Surrendering Sarah

Chapter 13



Cold. Hunger. Fear. He had learned to accept two of the three, but the cold just seemed to get worse. Shivering in the dark, Sport sifted through the events of the past two months, trying to make sense of it all, how everything went wrong, and what he might have done to make it right again. Many of his memories were clear, all too clear, but he was unable to assemble them into a rational sequence. Out of context, fleeting moments of opportunity from the past only served to frighten him, and he retreated from each one, trembling at the likely consequences.

It had been cold that day too, when two burly officers dragged him from the muck at the bottom of the ditch. The docks looked so different. Daylight had painted over flashing neon and shiny, wet streets with drab grays and browns, and burned away the fog that crept and breathed about their feet the night before, licking at Sarah's bare thighs with a hundred ghostly tongues.

Bright. Too bright.

A muddied hand shielded his eyes from the morning light. Squinting through narrow spaces between his fingers, he cringed as face after face stared back at him. Most pointed and snickered, until the growing laughter drowned out the cackle of seagulls that circled overhead like slow, gray-white vultures.

A few faces turned away quickly with lips pursed, shaking their heads with disgust. He shuddered as he lowered his eyes over splotches of mud, now drying to a thin crust on his skin. He was naked - worse than naked. He could feel the weight of his erection bounce and pull at him as they ushered him to the patrol car. How? Why? The throbbing in his head made concentrating difficult.

Loud. Too loud.

The policemen were asking him too many questions. He didn't know what they wanted or how to make them stop. They were pushing him, pulling his hand away from his eyes, fastening his wrists together behind his back with something cold and hard.

Once at the station, he tried to explain it all to them. His head ached; he couldn't think straight. The words came out all wrong and the policemen just laughed at his story. Why wouldn't they listen? Why couldn't they understand? They kept asking the wrong questions.

"So, your wife is having an affair with this biker?"

"How long has she been seeing him?"

"Do you know her lover?"

"Did you plan to kill them both last night?"

"How much did you have to drink?"

No, no, no! Why couldn't he make them understand? The metal chair was so cold, and they just kept laughing at him, naked, still hard from the drugs Rock ****** him to take the night before. A few female officers drifted in, anxious to get a look. They snickered as they eyed his throbbing erection. He kept asking for some clothes, anything to cover his cock, to keep him warm. How could they let him sit there naked, ******* to anyone passing by the row of windows looking out into the busy hallway?

"Please, help me - some clothes, please - I'm cold - so cold..."

Finally they gave up, threw a blanket over him, and led him to a holding cell. He sat and shivered for hours, dazed and helpless, head still bleeding from where the butt of the gun slammed into him. He wished the explosion in his head had been a charging slug of lead, tumbling through soft gray-matter. He had expected that, accepted it, finally welcoming the escape from the torture he had grown powerless to prevent. What else did Rock want from them? He had taken his wife, first by force, then willingly, gloating as Sarah begged for the biker's huge cock. Then this - how weak he must have looked to Sarah that night, so helpless - he had his chance, he had the gun, only to have all hope wrestled away by Shayla's strong arm about his neck, the warm metal barrel in his mouth as Rock mocked him, Sarah looking on as he sucked the end of the gun at Rock's command - but if it wasn't over, what next?...Oh God, what next... "Let's go, Sport. Your wife's here to take you home."

The words seemed to clear his head, and he stared at the officer, still a bit wild-eyed. Thank God - Sarah was ok - they let her go - they could go home now - be together again - try to forget -

As they rounded the corner and approached the front desk, he recognized her voice, a soft mewing mixed with the little-girl whine.

"He's such a dear, the poor thing. So understanding, considering what he puts himself through. Oh, Sweetheart, there you are! I'm so glad they found you! I was worried sick! Are you ok?"

Stacey ran to him, seizing him with a tight hug.

"No! No! No!!! She's not my wife - she's one of them - get away from me - where's Sarah - what have you done with her?"

Stacey watched with her best disappointed look as he backed away babbling, refusing to leave with her.

