Elsa Manly was in room six of the Sleepwell Motel.
To put it literally, she was fit to be tied. What made her feel fit to be tied was something called manila and something called hemp.
She was not in the most comfortable of positions. Unless being naked and bent like a pretzel could be called comfortable.
Elsa was also filled with agony. Which is also a critical sign of discomfort. Brim full of agony.
First of all, her asshole hurt because it had been a discomforting sensation to have a banana jammed, lengthwise, of course, into her most private place.
Second, her cunt hurt because it had been a discomforting sensation to have to eat a twelve-inch, average-sized carrot with the wrong orifice – or hole, if you don't know what an orifice is – which anatomically speaking, is where either shit or piss or bullshit comes out of.
Third, her tits hurt because it had been a discomforting sensation to have two toilet plungers attached to her tit-ends.
Fourth, her tongue hurt because it had been a discomforting sensation to have a clothes pin holding it in place.
Fifth, her hair hurt because it had been a discomforting sensation to have it tied in a top-knot and linked to something called hemp that ran through a pulley in the ceiling and was connected to a hundred-pound counterweight on the other end.
Sixth, her head hurt because it had taken what seemed hours for Elsa to discover that bondage was painfully pleasant.
There was another person in the room with Elsa Manly.
The person wasn't her husband, the good pious Reverend Manly, because he had told her that he was going to the library tonight to see if Miss Mocker had removed an odious book called The Coach Eats Out which was written by some babbling idiot named Hyman Singe. How the book ever got on the shelf in the first place, the reverend would never know, of course.
The other person in the room with Elsa Manly was a man. A very huge man in more ways than just a gigantic physique. He sported what a Christian Scientist would call a gigantus erectus. Which, in common layman terms, is more commonly known as: a huge prick.
The huge prick belonged to one Eddie Grossman, whose son was introduced in the chapter prior to this one. Eddie was just like Harvey, his son, in many respects.
Like they both shot lots of pool and they fucked a lot of chicks. They got to fuck a lot of chicks, of course, because they had that one attribute that all intelligent women look for in a man: a gigantus erectus.
Eddie was sitting in a chair opposite the bed. His cock was in his hand instead of in Elsa Manly's asshole or cunt or mouth. That would come later.
Right now, Eddie was quite content with how obscene he had made Elsa Manly look at she was bent like a pretzel with her asshole and her cunt vulnerable exposed and her tits being plunged by two toilet-bowl plungers and her hair in a style that Sassoon would have called "upsweep".
Eddie enjoyed tying up women. He liked to watch them suffer pleasurably. Because he was a sickle.
And while he watched them suffer pleasurably, of course, that gave him a lot of time with his own prick. Time that was very valuable to one Eddie Grossman because his gigantus erectus was in popular demand.
Eddie gave his prick a couple of jacks, watched it sprout another inch lengthwise and a quarter of an inch width-wise.
He saw that Elsa was watching his cock grow larger and larger. She was, just as Eddie knew it would happen, suffering pleasurably.
"I-I feel th-tho helpleth, Eddie," Elsa said in a quivery tone of voice. Probably because people are not accustomed to talking with a clothes pin holding down their tongue. "A-are you thure this ith thupothed to be fun?"
Eddie smirked – just like Harvey. "Now, don't fret, Elsa. Harvey's already told me how you get your rocks off while being tied up like a dead turkey." Elsa blushed. "H-Honey… Harvey tole y-you that? Oh, I… he p-promised he wouldn't t-tell anyone about… about, you know, h-how I love pain."
"Harvey's an asshole, Elsa," Eddie sneered – just like Harvey. He watched the banana to make sure she didn't shit it out of her asshole. "Shit, Elsa, my boy and me are real close – we don't bide nothing from each other. That's called real kinship."
Elsa squirmed, couldn't believe the tormenting ecstasy that was invading her asshole and her cunt and her plunger-sucked tits. It seemed, to her, that she had been tied up in this teasing position for days, when in reality, she had only been tied up like this for seven hours.
