The Gold Digger Ch. 05

Bob was stunned! He'd just gotten an e-mail from Ruth at the nursing home. They were asking him to come and get Carol as soon as it was convenient. She wasn't working out. This was a real surprise. He thought for sure a stint at a place like that would have done Carol a world of good. Taking care of the elderly, people who were weak and vulnerable he expected that would have inspired a little humanity in someone he considered an otherwise pretty selfish woman. What could she have done wrong at a place where all the guests were geriatric? He returned Ruth's e-mail hoping to get some answers. The response he got was unbelievable! He was incredulous!

Ruth wrote that Carol had been having sex with the guests. The way she explained things it had started with one very old man for whom she had given a blow job. Well the old man, to no one's real surprise, had bragged about his rediscovered vigor. Within days several other old men were trying to become Carol's clients. At first Ruth, ignorant of Carol's shenanigans, thought nothing of it. She replaced two of the older ladies with two men. Then it turned out she tried to shift the man whom she later discovered was Carol's original sexual client. He'd thrown the most violent temper tantrum anyone had seen in years, so they decided to move one of the remaining women. As it turned out Carol had started servicing the women as well, and the old woman also refused to switch. Quite frankly no one knew what was going on. After all, these were very old people, and even remembering a maid from one day to the next was unusual, but to have not one, but several of the old people so vigorous in their insistence on one particular maid, it was unnerving.

Ruth explained she started watching Carol's daytime routines. Ruth didn't get it at first, but she soon realized Carol spent much of the day setting up a nighttime schedule. Then in the evening she'd go from room to room either eating out some old woman's linty crotch, or sucking off some old man's raggedy penis. The remarkable thing was that, though these were all wealthy older people, Carol wasn't taking any money. She seemed to be enjoying it! Even more remarkable, some of these old people were in very serious physical condition. Some had heart ailments so severe any physical activity was deemed extremely dangerous. Yet not one of these decrepit old poops conked out, in fact they seemed to be thriving. It reminded Ruth of the movie Cocoon. Had Carol discovered some elixir of life? Were these old coots somehow rejuvenating? Had she been injecting them with some new, probably illegal, medication that was giving them a renewed, but expectedly, short lived, recovery? No one knew. What everyone did start to notice was an increase in appetite, and an insistence on more seasonings. Two of the old men had ordered a case of Old Spice. They had been discreetly selling individual bottles to their geriatric peers. What was happening? More food? Spicier food? And then all the men started smelling like old pimps.

Ruth went on. It got worse. In the days that followed it seemed like the old men and women were starting to pair off. Old men and old women, and even old women with other old women! Worse, certain types of foods not generally desired were disappearing. None of these old women ate cucumbers anymore, but suddenly they were impossible to find, and the bananas were disappearing too! Virtually all the women were widows, and most of the men were either widowers or had wives who'd lost all interest in any physical companionship. That was when the shit finally hit the fan. It seemed one of the old men whose wife was still alive had negotiated a kind of menage-a-trois. The trio would have gotten away with it except that one of the other maids noticed one of her female clients slipping out of her room well after midnight. The maid followed the miscreant old pokey to a room where a complete couple still resided. She waited for over an hour, and, becoming worried, she knocked on the door and entered to insure nothing was wrong. Well she got the surprise of her life. There were these three old people in a tangled heap on the bed engaged in all sorts of lascivious behavior. She, of course, reported the incident, and that's when Carol's late night adventures surfaced. Carol was brought in and confronted with the confessions the old threesome made. Carol didn't deny it. She even tried to excuse it citing she considered her actions more along the lines of charitable work. She even called what she was doing therapy!

Bob had to step away from the computer and get a cold drink before going on. Everything he was reading seemed so incredible, so improbable, so utterly indecent!

Ruth further explained Carol absolutely refused to assume any guilt for her behavior. She defiantly asserted she was only helping people. No matter how hard they tried to explain that what she was doing was not only dangerous for these old people, but that it was a direct contradiction of everything these strictly puritanical people had believed all their lives. Carol just wouldn't budge.

