A Snapshot of Molly Ch. 04

"What a fucking bag of antlers! If any man tried to fuck her they'd break her and probably hurt themselves too in the process! What a worthless piece of ass!" This was one of the kinder remarks.

At length the threats started to sound hollow and it was time to back up their word with some action, and out came the whips. Each of them took a turn and they were not particularly gentle. After about half an hour there was hardly an inch of her that didn't have a red welt. They let her hang there in misery a good long while afterwards so she could see them preparing for their cookout and she knew that her final fate was not to be delayed much longer. When the fires looked nice and hot the head biker cook called out that he was ready for the meat.

Muffin was cut down from the tree and collapsed in a heap and she had to be dragged kicking and fighting for her life over to the 'Butcher's table' where she was shown all of the nice sharp knives waiting to be used. At last she was ungagged and she began immediately pleading for help.

"NO! She did not want to die!" She screamed. "I love a man and want to be with him forever and have his babies!"

"Nonsense." The leader of the bikers replied. She was a 'snuff slut' looking to be done in right and proper and now she was going to get everything she had asked for! They laid in with their whips again on her ass to 'tenderize the scrawny meat' some more while she screamed out in desperation and pain.

When that was over and she was forced to lean across the butcher's table and was held firmly in place. There she knew her end was near and she began to incoherently whimper. When she saw the huge knife of the boss biker at her throat ready to start cutting she fainted and lost control of her bladder pissing wildly everywhere. The biker tossed a bucket of water on her and slapped her face a few times to revive her and then held the knife just inches from her face.

"Before we start to send pieces of you off to the grill, look down at the ground over here and see that nice shallow grave we've fixed up nice for you. The rancher is going to put a pig pen up right here so no one is ever going to find your skinny little skeleton for a very long time, if ever. Not that we're going to put up a gravestone or anything, but what name would you like us to remember you by when we start to shit out pieces of you tomorrow?"

"MOLLY! She screamed out. My name is Molly, please don't kill me, I don't want to die!" She blubbered out in a full eruption of tears.

"Molly?" The leader asked her, "I thought your name was Muffin. That's what it says on your pretty little collar around your neck. Muffin woulddefinitelywant to party with us, this is just her kind of thing. She'd be begging for the knife right now and asking that we not do her too quickly, so she can feel herself dying slowly and painfully."

"I'M MOLLY, MOLLY, MOLLY, MOLLY!" She shouted and she forced her hands free and began to rip off her collar and once it was free she threw it into the open grave. Then she totally broke down in tears and emotional exhaustion and slid off of the table and began to bawl her eyes out on the ground.

The mummers show was now over and we signaled an 'ok' to end it.

Pretending to be very confused, the bikers then tied Mary up to one of the nearby fence posts and began loudly debating what to do with her now. Since they had 'gotten the wrong girl', someone owed them some dinner at the very least, and it was determined that they would offer to sell her back to her boyfriend for a large sum of money, but that he'd probably her consider her to be not worth it and would refuse to pay. Well in that case, they still had a perfectly good almost empty grave that they could still use for her.

A phone conversation was staged and we waited an hour before coming out to 'rescue her'. I feigned a little reluctance told them loudly that I wasn't really sure I evenwantedMuffin back. She really was a very stupid girl who constantly did things that pissed me off and made my hands itch to hold a whip.

I lifted Mary's head up and asked her, "Who exactly am I buying back now anyway?"

She looked straight into my eyes and said, "Master, my name is Molly and my safeword is penguin, and if you buy me I will be always be a very good girl and never make you regret even a day of it. Muffin is gone and you'll never, ever see or hear from her again!"

Holy Cow! I think Mary had indeed hit the ball right out of the park!

We concluded our financial arrangement as planned and we left for home sitting in the back seat of Walt's Mercedes caressing Mary/Molly's hair while she cried gently in my lap.

"Why Molly?" I asked her later when we were home alone together in bed. I was just hoping to get rid of Muffin and get Mary back."

"You obviously never took enough English classes in school. Molly is the old common "familiar" name for Mary, especially in older British literature. Besides Ilikethe name, even if I have to share it with an incontinent Cocker Spaniel. Good old Mary is fine for work, but Molly can have a little bit of fun too. She's probably not so bright either and I'll definitely be regularly piddling on the carpets, but I'm sorry I refuse to shit on the kitchen floor! I just got that floor finally clean for the first time in two years! I'd really prefer 'Harder!' for a safeword, but I guess you won't let me use that one." She asked with a wink and a bit of a smile.

