Chapter 8: Dee's Diary - Desperate Love

DEE'S DIARY

SATURDAY, MAY 5^th (Continued)

To this day I don't know which direction we were heading. We were on a major road, but I don't even know if it was an interstate highway. Jay drove fast, weaving smoothly through the traffic. We didn't talk; the wind prohibited easy speech, and there was really no need for it.

After about half an hour, he pulled into the parking lot of a very large metal building with huge, blaring letters atop its roof: ADULT BOUTIQUE - BOOKS - VIDEOS - NOVELTIES - XXX.

"What's this?" I laughed uncertainly, but he was already out of the car, around to my side and holding the door for me. I took his hand nervously. "I've never been in a place like this." But he didn't say anything. He took me into his arms and kissed me hard again, and then, while I was dizzy and panting, he led me to the door. And I let him, like a lamb to the slaughter, meekly, obediently.

I've never seen anything like it, before or since, though I find myself dreaming about it some nights... often, in fact. There were several people there, though almost all of them were men, and I caught several of them casting glances my way. Jay didn't seem to be looking for anything in particular, but walked slowly through the aisles. It took me awhile to realize that he was watching me as I looked at the amazing wares for sale. He had led me into a seemingly endless display of VCR and DVD video movies of hardcore pornography. Very hardcore. I could only gawk. Please keep in mind that I had never, ever seen anything even remotely like pornography, if you can discount the R-rated movies that just about anybody can rent from their local video rental stores. But none of the love scenes that I had ever viewed showed... THAT! The act, I mean. The actual showing of man's penis being put into a woman's vagina (I would learn to call it a prick and a cunt in the coming three days). I was mesmerized by the sight.

But this was nothing compared to the pictures on the video cases that were coming next. Men using their tongues, women using their mouths, women accepting pricks of all shapes and sizes in an amazing variety of ways. Women accepting those pricks in their asses! (Why? For what purpose?) White, gooey stuff all over women's faces. For a long minute, I couldn't figure out what it was, but then I saw a picture of a prick squirting it at a woman's open mouth. I had never seen it before, though I'd read about it in an encyclopedia. So that's what it looked like! One picture really is worth a thousand words, especially if those words are forbidden in your household.

By now, I had come to realize that Jay was watching me, watching my reaction to all this, and I was about to make some comment when I was struck dumb by what was in the next section of videos. Women tied up. In all sorts of ways. In all sorts of poses. Being subjected to all sorts of humiliating things. It had to be the most erotically stimulating thing I had ever seen. I stared openly at one beautiful damsel who was sporting more square knots than a bo's'n mates' convention, and she was gazing helplessly into the camera lens as a man's hands were clipping some sort of torturous-looking contraption onto her nipples. "Why is she letting him do that?" I asked Jay.

"Maybe she just wants to find out what it feels like," he answered, watching me closely; but I could only stare back into the trussed-up girl's eyes and say nothing. I could imagine what she was feeling, somehow. I could almost (almost) feel it myself. "Or maybe she has no choice," he whispered in my ear. And THAT made me jump a little. I gawked at her. No choice. So helpless. Was that fear in her eyes? Pain? Lust? All three?

After a long minute, Jay grabbed my hand and began pulling me back toward the front of the store to some sort of display. It contained lots of what I first mistook for necklaces, but the words above them took away all of the mystery. Well, not all. Not by a long shot. "Nipple Clamps."

"How big are your nipples?" he asked cruelly.

I looked around to see if anyone had heard. The guy behind the register was certainly close enough, and he was looking right at me. I stammered. "I don't know... I mean... um..."

"Compared to other women's," he prompted. The guy at the register was obviously listening intently.

"I don't know," I said softly, blushing beet red. "I've never been around other women."

Jay barked a laugh and dragged me to the nearest section of videos. He pointed to a couple of the covers. "Like hers?" he asked, "Or hers?"

I thought for a moment I was going to faint. I looked around at the various videos, and finally picked one that depicted a woman whose breasts looked the most like the ones I'd seen in the bathroom mirror every morning. I pointed silently and meekly, then found myself being pulled back to the display of clamps. He took his time picking one, looking from the cruel devices to my chest, as if he was trying to envision what they would look like. He finally chose one, and then another; one that didn't seem to make any sense (it had THREE clamps attached to chains that met in the center. I didn't have the voice to ask him how it was supposed to work).

"Do you have any money?" he asked, matter-of-factly.

I reached into my small purse and pulled out a credit card that Mommy had let me use the last time we'd gone shopping together. He snatched it out of my hand and walked to the register. But instead of checking out, he picked up a shopping basket and began walking around, snatching things from racks and display cases and tossing them unceremoniously into the tote. I took one look at the leering man behind the register and hastened to catch up, watching in horrified fascination as dozens of various and sundry obscenities, all obviously destined to be used on me (on me!) were added to Jay's growing collection.