"He gets like this sometimes. As I was telling you, it's been so difficult for him. He's been impotent for so long. When he's sober, he's agreed to let me go to my friend for my physical needs if I'll stay married to him. It works for a while, until it gets the best of him. Every so often he snaps, goes out and takes God-knows what combination of drugs, anything to get him hard. The sad part is that he gets so wrecked, he never comes home to me when he could satisfy me. He gets obsessed with finding my friend and me together, and the drugs and alcohol send him into the night, driven by a crazed fantasy that I'm cruising the city, sleeping with every man I can find. Of course, nothing could be further from the truth, officers."

Stacey's wide-eyed stare traveled from one policeman to the next, her wet lips opened just enough to glisten with anything but innocence. The policemen stared back, paralyzed by her girlish innuendo.

"Jeeezus..."

"Poor bastard..."

"Well, um, Ma'am, if we could just see some identification, we'll release him."

Stacey opened her tiny white purse and presented Sarah's driver's license, her picture now neatly covered by Stacey's, blue eyes gazing coyly from the upper left corner.

When Sport objected a second time, a large blue uniform moved against him from behind, a wide firm hand heavy on his shoulder.

"Listen buddy, you have a beautiful wife who cares enough about you to be here for you. If I were you, I'd calm down, go home, and sleep it off. Unless of course, you'd like to be our guest for a while..."

Stacey led the way through the double glass doors, her brief cotton dress bouncing just enough to show a glimpse of sheer white panties from behind. The roar of the policemen's laughter followed them all the way to the curb where Stacey's red ****** waited. It started on the third try, and before pulling into traffic she glanced down where the blanket parted, revealing his now-shrunken stub of a penis. He caught her looking and tried to cover himself as she shook her head, grinning.

"Don't worry Sport. They say that size isn't everything, right? But I'm afraid right about now Sarah couldn't possibly agree."

***

Stacey dropped him in front of his house. Sport was as relieved as he was surprised that their destination wasn't more sinister. He slumped beside her in the cramped passenger seat, waiting for the worst. But Stacey just sat and fidgeted, tapping the steering wheel lightly to an unheard beat that rolled endlessly through her pretty blonde head.

She gave him a minute or two. She loved indecision in men. It made her feel powerful, in control, and generally reaffirmed her contempt for the crude, useless creatures. After that, they just pissed her off.

"If you're waiting to grow a dick, do it on your own time, Sport. Some of us have a life."

He gathered the blanket around him, taking a few seconds to glance up and down the block. His next-door neighbor eyed the car with quick, suspicious glances.

"Christ, do I have to spell it out? GET OUT, you pathetic fuck!"

Sport kicked open the door and fled across his yard, the small blanket trailing behind as he ran for the safety of the house. He could feel the warm sun on his skin and the breeze, unexpectedly cool, as it rushed between his legs. He glanced to the side just long enough to see Janey, now still and straight as a statue, follow his progress through the ankle-high grass.

He never liked Janey. He liked her even less after she divorced Fred, her henpecked husband, and took everything he had, including their spacious two-story home. Now she had money, *and* the body of a woman half her age.

It hadn't taken long for Sarah and Sport to learn to avoid Janey's attempts to socialize. Fred would sit quietly, a shell of a man, while Janey went on for hours with stories about how inept Fred was at this or that, and how their new gardener ogled her when she sunbathed in her new bikini, or how her young doctor spent just a bit more time than was absolutely necessary examining her breasts. Then came the slow wink, directed at Sarah, as if Fred didn't notice, as she touched Sarah's hand, expecting a knowing wink in return. But Sarah's obvious embarrassment didn't faze Janey. When Sarah declined to respond positively to her crude anecdotes, Janey would counter with, "Aww, c'mon, Honey, us girls have to stick together, don't we?"

Sarah told him Janey was too insensitive and "flamboyant" to be anything more than a pest of a neighbor. Sport pictured her staked across a mound of fire ants while he poured honey over her silicone- stuffed tits. More than once, he imagined her screams as vicious, frantic swarms of tiny red predators consumed her naked, writhing body.

