An Old Flame Revisited

I smiled and brushed a stray hair away from her forehead and the tear away from her cheek. I wondered if this was the first time she had shared the whole story.

I kissed her, very softly, very gently.

"You are beautiful," I said.

"How did it make you feel?" I asked.

"Feel?" she said, and that thoughtfrown on her face was so damn cute I couldn't resist kissing her forehead.

"No," I said, smoothing the wrinkles that furrowed her forehead as she concentrated so hard, "let me guess."

"You felt feminine," I said. "You felt female as never before, you felt desirable and sexy and natural."

I stopped, kissing softly where her tears streaked her cheek, and whispered, "Most of all, you felt happy even as you screamed and cried."

Her breath caught and she looked at me, her eyes red from her crying but still, that perfect blue I remembered from all of those years ago.

"How did you know?" she asked.

I chuckled and kissed her again.

"I spent my time in The Life too," I said, "and I'm just telling you what my second wife told me. But with her, well, it got out of hand."

At that, she frowned.

"Out of hand?" she asked.

I chuckled and said, "Yes. She was out of control with it."

She didn't say anything, just held my eyes with both eyebrows raised in an obvious question.

I reached around and ran my fingertips lightly down her back. I could feel her tense, but she didn't pull away.

"Your back," I said, "is as smooth as a baby's butt compared to hers."

David's Story

"I met Mary the old-fashioned way, at work. I had finished up a planning project on which I was the lead planner, and the local university had the contract to administer the program. I got to know the staff working on it pretty well. Since it was a government project they needed a fiscal director with some government accounting experience and she got the job.

She was a Kentucky girl and completely different from the, you know, the "type" of woman I always went after. My "type" had always been, well, you," I said, my hand running down her slim ribs and waist and hip.

"But Mary was different. At first glance, the word "peasant" came to mind. I could see her standing in the dooryard of the

Little House on the Prairie

in a long skirt, sleeveless blouse, and sunbonnet with a hoe in her hand, tending to the subsistence garden while her husband was out hunting. She had that look.

She wasn't pretty, but she was, well, attractive is a good word. A round face was framed with a great mane of thick auburn hair. Her eyes were hazel and she wore very minimal makeup. She was dressed in a long-sleeved blouse and when she stood, black slacks showed off rather than hid her oversized hips and ass.

It was her voice, though, that got to me. The Kentucky accent wasn't the deep South, but there were plenty of soft vowels and "y'alls" thrown in."

I chuckled. "She's the one who taught me that 'y'all,' is a singular pronoun. 'All y'all' is the plural form. When delivered with her soft, slightly husky voice, it was captivating.

For the next two weeks, I found reasons to visit the office pretty much every other day, and by the second Friday, she agreed to a date, dinner, and a movie.

Well, let me back up a bit. My first wife had left me, well, I had kicked her out when I came home and found her being spit roasted by a couple of guys I had never laid eyes on."

"Spit-roasted?" Bonnie asked.

I laughed and said, "Yeah. She was on all fours, a cock buried in her ass and one in her mouth, you know, spit roasted like a pig on a spit."

"Oh," she said, and she had a pensive look on her face.

"To continue," I said.

"So I got a beer, they hadn't seen me, and sat on the couch, Fox News on the TV, and waited.

When they came walking out of the bedroom they were still naked and my wife looked like the perfect slut she had turned out to be. She had cum on her face, cum running down her thighs, and she was walking between these two youngsters, it turned out they were college students as she told me while trying to talk me out of kicking her out. Her hands were on their arms, looking like a groupie with a rock band.

She screamed when she saw me and the two guys did the hands-up-we-don't-want-any-trouble thing as they backed out of the room.

She started talking, trying to explain, and I listened, kind of fascinated I suppose, but I knew that it was over.

The two guys snuck out the front door, still pulling T-shirts over their heads while Mary was talking, trying to make sense although she was obviously stoned and drunk and covered in cum.

So I listened to her babble until she wound down and then said, "I'm going out for lunch now, alone since you seemed to be a bit busy. Be gone when I get home after work or I promise I'll shoot you."

