Madness Ch. 02

Then Richie jerked his cock from Jill's ass, rolled her onto her back and rubbed his dirty cock all over her lips. Despite being unable to think rationally, Jill instinctively opened her mouth and cleaned his stinking, slimy dick with her mouth and tongue, taking about half of his cock in her mouth to make sure he was all clean. The taste, smell and feel of Richie's cock at her face – and the feeling of emptiness in her ass from the removal of Richie's cock – sent her screaming off the cliff one final time in an terrific orgasm. Tidal waves of pleasure coursed through her body as she jerked and trembled non-stop.

Brent and Ted were already showered and dressed as Richie padded naked to the shower. The clock read 1:40, and Richie gave himself a high-five as he retreated to the bathroom. He'd fucked his whore – HIS whore – in the ass for over a solid hour, leaving her sphincter gaping wide and pouring cum, and her mind so completely shattered that she really didn't know where she was.

After a shower, Richie dressed and turned to leave. He decided to leave Jill's cash on the table; she'd earned a free stash for her work tonight. Anyway, he figured she'd probably need the money to find someplace else to live after her husband threw her out, he thought with no small amount of glee. He looked down at Jill one last time, and nodded in satisfaction. He'd wrecked his whore good, he thought. She was covered in a slimy combination of sweat and cum, from her soaking wet hair to her ankles. The sheets she was lying on were saturated with cum and sweat, as was the pillow where her head lay, and cum still oozed from her pussy and her ass. Yes, they'd done good work tonight, he thought. Then he and his friends left the room, laughing and joking all the way out the door to Richie's car.

From outside, Ken and Brad heard the car start up. They'd sat outside with the bonfire drinking beer and talking. Ken had decided his marriage was over – it had been over in reality for some time – but he wasn't sure if he would move out or if he'd throw Jill out. What bothered him the most wasn't just that she was cheating on him so flagrantly, or even so much that she'd done so this night and in such an outrageous, public manner. It wasn't even the drugs, although he was certainly concerned about that. No, what had chilled Ken to the bone were Jill's eyes when the door had been flung open. In the two or three seconds of action he'd seen of her before Richie got in his face, she'd opened her eyes and looked right at him – or, rather, had looked right through him – and he'd seen a void, a deadness that told him his wife was mentally gone. And she hadn't so much as missed a beat fucking whomever it was she'd been fucking at the time.

With the fire down to its dying embers, they walked back to the house. Brad fiddled around downstairs while Ken went to look in on Jill, and perhaps initiate her departure from his house and his life. But he found her curled on the bed naked, apparently passed out. He looked around the bedroom – his bedroom – with anger and disgust. Cigarette and cigar butts, and marijuana roaches filled several ashtrays to overflowing. Beer cans and empty liquor bottles were strewn everywhere, and the room smelled like... well, it smelled foul. With a snort of disgust, he turned on his heel and shut the door behind him; he'd sleep in the guest bedroom tonight, while she slept it off on the filthy bed, then he'd pack his bags and get away for the day. He needed to think rationally, hire a lawyer and figure out what steps to take that would get him out of his marriage and away from the crazy woman he'd married.

If he'd taken a closer look, he'd have seen that Jill was not, in fact, passed out. Her eyes were closed and she was motionless, but she wasn't passed out. Her last orgasm, which had seemed to never stop, had inexorably turned into something troublesome. Her mind was a spinning vortex of cascading sensations that seemed to spin ever faster, and she couldn't make it stop. Soon the room was spinning along with it, and that's when she lost it.

The combination of the powerful cocaine, the strong weed and the alcohol – especially the alcohol – had combined to produce a noxious potion in her body. She'd consumed a ton of coke, smoked a bunch of weed, and had drunk the better part of a fifth of tequila, several beers and several large swallows of cheap champagne. And that's not to mention all the semen she'd consumed. It all exploded in her stomach, and with a croak, she vomited all over the pillow. She managed to pull her head back from the smelly, wet stuff, so it didn't drown her, but otherwise she lay comatose as she puked her guts out.

That was humiliating enough, but worse followed. Unable to move, she could only lie helplessly as her bladder emptied and she peed all over herself and the bed. When she was finished, the enormity of everything that had happened and the shame of her present predicament fell on her head and she began to cry. She had been used and abused by seven men in her own home, in her own bed. Her husband had found out what she'd been doing and so, undoubtedly, had his friends. Four of the men had been her son's friends, including two she'd known for years, and she'd taken them on without a moment's thought.

Her transformation was absolutely complete; she was a whore, a slut, totally without scruples or conscience, and the thought terrified her in her coke-induced trauma. She could see her future yawning in front of her, and it was pretty bleak indeed. How did she get into this, she thought, and how would she get out of it?

Jill didn't just cry soft, ladylike tears; she cried in great heaving sobs as she contemplated the shambles of her life. She cried long and she cried hard, so hard that her emotions – still fueled by the cocaine high – dissolved into something of a psychosis. She cried until she had no tears left, but by then she was catatonic, curled motionless in a fetal position, shivering with fear, and from the gathering cold of the room and the wet sheets. Her eyes were open, but unseeing, giving the so-called 1,000-yard stare of the truly traumatized.