Then, suddenly, he was falling, somersaulting head over heels in the long, soft grass. He landed sprawled on his back, naked, the blanket gone. Caught in a sudden gust of wind, it folded and flapped against itself twice, fluttered in an updraft, and finally came to rest at Janey's feet.

He looked up to see her eyes wander over his pale body, then settle where his dick hung lifelessly between his outstretched legs. It was her grin, that sly, crooked grin, that made his head start to throb again - pounding, pounding - long after he reached the front door and bolted it behind him.

***

"Hi, Mr. B. You look beat. Tough weekend?"

Shannon, his receptionist/secretary beamed her usual wide smile from behind her desk.

"Uh, yeah, kind of, Shannon. I may be coming down with something, maybe a bad cold. I'll be fine."

'Ah, to be twenty-two again,' he mused. She wore the white sweater today, the one with the deep neckline that clung to her like it was custom-knitted with every curve in mind. Shannon was the all- American girl - tall, blonde and tan, with the eternal enthusiasm of a cheerleader. He was mildly surprised when Sarah had hired her. She wasn't the type a wife would ordinarily trust around her husband. After one week he had a new appreciation for Sarah's judge of character. Shannon was never late, handled customers with the utmost tact, and showed a flair for numbers and record-keeping. She kept her private life private, and except for the tastefully flattering clothes, never made her presence a temptation for him, or any of the other employees. She was the perfect assistant, and provided a daily helping of safe, innocent eye-candy to boot.

"Oh, Mr. B., you have a visitor. She's waiting in your office. She's hot, Mr.B. Your taste in customers is improving," she teased.

He smiled, trying not to stare at her cleavage, shook his head, and went inside.

Shayla was in his chair. She leaned back casually as if she owned the office, her long chocolate legs stretching for what seemed like yards in front of her. The brief navy skirt revealed all but six inches of muscular thigh, while the matching jacket narrowed at her long waist, emphasizing full breasts that rose firm and round into the open space above the top button.

"Well, it's about time Sport. How do you stay in business if you don't arrive early every day to watch the help?"

He froze in the doorway, his feet now lead, his heart a racing time- bomb.

"Close the door, Sport. We have your future to discuss, and Sarah's of course."

He sat across from her, in the chair his customers took while listening to his terms and prices. Shayla just smiled, uncrossed and crossed her legs, and smiled wider when she caught him glancing up her skirt.

"Let me explain how our little business meeting will go, Sport. I do the talking, and you shut up and listen. When I finish, and ask for questions, you may speak, but not before. Follow my instructions, and you and your precious Sarah may be together again soon. Open your mouth when you shouldn't, or make trouble of any kind, and, well, believe me, there are horrors that neither of you could possibly imagine.

"I'm your new business partner."

Sport straightened in his chair, his reflexes raising him a few inches off the seat, then nearly bringing him to his feet before Shayla's words stopped him.

"Uh-uh-uhhh, Sport.

She picked up the receiver of his phone, holding it in mid-air on its way to her ear.

"Should I make a call? I could have your darling wife's boob-job undone rather hastily. The doctor is busy these days, but I'm sure Rock would love to give it a try. He's always so eager to play doctor. It might get a bit messy though, not to mention what her little titties might look like, if she survives.

Sport collapsed back into the chair, shaking helplessly with fear and rage.

"Relax Sport. It won't be so bad. Just do as I say. You may even thank me someday.

"Now, I've looked over your books and inventory, and, well, I see potential here. You custom design and manufacture medical appliances and equipment - everything from artificial limbs to wheelchairs and hospital beds. Some very clever stuff, too. And your mail-order business is impressive, to say the least. I think I can be a big help here. Of course, we'll have to trim the inventory some - and I have some interesting plans for your machine shop.

"We'll share your office for the time being. I like this desk, and the chair's nice and comfy, too. Set up one of those small tray-tables where you're sitting. I'll be doing most of the work anyway, and I want to keep an eye on you. Now I'd like a tour of our building. Time to meet the help."

