tagBDSMTorments of the Widow McWorter Ch. 01-06

Torments of the Widow McWorter Ch. 01-06

byJigs©

1. LUNCH WITH THE GOVERNOR.

I sat down at the elegant table, trying to be ladylike with the best manners I could muster. The Governor of Alabama was talking to me, but I was hardly aware of a word he said. I took a deep breath, trying to relax, but it didn't help. The Governor was so very handsome. His Old Spice aftershave was strong but underneath I could smell his musky male odor. His handshake was firm but friendly, a grip obviously practiced to intimidate men, and melt the hearts of women. He was an old south charmer too. He went out of his way to complement me on my dress, my hair, and my smile. A man like my Governor is simply irresistible to a bitch in heat, and that was me... a bitch in heat. Only such a slut with a pussy on fire would have the dirty thoughts that wandered randomly thru my mind.

"How big is his cock?" was my first thought, although I quickly decided that a sexy hunk like the Governor must surely have a very big one. I was not yet so panicked as to say anything aloud, but as we talked politely about the weather, my attention remained intently focused on the bulge between his legs. Inevitably, my fixation would lead to yet another question.

"If I asked him straight out, would he take me to the restroom and show me his big cock, even fuck me with it?"

I am sure my eyes must have glassed over as that dirty thought grew into a mini-movie churning full bore through my imagination. The mental pictures of this charming stud having sex with me in the hotel men's room were so very crystal clear in every detail.

I am stooped over a toilet bowl, braced there by my hands on its rim. My legs are spread and straining as my high heels slip and slide on the tile floor. My dress is up over my hips, and my panties are down, hanging useless around one ankle. My blouse is open, and without a bra, my breasts dangle free beneath me. The Governor's huge prick is buried in my pussy, and he is dog fucking me with long delicious strokes that set my tits to swaying. He spanks the cheeks of my ass with the flat of his hand demanding to know if I want him to keep on fucking me. I beg him to continue, pleading for more and deeper, but I try to do so quietly. After all he is the Governor, and I am a widow of a famous preacher. We must be discreet. It is too much for me, however, and in the end I am unable to muffle the scream that welcomes my orgasm.

Outrageous? Of course! I know that! How can a widow of a prominent man of God, and a woman famous as a symbol of morality and piety, sit beside his Excellency the Governor in a public restaurant and wonder about the size of his penis? That I am fantasizing he might take me to the men's room and fuck me from behind as I bend over a toilet bowl is even more impossibly gross.

Only a female in estrus could be so crass, such a disgusting slut, but I was very near to losing control. Nevertheless, I managed to choke back the lewd and lurid images that were haunting me, and politely agreed that "yes, the weather has been unseasonably warm." Such silly meaningless chatter! How long could I keep it up? My pussy was swollen and open. The crotch of my panties was soaked. A hell fire burned red hot inside my feminine core. I lusted for this man to fuck me, and it was all I could do not to tell him so.

My Master, the bastard who owned me, instructed me that today I must be prim and proper, a polite and genteel Lady. I knew I would be tied and severely beaten should I fail, but oh my, I almost didn't care. I wanted so badly to be on my back with the Governor's stiff erection stuck between my spread legs. I was desperate to have this man; desperate for him to strip me; desperate for him to yank me by my hair to between his spread legs; desperate for him to make me service his rampant hard-on with my mouth and pussy as if I was his whore, bought and paid for.

Yet, if he would not take me, in truth any man would do. Governor, fireman, Indian chief, I didn't care, and in the absence of a flesh and blood filled penis, I wasn't too proud to improvise. A dildo! A vibrator! A finger! Something! Anything, to fill my burning pussy, and rub against my clit! I was in such an erotic frenzy that I would have gratefully humped the arm of the very chair I was seated in. Oh Lord, poor me, how I did need the blessed relief of an orgasm.

You must excuse me, however. I am not really such a slut as all that. Rather, as you will learn, I am a victim, a helpless captive of an evil man who has made me his slave, and used my weakness to drive me into decadence. You see, I do not commonly lust after strangers in a public restaurant, nor was my erotic funk something I wanted, or chose on my own. No, I am not a crazed nymphomaniac at all, but more like a puppet on a string. A cruel man and his bitch of a wife seduced me with blackmail and abuse until I was left without a free will. You would understand had you seen the way I was disciplined for my meeting with the Governor. My abuse was perhaps more intense than usual, but today is a fair example of how for six months now I have been trained and broken to saddle. Let me tell you about it.