There were vibrating things and massive phallic things (called, the sign proclaimed, "Dildos"), and lotions and lubricants (lubricants for what?), and a blindfold, and something that looked like a ball with a strap coming out of it (I couldn't begin to imagine what THAT was for), and another vibrating thing, and something called a "butt plug" (I gasped loudly at the thought of that one), and a coil of rope, and then he came to the handcuffs. He took great pleasure watching me as he carefully chose a pair, plopped it in the basket, and picked up another one which had a much longer chain connecting the two cold-looking metal cuffs. Next, it was back to the video section. He chose three of them rapidly: the one I had been so enthralled by, called "Beautiful Betty, Blissfully Bound," one called "Timid and Tied," and one called "The Story of 'O'." And finally, it was over to the huge book section, where he chose several distinguished looking paperbacks, which included such titles as "Lovingly Tied," "Helene Craves Humiliation," and "Master's Little Wench."

The expedition somehow found its way back to the cash register, where the leering guy looked at the credit card, asked to see my ID (thank God Ben had gone with me to get a drivers license!), and he rang up the whole bunch (casting a melting glance my way between each item) in surprisingly short order. $428 worth. He handed the card back to Jay, who handed it back to me.

"Would you like some personal instruction with these purchases?" the nasty man asked.

Jay ignored him and led me out of there. The air smelled especially sweet after that. I stood dizzily as Jay opened the trunk of his car. He shook a bunch of dirty, smelly clothes out of a small blue gym bag and transferred all of his purchases into it. He slammed the trunk, held my door as I silently got back into the car, and plopped the gym bag onto my lap. And then we were roaring back down the road again.

We stopped once more at a grocery store, but he made me stay in the car. He went in, leaving me alone with that gym bag in my lap, and in a very short period of time he was back with two bags full of food. I saw perhaps a dozen boxes of frozen entrees, and I tried desperately not to show any distaste toward his "quick and easy" cuisine. I also spotted a six-pack of beer and a bottle of liquor of some sort. And once again we were off down the highway.

As I think I mentioned before, I have an awful sense of direction, so I really have no earthly idea where the little house is. It wasn't that far from the horrible "adult" store, maybe a thirty minute drive, but I paid no attention to anything except the blue gym bag. I found myself trying desperately to remember every item Jay had purchased back there, and when I formed a picture of something in my overactive mind, I tended to fixate on it and imagine myself interacting with it the way Jay intended. We drove in silence, but my brain was screaming.

The small, yellow house was set back off the narrow country road at the end of a long, one-lane dirt driveway. It was sort of quaint, I guess, and I think I told him so when I saw it; but what I was really thinking was that it was very, very private. No one could hear me here. No one would possibly be able to find me. I was alone with him. Totally alone. Did I really trust him? Did I really love him?

He didn't say a word; just grabbed the groceries and walked toward the door, stopping when he got there and casting a quizzical look back in my direction when he'd gotten it unlocked. I got out of the car, and carrying the gym bag, followed him inside.

It was a very small house; maybe eight hundred square feet total. As he busied himself putting the food and drinks away, I wandered around, looking. Only one bedroom. One bathroom. Sort of a living room/dining room/kitchen combination, which was the largest room in the house. A small patio that was lost in tangled woods all around. It was clean, if a bit cluttered. A small table stood in one corner of the living room next to an old couch and served as a desk, supporting several stacks of papers.

He startled me when he came up behind me, and when I spun around, he kissed me again. I found I could do nothing with my hands because I was still holding the blue bag, and as he broke the kiss, he took it from me, rummaged in it a bit, and brought out a pair of the handcuffs. Before I could even think about it, he had ratcheted one of the cuffs onto my right wrist. Then he took the bag into the bedroom, leaving me alone to gaze in absolute and utter fascination at the thing dangling from my arm. It was strangely hypnotic. It spoke volumes of things to come. I wondered if my eyes looked at all like those of the woman on the cover of the video. I felt like her, or at least how I imagined she felt. Would Jay put those nipple clamp things on me? I wasn't totally helpless like the girl on the video. Not yet. I heard my heart pounding as Jay came back out of the bedroom. He had taken his shirt off, and he'd removed his shoes and socks. Oh God, things were happening quickly!

Without a word, he walked up to me and began unbuttoning my blouse. He pulled it roughly where it was tucked into my skirt, and there was an awkward moment when the hook at the other end of the handcuffs got caught as he took it off of me, but he managed to get it free. He left me standing there in the middle of the room as he went back into the bedroom (to hang it up in a closet, I guess), and I was alone in the strange room, feeling almost naked and very, very vulnerable.

When he returned, he walked behind me, positioned my hands at the small of my back, and fastened them together. At last, I was bound. Was it everything I'd been hoping for these past 45 minutes? I heard a zipper, and it took me a second to realize that it was my skirt, which was now loose and sliding down over my hips. He snaked his arm around my bare midriff to hold me steady as he held the garment down around my ankles, and I just naturally lifted first one foot and then the other as he finished removing it. Then he was gone again, back to the bedroom to hang up the skirt, and I shivered at the feel of the warm air caressing my bare skin. He walked right past me when he came back, though, and I turned to watch as he went into the kitchen and came back with a very big, mean-looking knife.

