Frog (14 page)

"Go easy, frog, you'll get tipsy." He took out some cheese, already prepared in squares, and some crackers from the fridge and set them between himself and Jane on the ledge. She looked at him questioningly and he nodded. Gratefully she took a piece, wondering who had prepared the cheese. Who chilled the champagne? Had they any idea what was hidden behind the door at the end of the hall?

She ate as much cheese as she dared, and drank the three flutes of champagne Robert offered as if they were water. She was indeed rather tipsy, and the hot water was making her positively dizzy. Her face was flushed and her hair was wet from the steam and her own alcohol-induced heat. Robert poured water over her head and proceeded to gently wash her hair as if she were a child. It felt so wonderful, so different from the cold needle spray they usually hosed her down with. What was happening? Was he going to kill her? Was this her last rites? Her last supper? Well, if so, this was a better way to die than she had envisioned at their hands. She let go of her worries; she quashed her fearful fantasies and just closed her eyes, giving herself up totally to the wonderful feeling of food in her belly, warm water swirling around her, strong hands massaging her scalp, and champagne making her giddy.

Rinsed clean, she let Robert half guide, half lift her out of the tub.

She teetered for a moment and actually giggled.

"You
have
had too much," Robert laughed. He noticed she looked actually pretty when she smiled. He had never seen her smile before, but then, why would he. If he had a conscience, it would have pricked him fiercely at that moment. But Robert, like Brenda, was one of those odd people entirely without a conscience. He had no empathy for others; he was incapable of understanding that others had feelings. He simply lived for his own peculiar pleasures.

And today his pleasure was to take this woman to his bed and fuck her. Slowly, like a lover, not a slave. And no Brenda to order him around, or to intervene, wanting his full attention on her. It was barely noon, and Brenda had gone into the city. She had only been gone for thirty minutes or so. It would be hours before she returned. He smiled and said to Jane, who was wrapped in a thick white towel almost as big as she was, "Lie down." He pulled her down next to him on the bed.

She offered no resistance, and didn't try to cover herself when he removed the towel. She was too skinny; he would feed her, but first he would fuck her. And he wanted her wet this time; ready for him. No rape today. Skilled at the art of arousal, he began slowly, kissing her neck and gently massaging her shoulders. His fingers swirled down to her breasts, which really were lovely. He teased and pulled the pink nipples until they were erect. Still dizzy, but so warm and comfortable in his bed, Jane felt his tongue flick against first one tip, and then the other.

Why resist? If she were to die, or if she were to be put back in the cage and tortured for another lifetime, she was here now, in this soft bed, with a man who was behaving like a lover instead of a monster. She would seize the moment and live for this very second. What else, after all, was there?

She smiled again, the champagne easing her inhibitions as he suckled and teased her sensitive breasts. He liked her responsiveness, and focused on her nipples, making her moan. Then his hands trailed down to her pussy. He teased it with the lightest butterfly touches. She sighed and let her legs fall open. Robert moved down, putting his

mouth to her sex, bringing her to the edge of release and then withdrawing until she was fairly begging for orgasm.

Only then did he mount her, carefully, as if she were china, slipping first only the head of his massive cock into her opening. She was wet! Wet and actually eager for the penetration. Fuck me, she thought, though even now she dared not speak. Who knew when this lover might disappear and the tormentor re-inhabit his body? But her body language was clear, and he knew she wanted him. Another few moments of teasing her cunt with his cock and then he thrust in to the hilt, drawing a grunt of pleasure as he filled her.

He fucked her hard, all his pent up desire slamming into her. He crushed her with his body, completely claiming her, riding her to his own orgasm, and, amazingly, to her own. She came as he did, feeling a hot, fierce pleasure clutching deep in her belly, wishing it would never end. He moaned and became rigid for a moment, holding her so tightly she couldn't breathe. Then his body relaxed and he fell against her, slumping into post-coital relaxation.

If only Brenda hadn't forgotten her charge cards.

She was standing in the doorway, staring down at the two lovers, her face grim, eyes glittering with barely suppressed rage. As Robert rolled off of Jane, he saw her. He sat up suddenly, looking guilty, and then quickly trying to cover it with jovial nonchalance. "Brenda! You're home early! Join us, darling. I was just warming up the slut here, so she can kiss you properly."

