Wednesday, June 29, 2011

Erotica: Murky Water

 She stared at the murky water as it swirled around her feet.  Her shower had been draining slower and slower.  She frowned, it was getting pretty bad.  She had looked down the drain, trying to see if there was anything blocking the water, hair or something, but whatever it was it was beyond her reach.  She would have to call Mike.

She had found him just like you would find any plumber, typing in plumbing on the internet and then checking his references, even joining Angie’s list to see if people had said anything about him, good or bad.  He came with good references and was bonded and listed on the better business bureau.  He had been in business for almost ten years locally.

When he showed up, he looked exactly like she had expected him to.  Middle aged, rugged, dressed like he was here to work, in broken in jeans, work shirt with his business logo over the pocket.  He wasn’t particularly handsome or tall.  His hair was thinning and showing grey around his ears.  His hands were large and scarred and had the kind of rough, grainy skin that never looked completely clean.  At a casual glance, the only thing remarkable about him was perhaps the width of his shoulders and the way the muscles of his arms strained at the fabric of his shirt.  He had installed her new shower quickly and professionally.  It was only a few days later, when he called to see if everything was still working right, that he had asked her if she would like to get a cup of coffee sometime.

They had dated for a while, maybe six months.  But he was a bit of player and made it clear he was not all that interested in settling down with just one woman and she had not been able to come to terms with that.  They had parted on good terms, a fact she was grateful for.  After all, it was harder to find a good plumber these days than a boyfriend. 

She winced a little as she thought that last bit.  It might be not that hard to find a boyfriend, but one as good in bed as Mike was another matter.  In a lot of ways, sex with Mike had spoiled her for the attentive if insipid and predictable couplings of the guys she had dated since.  He had been anything but insipid or predictable.  He had been very up front about his likes and dislikes… she shook her head… there wasn’t anything that man had not liked.  He had told her with a matter of fact honesty that had both shocked and aroused her that he liked it rough and he liked it often.  Then he had proceeded to demonstrate exactly what he was talking about.  He had left her with a very definite taste for violent, nasty, humiliating sex.  The rougher and more demeaning the better she had liked it.

It was unfortunate that he had also liked it with a lot of different women.  If it hadn’t been for that, they might have ended up together for the long run.

Mike answered his phone promptly, his voice professional and yet warm.  He said he could come by that afternoon if she was going to be home.  She agreed and promptly called work and let them know she would be taking the afternoon off.

She took a long shower right before he was scheduled to arrive, taking the time to shave and do a deep condition on her thick red curls.  When she was done the grey water was almost up to the overflow drain and did not seem to be draining at all.  She put on a light flowered house dress that she had picked up at a local discount store, an outfit that managed to look alluring and yet plausible for hanging out at home, and one she would not mind if it got torn.  Mike had a very bad track record with buttons.  The only thing that might have signaled an ulterior intent may have been the height of the heels on her sandals or if you had managed to peek, the fact that she wore nothing else, neither underwear nor brassier.  She styled her hair and put on makeup but she did not think that Mike really ever noticed those things.  He was pretty basic, less interested in the wrapper than what was contained within.

He was exactly on time.  He knocked and waited on the porch until she opened the door.  Back when they were dating he would have just walked in like he had owned the place.  When she opened the door he grinned and his voice was just a little taunting.  “Got a bit of a drainage problem?”

“Yeah, it’s my bathtub.”

“Well, let me take a look at it.”

The water had gone down an inch or so, a ring of soap scum and tiny bits of hair from her shaving circled the sides of the tub.  He sent her an irritated look, but his voice was calm.  “Yep, definitely backed up there.”  Then he looked at her, his eyes measuring, looking her up and down.  “And you, how have you been doing?”

She shifted and blinked, suddenly a little evasive.  It was always at this moment that she got this little rush of fear, her mouth going dry and her heart thundering. 

“I’ve been fine.”  She stepped back a step. 

It was like he could smell her fear.  His grin turned just a bit feral.  “You sure?  It’s been a while since you called me.  Is there anything else you might be needing?  He paused and reached out, toying with the top button on her dress.  “You know.  All you have to do is ask.”

It was the same conversation they had had every time he came over.  She knew she had to ask.  In fact before they were done, she would have to beg.  There would not be any question of consent.  She cleared her throat nervously and tried to be a little coy, “Well, now that you mention it.  The shower isn’t the only thing that seems a little backed up.  I have another… um… bit of plumbing that could use some… um… work?”  Her voice trembled and her attempt at humor fell flat.

