Chapter Eleven
We were both pretty tired so the shower was mostly sensual, not sexual at all. But what the hell, it's always fun showering with a woman. And I did enjoy exploring her big ass and soft rolls.
I laid out her Depends and the tightest jeans she had along with a T-Shirt advertising the local animal shelter, also a size too small for her. I did NOT lay out a bra for her.
She giggled as she squeezed into the jeans. I liked the way her fat rolled over them all the way around. The way she was being squeezed, I noticed that she was forming cellulite dimples that hadn't been there before.
I liked it.
The way the T-shirt fit, every little movement showed a peek of skin above the tight jeans. I thought she looked good as I did her makeup for her, fluffed her hair, and told her how good she looked.
She turned suddenly and threw her arms around my neck, kissing me hard and messing up her lipstick in the process.
"Thank you, David," she said, clinging to me like a baby monkey.
"For what?" I said, patting her back.
"For making me feel pretty," she said.
I chuckled and said, "well, except for your smeared lipstick. Now sit," and I guided her back to her chair in front of the mirror.
I scrubbed her mouth, redid her lipstick, and took her hand.
The bruise on her cheek was still dark and obvious but it was fading a little. I made a note to myself to renew it before long.
I was dressed as she was, jeans and a T-shirt, mine advertising a restaurant I used to frequent.
"All right," I said, "let's go see if Darla has an emergency beyond the heat in her panties."
She giggled at that.
I knew the way and it was only about 10 minutes to Darla's place.
I pulled into the driveway behind a car I didn't recognize.
"Hmmmmmmmm," I said, "you know that car?"
She giggled and said, "I know nothing of cars David. No, I don't know whose it is."
"Well," I said, getting out of the car, then running around to open her door and helping her out, "let's see what sort of shit Darla and somebody have gotten themselves into."
She giggled and said, "is it wicked of me to hope it's something bad."
I laughed and said, "nope. I do too if we're being honest."
I used the key I had been given to open the front door and we went in.
There was nobody in sight.
"Helloooo?" I called softly.
No answer.
As he headed down the hall to the kitchen I saw the door to the basement, to the dungeon, was open.
I turned and grinned at Doris.
"Well, well, well," I said, "this should be very interesting."
Her smile was, as the saying goes, ear-to-ear.
She giggled, a little crazily I thought.
I stuck my head in the door to the dungeon and called, softly, "hello?"
"Down here, David," I heard Darla call.
I grinned at Doris, took her hand, and started downstairs.
The first to greet us was Darla. She looked up and her eyes fell. She sighed theatrically and said, "of course."
At the bottom of the steps, I could see the problem. In the far corner, in that odd contraption I had been kind of fascinated by, I could see a woman.
Darla, herself, was a sight. She was in black leather, obviously in full dominatrix mode. She actually looked pretty damn good. Her makeup was severe, her hair slicked back, her face very pale setting off scarlet lips, and very dark eye shadow. Her eyebrows were very dark and thick. The leather shorts were skin-tight, pushing out little bulges of fat at the tops of her thighs. She had on fishnet thigh highs and was in 4" platform shoes, stilettos would have sunk into the dirt floor. Heavy black leather bracelets and a heavy leather collar finished the look. It was a good look on her.
"So," I said, "what's the emergency?"
"She's stuck," she said simply.
I laughed and said, "show me."
We went over to the contraption and for the first time, I got a good look at the woman stuck in it.
She was attractive bordering on pretty in that wholesome, round-faced, girl-next-door, freckled blonde way. She was buxom, it appeared, but it was hard to be certain since she had a shiny chrome or stainless steel belt, about a foot wide that appeared to have her waist squeezed down to about 20 inches. Two wingnuts had been tightened, and her flesh bulged out of both the top and bottom of the steel. It had to be constricting her breathing.
But that wasn't the worst of her problems. The contraption, looking kind of like a set of adjustable monkey bars you might find on a school playground, had her locked into a very uncomfortable position. One bar was under her hips a second over her back on the pad of fat pushed out above the steel belt, and a third under her chest. Her arms were over the third bar. Her breasts were being compressed between two plates. All in all, it looked like she was in some sort of medieval torture device updated to the 21st century.
"And who do we have here?" I asked, being pleasant, as if we were meeting on the street or something.
"This is Rene," Darla said.
"Well Rene," I said, "you seem to have yourself in quite a pickle here."
"Yes," she sort of groaned.
I patted her on the head and turned to Darla.
"And you want me to fix this?" I asked.
"Yes," she said.
"Welllllllllllll," I said, deliberately drawing out the consonant, "here's the deal sweet cheeks. And it's not negotiable. If you don't like it just say no and I'll take my fiance here to dinner and you can call 911. Understand?"
She nodded.
"UNDERSTAND?" I snapped, "say the words."
"I understand," she said, her eyes downcast.
"Okay. First, the fee. I've changed my mind. There will be a $50 stupidity surcharge so I'll get $300 as soon as I get the lovely Rene out of her predicament."
She nodded.
"GODDAMIT," I snapped, "SAY THE FUCKING WORDS before the rate goes up again."
"Yes, I understand," she said, jumping a little.
"But there are a couple of conditions," I went on.
"What?" she asked.
"Look at Doris's pretty face," I said.
She looked.
"See how I've marked her?" I asked.
"Yes," she said in a very soft voice.
"Well, I don't think she should be the only one marked like that at the Dance on Friday night at our table," I said.
She looked up and met my eyes, understanding starting to grow.