by King Key
Gretel felt herself getting damp. Crouching, she did her best to build to a crescendo of pain, but her hands were getting sore and her arms, tired. Psychologically, she felt herself losing control and knew Casper would become extremely erratic, too. She longed to finger herself to match his ejaculations, and then some. But she would save that immense pleasure for the finale to her performance, when she would thoroughly humiliate Casper and ruin his marriage, all in one selfish, immensely gratifying act.
Casper started to convulse with his climax, and Gretel aimed a few more vicious blows to his anus to spur him over the top. He uttered primeval grunts, jerked more spasmodically, and slumped onto the couch.
“You may make love to me now,” she taunted him.
“Aw, Mrs. Payne. You always say that after I’ve shot my wad.”
“You’ll still be able to thrill your Aunt Fanny. We’ll do something new tonight.” She reached under her dress and shimmied her panties down. “Put these on.”
“And look like a sissy?”
“Don’t argue with me!”
“Yes, ma’am. I mean, no, ma’am.” He stood up, stepped into her panties, and slid them up. “Kind of tight.”
“So am I,” she grinned wickedly. She held the hem of her dress up. “Unhook my stockings.”
Casper was in wonderland again, lightly touching Gretel’s thighs, eager to caress them but fearful that she’d box his ears instead of his butt. He reverently slid each garter ring down, pulled the round part over the button, and released each garter. When he was through, he yearned to continue gazing at her legs and loaded girdle.
“Stay there.”
“Really??”
“Yes, honey.” Gretel bent at the waist, hoisted the skirt of her dress over her waist, and pulled her girdle up as far as it would go. Sticking her ass in his face, she said, “You know what I want.”
“Ooooh! Aunt Fanny!”
“I’ll bet you can do it better than your Daddy.”
Casper’s tongue shot into Gretel’s anus. He knew Gretel was promiscuous. Now, he suspected his Aunt Fanny had taken many lovers, too, including his father. Gretel’s portrayal of Fanny Payne always unveiled authentic traits of Casper’s kinky aunt. Casper never knew Gretel’s source—but he never questioned her accuracy. And no one gratified him as thoroughly as his Aunt Fanny until he met Gretel. With Gretel, the joy plunged deeper. The random glances, touches, and sensations from his Aunt Fanny launched thousands of daydreams, and Gretel almost completely fulfilled those daydreams. It was the “almost” that kept him coming back to Gretel for more and more.
Gretel savored Casper’s performance for a few seconds before she began to slide her fingers in and out. Now she knew he’d do anything she told him to do. Of course, the injection of a little Oedipal rivalry goaded Casper the final few inches into her ass. Casper’s obedience intoxicated Gretel. He wouldn’t dare displease her because he feared losing her. No one else held the lock and key to his loins. Gretel’s aura of absolute power over Casper caused her to gasp. She was cumming!
Casper licked more eagerly to help Gretel reach her pinnacle. He embraced her thighs and pushed his face as tightly as he could into her rump.
Gretel rocked back and forth in humping motions that pressed her ass firmer into Casper’s face, rubbing his nose into the reality of her domination over him, until she completed her orgasm. “Keep licking until I say stop,” she said, reaching over to turn on the lamp on the end table by the window.
Moments later, Lila Krafft and a man bustled through the unlocked door. Lila’s eyes flashed. “Casper, how could you? Don’t our marriage vows mean anything to you?”
“Yes, but—”
“Don’t say a word! Just pack a few essentials and get out of here. You can come back for the rest of your belongings later.”
“Does this mean you want a divorce?”
“Absolutely,” she said. “I knew something was going on. So I brought my lawyer, Mr. Cheatham.”
Casper stood there in Gretel’s panties, as if they were the latest fashion statement of what to wear while getting busted for infidelity, and extended his hand. “Nice to—”
“Get out of here!” Lila screamed. When Casper headed for their bedroom to pack, Lila soliloquized, “I kept my maiden name for professional reasons. Not because I dreamed I was still single. Apparently Casper does want to remain single!”