Brenda cut him off. He wasn't fooling anyone and he knew it. "Save it, lover boy. I wasn't born yesterday. I know you better than you know yourself. Don't get up. I only came to get my cards. I'm leaving again." She turned her venomous gaze to Jane. "You," she spat, "you I'll deal with later. Whore."

Jane was led back to her cage by Robert, who left to accompany Brenda to the city, hoping to make it up with a romantic dinner and carriage ride. Jane didn't know they were gone. She only knew that the champagne had worn off instantly when she saw Brenda looming in the doorway, as did the endorphins of pleasure resulting from the first orgasm from intercourse she had ever experienced. She was

locked into her cage this time, and she had curled up into herself, trying to calm her tumultuous thoughts. Brenda was going to kill her; she felt fairly certain of this.

She had been aware of the little jealousies before, though they were completely unwarranted, of course. Who would ever be attracted to scrawny, frog-faced Jane when they could have statuesque and regal Brenda? But Jane realized that the heart was a strange thing. She didn't know much about relationships, but it was clear there was something up between these two, and she was definitely a focal point.

She pondered her imminent death. She wanted to be at peace with it. To die with grace and dignity. But she didn't think she could. She knew Brenda would torture her first; torture her until she died. Oh God, stop it! Stop it! She ordered herself to let it go. If she were going to die, so be it. We all die at some point. She could have been killed the first night they abducted her. She had expected it. Instead, somehow she'd hung on for days, weeks, perhaps it was even months; she didn't know any longer. Eventually she drifted off to sleep, too dazed to even dream.

Her eyes flew open some hours later when she heard the door unlock and open. Brenda came in, alone, as Jane had feared. Robert would not be there to protect her, to distract Brenda, to keep her from going overboard. No, this was it.

"Get up," Brenda said. She wasn't dressed up in any leather getup today. Just a white blouse and blue jeans. Work clothes.

She had a hand truck onto which was strapped an odd looking chair, almost like those old electric chairs you saw on T.V., with all the straps and handles. No, it couldn't possibly be that. Jane watched as Brenda pushed the chair into place on the floor and moved the hand truck out of the way. "Sit down," she said.

Trembling already, Jane sat on the chair, wondering if she should try to fight Brenda, try to escape. But what was the point? The two of them could snap her neck as easily as look at her. She sat passively, waiting for death, a strange peace settling over her.

Brenda strapped her arms to the arms of the chair, tying them tightly with the large leather buckles over her forearms. There were

stirrups for her feet, and Jane obediently put hers in them. Brenda strapped her in and then cranked them so that her legs were forcibly spread apart. Next she strapped Jane's neck against the back of the chair, sliding the strap through the holes made just for that purpose. She pulled it tight, completely restricting Jane's head movement. This last action cost Jane her self-control. Until then she had been almost in a trance, expecting the worst, relieved in a way that it was finally happening.

But something about having her head and neck restricted like that, feeling the thick leather strap pressing against her trachea and knowing if she strained against it she would choke herself, made her perversely do just that. Adrenaline pumped through her like a drug, leaving her breathless and tensed.

Jane was breathing hard, certain she was going to be tested beyond anything that had happened to her before. Usually Brenda chatted with her, explaining what she was doing, why she was doing it, or what she was going to do next. Brenda liked to use her words to titillate herself, to control her charge, to heighten the torture by creating anticipation. This new silence was ominous in itself. Jane didn't know what to expect, so naturally she expected the worst.

Brenda brought out the cane. It was long and supple and left angry welts wherever it was applied. Jane stiffened, her breath catching in her throat with an audible little yelp. Without warning, Brenda brought it down on her inner thigh. It hit like a searing flame. Jane screamed. Brenda smiled, and did it again to the other thigh. Then she stopped. Jane strained against her bonds, even though it was useless.

"Thank me."

"Thank you, Mistress," Jane gasped. "Ask me to do it again."

