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EX-WIVES 1
THE INHERITANCE
by
Richard Stryker
Copyright. R. Stryker 2001.
The right of R. Stryker to be identified as the author of this book has been asserted in accordance with Section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights and Patents Act 1988.
Provided with Permission of my publishers at:
and all my mini novels can also be found at my official website at:
http://stryker.a1adultebooks.com/
CHAPTER 1
It had been nearly four long years since they'd divorced and the bitch had taken him for every penny he'd had, four long years during which he had waited patiently, planned meticulously, and prepared precisely. Now, as Greg Dawson peered through the binoculars he could see his ex-wife lounging idly beside the pool. He smiled to himself for life had a strange way of righting the wrongs that had been done.
Her almost non-existent, bright blue bikini contrasted with her bronzed flesh. As Dawson watched her he could not but help feel the first stirrings of arousal as the field of view played slowly over her ample 38C bosom, barely contained within the blue fabric of the bikini top. The view drifted slowly down her body to the long, slender legs, and finally his gaze was directed at her crotch. He knew her blond hair was natural, and he knew what lay beneath the knickers she was wearing. As he remembered the past, and considered what was about to happen, his erection thrust hard against his pants.
Finding her had been easy. The Private Investigator had experienced no problem in actually finding her, but it had taken Dawson time to put the plan into action. Days and nights of careful watching, times when Dawson had felt the adrenalin pump through his body, stiffening his larger than average cock to the same erection he was experiencing today.
The bungalow was isolated, countrified, and Dawson could see that the woman had literally landed on her feet. He had spent hours watching her, her laziness, her life of luxury, and her lifestyle fitted perfectly into his plan. It suited him also that her new partner spent many days away from the home on a regular basis.
Dawson had planned for this day. It was the day of his ex-wife's inheritance. She was going to get her rewards for the five years of misery she had put him through during the farce of their marriage, the divorce and the five years since. She would get her inheritance for the way she had taken everything from him, stripped him of his dignity and committed perjury to obtain what she wanted. Finally, the day was at hand, for she was alone and was unlikely to be missed for several days to come. Dawson had planned it this way and now, as he watched her from the distant hillside through the powerful binoculars, he felt he could almost reach out and touch her. As he watched her tall, slim body, as she played with her mid-back length blond hair, his manhood raised its own interest. She was his, his for the taking, and now was the time to act.
***
Listening to the radio show through her Walkman, Julia Dawson failed to hear the small, white van pull up outside the front of the building. She also failed to hear the back doors being opened. The country road in which she lived was deserted, the nearest property several hundred yards further down the road.
The side gate was locked and the perimeter fence was over ten feet tall, so Julia Dawson had no reason to worry. Over four trouble free years without any contact from her ex-husband had made her lose her fear of reprisal. The track on the radio ended and for a moment she thought she heard a soft ‘plop' sound. The commentator was introducing the next track when she suddenly became aware of the presence behind her.
Julia Dawson looked up in time to see the figure of a tall, strong, muscular man behind her, his face covered by a black mask. She made to scream but was too late. The hand came over her mouth and a second hand reached out and grabbed her hair. In seconds she was gasping in the fumes of the chloroform. In deadly silence she felt the world around her go dark as she slipped into unconsciousness.
***
The room was dark and not particularly warm. Julia Dawson felt cold as she slowly returned to consciousness. She tried to stand but couldn't, something was penning her in. She reached out a hand and felt around her. The cage was no more than four feet square and certainly no higher. Then, as consciousness returned more fully she realised the reason for her shivering – she was naked, naked and trapped in a cage!
Suddenly the light came on to reveal the full details of the room in which the cage sat, with her in it. It was a large room, with a high ceiling. The walls were of brick and at first glance the room looked like it had once been used as some kind of gymnasium, or workout room. The low, narrow table, with the thin, black mattress reminded her of a doctor's examination table. The bars on the wall, vaulting horse and what looked like a large triangular painter's easel seemed to indicate the room was being used for storage.
Behind her, the door opened and she gained a second glimpse of the tall, muscular man wearing the mask.
Dawson had been meticulous in his planning. The abduction had gone perfectly, and now his quarry was languishing right where he wanted her. Outside the chamber, the house had the semblance of a typical farmhouse. Rurally situated with no other buildings within quarter of a mile, Dawson had paid a handsome price to acquire it three years previously. The internal redecoration and construction of what he liked to call “the Chamber” had taken time. Now the chamber was ready, and so was his quarry. Behind the eyeholes of the black mask he peered out at her. When he spoke his voice was strange, the distorter in the mouthpiece assuring his anonymity remained.
