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Subject: "A Helpful Wife" (M+/F, WIFE) Chapter 5
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===================
http://www.incesttabooo.com/helpwife05.html
A Helpful Wife
Chapter 5
Melanie Cartwright sat in an old squeaky rocking chair, her
hands folded neatly in the lap of her bathrobe as she
stared sightlessly as the animated screen of her television
set. Her eyes viewed but did not watch; her ears heard but
did not listen; her mind was concentrating on more
important matters than the raucous images dancing only a
few feet away. Three days of bed rest and home care had
alleviated most of the physical damages to her ravished,
battered and bruised body, but Melanie doubted if anything
could ever eliminate the horrible mental injury done to her
soul.
Lethargically she rose from the rocker and walked to the
kitchen, where a three-quarter full bottle of bourbon was
on the counter. It had been new and unopened that morning,
just as two empty ones resting in the garbage sack beneath
the sink had been full the last two respective mornings,
and more than likely this one on the counter would join
them by tomorrow. It was her only sedative to calm her
ragged nerves enough to function during the daylight hours
and sleep through the dark night's constant dreams.
She poured herself a half a tumbler full, put the bottle
back on the counter and returned to the rocking chair in
the living room.
Though it was brightly shining outside with Saturday's
mid-morning sun, she had closed the venetian blinds, unable
to face the brilliance in her present frayed condition.
She took a long drink from the straight bourbon and felt
the liquid hit the bottom of her stomach. The warmth crept
through her body, causing a slight tingling sensation to
ripple across her skin. It felt good, so she raised the
glass and took another long sip. Her heavy-ridded, shallow
eyes turned back to the soap opera on the television
screen, but once more her mind returned to the horror of
that Wednesday night when she had innocently accepted the
Anderson's invitation...
The drinking at the Dew Drop Inn... The smoking of the
marijuana... The surrender of her spontaneously passionate
body to the assault of her employerher ex-employer now,
thank God... The obscene mouth of his naked wife upon her
wide-splayed thighs... Oh dear God! She shivered
convulsively and took another large swallow of the amber
liquor to soothe the misery in her heart. She knew she
should be filled with repugnance and loathing for the vile
things that had been done to her, and she was. But her
nightmares were not of them so much as of her own
despicable submission and performance, and that was scaring
her more. She had not merely succumbed to the Anderson's
perverted advances, but had given herself willingly, and
what had happened was as much her own doing as either of
theirs. The fact of the matter was that she had been
completely and wantonly enslaved by the ugly but delightful
sensations they had sent coursing through her helplessly
trapped body. Had she been the strongly moral person she
had always thought herself to be, the whole repulsive
incident would never have happened.
God, she was so desperately ashamed. Tim would never
forgive her if he ever found out about that night. He was
too proud and sensitive, and while a woman might forgive a
man for an indiscretion, a man could never forgive a woman
no matter how unfair it was. She still loved her husband,
too, perhaps more now with the dreadful knowledge that she
had let her body betray her fidelity. She alone had to
suffer for this, and she was determined to protect his
honor and her marriage from the secret, no matter how much
it might hurt her deep inside herself.
Melanie drained her glass and returned to the kitchen to
fill it once more. After placing the bottle on the counter
again, she changed her mind and took it with her into the
living room, setting it down within easy reach beside the
rocker. Again her mind revolved with the horrid
remembrance of that night...
Yes, there was no doubt about it. As things stood, the
appalling truth would be kept locked within her heart,
there to remain hidden forever as far as she was concerned.
Time, she hoped, would eventually seal the vicious episode
away in some dark recess of her brain, there to heal until
only a minor scar would remind her it had ever happened.
She leaned her head back in the chair for a few moments,
wondering how she could ever convince Tim to move to
another town or suburb, the further away from Greenridge as
humanly possible. But she knew she had to, for she must
never chance seeing the Andersons again, and so far she
hadn't, not even returning to the theater for her pay
check. She could feel blood rising in her cheeks at just
the thought of what Amos' lean muscular handsomeness and
Sybil's voluptuous sensuality had done to her. Truly, they
had reached her baser animal instincts before they were
through with her, and she could never allow her naked flesh
to run away with her like that again. At least not with
anybody else except her loving husband...