It was in this condition that Brad found her after he'd put his father to bed and smoked a bedtime joint. He'd had visions of climbing in bed with his mother and finally getting himself a piece of what everybody else had had earlier, but when he saw Jill's condition, that notion faded.

Unlike Ken, who had no more use for her, Brad did see a future for himself with his mother, so he managed to bring Jill around enough to get her into the bath, to clean her up. While she lay in the tub, still staring at nothing, Brad pulled the sheets off the bed. He thought about replacing them, but decided the bed needed to air out, so when he had finally gotten Jill cleaned somewhat, he pulled her up from the tub, got her dried off and dragged her stumbling to Elaine's bedroom. His sister had slipped off immediately after midnight, telling Ken she was spending the night with a friend, but really going off to screw her boyfriend, so her bed was empty and clean.

When Brad had Jill safely tucked in, he reluctantly went to bed in his own room. He used his imagination about what had happened to his mom to fuel a quick, raging stroke session, then fell asleep with a contented smile on his face. With his father soon to be out of the way, he'd have Jill all to himself, and he'd run her life the right way, the way his father should have, but was too much of a wimp to do. He could see visions of Jill fucking half of the SMU campus for money, raking in big bucks, with him taking a generous share of the profits. Yes, indeed, it had been a tumultuous, but ultimately fruitful night as he fell asleep.

Jill finally dropped off into a fitful sleep, a sleep interrupted by shadowy nightmares. She saw herself lying in a hospital bed, with tubes coming out of her body everywhere. Subtly, the picture evolved, and she saw herself lying on a cold metal table in a morgue somewhere. She awoke screaming from that nightmare, then looked around wildly to see sunlight pouring through the bedroom windows.

It took her a few seconds to get her bearings, then she slowly pulled herself out of bed. It was almost 2 p.m. on New Year's Day, as Jill stumbled to her feet. She was naked in Elaine's bed, but she could see where a towel had probably been wrapped around her body. Fuck it, she thought hazily, as she walked naked back to her bedroom. She shook her head forlornly as she looked over the wreckage, then she noticed many of Ken's belongings were gone, several of his suits, his toiletries, some personal items. It told her that her husband had packed a bag and left.

Jill just shrugged her shoulders and began to sing softly, "Que, sera, sera, whatever will be, will be." With a soft tear falling down her cheek, Jill Barnes took a deep breath and headed for the shower. The future would play itself out the way it was meant to be, she knew, and all she could do was to hang on and hope for the best.

(bold)Epilogue (unbold)Ken was gone for three days, which Jill spent getting high and resting up from her ordeal. When he returned, he had in hand divorce papers and a court order for her to vacate the premises immediately. She had packed her things, with Brad's help, then her son helped his mother move into his small one-bedroom apartment off campus.

Before Brad went back to college for the spring semester, the first thing he did was fuck his mom, the way he'd always wanted to. He didn't give her any choice, either she fucked him or he would put her out on the street, without any place to stay, so she had acquiesced. Then when he went back to college, he began to serve as her pimp, whoring her out first to his friends for cash and drugs, then putting her on the street to help make them a living.

It went on like that for another year and a half, during which time she was busted twice on prostitution charges. Jill had thought her life couldn't get any lower than that, but in June of 2001, she found out the hard way that it could.

One night, she picked up the wrong customer, who took her way out in the Piney Woods of east Texas, raped her repeatedly over a period of a week, forcing her to do some truly outrageous things, such as making her walk nearly naked through a truck stop then letting all of the truckers have her, and taking her down to skid row and making her fuck a pair of winos.

Then he beat her up and tossed her down a remote ravine, leaving her for dead. Somehow, Jill didn't die, but regained consciousness after almost two days. By sheer willpower, she had managed to stagger – naked and with only a few drops of rainwater to drink and nothing to eat – some 10 miles over two days until she stumbled into a campsite, where a man and his son were spending a weekend outing. She collapsed almost the moment she got into the camp. The man managed to call 911, and they had rushed her to the nearest hospital.

Jill was unconscious for a week, then spent two months hospitalized recovering from her injuries. That was what finally got her off drugs. She spent six months in a rehabilitation clinic, during which time police found her assailant. She testified at his trial and was gratified to see him convicted and put away for life.

As for her son, she cut off all contact with him – and the rest of her family had cut off contact with both of them. Brad had tried to apologize for his role in her downfall, but Jill wouldn't hear of it. Because of her injuries – she'd spent a week walking around on a shattered ankle during her ordeal – she was left virtually crippled. So she moved to a quiet cottage in a small town in the mountains of Colorado, where no one knew her, and she could try to rebuild what was left of her life. She got a part-time job at a crafts store, and that, along with disability, gave her enough to live on.

She is there today, relatively happy in her sobriety and celibacy, but mournful that she sacrificed her family, her self-esteem and nearly her life, for the fleeting euphoria of drugs and anonymous sex. She'd had a wild ride, but in the final analysis, she had paid an awful price for her madness.