Betsy - Reawakened Ch. 04

"I need you to get Rob and Mack on board with this too."

"How do I do that if I don't know what you're doing?"

"That's just it. You're going to have to figure out some of this on your own, because I don't have a lot of time. This is getting more complicated by the second," she said, nodding toward the dance floor.

He looked, seeing the sexpot draped all over Mack. It looked like she might start fucking him right then and there.

Turning back to Betsy, he saw that steely resolve in her gaze. It was unnerving, but in some odd way, he knew what she wanted him to do. At least he thought he did. "Okay, sweetheart, tell me what you can tell me, and I'll try to take it from there."

"I have to remove Paula. That's my job primary now. Remove the threat."

"I kind of gathered that much," he nodded.

"Good. Carrie and I are taking her back to the hotel. I want you to wait at least an hour and a half. No matter what... do NOT leave here for ninety minutes. I'm sure you can find a way to entertain yourself here."

"Okay. You'll have at least an hour and a half. Then I'm getting us a cab and we're coming to the hotel."

"Right. Carrie's room. It's the biggest."

"It also has two beds," he winked.

"You catch on fast. And right now, you seem excited. I hope that's true, because I can't stress this enough... this is happening. Carrie and I have already made our minds up. I hope you can handle it, because like I said, we're about to go down this road, there's no turning back."

Kissing her on the cheek, he ran his hand along her ass, squeezing it. "We're in this together, Bets. I'll be there."

"And I'll already be naked," she grinned.

Darren was still processing that last exchange as they rode in the cab back to the hotel two hours later. He'd wanted to give Betsy the time she needed, so he gave her more, since she'd said not to leave at least for ninety minutes. He'd been able to keep Rob and Mack easily occupied, the girls at the Playboy Club offering plenty of eye candy to maintain their attentions. It was he that was having the issue finding focus, his thoughts running to how Betsy had extricated Paula from the premises.

He wasn't sure what control she had over Paula, but an icy stare and a firm grasp of her arm just above the elbow got the attention of the flirtatious beauty. Paula protested quietly, shaking her head with genuine fear, her eyes widening when Betsy leaned in and whispered something that had a profound effect on the dynamic of their brief conversation. Pulling her firmly, like a bouncer removing a drunk from a bar, she led her out of the club room, toward where Carrie was apparently lying in wait.

"I wonder what she said to her," he contemplated in the darkened cab. "I wonder what happened. Hell, I wonder what's happening now."

What Betsy said was quick and to the point. After downing her drink and placing her glass on the table, she told Darren what she needed him to hear. Then she strode confidently across the room, navigating the crowded dance floor like she knew every move those around her were going to make in advance. In seconds she was at Paula's side, moving in from behind the way an assassin might approach a victim. It was stealthy, and silent, her head appearing over Paula's left shoulder.

"Mind if I cut in Mack. She's had enough men for the night."

"Enough men?"

"Yes," she said, before leaning in to whisper what Darren observed. Her voice was calm, but sinister in its inflection. "Red line, Paula."

"No, Betsy... please," Paula pleaded, panic flashing across her face.

Glancing at Mack's crotch, Betsy shook her head slightly before meeting his eyes. "Go see my husband, please. You'll catch up with us later," she said with a nod toward where Darren was standing. The unyielding expression and directness in her voice made a shiver run down his spine. Without a word he did as he was told, quickly turning heel and leaving his dancing partner and his noticeable erection behind.

"Betsy, I --"

"Not another word, Paula. You know the rules. Just because you have an agreement with your husband doesn't change them."

"Noooooo," she reacted in disbelief. "There was no red line. You can't be serious. I wasn't going to do anything with him. I was just warming him up for Carrie. I swear."

"She spent a ton of money on that new dress, Paula. And she's not wearing underwear, just like us. I think she can get him hard on her own. And if not, there are a couple dozen Playboy bunnies running around here that can do it for her. She didn't need your help."

Escorting her toward the restroom, Paula knew better than to resist. It would only make things worse in the end. But that didn't stop her from protesting. "This is silly. We're grown women. We're not in college anymore."

"You know, that argument only makes this worse. The rules don't change. Once you were accepted, the red line exists from then on. What's the red line, Paula?"

