Windows Bk. 02 Ch. 04

I'm staring at the ring Ron has bought me. It is gold with a nice plump diamond in the middle. Some might consider it vulgar, but what do I care. The average house price is around £3,500,

£382 sits on my finger, shinning in the sunlight, as I walk up the road on his arm. I can see his proud expression as we pass strangers who gawp at the odd couple coming towards them. Every look makes me shudder. I remember the sales girls in the jewellers who had amusement on their faces, as I was introduced to them as Ron's wife to be. I'm sure I will be the talk of the jewellery store for sometime to come. Becoming his wife will be humiliating I'm sure, and I know there will times when I regret it, but right now I'm thinking of the money, and hoping as the letter I found addressed to him said, he will dead within a year or two.

Back home Ron collects the cactus plant and takes my coat from me, and then we head next door.

"Pleased to meet you, we thought we would welcome you to the area? I'm Ronald Smith, and this is my fiancée Sylvia."

She looks us over, and almost manages to hide what she is thinking.

"Darling....Terry," she calls, "this is Mr Smith, and his, wife to be."

Terry appears, and his face changes in an instant, from that of a guy who feels like we are intruding, to one of shock.

I sit on the couch with my knees pressed together. The atmosphere feels unreal. It is like the unspoken question about me marrying a much older man, is on our new neighbour's minds, but they are wary about asking it out loud.

"We live in the big house next door," Ronald boasts, and hands over the cactus plant.

Vera our new neighbour's wife, scuttles off with the plant to put the kettle on. I sit in silence as Ronald Smith talks. He's calm and has me show off my engagement ring. After half an hour Ron takes the tray of cups back in the kitchen with Vera, telling her how to care for the cactus plant.

Terry looks at my legs as I stand up, I turn waiting for my husband to be, to return from the kitchen. I take a small step back to the arm of the chair, where Terry is sat, until my leg is against his hand. I stand there with my back to him, feeling his knuckles twitch slightly. Finally his rough knuckles move slowly up the back of my thigh, and then I take a quick step away.

Ron and Vera come back from the kitchen, and I smile as she invites me in for a coffee whenever I'm free.

We sit eating our tea, and Ron talks about our new neighbours. I tell him what I did and how I pushed my leg against Terry's hand, as it lay across the arm of the chair. I'm watching my husband to be for a reaction, he just smiles and tells me I've been good letting Terry have a feel, as he instructed me to do, if I got the chance.

"Why did you want me to tease him?"

"Because my dear Sylvia, I want him to be constantly thinking about you. I want him lusting after you, and imagining his big rough hands groping you. It would make a good photo shoot, the cheating wife and rough brute of a builder, having a sordid sexual encounter."

"I have something you should read."

I go up to my bedroom and pull an exercise book from under the mattress. I make a few notes to Ron at the end, and then I take it downstairs and hand it to him.

"No, don't read it now, read it tonight when you're in bed."

He smiles.

"Sylvia, why don't you read it to me...in bed?"

"Because I told you, there is no sex until I'm your wife, and the prenuptial agreement is signed, and you have written your will."

"In that case I had better start making arrangements," he says with a sickly grin, "and don't forget, you're modelling for us tomorrow."

I settle down and open the exercise book. I start reading what Sylvia has written in her own sweet handwriting. I read her thoughts about me, and the looks I gave her the first time we met, and about her green panties going missing taken by "the dirty old man," next door. I read about the thrill she got on the day she moved in, by bending over the bed in front of Jake. The way Gerry stroked her leg, while she sat on her husband's lap in the van with him, in her words, "Sean was totally unaware that Gerry was having a feel of his wife's leg."

She goes on about the thrill of teasing the headmaster, until he couldn't control himself, and spoilt it all. Then back to me, the dirty old man, whose kindness is hiding something sinister. The secret joy she felt as the cameras clicked, and the dirty old man that helped himself to a feel, as he shove his hands in her underwear. She questions what would have happened if she hadn't run off.

I would have been at their mercy she writes, unable to defend myself, as fingers and cocks played with and fucked me. Oh how vulnerable I would be, and oh how they would enjoy taking photos of my used body, to send to me long into the future, to humiliate me all over again.