She was kind of crying, well, wailing was a good word for it, as I walked out the door but apparently, she believed me because when I got home she was gone. I contacted a lawyer to get the divorce started and figured, "What the hell. If she can dip into the college pool I can too."

We lived in a college town then, had been students for six years, and I had just started work as a professional planner so I still knew my way around the hangouts.

For six months I chased college girls and did pretty well too.

But then I met Mary and she could actually have a conversation that didn't involve the words "like," "totally," or "awesome" as every third word, often combined into "like totally awesome," and it was a treat. We talked of work, of course, but also of the wider world.

And that damn voice captivated me.

I suppose, on some level, it was a matter of being "on the rebound" as they say after waking in on that spit roasting, but I was smitten. I didn't want to hurry, something odd since for the past few months often names had barely been exchanged before I took the night's co-ed home.

After our third date, she made the first move. Well, asked the first question anyway.

"Are you ever going to kiss me?" she asked, as we finished up a darts game at a local bar.

So I kissed her right there.

When I took her to her house and got her inside she turned to face me, her hands between us, palms on my chest.

"David," she said, her eyes doing that little flicking thing as she focused on first one eye and then the other, "before this goes any further there's something you need to know."

"That you're too smart, too bright, too witty, too damn perfect for me?" I asked.

She smiled and the term "smiled wanly" took on new meaning for me.

"No," she said, "far from it."

"Okay," I said, stepping close and laying my palms on her cheeks in that tender way I had seen in the movies, "what?"

She took a deep breath and said, "David, I'm damaged goods,"

which is why it struck me so hard when you said that. It was the same phrase she had used.

"I said something like, "You don't look damaged to me," or something witty like that.

She held my eyes then, as she slowly, deliberately, unbuttoned the buttons at her sleeves and then started at the top button of her blouse, something I couldn't help but notice since she always kept it buttoned. No sneak peeks of cleavage for me.

But the thing is, it was immediately obvious why she dressed as she did.

The first button open revealed the top of a tattoo that stretched across the top of her chest. Even that little bit showed true skin art. Delicate feathers, making me think it might be a peacock or something. I'm no fan of tattoos but that was nice, you know."

"Do you know what a sleeve is?" I asked.

"Tattoos?" she asked back.

"Yeah," I said, "a sleeve is when your whole arm is covered in tattoos."

"As she unbuttoned more buttons, it was apparent that her whole body was a sleeve. Well, in the tattoo world, it's called a body suit.

Some of it was true art. There was an arrow, kind of a stylized and romanticized Indian arrow with a flint arrowhead, that was almost photographic in detail. You could see individual pieces of feathers, the grain in the wood of the shaft, and every little dent from the way the flint had been worked. The feathers started between her breasts, very small breasts with very big nipples, and ended at the top of her clitoral hood. Along the length of it was lettered, in a beautiful Old English script style, "Lick Right HERE! Stupid."

In contrast, the single word "Stinky" was in her armpit, unshaven by the way, in what looked like sloppy prison ink.

But the ink was only the first part of it.

She finished unbuttoning and then dropped the blouse to the floor. She did that double-jointed thing all of you women seem to do naturally, reached around, and took her bra off.

She was small-breasted with absolutely huge nipples. Even her breasts were tattooed, a thick spider web on one with the spider living right at the tip of her nipple, and a target on the other, a classic archery bullseye target with an arrow in the red ring.

One nipple was ringed with a very heavy brass ring pulling it out of shape.

The other was pierced with a big gauge holding the hole open so big I could put my little finger through it."

I stopped talking then and looked at Bonnie. Her eyes were a bit unfocused and I could tell she was picturing what I was telling her.

"This was all new to me. My first wife had been pretty vanilla in bed, you know. Well, with me anyway. As I had discovered, of course, there was a different side of her.

So what I saw with Mary was new.

And I was instantly hooked.

Believe it or not, by the time she dropped her bra on the floor I knew I was going to marry this girl.

When she turned, her back was a mass of welts and scars, much worse than yours.

Large block letters were tattooed in that font you see if you've ever watched M*A*S*H on TV. "Apply Whip Here," her back read.

She finished her turn and smiled. "I see you didn't run off while my back was turned," she said.

My mouth was so dry I had to lick my lips before I could speak.