“Welcome to nemesis. If you behave you will do better than if you do not. Do as you are told. Precisely,” he hissed the word, “what you are told. If you do not, you will feel the full extent of my wrath.” Dawson smiled to himself, for she was already shaking from fear. To her, he had always been the wimp. The three years of circuit and weight training had changed that though, adding much muscle to his body. At the same time he had discovered within him the power and desire to do what he had now started. “Do you understand?”
“Yes. Look, who are you, you must have the wrong person.”
“Julia Dawson, aren't you?”
“Yes,” she replied, stunned that he knew her name.
“Well, I've got the right person. No more questions and no more talking unless I tell you to. It's time for you to learn your first lesson.” As Dawson spoke he felt his cock rise in anticipation. “I'm going to open your cage and you will crawl out and crawl over to the wall bars.”
Dawson unlocked the padlock on the cage door and opened it. Slowly the woman crawled out and made her way to the bars. Already afraid, she dreaded what would happen if she disobeyed him.
“Right, stand up and face the bars.”
She did as she was told. Immediately the man grabbed her left wrist and pulled her arm up above her head, stretching her arm outwards as he did so. She felt the noose of rope being slipped around the wrist and then being secured to one of the higher bars. Her right wrist was similarly raised, stretched and tied up.
“Now, spread those legs, bitch,” he snarled. She was too slow for his liking so he grabbed her right leg and yanked it sideways. She felt the noose of rope around her ankle as it was bound tightly to the lowest bar. Then her left leg was similarly yanked sideways and secured.
Suddenly, Julia Dawson realised just how exposed and vulnerable she was. As she realised this she felt the rope being placed round her waist. Pulled tight and fastened to the bars she felt the pressure of her pubic bone as it caressed the wood of the bars. A moment later a second rope was secured halfway up her back, and as it was so, her 38C pale, naked breasts were pushed hard against the wall bars.
Dawson stood back and admired her pert, round bottom, white against the tan of her back and legs, stuck out on display, a perfect target. He released the pressure on his zip and freed his cock, a phallus waiting for action.
“I hear you like the feel of the cane,” he leered at the woman. “Well, we have plenty of that here. How about a dozen caresses of that beautiful arse of yours for starters?” The question was intended to be rhetorical.
“I hate any pain,” she cried.
“Tough, and in future you can call me master, as a mark of respect. You're only getting out of here when you've learned respect, so the quicker you learn, the better it is for you. Also, you'll learn pretty soon that it'll be better if you agree with what I say. You're in for sixteen strokes now, so what do you say?”
“Okay.”
“Okay, what?”
“Okay, master.”
“Better, you're starting to learn.”
The woman could not see the cane that Dawson now held in his hand, but she heard the swish of the practice stroke. A moment later she felt the searing pain as the first stroke skimmed across the very end of her backside, cutting across her pale flesh from top to bottom.
“Arrgghh,” she cried out.
“That's right, cry as loud as you like, no one can hear you. The room's soundproofed and anyway there's nobody around for at least a mile.”
The second stroke followed the first one, its downward cutting action adding further bruising to the flesh already turning pink from the first contact. The woman gasped again and strained against her bonds, to no effect for Dawson had secured her with consummate skill.
The third, fourth and fifth strokes followed in quick succession, each adding to the fiery torture of the rapidly reddening flesh.
“You bastard, I'll kill you for this.”
“I don't think so.” Dawson changed the direction of the next stroke. Instead of cutting across the flesh in a downward, chopping motion, he stood to one side, placed the cane squarely across the middle of the now red area and pulled the cane back. The sixth stroke bit deeply into the woman's left buttock, the welt from the contact adding to the profusion of marks appearing on her flesh. Dawson added the next six strokes in rapid succession, forming a criss-cross of marks on the flesh, each cutting a new line of torture.
By now tears were streaming from the woman's eyes, and with each contact she yelled with the pain. The first stroke of the second dozen landed a little higher then the rest, creating a fresh mark on what remained of the pale flesh.
Dawson knelt down and examined what he had achieved. He smiled to himself in satisfaction and delivered three strokes directly across the tender area of flesh at the top of the woman's legs. It seemed impossible, but she howled louder than she had done before.
Dawson stood back and waited for her howling to subside. He noticed the puffy, angry, deep blue marks of torture that he had inflicted on the buttocks of the woman, the slut who'd denied him any sexual favours for much of their marriage.
“Right, I'm going to untie you, and then you can go and lie down on the table, face up.”
Julia Dawson felt the ropes being loosened and when she was sure she was free she turned round.
“Why are you doing this to me?” She asked between sobs.