He stepped closer, close enough that she could feel his breath in her face, backing her into a corner.  He wasn’t a lot taller than her and in heels their eyes were level.  “Work?  What kind of work?”

She felt a shiver of nervousness.  Her voice shook a little.  “You know what I mean.”

His hand gripped the front of her dress and he pushed her hard against the wall.  “Then say it.  Tell me what you want.”

His touch seemed to break down her internal barriers and her voice was a low moan of hunger, “I want you to fuck me.  I want you take that big, hard cock and shove it into me over and over.  I want you to use me like a dirty fucking whore.”

He laughed and as he yanked down, tearing the buttons off the dress down to her waist, he stared at her naked breasts and taunted, “Yes, dirty fucking whore.  I like that.  I like that because that is exactly what you are.”  His voice was low, deliberate, enunciating each word with relish, “A… dirty… fucking… whore.”  His other hand was unbuttoning his jeans and he fished out his already swelling cock and he shook it at her.  Her eyes locked on the vision of it.  It was already bigger than any other cock she had had and she knew it would soon be bigger, a lot bigger.  God she loved the way that cock felt inside her cunt.  “So you want me to fuck you with this?”

She tried to reach for it, tried to sink to her knees to get closer but he shoved her roughly back against the wall.  “Tell me exactly what you want me to do to you.”

“I want you to fuck me with it!”

He let go of her.  “Take off the dress and get on your knees.”

There wasn’t a whole lot left holding the dress up.  It fell around her ankles easily and she dropped to her knees and crawled toward him, already opening her mouth to take him in.  But his hand in her hair stopped her barely an inch away from the massive purple head.  “Now, you dirty little whore, tell me how you want me to fuck you?”

She pulled against his grip, savoring the sting and ache of the pull on her hair.  Her voice was an agonized, gasping babble.  “I want it fast.  I want it hard.  I want it rough.  I want all of it over and over and over.  I want it like you like it.”

“Yes, you dirty little whore, of all the women I fuck, you like it the same way I do the most of all.”  She flinched a little.  He knew she did not like it when he talked about the other ones.  She also knew he talked about it for exactly that reason.  He would tell her that even if she wasn’t the prettiest or the youngest or the thinnest or had the biggest tits, that the one thing that kept him coming back was her unholy addiction to being fucked with all the violence and humiliation he wanted to dispense.

He tipped her head back and stared down at her.  “Keep that dirty whore mouth shut until I tell you different.  Do you understand?” 

She would have nodded if he did not have such a tight grip in his hair.  He pulled her close to his crotch, rubbing his cock on her face.  His voice was loud in her ears, “Can you smell it, whore?  Can you smell her?  That was why I could not come over right away.  When you called me I was already balls deep in another woman.  I was getting busy with my last customer… you ain’t the only middle aged horny bitch with plumbing problems.”

She tensed and tried to pull away, shaking her head and suddenly repulsed, but he shoved her back.  His voice harsh, “I said smell it.  Get your fucking nose deep in there, inhale it.”  And it was there, definite and strong, the smell of sex.  She shuddered and tried to fight him, but he did not relent.  He held a small dictating device down within the range of her vision.  He pushed a button and she could her voice, pathetically needy, begging to be fucked. 

“Too late to change your mind, bitch.  I got it all on tape.  You asked for it, now you are going to get it.  Now open up.”  His fingers were on her mouth, prizing her lips apart and forcing himself in.  “Open up… all the way up.”  And he pulled her up close, forcing himself deep, probing that back of her throat and deliberately forcing her to gag.      

 He talked to her the whole time as he fucked her face.  “When I fuck you today, I want you to think about that.  Think about how this cock was buried in another woman only a couple hours ago.  Think about how I am comparing how you fuck to how she fucked.  Think about the look on her face when I took that call without even missing a beat, talking to you while I was humping her cunt hard and fast.  And after I hung up, I told her I was going to come here and fuck you.  I told her that I was going to see if your cunt felt better than hers… that maybe she should work it a little harder.  You know something?  She stepped right up; she tightened up on my tool like a vice and began to thrash around like she was having a fucking epileptic seizure.”

It went on and on.  Her jaw ached and her stomach began to lurch.  Over and over when she was given a second to catch her breath, she had to swallow down mouthfuls of her own vomit.  She knew that it would not faze him, that he would not even pause if she did.  And to her humiliation, she could feel her body heat, each violent spasm of gags made her cunt tighten and she could feel the wetness ooze out of her.  It seemed the angrier he made her, the more she regretted her decision, the more degraded he made her feel the more aroused she became.  It was disgusting and infuriating and she had never been more turned on.

