Penny for Your Thoughts

The old man/young man's eyes swept her and she blinked and he was gone.

At night, she'd get into the bed, lying awake, her sex-need slowly fading, always so sleepy.

* * *

There was profound relief when she heard it, the note getting louder. She shuddered, although she didn't move. Couldn't move, panic going through her, but that note. It was what she needed. It was going to feel so good. She waited, tense, and began to pant, slowly realizing she couldn't see, couldn't hear.What was she waiting for?

The note stopped and she experienced a sinking feeling of dread.No. She needed it. Fingers touched her clitoris, instant pleasure.Yes. Tugs on her nipples.More. Blind, unable to move, she knew someone was in the bed with her.

Hours later, hours, she believed, later, she was crying and sweaty, although all that happened was that she felt the wetness of tears, her face unmoving. She couldn't come. The fingers were there, but she couldn't orgasm.

There was a hard impact on her ass and then pain. Someone was spanking her with something. It fell three more times before she could scream, but she couldn't scream. She couldn't make any noise. The pain was outrageous, one strike after another. If she could have thrashed, she would have, but she couldn't move, the strikes still going on.

Then the note came. The strikes continued, but she was trying to hear it. Something tugged her nipples, a beautiful feeling spreading from her clitoris. She wanted to cry out with pleasure with each hard strike, every one better than the last. Good. So good. Needing more, she was begging for them, her mouth not moving, the strikes getting harder and faster. She was going to come. Finally, she was going to come. The relief was overwhelming, and then the strikes stopped and the note stopped sounding.

She wanted to bark a mad protest, wanted to scream, but she couldn't move. All in her mind. He needed to spank her more. She would come if he just spanked her more. Covered with sweat, she was sobbing, feeling her face unmoving, her breathing steady.

Fingers spread the cheeks of her ass, oily, and there was a delicate touch on the star there. Coming to her senses for a moment, Penny went still and then gibbered in her own head, begging him not to, unable to talk, knowing what was coming as she felt his fingers penetrate her there, nasty. He was fucking her with them, pushing into her butt, inserting another finger. She had never had anything in there. The fingers withdrew after a time and she felt the pressure begin, opening her.

She began to scream soundlessly and then the note came, faint, and her internal voice died to a murmur as he penetrated her slowly and steadily, her pussy jumping. The tugs on her nipples began again. Relaxing, she welcomed him, straining against him, feeling him slip deeply into her body, filling her as the note got louder. He began thrusting.

It felt so good. The fingers returned to her clitoris. The pain in her ass was so erotic that she was asking for it aloud, filthy language if she'd been able to speak, someone's teeth on her nipples, tugging and scraping, sharp and delicious pain.

She thought she'd go insane if she didn't come soon as he raped her ass, the note falling and rising. Sometimes he pulled out and whipped her and would plunge back in again. The bastard began jabbing erratically, and then his cock swelled, holding in her and lifting.

* * *

She was sitting at the piano trying to play the key that wasn't there, staring into space, her hand in her underwear, pinching and tugging. There were tears on her face.

* * *

Something was in her mouth and then deep in her throat, silky and hard. A cock. She woke. She couldn't move, not anything, couldn't see or hear. It found a rhythm. A cock in her mouth, in her throat.God, she couldn't move. Sometimes he let her breath, bumping and then pushing deeply into her throat and she didn't even gag. It got faster. Tears were rolling down her cheeks and then she heard something.

A note. The note got faster and louder and reached a pitch and that was it. She began to come, although nothing else touched her. The pleasure was outrageous. It didn't stop.

It pulled out and she could breathe and hot liquid hit her face, her mouth slack, and through it all, her eyes staring blankly into darkness and she was pulsing and coming, so satisfying.

* * *

Penny looked around vaguely. It didn't matter how much she showered. She could smell him on her, the old man. Wearing a t-shirt, no bra, she was in her underwear. There were dishes in the sink and a nasty smell coming from the kitchen.

When she went in, they were everywhere, food everywhere. How long had she been here?

She'd cleaned the same area of the living room again, not realizing. She wanted to cry. "You're keeping me here, Uncle Jerry," she whined. "I hate you."

When she looked at the piano, he was there. The music played whether his hands were on the piano or not.

Doing the dishes, which took hours, she went upstairs and slept. She often slept during the day.

Sometimes her phone rang, although she knew the battery was dead. She'd answered it once and heard ragtime music. She didn't anymore. There was food in the pantry whenever she went in there. Sometimes she thought she was the ghost.

When she woke the next morning, she cleaned the living room again, by the stairs, the piano playing.

* * *

Penny got into her car, her hands shaking. It had taken every ounce of her willpower and three hours of talking herself into it to leave the house. She'd almost just stayed, it was so terrifying to leave, but it was the first time she'd felt clear-headed in six months.

Waking this morning in that bed she hated, in that bed in which she suspected something terrible happened every night, no memory of changing the sheets, she'd felt like herself, furious. More like herself, at least, her eyes wild and glossy in the mirror. Her ass was crossed with fading lines, her tits also crossed with them. That bastard. She wished he was alive so she could kill him.

