Chapter 6

narrated by Stella Harris, the wife

The Goons marched me out of the Benson’s house totally naked. I know several of my neighbors saw me before the goons shoved me into one of the black Escalades.

The bastards got plenty of feels and a couple of the men got their fingers wet as they pushed me into the car. I was scared when they busted into Mary and Greg’s house and began slapping Greg around, but now as I was squeezed between two big smelly goons I was pissed. They let a god dammed dog fuck me for Christ sakes! If I had a gun I’d shoot every fucking one of them, but I didn’t have a gun. All I had was two tits and a cunt dripping dog sperm.

They pushed me to the floor of the vehicle and held me down by putting their feet on me. I guess they did this so I couldn’t see where they were taking me.

After about twenty minutes or so, it’s so hard to tell the passing of time when you really have nothing with which to gauge its progress, we pulled into a totally enclosed garage. It was so big it could have been a warehouse. There were twenty or thirty very expensive luxury cars in the building from Roles Royce’s, to Bentleys to Lamborghinis, along with a couple of antiques and the two new SUV’s.

They walked me to the end of the building and unlocked a door. It was some kind of storage room. They flicked on the light and shoved me inside, reclosed the door and I heard them lock it from the outside.

In this room there were two brooms one regular straw and a three foot push broom and a mop. On some metal shelving there sat a few assorted spray can of what I assume was cleaning supplies. There was a stack of four boxes of copy paper. Some pens, pencils and black marking pens were on the top of the metal shelves.

There was an empty orange Home Depot bucket. I turned it over and sat on it. The ridge on the bottom cut into my naked ass and made it uncomfortable to sit on so I stood back up. I thought about sitting on the concrete floor, but it looked pretty dusty.

Not being MacGyver I wasn’t able to mix the cleaning fluids into a bomb and a string from the mop for a fuse and blow the lock off of the door. Then I thought that wouldn’t work because I didn’t have anything to light the fuse.

I paced the room for a while and I was getting tired of standing, then I got a MacGyver idea after all. I popped open one of the copy paper boxes by slowly working the two plastic bands around the box off the edge and I pulled out a ream of paper, put it on the bucket and presto. I had a place to sit. I sat and looked over at the copy paper and realized I could have just stacked two boxes on the floor and sat on them.

Oh well, I didn’t have to stand any more. For some reason I didn’t think these men would hurt me. I don’t know why I thought that they wouldn’t, they certainly acted as though they were used to violent acts and most of them were ugly enough to scare the shit out of a sheltered person like me.

As I’m sitting there I notice for the first time that I have scratches on my waist just above my hip bones. I realize that they are from Buster’s claws. They are tender and feel infected.

The dog thing was certainly degrading, but if I’m honest with myself it was one of the best fucks of my life. I ruined the top quarter of the copy paper I was sitting on thinking about that fuck, by leaking pussy juice and dog cum on the ream.

I was wondering how long they would leave me in this storage room. If my internal clock was right I guessed it must be around five or six in the evening.

I heard footsteps, then the door lock rattled and the door opened. A brash buxom bleach blond woman who looked to be around thirty stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips. She had a wad of gum in her mouth that could have been used to repair a whole carton of Humpty Dumpties’.

“Follow me.” she says. “And don’t even think of running. The place is guarded by a shit load of armed men and several guard dogs, so if you want your ass torn up, be my guest.

I had thought about taking off when I saw it was just her at the door, but her warning made me reconsider.

I went out and she relocked the door and headed across the building to another door with a lighted EXIT sign above it. As she walked her hips rolled and her ass jiggled. She reminded me of something my father said when I was a little girl about a woman who walked like that. My father said of that woman, “She looks like a walking ball bearing factory.”

Ms. Ball Bearing opened the door and held it for me. I stepped through. In front of me was a wall of glass and chrome or polished stainless steel from floor to ceiling which I guessed to be twelve or fifteen feet high. The glass ran both ways the length of the garage. I decided it wasn’t chrome because on the other side of the glass was the Atlantic Ocean and chrome steel would corrode. The view was stunning. She turned left and rolled down the passage way.

Within thirty feet the area opened up to the left and the celling rose up twice the height of the passage way. The ceiling of the huge room was made of roughhewn beams that ran the length of the room which was as long as it was high. To my right the glass wall rose up and it hurt my neck to try and see all the way up where it met the dark wood supports.

The huge open area’s walls were stark white in contrast to the deep brown of the timbers. The modern aspect of the glass, stainless steel and the white walls oddly seemed to marry perfectly with the rustic feel of the heavy rafters. White leather couches and overstuffed chairs with chrome lamps offset the cobalt blue tiles of the floor. The furniture appeared to be floating on a sea of deep blue. It was spectacular. Across the room from me was a huge fire place with a mantel made of the same timber as the roof supports.

Above the fire place was a painting that took my breath away. It was at least ten foot wide and eight high, but it was the subject matter that captivated me. It was a painting of a vagina, open, wet, willing ... inviting. I had a hard time tearing my eyes from it. I followed Ms. Roller Ball across this stunning room and up a set of white marble ballroom stairs that would have done any Hollywood musical proud. She turned to the left again.

In front of us was a hall way, with dark wooden doors alternating on each side of the hall, three doors to a side.

At the second door on the left, she opened the door and swung it inward. She gestured lazily with her hand and said, “This is your room. There are clothes in the closet that should fit you. There is this under clothing, blouses, skirts, shorts and bathing suits in the dresser. There is a gown on the bed and shoes on the floor beside it. There is make up and perfume on the vanity. Shower, put yourself together, put on the gown, shoes and nothing else.

“If you need anything, my room is that one.” She pointed to a door across the hall at the very end of the hall. I looked behind me and on the other side of the ballroom stairs was an identical hallway. Twelve bedrooms or at least I assumed that they were all bedrooms. They could have been anything really.

My guide continued. “Dinner is at eight sharp, be waiting right here in the open doorway and I will escort you to the dining room. You are not to leave your room without an escort. If you disobey this rule you will be severely punished. Do you have any questions?”

I show her the scratches on my sides. She said. “There should be some antibiotic spray and iodine in the medicine chest. If not knock on my door and I’ll give you mine.

I thanked her.

She turned, undulated to her room and disappeared behind the door.

I could have run. There were sliding glass doors in the glass wall toward the ocean. I assumed they were unlocked. I saw no other person beyond the glass and I could see quite far to the north when we came in. Being naked wasn’t what stopped me. The Blonde’s warnings were certainly a deterrent, but what really kept me in that room was the excitement of everything I had just seen. I wanted to see more of this remarkable house and whoever lived like this.

I stepped into my room, closed the door behind me and moved to the bed. From the door, in the dim light, the dress looked white. Up close I could see it appears white until I shifted my perspective and somehow pale colors rippled across the material, colors not unlike gasoline floating on water. The patterns were hypnotic. I touched the material. It was as thin as my most expensive silk slip and the color shown brighter where my finger pressed into the cloth. I was excited to put it on. I knew I would look good in it.

I looked around the room. It was extremely tastefully appointed. The bed was a king with a modern seafoam green head and foot boards, matching nightstands stood on each side of the bed. A thick pale pink comforter lay wrinkle free on the bed with slighter brighter pink pillows accenting the bed.

A vanity, colored the same seafoam green, but with gold embellished trim at the edges and around the drawers, was on the opposite wall from the bed between two walk in closets.