It was rather warm, and Melanie opened her flower-print
bathrobe she had been wearing since she got up that
morning, and exposed her unclothed body to the slight
breeze that came in through a partially open front window.
Once more she inspected her soft, white skin, this time not
looking for outward signs of damage as much as for
tell-tale traces of dissipation. Strange, she had to admit
to herself nobody could possible know by looking that she'd
been fucked and sucked half to death by another man and
woman...
She concentrated on her breasts, and remembered vividly how
Amos Anderson had first taken their taut, puckish fullness
and made them throb with life. Yes, and had made her come
alive until she had climaxed for the first time ever,
begging shamelessly for his thick, long penis to slave a
burning fire in her uncontrollably lusting vagina... a
vagina which until then had known no man except her
husband. Melanie squeezed her eyes tightly shut as the
erotic memories came flooding back, reviving a sudden
twitch between her thighs. She was forced to squeeze her
legs tightly together in an effort to end the tingling
sensation there, moaning as she again lay her head back
against the wicker of the rocking chair.
This is no good... I'm only torturing myself... I've got
to get a firm control of my senses! My God, am I going
mad?
Suddenly she realized that the doorbell was ringing, and
after a few moments of waiting and hoping whoever it was
would go away,, she resignedly stood up and carelessly tied
the cord of her bathrobe around her waist. She walked down
the short hallway to the door and opened it.
"Yes?"
"Mrs. Cartwright? Registered letter for you." A
white-haired, stoop-shouldered postman handed her a manila
envelope. His eyes blatantly traced the contours of her
breasts and thighs under the loosely tied bathrobe, and he
smiled with obvious appreciation.
"Th-thank you," she said, drawing her robe tighter around
her and grabbing the envelope. Who could? There was no
return address on the letter itself, and only and
unreadable scrawl on the receipt pasted to its front.
"You have to sign for delivery, Ma'am," the now ogling
older postman said, and held out a thick stub of pencil.
She signed with a hurried signature, blushing furiously at
the knowledge that with every second she was in front of
him, the postman was breathing heavier with excitement.
She handed the pencil back and slammed the door before he
had a heart attack on her doormat and died with that
obscene smirk on his lips.
My God, she thought as she took the letter back into the
living room, and sat down again, had she sunk so low that
even a postman had no respect for her? Angry at him, and
at herself, she ripped the envelope open and dumped the
contents out in her lap... and was abruptly shocked
mindless as if stunned by a bolt of lightning!
There, lying in her lap was her pay check from the Bijou
Theater. And with it were three of the most pornographic
photographs she could have ever imagined. And worse, they
were of her with Amos and Sybil Anderson!
In horror, she picked one of them up. The picture was a
full-color reproduction of herself kneeling nakedly on the
couch with Sybil, sprawled beneath her, licking hungrily at
her tender pink vagina. Melanie had her smoothly rounded
buttocks splayed wide in full view of the lens, showing all
of her desire-moistened cuntal slit. With a helpless cry
of revulsion, Melanie flipped to the next, and saw her
flushed wet mouth lewdly ovalled around Anderson's hard,
glistening penis. She gasped at this obscenity, but the
third picture was by far the worst. It showed the naked
man's thick fleshy cock pumping out his surging white semen
into her painfully stretched vagina, her backsides lewdly
flooded with the overflow of his cum.
Melanie groaned and fell back, her arm over her eyes. From
deep in her subconscious, she now recalled the bright
flashes going off and the strange noises in the background.
Her passion-crazed mind had not related them to a flash
camera at the time, but it was unmistakably clear to her
now that's what they had been.
She laid in the rocker for several minutes without moving,
then slowly sat up and looked down again at the horrible
reminders of that evening, almost vomiting at the lust
which was so plainly visible on her face in each of them.
