Chapter 1 The Extra Package

The divorce had been hard thought Maryanne as she tidied up the living room of her newly purchased Bungalow. But it had been worth it.

Looking around, the 35 year old mother and former housewife was pleased. Everything in order new and yes … a bit of Salvation Army special here and there, but it was clean and best of all, it was hers. Of course it was small, it was all she could afford from the settlement, but it was clean and bright. A place where she and Bridget could make new memories to replace the old, a place where a new life would spring from the rubble of the old.

The old life, well if you could call it a life. I suppose I have to think about that too she thought as she placed a long strand of her red hair back in place.

It had definitely been a major mistake marrying Frank, that at least was painfully obvious. A fact both she and Bridget had paid for over the last 5 years. At first Frank had seemed like a godsend. Fabulously rich, successful, genteel and attentive and with Maryanne and her daughter just scraping by after the death of Spencer, her late beloved husband, it just seemed too good to be true. It was, but at that time, it was like a dream, an angel come to rescue them both and at least partially fill the void of a lonely overstressed, broke mother and her 12 year old daughter.

But after a fabulous wedding the situation had changed and changed quickly. It seemed that what Frank was really looking for wasn’t a wife, but a trophy. Someone that would look extravagant and beautiful on his arm at various social functions, perhaps a bit of fun in bed, though Frank’s series of whores generally took care of that for him, but precious little more.

Maryanne and Bridget were little more than appliances to be trotted out when needed and put out of sight when not. Boarding school for Bridget, purgatory for Maryanne and a prenuptial which would put pretty much put them back where they started if she ever left.

That was the deal that they had arranged in the end. Maryanne, the gorgeous intelligent witty trophy wife would play the role in return for her daughter’s education and her access to a world that Maryanne couldn’t give her. It had worked after a fashion. But then she had caught Frank looking at her blossoming Bridget with that look. The bulge the bastard would get in his pants as her beautiful strawberry blonde daughter would come into view was unmistakable. Just as unmistakable as Frank’s intentions in his increasingly frequent nighttime visits to Bridget’s boarding school. Frank wanted to make a new deal, this time with Bridget.

But Bridget would have none of it and when she'd told Maryanne, that had been the final straw. .

She’d filed for divorce. It had been a very easy decision to make but a difficult one to actually accomplish. Frank had been incensed. As far as her husband was concerned, she and Bridget were Franklin Conway’s property and his property they would remain.

The fight in court had been as bitter as the threats outside of the courtroom. Frank could be vile and vindictive and it seemed as if he had distilled all of his malice into a concentrated form just for this occasion. He wanted to make it more of a hell to be divorced than it was to be married to him. To destroy her mentally and emotionally. He did his best and if it hadn’t been for Shelia he might have succeeded.

Thank god for good friends with Law degrees and successful practices. Maryanne hadn’t even had to ask for help, Shelia had almost thrown herself to her friends defense the moment she had found out what was happening. Frank’s attorneys were the best that money could buy but they were no match for a best friend with a mind and resources to match their own. Not only had Frank not been able to force her to stay but he’d also had to come up with a small settlement, which if not overly generous, was at least enough to get started again.

And it was a new start. Oh yes, Maryanne had had dreams as a girl but getting pregnant at 18 had changed that somewhat. Spencer had been a wonderful man of course and had supported her all through college and law school. But after a year or so of clerking for a prestigious law firm Maryanne had found a new dream, her family. But now it was time to dust off her old skills and start over again. Sheila had even offered her a job clerking at her firm, just until she could get her feet back under her and get back up to speed.

It was exciting and it was scary. Her first day at the firm had made her feel like the stupidest person in the world. Things had changed so much. But she knew she’d eventually catch on. And finding a house, that was something the redheaded mother had never even contemplated before, but with She’s help she’d found this nice little house in a quiet quaint neighborhood. The rest had gone to Bridget’s education fund and that was a LOT of money (Harvard in the fall was going to be expensive). I was her life now, stepping out on her own for the first time she could remember.

But she wasn’t really alone. She had Bridget, she had her friends, and really, how alone could you possibly be with a bounty of good fortune like that. No, scary or not, life was good and it was only going to get better.

Brushing another lock of flame red hair from her face, Maryanne picked up one of the last packing boxes. It was rather smaller than most of the rest but someone had marked “bedroom” on it with a black perm marker. Maryanne tried to think of what it might be as she walked back toward the bedroom. She thought she’d unpacked all of the bedroom stuff earlier in the week and why the package ended up in the living room was anyone’s guess. Oh well there are greater tragedies in the world than putting a box in the wrong room.

As she entered the bedroom she grabbed her trusty knife and slit open the tape securing the box, set the package on the bed, opened the box and reached inside.