“Because you deserve it, now no more questions. Get on the couch.” Dawson had replaced his manhood in his trousers after the caning had been completed. What he had in mind now would bring him the release he needed.
It took the woman a few minutes to hobble over to the couch, and she winced from the pain as her swollen buttocks met with the cold smoothness of the thin, black mattress.
“Put your legs together.” Dawson was already standing at the foot of the couch. The rope was tied tightly first round her ankles and then under the couch, securing her in place. “Now it's time for your hands. Drop them off the sides of the couch.” Fearing the worst, Julia Dawson responded. Again her wrists were tied, separately and then the rope joining them was secured to the table. Tied in this way, her white breasts stood proudly above her bronzed chest, her large pink nipples exposed for whatever was to come.
Dawson put a hand under her chin and tilted her head backwards until her neck was stretched. The she felt the eye mask as it was forced over the top of her head and into place. As it covered her eyes, her world went black.
“Open your mouth,” he spoke menacingly, a short distance away in her darkened place of fear. She did as commanded and felt a strange object being inserted. Then, as silence returned she felt the object moving and as it did so her mouth was forced wide open.
Now unable to speak, and with her jaw muscles starting to ache, she felt the ice as it rubbed against her nipples. The coldness, yet softness with which the wet ice caressed her, brought the pink nipples quickly to attention. Unable to help herself, she felt the first ripples of pleasure flow through her body as the unexpectedly pleasurable attention she was receiving aroused her. As the ice continued to be played across her breasts and nipples she heard a faint humming sound. In an instant the device was played mischievously under her left breast, its gentle action teasing her to a higher state of arousal. She felt the motion as it circled her breast moving slowly to the stiff, pink centre. The moment it touched her there she shuddered. The device was then moved to the other breast and the action repeated. Again she shuddered as the first throes of orgasm began to course through her body. Now, her back tried to arch as she reached the peak of arousal.
“A few seconds more,” she thought, “and I won't be able to stop it. A few more seconds, she thought, and I'll be in heaven. Come on, here it comes. Oh God, it feels so good,” she was saying to herself. Then, just as she felt sure she was going to tip over the edge into the blissful state of culmination, the device was withdrawn. Silence. Her arousal diminished and fear returned.
The silence did not last for long for suddenly the very different sound of a large motor could be heard. As the noise appeared so the couch began to move. The couch tilted so her head was slowly being lowered beneath her body, and her legs were rising to the ceiling. At the same time, the whole couch seemed to be lifting up further from the ground. When the couch had tilted by about thirty degrees the motor was silenced.
Julia Dawson was vaguely aware that someone was standing near to her head, behind the couch, but someone she would now be looking at. At the same time there was a certain aroma, something she should have recognised, but didn't.
Dawson reached forward and grabbed her right nipple firmly. It was enough to make the woman try to gasp, though the jaw-spreader made anything other than a groan impossible. He tweaked the nipple with his left hand as his right slowly stroked his cock. He was large and the thick blue vein stood out prominently in his wild arousal. He squeezed the nipple harder as he approached his own climax, the desire for release welling up inside him.
Suddenly it was happening. He felt the first surge of orgasm and as he did so he aimed the tip of his manhood directly between the thin structures of the jaw-spreader. His aim was perfect for the shot of semen went straight to the back of his victim's throat. She tried to gag but couldn't.
The second pulse followed the first, and Dawson smiled at the obvious discomfort of his ex-wife, the woman who hated what was happening now, the woman who had only once tried oral sex, only to end her feeble attempt with the ultimate insult – she had spat the load back over his stomach. Not today though. Today she would swallow it all. In her position, with her head back and tilted as she was, the profusion of semen had nowhere to go except down her throat.
After the sixth pulse, the flow of white, milky liquid ebbed. Dawson moved back and looked down into the woman's mouth. He could see the liquid at the back of her throat.
“Swallow,” he commanded. She did not respond, so Dawson grabbed her nose, preventing her from breathing until she had completed the order. With her mouth forced open it was a difficult act to complete. Her need for breath made her desire to gulp in air, yet she still did not want to swallow the liquid, such was her revulsion.
“Swallow,” he said again, quite calmly. This time she had no choice. Her face was starting to turn blue as she finally relented and took the contents of her mouth beyond her throat and into her body. She gasped for the air she needed and as she did so she felt the couch being returned to its normal position.
Slowly Dawson caressed her breasts, teasing her once again. He released the jaw-spreader, untied her and ordered her back into the cage. The padlock was replaced, secured and checked and Dawson left the room, plunging it back into darkness. As he closed the door he said,
“You can have a two hour rest - before lesson two begins.”
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