Sport led her through his office, cringing inside each time he introduced Shayla as his new business partner. The looks of surprise and shock on his employees' faces made it even harder. Later, Shayla did her best to win over the men in the shop, then the shipping department. Her suggestive innuendoes and light touches had most of them eating out of her hand after only minutes. Sport saw her making mental notes of the few that were disgusted by her behavior, but most just stared at her legs and breasts.

Lunch had arrived by the time they retired to his office. Shayla had ordered the food from a nearby deli. Sport stared at his small salad while Shayla pulled small white boxes of Chinese takeout from a large paper bag.

"I'm putting you on a diet, Sport. I hope you like salads. From now on, I'll be providing all your meals. And no cheating, or that sweet little wife of yours will end up in pieces."

Shayla sat and watched as he picked at the small mound of lettuce lightly coated with watery, bland dressing. She grinned with satisfaction, then began to feast, the odor of General's Chicken filling the small room.

Sport spent the rest of the day sitting across the room doing absolutely nothing as Shayla raided his computer. She stretched her legs often, opening them just enough to make sure he couldn't miss her firm, plump labia framed by the longest, smoothest inner thighs he had ever seen. As the hours passed, he began to fidget. The hard chair became more uncomfortable. His hands began to tremble. By the end of the day, increasing nervousness had him jumping at the slightest noise.

"Sport!" shouted Shayla.

The sudden command nearly shook him out of his chair.

"What are you looking at, Sport? Answer me!"

She had caught him staring between her open legs, and he stammered nervously, afraid of what would come next.

"So, you like my pussy, Sport? The least you could do is ask to look at it. I might even give you permission."

He just sat there, heart pounding, dreading what was to come.

"Well, go on. Let me hear you ask, Sport. Quickly! I'm easily insulted!"

He gulped, licked his parched lips, and slowly got the words out.

"M-may I please look at your pussy?"

She shook her head as she answered, her voice laced with convincing disgust.

"It's no wonder Sarah was so eager for a real man. You beg for what other men so easily take. Come over here."

Sport rose shakily to his feet. His eyes stayed glued to Shayla's.

"I said get over here, now!"

He crossed the space between them in three rapid steps, stopping at the edge of her desk. She had spread her legs wider, hiking the brief skirt about her hips. He struggled to keep from looking through the glass desktop at her magnificent thighs and the parted, shaved lips nestled between them.

"Take it out, Sport."

He stared blankly, his heart pounding.

"Your dick, Sport, your dick. Take it out. Let me see it."

His hand shook as he lowered the zipper of his slacks and fished the limp worm of flesh from its hiding place. Shayla reached forward and gently grasped the head between thumb and fingers, rolling and tugging as she watched his reaction. She lowered her other hand to her crotch, first spreading the plump lips with two fingers, then inserting a third inside. Slowly, deliberately, she penetrated herself, with each stroke withdrawing just enough to display the glistening juices that coated the single long digit. She smiled as his erection grew.

"You'd love some of this, wouldn't you, Sport? Your dick says you'd sacrifice your precious little Sarah for it. How do you think she'd feel? You're obviously as easy as she is. But still, betrayal can be the most difficult of life's surprises to accept. Would she hate you for it? Could she ever erase the pain delivered in an instant, like a sudden knife through the heart?"

His cock responded to her touch, growing longer and harder with each careful trace of her long, pearly nails. He hated himself for the betrayal, but found her touch impossible to resist. His knees shook. His trembling hands grasped the edge of the desk. As he stared at her cunt through the glass, he could feel his belt being undone, the slow inching of his slacks over his hips, and finally, her invading hands around his sac, pulling all of his sex into the cool office air.

"So, the answer to your question Sport, is, yes, you can look at my pussy. Get a good look. Memorize every detail. Imagine how tight and hot it might feel around your insignificant little prick, and then cum in my hand, knowing that Sarah would welcome the same from any man."