Over and over she felt him harden and felt the telltale tension in his body of insipient orgasm but each time he would pull her away and breathe for a minute.  His voice was low, “No hurry, bitch.  I charge by the hour.  And I got plenty left for you.  I popped me one of them little blue pills before I headed over.  Wouldn’t want you to feel like you weren’t getting your money’s worth.”

And she knew he would.  Every minute he was here would be on his bill.  This knowledge only emphasized her debasement. 

The third time he pushed her off, he sat down on the toilet and pointed at his lace up work boots.  “Take them off.”

Thankful for a few moments to catch her breath and settle her stomach, she bent to the task.  It did not take long and then he stood and kicked off his pants and pulled his shirt off.  She gazed up at him.  From this angle he looked massive.  He might not have been tall but he was broad and thickly muscled.  His abdomen was flat and rippled with muscle.  When he was not working he spent most of his time working out a local body building gym.  She knew that he would not hesitate to use his strength against her, to hold her down, bend her anyway he wished.  There was no option of refusal.  This knowledge, that there was no escape, no way out, that if she did not cooperate, he would just force her was what she craved more than anything else.

Even though she knew he could do anything, his next move took her by surprise.  Again it was a demonstration of his strength.  In a heartbeat the fingers of only one hand wrapped around her throat and lifted her clear up off her feet.  She hung there, and for just an instant looked down at him, her eyes met his.  She could not breathe, but somehow that seemed okay, her whole body felt limp, even boneless.  He tipped his head and a tiny smirk made the corner of his mouth twitch and his eyes slid past her to the tub.

There was a surreal sense of weightlessness and for a microsecond she wondered if she was getting any blood flow to her brain.  She did not even notice that her shoes had slipped off her feet until he put her down and spun her around to face away.  She stumbled and went to her knees and before she realized his intent he had her bent forward over the cold porcelain edge of the bathtub, her face only inches from the scummy water.  She could hear him doing something, and she glanced back over her shoulder and saw him tearing open a condom wrapper with his teeth.  His eyes were a strange yet thrilling mix of pent up rage and sheer lustful enjoyment.

“What you staring at, whore?”  His free hand shot forward and she flinched, fearful that he was going to strike her, but instead he put his hand on her head and shoved it down, forcing her whole face down into the cool, grey water, down until it was pressed hard against the bottom of the tub.  She struggled to lift up her head, but he was too strong.  She could her him laughing, the mocking sound strangely loud as it passed through the water filling her ears.

He gripped her hair and lifted her head up, leaning over her, pinning her down, trapping her, his voice low and nasty in her ears as she gasped and coughed.  “Dirty water for a dirty whore.”

She could feel him position himself, the blunt end of his cock nudging at the opening of her cunt.  His hand yanked back violently on her hair as he lunged forward, his thrust literally a punch in her gut.  She could not help but let out a deep oof as the air was forced from her lungs.  She felt her cunt hole stretch around his cock, felt him bottom out against her cervix hard.  It sent a deep, agonizing cramp through her womb.  Her sudden exhalation changed to a deep groaning yelp that was cut off as he pushed her head down into the water again. 

One hand held her head down and the other gripped her hip.  He began to pound her, deep, relentless thrusts that made her insides churn.  She did her best to keep her mouth and eyes shut, praying that he would not let her drown; telling herself that he would not want the trouble of having to dispose of her body.  And if she did die, who would pay his bill?  But the fear was there, the fear and disgust as the sensation of the cold, slimy water, and something about it, the helplessness, the vulnerability, the sudden awareness that he could kill her and she could not do anything about it made cunt seize up around his cock and she was coming, coming like it was perhaps the last orgasm of her life.  Her arms flailed in the water, splashing, she screamed under the water and choked. 

He jerked her head up and growled in short sharp grunts as he lunged against her.  “Careful, whore, not done with you yet.” 

But she hardly heard him over her own words, primal, harsh words that seemed to be forced from her lips by each invasion.  It did not even sound like her voice, low and hoarse, she was growling out the words, “Fuck it!  Fuck it!  Fuck my cunt!  Harder!  More!  God damn it, is that all you have?”  She braced herself against the far side of the tub and lunged back at him.       

“You want more?  You dirty, insatiable, greedy whore, I will give you more.  Take a deep breath, you are going under again.”  And true to his word as soon as she inhaled he pushed her head down again. 