"Crossing a sorority sister."

"Crossing a sorority sister, ever! And where IS that red line, Paula?"

"When you try and have sex with whoever they're with," she groaned.

"That's right. Whether it's someone they're with for an hour, or at a party for the night, or they're dating them, or yes... if they're married to them. Jesus, Carrie is your sister-in-law."

"I wasn't trying to fuck him. I swear!"

"That's rich coming from the woman that fucked two of her brothers."

"All three, actually," she said in a bashful confession, not helping her cause in the least.

"What!?" Her disbelief made her shake her head quickly, as if she didn't hear correctly over the noise.

"I had sex with David too, in between."

"Fuck. You're kidding."

"No. He came to visit the week you and Carrie went to Indianapolis for that symposium your senior year."

"Wait a minute. Why would he come to visit when he knew she'd be gone?"

"John told him what we'd done. That's the reason I wanted to fuck Rob the night of the engagement party... I wanted to be able to say I did the whole family, Carrie included," she snickered.

"This isn't funny, Paula. That's part of the rules. You don't fuck with family either. And there's no statue of limitations involved. Once you're a member of our sorority, the sisterhood code applies... forever. It's what bonds us together."

"God, you're serious, aren't you?" she said as Betsy led her into the women's room.

There, she got her first glimpse of Carrie, the rage in her eyes giving her the answer she dreaded. But Carrie verbalized it anyway. "Damn straight we're serious. You've violated the code. You know what that means."

Paula's eyes diverted to the floor; her shoulders slumping as she trembled. "I'm going to be violated too," she said to herself.

The ride to the hotel was quiet. Paula sat between her friends, staring at the mucky floor of the taxi. It was an unpleasant trip and not just because of the way the back of the cab smelled. It was how she was being handled. She hated the silent treatment. It would have been so much easier if Carrie had just cursed her out. Instead she got the death stare, followed by the icy resolve both she and Betsy exuded. Images of her first year of college came to mind, being made to sleep on the floor in their room.

That first semester nearly broke her spirit, but by the end, they became the very best of friends because of it. Suddenly she was back in that all too familiar space in her head. They were taking control... of her. And it was because she's once again crossed the forbidden line that she all too often refused to acknowledge even existed, because she was too busy having fun. Her night had suddenly taken on an ominous tone. It was one she both dreaded, and somehow was anticipating.

"How can my pussy be so wet right now?" she wondered.

Maybe that was because she was topless for the trip. Carrie had unceremoniously moved the spaghetti straps off her shoulders, and Betsy had pulled down the material to expose her to the cabbie. He nearly drove off the road, but quickly regained his composure when Carrie said, "Keep your eyes on the road in front of you, and I'll make sure you get a good look when we get there."

She instructed him to find a secluded spot near the hotel to drop them off, so he drove down a dark alley, pulling into a space near a dumpster under a dim security light.

"Go pay for the cab, Paula," she motioned.

"How am I supposed to do that? I don't have any money with me. Rob was taking care of everything tonight, remember?"

"The same way you got rides in college. When you act like a slut, it isn't much further to whore, now is it?"

The ride up the elevator twenty minutes later was illuminating. Paula looked at her reflection in the doors; the disheveled appearance that stared back at her was hardly recognizable compared to how she'd left for the evening. Her hair was a mess, the elegant French braid now nothing more than a tangled half ponytail, most of the long black tresses having been pulled or yanked in some way. There were hickeys all over her neck and shoulders. Her knees were blackened from kneeling on the dirty pavement of the alley; her once beautiful dress now grimy from being forced against a cold, soot-stained concrete wall.

She looked like she'd been attacked, and she had been in a way. The middle-aged Italian driving the cab couldn't believe Carrie was serious about the payment. Nor could he believe that Paula got out of the cab and knelt down beside the open door, reaching for his zipper.

She could still taste his cock in her mouth. He was sweaty and dirty. His crotch smelled of dried urine and sperm, the pungent stench filling her nostrils as she sucked him hard. That's when his hands first went to her hair, and she heard him call her a filthy whore in Italian. If only he knew she spoke the language, her adoptive mother having emigrated from the southern town of Cosenza. She'd heard her speak it ever since she was a toddler of two, becoming fluent herself over time.

