written by Mally Stewart for Camilla on 10/25/99
Jason's company maintained an apartment in downtown Atlanta, mostly for entertaining visiting dignitaries and giving them a place to stay.
Needless to say, it was spacious and luxuriously furnished.
After careful thought, Jason brought Melissa there and she rewarded him most pleasantly.
Then he gave her a key.
Her class in business administration was close by, so it was handy for her to spend a few nights a week there.
On this night she was playing one of her roles with him.
He submitted to being blind-folded, gagged and tied up to the bed, ankles and wrists.
He lay in total darkness, his naked skin prickling in nervous anticipation.
He was sure of two things:
He was going to experience some pain, and he was going to experience a great deal of pleasure. He liked the trade-off.
He heard a noise, such as a match scraping against its box.
Then he smelled the sulphur.
Was she going to burn him?
Surely not! His sense of unease increased.
Another smell? Candle? Had she lit a candle? Oh Jeez!
She was going to burn him with hot candle wax!
He tried to tell her NO!, but his voice was muffled. He tried to pull out of the restraints, but couldn't.
"You have been a bad boy," Melissa said in her dominatrix voice.
"You have one chance to confess. I'm waiting."
It seemed that minutes passed.
He didn't know what to say. What did she expect? He had no idea.
Without warning some drops of hot wax burned into the skin of his chest.
It hadn't come from where he expected her to be.
Had she moved so quietly? He yelled in protest, but it was hopelessly muffled.
"What did you say, you bad, bad boy?" Her voice was coming from the same place, off to his right!
Was there somebody else in the room?
He couldn't believe it!
More drops burned into his chest, tracing a path toward a nipple.
He writhed and protested, and the burning stopped just short of the nipple.
"I knew you were a bad boy. I just didn't know, how bad."
More wax burned his chest.
"If you're ready to confess just nod your head.
Frantically he nodded his head.
He was ready to confess to anything she wanted.
"Oooooh! So soon! What a pity! I was just starting to enjoy myself!"
She paused. "But, of course, you could be bluffing, in which case....."
She left the threat unstated.
Jason nodded again.
"All right. This confession that you're about to make - nod your head for yes and shake it for no - does it concern theft?"
Whatever she wanted! He nodded.
Instantly a flood of hot wax landed on his chest.
"Ooooh, you are SUCH a bad boy! But don't lie to me! I know what you do at all times, so don't try that again or we'll have to see how a little wax feels on your balls. OK? Let's try again. This confession, does it concern a theft?"
He shook his head. No.
"Very good! See? You do learn! All right! Now, this confession, does it concern cheating on your taxes?"
Jason guessed no, shook his head.
"Very good! Does it concern cheating on your wife?"
Again, Jason shook his head, no.
"This candle is getting very hot, you bad boy, so be very careful how you answer.
This horrible thing you have done, does it concern cheating on your girl friend?"
Some quality of hidden anger in her tone told Jason that this was the one.
What did she know? What COULD she know?
But what could he confess? He'd have to invent something, but surely the invention would bring about another scalding dose of hot wax!
Perhaps he'd say he'd had sex with Jessica who, after all, was still his wife! He nodded, yes.
"Ah so! You've cheated on your girl friend, meaning me?"
"Don't you think that deserves a special splash of wax?"
Even as she asked Jason felt the burning drops of wax dribbling from his chest down toward his belly button.
Again he nodded, frantically.
"And who did you cheat on me with? Was it your wife, the wicked witch?"
Thinking this the answer she wanted, he nodded, yes.
Instantly his chest and stomach were burning with a liberal splattering of wax.
He'd guessed wrong!
He shook his head from side to side, both in pain and in an attempt to give her an acceptable answer.
"Hmmm," she said. "Now I'm curious. Have you, in fact, been fucking that wicked witch?"
He shook his head, hoping that it could convey his pleading for no more burning wax!
Although the hurt from each drop lasted only a brief moment, the accumulation of hurts was adding up.
"Well, I'll have to live with that for now, but if I ever find out that you're fucking her I'll boil your balls in oil, you hear me?"
Whoever was handling the candle let a single drop fall on his scrotum.
He screeched in agony and tried to pull out of the restraints but, again, without success. He was genuinely angry now.
He didn't mind playing her games, submitting to a small amount of pain, but this was going too far!
He continued writhing and pulling and making muffled sounds through his gag.
Then she spoke some words that left him stiff and unmoving, suddenly really scared.
"Are you going to confess that you fucked my mother?" Her voice was eerily calm and controlled.
Ah Jeez! He thought. Now I'm really going to get hurt!