I read more; sucked into this weird confession that Sylvia has given me. Her love of the photos she has seen in the magazine, but wishing there was more build up to it. The woman with legs spread wide with that huge saw spinning ever closer between her legs, but why was she there? There has to be a reason, there should be photos explaining why it came to that Sylvia writes.

My confession to Ronald, about stealing from the till in the fish and chip shop was something I thought long and hard about. As l lay here I shudder, knowing he is reading my secrets in his room. I was hoping he would know why I was wearing stockings the day my husband left to go to Scotland. The dirty old man never said. I've let his creepy hands touch my leg. I'm often in a state of dread, then excitement, and then dread again, wondering if he would just take what he obviously wants. I do so enjoy, and yet hate this weird game we play.

I made sure the fish and chip shop owner caught me stealing from the till. I would never steal, but it's the sort of thing which would do justice to photos of him groping me. Feeling his greasy hands slide up my legs, and his face pressed against my panties, was beyond anything I could have dreamt. I was glad when his wife caught him, but part of me wishes it had gone further. The bliss I felt when he mentioned the hole I deliberately made in my tights, made me shudder. I turned to see him eating a battered sausage with the grease of it running down his fingers and chin. I wondered if that sausage was going to go deep between my legs.

The dirty old man sent me to the chip shop, knowing, because I had told him, that I was being groped by the owner, photos of which would I'm sure please and excite Ron.

Jake came round to console me after Sean left me, it didn't take him long to try it on. He chased me in the hall, and as I opened the door there was Ron. Hardily my knight in shinning armour, but then again, I do wonder if he had excited thoughts about what Jake had tried to do to me. I wondered for a split second if I was going to be the meat in the sandwich. Would they have ripped the clothes from my body, and then taken me together? I can almost feel their hands mauling and tearing at my clothes, eyes full of wicked grins, at the terror which was about to be unleashed on me.

I know now Ron will be sure I am into the weird thing of flashing my underwear, and being groped. He told me to let our new neighbour touch me, if I got the chance. Terry is a big guy, full of muscle and his hands are rough workman hands. He's a brick layer, hopefully now he is thinking about laying me. I like the teasing I always have, the only problem I have is when it goes further, and out of my control.

I can't wait for the next photo shoot. I'm hoping I can have some input, but I want the guys to push me as far as they want, even if it means going beyond the point where I would like it to stop. I have to find out if I can cope with things beyond my control, because how else can I let Ronald Smith take me on our wedding day.

I think of him in the next room reading my confession.

I turn over to the last page she has written on. There is a message directed to me.

Ronald, now you've read my secret fantasies, I'm sure you delight in your suspicions about me to be true. I think we are on the same wave length concerning the photos.

When I suggested marriage earlier this afternoon, I did after giving it careful consideration for a few days first. I know now you never intended to give me the chance to pay you back. I know too that the doctor has sent you a letter with test results showing you only have a year, or two at best left. That letter has given me the courage to offer you the deal I have.

Believe me I never thought I could be so cold as to offer myself to you like this. I put this down to you, taking my innocence away from me, with your schemes and plots, some of which I have guessed, and others which I will probably never know.

I would be shocked that any upstanding gentleman would marry a woman like me, who has been wrongly accused of trying to seduce the headmaster, and as Hazel bellowed down the phone that I tried to drag her husband to bed. And let us not forget about the pending divorce of the chip owners, which I'm sure one day will be considered my fault. So as I write that an up standing gentleman wouldn't want to marry me, you Ronald Smith, are no upstanding gentleman, you are a dirty old man, who will soon have a young trophy wife for as long as you live. For some reason, and believe me I'm as shocked as you will be reading this, I hope that it gives you pleasure until your death. As for me, my life is on hold, until everything you own is mine. The photos are a huge factor in my decision, I can't explain why properly to myself. So have fun with me making me pose, until your last breath. Sylvia.

I lay back and smile. My poor gazelle is at the waterhole, filling her belly with cool clear water, safe in the knowledge that the old lion will soon have no strength left to pursue her young body across the plain. No my pretty gazelle you are wrong.