Because she'd grown up in that household, she always considered herself a Mediterranean goddess, even though she didn't know anything about her birth parent's ethnicity. But she had olive skin and dark eyes, which went perfectly with her jet-black hair. She actually looked more Italian than any of her siblings, all of them taking after their red-headed Irish father. And she loved the culture of her Mom, wanting to have some kind of heritage to hold close to her heart.

Yet there she was with a mouth full of thick, pulsing cock, the uncircumcised shaft tasting salty, as if he hadn't washed it in a week.

And it made her wetter still.

She'd been so turned on at the club she didn't think she could make it all the way back to the hotel without fucking her husband. Playing with Mack was just that; playing. She actually had no intention of taking things so far that she wouldn't be in control of her evening. She'd even planned how she might do something with Rob in the back of their cab on the way home. She'd envisioned it being sexy, but discrete. This was anything but. Her husband was nowhere to be found, and she was servicing a skinny, foul-mouthed, dirty Italian that had a fat, hairy cock. And somehow those facts turned her on even more.

Swallowing as much as she could, she breathed deeply, inhaling often. His smell alone would have been enough to make most women gag, but she couldn't get enough of it. She was determined, wanting to taste his nasty cum. But then he stood, and she quickly knew what he wanted. He said as much, telling her how pretty she was for a whore, and how he was going to fuck her cunt like she deserved for making him drive a fare and leave with no actual money.

Grabbing the back of her head, he pulled her in for a kiss. His breath was awful, but somehow she found a desire to kiss him back, her leg wrapping around his ass as he pressed her back hard against the nearby wall. Holding her leg over his arm at the elbow, he reached underneath her dress with his free hand, surprised to find she wasn't wearing panties, reaffirming his belief that she was really was a whore. And he said as much.

Much to his shock, she spoke back to him in his native language, confirming to him that indeed she was, and telling him to get on with it and fuck her like one. Grasping his cock at the base, she was about to feed it into her pussy when Carrie called out from the open car window, where she and Betsy were watching intently.

"You know the rule, Paula. When you cross the red line, you don't have a choice where he puts it. That's our decision."

"Goddamn it!" she cursed, moving his head over her clit, wanting so much to stuff that fat cock where she most needed it. Instead, she moved it back slightly, informing the unappealing man that he wasn't allowed to fuck her cunt. He'd have to settle for somewhere else instead.

She could still hear his wicked laugh, his yellowish teeth smiling wide as he maneuvered himself to take her ass. He didn't waste much time, ripping into her tight hole before she could change her mind. She was thankful at that moment he was uncut, his foreskin helping his shaft to glide in and out as he stretched her back hole, making it at least a little easier to accept the pain.

She moaned inside the elevator, the corners of her well-used mouth slightly upturned. As repulsive as it had been, his cock gave her exactly what she craved. So did his fingers. He had turned her around at one point, peeling down the front of her dress, pressing her torso into the craggily surface of the concrete as he took her from behind. Reaching around, he began thrusting two digits into her pussy, making her cum with him.

"That was incredible," she hummed inside, the feeling of his load slowly leaking out of her ass making her smirk as she stood between Carrie and Betsy, the two of them looking just like they had when they left for the evening.

The doors finally opened on their floor, and she was unfazed by the sight of a happy couple standing on the other side. The woman's reaction was one of horror; the man leered and offered a wink, as if knowing all too well how she'd gotten that way. She smiled politely, making eye contact with him, winking back as she was led from the elevator car by her friends, each gripping her arm strongly. She would have followed them on her own anyway, but she knew why they did it. It was to remind her that they were in control, because she'd proven once again that she couldn't be trusted.

When the couple moved past them and into the car, the doors closing behind them, Carrie let go of her arm, moving around in front of her. Slipping the straps back off her shoulders like she had in the cab, she pulled the material down herself this time, exposing her friend's chest.