Spurred on by her words, he began to go at her with a wild ferocity.  She could hear him grunting and snarling, “More?  More?  You want more?”  He shifted turning slightly and put one foot into the tub, stepping on her hair and using his both hands to grip her thighs and spread them wider.  He was over her now, ramming at her, swiveling his hips, stabbing at her from different angles.  It felt like he was trying to crawl inside her.  The thrusts were getting faster, harder and even deeper.  It felt like her insides were being pummeled, like he was going at her with a bat. 

If she strained hard, she could just barely lift her face enough to steal a gasp of air but each time he slammed into her, her face was forced down again.  She could her him cursing, calling her names, telling her what a sad fuck she was, and hearing those words, hearing the rage and disgust, she was coming again, her scream bubbling up in the filthy water.

As usual he seemed tireless.  Fucking Mike was like a marathon, he always seemed to take a long time to finish and she knew that if he had been with another woman earlier, that this was not the first time of the day, it would take even longer.  She knew she was in for a long ride, but this was what she wanted… it had been a long time since she had been fucked like this and she wanted it to last.  She knew as long as he was in the saddle she would be coming, coming hard, over and over.

To her oxygen starved brain, time seemed to stand still… the act endless.  It was as if all existence had been reduced to this moment.  She had always been here.  He had always been here.  Sensory input was reduced to a strange series of still images… a flickering, crazy quilt of moments, words and sensations…   

As usual, he did not come inside her cunt.  He pulled out and yanked her hair, pulling her up and jerking off inches from her face.  She squeezed her eyes shut.  He grunted as he came.  It felt hot as it hit her skin.  She could feel it as it slipped down her wet skin and dripped onto her chest.  She hung there, suspended in his grip, swaying, gasping.  When she licked her lips she could taste him.

He shoved her backwards toward the water, upending her until she was lying in the slimy grey water.  He stood over her, his hand still on his big, meaty cock… working it… a nasty smirk on his face.  His voice did not hold quite the same amount of venom but the words still stung… “Proper place for a dirty whore.”

She stood in the bathroom, wrapped in her thick bathrobe, rubbing a towel at her hair, watching him as he efficiently worked the snake down the drain. 

“You are a fucking bastard, you know.”

He did not look up from the task.  “That is why you call me.”

He pulled a big, nasty clump of hair out of the drain.  He frowned and looked at it.  His thick fingers were surprisingly deft as he plucked out a sparkling hair barrette and handed it to her.  “This was the problem.”

She turned to barrette over in her hand and shrugged, she watched as the water swirled down the drain and he rinsed out the tub.

His expression did not change as she looked over the bill and wrote the check.

He was professionalism incarnate.  “Call me if you need me.”  They both knew what that meant.

She carefully put the barrette away for the next time.


Tuesday, June 28, 2011

Welcome to the family, kid.

The primary purpose of this pilgrimage home was to begin difficult conversations.  To say out loud those hard things about facing death and loss and age and infirmity…

I did not anticipate even harder things… can there be anything more difficult???

…oh fuck yes.

It seems that the great grandson, my great nephew, who had been sort of hanging around the house a lot lately was there because his dad, my nephew, the son of my long deceased only sibling, had been kicked out of his house… for doing something sexual with is 2 year old half sister.  Exactly what that sexual thing was never said, either because my father cannot bring himself to say the words or perhaps he was not told any specifics.

The boy, and he is a boy, only fourteen, the product of a failed marriage, the odd kid out, shuffled back and forth between families where he never quite fits in… he denies everything, but of course he would… hell, if I was in his shoes, I would too.  He has everything to lose.  And to give the boy credit, he is a sweet person, kind, generous… he loves his great grandmother and grandfather unconditionally because they are the only ones that give that to him. 

My father wants to believe him, more than anything in the world my father, 84 years old and sweetly innocent of so much of the evil of the world, wants nothing more than this to be a terrible misunderstanding… just a horrible mistake.

The kid’s dad and his stepmom have led a kind of chaotic existence, hovering on the edge of homelessness… my nephew was at best treated like a built in babysitter for the little baby half sister that came along when he was twelve, while the adults played computer games and got stoned.  And everyone loved that little girl like she was the queen of world… the cuter she was, the less anyone noticed the boy.

I don’t know if he did what they said… I don’t know if I care.  As far as I am concerned, in this nasty equation… everybody is a victim.  Parents of the little girl are outraged and seem very willing to throw him out… so here he is. 

