Owing (part II), a short story by Wysiwygman. Date added: 2012-08-09. Times viewed: 3468.
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- Intro: Alex Veerhofen discovers his wife is missng and the Marshall takes advantage...
Alex Veerhofen smiled at his reflection in the polished aluminium wall of the shuttle. He had decided to surprise his wife, Jackie, by cancelling his scheduled meetings and meeting the resort asteroid half way through its fourteen day journey. He wondered how she would react to his arrival, would she be her usual calm, dutiful, self the image of the perfect trophy wife or would his spontaneity delight her, provoking one of the uncharacteristically passionate encounters that excited and puzzled him. He rubbed a hand across his face, he accepted the fact that, in all probability, she felt nothing for him beyond a fond affection for his role a provider, a protector and a status symbol but he had found a quiet fulfilment in the knowledge that he loved her. He wondered why he, a man whose competitive streak had driven him throughout his whole life, could accept his failure to excite anything more from his wife than a sense of duty and acceptance. Perhaps, he wondered, it was because her emotions were something he knew he could never master and that, by loving her to the best of his ability, he had somehow satisfied the elusive criteria that drove him to strive for success in everything he did. He smiled, politely, at the stewardess who briefed him on the docking procedure and carefully ensured all of his personal items were securely stowed for the brief period of weightlessness.
He passed through customs with minimal delay. He always travelled light, preferring to purchase items of clothing and toiletries on arrival; he just carried a battered, canvas and leather, holdall containing the bare minimum essentials. He was a handsome man, at forty two he was often taken for much younger, and his body was lean and muscular. In his youth he had been an athlete and a soldier and he continued to maintain a regime of exercise that gave him stamina, a practice that often gave him the advantage in his business dealings when his competitors and customers flagged. He wore a comfortable travelling suit of pale khaki linen with a soft, white, cotton shirt and tan, leather walking boots. His sandy hair was starting to grey at the temples, as were the curls that peeped from his open collar but he was comfortable with that. He eschewed the luxury of a rickshaw or one of the electric buggies that waited to transport visitors from the docking bay to the hotel, electing instead to walk the three hundred metres and acclimatise himself to the somewhat lighter gravity and the denser air of the artificial habitat. On arrival he made his way to the reception desk and returned the clerk’s professional smile with a genuine one.
“Alex Veerhofen, I’ve come to join my wife?”
The receptionists face flickered, the plastic smile crumbling briefly before being restored,
“Mrs Veerhofen is no longer a resident Monsieur.”
“Where has she gone?”
The receptionist shrugged.
“She left no message or forwarding address Monsieur.”
She turned back to her computer, dismissing him. His hand smacked down on the counter and she turned back to him with a startled expression.
“You better get your Manager Mademoiselle,”
Veerhofen’s face was hard and his eyes flashed, dangerously.
“I want to know where my wife is.”
Jackie Veerhofen opened her eyes. Her mouth was dry and filled with the foul taste of the soiled silk. Her arms and neck ached from the restraints and her legs were cramped. She shifted as best she could, wincing as circulation was restored. She was parched, her tongue swollen and aching. The hatch opened.
The Marshall smiled. He had showered and changed, she could tell immediately from the smell of laundered cotton and the faint hint of sandalwood soap. He walked across the small cell and squatted down in front of her. He pulled the stinking rag from her mouth and she retched.
Her voice was an ugly, pleading, croak. He produced a plastic bulb with a spout and carefully dripped water into her dry mouth.
“Rinse, then spit. Don’t worry, there’ll be more.”
She did as he said; glad to be freeing her mouth of some of the foulness. When she had done so he gently filled her mouth with the cool liquid, allowing her to swallow before repeating the procedure. After the third repetition he put the bottle on the ground.
“I guess you’ve learned an important lesson bitch.”
There was little or no malice in his tone; it was simply the name he had assigned to her.
“Now, I’m going to give you the chance to get clean and to move around but you’re going to have to earn your privileges.”
He stood and walked behind her. She felt him release her hands, her arms dropped, numbly and she whimpered as he pulled them behind her. He slid the torn remains of her negligee quickly down over her arms before securing her hands behind her back with a pair of tough, plastic, handcuffs.
“Ain’t no use trying to fight me bitch. We’re on a shuttle, there’s no place for you to run to.”
He released her from the collar and helped her to her feet. Her legs betrayed her and she stumbled against him, hating herself for her weakness and for her gratitude when he slid a strong arm around her waist and supported her to the door. Once they were out of the cell he closed the door but opened the viewing window.
He punched a code into the control panel and Jackie watched as water jets sluiced the cell clean.
“You mess with me bitch and you’ll stay in that collar for the whole journey, you’ll be fed by hand and you’ll do your business right where you’re kneeling. You’ll be cleaned once a day, with the cell, just like you seen it. It won’t be pleasant but you won’t drown.”
She swallowed, unable to speak.
“Now, let’s show you how nice things could be.”
He put his arm back around her waist and she was acutely aware of her near nakedness as he supported her to the compact shower and toilet. He pushed her, gently, into the cubicle.