Less than three hours before our lunch, Jimmy Carson hung me by my wrists from a hook in the ceiling, naked and vulnerable, with my toes barely touching the floor. I dangled there, helpless and weeping, as he whipped me across my breasts, belly, ass, and thighs. My beating ended only when he was satisfied with the sincerity of my promises to be an obedient slave who would behave herself at our meeting with the Governor. As always, he was careful not to leave any evidence of my mistreatment behind. The thongs of his cat 'o nine tails were made of plastic that stung terribly, but the red stripes they left on my pale flesh would fade before the day was out.

After I had been whipped, I was forced to stand at attention and masturbate my pussy with 10 inches of dildo. Master Jimmy, and his wife, Mistress Janet, sat comfortably on the sofa making dirty comments. I am often required to perform for them this way. It pleases my Master and Mistress to watch the push and pull of an over sized artificial penis stretch my hole, and tug at the lips of my tender labia.

I am always deeply ashamed to play the slut for them that way, but I can never resist the urges that come alive in my cunt when stroked by a cock, whether real or make believe. It was no different this time. I was teetering on the very verge of an impending orgasm when Jimmy interrupted as he so often does. Damn his soul to hell, with one violent yank he pulled my hands away from between my legs, cuffed them behind my back, and pouring salt in the wound, laughed at my distress.

Oh God! I needed to cum, but my pussy was now hopelessly beyond my reach. Wracked with pre-orgasmic spasms, my belly cramped, my knees buckled, and I began to lose my balance. For all that, however, I somehow stayed on my feet facing my Master and Mistress with my head bowed in shame, and that awful plastic thing still buried to the hilt inside me. Frustrated and unsatisfied, I whimpered pitifully, begging for the release I had been denied, but it was all to no avail. Indeed, my suffering, my trial by humiliation and torment, had only begun.

Jimmy ordered me to spread my legs farther apart, as far apart as I could make them reach. It was not easy to do that and keep my balance with my hands cuffed behind me, but blushing and mortified, I posed for him in that revealing split while he tested my wet. He ran his finger up and down my slit, and then explored more deeply inside me. I cried out! I could not help it! His finger felt so good! When he took his hand away, his inspecting digit was dripping with the embarrassing evidence of my female excitement. He wiped the soiled finger across my face, before forcing it between my lips.

Once I had sucked his finger clean, Jimmy made me describe in detail the taste of my pussy. He called me a whore for being so aroused, and insisted that I admit out loud that I wanted him to stick me with his cock. I did as he demanded! Gratefully, and with enthusiasm, I told him I wanted him to fuck me. I even begged him for it. After all, humbled and ashamed as I was to hear the words coming from my mouth, it was true. I did want the bastard to fuck me. I would have given anything, done anything, if only the bastard would have fucked me.

He did not, however. Instead, next he would make my breasts suffer.

From his pocket Jimmy brought out a pair of tiny gold rings. They were pretty things, shiny and delicate, especially designed to decorate the breasts of a slave whore. Actually they were not rings at all, but small clasps hinged to open, and then to lock tightly closed around tender female nipples. Jimmy was pitiless as he stretched one teat, and then the other, out to full length, and shut his cruel little tourniquets around each root.

The rings were too small for my fleshy nubs, but then I knew they would be. I had worn them before, and I remembered all too well how they pinched off the flow of blood, and tortured my breasts. Along with the memory of the hurt, however, I also recalled how exquisite and erotic that dull ache could be. I remembered how the pain ran from my nipples down into my cunt, where it started a fire between my legs, and fed it until pussy fluid overflowed to leak down my thighs. I knew those rings would do the same to me today, and I shuddered at the thought of wearing those awful rings to lunch with the Governor.

There would be even more, and worse, yet to come. A vibrating egg was stuffed into my wet pussy. Even that wasn't enough for Jimmy. Taped on my shaved pubis was a tiny battery powered magneto that generated a spark at the electrode attached to my clitoris. The operation of each of these devices was remotely controlled. With a simple twist of a dial Jimmy could set the egg to vibrating at an intensity of his choice, and Janet had only to push a button to send an electric jolt into my sensitive clit.

