The room was large, not as big as an auditorium but more like a really large living room or family room. It was part of the basement of a nice two story brick house in the suburbs. Not a really ritzy neighborhood, but nice. The kind of bedroom community that exists all over the country near major cities. People got up and drove into the city to work then drove to their nice homes in the 'burbs to relax with the wife and kids. I'd entered from a dressing room (that was what I thought of it as) to one side. I was the only person in the room, although I knew that would soon change.
The dressing room door was to one side, near the front of the room. The nondescript bare wall on that side ran in a straight line for about thirty feet. The room was not quite as deep, maybe twenty feet. Two rows of chairs were arranged toward what I imagined to be the back of the room. I counted them: Two rows of ten, twenty metal folding chairs in all. On the wall facing the dressing room door were two large strange looking clocks, or what looked kind of like clocks. Instead of hours and minutes they were numbered 0 through 10. Two large black hands on each both pointed straight up, to zero. A red light bulb was perched a foot above each clock. Basketball game timers -- that's what they looked like.
My eyes roamed down. In the middle of the wall opposite the other door -- the "front" of the room -- was a round dais, about six feet in diameter. It was made of some kind of smooth wood, varnished and waxed and was raised about a foot above the bare linoleum floor.
On the dais, three feet from the wall was the device. My eyes were drawn to it like a magnet; I couldn't look away for two, three full minutes.
I began to shiver, although it wasn't cold.
This was why I was here, after all; this was to be the instrument of my humiliation. Harmless enough looking, like a small half barrel, about eighteen inches in diameter. Covered with some kind of smooth grey velour looking material. It looked innocent enough.
Except for the large penis attachment protruding in the air near the center of the curved top. I shivered more violently.
Finally I forced myself to stop shivering and walk toward the device. Stepping onto the dais I noticed a heavy wire leading to a small box with two knobs lying on the far side. The box was dangling just off the edge of the dais.
I glanced down at the printed instructions I held clutched in my hand. "Use the liquid in the bottle next to the machine to thoroughly lubricate the penile attachment and yourself," I read. "When sufficiently lubricated slowly lower yourself onto it, inserting the attachment fully in your vagina."
Could have been the instructions on a box of cake mix! Except what would be mixed thoroughly would be me. I blushed furiously, embarrassed beyond belief although I was still the only person in the room. I remembered how I'd gotten in this fix...
It all began five years ago when I married Bill. I say, "I married Bill", not "Bill and I married" because truthfully that's what it was. Bill and I had dated for six months previously. He seemed nice enough, the sex was acceptable if not outstanding. I wanted to be married; I was twenty three years old and most of my friends were married by now. Bill was a nice enough guy, four years older than me, nice looking, good job. So I pressured Bill into marriage. I told him I wanted and expected us to marry and if he didn't feel the same way maybe we should end things and move on. Poor guy; he just wanted to keep me happy! He gave in and proposed and we were married three months later.
Then I wanted a house so I talked him into that also. It was a little bigger than we needed and the payment was pretty high but I loved it all the same. I furnished it using our credit cards, which maxed them of course. Next I really wanted a new car as my Hundai was four years old and ran ok but just didn't fit the neighborhood. I wrangled a new Audi, on a lease. Four hundred bucks a month; that just about bankrupted us but I figured Bill would keep getting raises at his job and eventually we'd be ok.
So we gradually sunk deeper into debt. Bill did well, kept driving his old beater Chevy truck and working hard, extra hours that paid off as he got a couple of promotions. I kept my admin job, same old-same old, but the money was steady and truthfully we needed it.
I noticed Bill was getting quieter and quieter; we almost never talked any more. Sex got to be routine and not too frequent which was ok; it wasn't that important to me anyway. Besides, the flannel gowns I wore to bed weren't exactly sexy! Bill would occasionally try to get me interested; most times I wasn't and made certain he knew that. Occasionally I gave in and let him hump me for a few minutes, and then we'd go to sleep.
I gradually took over the finances. I had Bill brown bagging and I did too, usually, except for a couple of lunches with the girls each week.
Looking back, I know Bill was really miserable during those five years. While I didn't exactly love the guy -- I thought I did sometimes -- he was nice, gentle, and considerate. He probably deserved better than what I gave him. I sometimes felt bad about the way I treated him but I couldn't seem to change and he didn't seem to want to force the issue.
Then six months ago Bill got laid off and everything changed.
Although he continued to search for work the economy was down and jobs were scarce. We didn't have any savings; we lived on his 401-K for a couple of months then credit cards. Borrowed from his family and mine.
Some of the bills began to slide. Month by month we sunk deeper in the hole. I couldn't help being angry about this and in spite of myself I blamed Bill. Why couldn't he find another job? Why couldn't he support me in the manner I deserved? I became contemptuous of him, began to treat him like a failure, less of a man.
One day at work I was confiding in Laura, a pretty blonde who worked in another department. After listening to me ramble on about money, money, money for a half hour she asked, "Why don't you contact the Aries Society? I hear they help needy families sometimes."
A charity? Yuuuck! Laura wrote the Aries Society web site address down; I stuffed it in my purse and forgot about it.
The next day I got both good and bad news. The good news was Bill had finally found a job. He wouldn't make as much as his old job but it was solid and we might make it if we scrimped a bit.
The bad news was the eviction notice I received by registered mail that same afternoon.
Bill and I had a long, long talk that evening. "It's like this, Staci," he explained. "We can make it on what I'll make plus your salary; the problem is, we're behind on the mortgage. Ten thousand dollars behind to be exact, and if we don't come up with the money by next week the mortgage company will foreclose and we'll be evicted. Probably take a couple of months but we're out all the same and with a foreclosure on our credit we won't be able to buy another house for seven years. We won't even be able to rent an apartment."
"I don't know where we can get ten thousand dollars," he continued. "Our credit cards are maxed, our families tapped out. No way, no how."
I cried and held him and we talked sweetly, like we hadn't talked in years and made love gently and that was nice too. We fell asleep holding each other.