"Please. I can't, please." Brenda brought the cane down on Jane's breast. Jane hissed her agony, but was completely immobilized by the thick leather straps which bound her.

"You can do whatever I tell you to do. Husband stealer. Now, beg me. Beg me to lash your cunt with the cane."

Jane tried. She knew she had to obey or it would be worse. But she couldn't bring herself to ask for the cane. She was too terrified to even form the words. They were frozen in her throat.

"Worthless cunt," Brenda snarled, and brought the cane down on Jane's spread pussy.

When Jane came to, she was still bound in the chair. Brenda was standing near her, greasing up a huge dildo. "Took you long enough. Don't think you'll get out of anything by fainting. You like big cocks, so here is your own personal cock, bitch." Brenda shoved it into Jane's opening, ramming it in none too gently, tearing the flesh of her entrance. She fucked her for a few minutes, sliding it in and out, in and out. Jane was dazed, frightened and still smarting from the caning. She couldn't believe this stupid woman actually thought she coveted her husband, the man who had kept her confined in a tiny room and tortured her. Why in the world would she want such a man! But Brenda wouldn't believe her protestations; Jane instinctively knew this. She tried to focus through the pain of the huge dildo ramming into her pussy. She had to come up with something to stop Brenda from flaying her alive. Even to buy herself another hour, another minute. "Please," she managed, between vicious thrusts, "I'm

so sorry, Brenda. It'll never happen again…"

"You bet it won't. I won't be leaving you alone again with my Robert," Brenda snapped back. But she removed the dildo, seeming slightly mollified by Jane's admission of guilt. "You've earned this punishment, haven't you, frog?"

"Yes, Mistress." Jane nodded, ducking her head submissively. "And you deserve to be caned, don't you?"

It took all her self will, but Jane managed to croak, "Yes, ma'am." Brenda smiled with triumph and then brought the cane down on

Jane's tender nipple. Pain blazed through her like fire and she literally saw stars in front of her eyes. The other nipple received the same treatment and Jane passed out again. When she came too, Brenda was unbuckling the straps that held her so tightly in place. She turned the cranks that released Jane's legs from their stretched positions.

Jane fell forward and Brenda made no effort to catch her as she slumped to the floor. Brenda had let her out of the chair well before Jane thought she would. She knew she should be grateful, but she also knew Brenda wasn't done yet.

"Lick my boots." Jane was weary and felt all the welts on her body like lines of fire. Somehow she forced herself up to her hands and knees. She moved to Brenda's right foot, which was clad in a lovely soft black leather boot.

Gingerly she stuck out her tongue and licked the leather. Brenda lifted the shoe, offering the sole of it for Jane to do her duty. Jane scraped her tongue against the gritty sole, trying to apply herself so Brenda wouldn't suddenly kick her. Brenda watched with satisfaction for several minutes as Jane covered first one sole and then the other with her tongue.

Pushing Jane back with the toe of her boot, Brenda snarled, "You are scum, frog. Get up and assume the position. I'm not quite done with you." Jane stood, barely able to keep her balance, exhausted from pain and fear. Brenda used the dreaded cane again, this time on Jane's back and ass. Jane fell forward on the ground, beyond revival this time, her back covered in a crisscross of oozing welts.

***

Robert found her where she had fallen and knew Brenda had gone too far this time. He cleaned the wounds and carefully laid Jane in her cage. He left provisions – fruit and cheese, crackers, bottled water, candy bars. He also left a tube of Neosporin for her to use on her welts.

This wasn't working out so well anymore, he decided. Next time they would get a guy. That should keep Brenda happy. She was so damn jealous! On the one hand, he liked it; it meant she cared. But it did get in the way when he wanted to mess around with the prisoners. Distancing himself from Jane with these thoughts, he stood, satisfied that he had taken care of her sufficiently to keep her alive and usable for the next time. That, after all, was all that mattered, wasn't it?

***

They basically left her alone for several days, which suited Jane. No torture, no forced sex. Robert did come in once a day to remove any waste and leave something for her to eat. Maybe they would forget about her and leave her to starve to death in her prison. Jane felt listless and defeated; what did it matter? Now or later, what was the difference?