Driving was a fresh agony, the plug in my ass driven deeper as I sat. The image of things tearing deep inside kept flashing into my mind.
"Did you think I wouldn't notice that you had been snooping?" she asked in that weird, almost conversational way.
"Mmmpgffffff," I said, the Pear of Anguish making any articulation impossible.
She giggled. "You need to work on your diction," she said, but left it at that.
Back at the house, David had reruns of
Justified
on the television as we walked in.
"Go stand in the corner," Lori said, and I did.
"David," she said, sitting next to him and kissing him in a purely domestic scene, "You need to do something about your wife."
"Huh?" he said, looking at her and then looking up at me, his eyes widening a little when he saw the chrome thing hanging out of my mouth.
"She had a simple job to do," she said, "Do some light housecleaning," (and I couldn't stop my eyes from rolling at that phrase), "and she betrayed my trust by snooping into things that don't concern her."
"What?" he asked, looking genuinely puzzled.
"Goddam it," she said, showing the first anger with him I had seen, "Pay attention. Your wife got into my fucking special toybox and played with my stuff."
"Huh?" he said again.
"Oh, Jesus Fucking Christ," she said, her voice rising, "Girl, get the fuck over here and get out of those fucking clothes."
I went, the front of my dress sodden now with my drool and snot, and started on the buttons.
"What the fuck is that?" he asked, pointing at my mouth.
"That is pain," she said, and her giggle sounded almost like a little girl, "Wanna see how it works?"
"I don't," he started but she stood quickly, reached up, caught my hair with her left hand and the T-handle of the Pear with her right. She pulled me down so I was bent, my face only a few inches from David's.
"It works like this," she said and gave the handle a little twist, making me scream through my nose. I was afraid she was going to do what she had called "unhinging" my jaws. I could picture tendons or ligaments or something tearing.
"STOP!" he said.
She giggled again, keeping her hand on the handle but not twisting any farther.
"She likes things in her mouth," she said, "This would just make it easy."
"Jesus Christ, Lori," he said, "Enough!"
She looked genuinely puzzled and a little hurt.
"Spoilsport," she said.
David came to me and brushed the hair off of my face.
"You know how to make this all stop," he said.
I shook my head in negation but stopped, quickly, the movement of the heavy steel thing in my mouth hurting me.
He kissed my forehead and turned to Lori.
"Get that thing out of her mouth," he said, the first assertiveness I had heard from him when he was dealing with her.
She pouted quite prettily.
"Come on, Baby," she said, molding her body to his and doing the palms to the cheeks thing, "Just a couple of more turns and that pretty mouth of hers will always be available."
"Get that thing out of her mouth," he said again, "and then I'll do whatever you want."
"Oh, all right," she said, still pouting.
I expected her to give the Pear at least one more tightening twist just out of meanness but she didn't. She just closed the thing down and then pulled it out.
And my bowels got hot and watery with my fear when I realized I could NOT close my mouth.
She giggled and said, "Don't worry, Martha, it's a temporary problem. You've just been a little hyperextended. Give it time. You should be able to close your mouth by tomorrow."
She stepped back and there was that grin, the one that scared me.
"Now get out of those fucking clothes," she said, "You still need to be punished for sticking your nose in where it don't belong."
I started undressing, still worried and trying to close my mouth very aware of the drool running down my chin.
And through my worry and pain and humiliation I realized that on some level I don't claim to understand, I was enjoying the attention.
My fingers were trembling and I had trouble with the buttons but managed to get the dress off. Then I did the double-jointed thing, got my bra unhooked and tits out before I engaged in the struggle with elastic and whalebone that was my girdle. Ultimately I stood naked before them.
My husband was smiling. No, let me correct that.
My husband was grinning and he crooked his finger, beckoning me. I went to him, head up as it had to be with the posture collar threatening the soft, tender skin under my chin. I kept trying to close my mouth to ease the pressure from the sharp little spike
David's fingers went to the rings pulling my nipples down, and he flipped them, the movement inside the fresh holes hurting a little but also very sensual.
"Will these interfere with her milk?" he asked Lori.
"Huh?" Lori said, "I don't know. Let's see," and she grabbed my left nipple ring, pulled me to her, forcing me to bend a little at the waist, and then started working my areola and nipple.
She giggled and said, "Evidently not."