Ruth went further. They decided to try to curtail Carol's nighttime activities by giving her other duties late at night, but she wasn't dissuaded. She started mid-afternoon sessions with what she started calling 'her people'.

Ruth then explained there was nothing left to do but physically limit Carol's freedom of action. The problem was they needed Carol's labor. She was a very hard worker when not performing these various lewd and perverted acts with people her grand parent's age. The hotel came up with the only solution it could. During the day Carol was forced to wear a wide spiked collar and then a bride's scold at night. The spiked collar during the day kept her away from the penises and pussies. At night the scold still enabled her to make beds, help with bedpans, and change diapers, but when it was time for her to sleep it still allowed her to lie her head, even if uncomfortably, on a pillow.

Ruth tried to explain they'd probably still be able to keep Carol under those circumstances if she had the sense to keep her hands to herself, but she was still fondling old penises and tickling old pussies with abandon. The hotel had reached the end of its rope when they found her with her fingers up an old woman's skirt in the middle of the afternoon. They had to not only restrain her mouth, but her hands as well. All day and all night long Carol had to walk around with solid metal spheres locked over her hands. This had succeeded in keeping Carol from fondling her clients, but it had made it impossible for her to perform all but the simplest tasks. In short, Carol had become a liability, and she had to be removed. Would Bob please come and collect his property as soon as possible.

Bob was seriously disappointed with Carol. He knew he had to go get her.

Bob didn't quite know what to do with Carol, but he knew he had to teach her a lesson, and everything he'd done so far had been a joke. He set out a plan of action. First he made a direct call to Ruth and asked that they lock Carol in her room for three or four weeks while he made his arrangements. Second, he made several phone calls to clothiers and ordered a completely new type of apparel, then third he contacted a hardware wholesaler and sent in an order for a specific set of supplies that would meet the precise needs he required. Then he sat back and waited for the clothiers and the metallurgist to call back.

Ruth decided they had to get Carol away from the old people so they locked her in a room in the cellar. They told her they wanted her to be as far away from the guests as possible. Ruth said they had to make up some lie about her having to leave to take care of her mother, and that she probably wouldn't be back. All Carol's people had expressed their sadness, but it wasn't too long before they were all back to normal, like Carol had never been there. Ruth had smiled at Carol and told her we were all like a finger in a glass of water. Once you take the finger out it was like you were never there at all. Carol regretted that, but she regretted her current circumstance even more.

They'd locked in her what had once been some kind of closet or storage room. It smelled of musty old forgotten things, long unused old rags, and decaying food. The ceiling was too low to stand up in. She found that out when she bumped her head. One tiny naked incandescent bulb hung from the ceiling. It was barely twenty watts, just enough lighting to see how small her new domicile was. The floor was gritty old tile. It felt like it hadn't been swept or mopped in years. The walls felt dry, but when she touched them she knew it was due to the current dryness of the season. Once wet weather arrived these walls would become slimy with green mold. She imagined the floors were in the same condition. She was kept in by a thick old wooden door, narrow but certainly sturdy. It looked intimidatingly so. Directly ahead was a narrow slit window in the door. On the outside was a sliding cover. Periodically someone would slide open the cover, look inside, then slide the cover closed again. No doorknob or handle greeted her, only the back face of the old door lock. Not even the most enterprising person could have escaped this miniature tartarus. But she was at an even greater disadvantage. To guarantee that she wouldn't somehow trip the lock and get out Ruth had, by way of a short length of chain, perhaps three feet, and a stiff metal collar, attached her to the back wall. By stretching as far as she could Carol could just barely reach her fingers to touch the door. It was the worst kind of cruelty, for she was convinced the door was never really ever locked. All day she could hear people outside her cell walking up and down the hall. At first she called for help, but after hours of repeated entreaty and the eventually loss of her voice she had given up.

What was even more intimidating was the obvious fact that she was not alone in her new dungeon. Tiny creatures, German Cock roaches, water bugs, centipedes, and some vicious big red ants shared her filthy pen. She prayed they didn't bite, though she knew roaches and ants had an inclination to that type of behavior. At any rate she felt them as they insisted on crawling all over her calves, thighs, and arms. She knew it was a question of time before they would be in her clothes.