Casper came rumbling down the stairs in a few minutes, dressed in khakis, sneakers, a black Polo shirt, and an Orioles warm-up jacket. “I’m sorry—”
“No, you’re not! Anyone can tell you just got your jollies. Mr. Cheatham, get him out of here before I castrate him! I’ll give this hussy a piece of my mind before I kick her out.” Lila turned to Gretel. “Just because you’re ten or fifteen years younger than I am, don’t think you can come in here and steal my husband. He’s not much, but he’s mine. I plan to name you co-respondent in the divorce.”
The two men hurried out. The horror written across Casper’s face just barely exceeded the attorney’s runaway fear. The door slammed. Two car engines revved up, and the sound of screeching tires reverberated from the driveway through the parlor.
“And another thing!” Lila yelled. The two women moved away from the window, into a shadowy corner. Lila took Gretel in her arms, kissed her flush on the lips, and said, “I’ve missed you terribly!”
Gretel’s arms circled the taller woman’s waist, and she gripped her derriere. “Me, too!” Gretel and Lila pressed their loins together. “I’ve saved myself for you all day, my precious love,” Gretel said. “And now our time has come!”
Chapter Sixteen
Wheels and Warnings
Kurt was sweating when he awoke Saturday morning. Although the details escaped him, he knew a nightmare when he witnessed one. He recalled visions of someone carving him up with a knife. After reflection, he recalled his remark to Gretel: When people attacked her writing, they attacked her. By the same logic, when people attacked Kurt’s car—as someone had the night before—they attacked him.
His poor Corvette—scratched all over her body, all four tires slashed—was a horrible reality, not a nightmare. Kurt hurriedly showered, shaved, and dressed. He dialed the number to Judd Workman’s main car repair shop from memory. When he asked for his friend, he got a surprise.
“I’m Hank, the shop manager. Mr. Workman’s not in.”
“Sorry. Must be sick. He never misses work.”
“You got that right, dude.”
“Hank, how can I get in touch with him?”
“You can’t. He doesn’t want anybody to bother him. Can I help you with something? Got calls coming in on the other lines.”
“Somebody keyed my Corvette. Or used a knife. Slashed all the tires.”
“We’ll do what we can, but we’re pretty backed up. You got an account with us? What’s your name?”
“Kurt Merchant.”
“Oh, yeah, Mr. Merchant! Mr. Workman said if you called, we’d help you any way we could. Sorry I didn’t know it was you. Where’s your car?”
“You know where BizMart is?”
“Inner Harbor. Both of our tow trucks are on jobs. But we’ll get to it as soon as we can.”
“Fine. I doubt there’s more than one ’79 red Corvette in the deck,” Kurt said, “but here’s the license number.” He gave the number and sighed inwardly, hoping it wasn’t audible. His Vette was no longer a luxury; it was a necessity. Kurt needed to visit Dr. Krafft, and then join Jessica for lunch. But he knew the shop wouldn’t lend him a car. Even Judd would have growled, “Your poor planning ain’t my emergency.”
Kurt took a deep breath. “Call me when the work is done.” He gave Hank his cell phone number. “I’ll pay when I come in.” He hung up.
He pulled out the phonebook to look for car rental agencies before he remembered he didn’t have his wallet—which contained all of his credit cards.
The doorbell rang. The complication of a guest agitated Kurt and
consumed him with curiosity about the visitor’s identity. He rushed from the kitchen through the living room.
When he opened the door, Gretel stood before him, dressed in honey colored slacks that vaguely suggested her hair color and a forest green sweater that made her emerald eyes look even brighter. Although the faint breeze chilled him and the trees stood nearly bare, the sun illuminated a beautiful autumn sky. Kurt yearned to go out and play rugby, the way he spent his Saturdays when his legs had more spring and life was simpler.
Without greeting, he demanded, “What? No Domina outfit to seduce me?”
“It’s my day off. I’m doing volunteer work for the sperm bank. Care to contribute?”
“I gave at the office.”
“So you did. That was lame, Kurt.” Her sidelong glance reflected a trace of warmth, making Kurt desire her more strongly than on the stage at the Vanguard awards the previous night.
“How’s Judd?”
“Resting. He’s sicker than he’s letting on. If he doesn’t improve today, I’ll admit him to the hospital tonight.”
“As if he’d let you!”