Pushing through the packing peanuts Maryanne felt something cold and vaguely rubbery brush her fingers, something apparently round and with some length like a candlestick. Grasping it firmly she pulled the object out of the package. It was long, maybe 12 inches or so, golden and in the shape of a man’s erect penis.

For a moment time seemed to stand still for the astonished redhead. The emotions simply cycled through her … shock, astonishment, disbelief, confusion, irritation and finally rage.

How dare he!!!!

There was only one explanation, a last feeble jab from a hateful bastard. It wasn’t enough that Frank had tried to destroy her emotionally and financially. It wasn’t enough that he’d had his private army of PI’s fabricate every conceivable despicable lie they could manufacture for the court. No, he had to send this one last message of contempt didn’t he. One of his high classed whore’s playthings either placed where the movers would find it or surreptitiously added to the stack of boxes afterwards. A final message ... “you were nothing but another one of my whores”. A message confirmed when she saw the letters engraved along the shaft … “Whore-maker”.

Sputtering with rage it was all the redheaded mother could do to contain herself. She flung the object on her bed with disgust and began to search the box for any other outrages. But other than the golden artificial phallus, the box was empty.

HOW DARE HE!!!

Discarding the box she stood there at the foot of the bed, staring balefully at the disgusting object. The insult implicit in its presence rolled over and over in her mind becoming more infuriating with every moment. What if Bridget had seen it, what about the movers, and dear god what must they have thought. No ... she’d been good about this … she’d held her tongue and been the sweet woman she really was all through the hell of the last several months, just like Sheila had advised her, but this was too much. Frank needed to be taught a lesson. This was her life now. He had no right to invade it with the filth of his existence anymore.

The mere thought made her mind drift back to Frank’s collection of whores he had paraded through the mansion. All stunningly beautiful women … Frank could afford the best, sometimes three or four at a time. God what did one man need with three or four women at a time. It had been infuriating, simply unbearable, but she had borne it. If he’d only had affairs it would have still been bad, but to know your husband prefers the company of whores to that of his wife was demeaning and insulting to a degree that Maryanne simply couldn’t tolerate.

But you were something of a whore yourself, weren’t you?

The thought struck Maryanne somewhat off guard. No of course she hadn’t been. She had been his wife not some prostitute.

But you stayed with him for profit and advantage. You gave him what he wanted; he gave the same to you. What’s the difference?

Maryanne shook her head to clear away the offending thought. Of course there was a difference. Thinking like this was just what Frank wanted her to be doing, one last putrid stab at her heart.

Well you can’t have it. This is MY life you bastard!!!

No, she wasn’t a whore, but she was going to get even with Frank for this insult. It was just unforgivable … but how.

Pacing around the bed she looked at the golden phallus. What to do with it. Send it back chopped up into little pieces … send it to his mother perhaps … his business associates? Hand it to him herself and slap his face? What would have the best effect? After all Frank had taken all of the shots he could at her, it was about time to return the favor.

Contemplating her revenge, Maryanne picked up the object and examined it. She’d never really seen one before at least not up close. Of course she’d seen glimpses of them occasionally around the house after one of Franks "parties" but the maids took care of those from a distance. And her friends would occasionally talk about them, substitute husbands that never went limp, but to pick one up and actually touch it was a new experience for her.

I wonder what it would be like …

Catching herself again, Maryanne tried to push the offending thought away. It was a vile idea and she was shocked that it had even occurred to her. But still … it had been a long time since she’d been with a man.

Well, at least 5 years she chuckled softly to herself.

Besides, she was intrigued. What did it feel like … what was it like to take control of that phallus and put it in the hands of a woman that knew how to please herself. Not the random fumblings of some whoremonger.

And it’s been so long … besides, no one will ever know.

Hesitantly the she reached up with one hand and stroked the phallus. It felt smooth with ridges and surprisingly warm … in fact it felt somewhat comforting, even natural.

Nothing like I expected ... just so nice …

Gently Maryanne took the head of the phallus in her fingers, pulling lightly on it, the action sending unexpected shivers through her body.

This is really weird Maryanne, this isn't like you at all, god, what in the hell do you think you’re doing.

She didn’t know, but it just felt too good to stop. The more she stroked the phallus, but better she felt … the more natural and “right” her actions were. It was weird, but undeniable, just like the wet spot that was slowly and unexpectedly growing between her thighs.

This isn’t right, something’s wrong here.

But it wasn’t. It was right, right in a way that the voluptuous redhead had rarely felt before. Placing the head against her cheek made her nearly coo with delight … rolling it ... stroking it … until it was there, right in front of her lips.