Her clothing was another lesson in senseless cruelty. Ruth had given no inclination where Carol was being taken when she was invited to the cellar so many days ago. Ruth had insisted Carol dress quickly since everyone was very busy. Ruth explained she wouldn't be out of her regular room long, and not to bother with some articles. Ruth rushed her so hurriedly she didn't even have time to put on socks or underwear. She was walked downstairs in only a pair of leather open toed slippers, a loosely fitting white polyester button up blouse and a very short pleated mini-skirt of some equally flimsy fabric. She remembered Ruth opening the door of some dark room telling her look inside. As she'd stepped into the darkened cubicle, Ruth had pushed her against the back wall and fastened an already wall connected metal collar around her neck. She remembered turning in surprise only to see Ruth's rapid retreat to the far side of the room. Ruth told her to relax, for she was in her new home. She'd reached put to Ruth, but her new restraint forbade it. Ruth only laughed, stepped back into the hall, and closed the door. Through the tiny window Ruth had told her to try to get comfortable, for from that place she would never leave.

She remembered trying to remain standing, even if hunched over, but her position was awkward. After hours of discomfort she'd given up and tried to sit. The collar and length of chain made it just possible to sit, but her back was firmly against the wall. For a long time she tried to just kneel, keeping her unclothed rear off the gritty floor. Eventually she had to give up on that too. Ultimately she did have to sit in the grit and grime. She hadn't considered it at first but worse was to come. Like any living organism Carol's body soon be called upon her to release those certain things all life forms had to surrender back to the external world. She recalled from some long past college course that all humans had several fundamental biologic drives. She tried not to think about them, but she couldn't put them out of her mind. She remembered there was sleep. People needed to breathe. Then there were the twin needs of hunger and thirst. It was the fifth thing that trapped her imagination and revealed her most unmentionable horrors.

She scanned her cell. She'd even started calling it her cell. She saw no evidence that anyone had considered the possibility that she might need to perform those certain human bodily function that came as a result of natural necessity. Was she to retreat to one of the corners, the chain disallowed it. What if she was simply to squat and deposit some discharge where she was? What then? What then if she felt the need to clean herself. There were no materials, no paper, no rags, not a scintilla of scrap available to provide the least measure of decency. She was to remain locked away in a room with her own filth piling up, not in a corner, but precisely where she sat, or stood. She was to be trapped in her own excrement with soiled cloth chaffing against her soft skin.

After a while it seemed relief might come, at least there was some level of awareness that she still existed in her private horror chamber. Every several hours the door was cracked open and someone posited a morsel of stale bread and a cup of tepid water. It took all her physical verve to reach the distance where the nourishment was placed. Often, to her chagrin, she missed its immediate arrival. Then she had to battle the ants and roaches for a share of the horrid mess. Even so, she knew they weren't just leaving her here to die. Someone, somewhere wanted to keep her alive. Carol had no idea how long she'd been there. Days? Perhaps a week? Two weeks? Three? She couldn't tell anymore.

As the time dragged by Carol became increasingly disoriented. Every waking hour, every minute, every second brought her closer to that border which marked the difference between rationality and insanity. Was it day or night, rainy or sunny, warm or cold? That wasn't the worst. Her nostrils were constantly assailed by the filth around her. It was her filth! The physical immediacy of her circumstances would have been terrifying enough if extolled only in some fanciful tale one might have read on some obscure Internet site, but to live it, experience it, suffer it! Every waking minute was it's own nightmare. There was no escape. Each day the soft damp burden of her suffering increased. Each stretch of an arm to retrieve a morsel of stale, now immediately filthy bread was a visceral reminder of her misery. Each roach bite required some defensive retaliation, and each retaliatory flick left its own excretial blemish. To scratch a dirty nose, to rearrange lank limp hair, to wipe a tear-stained eye all only invited more discomfort, more suffering, and increased fecal dispersal.