And here is my father, with all his wounded innocence, coming to me to somehow ask me what he should do.  And I had to open his eyes… shit happens… shit happens in this family… I sat him down and told him the painful truth that people choose to not say out loud.  I was sexually abused… by my older brother… in his house, under his nose.  Both my brother and I were victimized by the husband of his sister.  My mother, his wife, was sexually abused by her older brother and her cousins when she was little… I told him that not only to horrible things happen… they happen in your house from time to time… that his family IS perfect… all except for that incest thing.

A painful ugly fact that I had to come to terms with decades ago… a painful ugly fact that I had hoped had finally wound down, that with my generation the pattern had somehow been broken…

I was wrong.

I wonder if I ought to take that little boy out for a walk and tell him these things… that he is not the only one… not the first or the second or even the third on to be harmed by this sickness.  To try to open up his too young eyes and heart to the hurt it brings to the ones you love when you indulge this thing… this perverted kind of love, abuse, poison, pain, vampirism… whatever the fuck it is.

Welcome to the family, kid.

But another part of this family… is that even if you are broken, you are one of us… we will not turn our back on you.  My father is shocked and sickened that this boy’s father seems perfectly willing to do exactly that…

I told my Dad, that no matter what happens that kid needs to know that somebody still loves him.  That even as we face the consequences and hold him accountable that we are not going to quit on him.  I told him that… that no matter what, he will always be one of us.  I also raised an eyebrow and told him in no uncertain terms that means that if we think it is the best course of action we will not hesitate to kick him in the ass.  Master said right after me… “right up between your shoulder blades”.  The kid grinned and said thank you.

I don’t know how this story is going to end.

So there we are.  Flakey father and step mom are infuriated.  Kid is still denying.  Grandpa and grandma wanting nothing more that for what he says to be the truth.  Kid was scheduled to go visit his maternal side of the family… far, far away.  Do not know if he will ever be welcomed back by his father.  Do not know if the police or welfare or whatever is going to get involved.  Do know that my parents would take him in if they could… but they are at the end of their life… and to parent one more time is asking a lot… perhaps too much.

Do know that Master says in no uncertain terms that we cannot be the ones that fix this mess… we are only going to be here for a couple more days and we live too far away. 

I also know that all this has stirred up feelings I thought long since dealt with, old monsters slain and buried deep.  It does not take much for me to feel that sick lump in my guts and for my eyes to feel hot and wet with unshed tears.

Monday, June 27, 2011

Something for your bucket list...

The pilgrimage was generally painful and fraught with frustration, but it did have one very bright point... a glowing, brilliant, scintillating beacon of light.  My father made reservations for Master and I to go on a salmon fishing trip down the Kasilof river.  The guide had this float boat powered by only the muscles in his arms... I mean having a handsome strong tanned man row your boat all day is amazing.  This is a pic of another group getting the same treatment. 

One of the most magical things was the weather... bright blue skies... warm breezes...
We did not catch any fish, but that did not matter.  It was just awesome to float silent and peaceful, holding the fishing poles, listening the endless stories of this fish caught here or another that got away... the voices of the old men resurrecting old memories and dusting them off, reliving those bright moments.  It was almost as good as catching the fish themselves.
I ended up with the worst sunburned nose... I am peeling now. 

If you ever have the chance, don't pass it up.  It was dreamlike.

Saturday, June 25, 2011

Serial Saturday NORTHWEST HUNTERS Book Two, Chapter Eleven

Northwesthunters:  Finding Happiness

Chapter 11:  Inspiration

”Junie you have another letter from Monica.”  Bob dropped the envelope on the table. 

