Signed (21)

Thank god he was drunk. He wobbled his way through the trees, the pace bearable. She breathed heavily through her nose, terrified that she’d gag or choke and wind up dying in her own juices. The tape covering her mouth pulled and itched, her shoulders throbbed steadily from the hard pull from her bound wrists.  Yet, as they walked, she twisted and wiggled them. Just as she felt a bit of give, feeling the rope loosen just a bit, he stopped walking, turned and stared hard at her. It gave her a sick feeling in her stomach.


She nodded. He stepped up to her, grinned down at her. His fingers moved over her tits, rubbing and molding them with his sweaty hands.  The slap came, unexpected and brutal, rocking her head, making her dizzy. Her cheek burned.

“Too fuckin’ bad. You stay right there.” Pressing her back against the tree, he moved away from her. Ducking behind a huge boulder, he pulled out a partial six-pack that he’d stashed there earlier. Good planning, he thought, feeling sweat trickle down his temple. Leaning back against the rock he popped the top, guzzled it down, all the while staring at her. Tossing the can aside, he opened another, taking a long slurp from it.

“You’re a fucking whore. Naked. And a mess.”

She shivered. He didn’t blink, just drank, stared. Maybe he’d get so impaired he’d fall down. Surreptitiously, she rubbed her wrists slowly on the tree bark behind her. Her cheek throbbed, tears threatened, but if she let go and cried, she’d drown herself. The knot was loosening!

When he pushed off the rock and moved towards her, she pressed back against the tree. Did he know how loose her bonds were? His hands enveloped her tits, squeezing and twisting them as his mouth cruised her cheek, his tongue slurped along her ear. The sharp tang of beer and bad breath made her want to choke. Turning her head away, she shivered. His words were as mean as his hands.

“You’re one hot fuck like that. Like in some girly magazine, all fucked up. Fucked up. I wanna fuck you up some more. I’m gonna fuck you, right here. Throw your ass on the ground and fuck you like a dog. Fuck you like a whore.  Fuck you bloody, fuck you rough. No “wifey” nice stuff, not anymore, you cunt. You get what you deserve.”

He slapped her face again, hard. She came close to falling, but grabbed at the trunk behind her. Her ropes slid even further apart.

He leaned on her, pressing against her. The bark bit into her arms, her shoulders throbbed. She whimpered. The hard lump of his cock strained forward in his jeans, pressing against her belly. She shook her head, yelled behind the gag. No!  No, she didn’t want this, didn’t want him. Tears she’d thought she’d held away slid down her cheeks, hot against the cold revulsion shuddering through her. Pain exploded along her nipples as he pinched and pulled, grinding his pelvis against her belly, the zipper hasp scraping along her tender skin.

The rope slid off one wrist.

He leaned away, eyes boring into hers.

“I think I’m gonna take my conjuglug rights now.”

‘Fucking idiot,’ she thought, hatred filling her. ‘He couldn’t even say ‘conjugal’ correctly.She looked at him with disdain, would have sneered had her lips not been taped closed. He stepped away, lifting the can to his lips. Moving to the rock where he’d put the rest of the dwindling cache of beer, he tilted his head back to get the last of the brew. His eyes closed with pleasure; he felt strong as a beast. He had caught his wife, he was gonna fuck her like a man should, rough and raw in the woods. He felt like First Man, taking his woman. The last drops of beer slid along his smile, as he raised the can over his head, crushing it in his hand. That’s what he would do to her. Crush her. Pound her. Take her cunt and mark it as his. Fuck the fifty grand the dumb asshat had paid him for her. His bills were paid now, ‘cept for the fucking mortgage, no way to get that cash back, fucker. He grinned. He won! He hurtled the can away, opening his eyes as his other fingers worked at his belt. His cock was harder than he ever remembered. He was gonna give that cunt wife of his a real treat. A real man, with a cock on fire, ready to plunder, to take, to remind her of who was boss. Not some fucking rich turd who likely couldn’t get a hard-on more than once a fucking week. Reaching for another can, he glanced over his shoulder,

What the fuck? He froze. She was…gone. What the fuck? Turning, scowling, he saw her, running flat-out, back they way they had come. That fucking whore! He had planned to be merciful with her, but now? He was gonna catch her fat ass and drill her a new hole. He’d fuck her so hard his cock would poke out her fucking tonsils.