“I need the toilet.”
She whispered and he flipped the unit down from the wall.
“Go right ahead.”
He leant on the wall, grinning.
She looked at him,
“I can’t, my panties.”
His grin spread into a smile.
“So what do you say bitch?”
“Please release my hands so I can use the toilet.”
He shook his head.
“Ain’t gonna happen. Guess again.”
She frowned at him, and then whispered.
He nodded. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
“Please Marshall; take off my panties so I can use the toilet.”
“Now, ain’t you a quick learner bitch?”
He turned her round and slowly dragged her panties down her legs. He left them at her knees, hobbling her.
“There you go. Now, what do you say?”
“Thank you Marshall.”
The words stuck in her throat but she forced her voice to sound pleasant.
He patted her bottom.
“Off you go then.”
She looked at him in horror, and he nodded again.
“You do what you got to do bitch, I got all day.”
Cringing in shame she shuffled to the unit and sat down. She felt tears roll down her cheeks as he watched her until she had finished.
“I can’t....I can’t clean myself.”
She whispered. The Marshall flushed the unit and dragged her to her feet.
“That’s why you get a shower bitch.”
He pushed her into the unit then slowly took off his boots.
“What are you doing?”
“Shut your mouth bitch.”
He stripped off his coverall and stepped into the cubicle with her. His body was heavily muscled and his thick, meaty, cock was swollen in a half erect state.
“Now, ain’t this cosy?”
He turned on the water and she gasped as the initial spray of cold struck her. The shower soon warmed up however and she turned her face up to the jets and let the stream wash the filth from her body. She started when she felt his hands on her body and opened her eyes. He had lathered a cake of soap and began to rub the cleanser over her stomach.
“I always wanted to do this with a classy, stuck up, bitch like you.”
He told her as he moved his hands up to soap her breasts. He made no pretence about his motives and greedily squeezed and kneaded her firm flesh. He pinched and rolled her nipples between his fingers and she sobbed both with the pain and the sensations he created.
“Getting real hard here bitch.”
He gave her nipple a little tug, making her gasp.
“That mean you’re starting to get wet down below?”
Her face flushed as she realised the truth of his statement, her body was responding despite the distaste and hatred she felt. She refused to answer and he laughed.
“Don’t make no difference if you answer or not. I’m going to find out for myself anyway.”
He reached down and tugged the hobbling panties the rest of the way down and supported her as she stepped out of them. He turned her round and soaped her hair, then her shoulders and back, working down until he came to her buttocks.
“Bend over girl.”
He whispered and she felt his cock rub against her cheek, fully hard and heated by his blood.
She whispered and he roughly pushed her into position.
“Got to get you clean girl.”
He soaped between her buttocks, His fingers rough and brutal. She groaned as he explored her anus with a fat, stubby, thumb.
“Real tight girlie.”
He murmured as she squirmed, unable to pull away in the cramped cubicle. His fingers slid lower and rudely parted her sensitive labia, making her groan.
“My my, hot and wet again bitch, you’re a real slut ain’t you.”
The tears came again and she was glad of her wet hair and the running water. She endured his rough caress in silence; torn between the insistent need between her legs and her fear of what he would do to her should she respond. He pawed her wet slit and rubbed hard on the hard bud of her aroused clitoris and, finally, worked a thick finger into her hot entrance. She could stay silent no longer and gave an animal like moan.
“See how nice I can be bitch? Ain’t I good to you?”
He continued to roughly finger her, turning his thumb in her arse whilst he did. She bit her lip, tasting the blood as her legs trembled to support her. He crowded her further, his hard cock resting between her soapy buttocks and he rubbed it back and forth, his weight pushing her forward, until her face was pressed against the tiled wall. His cock slipped up between her buttocks and he pulled his thumb from her arse so he could hold her hip. As he did, she felt his erection slide across the palm of her bound hands and she curled her fingers around his soapy length.
“Oh that’s nice girl.”
He groaned as he humped her hand and she squeezed and milked his cock, desperate to distract him from her pussy or arse. He stopped humping and let her use her hands to stimulate him, whilst he continued to despoil her with his fingers. She felt him tense and worked him harder until he pulled his fingers from inside her and gripped her hips with both hands.
“Damn bitch, you gonna make me shoot.”
He groaned and she felt his hot seed splash on her back.
Alex sat in the manager’s office, staring at the sweating man. He cleared his throat,
“So, Monsieur. You’re telling me my wife left, without leaving word, in the company of an Outer Territories Marshall of her own free will?”
The manager nodded frantically.
“Exactly Monsieur Veerhofen.”
“Well I don’t believe you Monsieur and I shall be conducting my own enquiries.”
Veerhofen slammed his hand down on the desk and stood up.
“If you have lied to me or concealed the truth in anyway Monsieur then I will make it my mission to personally see that you regret it.”
He stood up and walked to the door, the Manager scrambling to his feet and following. Alex paused,
“Last chance Monsieur.”
He said, quietly.
The manger swallowed.
“Sit down, please Monsieur Veerhofen. There is, perhaps, something more I should tell you.”
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