John Friday - Tormented widow in bondage

Rita Wallford was dressing to go out for the afternoon when a messenger delivered a small slim box to the door of her spacious hilltop home. It contained a beautiful diamond necklace.

She stood before a mirror in the hall to try it on. The clasp seemed strange to her, larger than it needed to be. It snapped shut with a loud click like handcuffs.

Tall and titian-haired, the voluptuous forty- two-year old widow was a regal beauty, resplendent in a black mink coat with a wide raised collar to frame her finely sculptured face.

She smiled approvingly and thought the necklace must be from the handsome and wealthy man she was engaged to marry. The card was unsigned but it said, "You'll soon be mine forever.”

The phone rang and Rita rushed to answer, thinking it must be her adoring fiancй. But instead of his cultured tones she heard the gravelly voice of a stranger ask, "Is this Rita Wallford?” "Yes," she answered curiously. "Who's this?” "I sent you the necklace," his scratchy voice said. "Have you tried it on?” "Yes, I'm wearing it now.” "Good! Now your gorgeous ripe body belongs to me!" The words came hard and cold, with a cutting edge. Rita strained to swallow a dry lump of fear. It made the glittering strand of jewels seem tighter around her neck.

"Who is this?" she demanded.

Then Rita shrilled a cry of startled terror. The necklace was getting tighter and choking off her breath. She clawed at the large clasp but could not get it open. Sharp-edged stones began to cut her tender flesh.

"The clasp works like a winch by radio control," he said with a wicked cackle of laughter. "I could strangle you just by pressing a button. But first I want you to suffer in hideous torment as I have all these years.” "Why me?" Rita croaked. She dug frantically in the drawer of the telephone table to find scissors that would cut the throttling band.

He had anticipated that. "If you cut the wire that runs through the necklace, needles hidden in the clasp will inject deadly poison into your pretty neck," he warned with sadistic delight.

The strangling band then slackened just enough to let her grab a quick gulp of desperately needed breath. Rita used it to snarl, "You bastard!”

Now she knew who her tormentor must be. Only one man in the world was capable of such ingenious cruelty-John "Doc" Watson, the eccentric inventor and electronics expert who'd once been her dead husband's business partner.

"Speak with humble respect if you want to breathe," he warned.

"Why do this to me?" she moaned. "It was my husband who framed you for embezzling company funds.” "Yes, but you knew the truth and kept silent, letting me go to prison twenty long years ago.” "He wouldn't let me tell anyone. I was terrified! You know what a cruel man he was.” "But he died five years ago, and you still did nothing to set the record straight.”

“I’ll make all of that up to you now," she promised desperately. "I have money. Lots of money.” "Money from the business you helped him steal from me," Watson sneered. "That isn't enough after all I've been through.” "Then what do you want?” "I want to see you suffer!" his voice rasped. "Under the lining of the gift box you'll find a plastic ear piece like part of a hearing aid. Put it on and walk out your front door.” "All right, but please let me breathe!”

With the earpiece in place, Rita could hear Doc Watson's voice just as though he was standing beside her. And something in it allowed him to hear her.

Rita walked out onto her front porch like a zombie, dreading Doc Watson's awful rage. She hated to think what a man falsely imprisoned for so many years might do.

"Take off your clothes," he said in her ear. "It's been twenty years since I’ve seen a naked woman. I'm watching you now with binoculars and I want to see a strip tease that will excite me.” "Not out here," she pleaded softly. "The gardener is working in my front yard and neighbors are just getting out of their car across the street.” "I told you to strip!" He tightened the necklace.

Rita grudgingly took off her elegant mink coat and laid it over the porch rail.

"Do it with style!" he demanded. "You were a sexy young stripper when Wallford first met you.” "I was an exotic dancer," she said meekly. "I never performed completely nude.” "And I never thought I'd have to take a shower locked in a room with a hundred other horny men! Prance your pretty ass and peel off your blouse.” "No, I won't!" Rita had worked hard to bury her past, a poor upbringing in the worst part of town, then a job dancing and serving drinks in a seedy waterfront bar. "Aaaggghhh!" she cried. The necklace tightened relentlessly.

Her neighbors turned and stared when they heard her gagging cry. The gardener looked up with a leering grin.

"Smile and wave to them," Doc said. "Then take off your blouse and throw it to the old man trimming your hedge.” "I'd rather die!” "Then I'll have my revenge with your lovely daughters. I know where to find them, Rita. What a pleasure it will be to have two teenaged girls after twenty years in prison!” "Not my daughters!” "Then dance for me, Rita. Show your luscious curves stark naked!” "All right, let me breathe and leave my girls alone." Rita began one of her exotic dance routines. She slipped off her silk blouse and threw it to the old man who'd tended her garden for many years. He grinned even more lewdly. Rita seethed with shame but had no choice. Her lacy black bra went next. The old man caught it and beamed with delight, hardly able to remember the last time his prick had swelled hard.

Her neighbors, a distinguished bank president and his prissy wife both stared in shock. Rita dropped her skirt and danced across the porch wearing only sleek black panties and high-heeled shoes.

His wife cried, "George, don't you dare look at that brazen hussy for another second!”

He said, "Shut up, Agnes," unable to tear his eyes away. His wife fainted and fell facedown on their front lawn. The banker whipped out his hot prick and began to hand-jack the long cockshaft in time with Rita's high-stepping routine.

She stripped off her black panties and threw them to the gardener with a forced smile curving her soft lips. He caught the slinky black cloth and raised it to cover his big nose that hooked like an eagle's beak. He took a deep breath and savored the musky scent of cunt.

"Now cup those big lush tits in your hands and twirl the nipples hard," Doc said in her ear. His voice was strained with excitement. Twenty years without a woman had been sheer hell for him. He opened his fly and freed a thick foot-long cock that was quaking with vindictive desire.

Watson sighed and stroked his prick fully hard while holding the binoculars in his other hand. He sat unseen, beating his meat in a camouflaged blind built on a knoll fifty yards away. Doc wore what looked like a telephone operator's headset with a small microphone poised before his taut lips.

"Now wiggle a finger deep in your tawny-haired cunt. Get it good and wet with fuck honey, then walk out on the lawn and tell the gardener you've been dying all these years to suck his cock.” "I can't do that! He's the ugliest, dirtiest old man I've ever seen.” "You're going to swallow your pride along with his cum-” "No, I've never done that. Not for any man." Tears of fear and loathing welled up in her blue-green eyes.

"I could cut off your air.” "N-n-no, I'll do it!" Rita cringed, walking down the steps to stand before the sweaty old man.

"Down on your knees!” said the voice only Rita could hear. "Worship his withered prick like the humble slave you are now.”

Rita knelt with a sigh of sick disgust and seething frustration, despising the vindictive inventor for all he was making her do.