No, definitely not!

********

Mary and I have been together for two years now; we are married and have been so for quite awhile. My Masters is done and I've gotten a huge jump on my Doctorate studies and hope to have that completed in just a few years. I've gotten a full scholarship from friends at The Club and a very fat research study grant from a Foundation in Lovett, Texas that I've never heard of, but I think is associated with Dr. Myra Wells.

She was introduced to my father-in-law Walt at one of The Club's parties. She also has a source for several of the latest flavors of 'miracle' psychiatric drugs that Walt and I had discussed long time ago. Now we think, the drug is closer to being a small scalpel rather than a chainsaw. With a lot more testing I think that there will be a lot fewer Muffins' in the world someday.

Mary continues to do well at her job and between the two of us we already make more than we can spend even after replacing Muffin's entire wardrobe for some fun things for Mary/Molly, and our home life is even better. Muffin has never returned and with each day that passes it become increasingly unlikely that she ever will. Molly though is my ever present delightful companion for every minute that we are together.

A few weeks after her "adventure" we were in an erotic clothing and toy shop and she asked me to pick out another collar for her that I liked. I worried for a moment or two until I saw the dog tag she already had engraved for it. Naturally it said 'Molly'. It still looks good on her to this day.

Her 'need' for violent S&M is significantly less now and slowly she has retrained her body to be able to cum without requiring pain first, although she looks forward to a 'therapeutic spanking' most Sunday mornings. Very occasionally, she has been known to put on an exhibition at The Club to prove to younger or newer women members that she's a pain slut par-excellence, when the mood and inclination strikes her.

Our morning wake-up routine hasn't changed in years. I always get a 'good morning' blowjob and often, but not always, Mary will lovingly drain my bladder for me to save me a trip up out of bed. She's never spilled a drop yet. Occasionally she enjoys receiving a urine enema late at night, especially if she has been a little bit naughty (invariably intentionally). We'll have anal sex (her favorite position still) and then I'll remain inside her and fill her bowels up full with my piss after I've finished cumming. If she's beenreallynaughty, I'll then stick in a tight butt plug and make her hold it all night long or until she pleads for mercy and uses her safeword.

She plans to drop the birth control the second my doctorate sheepskin is in my hands and start raising our vast brood. After she is pregnant she plans to quit work, probably for good. We enjoy watching the blatant unrestrained sexuality of The Club but we restrain our lovemaking strictly to each other. Some folks can share themselves and those that they love easily, but Mary is very special to me and I don't really want to share even the slightest bit of her with anyone else.

I have agreed that it is past time she looked up her old school girl friend (and lover) to at least 'say Hi' and catch up on all of the past years, but she hasn't made that phone call yet. Next year it will be her 15th Year Class Reunion, and I'll bet we'll see her there.

We've discussed in the long term about moving to Lovett to be closer to Doctor Well's research but she would hate to be separated from her parents even by those few hundred miles. She and her step-mother are now the closest of friends and she's made a few friends from the Club as well. Walt is considering retirement fairly soon himself, and I know that he and Myra exchange regular phone calls every week. If they move down there, and I think they will, that will seal it and we'll soon join them.

We've been so blessed I hardly know how to begin to count them. Number one is certainly my darling wife, but a close 2nd has to be our 1969 Pontiac Firebird Convertible in our driveway that Walt, true to his word as always, had fully restored to perfection!

I think I definitely got the better of the deal. He got back his daughter, but I have found a loving wife and got my car repaired at the same time!

The End

*******

I am not a mental health professional and the strategy my hero takes to undergo the near hopeless rescue of 'Muffin' is purely my own plot invention, much the way my muse imparted it to me, warts and all. I hope to God that no one ever has to implement anything similar or relies upon my guidance for 'useful advice'. This is purely a piece of fiction.

While I admit enjoying favorable reader reviews, I have no illusions that most folks will see the "scary codes" and hammer the voting with "1's" just on principle without reading the story or trying to understand my plot. Also don't look to this story as a model for my writing style - 99% of my other stories are considerably happier. This is exactly the sort of story that nowadays I would post under my alternate Author name instead.

At the time of its original posting in 2007, I was receiving rather erratic editing. Some of my current advance readers have recently helped me clean this story up significantly, and now while preparing it for posting here, it has received yet another comprehensive cleanup and minor rewrite. Somehow, the final typos always seem to evade detection!

I have nearly fifty published stories so far and I am slowly getting them re-edited and posted here.

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