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Wayward Wife's Punishment - Chapter Little Rock came and went; now my car was on U. It was the little hamlet of Wrightsville, population or thereabouts, where I stopped to fill the tank. The little pumping station was ringed in darkness, but the operator was happy to take my money in exchange for gas. He warned me to take it slow and easy for the next three or four miles since there was some type of road construction going on down there.
I thanked him for the tip and drove off into the blackness, headlights on high beam. It was less than two miles before I spotted those dream creatures, now clothed, stepping from behind a huge earthmover. There was a large man and three smaller figures. Without thinking, I pulled to the side of the road and waited for my passengers to approach. Something told me to wait here and the messenger would arrive. So here you are and just in the nick of time. The sheriff is not far behind us and the little ladies need to be gone from here as fast as that machine can carry them.
Without thinking I told them to get into the car and be quick about it. The three females got into the backseat, but their companion refused to move from where he stood. I leaned over to open the car door, but he shook his head. Get across the state line and you have a decent chance to get them where they're supposed to be going, wherever that is.
Don't you worry about ole Jethro. I know this area a whole lot better than the sheriff does. With those words and a salute to the trio in the backseat, he disappeared into the blackness and we sped away, still being careful to watch for any obstacles for at least the next few miles.
It was close to three hours with the morning sun coming up before we cleared the sovereign state of Arkansas and crossed into Louisiana. I'd changed highways about forty miles from the Louisiana border to throw off any Arkansas state troopers who might be looking for a man with a carload of females in the backseat. Some might think me paranoid, but I'd seen and experienced way too much in recent times not to worry about everything around me. At my insistence two of the ladies hopped in the trunk long enough for me and the other twin to make an appearance at the first island we found, a place called Bonita.
There we took on some gasoline and what passed for food and drink. I would soon learn a great deal about Cajun cuisine and even enjoy some of it from time to time. Thanks to the detailed map I had the good sense to buy at some outrageous price from the same fellow who sold me the food, I was able to orient myself. However all I had to go on was the direction, south.
I decided to have faith in my masters and wait patiently until they deigned to give me more to go on. We were hardly in the car for a minute when the teenage blonde lovely, her name proved to be Terri Tolliver, began inhaling this strange smelling provender without even taking a deep breath.
I for one had a hard time steering since my brain was now being seduced by these strange smells. This was quickly followed by a very brief serenade from the calliope, reminding me that her name, like so many of my past female encounters, had the same first letter in both names. In just the blink of an eye I suddenly felt very low on the food chain. I was on the verge of despair, reminding me of some of the old Testament types who wrestled with the concept of Jehovah. Then this strange revelation was gone back into whatever dimension it had originally occupied, and I was kept busy keeping my eyes on the road for a good place to exchange Teri for the brunette.
My nervous system took another jolt when the diminutive brunette with the big tits announced her name to be Marie Mason. She babbled on about her husband Marty and how they had been traded into white slavery by Jethro, the man that had been their escort until I had taken over the job. Their new owner was a schoolteacher by the name of Mimi Marlow, who had all sorts of connections in and beyond the limits of the county. To make it even more complicated and interesting, the Tolliver twins were the other part of the swap.
However that portion of the deal had never been truly consummated according to Jethro. Thus he had no compunctions about assisting in freeing them from the teacher. Unfortunately the sheriff's deputies managed to wrest her husband away from Jethro, and he was probably having terrible things done to his slim, almost girlish form by the minions of Vlad, the county sheriff.
The only thing that saved my sanity at this point was another roadside store located in the thriving metropolis of Mer Rouge. We loaded up on additional quantities of the local product disguised as food. I also took this opportunity to open up the wonderful map of the state for which I had paid an exorbitant amount of money.
The map was contained in a plastic envelope that broke apart as I fumbled to get it open. My first inclination, when I saw the bold, red magic marker connecting where I was to a little town called Belle Rose, was to think that I'd been sold a used map. Then I remembered how the envelope had broken apart. My chest grew tight and I felt flushed. Marie started to panic, thinking I was having a heart attack. I looked at her, shook my head and showed her my open palms to signal that I was in one piece, sort of.
It took a few more minutes for me to recover fully. Fortunately everyone around us was either napping or dozing. I started the car and we took off, driving slowly to avoid drawing any attention. At last there was a side road that allowed me to park and let the trio get out so they could stretch their legs. I took this opportunity to study what my masters had given me as a guide; it was pretty straightforward. This time I also noticed a small card for a hotel the just so happened to be located at my destination.
My guide certainly covered all the bases except the damage that was being done to my sanity. I heaved a sigh and calculated that with any kind of luck we could make Belle Rose before sunset.
Could this be my ultimate destination, not if I had anything to do with it? There was this skinny Chinese babe with an enema fixation that had driven me to finally escape the cold and dark of Minneapolis, and I was bound and determined to play through until I saw her again.
