It's Not What You Think

"It's tight so that I can't get another cock down my throat?"

"Yes. But why is it on now?"

She thought while the miles passed by. "Another lesson. Another thing I can't ever forget."

"Yes. When you get tempted again. And you may. You can remember those sharp stays at your neck, the inability to take a breath, the pain of me raping you, the tightness around your throat. And you'll decide. You'll know that you've reached a decision point.

"You've had your second chance with me," I went on. "So, either you won't be tempted to do 'it' -- whatever 'it' is -- or you will. If you do, you're gone; if you don't, you'll be back with me."

"Yes sir. I'll remember."

Some more miles passed under the van's tires.

"You can remove the collar, now, slut."

There was a pause of several minutes.

"I want to really remember how it feels. What your love will feel like versus the other thing."

And ten minutes later she removed the collar. She rubbed her neck again and stretched it in all directions.

After about another hour, I asked her, "Cynthia, do you want to stop to eat or should we just go back to our home?"

She played back the message in her head, then unbuckled the seatbelt. She nearly leapt across the gap between her seat and mine.

"Home, sir. I want to go home."

"Call me James."

"James. James. It sounds right again." She was on her knees with her head against my leg. She fumbled with the fastening between her breasts. "James? Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

She reached up to the driver's controls, and pushed the cruise control. Then she took my hand and placed it on my thigh, palm up. She filled it with her breast.

"Hurt me, please. Hurry, we only have three hours before we get home." Chapter 08

Epilog

I was just reviewing some old journals and thought I'd finish this up. The last entry was some twenty-three years ago.

I didn't really trust Cynthia for about five or six years after the 'Carbunkle' affair, as we took to calling it. Sr. AssHole, went back to Venezuela and had his nuts cut off by his wife -- figuratively. Carbunkle Oil Services never did get any oil concessions from Venezuela, and the Admiral got handed divorce papers by his wife. Then he got subpoenas from the U.S. Attorney in Washington, D.C. to a Grand Jury investigation.

I eventually got tired of checking on Cyn and stopped -- she never did anything but what she said she was doing. Every year on the anniversary of her showing up in Germany at my bedside, I placed her in the position collar for several hours. I wanted to make sure that she 'remembered.' She's worn it every year for the last twenty--three. She doesn't mind. She even wore it when the kids were growing up, explaining that she did something very bad, and she had to remember not to do it ever again.

She and I had many good years of married life. I regularly beat her ass, slapped her pussy and tits, and generally fucked her lights out. Then again, she fucked my lights out too. We have three children, Mark, Julie, and Alexis. She insisted that we have DNA analysis done on all three to prove that they were mine. They are.

Bear passed away when he was about eleven. A good run for a good and loyal dog.

Oh. The posture collar and leash stayed on a hook between the bedroom door and the closet, in plain sight. When we moved to another house that was almost the first thing that was moved. Cyn touched it almost every time she passed by, to 'remind' herself. It's a little worn from being touched so much. Once a year, about two weeks before I had her wear it, she'd take it down and work some saddle soap and neetsfoot oil into it, to keep it in good shape. In case she has to wear it again. It's still on the hook, and she still touches it every day.

Edited by B4Lurker