One of the three photographs had turned over, and on the
back of it she saw that a message had been written in the
familiar penmanship of Amos Anderson. It read:
"If you want the others, come to my house Saturday (today)
at three o'clock in the afternoon. If you think your
husband would like the photos instead, don't show up.
Love, Amos."
It wasn't until she had read the message three times that
the full impact of its implications hit her. My God, what
did he have in mind for payment? He'd want something, she
had no doubt about that... but what? He knew she had no
money...
And then her stomach knotted and convulsed as if it had
just turned over. She suddenly got the meaning, all right.
There was little question regarding what he had in mind,
only what was to happen if she should be agreeable. The
ghastly truth that she was going to have to bargain the
keeping of her secret by giving Anderson her body seemed
unbelievable to her, yet she knew that she might have to do
just that in order to avoid a worse fate. Suddenly she
felt nauseous as vivid memories of Amos Anderson crouched
over her face, his large throbbing hardness shoved halfway
down her throat, flooded her mind. She fell limply back on
the rocker, reached for the half full glass of bourbon, and
drained it straight down. Droplets ran loosely down the
edge of her mouth. The burning sensation helped dull her
senses a little, and she immediately poured herself
another, trying to smother the knowledge that in a couple
of hours she would have to return to that horror-house in
the hills, for Tim's sake if nothing else.
She couldn't bear for him to know the depths to which she
had wallowed by seeing those indecently filthy pictures of
her. It would destroy all love he had for her in one
wide-eyed scathing moment. She drank the whiskey to give
her courage, then staggered defeatedly into the bedroom and
began to dress. She put on the same thin, low cut dress
she had been wearing the night Tim had attacked her, the
irony of the choice not escaping her bitter thoughts, and
took a last look at herself in the mirror and a last glass
of liquor. She wanted to be as alluring as possible in
hopes she could convince Mr. Anderson to give her the dirty
pictures without having to compromise herself too much.
But she had the most dreadful apprehension that merely
looking nice would not be enough to satisfy that evil man's
degenerate soul.
* * *
Melanie's taxi pulled up in front of the Anderson's
spacious home a little before three. Well, better late
than never, Melanie thought with wryness as she paid the
driver. The neighborhood was quiet but there were an awful
lot of automobiles parked around, and she had a momentary
sense of panic, almost turning to tell the driver to take
her back to her home. But her overwhelming desire to
recover those pictures took hold of her again, and she
gathered up her spirits and walked along the crushed oyster
shell path, over the bridge, and to the front door. She
pounded the brass knocker, and after a few moments, the
door slowly swung open.
Amos Anderson stood smiling in the doorway, softly tweaking
the end of his mustache with one hand, the other in the
pocket of his crimson velvet smoking jacket. The thumb of
the hand that was in his jacket pocket was exposed, and it
rubbed along the seam with a casual motion. Melanie
couldn't tell if he had a shirt on underneath the smoking
jacket, although he was wearing a pair of snug trousers and
his usual black shoes polished to a high luster.
"Well, my dear, I see you accepted my invitation," he said
smoothly. "Good to have you here again."
"I-I want those pictures, Mr. Anderson," she blurted,
trembling.
"Yes, I suppose you do." He moved aside and held the door
wide for her. "Well, do come in and we'll chat about it.
And please, my dear, please call me Amos. I so prefer it
among friends."
He was definitely no friend of her's, but Melanie didn't
want to say anything that would harm her chances, so she
replied: "Thank you... Amos." She walked into the all too
familiar living room, and almost sat down on the wide white
couch before hastily changing her mind and settling in a
small chair instead. She nervously crossed her legs,
seeing already from the way that Anderson was roving his
eyes over her mentally cringing body that it would not be
easy to accomplish her purpose.
"Now then, my dear, let's consider this situation." Amos
talked softly, leaning with one elbow on the mantle of the
porcelain fireplace. "You have something I want, and I
have something you have to have."
"Mr. Anderson... Amos," she said, catching the fire in
his sultry eyes, "I love my husband... I want to forget
what happened between us. Please, won't you let me have
those pictures?"
