Chapter 7

I had won the bet. She would be my bride at last. 'When' was another question altogether, but the 'if' part was now gone.

More to the immediate point of settling up the bet, my Sally had a bare pussy by noon. With all the frivolity and ribald comments during the procedure, I think we were both surprised there were no nicks or cuts. By 2:00 in the afternoon, I would estimate I had consumed at least a gallon of her cum. There is something about a smooth, hairless cunt that just tastes better. We were both looking forward to the frequent touch-ups. It was to become one of our favorite times together.

Originally, I had chosen this wager for the bet because I knew she wouldn't like it. Now, neither of us could understand why we had not done this earlier. She was so much more sensitive, responsive, and accessible. She would be shaved much longer than six months.

We were lying on the bed, head to toe. Or rather, heads to groins. I rolled over on my back, keeping her on top of me. I slowly moved my tongue over the length of her swollen slit. The aroma of all of the day's play combined into a heady mix. It was heavenly. My limp cock stirred.

She must have had her eyes open, as she immediately sucked in the pink head swelling right under her nose. Her next actions told me she was bent on bringing me off as fast as she could.

"Slow down, my love. Go to completion, but please make it last." These commands were delivered around languorous licks to her slippery cunt.

She immediately slowed her actions, but she intensified the suction. It felt like she was trying to suck my balls up through my penis like large chunks of strawberry fruit pulp in a real milkshake that get stuck in the straw. I focused on her pleasure to take my mind off the feelings growing in my balls. I partially succeeded. She came three times before I exploded into her mouth.

Only then did I release her arms from the bondage I had placed them in before our bet. She hadn't asked me to release her even then, but she had been bound for over 5 hours, without one complaint. She was very still as I massaged her shoulders, working out the kinks. When she stirred, I stopped. She rolled over, reached up and pulled me down to her. She held me so tight, I thought she would never let me go, and with the strength of her embrace, I knew I would never be able to break away. Not that I wanted to. She moved her lips to my ear.

"Thank you." Just that, nothing more. Nothing more was needed.

And then the old Sally was back. She was in control, sure of herself, feisty, my lover, my equal.

It wasn't rocket science. But this much I had figured out: When she was bound, I was in total control. She didn't even want a safe-word. She had had to explain what that was to me later. When she was free, we were equals. We both agreed we could live with that. Even better, I got to decide when she was bound and when she was free.

She said she had things to take care of and got up. 'Life goes on, ' or something like that. I don't know how she did it, where she got her energy. I was exhausted.

The first thing I did was take a short nap. Then I checked on Janey. I wasn't being selfish by sleeping first. I had seen Sally go in to check on her first thing after she left our bed. She hadn't seemed anxious for her the entire time we had been 'playing, ' but we both knew our concern for her was just below the surface. One noise from her, and it would have ended immediately. Anyway, Sally had looked down the hall at me as she exited Janey's room, gave me a bright smile and the 'OK' sign.

When I checked a couple of hours later, she was still sleeping soundly, but seemed a little less troubled. She had tossed the light covers off and one very long leg and one slim arm were exposed; or would have been exposed, except she was wearing her tracksuit. The rape counselor mentioned she might prefer that. Immediately after a sexual assault, most victims can't come to terms with their bodies and try to hide them completely. The bulkier and more misshapen the clothing the better to remove any hint of gender-oriented form.

Janey looked as if she had three or four layers under the normally sleek suit. She looked like an advertisement for that Eddie Murray movie where he wears a body suit to add a hundred or so pounds. She even had the ankle and wrist zippers closed and she was wearing her slippers. I noticed the hood was up over her head and the drawstring tied under her chin, as if she were trying to cover herself entirely up. A twisting knot developed in my gut and tried to rip my heart out as I began to understand the depth of her pain, confusion, and hurt. I swore right then and there that, as bizarre a plan as her Mom had proposed, if that would help Janey, my Janey heal, I would do it, whatever it took, even if I had to risk losing Sally.

I covered her arm and leg, tucked her in and kissed her forehead. I had to wipe away a few tears that had fallen on her from somewhere. They couldn't have been from me - I never cry or get that emotional. I offered up another fervent prayer for her quick and total recovery.

I wandered around the quiet house and ended up in the family room. I heard Sally bustling around in the cellar. It sounded as if she was dragging several large boxes or crates around and vacuuming. I vaguely wondered why she would be cleaning the basement, but dismissed it.

The family room was a comfortable room, like the rest of the house. It was hard to imagine any room decorated by Sally that didn't reflect her personality. Of course, I was just a tad biased.

I turned on the TV and flipped through the channels, finding nothing worth watching. I scanned the bookshelf for titles I had read. I could only find a couple I had even heard of, much less read. No trashy novels here. It was quiet in the basement again. I looked around the room and saw a telephone on the desk. That reminded me that there was something I had to do.

I called the opera house. No, I didn't cancel. I renewed my season tickets, upgraded to a full season, and added one seat to the account for Janey. Sally had joined me in the living room and listened to the phone call in silence. As I place the telephone back in the cradle on the desk, I turned to face her to see what she wanted.

