Chapter 9: Revenge of the Slightly Chunky Roommate

It was Monday, my day off from the bookstore and my full day at the lab. This wasn’t as bad as it may sound. The rocks had already been ground into a fine powder, treated, dissolved, treated again, etc for a month. My work had reached a point limited to placing solutions into one machine, recording the results a few hours later, and moving the solution to another machine.

I spent the rest of the day in the library looking for boring geochemistry articles from obscure journals or at my desk with boring geochemistry articles from obscure journals and coffee. My concentration wandered most of the day from a bit of excitement entitled “Paleozoic sea levels of the Narnian super group: some interesting aspects.”

Instead, my thoughts wandered to elsewhere and elsewhen at every opportunity. If you haven’t a clue where and whence then you have not been keeping up on the past chapters (which I thought, I may add, that I had reposted earlier in the week, for shame).

The day (never mind how unproductive) complete, I found myself walking through the side door into the kitchen.

With a quick toss, I sent my keys sliding down the counter top and into the sink. I dropped my bag o’ books on one of the three extra kitchen chairs and grabbed a can of soda from the fridge. As I went into the dining (where I kept my computer desk and other work stuff), I said hello to the cat. Glancing to my desk, I noticed that the answering machine was blinking to get my attention.

I rushed across the room and hit the play button.

In answer to my prayers and hopes, the speaker parroted,

“Kenny, this is Jenny. I stopped after school and got videos. I expect you here as soon as possible to make dinner. Stop and get something simple. For three. I love you.” Then, it beeped and added in its own machine voice.

“Last message.”

Even before that beep, I had begun to strip. After a quick shower and shave, I dressed in something comfortable but nice as opposed to something either/or. I gave Charlie Hitler {white cat with a black marking beneath his nose and a very not pleasant personality) a scratch behind his ears and a bowl of kitty crunchies to last the night. In the twenty minutes since receiving the message, I was heading out the door.

I drove the few blocks over to my favourite grocers with a cheerful hum to the tape in the deck. I rushed through the aisles and quickly gathered up a package of “fresh” (i.e. frozen) tortellini, fresh (not frozen) broccoli, and a tube of neither fresh nor frozen pesto paste. After a short internal debate, I also picked up a half-pound of in-shell shrimp (jet fresh, but thawing nicely, thank you very much). Jenny was worth the bother of the shelling and deveining. I felt in even higher spirits as I walked up to the door of Jenny’s apartment. I had even started to whistle aloud when I knocked on the door.

“Come in. The door’s open,” I heard Kim shout, and so, I, of course, came in.

In the event that you are wondering, the blow I received to the back of my head didn’t start to hurt until after I woke up.

Writing of which, I woke up in one of the kitchen chairs (Jenny’s not mine) in a state resembling bondage. I was in Jenny’s bedroom. Heavy blue curtains covered the windows.

Dim light, leaking around their edges, betrayed that the evening sun was still in the sky. Otherwise, candles provided the only light in the room. Shadows that the table lamp cast on the walls and over the black shapes of posters danced with the flicker of the candle flames

My ankles were tied to the front legs; my arms were tied together behind me and then to the back legs, and my chest was tied to the back of the chair, I assume, to keep me upright. It also held me against any squirming I might have taken a mind to do. I did not want to contemplate on the type of gag that I had in my mouth and its familiar shape, nor do I wish to at this point (so leave me alone about it). I was, I should also note, still completely dressed.

Now, one would think that a couple of decades (okay, nearly three) misspent reading Batman(r) comic books would have given one some sort of clue as to how to escape in such situations. I am sad to report that it had not, and so, in time, I quit tugging at the ropes that held me.

Instead, I scanned my environment to get some idea about what in the hell was going on and exactly why it required that I be tied to a chair. I had some suspicion that it would not be a fun thing. Still, I needed to know about how not fun it would be so to be at the proper level of panic.

In front of me, Jenny laid on top of her made bed. She was tied spread eagle and very, very, very naked. The posture in which her bondage held her pulled her breasts completely flat against her ribcage. Her breathing was regular, her chest moving up and down at a relaxed rate.

Her head faced away from my view, but I could see the strap of a gag running behind her head. A blindfold of some variety appeared to cover her eyes.

I felt the growing sense that a rather high level of panic would be in order for this occasion and put up another useless fight against the ropes. Then, I finally remembered something that I had read in one of those comic book stories. I started to rock the chair back and forth, to throw it on the ground. Maybe (yeah, but just maybe), the chair would break and...

Jenny turned her head. If her eyes had been uncovered, they would have stared right into mine. I imagined her voice telling me not to worry, that everything would be all right. I listened to the voice and let myself grow calm to patiently wait whatever would come.

I honestly didn’t expect it to be an open-handed cuff to the back of my head. The surprise of it bothered me more than the pain, especially since the pain of the earlier blow, the one that had knocked me out, easily overwhelmed that of the cuff. I twisted my head to see where the blow had come from and who was its author. I could see no one, but, again, from behind my line of sight, a cuff landed on the back of my skull. I swiveled my head around in a violent maneuver to face Kim.

She slapped my left cheek. She followed that with a backhanded slap to the right cheek. I then received a very effective punch it the stomach. It took my breath away, even as I tried (and failed because of my bindings) to double over. I began to choke on the long intrusion in my mouth as I tried to pull air back into my body. With great effort, I forced myself to use my nose to breathe and to ignore the instinct to use my mouth. My mind concentrated on this task; the thoughts welling up from deep below were forgotten.

God, I made time to pray, please don’t let her hit me again.

God listened, and she didn’t. She just stared at me without saying a word. Tears filled her eyes, and she quaked much like she had the other night, but she made no sound, nor did she move other than for her trembling. We stayed like that for a moment, but finally, she moved her hands down to the hem of the sweatshirt she wore. She pulled up. The shirt came off, exposing her breasts. They were large and sagged a bit beneath their weight. Each had a pink, silver dollar-sized areola with a gumdrop nipple.

They swung back and forth slightly from the momentum of the removal of her shirt.

I looked away from her breasts, moving my gaze to her face. She looked straight into my eyes, the model of control. Keeping this eye contact, she undid her jeans and pushed them to the floor. She wore white granny panties, which gave me a small measure of satisfaction. After she had stepped out of her pants, Kim slapped me one more time.

She walked away from me and over to Jenny. After crawling onto the bed, she knelt between Jenny’s legs. She glanced back at me and gave me one last dirty look before lowering her head into Jenny’s lap.

Kim’s tongue extended until it reached the outer folds of Jenny’s genitalia. I snapped my eyes shut; however, my imagination filled in for my vision with images based on too many years spent with too much pornography and other things best left forgotten. I couldn’t bear it; I opened my eyes to a scene not quite like what I had expected to see. Kim did nothing violent to Jenny. Her fingers merely held Jenny’s labia spread apart as her tongue darted along their inside surfaces.

As I watched, memories filled my mind with the tangy, electric taste that I had enjoyed when I had done the same.

I remembered the smooth, wet feel of that inner skin on my own tongue, in sympathy to Kim. I concentrated on these pleasant remembrances against the truth of what was happening and the unhappy memories that fought to come to the fore.