In the cab on the way to the luncheon appointment with the Governor, my Master and Mistress randomly tested their equipment driving me closer and closer to the orgasm I knew I was not allowed to have. How I did suffer! In pleading for mercy I remember crying out, "Please for the love of God, won't somebody please fuck me!" That poor taxi driver had no idea what was going on in his back seat. He must have thought his fare was some sort of female sex maniac.

It seemed hours, but the ride could not have been more than a few minutes before the car pulled up to the front door of The Jefferson Davis Hotel. The Jeff Davis offered the finest and most extravagant dining room in Mobile. As a girl I had dreamed of dining there with all the beautiful people who were the hotel's clientele. How often I had imagined myself in a designer dress chatting casually over a chocolate moose with some handsome man so enamored with my charms that he hung on my every word and smile. While in Junior College I even took a job there as a waitress, less for the generous tips, than to gawk at the important men in expensive suits and the beautiful wives and mistresses they brought to dine with them.

The years passed. I matured into a pretty woman with blue eyes, honey blond hair, full breasts, and long shapely legs. Favored with good looks and good luck, I found and married the perfect man for me, the famous TV evangelist Reverend Alexander McWorter. He was a good deal older than I, but as you will find later in this story, he was exactly the kind of dominant male I needed. My marriage to a popular TV personality made me an instant 'somebody' welcome at the Jeff Davis hotel dining room. All that changed suddenly six months ago, however. My husband and protector, my master and lover, my mentor and guide, the man who directed me with an iron hand, was standing at his pulpit one Sunday morning when he suffered a massive heart attack, collapsed and died before a nationwide TV audience.

Alexander might have died, but his TV ministry not only survived, it prospered as never before from the publicity stirred by the tragedy. Alexander's unfortunate death while 'preaching the word' made him a martyr in the eyes of his devoted audience of fundamentalist Christians. All through our marriage I had regularly appeared on TV with my husband, singing and leading the choir, chatting with him on the air, and giving public witness to the Lord when called upon. My reputation as Alexander's devoted wife, as his soul mate, as his right hand in performing God's work were credentials enough for the TV congregation loyal to their former pastor. Although I was no preacher, and didn't try to be, I was acceptable to our audience to replace my dead husband as the star of the McWorter TV "Gospel Hour".

I made my new role work by turning my back on tradition in favor of something new in religious broadcasting. I took the part not of a Minister, but of a mistress of ceremonies to a religious variety show with a more relaxed approach to 'that old time religion' than anyone had ever seen before. We sang and we danced, to rock music as well as the traditional hymns. Humor, and laughter were encouraged, and celebrity secular guests were featured. In this new format, Alexander's former assistant pastor, Jimmy Carson, took over the hell fire preaching, and did it well. He was a handsome man with an impressive style and baritone voice. The TV ratings soared, the McWorter "Gospel Hour" became the darling of evangelist broadcasting, and I was soon being called the 'the Christian Oprah Winfry'.

Not publicly discussed, however, were the thousands of dollars our listeners contributed to the McWorter treasury each week. Jimmy was a greedy man, and he saw his chance to become wealthy beyond his wildest dreams. He understood, however, that I was the indispensable link between the grieving flock and its departed but still beloved pastor and shepherd. Without me, there would be no money to steal. Thus, Jimmy made certain that he and I were represented to the world as divinely inspired partners working hand in hand to continue on with Christ's work on earth.

As you might already suspect from the circumstances of my meeting with the Governor, however, the reality of my situation was something entirely different. Alexander's body was hardly cold before Jimmy Carson and his wife blackmailed me into becoming their pawn and powerless front for Jimmy's money machine. Worse, to keep me obedient and in line, they played upon my weakness for sexual submission to make me their slave, both in and out of the bedroom.

I was held virtually a prisoner inside the church rectory where the three of us lived and worked. I was not allowed to even go shopping alone, and until my meeting with the Governor, I had not made a public appearance outside the scripted TV program since my husband's funeral. The Governor had specifically asked to meet with me as well as Jimmy today, however, and Jimmy had no choice but to risk bringing me along for lunch.