She attacked me.

Not in a mean spirited way, but with sharp fingernails jabbing for ticklish, tender areas, throw pillows actually used for throwing, knees, elbows, head-butts. My gentle little wife-to-be was intent on some serious roughhousing.

The robes we had thrown on upon leaving her bedroom were the first casualties. Mine came untied in the first assault and she tried to use the belt to trip me up. I managed to snag hers on the second lap around the sofa. The black silk rope belt we had put to such good use earlier in the day got tangled in the belt loops and she shimmied out of the robe so I wouldn't use it to pull her in. Seeing her boobs bouncing around her chest was extremely distracting, and I tended to spend more time watching them move than paying attention to where I was going.

I was at a bit of a disadvantage. I didn't know what the rules of this particular game were, or if there even were any. I still don't know, and don't care, as we were having a tremendously good time, laughing and screaming. I bellowed as she drenched me with the water from a vase of flowers, and I discarded my dripping robe, more to limit the water damage than anything. I discovered a cache of rubber bands in a desk drawer. She shrieked as if mortally wounded as I shot them at her across the desk. I had her on the run for a while, her ass and tits my favorite targets. Then my ammo ran low.

I retreated in earnest after the first swat of the fly swatter she discovered discarded behind an easy chair caught my pecker broadside. She had been aiming for my butt, but I turned suddenly. I hollered "Shit," grabbed my jewels and started backing away from her in a panic. A look of horror crossed her face as she realize where she had struck me, but she quickly recovered from her shock, shrugged an "I'm sorry" at me, and immediately tried to hit it again, albeit with much less force.

Fuck this shit! I was going to do the honorable thing and run like hell in retreat. I had both hands in the basic 'save the family jewels' position, and was backing away from her as fast as I could. I intended to get to a small room with a locking door, but she was always one step ahead of me and herded me around the room like a cowboy cutting cattle. Damn, she was fast!

By the time I backed into and tripped over the arm of the sofa, landing in the dead cockroach position, I was a mass of red blotches. Nothing vital was injured, but Sally took every opening to torment me. She gleefully pounced on this new opportunity to attack my unprotected feet and calves as they waved in the air above me.

After several bellows and cries for mercy she said, "Say 'Uncle!' If you give, say 'Uncle.'"

Call me macho, call me a male chauvinist pig, call me stupid, call me what you want, but there is just something that gets stuck in my throat when I think about crying 'Uncle' to a girl. It has been like that ever since my Dad told me that I was a boy and had to be tough, but then I realized he had a different set of rules for my sister. I made the mistake of hesitating to surrender and tried to grab my feet to try to protect them. The tip of the incessant swatter instantly found my uncovered privates. That was all it took.

"UUUUNCLE!! SHIT, DAMN IT, OUCH!" I yelled.

She shouted, "I WIN!" and tossed her superior weaponry over her shoulder. I made a mental note to get rid of that fucking thing the first chance I had.

Whooping and cheering, she dove on my prone body, covering the myriad red blotches with smoochy kisses and "Mommy will make it feel better"-type comments. She was really rubbing it in that she had 'whupped' a 6'3" man that had about 100 solid, not flabby, pounds on her. She was all over me, touching, caressing, and rubbing. I didn't realize she had maneuvered me to the middle of the sofa until she suddenly settled her freshly shorn cunt over my face and announced,

"I want my reward!"

I had been planning on being a sore loser, pouting for a while, but when presented with her own pouting lips staring me in the face, I felt I could afford to be gracious in defeat. I grabbed her hips, pulled her down, rolled and stiffened my tongue and shoved it as far up her ass as I could.

Her shriek of surprise shattered into giggles. I hadn't been sure of her reaction to rimming, but she sure seemed to enjoy it. I wasn't aware of how much she enjoyed it until she attacked my soft, sore, tired dick with a ferocity I had not experience that often from her heretofore.

The way she was going at it, I was more than a little fearful she would suck it off and swallow it, as that seemed what she was determined to do. I had hoped to distract her by fingering her cunt and clit in addition to tongue-fucking her asshole, but to my amazement and immense pleasure, she swallowed more and more of my increasing length as I stiffened.

She gagged slightly as the bulging head slipped down her throat, but she didn't withdraw. She forced down a couple of more inches as I became fully hard. I switched holes, using my tongue in her cunt and my finger in her ass. She became frantic in her suction, as if her life depended on it.

Until now, I had never experienced this. Blowjobs, sure, lots of them, some pretty good, but no one had ever been able to completely swallow my erect cock. If I may say so myself, my equipment is a noticeable upgrade from the standard, average issue, in length, width, and head size. Ever since Junior High School and the first fumbling attempts at sex, the girls so privileged to observe it have been at once fascinated and frightened when they encountered my cock in an excited state. So, now, with my cock completely consumed for the first time ever, I was in absolute 'pig-in-shit' heaven. Bliss. Nirvana. I saw bright lights, heard angels playing harps, talked with Elvis...