Dear Junie,

I am sorry if I frightened you.  I don’t know if I could ever really kill myself, but to be honest I was having those thoughts and they were frightening me.  For some reason you were the only person I felt like I could say those words to.  I was not brave enough to say them to someone who I really cared about.  I felt so bad for even thinking those thoughts after what everyone has done to help me.
I guess I was asking someone to do something, anything.  And now my mother has taken away my pills and gives me them one at a time with a horrible betrayed look on her face. 
At least now I am at the hospital and my surgery is behind me.  They kept me sedated a lot longer and I did not have any of those recurring memories.  The pain medicine is pretty strong so I am sleeping most of the time.  The only hard part now is when they check me for healing and infection.
It is a lot like getting a pelvic once a day, but it hurts.  I have a lot of trouble staying still; I get these waves of panic.  One time they tried restraining me to the table and I got totally hysterical, I could not stop screaming.  They had to give me a shot. 
Well, they will be discharging me soon and then I will be back at home at Mom’s.  After that, it is hard to think about, but the gynecologist says I have to use this thing, he calls it a ‘dilator’ but it looks just like a… well I will let you use your imagination.  It’s to keep the scar tissue from shrinking up and growing together.  He says if I don’t, I might have to have surgery again.
They say I will be able to conceive without any trouble and carry a baby to term, but I will have to have a cesarean delivery; there is no way that the scar tissue will stretch enough for a normal delivery.
So they put me in charge of my own torture.  Every time I think about putting anything up there all I can see in my mind is that knife, the same one that you found in your car.  Yes, Agent Durant told me that’s where you found it.
I talk with Agent Durant nearly every day now.  He is the only person my mom will let me call without cross examining me to see who it was.  She knows I am writing to you, but I keep your letters with me so she won’t sneak and read them.  She, all the time, is trying to find out more about you.  I just tell her that you were another victim and writing you makes me feel better.  Agent Durant, he told me to call him David, told her that you were a good person and that she should just back off.  He told her that if she refused to give me the letters that it is a federal crime to tamper with the mail.  He told me later that he was exaggerating that because it is addressed to her home, but anyway she believed him and is giving me the letters so far.
Like I said, I call David and I do have your number too.  I will to call you or David if I get to feeling too frightened or sad.  I promised David that I would do this.
Probably by the time you get this letter I will be back home.  I guess I need to start thinking about getting a job, something temporary.  Once the trial starts, I don’t think I will have the time or the heart to work.  My mom has a friend who has a new baby and they need a babysitter.  I could do that.  I babysat a lot when I was in high school. 
Maybe being around a baby will make me feel better, maybe help me remember that happiness you mentioned.

Thank you for being my friend,

Junie smiled, Agent Durant’s name was David.  Somehow she was really starting to get a soft spot on her heart for that man, despite his ways or perhaps because of them.  Underneath that stony exterior there pumped a human heart after all.
As Junie laid down the letter on the table, she commented, “Well it’s not quite as heartbreaking as the last one, not quite.  There seems to be a tiny sliver of hope in this one.”  Junie’s mouth curled up, “Agent Durant’s first name is David.  He tells her to call him David.”  She looked at Donna, “Ma’am, if it is all right with you, I want to see if Monica wants to exchange emails with me.  Her mom has been questioning her about the letters she is getting from me.  And that way I can send her some pictures of the puppies too.  I would show you all of them.”
Donna picked up the letter and shrugged, “Emails are okay.  Just forward a copy to me and I will get around to reading them.”

Dear Monica,

My Master and Mistress have four beautiful golden retrievers and they have a litter of puppies nearly every summer.  I love dogs and I am totally crazy about puppies.
The most exciting thing happened a few days ago.  One of our momma dogs had puppies, ten beautiful babies, five males and five females, a perfect family.  Though my Mistress Donna says it is more like nine and a half because the last puppy is so much smaller than the others.  Other people would call her a runt, but I could never use such an ugly word for such a precious little miracle.  She was last to be born and when she came out she did not start breathing on her own.  I had to help her by giving her artificial respiration.  I was totally terrified she might die, but it turned out okay.
I feel especially close to that littlest one. We call her Happy.  I make sure that her bigger brothers and sisters don’t push her around too much.  My Master says that I should be careful to not fall too much in love, that they will all be going to their new homes in just a few weeks. 
Things have been really busy here.  I am all the time hanging out with the puppies too long and then I have to rush to get my chores done.  I haven’t been working on any of my sewing projects at all.
When Sam Card broke into my apartment he tore all my clothes to shreds, along with destroying nearly everything else, thank god he didn’t find my sewing machine.  I am pretty short, only 5’1” and I have big breasts and hips so it is impossible to find clothes that fit off the rack.  I have to sew myself a whole new wardrobe.  I have most of it done, but now my Mistress wants me to make a corset.  And when I am done with mine she wants me to make one for her.  I have chosen yellow brocade for mine and I found the prettiest emerald green for hers.  She has green flecks in her eyes and when she wears green they seem to glow.
I am glad your surgeries are finally all over.  I am glad that they thought to keep you asleep a lot longer so you wouldn’t be so disoriented when you woke up.  That dilator thing sounds so clinical and creepy.  If it hurts, you should ask for some anesthetic cream or something.  You should never have to feel pain down there again. 
Maybe I am being way too familiar and if my saying these things makes you feel uncomfortable tell me and I won’t do it any more… but I personally would feel a lot more comfortable using something like that dilator if I stopped thinking about it like a medical thing and started thinking of it as a dildo.  It would only be torture if you decide to make it feel that way.  Try to think about it positively.
Try to relax.  Take a bubble bath and light some candles.  Listen to some music that you like.  Focus your mind on things that make you feel safe and happy.  Make this a thing you look forward to, a reward, something good that you deserve, not something you dread. 
I guess my point is that you don’t need to hate touching yourself.  Don’t let him take that away from you.  Our bodies are a gift to us, and I worry you are starting to fear yours. 
Dearest Monica, you are getting better.  It’s not always easy to see when you have hard days, but I can see in your letters that there are things you still love and enjoy.  Seek those out and hold onto them.  Remember I am your friend and that I care about you.  And David cares a lot about you too.  I am sure your mother cares in her own way.  I can’t help but believe you have survived for a reason. 
Hold onto those thoughts and remember that you deserve happiness.