"My dear," Anderson said, chuckling, "you are most amusing
at times. Give you the pictures? Don't be naive!"
Melanie's head reeled from the whiskey and the humiliation
of sitting here with this handsome but evil man while his
feverish gaze absorbed every inch of her body. Dear God,
it was as if he were undressing her with his eyes! She
attempted one last desperate act in an effort to frighten
him into giving her the prints without further compromising
herself. She glared back up at him, her features as cold
as she could make them.
"Amos, if you don't hand over those pictures to me at once,
I'm going to leave here and go directly to the police!"
"Go ahead, if that's what you want," Anderson shrugged
nonchalantly and added; "Go ahead, but it'll be the word of
a respectable businessman against that of a girl who poses
for dirty pictures. Pictures that would soon be published
in a chain of nationwide men's magazines, and hawked in
every skid row bar from here to... to New York City!"
"No!" Melanie gasped, jumping to her feet. "You
wouldn't!"
"No, not if we can come to some kind of, ah, arrangement,
my dear. After all, we are both adults, are we not?"
"Blackmail!" the horrified young wife hissed. "You're
nothing but a lewd blackmailer!"
"It's not very polite to call me names, Melanie," Anderson
replied with a mockingly sorrowful expression. "After all,
you are Mrs. Cartwright, aren't you? You are the one who's
married to Timothy Cartwright, but who let me and my wife
both fuck you silly last Wednesday night, aren't you? I
mean, you are Mrs. Cartwright the adulteress?" He laughed
in a throaty delight at his rhetorical questions. "Of
course you are. Now, do you want to go or stay awhile?"
A ghostly tremor rippled over the terrified woman as she
stared with disbelief at her debasing tormentor. Her
throat and lungs constricted tightly, and she knew deep in
her heart that it was useless trying to plead to a decency
he didn't possess.
"Well, my dear?" Anderson urged maliciously.
"I'll... I'll stay," she managed to say in a strangled
voice.
"That's better, my dear. Besides, I'm doing you a favor.
I could make a great deal of money with those pictures, you
know, but I'm allowing you to bid for them first. I think
that's rather noble of me, don't you?"
"How... how much do you want?" she stammered, clutching
the arms of the chair behind her with claw-like fingers.
"I don't have much, but... But I'll pay what I can..."
"Not money. Oh, my dear, never money. I want you, all of
that lovely firm body of your's!"
"Oh God," Melanie moaned and slumped back into the chair
again, her whole body sprawling with defeat, her dress
hiking inadvertently up over her slim round thighs. "I...
I can't, Amos. I... I've never been unfaithful to my
husband, except that once, and... and I just can't again!"
"Yes, you will," Anderson replied, his voice growing stern
and harsh with command. "You will or else I'll ruin you!"
Melanie sat in a state of shock, bitterly realizing that
this horrible man would do exactly as he threatened if she
did not give in. Every degenerate across the nation would
have the pictures of her engaged in unnatural acts of love.
It would kill Tim, and she would be humiliated no matter
where she tried to run and hide.
"If... If I agree," she said dully, "I want the pictures
first."
"Heavens, no, my dear," Anderson said. He licked his thick
lips, knowing she had mentally surrendered herself to the
inevitable. "No, you'll get them afterwards. They're my
insurance, you see."
"How... How do I know you'll give them if I do?"
"Oh, you can trust me." he answered, coming closer to the
chair. "But this has taken all too much time, my dear.
The others are impatiently waiting."
"Wh-What?" Melanie whispered in a choked voice. "What do
you mean, others? Another man?"
"Why, of course. We're going through that little door over
there as soon as I've undressed you, and down into my
private cellar where everybody is waiting to see what you
can do for me."
"But I thought..." the stunned young wife whimpered. "But
I thought I was just going to have to please you!"
"Ah, but it will please me this way, my dear."
"Oh, no," she moaned, revulsion mushrooming inside her
disbelieving mind. "Please don't make me do that. I
can't, knowing others are watching. That I can't do! I
won't!"