It is amazing what you can do with a headed sheet of paper, stolen from the hospital, a typewriter that I have in my study, and a mind to dream up a trap with fictitious facts, about my early demise.

I go silently to her bedroom door. I stop and listen. Has she pushed the back of the chair under the door handle? I want to try it, but my fingers close into a fist and I smile to myself. No I have to show her that despite her demands, I am in control of myself. Tomorrow we will do a photo shoot, here in my house, and I can't wait.

The chat before photo shoot was humiliating for Sylvia. I told the guys she owed me a lot of money, and she had reluctantly agreed to do our bidding. She had been told before they arrived to, "keep her fucking mouth shut," as I told my friends of her suggestion to become my blushing bride. I sat back in the armchair with Sylvia sat on the arm in her short red dress. I heaped embarrassment on her, by telling them of her plan to seduce the headmaster, offering her friend's husband sex, and stealing from the chip shop owner, who had caught her with her fingers in the till. Her face matched her dress in colour, as I explained his wife caught them kissing in a cupboard, as she attempted to pay him back for stealing.

They sat listening in shock, as I, the leader of the pride, told them I had snared the gazelle for us to feast on. Jimmy even took a picture of her in the momentous moment. The photo shows my smiling face, and my hand round her waist, and those crossed long legs, and the blushing face of my gazelle, sat on the arm of my chair, not smiling, but awaiting her fate.

The photo shoot went very well, and we now have the evidence to prove it. The first photo is of my Sylvia, kissing her lover, namely Jimmy, goodbye. She's wearing a long black silk dressing gown, tan stockings attached to a black suspender belt, matching the black bra and panties set. She wears black mule slippers with a 3 inch heel, and a fluffy band over the foot. In the distance of the same photo, taken from inside the front door, is the poor husband looking on, shocked. It was Sylvia's idea to include build up photos. The next shot is of the husband looking at her in her fine lingerie, as she kneels at his feet, begging for forgiveness. The next photo shows him with a hunk of her hair in his hand, whilst pointing to the marital bed with the sheets all askew, his face in a rage. The wife has her arms outstretched in a defensive manner.

The next photo in the series took a few attempts to get right. The husband's arm is fully extended. The wife is captured falling on the bed, like he has just thrown her there. We tied her to the bed, using the silk belt from the dressing gown. She is gagged with a silk stocking, and her eyes are wide open in fright. My wife to be does pose so beautifully, and I guess because she didn't know what was coming, the fear in her eyes looked very real.

The next shot is taken out in the garden; I'm showing a tramp a photo of my wife tied to my bed. The tramp is Jimmy, but with a full beard and long messy wig on his head.

The photo of my poor wife still tied to the bed, her eyes wide open as she sees the tramp stood in the bedroom, with his filthy clothes, does excite me. He starts stripping, and a photo was taken of Sylvia's head, turned, and looking at the belt which is tied to her wrist. She can be seen in that photo, frantically pulling at the belt, trying to get free.

There is a close up of the tramps face, with her panties gripped in her teeth, which gives the impression he has ripped them off her pussy with his mouth.

Her back is arched off the bed in the next shot, with her legs and arms tied to the bed. Her face is screwed up tight in disgust, as the tramps face is buried between her nylon clad thighs. The next photo shows him between her legs fucking her. Her eyes are screwed shut again, and her head is turned sideways towards the camera.

Lance is now dressed as another tramp in another photo. He is stood in the bedroom doorway, pushing down his trousers, with a grin on his face. The photo shows two teeth that we blacked out, so it appears they are missing. The next shot has him from the side view, crawling on the bed, and Sylvia turning to me, begging with her tear stained eyes, to stop what is going to happen. I'm sat on a chair, legs crossed, with a whisky in my hand, smiling at her.

The wide open eyes of poor Sylvia, as the tramp kisses her full on, has my erection throbbing. The close up is beyond anything I could have imagined, his tongue can be seen invading her painted lips. Both tramps are together in the next photo, sucking on her nipples.

The last shot is of her naked in the kitchen, dishing up food to the two tramps. Her face is down cast, and her tits are covered in bite marks which we painted on. One of the tramps has his hand around her waist, and the other is pulling at her breasts!

"Did you have to tell them all those lies about me, before we started taking the photos?"