He held it in front of me and I made a little noise, but he put a finger gently to my lips, and I was silent for the moment. He looked at me intently, his eyes drinking in my heaving chest, my frightened eyes, then my whole body again. He kissed me gently on the forehead, and raised the knife and cut one of my bra straps. He watched me again for a long moment, and then cut the other one. I made another little whimper, but he ignored it. He walked around me as I stood there, stretching the moment out, and finally I felt him pulling on the back supporting strap of the bra as he sliced through that one as well, and the whole thing, under tension, flew forward off my chest and fell into a worthless pile of shredded cloth on the floor. He walked back around and stood in front of me again, raking me with his hungry eyes, especially my breasts, which were rising and falling with every jagged breath.

"Very nice," he said softly.

"They're too big," I replied in a very small voice, but again he silenced me with a finger to my lips.

"You are not to speak unless I ask you a question," he said sternly. This would be the first of a whole weekend's worth of rules. I would remember them all, however. I remember them to this day.

He sliced off the panties, too, though there was really no reason to do so except to emphasize the finality of their destruction. He knelt and supported me again with an arm around my buttocks as he removed my sandals, and left me naked (oh, so totally naked!) as he put them away with the rest of my clothes. He took a metal folding chair from the dining area and set it behind me, then sat me down so that my arms were behind its back, my back and butt pressed almost entirely into its cold metal surface. Next, he set to work cutting lengths of the soft nylon rope and tying my ankles and knees the chair, spreading my legs obscenely. He also looped part of the rope through the handcuffs, though I couldn't see how, stretching my arms downward, so that I was really, really (finally, totally) helpless. He could do anything to me now. Anything. And now, as he bent to kiss me after surveying his handy work from every angle, he let his hands roam freely across my breasts, rubbing, pressing, tweaking, pinching, caressing, squeezing.

He put his tongue in my mouth. I didn't know how to react, but that didn't seem to make any difference. My body reacted for me, and I found myself gasping and moaning into his open mouth as my torso jerked and heaved against his hands. His touch became a catalyst that made my body move and feel and strain without any sort of input from my brain whatsoever. Every time he pinched one of my nipples, I made a little noise that mixed somehow into the tangle of lips and tongues; but when he took a nipple between thumb and forefinger and rolled it back and forth, back and forth, I groaned very loudly. He finally broke the kiss, laughed delightedly, and slid one hand lower across my quivering abdomen and between my legs as he kept up the delightful rolling motion to my nipple with his other.

Jay's finger slid very easily inside my vagina, which made me shiver uncontrollably. "Why are you so wet?" he asked, teasingly.

"I don't know," I managed to mutter, almost a whisper. I'd sometimes found myself moist "down there" when I woke up in the morning, but I never really thought about why.

"This is your cunt," he said, a teacher to a slow student. "Say it, please."

"That is my cunt," I whispered obediently, quivering all over.

"And this is your clit," he said, in the same tone.

He rubbed his palm along the length of my dripping opening, scraping it cruelly across my little button near its top. I jerked so violently that the chair came entirely off the floor and made a metallic clang as it landed again. "Ahhhh!" I screamed, shaking spastically and trying frantically to understand what was happening.

"Say it!" he intoned, plunging his fingers (two of them this time... at least, I think it was two... it felt like two) back into my "cunt." "What is it?"

"It's a... AHHHHH!" I screamed again as his palm slid again across the little troublemaker.

He began rubbing his hand up and down, up and down, faster and faster across the offending clit as he continued to assault my right nipple by rolling it unmercifully between his thumb and finger. "Say it!" he hissed into my ear. "Say it!"

"It's my... Ahhhh! My cl - Ahhhh! Cl - cli - cli - AHHHHH!" And suddenly something very strange happened to me. I didn't realize that I had been pulling on the handcuffs, but when "it" happened, I jerked upward with my bound wrists so hard that my whole body (chair firmly attached) nearly twisted out of his grip. He had to let go of my abused nipple and wrap his free arm around me to keep me from careening across the small room. I clearly felt the muscles of my newly dubbed "cunt" contract over and over again unbidden, and a magnificent tingle ran throughout my naked being. I swear I felt it in my toes!

He finally stopped rubbing, but persisted in his harsh questioning. "What just happened?" he asked.

"I don't know," I gasped, my chest heaving. "Was that an orgasm? Did I have an orgasm?" I'd heard about it. I'd read about it. I'd always assumed "it" only happened when a man stuck his thingy into a girl. That's what it looked like in the few "R" rated movie videos I'd seen, though of course, they hadn't actually shown that particular aspect of it. Had it finally happened to me? Just by touching?