I felt that sensation only a woman can know as my milk ducts stretched a tiny bit and my milk started to flow.
"Now," she said, suddenly all business and standing.
She reached out and entwined her fingers in my hair, pulling my head back sharply, almost painfully.
"I'm picturing rings here," and she touched my septum, that cartilage that divides the nostrils, "here," and she touched my lips, "and here," and she put her finger inside my mouth and touched my tongue.
She pushed, holding me at arm's length now, and twisted her fingers in my hair, turning my face toward David.
"What do you think?" she asked.
He was grinning now.
"A big, heavy one here," he said, touching my septum, "So we can lead her by a rope."
Lori giggled and I wondered if I didn't hear a little insanity there. "Oh HELL yes," she said.
"But, before you get TOO distracted," she said, doing the two hands on his arm thing with David, showing her possession of him, "There's still the little matter of punishment. She WAS a bad girl."
And there it was again. They were talking about me as if I wasn't there and on some level I liked it.
"What did you have in mind?" he asked and I thought I heard a little chuckle in his voice.
She opened her toy box, rummaged around, and brought out a rolled-up leather strap, like a two-inch wide belt with no buckle.
"This is for her ass," she said, and I KNOW I heard a little giggle in her voice, "A dozen strokes should remind her she was a bad girl."
And there it was, low in my belly, a sudden surge of that pressure of womanneed.
She went back into her box and pulled out something I had seen when I was looking through the box at her apartment.
"And this is for her pussy," she said, "Just because I love the sound a woman makes when this is used properly."
It was a spurtle. If you don't know that word, you can Google it. It was a kind of wooden spatula, the blade part about eight inches long and a handle about a foot. The blade was curved slightly, about three inches wide. And as I looked I could picture just how PERFECTLY it would fit against the shape of my pussy.
That little ball of womanneed pressure exploded. I could feel my body go through the stages of arousal that usually took several minutes for David to give me or me to achieve when I masturbated. I could feel myself suddenly wet, my love honey, my natural lubricant was leaking, I could feel the tops of my thighs hot and wet and slick.
"Have you ever strapped her ass before?" Lori asked, and her voice was breathy and excited.
"No," he said, "We've done some spanking as sort of spicy foreplay," he went on, "but never any real punishment."
She giggled again and I thought she was slipping beyond just a little crazy and I remembered, very clearly, her talking about her sadistic streak.
"Oh, baby," she said, almost cooing now, her hands lightly rubbing his arms, "You are in for SUCH a treat."
Something in her voice had me scared, no, had me terrified. I thought I heard true insanity there. But that didn't stop my body's pure sexual desire from continuing to build.
"How?" he asked, and she giggled.
She assumed a pose, her chin cupped in the web between her thumb and forefinger, posing, leaving no doubt that she was thinking deeply.
"Come on," she said and started for the door, David following and me trailing.
"Wait," she said, holding up her hand dramatically, theatrically I thought.
She went back to the pile of my clothes, bent, and that was another pose, showing off her ass, and picked up my panties from the floor. She balled them in her hand, looked, and disappeared into the walk-in closet before coming out with a pair of David's boxers.
"Come along, children," she said, leading the way into the front room.
I was trailing and by then so goddam excited my thighs slid across each other from my natural lubricants.
Lori crooked her finger, beckoning me, and I went. She pointed to the back of the couch first, and said, "Hands here," touching the hard frame across the back of the couch.
I put my hands where she had pointed, forcing me to bend slightly at the waist.
"No," she said, "that won't work. Stand up."
I stood and watched as she moved around the front room.
"Come," she said and I went.
"Hands here," she said, pointing to the edge of the coffee table.
I bent to comply, bending almost 90 degrees at the waist.
"Feet apart," she said, making me yelp as she kicked the inside of my ankle bones lightly.
I moved my feet apart.
"Ohhhhhhhhhhh yeah," she said.
"What the fuck?" David asked and Lori giggled.
"Oh, shit, I forgot about that," she said. "You did too, didn't you?" she asked, patting my ass.
"Ah oo ii ahs air," I said, trying to say, "I knew it was there," but my jaw still not working properly.
And the sudden wave of fresh humiliation hit me as I realized that I was bent over, my legs spread, my hands on the coffee table, as my husband and his girlfriend inspected my asshole, stretched so much by her inflatable buttplug.