Oh, would it never stop – the delicious torture of her rectum as she squeezed down hard on the banana? God, she felt so lucky that he had not peeled the dildo-shaped fruit.
Lord, would the beautiful sensation of fucking a carrot never end?
And tits, God – her tits! When would the delicious plungers finally be removed?
Elsa spread her legs to see if Eddie was watching her writhing, passionate fervor.
He was. And it made Elsa feel so humiliatingly ecstatic – to have a man savor each painful moment of her sweet bondage. It was Heaven and manna and myrrh, all rolled into one. Bondage was a sense of giving – giving someone with sadistic tendencies such great indescribable pleasure.
Elsa climaxed again. For the eighteenth time in a row. She knew she had climaxed because the banana was slipping out of her ass, being forced out by the rippling thrills that ran amok in her asshole. And her cunt was just a ripply as her asshole, being that they're so much alike in physical conformation, or course. And the wet heat seemed to spiral out in tantalizing waves, caressing that rough carrot as if it were her husband's cock.
No! God, no! She didn't want to think about one Ezra Manly now. Oh God – please!
She tried her best to forget that she was a mated woman, that she was a masochistic mother, that she had said I do five years ago when she had promised to love, honor and obey.
Agony, sweet agony, made her forget that she was a tainted slut-wife. Because Eddie Grossman was standing beside the bed, gripping the long handles of the two toilet plungers and pulling hard on her tits.
"Oooooohhhhhh! My breasts! Don't stop! Abuse me! Abuse me! Keep it up! God! You're pulling my breasts off my chest!"
Eddie laughed. Probably because he liked to torture and because he had been demented since his mother dropped him when he was a six-month-old baby and she had decided to nurse the wee one while horseback riding.
Eddie pulled as hard as he could – concentrated all his strength on the toilet plunger attached to her right tittie. God! Did you ever see anything as erotic as that! Elsa's tit was being stretched longer and longer – and there was no way now that she's ever get that tit into her forty-C bra again.
"Ooooooohhhhhh! You're really hurting me! Hurting me so goooood! I never felt pain so goooood before! More! More, Eddie, more!"
Eddie gave her more.
He started pulling on the other toilet plunger. Pulling very hard because he wanted her left tit to match her right tit, didn't want to disfigure the slut-faced bitch that was urging him on.
"You slut-bitch! You deserve this! Don't you ever shit out a banana unless I tell you to! You got that, pig-lips!"
Pig-lips got it all right. Got it right up the old whooooopppeeee hole.
Because Eddie had bent over and reshoved the banana back into her asshole. And since he hadn't bothered to release the handle of the toilet plunger, her tits were being stretched outwards and downwards in excruciating pleasure.
Then Eddie really turned sadistic. He stopped torturing the masochistic mother of four boys and one idiot child.
"Ooooooohhhhh! Don't stop! You're torturing me! Please, I need painful release! Hit me! Whip me! Do anything you want – but don't leave me like this!"
Eddie smiled very sadistically now. Let the fucking pig-lips, slut-bitch agonize for a while. Let her know the true feeling of being tortured and degraded and abused – that's what the slut-pig really needed. Another teasing hour of complete peace and relaxation with no torture, no pain, no agony. That'd really be torture for a masochist – wouldn't it?
Elsa wanted to crawl the walls. She was being tortured to death now. She was going to have to wait interminable hours before the next abusing act. God, she wanted to die with the agony that filled her asshole and cunt and tits and pig-lips. She needed pain – right now!
She tried to abuse herself.
She arched her back and tried to sit on the carrot and banana. While applying more pressure to her upsweep bouffant hairdo. But it just wasn't the same as being whipped and lashed, or better, pissed and shat upon.
She needed something now!
"Ooooooohhhhh, please! Eddie, please! I need you now! Please don't leave me hanging like this! I'll die if you don't do something!"