Throwing the can hard, he took off after her at a shambling, drunken run.


He slammed the car door, wriggling his shoulders. He hated the drive from the city, it seemed to take forever. He could have had the driver pick him up, take him back and forth, but it had seemed that it would be quicker to do it himself. He knew the length of the drive was colored with his impatience to see her again.

Damn but he’d missed her.

Rubbing his hands together, he could barely wait to see her. Amazing what 36 hours away from her had done to his heart, not to mention his very active libido. He wondered what she was doing. From the back of the house he could hear the roar of the lawnmower. Reg had managed to fix his machine, thank god. He generally liked taking care of his lawn, but the frigging thing kept sputtering until it died. He had to hand it to Reg–the guy was a marvel with anything mechanical. Pulling his jacket from the passenger seat, he jogged up the front steps and into the coolness of the house. He wondered what she was doing right now.


She ran.

Shaking off the last of the rope from her wrists, she cried at the pain in her shoulders as her arms relaxed. Wincing, running, she reached up and tore off the tape covering her mouth. Her breath came in an explosive gasp. Being able to breathe more freely meant she could run faster.

“You fucking cunt!”

The shout came from behind her. Risking a quick glance, she saw him, weaving as he ran. With any luck, he’d fall and break his fucking neck. He was, however, gaining on her. Ignoring her pain, using it to fuel her, she sped up, leaping over logs, and cutting straight through the woods. On the trail he could catch her. Bushwacking, she stood a chance. She no longer felt each whipping sting as branches slapped her body. She ran.


Moving through the house, he listened for her. Nothing. He went up to his room. Perhaps she was still abed, or in the shower? The room was empty.  He sighed. He unloaded the pockets of his jacket, hung it in his closet, moved into the bathroom to take a piss. The bed had been slept in, the shower used. For all that she was neat, it was pretty clear that someone had been there. Sliding off his suit pants, he slid into his jeans. Scooping up some of the items from his jacket, he shoved them into his pocket as he moved downstairs continuing his search. He checked the art room, the library, and the kitchen. No sign of her. A frown flitted across her face. He’d thought she’d settled in…no. He knew she’d settled in. She was happy now. Reggie had told him last night how much she was missing him. Next to the sink, he saw a note, read it. Aaah, she was in the maze. Glancing at his watch he noted that it was just past lunch. Likely she was lost inside.

Stepping out to the back portico, he met Reg coming up the steps.

“Hey…thanks for fixing the beast!”

“One does what one can…” Reg buffed his fingernails on his sweaty tee-shirt, gloating.

“So, where’s my slut?”

“She’s not in the house?”

He held out the note; Reggie scanned it quickly, then grinned at his friend.

“Well, I guess we need to go rescue our fair maid.”


He dug in his pocket,  tugged out a pair of blue boxes. One was small.

“You didn’t…”

He fingered the pale blue ribbon wrapped around the pale blue box.

“Yeah. Did.”

“What’s in the other one?”

“Figured I’d try your route, Reg, and give her a collar, too.”

He pulled off the cover to reveal an intricate series of interlocking circles. Three colors of metal gleamed in the sunlight. The necklace looked light, ethereal.

“Not your typical collar,” Reg said, looking at it, “but very you. And very  her. Going to show me the other box?”

He looked atypically nervous. He slid the catch, opening the box. The diamond threw rainbows, glowing in the sunlight. Along each side of the band, six square-cut small diamonds added their luster. Reg whistled.

“Man, I’ve been a gardener for a long time and I’ve never seen carrots like that!”

He snapped the box shut, tucking both back into his pants pocket. His grin flashed as bright as the ring had.

“Well, first I need to find her…”