"Don't stop now," I managed, trying for a level of cool and sophisticated I was light years from feeling.

She showed excellent balance as she stood on first one foot and then the other to get off the cowboy boots she wore, and peel off her socks. She looked, well, "fetching" is the word I suppose, standing there barefoot, topless, but her tight jeans still on.

I had myself under control by then, and said, trying for that "command voice" I learned in NCO school in the Air Force, "Don't stop now."

She showed me an oddly shy smile as she unbuttoned and unzipped the jeans and pushed them down.

Mary was a pear-shaped woman. Small breasts and a fairly narrow waist, not wasp-waisted but a definite waist, spread into very broad hips. She had distinct saddlebags at the tops of her thighs and small semicircles of darker, almost leathery skin right at the top of her inner thighs, what she called her "chub rub."

The most obvious thing, though, was the thick pad between her legs. It made me think of a built-in Kotex pad even though I had never seen such a thing.

I closed the distance between us and touched the pad.

"What's this?" I asked.

For the first time, she dropped her eyes and seemed embarrassed.

I did the two-fingers-under-the-chin thing that I had seen my father do and made her meet my eyes.

"What's this?" I asked again.

"Oh, God," she sort of moaned, "we went too far and, well, I'm incontinent."

"Too far?" I asked, my fingers still under her chin.

"Oh, God," she moaned again, trying to look away, making me lock my thumb and fingers on either side of her chin, holding her so she had to look at me.

I waited her out.

"Oh, God," she started, stopped, took a deep breath, and started again.

"My boyfriend liked fucking me in the peehole," she said, and I thought, "Jesus Christ."

"It started sort of silly, you know? Catheter play and stuff like that. Hell, we both went a weekend once without ever going into a bathroom. But, well, it got out of hand and one night we were stoned and I was being passed around and one of his friends had a cock like a fucking beercan and I wanted him that way and, well, we went too far, and now I need the pad," she finished in a rush.

And I wanted her. Right there, right then, just like that, The image was so powerful I couldn't have stopped if I had wanted to.

"Take them off," I said.

Tears were starting down her cheeks then, but I could smell her excitement too.

"Please, David," she said and I gave her head a little shake the way I had her jaw in my hand and repeated, "TAKE THEM OFF!"

When she bent and started pushing them down I released her chin and watched.

I held out my hand and she handed me the panties. They were heavy and when I looked I could see that there was a pouch in the crotch where the pad went. I couldn't resist smelling it. It was pure urine, strong, and pungent, and my cock got even harder, something I wouldn't have thought possible.

I held her hand and asked, "Bedroom?"

She led me down the hall to a surprisingly feminine bedroom. It was all pink and frills. But it did have a big king-size bed and that's what I was interested in right then.

"Up on the bed," I said as I started undressing.

As I stepped out of my jeans she was lying back, her legs pulled up until her knees touched her nipples.

The first time I had my second wife I slipped into her pussy, running with her thick white natural lubricant.

"Relax," I said, and felt her relax. She was loose and wet around me obviously with a badly stretched vagina.

But that wasn't what I wanted right then so I pulled out, leaned back so I could see what I was doing, found her stretched-out urethra, and pushed into it.

She was tight there, but not as tight as I thought she might be.

It wasn't the sensation, though, as much as the, well, the "debauchery" is a good word, of what we were doing that got to me."

"Jesus," Bonnie said softly.

"Yeah, Jesus," I said back.

"On some level the, hell, I don't know, the 'inhibitions' I guess is a good word, of society kept telling me something was wrong with this, but my pure lust and the strange sensation of seeing the grimace of pain on her face accompanied by her words of encouragement got to me. I mean, it was obvious this hurt, but the words were, "Yes, baby, take what you want, fuck me, baby, it's all yours," stuff like that just overrode all of those inhibitions.

It was fucking, but on some level, it felt like lovemaking.

That set the tone for our life together. She introduced me to The Club, a pure BDSM club for those into The Life, and we would go there a couple of times a week. She looked so damn different when she was at The Club, you know. She could be free without the long sleeves or the slacks. She liked to wear very short cutoff jeans showing off the bottom of her big ass with its tattoos, and crop tops, when she wore any top at all, putting her back on display.