He wouldn't. He couldn't. He closed his eyes as Shayla's hands milked him. Sarah's face stared back at him in the darkness, black hair flowing over delicate, bare shoulders. Shayla's voice purred in the background.

"You're nothing to her now, Sport. She's had a hundred men better than you."

He felt the urgency build in his testicles, then spread slowly through his belly and cock. Sarah's face was replaced with disturbing images - her legs wrapped tightly around a biker in their own bedroom, her thighs shuddering as her naked body jerked and spasmed in a cage suspended over a cheering crowd, and finally, silhouetted by a dying bonfire, her small body eagerly rising and falling on Rock's massive cock, willingly flaunting her own betrayal...

"Oh, Rock...it feels so good...so big and hard inside me... oh God, you're so huge...sooo good, Rock...so fucking good... fuck me, Rock...fuck me harder...you're making me cum, Rock... I'm cumming now, Rock. . . "

Shayla's hand tightened around his balls, drawing him closer, forcing him to lean forward over the desk. She circled the head of his cock with her fingertip, scraping away the expanding droplet of sticky fluid as her nail grazed the sensitive opening.

"Let her go, Sport. If she feels anything for you at all, it's contempt, or worse, pity. She's starving for everything you're not. Cum for me, Sport. Show me I'm right. Forget the little slut. It's what she wants. It's what you want. Trust me..."

He felt the long, tortured moan rise from deep in his chest, then burst from his lips as though it was another man's voice.

"Nooooo, oh God, nooooo..."

His hips rocked forward. He could feel the semen surging on its way from his belly to where Shayla's fingers stroked his penis, now hard and urgent in her exquisite hand. Behind his clenched eyelids, Sarah's face stared back in disbelief. A large tear formed at the corner of her eye, then raced over her cheek as a second formed behind it.

Shayla smiled as he delivered the spoonful of cum in her hand, arriving in three small spurts. Three. She counted them. Such a small offering. Yet, to Sport, it was much more. It was his defeat, and the betrayal of his love for Sarah, a love that connected them like a fraying thread.

He tried to pull away from the edge of the desk, but Shayla snugged the fingers of her left hand around his sac, countering with just enough resistance to keep him close. After milking the last drops of semen from his cock, she opened her right hand, raising it to offer him a better view.

"I see now why you never had children, Sport. Just look at this tiny little puddle of cum. You do everything in such a small way, don't you."

Sport glanced down at the semen she had won from him, now barely wetting her open palm.

"What should we do with this, Sport? Any ideas?"

He knew what was coming, and let his revulsion show as he looked into her eyes.

"Mmmm, yes, I thought about that, Sport, but it would be so degrading, don't you think? I mean, the homoerotic implications alone are enough to send most real men screaming from the room. On the other hand, it could be a valuable learning experience. Wouldn't you like to know what it's like to be on the receiving end for a change? You may even learn to like the taste of it. Isn't that what men fantasize about - that we'll grow savor the taste of your cum so much that we can't get enough of it?"

His body shook violently and uncontrollably. Nausea rose from deep in his gut as her hand tightened around his testicles, drawing him closer over the desk. His face was inches from her outstretched hand, close enough to see the moist crevices between her fingers, and to smell the faint odor of his semen that spread slowly over her palm.

"I sense you're not open to my offer of self-enlightenment, Sport. I should have known. What were the words that Sarah used to describe your sexual prowess to Rock? 'Tediously domestic', I believe. Although 'tame', 'dull', and 'unimaginative' also come to mind. She does tend to babble on while she's riding a sturdy cock. So, consider this your first assignment from your new boss. Lick, Sport. I'll tell you when to stop."

As his employees' cars filed past the office window at the end of their work day, Sport licked, then continued to feast on each of Shayla's long, brown fingers, sucking one after another into his mouth as she buried her hand between her legs. Her body stiffened for a second as a sudden, quiet sigh escaped her, then relaxed as her full lips tightened into a wide smile. The smile became a snicker, then a laugh that shook her muscular body from wide shoulders to shapely calves, a laugh that echoed painfully through Sport's throbbing head.

Too loud. Too loud.