"Well, we'll see about that when the time comes." Anderson
reached down and lifted her dress, beginning to pull it up
over her full thighs. "First we'll just take your clothes
off and then a little bit of make-up... to make you even
prettier, and then"
Melanie had lain motionless in a momentary shock from the
horrible threats he had been making, but this last one to
perform in some cellar with other men all aroundwas simply
too much for her mind to accept! As he reached to move her
dress up higher, she reacted to his touch with a hysterical
repulsion, and without fully realizing what she was doing,
she lifted one leg back and abruptly kicked out in terror,
catching Anderson full on the chin. He was caught by
surprise, and let out a growling yell as he tumbled
backwards onto the carpeted floor. He slowly regained his
feet, shaking his head to clear it, a slight trickle of
blood coming from the corner of his mouth.
"You shouldn't have done that, my dear," he said in a low,
coldly composed fury. "No, you shouldn't have done that at
all..."
Melanie shrunk back in the chair, her heart leaping into
her throat. She saw his eyes flicker with a cruel hatred,
and she knew that any compassion he may have held for her
before had been totally destroyed. Deep fear gripped her
belly as she watched him bring his hand slowly to his mouth
and wipe the blood away. His gaze glanced to the smeared
streak on the back of his hand and then quickly back to
her.
He slowly untied the satin sash of his velvet smoking
jacket, exposing his bare, muscular chest beneath, and
without a word withdrew a long leather belt from his pants.
Melanie huddled in frozen terror, her eyes staring in
wide-eyed horror as he raised his arm and cracked the belt
through the air, the tip biting through the cloth of her
dress and brassiere to snap at her left breast with a
sudden excruciating pain. She cried out in agony, and fell
limply to the floor in front of him, hands clutching his
pants legs in a beseeching manner.
"No! I'm sorry! Oh God, Amos, I'm sorry!"
The belt sang through the air again, this time catching her
full across her back and as far down as her buttocks. She
screamed again, this time deeper as the cruel leather cut
its way into the bare flesh of her legs, leaving a tiny red
welt rising on her skin behind its cruel path.
"Aggg! Aggg! No! No more, please! I'll do it! I'll do
whatever you want! I'll do anything!" she blurted out
after several more lashes of the sickening torture. The
pain was unbearable and she knew if he hit her enough she
would faint dead away. Her mind was beyond logical
thought, the only thing mattering to her was to escape his
horrible punishment.
"Say fuck, shit, cunt!" the evil movie house owner harshly
demanded. By God, he would break this proud girl's spirit
yet!
"Ohhhhh, fuck, shit, cunt!" the words spurt from her mouth
without hesitation, no thought of resistance left.
"Again!"
"Fuck! Shit! Cunt!" she shrieked.
Amos Anderson held the belt threateningly over his head for
a moment longer, a lust-eager smirk dancing across his
lips. Then he tossed the belt aside and reached down for
the young wife he had just savagely tortured. Melanie
closed her eyes tightly as she felt the humiliation of his
hands moving over her, stripping her clothing away. He
didn't bother with buttons or snaps, but ripped her thin
summer dress from the neck down to the hem, peeling the
pieces away roughly and throwing them haphazardly to the
floor. She clenched her teeth together, fighting off waves
of nausea as he drew her thin nylon panties slowly down her
rounded full buttocks and off her tapered legs. Her
brassiere came last as he took each cup in a hand and tore
it away brutally, her firm full breasts popping out like
ripe succulent melons ready for harvest. The tiny red
nipples hardened involuntarily as they hit the warm air of
the living room, and stood up like dainty pink buds of a
spring flower ready to quiver into blossom.
Anderson stood back from her a few feet then, and turned to
pick up a cosmetics case nearby. This should be a most
entertaining and profitable day combined, he thought
happily, as his gaze once more wandered over the voluptuous
young body sprawled naked and defenseless before him.
Melanie huddled docilely in the center of the carpet, her
thoughts a jumbled mass of humiliation and hopelessness.