"My, he was a horny little devil, wasn't he?" she chuckled, looking at how marked up her tits were. There were hickeys all over them, much like her neck and shoulders. There were also scratches and scrapes from the rough surface of the wall she'd been fucked against, as well as a couple of claw marks from how he pawed at her flesh, his scraggly fingernails biting into her perfect soft skin.

"He was a pig," she said, her harsh description of the man she'd just let fuck her in stark contrast to the way she reacted to him while he did it.

"Yes, he was. But you actually loved him doing that to you, didn't you?" Betsy whispered in her ear.

She nodded appreciatively; unfazed that she was being exposed in the plush hallway of the hotel. "Sometimes, the dirtier they are the better. Men like that fuck you like it's the last piece of ass they're ever going to get, because in their eyes, it just might be. And that's what makes them special to me."

"So you always go for guys like him?"

"Almost never, actually. It's not easy to stomach. I don't think he's showered in a month, and I doubt he brushes his teeth more often than that. I think I tasted everything he's had to eat this week when he kissed me"

"Yet you seemed to really enjoy it," Carrie observed.

"Of course. I loved it. Well, except that he fucked me in the ass. You know I how hate that!"

"Why did you enjoy it so much if you found him so repugnant?"

"I don't know. I guess every once in a while, I have to remind myself of what it's like to be with someone that most women would be repulsed by. I know it may sound weird, because I didn't have a choice in the matter, but I felt privileged to be the one that made his night tonight."

"I'm guessing you made his decade."

"I hope so, because he'll go back to his garage tonight and tell all his buddies what he did, and no one will believe him. Who would?"

"You're a unique woman, Paula Foster. But you're also the slut that tried to fuck my husband. And for that, you must pay," Carrie said with a hint of anger in her voice.

It didn't surprise her that she'd been stripped above the waist. They'd done it before, in a decade where it was much more scandalous to be seen that way. It was still taboo to be half-naked in public, but she semi-expected it. What she didn't anticipate was having her dress being pulled down her shapely body, and being told to step out of it.

"You can't be serious, Carrie. That's going too far," she protested.

"No. Your feeling up my husband while you stuck your tongue down his throat was going too far. You think I didn't see that?"

Resigned that arguing only prolonged her literal exposure, she stepped out of the shambles of a dress she wore proudly just hours before, wondering if it could be cleaned well enough to be worn again. It didn't matter at the moment. What she had coming to her was going to be far worse than a potentially ruined outfit, no matter how much she paid for it. Now she was going to pay in a much different way.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Darren would never forget that image as long as he lived. He heard them first, the door to Mack and Carrie's room left slightly ajar. Opening it revealed a darkened room, as there were no lights on. Stepping into the small entryway, the three men moved cautiously toward the quiet, muffled noises, nervous of spooking the women. Rob closed the door, latching it shut, hoping to keep the noise down in doing so. But he needn't have bothered. Those that were already there were too occupied to be distracted by their arrival.

The large window on the far wall was in view, the curtains pulled as wide as possible, showing off the lights of the big city. Being on the fifteenth floor would normally allow for some privacy in such a circumstance, but the surrounding buildings were just as tall as that one. So it was that the lights were out, the women moving in the shadows.

Paula came into their view. She was in a chair in the corner of the room near that open window. Two things were evident as they moved closer. The first was that she was naked, which didn't surprise any of them. They sort of expected it based on what Darren had told them. What they didn't see coming was that she was bound to the chair with several of Mack's neckties.

Her arms were actually tied behind her head, using her sexy neck as the fulcrum point, her hands clasped together behind her neck as if she were going to do a sit-up. Her elbows were pointed out, showing off her perfect breasts. Her legs were spread, her ankles tied to the front legs of the chair for the time being, her ass perched on the very edge of the seat to make her pussy and ass accessible. The way she was positioned forced her to lean back at an angle. More disturbing than the way she was tied was the fact that they'd also blindfolded her, using the fat part of a tie around her eyes.

They witnessed the way her body was marked up and scarred, but frankly that didn't interest them at the moment. Much like how they'd all been distracted by the Playboy bunnies at the club, the scantily clad beauties drawing their attention away from the way their own wives were dressed for the evening, finding Paula bound and naked in the corner was simply ornamental. What really mattered was what was happening on the bed across the room.