A Bestiary of Unnatural Women Page 8

  The last time that he had forced her onto the horse, she had suffered more than she expected. Her crotch had been tender for two days afterward. She felt a pang of fear when she thought about being forced astride the wedge again. But a pang of fear was insufficient for her purposes. She wanted to feel absolute dread every time she saw the thing. She wanted to feel like suffering was imminent and inevitable all the time.

  She had begun thinking that, if he were not going to force her to do something distasteful more often than once every couple of weeks, she might have to pull a Lysistrata maneuver and refuse to have any kind of sex unless he forced her onto the horse and made her submit to his will. She did not want to have to take that step, mostly because she liked making love to Trevor and would not be willing to endure much torture to avoid it. She wanted him to force her to do things that she would really hate to have to do.

  Now, though, it looked like she would have little choice. The disappearance of the horse was a certain sign that things were going in the wrong direction. It looked like he had not only decided to stop torturing her altogether, but had decided to remove any reminder of it from her life.

  This was intolerable.

  When Trevor came home from his semiotics seminar, she asked, with no small degree of anger, “Where’s my Spanish horse?”

  “Oh, that. You noticed that I took it away, eh?”

  “Yes, I noticed. What do you think you’re doing?”

  “I think that I’m making a modification to it. I figured out a way to make it a lot more effective.”

  That was an answer that she had not expected. “More effective?”

  “Yeah. I got to thinking about how you were sitting on it last time and realized that I could make it hurt you more by adding a minor improvement.”

  Now she had a new reason for concern. “What would hurt me more? It hurt like hell before. What are you doing to it?” She had visions of a knife-edge, spikes, electricity. “I don’t want to be permanently injured, you know.”

  “Do you trust me?”

  She paused for a long time. That was the question. Did she trust him? Really trust him? Not just trust him to treat her properly, but trust him to not make a mistake through ignorance or negligence? She looked at his face. He looked worried. It was as important to him as to her that she trust him. If he was that worried about being trusted, then he was going to be careful that he kept her trust. “Yes, I trust you.”

  “Good. I think that you’re going to be pleased with the new accessory that I’m making.”

  She smiled, “Then I guess I’m safe from torture for the next few days.”

  “Not for long. Enjoy your relative safety while you can because, in a couple of days, you’re going to be pining for this brief respite.”

  “Promise?”

  “I promise.” He sounded like he meant it.

  She was happy to make love to him that night without coercion.

  The following afternoon, he was waiting for her when she returned from the library. The horse was back in the middle of the living room, but now had a vertical piece of wood, almost an inch thick, rising from the center of the top edge. The piece of wood had a deep semicircle cut from it that it barely cleared the top edge of the wedge at the lowest point but extended about four inches higher, front and back.

  “I added a saddle to your horse,” he grinned.

  “I see,” she replied. She did see. When she was perched astride the horse, she would not be sitting on the edge at one point. Rather, her entire crotch from her mons pubis to the top of her ass crack would be settled into the semicircle so that her weight would be resting equally on every part of her crotch, from her clitoris to her rectum. The vertical board was braced with triangular pieces front and back so that it would support her weight without breaking, no matter how hard she pushed sideways against it.

  “It’s going to require some adjustment. Unlike the general-purpose medieval device, this one will be custom fitted to you. So, if you’ll kindly remove your jeans and panties and climb aboard, we’ll get started.”

  While she was doing as she was told, Trevor brought two chairs from the kitchen and placed one on each side of the horse. She was instructed to stand on the chairs and squat down carefully into the semicircle, but not try to put her entire weight on it.

  When she squatted down, she found that she could not settle into it because her pubic bone and tail bone were pressing against the front and back before her perineum was anywhere near the bottom.

  Trevor took a thick carpenter’s pencil from his shirt pocket and made marks on the wood, front and back. “Okay. Hop off. No sense getting dressed, I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.

  After she dismounted, he lifted the ‘saddle’ off the horse. He had not actually modified the horse itself, but had manufactured a kind of cap that fit over the top. When the ‘saddle’ was removed, the original wedge remained. He carried the saddle into the spare bedroom and she heard his saber saw burring loudly.

  For the next two hours, he kept repeating the process, making her climb astride the saddle and gingerly lower herself into it while he marked the places she first began pressing against the wood as she settled down. No man had ever examined every inch of her crotch with such meticulous care and she felt a blush of humiliation every time his face drew near. She hoped that she was clean down there. He was only satisfied when she finally lowered herself into position and could feel every part of her crotch touching the wood, from high in the front to high in the back, with equal pressure. By that time, her legs were aching from the exercise.

  Even then, he warned her against resting her full weight on it. “The edges are sharp and splintery. Getting splinters is not supposed to be part of your torture. I’ll have that fixed by tomorrow night. Then we’ll give this thing a serious test drive.”

  She quailed slightly at the word serious. Even though she had not yet let her full weight rest in the saddle, she could already tell that it was going to be a worse experience than she had yet suffered.