P.S.   Do you have a computer?  It would be fun to start emailing each other.

Junie printed out some pictures of the puppies and added her email address to the letter and gave it to Donna to approve.  

Junie looked up from her computer.  It was her routine to reward herself with checking her emails every day after she had gotten her cleaning chores done.  Tammi was writing her back nearly every day and she had heard back from both her sons.  Secretly, she was hoping that someday she would find a message from Monica, but so far she had not heard back from her new friend.  To her relief Greg had not tried to contact her again.
Donna was at her usual place working on another article for an online news magazine.  Junie cleared her throat, “Ma’am, do you have a minute to talk?”
Donna looked up, “Might as well, I seem to be writing in circles right now.”
“Ma’am, Tammi’s birthday is in a week or so and I was wondering if it would be okay to invite her out for a weekend soon.  She is going to be nineteen.”
“Go talk to our Master, Junie.  See what he says and I will abide by his decision.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
Bob was busily changing the wood chips in the puppy’s box, contending with the mob of little squirming babies as they crawled around his feet.  He looked up as Junie came into the garage.  “Good, you can help me with this.  Get these rascals out of my way.  I completely underestimated how quickly they can work their way back under my feet.”
Junie giggled and quickly moved the puppies into a corner out of the way and then sat down with them letting them crawl all over her.  A smile of delight made her face glow as she tried to keep them from escaping back to tumble around under Bob’s feet.  “Sir, I came out to talk to you about scheduling a time for my daughter Tammi to come out and visit.  It would just be one night, most likely a Saturday.  I would go get her and she would stay one night and then I would take her back home.  Donna said I should talk with you about this.”
“Yes, I remember we had talked about this before the puppies were born.  Go ahead and set it up, but make sure we have time to take down the stuff in the basement.”
“Oh, thank you, Sir.  I will do all the work.  All I need is some help with some of the heavier pieces.”
“I am sure I will manage to extract some fair exchange for the inconvenience.”  His blue eyes sparkled.  “Speaking of the stuff in the basement, have you had a chance to work on the canvas sling for that swing I made?”
June ducked and grinned, “Well, I did buy the canvas and I have drawn up a pattern, but I have not started working on it.  I got kind of distracted from sewing by the puppies.”
“Go ahead and make it.  I have some things I would like to try out.”
Junie felt a shiver of excitement shake her.  “Yes, Sir.”

“You have mail again, Junie.  You are getting pretty popular.”  Bob dropped one letter that was addressed from the auto consignment dealership in front of her.  “That should be your money from the sale of your car.”  He paused and looked at a second envelope, a perplexed look on his face, “Junie, this is addressed to you, but I don’t recognize the name on the return address, R. P. Sanders.  Have you given your address to anyone?”
Junie looked up from her computer.  “Um, I don’t recognize that name.  The only person I have given my address is Monica, but the police and the FBI know it,” then she paused, “and maybe the car dealership, too.”
Bob opened the envelope and as he read it his face darkened, “Junie, you remember there were some letters from an author wanting to talk with you about Sam Card?  This is that same author.  I didn’t recognize the name at first.  He wants the same thing as before.  He wants to interview you.  He is writing a book based on Card.  He says he will compensate you for your time.”
Junie made a disgusted face, “I don’t want to talk with him.  I wonder how he got my address.”
Donna looked up from her laptop, “He is a she, Rachel Penelope Sanders.  She has written several flamboyant novels loosely based on actual crimes.”  Donna made a distasteful face, “Pretty lurid stuff according to the reviews.  She seems to have a certain talent for writing gory details.”
Junie shuddered, “I wonder if she is bothering Monica too?”
Donna’s voice was flat, “Well, you are not speaking with that woman.  In fact, she is going to get a letter from your lawyer stating that if she tries to contact you again, she could find herself facing a harassment lawsuit.”
Bob handed the letter to Donna, “Go ahead and try that, but I expect that this R. P. Sanders probably has plenty of lawyers of her own.  She has been persistent enough to get Junie’s address.  I can’t help but suspect that once she decides to go after something she will be hard to get rid of.”
Junie made a distressed sound.  Donna looked up and spoke sharply, “Don’t worry yourself, girl.  This is for your Master and me to deal with.”

