Copyright ©1998

Tomorrow would be Christmas. The thought depressed me.

In June, my husband left me for a friend of our daughter half my age. He left me with two children, Mandy, 19, and Jason, 17. The six months since he departed had been almost impossibly hard as I struggled to reenter the work force and keep my family together while suffering the pains of abandonment and loss.

I had always been a good wife, a loving and caring wife. I worked hard to keep my body in shape to please his eyes and his hands when they chose to wander over me. I strove to keep his house clean, his table larded with the foods he desired, to make his home a happy and peaceful place for him.

I never denied him, never claimed headache or tiredness. Never. Always, I eagerly and happily did anything he wanted. For all those years, I was the type of wife many men find only in their sexual fantasies. That is as it should be.

I, too, enjoyed those activities. My sex life with him had been rich and fully rewarding for me. My husband knew exactly how to please me, how to make me scream in pleasure. He called me his Stradivarius.

"I can play you like a master. I can make you sing, Carol," he would whisper in my ear as I groaned in joy.

I had dated many different men since he left me. Some I bedded. With none did I find the deep and personal joy I found with my husband. None made me cum like he did. I missed that more than I missed him, I fear. And, after six months, I desperately wished for a man who once again could bring the songs of carnal pleasure from me.

Is it true what they say about violins? Do they need to be played daily to keep them at the peak of their quality? I do not know if a violin of wood and strings is that way. But, this violin, this body of mine, needed to be played.

On Christmas Eve, we returned from Midnight Mass. I kissed my children goodnight and climbed into my cold and empty bed alone. Tears slipped from my eyes until sleep took me away.

At first, I thought it was a dream. I felt my bed move so very slightly. I felt a faint touch on my arms, felt them move under another's guidance, felt hands gentle on my wrists. Soft hands placed something over my eyes. My eyes opened but I could not see. I knew it must be a dream. Yet, I tried to move, only to find my arms bound above me to my bed.

"What? What's happening?" I cried out.

A rough hand crushed my breast. I felt my flesh ooze between my captor's fingers as pain coursed through my body.

"The big titted slut's awake," a voice said. "Let's play with her."

Humiliation crashed through me in waves of hurricane force. My skin prickled as sweat poured from every pore. The heat was overwhelming, making me fear I would faint.

"No, please, no," I begged. "Let me go."

Hands on my legs. I resisted vainly as they pulled them apart. Something hard was at the entrance to my pussy.

"Oh, God! Please!"

It pushed into me, filling me, as it was rammed into me until its head rested on my cervix. I heard my cries as my captors yanked my legs together and bound my ankles. A hand jammed between the soft flesh of my inner thighs made me squeal as fingers turned on the vibrator buried in me.

"Oh, no, no. What are you doing to me?"

There was no response. All was quiet except the buzzing of the substantial toy filling me to capacity and the labored gasping of my own breathing. Even if I had fought my own woman's needs, it would have been in vain. But, I did not wish to fight my need as it exploded in me. My need. It had been so long for me, so long since an orgasm. I twisted. I turned on my bed, struggling against the bondage which held me, yanking against the ropes tying me securely. Each twist, each turn, seemed to magnify the energy wracking my body.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph," escaped my lips as I struggled, trying to open my legs bound tightly together.

How cruel my captors were! How devilishly cruel on this dark Christmas morn! They did not touch me. They let me squirm and twist and whimper as I struggled against the ropes, and felt the massive toy so deep in me. It was driving me mad with its vibrating.

"The slut seems to like this," one finally said.