And I loved the, well, the pure ownership I felt. When a guy, or sometimes a woman, wanted her they'd come to me and ask permission. I was awash in it and when she asked me to marry her I said yes.

We were married at The Club. She was bound to the horse and said her vows while the men took turns fucking her and as soon as I said my vows the women lifted me, carried me to a narrow bench, a weight bench actually, and Tina, a feedee for whom we had celebrated her passing 400 pounds at The Club by force-feeding her a complete three-layer chocolate cake, sat on my face until I lost consciousness. They'd wake me and do it again while in the background I could hear Mary screaming, often the screams were "YESSSSSSS."

Do you see what I mean? Out of control."

"So what happened?" Bonnie asked. Her eyes were shiny and I could tell all of this talking was getting to her.

"It went too far and killed her," I said.

"KILLED HER?!" Bonnie said, her eyes big with shock.

"Yes," I said, "we were married a little more than three years. We had discovered asphyxiation play. What Tina had done to me was exciting and, well, Mary wanted to try it. We did the plastic bag thing over the head but she wanted the rope around the neck. So I set it up in the basement. I did a formal noose, looked it up on the internet, and learned to tie the knot with its 13 turns. I even found a heavy hemp rope. Christ, it looked like something out of an old Western.

The first time we did that I fixed up a little stand. I put three legs on a little tabletop, it was only a foot square, and had her stand on it. Then I put the rope around her neck. Christ, it was like we were engaged in the best foreplay ever. Her pussy was running, that natural lubricant hanging in a thick white rope, making her thighs slick.

I didn't do anything like tie her hands. I just slowly put tension on the rope until it was taut and then tied it off. That way when I kicked the table out it wouldn't break her neck.

And I did kick the table out. It was almost automatic how her hands reached up to grab the rope and support her.

And it seemed natural to drop my pants and masturbate slowly as I watched her.

I could see her grip failing and hear her whistling breath as the noose tightened.

I could see her orgasm as her thick white love honey suddenly gushed down her thighs.

I could see the panic on her face as the strength in her hands failed and the noose tightened, strangling her.

I came as I watched her lose consciousness and her legs kick weakly.

I had a bad moment when I yanked on the end of the rope to loosen the knot that held it tied and it didn't come loose. She had stopped moving and her control, always iffy, had failed and a puddle of her urine was on the floor under her.

A second pull, harder, got the rope loose and I just dropped it.

She fell to the floor in a heap, right into the puddle of her piss, and I thought for an instant I had killed her.

But she suddenly gasped and sat up and screamed, "OH SHITT YESSSSSSSSSSSSSS!"

She was laughing, and I liked it."

"But you didn't kill her," Bonnie said.

"No, I didn't kill her, The Life did," I said.

"She liked the asphyxiation games," I said, "too much it turned out.

She didn't like the suddenness of hanging the way I had done it so I got a little electric winch, something you can get at Harbor Freight for under a hundred dollars, and rigged it remote switch. That way I could slowly add the pressure, and we could make it last. She liked it when I had her up, right on tiptoes, holding that last little bit of pressure off but still slowly strangling her. We could make that last pretty much all night and she'd cum in waves.

But in the end, she killed herself with it."

"Oh my God," Bonnie said very softly.

I smiled.

"Yeah, that's what I said when I got home and she didn't answer when I called out. I had a night meeting and, while it wasn't really, you know,

late

, it was about ten when I got home. The door to the basement was open and when I went down she was hanging," I said.

"Oh my God," Bonnie said again, "dead?"

"Yes," I said.

"She was hanging, her toes just a couple of inches off the floor, a puddle of piss and a pile of shit on the floor under her, and pretty obviously dead. But I did it right. I pushed the button and got her down, called 911, and started doing CPR. I knew it was hopeless but, well, it's what you do, you know.

The EMTs arrived and took over.

In the end, it was declared an "accidental" death. As near as we could figure out, the insurance guy and I, she decided to play the asphyxiation game solo and was a little late on the down button. We had done that before, her hanging herself while I watched and masturbated, but of course, I was always there as a safe backup. Evidently, she didn't quite get to the down button in time."