It really wasn't his fault! It was a freak set of circumstances over which he had no control!
But how could he explain it to her?
How could he talk about it through the gag?
And with somebody else in the room, somebody he had no idea who!
The events flashed through his mind, rather in the reported fashion of somebody reviewing their life on the point of death.
The first inkling he had that something was wrong came when Melissa didn't show up for work one Monday.
He fretted the whole day, resisted calling her, still not wanting to give the game away to her parents.
Tuesday came and went and still no word from her.
Wednesday morning found Jason in a nervous funk.
He'd replayed all the possibilities, over and over again, ad nauseam.
A sense of foreboding contributed to his nervousness.
Finally he couldn't keep from calling.
A strange voice, female, answered. Clearing his throat, he asked for Melissa.
"Melissa isn't here," the voice told him. "Are you from the funeral parlor?"
"The funeral parlor?" Jason was shocked.
"Oh. I guess you didn't know. Her father died. She and her mother have........"
The voice rambled on but Jason stopped listening. Her father? Dead? That dreadful, spiteful little man?
Yet, Melissa must have loved him?
On the night Jason picked her up, she'd avoided seeing her father - or, she'd avoided him seeing her - to spare his feelings about the way she was dressed.
"When will she be back?" He interrupted the voice.
"In an hour or so, I think. Who is this, by the way?"
He hung up. He had to see her.
She needed support! The poor girl, only 17 and having to deal with the death of her father!
He told his secretary that he'd be gone for the rest of the day and left.
Jessica gave him an enquiring look, but he ignored her.
He stopped at a florist and picked out a large bouquet of flowers.
He didn't know how a Jewish funeral was handled but felt sure that flowers would not be out of place.
He then drove out to the middle-class suburb where the Freemans lived.
Fran Freeman answered his ring. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying and her eyes carried a look of hopelessness.
She wore a black dress with long sleeves and a high collar, severe in her mourning.
She didn't recognize him, so he reminded her, gently, who he was, and condoled her on the loss of her husband.
She remembered who he was, saw the flowers, and pulled herself together all in one second.
"Mr. Sturgess! Forgive me! It's just that..... it's just that..."
"Yes, Mrs. Freeman. I understand. Please don't apologize!"
He put an arm around her shoulder to comfort her, and she leaned against him, weak from her travail. "And please call me Jason."
"Come inside, Jason. Harry is in the living room."
Jason controlled himself. "Excuse me?"
"Harry. His body. He's in the living room. Come. You can say your good-byes."
"Ah. I see." Jason understood.
She led him through to the living room and sure enough, Harry was there, lying serenely in his casket, dressed in a tuxedo.
Jason set the flowers down in front of the casket.
"I'm sorry," he said, "But I'm not that familiar with Jewish funerals. I hope the flowers are appropriate?"
She looked at him with a frown on her face.
"Jewish? We're not Jewish! We're Irish! Where in the world did you get the idea we were Jewish?"
Jason could feel himself flushing. "Ah, um, er..." He didn't want to blame Melissa, didn't have to.
"Oh," Mrs. Freeman said.
"That Melissa! She's such a practical joker!" She looked at the dead man lying in the casket.
"Just like her father, she is!" She started sniffling.
"Uh, Mrs. Freeman, where...."
"Fran. Call me Fran," she interrupted him through the sniffles.
"Oh. OK. Fran? Where is Melissa?"
"She's out with her friend Arlene. They're buying supplies for the wake."
"Oh, yes. I see. Irish! An Irish wake!" Jason was thinking he should have brought some whiskey, but too late for that now.
Fran's crying increased.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Sturgess, I can't stop! I have to get it all out of my system before the wake tonight!"
She looked at once so forlorn and so much like Melissa that Jason's heart went out to her.
He hugged her to him, wanting to console her, wanting to make the hurting go away.
She snuggled her head into the crook of his neck, and he gently caressed the back of her head, feeling how much her hair was like Melissa's.
Incredibly he felt himself becoming aroused by the feel of her body pressed so close to his.
She stopped crying and, instead of her nose on his neck, he felt her lips.
She groaned out loud and pulled Jason's face down to hers and kissed him, a long, lingering soul-wrenching kiss.
"Mrs. Freeman....." Jason gasped as he tried to back away from her, but his butt hit the casket and he didn't know what to do.
She was all over him, apparently driven to extreme horniness by her grief.
She thrust her tongue into his mouth and her hand explored his groin, found him growing involuntarily erect.
"I want this!" She demanded, grabbing his penis through his trousers. She found the zipper and roughly pulled it down.