Looking through the dusty windshield, her eyes went to the house, squashing the idea of going back in. It wasn't clean yet. She reached for the lever.

Drawing her hand back sharply, she made an angry noise. She had become steadily more crazy, doing nothing but eating and cleaning the same place, wandering around the house in a daze, nightmares she couldn't remember and her constant need to touch herself, that music.

She was going insane. It was the house. It was haunted and that old fucker was trying to drive her mad. This was her chance. Penny would go far away and then sell it for whatever she could get, dirty or not. Nasty or not. Her hand crept up under her shirt, finding a jutting, full breast. She wasn't wearing a bra, squeezing her nipple, trying to make herself stop, going to the other, her hips squirming, needing to come so very badly and she couldn't. She would spend hours on her bed, on all fours, fucking herself with things, and she still couldn't.

Giving a dry sob and pulling her hand out of her shirt, she shoved her key in. Backing out without looking, she cranked the wheel and hit the accelerator, driving out of her driveway and onto the road, not paved. The car fishtailed, righting itself, and she slammed her foot on the accelerator, relief flowing through her.

Freedom, free, free of him, free of the house, the music.

Her pussy was a constant nagging ache, but she would find a hotel and she would feel better. Maybe she'd be able to masturbate and it would be normal, a nice wash of pleasure and over with, and she'd take a bath and watch some television.

A car pulled behind her off a side road and her eyes went to her rear view mirror. It was a cop car. The lights began, red and blue, rotating and flashing, and a brief, abbreviatedwhoop made her startle.

Her heart was pounding against her ribs as she pulled over, knowing she'd been speeding. Her hair was longer, down to her jaw, the curls silky. She looked in the mirror, seeing her pale face, but most of all, even though she'd showered, she saw she hadn't really dressed. She was wearing a thin t-shirt with no bra, a peasant skirt with no underwear, always wet, alwaysgushing wet.

She heard the door slam, and in her side-view mirror she saw the cop's belly and crotch approaching, packing, definitely, in all senses, his gun on his hip. Penny had the mad urge to giggle. He would arrest her, maybe, or take her to a psych ward when she would begin babbling about haunted houses and that old bastard and needing to come and she'd never get away from the music. She rolled down her window, trying to look normal.

"License, registration, and proof of insurance, ma'am," the officer said.

In her rear view mirror, she could see another officer in the car. Fumbling, she went for her purse, opening it and getting her wallet. Trying to. She pulled it onto her lap, widening the mouth of the purse, scraping her hand through it.

"Ma'am?"

"I have it," she said, but she didn't. It didn't matter how many times she looked, it wasn't there.

"You're not from around here, are you?"

"I don't belong here," she told him, still looking.

There was a long silence. "What's your name, ma'am?"

"Penny Wool," she said, looking up at him for the first time. "I don't know where it is. My wallet is always in my purse. He has it."

"Who has it?"

She shook her head, hearing the looney tunes melody in her mind, hearing the big top song, the clash of symbols, and under it ragtime, and behind that, behind everything, that note, a single tone repeating. Her hand drifted toward her skirt and she jerked it up.

When she glanced, he was frowning at her lightly, taking her in, a big man with sandy hair. "Do you have your registration?"

"Yes," she said like he'd handed her flowers, so relieved. "I just forgot my license at home. I think my wallet is at home. I can't go back there."

"Why not, Miss Wool? Is there something wrong at home?" He was looking at her more closely.

Her lips compressed, not answering, leaning and jerking the glove compartment open. Except for tissues, the bundle holding her insurance and registration were all that were in there. Except now there was just tissues. She stared at the empty space, going still.

"Is this your car?" the officer said, his voice less friendly.

"Yes," she assured him. "Yes, this is my car."

"Do you have anything with you to say who you are or who owns the car?"

"No," she said, shaking her head.

"Why don't you step out of the car, Miss Wool."

He stepped back as she pulled the lever for the door, moving, and her purse fell off her lap. She tried to grab it and it spilled onto the ground. He stepped back as she knelt, pulling it all in.

"It's his fault," she said, straightening on her knees. She was at crotch level like a bad girl. It was a nightmare. When she looked up, the officer's eyes flashed to her breasts, free in the top, and her nipples hardened, and then to her face. She knew it was bright red, and she was wet, between her legs slippery, feeling like he could smell it on her.

"Have you been taking drugs, Miss Wool?" the officer said, his crotch in front of her face as her eyes went there, staring.

She realized and looked up. "No," she said, her hair flying as she shook her head. "Drugs are for sluts. I don't do drugs."

"Stand up, ma'am." His voice was reasonable, sending relief through her, his hand on her arm, helping her to her feet. "We'll run the license plate. I'm Officer Kit. Everything's going to be fine. Things seem a little off, so I'm going to check. Just cooperate and we'll figure out what's going on here."

"Of course," she said.

"Do I have permission to look in your car, Miss Wool?"

"My wallet's not in there."

"Can I look, ma'am?"

"Yes."

"Go stand over there by the front of the car while I check," he said, signaling to the other officer, who opened his door and stood, staying there and watching.

