MRS. X AND MRS. Y

                   by V.P. Viddler


     I can't tell you their names because you would recognize who 
it is and such grand famous society women can't have that. Mr. 
Big told them nobody would find out and nobody will. Nobody knows 
anything about it, and when those fancy columns talk about them, 
always with pictures, of course, for these are young, beautiful, 
lovely aristocratic fashion ladies, nobody can imagine what they 
did.

     What we did to them.

     So I'll call them Mrs. X and Mrs. Y. But you know them, the 
young sleek fashionplates, slim, tan, smiling. Young Mrs. X and 
young Mrs. Y.

     What Mr. Big did, he put Mrs. X in the living room, just 
sitting there because Barry was sitting and pointing a gun at 
her, and Mr. Big wanted Mrs. X to listen to what was going on in 
the bedroom. Which she did.

     What was going on was Mrs. Y screaming as Mr. Big broke all 
of Mrs. Y's fingers.

     Oh yes, Mrs. Y was tied down, spread eagled on the bed, 
stark naked, and I was on top of her, lying on that soft body 
with my cock in her cunt. And Mr. Big was standing by a corner of 
the bed, holding Mrs. Y's hand, which couldn't get away on 
account of how her wrist was tied to the bedpost, and Mr. Big was 
breaking the fingers on that hand, one by one, slowly, pulling 
them back and back, harder and harder until they wouldn't go any 
further, as Mrs. Y cried and babbled and tried to talk, to say 
no, and then that finger would snap as it broke and Mrs. Y would 
scream crazily and that body would spasm and jump and jerk 
around, and each finger going brought that fantastic motion, and 
it was fabulous for me.

     And Mr. Big, finishing with that hand, went to the other 
side and started in on the other hand. Pull. Snap. Spasm. Scream. 
Babble. Plead. Pull. Moan. Snap. Scream. Body thrashing against 
me.

     Fantastic.

     And after finishing with Mrs. Y's hands, Mr. Big moved again 
and started in on her toes.

     It went on and on, ten more times, screaming and spasming 
and snapping. Until finally I had to come in Mrs. Y's jouncing, 
writhing cunt.

     That wasn't all, though. Mr. Big was mad as hell at Mrs. Y 
for not doing what he told her in the first place, and he made 
Mrs. Y do a lot of stuff, broken fingers and toes and all. Which 
Mrs. Y did, flopping about with her agonizing useless hands and 
feet, crawling and rolling and sucking Mr. Big's cock and fucking 
us all and all that time screaming with pain, screaming and 
screaming in agony and horror and pain.

     And this is what Mrs. X had to listen to in the living room. 
For hours.

     So that when Mr. Big got to her, Mrs. X was ready to do 
anything, she was so scared. Mrs. X was shaking and moaning, but 
she did just what she was told.

     Mrs. X was crying as she took off her clothes for us and 
displayed that soft smooth tan sensuous body. She was still 
crying as she was crawling around the room on hands and knees, 
and sobbing hard as she was sucking Mr. Big's cock, exactly as he 
told her to, slavishly following his commands, licking, 
tongueing, sucking, swallowing.

     And then Mr. Big made Mrs. X fuck us all, again and again, 
with cunt and mouth and ass, and Mrs. X got on top of me and put 
my dick into her pussy and bounced up and down for my pleasure. 
And I told Mr. Big I would love for him to break Mrs. X's fingers 
as she was fucking me and she screamed and said no no no please 
no and promised all kinds of dirty things but Mr. Big did it 
anyway and Mrs. X was howling and twisting and I shot and shot 
and shot...