She pushed her hand inside and pulled his penis out with one hand, raised the hem of her dress with the other.
Before he fully understood what was happening he found himself surrounded by a very wet and hot pussy.
"Now! Fuck me, you stud! Fuck me hard!"
She climbed up his body, positioning herself for full penetration.
He could feel the casket digging into his butt, wondered what poor old Harry was thinking, remembered he was dead, and hoped that he wouldn't be haunted.
He understood that a late-coming observer could conclude that he, Jason, was taking advantage of the distressed widow, but in reality the situation was just the opposite.
As for acting properly and ending this macabre dance, there was no chance.
Fran Freeman was too hot, too tight and too much like her daughter for him to stop.
He supported her weight with his hands under her butt and joined her in the rhythm of physical escape.
"Oh Harry!" She wailed. "I'm cumming! Harry, I'm cumming!"
Jason had been about ready to cum himself, but the invocation of her dead husband's name caused the boil in his balls to cool dramatically.
She strained against him with fearsome strength, humping and gasping and calling out "Harry! Oh Harry!" as the fluids of her orgasm gushed down around him.
When she was done he let her down and his penie plopped out of her. She gave him a faint smile.
"Thank you, Jason. I really needed that!"
She kissed his cheek, turned and without a backward glance left him. Jason took stock.
His pants were soaked.
There was no question, he would not be staying for the wake.
He caught sight of Harry's face out of the corner of his eye.
"Sorry, Harry," he mumbled, feeling foolish.
He got out of there quickly. He noticed a car parked around the side of the house.
He hadn't noticed it on the way in. Had it been there?
Welcome to the world of paranoia!
And now the paranoia was coming true! Melissa apparently knew. Had her mother told her?
He doubted it.
Had they been seen?
The car at the side of the house?
"Let me repeat the question," she said, her voice still controlled.
"Will you confess that you fucked my mother?"
Desperate, Jason shook his head, no.
Hot wax, hotter now because whoever was wielding the candle was holding it closer to his body, dribbled down all over his chest, some of it landing on his nipples, some of it on the more sensitive skin in the underarm area.
He screamed in pain, but kept shaking his head.
This was not something he would ever confess!
The other person spoke.
A female. "It's no use, Bad Boy. I saw you, so you might as well confess and get this over with."
The voice sounded vaguely familiar, but he couldn't place it.
More wax dribbled down on him, tracing a trail across his lower belly and into his pubic area.
"OK! OK!" he screamed through the gag, nodding his head.
"There now, that's better, isn't it?" Melissa's voice again.
He felt hands at the back of his head. The gag was loosened.
"You know, my very, very bad bad boy, they say that confession is good for the soul. Do you feel better?"
He felt a hand on his penis, stroking it gently.
"Did you enjoy fucking my mother?"
He didn't know what to say.
There was no way to explain how it had happened without sounding like a weasel.
He sighed. "Yes. But only because she reminded me so much of you."
"Oooooh! Did you hear that, Lenie? Because she reminded him of me!
Is this a diplomat or what?
Well, I've got another test for you. A woman is going to mount you.
It could be me, or my mother, or maybe even Lenie.
If you guess right, you're free. But, if you are wrong, we've got a lot of candles!"
There was a long period of silence.
The glow of the candle disappeared, leaving him in complete darkness.
He felt the bed tilt as a body climbed on, then another.
Hands held his penis, and he felt himself being sucked up by a wet, juicy pussy.
Almost at the same moment he felt another pussy press against his mouth, making its demands plain.
Thinking as best he could under the circumstances, he decided that it was all but impossible that Melissa would bring her mother into a game like this.
Therefore the two pussies involved belonged to Melissa and her friend, who she called Lenie.
Which was which? He'd have to work on it.
The actions of the one on his face caused the blind-fold to be pushed up his head, but it was too dark to see all but the shapes of the girls.
He listened to their breathing.
They were both breathing hard.
He remembered that Melissa had squealed a certain way when he'd caught her clitoris between his teeth and bitten down with a little pressure.
He felt with his tongue, searching for the clitoris as the pussy slid over his mouth.
There! He grabbed at it with his teeth, but it was gone.
Again! Apparently the touches of his teeth were working because the one immediately above his face began breathing harder, and pressing down harder on him.
He redoubled his efforts, managed to catch it, exerted some pressure on it.
There was an explosion of air, a gasp and a deep thrust, but no squeal.
He suspected that the girl on his face was the friend Lenie.
He was about to announce his selection when the circumstances in the room clanged in his head.
Are you nuts? he told himself.
You've still got a lot of experiments to do before you can say which one is which!
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