Eddie had that same smug, sadistic smile on his face – just like Harvey. "Suffer, pig-lips, suffer."
God, that was what Elsa needed now – words of encouragement, words that were tinged with sadistic undertones, words that conveyed elements of horrible joy and disgusting comfort.
So, Elsa suffered in silence, barely containing her eagerness for the next vile act of degradation and amok.
Clackety-clack. Clackety-clack. Clackety-clack.
Hiram nearly shit bricks.
Nothing was going right.
People were becoming unglued for no reason at all. Because tonight was Thursday – the night that Prudence Meeker usually came to the Sleepwell Motel and rented a room. And it was her regular night for jacking off on a Tupperware rolling pin.
But now, Prudence wasn't there. And neither was the Tupperware rolling pin.
What Hiram found in room six was not Prudence Meeker giving her cunt an artificial fuck with a Tupperware rolling pin. What Hiram found in room six was something beievabie.
Elsa Manly, the reverend's pious wife, was getting fucked by a banana and a cock while two toilet plungers were nursing on her tits and her hair was strung up, held in place by a hundred-pound counter-weight.
Hiram was shocked.
Very shocked.
This had never happened before. This was absurd.
He rubbed his eyes. Returned his peepers back to Mrs. Whistler's eye sockets. Jesus! It was true! And it was not absurd!
That was Elsa Manly on the bed, and over in the corner… over in the chair was… Hiram's face nearly went through the wall and the painting of Whistler's Mother as he tried to bugle out his eyes and see who the Hell it was sitting in the corner.
Then his eyes straightened out and his gaze was intent upon a huge man with a huge prick. Then Hiram knew who the man was – Eddie Grossman. Because Hiram knew Eddie Grossman's prick better than the owner did. After all, Eddie Grossman had been characterized countless times in Hiram's fuck books. Yes, Hiram was very familiar with Eddie Grossman and the obscene things he could do with his cock.
Then Hiram got pissed. This wasn't fair. Prudence Meeker was supposed to be in room six tonight – and he needed her to be in room six because he was on page eighty-four of The Secretary's Brown Pubes and he needed a masturbating scene.
"Shit," Hiram said in an irate whisper.
Christ, there was nothing to do now but to write down what, was happening in room six and hope he could use the scene in a later part of the book.
But that led to other problems. Like, would his publisher accept bondage and S amp; M scenes? Did readers of fuck books get their rocks off on toilet-plunger scenes? How as he going to fit a bondage scene into a story about a secretary who fucked around so much that she finally feels so guilty she ends up a nun?
"Shit!" Hiram mumbled again, watching what was happening in room six.
There was only one way he could get the S amp; M scene into The Secretary's Brown Pubes without sounding dumb or corny or taking too much dramatic license – or would his publisher revoke even that?
Hiram knew he would have to realize what was actually happening in room six, soften the S amp; M scene so there wouldn't be much pain or screaming, change Mrs. Manly to a nun who had escaped from the nunnery, but who was captured by a friar from a different order, one who believed in Inquisition type torture, then have the secretary with the brown pubes, Tuesday Salary, meet the nun after she had been tortured and have her talked into joining the friar of the different order who believed in using torture to convert heathens to Christianity.
Now, things were beginning to make sense.
Now, things looked much brighter.
Hiram felt ingenious again. And he was even eager to start hacking out the words needed to describe what was happening to the nun in room six as she was made to confess her sins under painful, but pleasant, duress.
Quickly Hiram set the brake on his mini-trolley, grabbed the Mattel typewriter, set it on his lap, rolled in the butcher paper and began:
Pain, like sunlight on a morning when the sun comes up, can be very surprising as an element to change people's minds.
Pain accompanied the friar as he stared at his nun who was garbed in a long black robe with a white choker. Her cross was gold.
The friar smirked his lips. "Confess, nun Nancy, or the Lord's wicked wrath will plague you until you vomit."