The Governor was running for reelection. He needed campaign money, and even more he needed the support and endorsement of the McWorter Ministries, and the TV exposure that went with that endorsement. That he would seek to meet with the widow McWorter was a testament to my new status as a celebrity. This was a perfect opportunity for me to take my first step toward a place in the power structure of the state, even the nation, if only I was not the captive of the Carsons. However, their captive I was! As I sat there in the splendor of the Jeff Davis dining room, I knew there was no escape. Jimmy had so bullied me, and fed my need to submit, that I was paralyzed beyond any hope. Even here in the Jeff Davis Hotel with the Governor of the state at my side, Jimmy had me under his thumb. My breasts, my nipples, my cunt, they all belonged to him, and even from across the table he remained in control, never letting me forget he owned me.

Oh my nipples! How they did hurt! Locked in the cruel grip of those tiny gold bands, my every move brought fresh pain to those swollen sensitive nubs as they rubbed braless against the rough raw silk of my blouse. Then there was my cunt! God, but how Jimmy and Janet could make me suffer between my legs with a simple flick of a switch. Could anyone have more control than a hellish vibrator inside a poor woman's cunt, unless of course it was an electric shock to her clit? Is it any wonder I could not focus on anything but the Governor's penis? The waiter brought the soup course, and as he leaned over to serve me, his crotch pressed against my cheek. His musky male smell was the same as the Governor's, and acted on me as an aphrodisiac. It was all I could do to keep from running my tongue between his legs to see if I could taste his balls and penis. Across the table Janet Carson knew what I was thinking. Janet grinned cruelly as her hand in her jacket pocket turned those hateful batteries on and off sending tiny shocks to my clit that ran all the way up into my already tortured nipples.

Meanwhile, seated across the table beside his wife, Jimmy Carson was his usual smug oily self. He knew what his wife was doing to me and he was enjoying my distress. His control over me was working perfectly, and Jimmy was at his con man best. He discussed money and politics with the Governor as if the opinion of the widow McWorter didn't matter. Indeed, as he luncheon went on, the Governor sensed that Jimmy was the one making the decisions and began to ignore me.

I tried to recover, to play a part, to make myself heard. From time to time I could pull myself together enough to speak, but Jimmy snatched every chance away. He would turn up the intensity of the vibrating egg in my cunt, leaving me to fight back the orgasm that would come bubbling up. I would forget what I had to say, and then lapse back into my fantasy about the Governor fucking me in the men's room.

Once in such a moment, however, as our meeting neared is end, my mind cleared despite my torment. "This!" I thought. "Surely this must be what hell is like." ---------------------------------------------------

2. FATHER, MOTHER, AND I.

I would be the one who would know. Hell and sex were two subjects with which I was all too familiar. Hell was a favorite topic of my father. I had heard about it from him endlessly, and in agonizing detail, for as far back as I could remember. Sex I did not become closely acquainted with until the day I was sent home from the seventh grade after I began to bleed from my first female period.

I was distraught and crying as I told my mother what had happened. Mother was a good woman, tall and pretty with a good figure. She was also smart and capable, but she was a natural submissive, completely dominated by her husband. That day she did as was so often her way, she passed me off to father, and said he would explain when he came home from work.

My father was a stern man who modeled himself after his impression of the prophets of the Old Testament. He explained to me that I was simply becoming a woman in nature's way, and assured me it was nothing to be distressed about. He said, however, that in becoming a woman I would be subject to certain urges and desires that were dangerous. He cautioned me against falling victim to the evils of what he called 'female lust'. He went into great detail about the weakness of women to temptation using as illustrations the fallen and suspect women of the bible from Eve to Bathsheba to Jezebel to Delilah and Salome.

According to father, God made woman to serve man. He also said, however, that our urge to serve men sometime confused us, and caused us to stray into the arms of strangers who would take immoral advantage of us. He said I must learn to remain committed, obedient, and faithful to only himself and my eventual husband. Such was God's will, he said, and I must not allow my weakness to lead me into the sinful female lust to which my gender was so prone. He told me that now I was becoming a woman, it was time for him to begin training me in discipline and restraint. My first lesson was to be that evening, and I was to report to him after I was in my nightgown and ready for bed.

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