“He’s too weak to fight me. Physically or verbally.” She looked away.
Gretel’s blend of cruelty and tenderness confused Kurt. Her raw power knew no morals but to take what she desired, and that power seduced Kurt as surely as her physical allure. He yearned to take Gretel in his arms and kiss her deeply. “Look, you ripped off my award. You convinced the BizMart security guard I’m some kind of pervert. You made my wallet vanish. What else do you want from me?”
“Your wallet?” Gretel’s concern almost looked genuine. “I’ll look for it. Have you notified your credit card issuers?”
“Thanks for the reminder! I have a list of their phone numbers. I’ll get right on it.”
“Do it now.”
Kurt scurried back into his house, retrieved a note card from a kitchen drawer, and quickly called the numbers on the card to notify the credit card companies. When he returned to his front door and nodded to Gretel. “Thanks.”
“I’m not trying to gouge you,” Gretel said sweetly, “although that’s always fun. As business leaders like to say, ‘I come here today to give something back to the community.’ Come on,” she gestured. “I’ll drive you to see Lila.”
“Gee, thanks!” He stepped out, closed the door, and locked it. “Wait. How’d you know I needed a ride?”
“Jessica told me. She called last night.” Gretel turned and walked briskly toward her Mercedes. She didn’t look back. She knew he’d follow.
He did. “Why didn’t you tell me you two are sisters?”
She opened the door on the driver’s side. “Or that our mother is Honey Bates? Get in,” she added. “It’s not locked.”
Kurt got in and closed the door. “Jessica said she used to be married to Rich until you stole him. You’ve got Rich Leckie, Pacesetter of the Year,” he scoffed. “So, why are you messing around with me?”
“A woman can never have enough slaves.”
“You’re just full of surprises.”
Her smile goaded his passion for her, conveyed a friendly warning, and surged with hubris—all in one expression. “Admit it. My air of mystery hopelessly intrigues you.” She started the engine and shot away from the curb.
“What did Jessica say?”
“She’d like to steal you,” Gretel said with surprising candor. “Revenge, I suppose. You’re no prize. I just don’t want her to have you.”
“No prize? I beg your pardon!”
“Good! Get used to begging. You don’t have a job. You have no self-discipline. You crave me so much I could make you cum in your pants right now.”
Reflexively, Kurt sneaked a look at the crotch of his pants, just to make sure she overstated his lust for her. His rod stood high and dry. Kurt could blame his crush on Gretel on chemistry, biology, or whatever force obliterated his sense of reason and strength to resist her. But he couldn’t reveal his romantic feelings for her, or she’d exploit his vulnerability swiftly and decisively. He vaguely sensed he could talk about sex. And honesty forced him to confess his raw desire. “I want to fuck you, Gretel,” he said. “I want to drive deep and hard into you and make you feel more like a real woman.”
“That can be arranged,” she smiled—a condescending smile. “But on my terms. First of all, you’ve got to earn the right for me to climb you. I’m very demanding. Second of all, I’m the fucker and you’re the fuckee.”
“I don’t take it in the ass,” Kurt frowned.
“Not physically,” she said. “Psychologically. In the horizontal tango, I lead.”
“No doubt.”
“Don’t even dream of trying to make a woman out of me. I’m more woman than you could ever handle. And I’ll make a man out of you. But I change partners whenever I please. Still want to dance?”
“I want to tame you.”
“‘Want to,’ ‘May I,’ whatever.” Gretel pulled up in front of Dr. Krafft’s house. “I will tame you, Kurt. You’ll be my slave, but I’ll never be your partner.”
“If you’ll excuse me, Dr. Krafft wants me to unburden myself.”
“You just do that,” she chided. “Open your heart to Lila, and we’ll help you live the dream. My dream.”
Kurt reached for his door. “Your dream? I don’t follow you. But I’ve got to go.”
Gretel relocked Kurt’s door from her side. “You have forty minutes until your appointment.” She handed him the keys to her Mercedes. “Bruiser will pick me up.”
“Thanks!”
She handed him her business card. “Call me on my cell phone from the car shop. I’ll come by to pick up my Mercedes.”
“Why so generous?”
“Not as generous as you think,” she smirked. “Jessica told me you’re having lunch with her.”
