The Life Of A Hoosier Farm Girl Ch 07

Warning: This story contains bondage, torture, lesbian sex, allusions to necrophilia, kidnapping, and has scatological content. It is a dark story; it is not for everyone.

In Chapter 6, Nancy finds Billie Jean unconscious in the hospital. She has been admitted bleeding, naked and raped. After having not seen, nor heard from Mike for two weeks, Nancy assumes their nascent affair is over. Mike surprises her when he shows up at the hospital where she works with flowers, either for Billie Jean or her (it's hard to tell). Their romance resumes, and Mike finally takes Nancy to bed. Nancy takes a walk down memory lane and recalls some erotic experiences of her late teens.

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Mike and I cuddled for a long time after we finally made love, and I was happy beyond description. Then it got weird. Mike apologized as he tied me up; I was still naked. Apparently, he's into bondage. That is, he's into his women being bound. He explained he's a control freak.

I said, "Okay; I'm happy to let you enjoy me while I'm tied up, too. I can't wrap my legs around you, but I can enjoy you pleasuring me. It's okay to be rough, you know. I like it rough as well. Just don't hurt me."

"I know how you like it," Mike said. "I saw the videos." Something wasn't right. It was hard to pinpoint it, but there was a subtle change in Mike's attitude. He looked at me differently. It was sexy, but disconcerting. It was also scary.

Mike's doorbell rang. "The boys are here. Will you excuse me, darling?" Mike said.

"The boys?" I asked, alarmed. "I'm naked and tied up Mike. You can't entertain guests this way! Let me get dressed!"

"Oh, don't worry about me entertaining the guests. That's sweet of you. It's you, babe. You're the entertainment. You'll do a great job, I'm sure," Mike said, his eyes now twinkling with evil.

Suddenly I was terrified. "Mike, no, please! Those videos are when I was on the meds! I'm not like that! I'll scream, you know. My screams can be terrifying." Mike could tell, I'm sure, that my panic was genuine. This was no act. I was planning to yell rape if it came to that, and to yell it as loudly as I could manage.

Mike relented and untied me. He tossed me one of his dress shirts. "You can wear this," he said. He left to answer the door.

I quickly put on his shirt. He's quite a bit taller than I am, so the shirt covered all my private parts, but less than generously. My dress and underwear were nowhere to be seen, so the shirt was it: It was all I had on. I know from the movies that a woman dressed only in a shirt is a symbolic invitation for sex, but that's when she is alone with her lover. Now I'll be meeting God knows who else: 'the boys.'

I found one of Mike's belts to sash the shirt, but it was too big to work on little me. I found one of his longer silk ties, and that worked as a sash around my waist. That established, I searched through his vast collection of ties until I found one that was colorful and would actually be flattering with the shirt.

While hunting around, I found his "dog tag" from when he was in the military, and on a lark, I strung that through another of his dress ties, and wore it as a necklace.

I fluffed my hair, splashed some water on my face, and tried to adjust my makeup having no tools but soap, water, towels and toilet paper. This was not an ideal situation, to say the least. Well, you work with what's available. I did the best I could. I practiced sitting down demurely, pulling a chair so that I could see myself when seated in a mirror.

I decided this was the best I could do, so I bravely opened the bedroom door and went into the living room to meet the guests. I was surprised to find that one of the guests I already knew: It was Al, Billie Jean's sugar daddy from the 23rd floor. Two other men I did not know, and there was a gorgeous young blonde, maybe 22 or 23 years old. The blonde strangely reminded me of Billie Jean: not just her face, but also the way she spoke, and her accent.

Introductions were made. Besides Al, the men were Adam and Harold. They were both in their late 30s, or early 40s. They were polite, but when I shook hands with Harold his hand held mine a little too long, and I saw lust in his eyes. It made me nervous; what exactly had Mike planned out for this evening?

I guess I had some idea. After all, he had me tied up spread eagle, naked, on his bed. He had said I would be the entertainment. It seemed pretty clear what he had in mind, even if it was too horrific for me to believe just then. Could he really be that evil? Well, he had in fact untied me when I protested vigorously. Let's face it, I thought: I don't understand Mike at all.

I said hello to Al and he offered me his hand. I took it to shake it, but instead he pulled me up against himself and kissed me. His strong arms held me like that, and one hand went around me. It pushed up my shirt, revealing my naked rear end to the others, and he caressed my ass.