Carol wasn't completely sure, but she had an idea Bob would understand what she'd done. He'd understand her motives. He'd understand how her short time at the old age home had changed her, had made her more caring and more considerate of other people. Bob would understand how through her efforts a bunch of old people had been given a few days of unexpected happiness. Bob would know. He would see how she'd changed.

But did Bob know she was here? Did he know she was incarcerated in this savage lowly place? What would he do if he did know? She knew. He would rush to save her! He'd find her, open the door of her Gahanna, and clutch her in his arms. He'd find her circumstances repugnant, but not her. He'd know her condition was not by choice, but something brutally thrust upon her by evildoers. He'd see the filth, he'd see the tiny cell of confinement and he'd grow furious! He'd find her torturers, and like Hank's nose, he'd flail them within an inch of their lives. He was coming. She knew it. He would rescue her, punish her tormentors, and restore her to life, love, and most of all some real sun light and that blessed reprieve only a thick soapy bath could provide. But where was he? Had Ruth lied? Had she misled him about her whereabouts? Had she, in a wicked attempt to punish her, misdirected Bob away from the hotel? No! Bob would know! He wouldn't be duped. He'd read through the woman's lies and misrepresentations. Bob was coming! She cried. Bob! Bob! Please come. Bob I need you!

No one came. No one offered her solace. No one came with any warmth or compassion. She was trapped in her tiny prison. Trapped with the ants, the centipedes, the filth, and the awful clackety sound of roaches crawling across the grimy floor. First it had been a luxury suite, just she and a set of cuffs. Then she'd been left in a smaller room in a bed and breakfast garbed in regular street clothes wearing a tattoo signaling someone's ownership coupled with a part time stint as whorehouse maid, now this, the grimmest and most despised site of all.

Carol really believed in what she'd been doing. She was convinced she hadn't done anything wrong. Of course, at first she'd felt what she'd been doing was distasteful. Old people are, after all, old people. They're old, warty, molly, smelly, and spotty, with thinning old blue and gray hair that grew out of noses and ears, and they had bad habits like sneezing, wheezing, and drooling at unexpected times. Yet after a while she started to see results. She'd seen tired old people who'd lost all interest in life and self start to regain lost poise and self confidence, She knew she'd had everything to do with it. She couldn't understand why everyone else didn't see it. She couldn't see how people like Ruth wouldn't understand how a little toddle on the end of a rangy old dick or a quizzical tickle inside a dried up old puss could make someone feel young, pretty, virile and worthwhile again. Were old people supposed to act old all the time? She didn't think so. Then the real ball busters came when they first locked her head in that little cage and spiked collar, and then to keep her away from her clients altogether they'd locked her hands in metal balls, that was cruel and unusual. Not to her, but to the old people who'd come to rely on her!

Ruth had locked her in the room in the cellar, and sent for Bob. She had taken it upon herself to punish the woman. Mr. Metcalf said he'd call before he decided to come. That would give her plenty of time to get the perverted little degenerate whore out of the cellar and cleaned up. Meanwhile, she sort of enjoyed keeping her locked up. She liked periodically walking by the tiny closet, smelling its content and hearing the soft rustle of its trapped occupant. It's what she deserved. Filth begets filth she always said. She just wished she had the nerve to put a cane to her filthy backside too.

It was three weeks before Bob had everything ready to his satisfaction. When he did call Ruth at the hotel he thanked her profusely for her kindness, consideration, and willingness to care for Carol. He said he'd be out in two days to gather in her person, and to please have her ready. He didn't want to tarry any longer than absolutely necessary. As he explained things to Ruth, he had plans for Carol, plans that would significantly alter her current life style, and more importantly it would place meaningful new constraints on her current freedoms. Ruth assured him she would be ready when he arrived. After they hung up, she laughing to herself, wondered what meaningful new constraints Bob could place on Carol that would limit her freedoms even more than they were already. Oh well, she thought. What Bob won't know won't hurt him. All she had to do was guarantee Carol didn't share any of her experiences with Bob. She believed that it wouldn't be too difficult.