They thought she was crazy or on drugs. She had no identification. She moved, watching Officer Kit lean in, patting the seats, running his hand under the panel. When he emerged, he didn't have her wallet. He had a small baggy in his hand with white in it.

"What's that?" she said, staring at it as he put it in his pocket. "That's not mine. He put that there."

"Your boyfriend, ma'am? A brother, maybe? What's his name?"

"The old man," she said, feeling her heart pounding. "Don't arrest me."

Officer Kit sighed. "Put your hands on the front of the car."

"Yes, officer." She did what he said.

"Hold on, Miss Wool."

His hands ran down her back, and then to her waist, and then down her hips. They slipped under the skirt and up her legs, quick and impersonal, Penny jumping.

"Last place," he said, coming around front, his big hands brushing her nipple briefly.

They were rock hard. Hot sensation bit through her, her breath catching.

"Sorry about that. Are you all right, ma'am?"

"Yes," she said, panting a little.

"We're going to get you where you need to be. Just stay calm."

Her heart began to thud as he took one wrist in his hand and pulled it behind her, Penny feeling the cold metal of the handcuffs on one. Yes, they were arresting her. She felt him grab the other wrist as she fell forward onto the front of the car, the hood dusty and hot, her breasts under her. She heard the other car door slam. "Please. I didn't do anything."

"I'm afraid we're going to have to take you back, Miss Wool."

She turned her head, watching the other officer walking toward her, also big, dark hair. His face was hard. He stopped beside them. "Well, what have we here? From out of town? What's her name?"

"She says her name is Penny Wool," Officer Kit answered. "No identification. No registration. Drugs in the car and she's out to lunch."

"Well, Miss Wool," the other cop said. "I'm Officer Joe. Let me in there, Kit. I'll do it."

Kit released her hands. "Don't move, Miss Wool."

"Spread your legs wider, now," Officer Joe said. "You do seem a little out of it."

"No," she said, widening her stance. "I swear I'm not on drugs. I've been...I've been confused. I need help."

"Confused. Is that right? Don't worry. We'll get you wherever you need to be. I'm going to do a cavity search. You understand?"

She closed her eyes, nodding.

Her skirt was being pulled up and she felt the air on her thighs, and then her bare butt because she didn't have underwear. Officer Joe was quiet. She stayed there, her face hot. She was wet down her inner thighs. Penny knew she was.

"Guess I won't need the jelly," Officer Joe said.

"Shit," Officer Kit said, giving a soft laugh.

Her face was radiating heat as his fingers landed and kept on going, gathering it. She pulsed on his fingers, shaking her head. Penny could feel the drip trickle down her leg, feel his fingers searching and finding her butt. He inserted his finger, and then another finger, pumping in and out. She made a noise and he withdrew his fingers from her ass and they went to find her clitoris, stroking back and forth, slick, entering her pussy. Struggling, she cried out. "You can't do that."

The smack that landed on her butt made her shriek, Officer Joe laughing. "Find a penny, pick her up, all day long, you'll have good luck. Let's see how she does here, Kit."

She looked at Officer Kit, her eyes wide, and then the side of her face was against the car and Officer Joe was holding her neck down, pulling her hair aside. Officer Kit put something in her ear, wedging it gently, and she felt it expand like the soft earplugs people used.

Then she heard it, going limp, spreading her legs for Officer Joe, the single piano note.

"That's a good girl," Officer Kit said.

Officer Joe's weight was gone, the note in her mind. Her hips squirmed, her butt jutting. "Please."

Officer Kit grinned. "Sure, honey." He walked and opened the back of the cop car and got in, a long bucket seat.

Officer Joe pulled her up and brought her, stopping in front of the open door. On his back in her car, Officer Kit propped himself and opened his pants, pulling out his cock, arching and hard and thick, huge.

Behind her, Officer Joe stepped on her skirt and she heard the rip as it fell, her lower half naked. He put her through the door frontways, his hand protecting her head, Officer Joe's hand supported her cuffed wrists behind her, forcing her to straddle Officer Kit as she walked on her knees up his body.

Officer Kit grabbed her hip, taking himself in his hand and running his cock up and down her pussy. She had no balance, forced to sink onto him, crying out. He ripped her shirt off of her, opening it and tugging hard, ripping it more. Pulling her forward, his legs spread, he got under her. His mouth went to her nipples, sucking hard as he thrust. She shrieked, beginning to come as she felt Officer Joe wedging his cock against her butthole and then slowly penetrate her ass, not stopping.

The note got louder, her eyes rolling back in her head. Officer Joe's arm came around her neck, releasing her wrists, holding her still as he stabbed deep into her body from behind, Officer Kit from below. Officer Joe's other hand crept lower, finding her clitoris and squeezing, rubbing, Penny coming harder.

"That's right, honey. Yell it out," Officer Joe shuddered in her ear, his breath hot as Officer Kit began to bite her nipples with his teeth, her yelps high as she came. "It's nice to hear your voice. Jerry was our grandfather. He left the house to you and you to us. After this, we're going to take you back home where you belong. No more drugs, no more breaking grandfather's records, no more masks and earphones, no more taking you into the cellar. That's right. Keep it coming, baby."