Okay, all remaining doubt was now removed. I knew what the program for the day was.

I did some lightning fast thinking, and decided to play along, at least for a while, so I returned his kiss. I had to time my escape. I did nothing to encourage him, such as putting my arms around his neck, other than returning the kiss, and I kept my mouth closed. I put my hand on my shirt tails and tried to cover my ass for the sake of modesty, but Al was having none of that.

I finally got away from Al and noticed the men were smirking. I went to the pretty blonde and introduced myself. She was fully dressed, of course, and quite stylishly so. Her name was Chloe, and then she completely surprised me when she said, "I believe you know my older sister, Billie Jean?"

I gave her a hug, and I asked all about Billie Jean. We sat together on a love seat and we talked up a storm. Of course, I was still aware of how I was dressed, and I sat down with great care, being careful to preserve my modesty. We had fun but little by little, Chloe told me, in coded girl talk, that she suspected Al and/or some of his friends had put Billie Jean in the hospital.

Chloe was doing some spying. Chloe's spying technique seemed to amount to the following: She had met Al and told him it was a little-known tradition back home in Louisiana for a younger sister to replace a wife, should the wife die or become unavailable, for example due to sickness. This presumes the younger sister is unattached. Billie Jean was not dead, thank goodness, so her "replacement" was temporary.

Chloe whispered to me, telling me people will believe anything you tell them about Cajun culture in Louisiana, especially if they want to believe it. This is especially the case when it serves their interest or their needs to do so.

"So that's all bull shit, I guess, about these family traditions and all," I whispered back.

"Yeah," she said. "Totally. I think Al knows it, too, he just wants to fuck me all the time. I'm a bit of a tigress in the sack, and Al is not bad either."

"Have you learned anything yet?" I whispered. I was not sure I wanted to hear the answer.

"Nothing definitive. But Al has a temper if he's defied. He is also highly secretive. But I still suspect him and every man in this room. This little group of men is scary, let me tell you," Chloe said. She was warning me.

That Mike and Al were scary, I had already figured out myself. I took Chloe's word on Adam and Harold.

"Mike included?" I asked. Chloe nodded her head meaningfully, and her expression expressed to me 'very,' even if it remained unspoken.

Mike had put on some music, and my little tête à tête with Chloe came to a sudden end when Adam 'asked' her to dance. I say 'asked' because it was clear he had no intention of letting Chloe decline his invitation. Right away, Harold asked me to dance.

The music was good, and it had a nice beat, and I gyrated around using my usual dance moves, which I realized to my chagrin, are very sexy. Chloe's dancing was more subdued, but she herself was the incarnation of sexy. It was how she moved, how she spoke, her sexy voice, her pretty face, and her gorgeous body. She oozed sex.

I don't think I was flashing anything while I danced. My shirt was buttoned up almost to my neck, but it was large and it billowed out on me when I leaned forward. This may have allowed Harold and others to have peeks of parts of my boobs during those forward leans; I'm just not sure. In any event it was no more than a man would see sitting across the table from a date wearing a dress with some décolletage.

Judging from the smile on Harold's face, however, he saw my boobs and I did flash him. The next song was a slow dance and he quickly pulled me flush against him, and as Al had done before him he raised Mike's shirt to expose my ass, and caressed it flamboyantly. I looked at Mike, pleading with my eyes, but Mike just smiled. He was enjoying my distress.

My efforts to prevent Harold from fondling and exposing my naked ass came to naught, even as they had with Al before him.

I looked over at Chloe and received a big shock. Adam was also holding her flush against him, but her hands were unbuckling his belt. She next unzipped his pants. He pushed her away slightly, just enough to push her shirt above her bra, and then she raised her arms so that he could easily remove it. Adam unhooked her bra, and her delightful boobs spilled out. The men applauded, except for Harold, whose hands were busy with me.

Harold turned me around so that my back was against him and I was facing Mike and Al. He held my waist tightly so that there was no escape. He used his free hand to unbutton Mike's shirt down to my waist. He began to pull it off my shoulders after which it would fall off me, but I quietly said, "Please, Harold. No."

He actually listened to me. He left me like that, with the shirt unbuttoned, remaining on me, but perilously so. Of course, it was easy to see most of my boobs with the shirt unbuttoned down to my wait. It seemed inevitable that I was going to be naked, and once that happened, doubtless it would be open season on me.

It might even be open season on my before it happens, it occurred to me. To quote a former president, I was in deep doo-doo.