In order to retain my composure after too many shocks over too short a time, I rotated the threesome so that one always sat by me while the other two occupied the back seat. As the miles rolled by I asked questions of my ever-changing seat companion and slowly came to the c0nclusion that the trio was clueless about almost everything in which I had any interest. Still in all I had to admit that having a beautiful, well built female sitting less than a few feet away did allow me to fantasize when all efforts at adult communication failed.
One thing became very apparent; these three were afraid of lots of things, some silly and some that were the stuff of nightmares. I certainly knew about the latter. It was fairly apparent that Marie had been through a lot ever since she and her husband, Marty, came down to visit Rhonda and Jethro.
Having to deal with a full bladder for hours on end just to get to their hosts must have been murder. Then upon their arrival they were forced to strip naked and perform acts that were not spoken about in polite conversation. I pressed her for details just to keep the conversation going, and damned if she didn't! She and Marty took turns swallowing the contents of each other's full bladders while their humiliation was recorded so that it could be turned into a tape for sale to the large audience that Rhonda had for such material.
Marie quickly skipped over being sodomized by Jethro but gave me lots of details about witnessing Rhonda sodomizing her poor husband with a huge strap on dildo while he whimpered and begged for mercy. She tried to skip over the water sports that followed, but I persisted and she obeyed. By now I realized she was quite submissive, a perfect wife for most men myself included. So she chattered on about she and her dear husband getting huge enemas and having to rid them into each other's face while naturally the action was recorded.
Then without any prompting from me, Marie opened up and confessed that she had been having sex with her lawyer almost all the time she was married to Marty. He even forbid her from having sex with her husband under any circumstances and she did so except for one incident over which she had no control.
I regretted listening to this tale of duplicity as it brought back memories of my dear cheating slut of a wife, Jill. Marie was so busy unburdening herself that she didn't notice the way my face changed as I clenched my jaw and turned my eyes into slits as I relived those terrible days. I cut off Marie just as she started to describe how she and her sweetheart of a husband were raped by gangs of teenagers.
I had just about enough of her life as a slut for the moment. Naturally after another round with the twins I'd be eager for Marie's whining voice once more. Both Terri and Traci sometimes acted like they were brain damaged, and as their stories began to unfold after my prompting, it seemed realistic to assume that their occasional return to childishness was no act. That made me quite sad to realize that these beautiful teenagers had been so brutalized that their mental development had been stunted.
I wondered what part they would play in the grand scheme of things being developed by those pulling the strings behind the scenes. At this point I went into my usual rant about "Why me? I was living the life! How many humans on the planet knew what I knew?
How many of my species had almost a dozen separate, functioning entities living in their brain? Damned few, I'd wager. So here I was taking a detour to ferry three gorgeous creatures that between them might have one functioning brain. Meanwhile I still had this eerie feeling that there were a number of Arkansas deputies who had crossed the state line and were closing in on my precious cargo and me.
That thought caused me to accelerate to well beyond the speed limit. My passengers thought this was great fun, and their excitement overcame my instinct for survival. In less time than it takes to tell, there was a red light in my rear view mirror. The long arm of the law had run me to earth. Out from the La Salle county police car stepped a tall, slim deputy wearing dark sunglasses, one hand on the holster housing a large caliber weapon.
I was definitely overmatched. As the deputy came closer, her gait tipped off her sex. My eyes were glued to her tunic opened at the throat and down two buttons.
Even if a Victorian hardly bathed and doused herself in fermented whale poop on the regular, she could still have the appearance of flawless skin. Those unlucky to be born with freckles were advised to rinse their faces in lemon juice or, in more stubborn cases, to rub the skin with carbolic acid, or sit in the sun until the freckles burned off.
And if premature wrinkles resulted from these harsh so-called cures, young women might look to the habits of their older relatives and drape their faces with thin slices of raw beef before bed. Unfortunately, those often contained life-threatening ingredients like arsenic, strychnine, cocaine and — believe it or not — tapeworm larvae.
Presumably, all of this was worth it if a woman ultimately made the right match. Men were also counseled to take great care when selecting a lifelong mate. Very small waists were a red flag, a sign that the woman in question had weak organs and an overly delicate constitution. If a man was dark-haired, he was told he should select a blond bride; if his complexion was ruddy, an olive-skinned, cool-tempered girl was suggested.
Once married, a woman had any number of duties, from keeping the house in order to entertaining guests to bearing children. A scold was a woman who, whether overtly or otherwise, made her unhappiness obvious.
She was the killjoy who disagreed with her husband or wanted to change him, taking issue, for instance, with his habit of visiting prostitutes on the way home from work. More likely, it had to do with her empty womb. After all, the womb at this time is the wellspring of the most terrible female diagnosis: So perhaps it made sense that the answer to a vast range of lesser problems was to go to the source and keep the anxious uterus occupied, literally.
As Oneill discovered, even the wealthiest Victorian woman would have spent a very short period of her life dancing in gilded ballrooms with eligible young men.
Today's kids are getting ahead by learning how to code app View author archive Get author RSS feed. In fact, it was anything but. The rest of her days? She would have been just as the good doctor prescribed: Read Next Today's kids are getting ahead by learning how to code app Trending Now on NYPost.
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