Junie’s heart jumped when she saw a message from Monica in her inbox.

Dear Junie,

I can email you, but only when I am babysitting.  My mother has a password on her computer and won’t let me use it.  She blames the whole internet for what has happened to me, the internet and my stupidity.  She totally does not trust me.
I babysit Monday through Thursday and sometimes in the evenings.  I like it.  The baby is really good and it gets me out of the house.
I don’t have time to write much right now.  The baby is awake and is hungry.  I will try to write more when she goes to sleep.”


P.S.  I did get your last letter and I wrote you back.  You should be getting that letter pretty soon. 

Junie wrote back a quick note:


I am glad you have found something to get you out of the house and help keep you busy.  Babies are so sweet, especially if they are good.  Speaking of babies, I will attach some of the latest pictures of the puppies.  They are growing up so fast.  Their eyes are open now and they are just starting to crawl around.
I hope you are feeling better from your surgery. 
I am looking forward to your letter and next email.
I am so glad we can email.  It is so much faster.


It was only a couple of hours later when Monica was able to write back.

Dear Junie,

The puppies are too cute.  I love dogs too.  I have a dog, a Cocker Spaniel named Spanky; he is almost 15 years old and sleeps almost all the time now.  He is almost completely blind with cataracts and he smells terrible.  We probably will have to put him to sleep pretty soon, but Mom won’t even consider the idea.  In a lot of ways he is more her dog than mine now.  I could not take him with me to college.
I do take him for walks everyday now that I am back home, anything to get myself out of here.  It is hard to go outside, but lately staying inside is harder.  I will miss my walks with Spanky when he is gone.
I am not in pain anymore.  Even using the dilator does not really hurt anymore.  I have tried what you said, to think about it differently.  It helped a little, it is not as scary, but in some ways it makes me sadder.  It’s hard to explain, but the idea of sex and being sexual is hard to think about.  Part of me wants to be held and feel safe, but part of me feels so ugly.  I have a lot of scars, he did cut my face, neck and breasts as well as the cutting he did on my vagina.  Junie, I am sorry if this freaks you out, it kind of freaks me out too when I let myself think about it.  But it is hard to imagine that anyone would want me.  I don’t even like to go out in public because I feel like people are staring at me.
David says that the scars are not that noticeable and that I should stop worrying about it so much.  He says I am alive and that is the important thing.  I guess I am luckier than those other women they think he killed.
David has been so sweet to me.  He was one of the first people I spoke to after they took me to the hospital.  I always feel so safe when he is around.
I have to go.  The baby’s mother will be getting home soon and I need to pick up around here a little. 

Yes I am glad we can email too.

Junie read the email and a tiny seed of an idea planted itself in her imagination.  Impulsively she interrupted Donna as she worked at her computer, “Ma’am, how much do people pay for one of the puppies?”
Donna looked up from her writing, “We charge $500 for a male and $750 for a female.”
“Ma’am, could I buy Happy?”
Donna’s voice was irritated, “Junie, four dogs are plenty for us.  You cannot keep a puppy from every litter and that is something you better learn now.”
“Oh no Ma’am, not for me, for Monica.”
“You can’t give a puppy as a gift.  Owning a dog is a huge commitment.  And I don’t let our puppies go just anywhere.  I need to make sure that the people will be good owners.”
“Well, I was just thinking about it.  I do know she has an older dog that is not going to live a lot longer.”

As Junie went downstairs to work on her sewing, the idea kept revolving around in her head.  The more she thought about it the more perfect it seemed.  In her heart she knew that Monica and Happy were meant to be together.  She just had to figure out how to make it happen.
Donna was right, she couldn’t just give Happy to Monica as a surprise, but she was convinced that if Monica just saw the puppy she could not resist.  She wondered how she could make it happen.  Could she drive to Oregon by herself?  Would Bob and Donna let her go?