After that dance, Chloe and I returned to our love seat, Chloe topless, and me in Mike's shirt, now mostly unbuttoned, and naked underneath. Thank God, I had added the little fillip of the sash!

It did not take a rocket scientist to see what was in the minds of the four men. Chloe and I saw this clearly. "We all watched the videos of you when you were back in Indiana before coming down here," Chloe said. "You were amazing. I'm not at all sure I can keep up with you."

My heart sank. It was not the time nor the place to talk about my becoming a widow, my depression, the meds, my elation when the depression lifted, and the meds-induced lack of inhibitions. I could not hope to explain just then how that was all surreal, from another time. I simply said, "I'm not like that anymore."

"Ever do it with a girl?" Chloe said in full voice, so that everyone could hear.

Jesus, I thought. It's starting. I'm not going to be able to extricate myself from this. "I do what Mike wants. And I only do what Mike wants."

Chloe turned to Mike. He was blushing. I had put it all on him. He knew he could lose me. What would he do? I was about to learn Mike's true colors, who he is, and how much he cares for me. If I had to endure a gangbang to learn it, well it might be worth it to have the clarity.

What am I thinking? No, of course enduring a gangbang would not be worth learning that Mike is not the man for me! There are much easier and saner ways to learn such a thing. Maybe I already knew. To pose the question is to answer it, isn't it?

Mike was struggling. It was obvious. It was also obvious he had a big erection inside his pants.

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Chloe saw how awkward the situation was, and she turned and faced Harold. She said to him, "How about you, Harold? Ever done it with a woman?" I noticed she used the word woman with Harold, but girl with me. Interesting, I thought.

"Never one as sweet as you look right now," Harold replied. I did not doubt it: Based on looks alone, Chloe sitting there topless was a veritable siren. She was quite the prize.

Chloe stood up and walked slowly towards Harold, swishing her hips. Al, Adam, Mike and yes, I too, were all staring at the erotic scene beginning to unfold. "Put some music on, Mike," I said.

Mike put on a slow song, and Chloe wrapped her arms around the hapless Harold. Her hands caressed his hair, coming down to his face, then to his neck, as they danced. I fantasized first that she was a vampire about to suck him dry, and then my fantasy morphed into her breaking his neck in some special martial arts move, yelling "This is for Billie Jean!"

But those were just fantasies. All Chloe was really going to do was to give Harold amazing sexual pleasure. Knowing anticipation is important, she softly swayed with him, whispering softly into his ear. She removed his tie, and she tied it around her neck. Then she stepped away from him and removed her skirt, now dressed only in her panties.

I was pleasantly surprised to see that she had the same Trump inspired panties as I did. But while mine said, "Grab here," right over my pussy, hers said "Nasty Woman" over her pussy. Pointing to her panties, she asked Harold, "Are you a bad hombre, Harold?"

He shook his head, smiling at her. Chloe made a petulant face and moved away from Harold. She looked at Adam moving towards him in the zenith of seduction, and purred towards him saying, "Are you a bad hombre, Adam?"

Learning from Harold's rejection, Adam nodded his head. "How bad?" Chloe asked.

Adam did not have a ready answer and mumbled something. I guess he was not quick on his feet. Mike certainly is sharp and quick witted, but he remained silent. Chloe turned to me, and she said, "Nancy, darling; are you a Nasty Woman?" When she spoke the word 'darling' I could have sworn it was Billie Jean speaking.

"Oh baby," I said. "I'm as nasty as they come." Chloe then walked towards me, her boobs gently bouncing in front of her, and she was licking her lips.

She turned towards Al and said, "Give it to me now, el hombre malo." Al produced a huge black dildo seemingly from nowhere. I learned later it was a 'Doc Johnson' eight-inch dildo. Chloe's eyes morphed from mesmerizing bedroom eyes to the eyes expectant of a good time. She looked like a child with a new toy to use on me as she approached me.

She approached me. Her boobs and nipples brushed against my unbuttoned shirt. She leaned into me, licking my ear, and she whispered, "oral or anal?"

I was alarmed but tried not to show it. I am not lesbian and not bisexual, but right then I preferred the (hopefully) gentle touch of another woman to whatever those men might do to me. Hopefully they would beat off to watching the girl on girl action, and I could leave before they wanted to take both of us.

Okay, I knew even then this was a pipe dream. But if a girl does not dream, if one does not have hope, one becomes sad indeed.

