples. If we go to the punishment room, I will have Swart put tight clamps at the base of them. Your long nipples will swell until they almost split. And when Swart’s whip cuts them, the blood will squirt all over your gown. Now, goddamn it, skin back my prick and tell me what you want.”

Her hands trembled as she pulled the skin away from his cockhead. The foul smelling matter ringed the indentation. “I...I...would like...would like to suck it,” she whispered. The tears spilled from her eyes.

“Very well, Mrs. Ryan, but a woman of your education and breeding should know how to ask when she wants someone to give her a little treat.” He grinned down at her.

“Please, Master Abul, I would like...like...to make love to your cock with my mouth.”

He leaned over her, “The rich American lady wants to be Abul’s whore, Abul’s cocksucker? Yes?”

Fearfully, she looked up into his leering face, “Yes, I...I...I want to be your whore. I...I want to be your...your cocksucker.”

“Yes, that’s better,” he growled and sat back in his chair. She held his prick between both hands and bent down to begin licking. She felt her stomach wrench and turned her head thinking she might be sick. “If you vomit, damn you, I will make you eat it off the fucking floor!” he threatened.

Swallowing hard, she closed her eyes and once more lowered her head to the rim of his cock. She licked along the groove until it was clean. When she finished, he ordered her to keep stroking him and to look up. “Tell me, Mrs. Ryan, did you like that? You must learn to honor and be grateful for whatever your Master permits you to taste. Isn’t that right, Mrs. Ryan?” She said nothing. Viciously, he twisted her nipple, scratching it with his fingernail. She jerked and cried out. “Answer me!” he shouted.

“Yes, yes, I must learn to...to honor...learn to be grateful,” she whimpered.

“Well?” his eyes were narrow slits.

She glanced at his repulsive cock wet now with her saliva, then she looked up at his angry face, “I...I...love your...your cock...your beautiful cock. I love how...how long and thick it is. I love the...the...manly smell of it and the taste. Thank you, Master, for granting me permission to...to...take it in my mouth.”

“You are learning, Mrs. Ryan. It’s a slow process, but you are learning. Not long ago you were the wife of a successful young husband. You are well educated. You lived in a fine house and had many friends. You were wealthy and cared for...a rich and respected American woman who had everything. Think of that, Mrs. Ryan, take a minute to think of it, to remember how it was and what you were.” He sat back again and closed his eyes once more. She continued to stroke his cock. The sour taste of him was still in her mouth. More than any time since her arrival, she wanted to kill him. Without opening his eyes, he asked, “Do you now belong to me, Mrs. Ryan? Are you pleased to have become Abul’s American whore? Are you grateful when I give you permission to suck my prick?”

She knew what she had to do and say. She leaned forward to press her lips lightly to his piss hole. Then she looked up at him. “I belong to you. I am pleased that Abul has accepted me as his American whore,” she said. She felt a flush of heat between her legs and the oozing stickiness in the furrow of her cunt. Unaccountably, she felt somehow compelled to touch his piss hole again with the pink tip of her tongue. “I gladly kneel before you. I am honored to...to...be permitted to suck your...your great prick.”

He looked down at her, “Yes, I can see that you are beginning to change.” He nodded. “Abul’s American whore,” he said. “I like the sound of that. But for the rest of the night, I want you to think of me as your husband. I want to hear the words of affection. I want you to be with me as you were with him. I want you to feel for me what you felt for him. For a while I want to be husband to a young, rich but obedient American wife. I want you to call me husband.”

“I...I...I’m not...” she began, turning her head toward the door in the desperate wish that Miko might not have left it ajar. He wanted her to call him ‘husband’, to think of him as her husband...to feel for him what she felt for Jeff...my God, he must be insane!

He angrily twisted her nipple. “Imagine the riding crop, Mrs. Ryan, and remember your virgin sister-in-law.”

She turned back to face him. His thin wet lips repelled her. Summoning all of her will, she lifted her arms to his neck and pulled herself up, pressing her breasts against him. “Kiss,” she whispered. “Please kiss me.” Her mouth opened to receive his tongue.

When they parted, he scoffed at her. “Not good enough, Mrs. Ryan,” he said. “You are forgetting the words of love. I remind you that Narimov and Swart are, at this very minute, getting drunk in the punishment room. The steel nipple clamps are ready along with the whip. My friends would be happy to have us join them. You have a choice, either my wife... my devoted wife, or the whip.”

The smell of his foul breath and the sour taste of him made her stomach churn. “I’m sorry,” she said, “Please, allow me...allow your...your devoted wife to begin again?”

He nodded. She slid off his lap and, kneeling before him, untied the sash of his robe. She inched forward between his spread legs. She tilted her head, forcing herself to look into his leering face. “Husband,” she said softly. She rose, sliding her body against his chest. She held his face between her hands. “Dear husband,” she whispered. Gently she pressed her open mouth against his. With her tongue she touched the sharp stumps of his decaying teeth. Closing her eyes, she drew back and felt a sickening emptiness in the pit of her stomach. “Husband,” she whispered again.

“Terms of affection, Mrs. Ryan,” he said, pushing her down to a kneeling position and pulling her head forward until her mouth was inches from his ugly penis. The stench was unbearable. He spit into his hand and rubbed the saliva over the bulbous uncircumcised head of his cock. “Terms of affection,” he repeated. “Look up at me.”

His eyes burned into her with contempt and undisguised hatred. She knew he shifted quickly from anger to uncontrollable rage. “My...my dear husband,” she said. There was a voice in her head that screamed,
‘I hate you, Abul, hate you with every fiber of my body. I would kill you if I could.’

“That is better,” scornfully, he looked down at her. “Now, wet your red lips with your little pink tongue and tell your dear husband how you feel toward him. The words, Mrs. Ryan, you know what they are. I want to hear you say them as if you mean them. I want to hear in your tone of voice what your husband heard. I want to see in your eyes the desire he saw there. I want to see that you truly desire me.”

She began to lower her head. Roughly, he put his hand under her chin and forced her to meet his scornful gaze. “The words!” he demanded.

She had never loved anyone but Jeff...had never spoken words of love to anyone but him and only then when her heart had told her they were right and true. And now she was in this horrible place, naked under her transparent gown, her breasts clearly visible, her mouth brightly painted and glistening, and her feet in the obscene heels. She was about to give herself again to the ugly cretin who was demanding that she say the words she couldn’t speak.