For a brief moment she stared at it just wavering there, and then, without a further thought, the respectable mother and newly free woman opened her lips and drew the head of the phallus inside her warm and hungry mouth.

What the HELL!!? God what is going on here? For Christ’s sake snap out of it Maryanne!!! What are you DOING!!

Her eyes widened with alarm as she watched her hand delicately thrusting the phallus in and out of her ravenous lips, heard them smack with satisfaction as it withdrew, felt her tongue try to wrap around the head and draw it back in … deeper and deeper … her mouth and throat opening wider with each thrust until she could feel it slipping down her throat.

All Maryanne could do was stare in horror. She couldn’t stop it … couldn’t stop from being so sinfully wet that even now her legs were clamping together. And she was enjoying it!!! … I was so perverted, so out of her control, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that this was right somehow … something she was supposed to do, to be.

With a moan of mixed pleasure and despair, she withdrew the phallus from her mouth and simply stared at herself in the bedroom mirror.

It was an unbelievable sight. Her long red hair tied back in a pony tail was wet with perspiration. Her breasts were heaving, her nipples thrusting prominently against the fabric of her Tee. But what was most disconcerting was the body language and the look on her face. Never in her life had she seen a more brazen and inviting “Come fuck me” look in anyone’s eyes. She smelled of sex, she was sex … a bitch in heat for anyone who cared to look, an open advertisement.

God I'm hot enough to melt a fucking steel cock!!

“oh my god” she gasped trying to clear her head. “oh my god, what is happening to me?"

As if in answer the goddess of sex in the mirror smiled wickedly at her and with the deliberate grace of a dancing flame stripped off her grey sweats and JC Penney panties and sat down on the edge of the bed spreading herself for the mirror. With a look that sent her cunny clenching with need, she glided the head of the phallus over her swollen clit and positioned the head against the opening of her sex.

Trembling inside with fear and resistance, Maryanne looked down as her traitorous hands gently slid the head of the phallus into her. She felt so slutty … so wanton … so very god dammed natural doing something that she had never even contemplated before. And it felt so fucking good, like she could do this all day and still hunger for more. As she struggled with her thoughts, Maryanne watched the engraved letters slide into her “W-h-o-r-e – m-a-k-e-r” … and even that felt right somehow. Like something that held her dearest wishes and dreams. God hadn’t she envied all of those women in Frank’s bed, their smoldering passion, their harnessed sexuality. Hadn’t she always wanted to be like them?

“No” she shrieked as she buried the dong deep inside of her slut’s pussy. “NOOOOO … I’m NOT LIKE THAT …. Oh dear God I’m NOT!”

But her body wasn’t listening as it began to twist the phallus in and out of her … the engraved words rotating through her horrified lust filled vision, until finally she understood somewhere deep inside. “Whore-maker” wasn’t just a degraded engraving on the side of a perverted piece of rubberized polymer … it was what the device did. It was a whoremaker and right now, it was making her.

“Oh Fuck NO …” she screamed in despair and passion as she felt her thoughts slowly slipping away from her as they were replaced by something alien and foreign. As with each thrust deep inside her slutwhore’s cunt, the insidious device did its work. “Oh Fuck it Can’t be. It just fucking can’t. I’m free … I’m fucking Free you god dammed Bastard. You don’t own ME!!! … OH FUCKING CHRIST I’m not going to be one of your FUCKING WHORE’S ANY MORE.”

Thrashing and moaning on the bed, the phallus moving in and out of her cunt like a piston, her cunt lips clinging to it like a wet rubber sheet, it occurred to her. Frank thought of her as his possession and Frank didn’t like to lose his property. He’d found a way to keep her, both she and Bridget. He had always preferred whores after all.

“Oh Fucking God …” the redheaded whore snarled as tears welled from her eyes. “I’m not beat yet you Bastard! Do you HEAR ME? I’m the best piece of fucking ass anywhere and I’m not going to let you have me. Do YOU HEAR ME!!!?”

“Oh Christ Frank! What the Fuck have you DONE to me … .”

No answer came as Maryanne slammed the dong deep into her hungry cunt. No one answered as she gripped the golden dildo with her thighs as images of her and thoughts foreign to her flashed across her mind, as the horror of what was being done to her overwhelmed her. No one answered as screamed “YES … FUCKING YESSSS” as she came at the thought, over and over again, came harder than she had ever imagined until it was engraved in her psyche with a red hot brand.

No one answered as she lay there panting on her new bed, the dong still emplaced deep inside of her, her juices leaking on her fresh linen.

But it really wasn’t necessary. Maryanne Clement, mother of Bridget Clement, a woman who had tasted true freedom for all too brief a time, knew what she was.

She rolled over and wept, her hands continuing to play with the golden dong ... until her whore's hole would demand her attention once again.