Nun Nancy, who was about twenty-eight years of age, nodded with her head, telling the friar that she will confess if he would not use the pain that he had promised to use in order for her to go back to where she had run any from.
"Good."
"Thank you."
"Repent and we will forgive what you have trespassed against."
The nun's head drooped with shameful ignorance.
"Repent and we will forgive what you have trespassed against."
The friar repeated it for her sake as well as his.
Nun Nancy would not repent the trespassing. Tears, made of water, came from her eyes as if they had been peeling onions.
"Repent and we will forgive what you have trespassed against."
This time louder.
Nun Nancy whelped in tears.
"Then pain it will be, like I promised you until you repent against what you have trespassed against. Do you fully understand all these offensive charges?"
"Y-y-y-y-yes," she stammered clearly.
Undressing, the friar did that to the tearful nun.
He completely divested her of what she was wearing around her body. Then, with his hands, he used them to unbutton the shameful nun Nancy's outer garments until, like the layers of an onion that are peeled one leaf at a time, he had her completely, starkly exposed except for her panties and her bra and the gold thing that hung like a noose from her chin.
The friar pulled out his cock almost by mistake.
It was as if he had used a baseball bat to piss with because he was finely endowed with a gorgeous prick. The prick poked out from near the crotch of his clothes like a gopher coming out of its hole on ground-hog day.
Nun Nancy's body heaved. She shook like a fragile leaf that blows in the cool winter blizzard. Her tits, too.
Fear grabbed her cunt-lips, and though she had black-net-lace panties on, he could see the oozy stuff that comes out of a nun's hole when they are hot to trot.
Ripping the panties off, he removed them with his hands.
Now, the nun was completely naked to his eyes except for where her bra covered up her hugely-exposed nipples and the other parts of her good breasts. Also, the gold thing on her neck.
Ripping the bra off was the next thing on the agenda. He ripped them off with cold, murderous hands, determined to repent the nun for her trespassing sins.
Then they fucked.
In and out. In and out. In and out. In and out.
It was erotic.
The nun helped him a lot for she was feeling pleasure whereas most nuns would have held off their climax enough to show how much they thought about their captor.
Then the friar did a strange erotic thing. Pulling his cock out without the usage of his hands, he removed his prick entirely. Then, because his hands were empty, he used them to grab some ropes that also happened to be on a chair nearby. Also, his hands found a hundred-pound counterweight and two things that had wood handles on them with something that looked like a big set of bra cups on the ends, which were nearby too.
These he used to suck her tits with. After he tied up her hair, connected it and ran it through a pulley that appeared from the ceiling and finally ended it on the weight of something that weighed about one hundred pounds of some kind of metal.
Then, from his toilet kit, he produced a banana and a carrot. The carrot was orange. He shoved both articles of defilement into her two bottom holes. One of which was her pussy. The other was close to her pussy and was connected to it by a hairy taint.
The friar looked at what he had done.
It was erode.
Nun Nancy's eyes fell out of her head as she had watched him tie her up this way. She had not wanted any part of the eroticism that he was partaking in. But she was completely useless to resist.
Then, suddenly, as rapid as water rushed over a waterfall, nun Nancy changed. Her expression expressed harmony with what held her onto the bed and what was stuck in her asshole about a foot and what was in her cunt about five inches.
She was happy, and now contentedness arose in her heart like blood that had been filled with champagne bubbles. This is what she knew she wanted forever and ever and beyond time and eternity.
The nun climaxed as the friar shot his erotic jizz all about her pronged titties.
Hiram was sweating. Sweating because it was hot as Hell in his peeping Tom tunnel. And sweating because he was looking over the pages that he had just written and found them to be excruciatingly erotic. Something that would really turn on fuck-book readers.
Quickly, he rolled up the butcher paper. Put the $10.95 typewriter back into its case. Farted twice and merrily wheeled down to the end of the trolley way and back to the receptionist office.
Clackety-clack. Clackety-clack. Clackety-clack.