She knew she was at his mercy. She could not fight against
pain or even the threat of it, and she wished she was dead
this very minute to escape the degradation she knew was to
be heaped upon her naked body now. But there was no way
out, only helpless submission to a brutal man who was
entirely without scruples or compassion. She had no idea
what to expect down in that cellar he'd spoken of, but her
imagination ran wild with fears. What could ever be enough
for a man like him? Great tears of self-pity swelled
through her clenched eves and rolled silently down her
cheeks.
Suddenly she shuddered as she felt the long, manicured
nails of Anderson's smooth fingers caressing her face. She
opened her eyes and saw he was kneeling beside her with a
large, hat box shaped cosmetic bag open before him.
Humming delightedly to himself, Amos began combing her long
blonde hair out into its full length beauty again, spraying
it gently as he worked with some kind of lacquer that made
it shine more radiantly than ever.
"Don't be so frightened, my dear," he said in a calm voice.
"You were most accomplished with Sybil and myself last
Wednesday night. It really won't be much different. There
are some marijuana cigarettes in the make-up bag there, if
you would like one. "No," she protested, shivering under
his light, sure, touch. "I won't ever smoke one of those
horrid things again."
"That's up to you, my dear. I brought them over here in
case you wanted some help overcoming those silly
inhibitions of your's."
Melanie sat in dejection as Anderson applied make-up to her
in an effort to erase the marks of her crying and beating
until she was presentable again. She looked at the thin
brown cigarettes and pondering whether she should have one
or not to relieve her horror and fear. She was deathly
afraid that she would suddenly be gripped with revulsion
and not be able to go through with it. Once it had
resulted in a belt whipping... the next time it should
happen, she was afraid it might destroy her chances forever
of getting those pictures back from Anderson, and with that
all her hopes for a decent life again with Tim.
The nakedly trembling young wife reached forward slowly and
picked one out of the cosmetic bag and lit it. She took a
deep, deep drag, feeling the familiar pungent sweetness
within her lungs, and then quickly inhaled again. As she
smoked, she sat before the mirror that was in the uplifted
lid of the cosmetics case; and with each pull from the
thin, burning cigarette, she gradually felt a calmness
relax some of her tense, frayed nerves.
She watched with detached interest as Anderson worked on
her face and hair, studying in the reflection of the mirror
the motion of his fingers across her skin and the quivering
curves of her naked flesh. She was more beautiful than she
had really noticed before, and she moved slightly so she
could examine all of her in the mirror. Her breasts were
creamy white and firm as a teenager's, and she could see,
as well as feel, her nipples tingling into taut erection,
protruding from her swelling round globes into the open
air. She drew further from the soporific cigarette,
holding the smoke longlonguntil her lungs would almost
burst from the delicious pressure being exerted upon them.
The mirror began to haze her image... Amos' fingers were
feeling like little spider's legs on her flesh... she
could feel within herself anything she concentrated upon...
the insidious marijuana again began to take its toll upon
the logic of her mind...
"There now," Anderson eventually said, standing up to
admire his handiwork. "You're all set for your debut.
Come, my dear," he said, lifting Melanie to her feet with
his hand, "Come and see where I will make you famous..."
He led her as he would a timid child across the living room
to a door at the opposite end. With every step of her bare
feet, Melanie felt more naked and defenseless than ever,
and with it, a gripping return of her initial shame and
terror. But the marijuana had braced her a little, and she
now felt prepared to go through with it in spite of her
revulsion toward the depraved, handsome man who had her at
her mercy. She had created this horrible situation by her
moment of weakness, and there was no one to get her out of
it except herself. She just hoped to get it over with as
quickly as possible and get away with those damning
pictures. Then, perhaps, she could piece together a
semblance of a normal life again.
"Ah, my dear, I can see you're looking forward to it after
all."
"Don't call me 'my dear,'" she said thickly as he opened
the door. "I've agreed to your terms because I have no
other choice, but I won't give you my soul. You can't make
me want you, no matter what you do."
"Are you certain, my dear?"
"Yes, I'm certain!"
Anderson laughed with cruel, taunting maliciousness, and
then holding her by her arm, he guided her down the wide,
broad steps to the cellar below...
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