All the time we had been dating and planning our future together she was living a secret lecherous life!
I looked closely at the back door, and saw that it was made up of many small panes of glass. I took a chance, and using my elbow, smashed in the pane nearest the door latch. Then I cleared away all of the broken glass, and undid the door. No dogs. No alarms. I gently opened the door, and then I was inside this seedy house of ill-repute.
Was it a brothel? Yes, that was it. Did she come here at night to entertain her clients? Was she some drugged out prostitute who was a nymphomaniac?
I quickly looked around the lower floor of the house. A living room, normal? A dining room, still normal, even a formal sitting room? The kitchen looked normal too (but to be careful I grabbed a bread knife, for protection), as did the laundry and closets? Was this an attempt by the brothel owner to confuse the police, if they ever came. Give out the appearance of a “normal” house. I bet all the rooms upstairs were where the bad stuff happened? What about the basement, probably set up to resemble a harem? Yes, that was it. I found the stairs to the basement and went down.
I was disappointed. The basement wasn’t even finished. A few cardboard boxes, an old Christmas tree, and lots of dust and cobwebs. It had to be the upstairs bedrooms. It just had to be. My love was a fully fledged whore, and I knew it, I just did.
I felt a lump in my throat. I didn’t want to prove it, yet I couldn’t not find out either. I slowly climbed the stairs to the second floor, and was so saddened by my revelations, but knew I had to continue. I needed to know the truth.
The first room I looked in was a bedroom, yes, but obviously done up like a little boys room. A racing car bed, sports posters on the walls, and little kiddie shoes and clothes strewn all over the floor. Were they into kiddie kinks too? The second room was also a bedroom, but had a huge bed in it. A room for group sex, I thought, and I quickly checked it out. The clothes in the closets and drawers didn’t appear to kinky though, and the bathroom was plain and boring. These people were good, I though. Hiding behind the pretence of a normal house!
The next room I checked out was empty and seemed not to be lived in. The bed wasn’t even made, just a bedspread over a mattress? Is this where they kept my sweet love as they tortured her into becoming their private slut?
What was going on here. Were they only using my love for their warped fun? Was she, alone, the only one being put to work for the decadent earnings of this corrupt family?
I had two more rooms to check out, and I knew I would find the answers there. The first appeared a normal bathroom, hair stuff, and makeup all over the counter. The shower was normal looking too.
The last room I checked out was hers. I knew it was. There were girly things everywhere. I knew it. She had little skimpy night clothes lying over her bed head, and there was more makeup and stuff lying on her dresser. This was the room. This was the ‘serious stuff’ room. This was where they made her do her naughty things.
Then I heard the front door open . . .
* * * * *
When I awoke, I was in serious pain. My whole groin felt wet and sticky, there was blood everywhere. I was hurting big time, but she had left me. Good riddance, I thought. Let her go. As long as my cock was still working, I could plan my revenge. Fuck her.
* * * * *
I hurried into her closet, not knowing what sinful things I would find, but determined to wait until she got home, so we could get this sorted out. I heard footsteps on the stairs, and held my breath.
Then the door to the very room I was hiding in opened. Was it the slut returning? Should I jump out and confront her, or wait and listen until she let something slip, or I maybe could catch her with one of her ‘clients’?
The decision was made for me. She opened the closet door, and saw me. She screamed! I rushed out and grabbed her, and put my hand over her mouth to make her stop screaming. My heart was racing, and I desperately needed to talk to her. I knew she had to be calm before I could, and if she was screaming, I wouldn’t get any sense out of her. I slapped her a few times and she went quiet, sobbing, but no longer screaming.
I grabbed a cord from a dressing gown and tied her hands up, then I grabbed a belt and tied up her feet. When I had her tied up tight, I looked for a gag and found a pair of soiled knickers and thrust them into her mouth, and used another belt to hold them in place. When I was sure she couldn’t move, I threw her on the bed. Her eyes were glazed and huge. She seemed terrified. I was confused.
I ran out of her room and listened carefully. No other noises seemed to come from the house, and I relaxed a bit. I went back to her room, and sat beside her on the bed.
“Janine, my love. I love you, and want so much to marry you. If I take the gag out of your mouth can we talk please?” I asked her gently.
She looked at me with horror in her eyes, and I asked her again, this time grabbing her mouth to make sure she was looking at me. Still no answer. Damn, why wouldn’t she answer me?
“I love you, but you have lied to me, and hurt me with your whorish ways. I need you to tell me you will change. I cannot marry a slut.”
She looked straight at me and seemed in a trance. What could I do?
“Dear Janine, please my love. Don’t be afraid. I am going to remove the gag to let you tell me your sad tale. Ok?” I said and then removed her gag. She let out another high pitched scream and I hit her in the belly. I admit it. I had to stop her screams.
It seemed to work. She wheezed and coughed, but stayed silent.
Then she spoke. “You sick fuck, how dare you break into my home?”
I admit I was confused. This was not the address she gave me. “Wh-a-a-t?” I stammered, still confused.
“I live here, you asshole. What are you doing here?”
“You live here? I thought this was a brothel that you only worked in, Janine. You are confusing me.”
My name isn’t Janine, you fuckwit. Get the fuck out of my house before my folks get home.”
“N-o-t Ja-a-n-ine? I . . . don’t . . . understand. You told me you . . . uh .. you told me . . . you . . . told me you loved me last night.”
“You pathetic fool, I was pulling your leg last night when I told you that name, and I never, ever told you I even liked you, let alone that I loved you. You idiot. I knew who you were alright, and I even knew your reputation, I read the papers. I saw you were arrested again . . . yes, idiot, I knew who you were, and you pestered me all night. I finally felt sorry for you and danced with you . . . once, dumbo.”
“What?”
“Don’t you listen fuckwad? You’re the dumb sicko who steals ladies underwear, and your even dumber, cus you’re dumb enough to get caught. You were in all the newspapers, asshole. Of course I knew who you were, we all did.”
“What?”
“Fucking hell, asswipe. Are you really that dumb. Aren’t you listening to me?” She glared at me.
“Y-e-s. I . . . am listening. Why . . . why are you being so . . . nasty, my love?”