"You mean about you and the headmaster and things?"

She nods with her head down.

"Sylvia, I wanted to create," I think for a moment, "I wanted to create an atmosphere. I wanted them to be comfortable that you wouldn't run like you did at the school. I need it to be playing in their heads that you my dear wife to be, are sex mad."

"They sat there listening to you explaining all those lies about me. Even now I can see the way their eyes turned from shock to openly leering at me."

"My dear Sylvia, you told me you liked being looked at by men, by strangers, even your ex husband's friends. So they feasted on your body. Sylvia, I love the thought of them wanting to really devour my sexy young wife. Like a pride of lions devouring a defenceless gazelle."

"What's that huge picture in the in the frame with the brown paper covering it?"

"Oh, I've put it up while you went to town with your friends, Martha and Susan. Have you told them about your good news to become my wife?"

"No," she mumbles quietly.

"You had better soon my dear. Now come in the lounge and see where I've hung it."

I watch her eyes looking up at the huge photo in the frame. A disbelieving gasp escapes her mouth.

"It's ghastly," she moans.

"Oh I don't think so. It's the moment we told our friends that you are to be my wife, and our model. A shame you didn't smile, but I think my smile is big enough for the both of us."

At last with her divorce through, we are now stood in the register's office. My delight at hearing her say "I do," although some what mumbled, is like music to my ears. Lance and Mark, who are our witnesses for this glorious day, still can't believe it.

I take her home in her simple but stunning white mindress, in lace with white tights and white shoes. I watch her looking at the gold band on her finger. Her face reddens, as she sees the neighbours are stood around talking, and waiting for the arrival of the newly married couple. Lance opens the door and we exit the car. I smile at the disbelieving faces, some of which I can see haven't lost their loathing for my bride. They see her as a home wrecker. She grabs my arm with quite some force.

I'm watching the eyes staring at me. I know what a lot of them have thought about me over the last couple of months, and I can see just what they are thinking now, without the need for words. A young man's eyes lock on to my bouncing breasts and nipples, which can be seen through the lace dress.

Ron smiles as we walk up the path. A walk of about 30 paces, but those steps can't go quickly enough. My focus is on my inheritance, that is the only reason I'm doing this, and I'm sure some of the neighbours know it.

I'm Mrs Smith again, but this time Mrs Ronald Smith, a thought which grates through my brain. We're inside now and the crowd outside moves away, some talking, one or two shaking their heads. Vera and Terry our neighbours weren't there, I know they are away visiting a relative.

I follow my new husband up the stairs. I stop at the room I was renting off him. It's been cleared of all my things. He watches me with delight in his eyes, as he takes my hand and pulls me along the landing to the master bedroom. I see the bed is turned down, with fresh sheets. I tell myself to think of the end game, as I see neatly laid out on the dressing table, all my make up, perfume, hair brush, and my jewellery box. I turn as the door closes.

He comes forward and holds my hand up looking at the rings. I feel his finger gently touch my engagement ring and wedding ring. He smiles.

"Welcome home, Mrs Smith," he says.

I gulp.

He goes behind me, and I feel his fingers slowly pulling down the zip on my wedding dress. I hear the teeth of the zip clicking, and then I feel the dress sag, as the zip gets lower and lower. He pulls the dress off my shoulders. My naked breasts come into view as the dress slips down. I stare in the mirror, looking at the reflection. Between my legs my pussy is framed by the white suspender tights.

He lays me back on the bed, and lifts my ankle. I hear the shoe being pulled off, and then he lowers my foot, and repeats the process with my right foot.

I gulp as he stares at his prize beween my legs. I hear him taking off his clothes, as I stare up at the ceiling, wishing this was over before it has begun. The bed lurches, as he moves between my legs. I'm shocked and surprised, as I feel his face between my legs. I try pulling my legs together, but he holds my thighs apart. I shudder and brace myself as I feel his tongue licking between my lips. His fingers spread the pink folds, and he groans on a mouthful of pussy, my pussy!

My hand goes on his head, which feels slimy with sweat. His hands grab my wrists forcing them to my side. I'm quaking with fear, and I feel my eyes stinging with tears.

I look up at her red face.