  The next evening, she looked at the completed saddle with a mixture of curiosity and fear that tied her stomach into a hard knot. It was lovely to look at. The wood had been shaped and sanded so that the edge against her crotch had about the same radius as her little finger. As well, the maple had been oiled and its prominent grain gleamed like a piece of fine furniture. But it was also humiliating to look at because she knew that the irregular curve was a perfect representation of the shape of the most intimate part of her body. In the curve, she could recognize the base of her mons pubis, her vulva, perineum, and anal crease with a slight bump for her rectum, extending right up to the end of her coccyx.

  If a stranger looked at it, would they know what they were seeing?

  “We have some things to discuss. Please mount the horse.” Trevor’s voice was soft, but unyielding.

  She realized that he would have been looking forward to this moment all the time he was planning, building, adjusting, and finishing the ‘saddle’. He must have something specific in mind for her.

  She stripped off her jeans, tee shirt, and underwear, buckled the handcuff belt around her waist, stepped in the stirrup, swung her leg over the saddle, and, for the first time, settled her full weight into it.

  Her first impression was that it was not as bad as she had feared. In fact, because her weight was distributed over a much larger length, it barely hurt at all compared to her previous experience on the horse. She confidently buckled the straps about her legs – that was a little more difficult now because she had considerably less freedom of movement – and then pulled the reigns until the weight of the stirrup cleared the bar and was snatched up out of reach.

  About the time she finished clicking her second wrist into its handcuff, she realized that her first impression about the saddle being less painful than riding the wedge bareback was wrong. It only took a minute for the saddle to begin working on her. Under the inexorable pressure of her own weight, the curve of the
saddle edge was pushing hard into her pussy; her labia were being crushed against her legs. Worse, a significant amount of her weight was resting directly on her clitoris and she could not shift her position even a millimeter to get relief.

  At the other end, the slight bump that was pushing against her asshole now felt like a tiny relentless fist. It was not so much a feeling of penetration – it was not large enough to actually penetrate – as a feeling of inexorable pressure such as might be caused by severe constipation.

  She pulled at the handcuffs, but could not reach anything that she might use to relieve some of the weight.

  She whimpered as the pain increased rapidly.

  She kicked her legs against the straps that restrained them and had to muffle a scream. Even the slightest movement of her legs added to the pressure against the most sensitive parts of her anatomy and multiplied her pain

  “How long?” she asked though gritted teeth.

  Trevor glanced carelessly at his watch. “A few minutes. I don’t know. I didn’t bother timing you.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I want you to talk to me.”

  “What do you want me to say?”

  “We’ll chat about that soon, but not right away. I don’t think you’re quite ready yet.”

  “I’m ready. I’ll say anything,” she gasped. “Just tell me what to say.”

  “We’ll talk when I get back.”

  “No!” she shouted at his back as he walked out of the room. “Don’t leave me. Please.” Her voice dropped to a whine. “Please stay with me. Please.”

  Her pleading was wasted. He was already gone.

  The pain in her crotch rose to a level of intensity that she had never imagined; her clit was a button of pure white-hot agony by the time he returned.

  “How long?” She had to struggle to speak.

  He shrugged. “A few more minutes. Do you want to talk now?”

  “Yes. Please let me talk. What do you want me to say?”

  He sat down on the couch and looked up at her. “I want you to be honest. I want you to tell me a secret. A true secret. Something that you have never told anyone else.”

  “Oh, God. I don’t know. I can’t think. This thing is killing me. Please. Ask me something specific. Any question. I’ll answer. Ask me how I lost my virginity. I’ll tell you that,” she offered.

  “That’s not a secret,” he scoffed. “You let your first boyfriend do you after the Christmas formal during your senior year of high school. You already told me that.”

  “I didn’t tell you any details.”

  “You would have told me the details if I’d asked. I wouldn’t have had to torture you for that. I want to know something that’s really secret. Something that you’re ashamed of. It has to be something that would horrify you if I passed it on to anyone else.”

  “I can’t think of anything like that.”

  “I can wait until you do.” He picked up a book and began flipping through the pages.

  She began to cry. Tears slowly welled over her lower lids and soon began trickling down her cheeks. “This hurts so much. I can’t stand it any more. Please let me go. Please. I’m begging you. I’ll give you a blowjob. I’ll spend the rest of the night giving you one blowjob after another. Please.”

  He looked up from the book. “I’d like a blowjob all right. But I’m not letting you down until you tell me your most shameful secret.”

  She pulled ineffectively at her handcuffs. “Please.”

  “Your secret.” His demand was not negotiable.

