Chapter 8

Ron handcuffed my mother’s hands behind her. She snickered playfully as she sat on the stool in an outfit she was prepared to have destroyed. He stuffed a washcloth in my mom’s mouth. He pulled off some duct tape to gag her.

“Wait, how is she going to confess if you gag her?” I asked.

“I don’t care if she confesses. This is just play-acting right?” Ron asked. His voice was gravelly and had an edge of danger to it.

“Yeah, but the viewer doesn’t know that. How about if I write down a code phrase on a sheet of paper and show it to her. You can try to get her to confess but as soon as she says THAT code word you stop,” I said.

Mom nodded enthusiastically and mumbled into the gag. She looked nervous even though she seemed excited for what was to come. Her hands were cuffed behind her back, and that forced her tits as she sat on the stool fully dressed, awaiting whatever game Ron was going to play with her.

“Like a safe word?” Ron didn’t seem very enthusiastic, but he nodded. “I still want to gag her at first though.”

“Why?”

“She’s been sitting in this dirty trailer for two days, and I am the man that has come to break her,” he explained.

I stopped him before he could wrap the duct tape around my mother’s head. I lifted up her hair so that he didn’t duct tape that to her head.

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to mess up Loretta’s hair,” Ron said. “You wanted authentic, right? If some bad guy is going to gag your mom, he is not going to give a fuck about her hair,” Ron grabbed my mom’s hair and yanked it hard. Mom looked slightly terrified.

“We’re going to have to take some poetic license here. Bad guys would put cigarettes out in her tits,” I reminded him that wasn’t going to happen either.

“I like the way you think, Kid! We could probably use you on Aberdeen PD,” he said as he wrapped the duct tape around my mom’s head but took care not to include her hair.

“You are a cop?” I asked.

“What else would I be?” he replied smoothly. Ron didn’t look like the rank-and-file police patrolmen. I assumed that if he was telling the truth, that he was probably a detective or undercover. I did feel a little more confident that he wouldn’t do anything too severe to my mom. I’d be right there any way to stop him.

“I am the director, so if I say cut, I want you to...”

“Cut six inches into her flesh?” Ron asked ominously. “Lighten up kid, I am just bluffing. It’s all a bluff. I get it. I get it. She says the code word, and we stop. You say cut and we stop. If I say bullshit, then I Am out. Deal?”

“Yeah,” I said. I felt a little adrenalin pumping through my veins just watching him prepare. He wanted the lights down. I got him some candles. “How romantic,” he said sarcastically. “Keep them out of the shot though. Bad guys don’t light dinner candles.”

I genuinely appreciated how authentic that Ron wanted things to be. At the same time, I felt like he was directing, and I was just acting as the cameraman. Ron had a bit of a larger-than-life personality and my feelings that he was taking over weren’t unfounded at all.

I knew this video was going to be intense and different than anything we had done so far. Ron didn’t wait for me to tell him to start. He slapped my mom’s face, and I began filming. It was a hard slap that left a red mark on the side of my mom’s face. I’d never seen my mom get slapped like that before. Her entire head shifted to the side and when she straightened back up, she looked at him with a defiant expression on her face.

“Cat got your tongue, bitch?” he yanked her hair and made my mother look him in the eyes. He spit right on her face. “You have information that I need.”

Mom made a frustrated sound through the duct tape.

“Oh, you aren’t confessing that easy, you insufferable twat. We are going to play a little game first and this is just the warmup.”

He asked me for scissors as if he was a surgeon calling for a scalpel. I gave him some we had in the kitchen. Ron menacingly chopped near her face and then began to cut the cloth around my mom’s top to expose just her tits.

“No bra? Look at how hard these nipples are. Are you getting turned on by this? Only a wicked cunt gets turned on by being tortured,” he snickered.

Mom shook her head no, but her tits were rock hard.

“Pliers?” he said as he reached toward me.

I didn’t have pliers.

“What the fuck? Do I have to bring everything myself?” he stood up in frustration and went outside to his car.

I stopped filming and asked my mom if she was okay with this. Mom shook her head yes and stopped looking so scared. “Have you ever done something like this before?”

She shook her head no. I wondered how my mom could be so confident that this would end well. I was nervous for her.

Ron stormed in the trailer without knocking. He scared me as he opened the door. “Oh, were you plotting your escape? Trying to wink at your son to help you escape?” Ron asked. I wasn’t sure if he was in character or genuinely planning to kidnap and torture us both at this point. I started filming.

He held up some locking pliers in both hands. They were small, heavy and they clamped tight with a long nose. The best way to describe them is that they looked oversized tweezers.

I don’t know why he had two pairs of pliers in his car. Ron wasted no time tightening one pair around my mother’s nipples and she groaned in pain. He was really crushing them flat. I am pretty sure this wasn’t the first time that Ron had done something like this before. He pulled the pliers and let them dangle and pull my mother’s nipple down. The set of locking vise-grip pliers probably weighed half a pound each.