I whispered back to Chloe, licking her ear in reply. I said, "I like vaginal."

Chloe gave me a big smile and followed it with a tender kiss, full of affection. Her kiss melted me, and melted my resistance. Her kisses, and those of Billie Jean, were the best kisses I have ever experienced. I could taste some alcohol on her breath, but no tobacco. So at least she was not an exact clone of Billie Jean.

We kissed for around five solid minutes. The four men were all watching us. Chloe began to push up my blouse to get access to my pussy. "Not here, Chloe. The men are watching."

"Oh honey," Chloe said. "That's the point. That's the whole point. I'm just the first of five tonight, I'm afraid."

I froze. "What?" I said. "You're kidding. It's not a good joke." This was wishful speaking, because I saw in Chloe's eyes that she had not been joking. These men really had planned to gangbang me, my lover Mike being one of them. Judging by Chloe's expression, she was to be gangbanged, too.

Chloe now had my pussy exposed. She had pushed up Mike's shirt I was wearing, and untied my sash, which of course was really just one of Mike's ties. All the men were staring at my pussy as if it were a long-lost Renoir painting just discovered.

Pussies are not varied and (this is my own view, of course) not that pretty, in contrast to boobs for example, but checking out a woman's pussy is very entertaining for misogynists, I should imagine. It's a woman's most private part. That's why Eve covered it in the garden of Eden, rather than covering her boobs or her anus.

"Chloe, let's go. Let's get out of here. This is bad news, and I'm not into it. The Indiana videos were taken when I was on experimental medication for another problem. My behavior was a side effect. These morons think that's who I am, but it's not," I said, more in hope than reality.

I wondered how much of that was true. If the drugs "removed my inhibitions," didn't that mean that deep down I wanted to do it, but prior to the drugs I had just not let myself?

"We can't do that," Chloe said. "That's what Billie Jean tried to do, and she is at death's door." Small tears were forming at the corners of Chloe's eyes as she said that. I kept hearing those words in my head, over and over again: 'That's what Billie Jean tried to do; That's what Billie Jean tried to do.'

Holy shit, I thought. So that's what happened. Oh, my God. And now they had her little sister Chloe, so Billie Jean would not tell the police what happened and risk revenge taken on her sister.

Sometimes, though perhaps rarely in fact, abject fear begets lucidity. If this was inevitable, I had to remove my inhibitions. I needed to channel my crazy period from Brown County, Indiana. Only one method was available to me: booze.

I stood up, pushing down Mike's shirt for some pathetic modesty. "Gentlemen and Chloe: we need to take a break. I need to get drunk on my ass in order to do what's expected of me. Mike, get me some whisky, either Scotch or Bourbon, whatever you have, with ice, but no water, and keep it coming. Chloe, want to join me?"

Seeing my acquiescence as long as I could get drunk, and knowing they had Chloe who had already given up her will to these men, the four men relaxed. They looked less menacing and began to smile. Chloe joined me, glass for glass. Harold and Adam did too, but Mike and especially Al drank much less. I didn't care. A pox on all of them.

If I survive this, I had best choose my men more carefully in the future, I thought to myself. I mean, what had I been thinking? I had let Mike manipulate me into showing off my entire body in a fancy restaurant that surprised even the outlandish Billie Jean. Why was that not a red flag? Maybe the booze really will succeed to remove enough of my inhibitions. I have only rarely been seriously drunk before. Well, we'll see.

It took a while. I drank so much I was in danger of passing out from alcohol poisoning. I knew enough to know it's not good to drink too, too much. It can be life threatening, since one can stop breathing, or choke on one's vomit. I remember that when Billie Jean was admitted to intensive care, she had alcohol poisoning; had she been trying the same strategy that I was trying now?

I knew the danger sign was slow breathing. Ten seconds or so between breaths. I would try to keep an eye on Chloe, who was matching me, glass for glass. I told Chloe my thinking; she nodded.

As we drank, I began to relax. The first thing to happen was my fear left me. The second thing to happen was the giggles. I laughed at everything, even remarks that were only remotely funny. All of a sudden I realized: This was how I behaved at the beginning in Indiana. Mike's shirt began to feel scratchy and uncomfortable, so I stood up and slowly unbuttoned it, giggling as I did so. Forgetting I had no underwear on, I simply removed it and tossed it aside, hitting Mike in the face with my toss. This caused enormous giggles, both from me and from Chloe.