  “Okay. Okay.” She shut her eyes tight and said, quickly, “I got V.D. once. Syphilis. I was in my third year of university and I’d gone to a party with a guy I didn’t know very well.” She groaned in pain and paused, before continuing. “I was seeing some guy, Brent, casually, but never made him any promises so I told myself that it was all right to go out with other guys once in a while. Richard was this handsome dude that I’d seen around.” She whimpered and paused again to gather enough strength to continue. “I wasn’t all that hot looking so I never thought that he’d noticed me until, out of the blue, he asked me to go to a party with him. I found out later that he was telling his buddies that he was going to make love to every girl in Weber’s seminar on the Sociology of Human Sexuality so I was just another item on his shopping list. Anyway, I didn’t know that when he asked me out. I thought maybe he was entranced by my sparkling personality.” She grimaced through her pain, an attempt at a smile. Brave girl. “Oh, God, this hurts. Anyway, to make a long story short, I was flattered and pleased to go to a party with such a hunk on my arm. He didn’t have much of an approach to seduction. I think his exact words were, ‘Want to get it on?’ and I figured that I owed him some consideration so I let him fuck me in the back seat of his car after we left the party. He was a lousy lover. Two weeks later, he called and told me that he’d just been diagnosed with the syph so he was calling all the girls that he’d fucked recently and telling them to get checked. Sure enough, I was one of the lucky recipients. I couldn’t have sex for a couple of weeks while I took the antibiotics. And that was that. I’ve never told anyone before because it makes me feel so dirty. So please, please let me down from here.”

  He looked at the tears that were flowing freely down her cheeks.

  “There’s more. I want to hear the whole story.”

  “No. I don’t have any more secrets like that. Nothing nearly as bad. I told you what you asked. Please let me down.”

  “Not until I hear the whole story. What’s the rest of it?”

  “Please. There is no more.”

  “Yes, there is,” he cajoled. “Come on now. You’ve got most of it out. Give me the last little bit. The part that you’re really ashamed to tell me. Get that off your chest and you’ll feel a lot better. I want to stop the pain as much as you do, so just come clean and let me release you.”

  “No. Please unlock me.”

  “Yes. Come on.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Let me know when you can.” He picked up the book and began leafing through it again.

  She tried to rock backward to take some of the pressure off her clitoris, but only succeeded in hurting her rectum more. She groaned pitiably.

  “I didn’t tell him,” she shouted.

  “What?” Trevor looked up from the book.

  “I didn’t tell Brent. As soon as I was diagnosed with the syphilis, I was so ashamed that I called Brent and told him that I couldn’t go out with him any more. I didn’t tell him why. He wasn’t that upset, we both knew that we weren’t in love with each other. But I felt like such a slut, going out with someone else behind his back and getting infected with a venereal disease that I chickened out and never told him that I had the syph. That I might have given it to him, too. I was a total coward and, for all I know, he might have got it from me and never got it diagnosed and died of it. Oh, God. I’m so sorry. I should have told him. I should have had more guts. I’m so sorry.” Tears were flowing freely down her cheeks and dripping off her chin.

  “Where is he now?”

  “Brent? I don’t know. I never spoke to him again. That was four years ago. He could be anywhere. Please let me down. I’ve done what you asked. I’ve told you the most terrible thing that I ever did. Please. The pain is terrible.” She was sobbing so loudly that she could barely get the words out.

  “I’ll let you down as soon as you make me a promise.”

  “Anything. Whatever you want. I want to give you a blowjob. Okay? It’ll be great. Let me down and I’ll give you the best blowjob ever.”

  “No. That’s not it. You have to promise me that you’ll find Brent and tell him the story that you just told me.”

  “What?” she shrieked.

  “You heard me. You’ll find Brent and you’ll confess and you’ll make sure that he got proper treatment and you’ll ask him to forgive you.”

  “I can’t do that,” she howled.

  “Then I can�
��t let you down.”

  “Please. Have mercy on me. Please.”

  “Have mercy on Brent. Find him and tell him everything.”

  “Okay. Okay. I’ll do it. I’ll tell him everything. I’ll make it right.”

  “And you’ll record the phone call and play it for me.”

  There was a long pause while Cindy’s sobs filled the room. “Okay. I’ll record the call.”

  “Good. I’ll find out how to patch a recorder into your phone. You can try to find his number, but don’t make the call until I’ve got the equipment set up.”

  “Okay.”

  He walked to the rear of the horse and plucked the handcuff key off the hook.

  As soon as her hands were unlocked, she pushed herself off the saddle as best as she could and held herself up while he unbuckled her legs and lowered the stirrup.

  She spent the next half hour naked, curled up on the sofa with her head pressed to his chest, soaking his shirt with her tears.

  He liked that even better than getting a blowjob.

  The next day, Trevor found a device at Radio Shack that fit between the phone and the wall socket and would record calls to her computer. He showed her the device and explained how to use it. He had her start recording all her calls just to make certain that it was working properly, but let her erase them without asking to listen to them. There was only one call that he needed to hear.

  He waited for three days before asking her if she had found her former lover, Brent.

  She said that she had been unable to find him.

  “Please mount the horse.”

  She began whimpering immediately. “Please, no. I’ll try harder. Give me another chance to find him. Please.”

  He was implacable. He waited silently while she undressed, buckled the handcuff belt about her waist, and climbed into the saddle. She began crying almost immediately. “I’m still sore from the last time. I need time for the bruises to heal,” she sniffled.

  “It’s supposed to hurt,” he replied, coldly. “What’s Brent’s last name?”

  “Kovacks.” She spelled it out and he wrote it down.