“You don’t mind?” Kurt was puzzled.
“If you want to ruin your digestive system…”
“Food is a minor item on the menu.”
“Spicier than Jessica. Listen carefully, Kurt. If you screw Jessica, I will crush you.”
“You do care.”
“Only because I want you to keep loving me, even if I don’t love you. Admit it. You have a special place for me in your heart.”
Disarmed, he confessed. “Yes, Gretel, you electrify me. You’re more than sexy. You’re desirable in every way.”
“And I have a special place for you,” Gretel transfixed him with her green eyes. “Under my heel.”
Kurt no longer cared how early he arrived for his appointment. Gretel’s dominance aroused him too much. If he remained with her, she’d make a complete ass out of him. “Thanks for the use of your car.” This time Gretel let him open the door.
“Just keeping you indebted to me.” Gretel’s smugness invisibly stroked his cock.
Kurt practically ran up the walkway to Dr. Krafft’s house. Dr. Krafft met him at the door and escorted him in quickly. “Glad you’re early,” she said. “This session is critical. We’ll take longer than yesterday. So much has happened.”
Kurt stretched out on the couch. “You have no idea!”
Dr. Krafft quickly guided Kurt through the relaxation process and into hypnosis. The previous day’s experience eased him through the transition. Despite her general air of urgency, Dr. Krafft spoke in a soft, low, soothing voice. “Yesterday, we steered clear of your experiences with your attractive neighbor,” she began.
Kurt fidgeted while he clenched and unclenched his fists.
“We should talk about her,” Dr. Krafft said. “I believe your experiences with her shaped your current views of sexuality. Kurt, you are not responsible for what happened then. Your basic, primal desires exerted themselves with a natural virility. Your adult mind looks back on those events and says, ‘That was wrong.’ Or, worse yet, ‘I was wrong.’ You reacted to a sexual urge. Forget blame, especially self-blame.”
“That’s a relief.”
“I want you to
recall those events as they happened. You were young. Your puberty asserted itself. Cast aside judgment and guilt. Can you relive those experiences as if they were happening now?”
“Yes, Dr. Krafft. I’ll put myself back in those experiences.”
“Free yourself of responsibility, judgment, or guilt. We can analyze what happened at a later date. For now, we want to get your issues in the open.”
“Will that help?”
“Certainly, Kurt. May I record your remarks? Do you approve?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you.” Dr. Krafft turned on her hand-held tape recorder and asked, “Tell me what happened with your neighbor. This will help us reach our goal.”
“What goal is that?”
“To live the dream. But first, to form a game plan”
“Sounds like Gretel.”
“You love her, don’t you?”
“Madly.”
Dr. Krafft’s expression lingered ambivalently between a frown and a smile.
Chapter Seventeen
Dirty Laundry
Cleared of Kurt’s pauses and repetitions and Dr. Krafft’s occasional prompting, the following is a transcript of Kurt’s narrative under hypnosis:
I.
My first crush called nasty secrets “dirty laundry,” a well-worn phrase, but I considered the words hers, because her lips sanctified everything she said. So, I’ll bow to her, again, by using her expression to name our bizarre affair, which I’ve never discussed before.
I met this femme fatale in Mrs. Johnson’s bedroom. Mrs. Johnson lived on the corner of our block and threw parties all the time, mostly for other women: bridal showers, baby showers, girls’ nights out, whatever. Mom hosted a few parties, too. So, when Mrs. Johnson invited Mom, she always let me tag along.
As a kid, I’d sneak into the guest bedroom, where all the women put their pocketbooks on the floor and coats on the bed, and burrow under the coats, especially on chilly nights, and cuddle up against the furs, which preserved my body heat.
Sometimes I saw a beautiful blonde woman with green eyes in the bedroom. She always wore a shiny black dress and long leather gloves, which made me feel queasy. My intense emotions engraved her image in my memory forever. Her perfume smelled like marshmallows mixed with lavender. I can’t describe the exact smell, but I’ll never forget it. She became my model of femininity, the ultimate temptress. She told me not to tell anyone I saw her in the bedroom. She’d give me a firm hug to make sure I obeyed her code of silence. I felt warm and snug in her arms.