He took his time attaching the second one. He made sure she saw the jaws and I felt like my mom’s nervousness was real this time. She looked worried as he began crushing her other nipple with the pliers. My mother mewled in pain as he clamped them down tightly. I could already see a blue vein in her left tit starting to grow engorged.

He used the scissors to slice my mom’s shirt into ribbons without taking it all the way off. Her tits were exposed but the rest of her shirt was ruined.

He cut her shorts down the sides and removed the front part. He slapped my mom’s wet pussy and then made her sniff it. “Your twat smells like catfish. Did you fuck a catfish?”

My mom shook her head no. The fear on her face was palpable.

“You have any tuna fish in that fridge?” he asked me. I paused the camera to tell him that we didn’t but that we did have some in the cupboard. “Open it up, Opie, and bring put it in a bowl with mayo, this cunt has to be hungry after two days. It’s feeding time at the zoo,” he said in a terrifyingly scary manner.

I didn’t like being called Opie. I did as he told me and opened up the tuna and mixed it up, while playing with my mother’s pussy. He duct taped her labia open so that her clit hood was raised and exposed. I could see inside my mother’s pussy. I felt like I was looking at her tonsils.

He got angry when I handed him the bowl without a spoon. When I gave him the spoon, he took a bite of the tuna and rubbed his stomach. “Mmm, yummy for my tummy!” he said in a deep voice that was anything but warm and considerate.

“Oh, you are gagged!” he brought a heaping spoonful of the tuna fish under my mother’s nose and let it waft there as if waiting for her to open her mouth around the duct tape. “It would be rude not to offer you a bite,” he said ominously. Ron brought the spoon down to my mother’s waist, and he shoveled the tuna fish into her pussy.

My mother heaved her shoulders and made a sucking sound as if she were trying to draw air in through her mouth but couldn’t. He twisted the spoon inside her and then showed it to her completely clean.

I stopped filming and told him that this wasn’t fair. “She is supposed to tell you the code when she has had enough.”

“We are playing the wrong game if this is too much, Son. This is just the foreplay,” he said. He turned to my mother and asked, “Are you ready to tell me what I want to hear?”

Mom shook her head defiantly.

“Your funeral,” Ron proceeded to stuff another dollop of tuna fish in my mother’s pussy. I started filming again. I felt really guilty about this. I didn’t want to participate, but I also didn’t want to leave her alone to Ron’s ministrations. I wondered what their sessions were like before this. She said she had never done this before, but did he tie her up? Could he be trusted?

Ron packed my mother’s pussy with tuna. Then he told me to hand him one of the dinner candles. I wanted to remind him that he said bad guys don’t use them. I didn’t though. I handed him one of the white candles. It was 12 inches long and it was burning.

He held it under my mother’s tits and let the heat warm up her titties. She danced a little on the stool and jerked.

Ron made my mom get off of the stool and lay across it on her stomach. Then he duct-taped her ankles so that they were spread apart. I came around behind him so that I could record my mother from behind. Her asshole glistened from tuna fish and mayo that had dripped down from her pussy.

“Ron dripped some of the wax on my mother’s pink flesh around her pussy from about six inches above her. She wriggled and seethed. He dripped more around her ass cheeks and then while the candle was still burning, he turned it upside down and pushed it into her asshole. The flame was extinguished immediately. My mom spasmed and jerked. Her back muscles became striated and taut as she struggled under the pain. He pushed the candle deep into her asshole. The wax was warm enough that it didn’t melt but it was malleable so that it created an impression of her anus around the rim.

Ron grabbed my mother’s hair and pulled her head up. Then he ripped off the duct tape. The tearing sound it made was horrible. She shook in fear and gasped for air.

“Do you want to scream? You are a hundred miles from anywhere anyone would ever think to look for you. Go ahead and scream, cunt.”

I wondered if I sounded like him when I talked down to my mother during the videos I shot with Mr. Johnson at the Kessler’s. Ron certainly cast himself as the villain in this scenario. I didn’t want to be the villain. I was certain I had been less of a brutal dickhead.

“No, Sir”

“Sir? I like that, cunt,” he pushed my mother’s face down in the remaining tuna fishbowl and mushed it around. Her make-up had already started to run as tears ran down her cheeks.

“Do you have a mop bucket, Opie?” he asked me with a sneer.

I didn’t want to be his do-boy. I shook my head yes, but indicated that I was in a wheelchair from off-camera.

“I don’t give a fuck if you are a cripple, get me a bucket and fill it with fucking water or I’ll break both of your arms, and you’ll join your mom on the fucking stool, douche bag.”

I REALLY didn’t like being called a cripple. My face turned bright red, but I did as he instructed. All I could think was that this video had better be worth it, and that I might just edit that comment completely out.

Mom struggled as he waited for me to fill up the mop bucket. It wasn’t easy for me to manage it in the sink, but I did. I have strong arms, and I was able to lift it and get it filled.