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Melody Part two
I went home in the Hummer with Moffat, back through the city then a single sector to junction twelve on the freeway and up into the hills to our mansion.
Supper was a hoot, my father had excelled himself, Melissa was a fine tribute to the plastic surgeons art, her breasts were easily DD or bigger her eyes an unnatural deep blue, her hair an unnatural shade of honey blonde and her brain easily the weakest I had encountered in a very long time.
She sat there like some fleshy clothes horse, describing in excruciatingly tedious detail the retail outlet and details of the transaction for each item of clothing and accessory that weighed her down while simultaneously consuming tiny quantities of food which I was sure she would throw up later, and worse still her mother accompanied her dropping hints at every conversational pause that Melissa was in fact single and intended to marry before the year was out. If she expected me to show an interest then she was sadly mistaken.
Somehow I pried myself free around midnight, and headed down town to check on Melody, to see if she was giving the staff adequate service.
There was something of a queue, I saw Warwick Jones pounding away at her and it took a moment to realise he was in fact using the smaller brown orifice, although it didn’t look all that small distended as it was around the enormous girth of his penis.
Silas Harmon and Andy Phelps sat waiting patiently in their company coveralls, “You in a hurry Boss” Andy asked.
“No, I’ll take the other end.” I suggested.
“I wouldn’t do that sir.” he said.
“Why,” I said as I opened the door. “Mother!” I exclaimed as my mother lying on the padded trolley her legs raised high and wide resting on stirrups above and beside her head parted and Melodys face buried in her pubic hair.
“John!” she exclaimed, “I was sure you would be occupied with Melissa this evening, and your father said Melody fucked like a dream so I thought.”
“I see what you thought!” I said, “The poor girls got eight inches of negro meat up her backside and her face stuffed in your sex, are you trying to kill her?”
“Don’t be crude dear.” she said, “You know the situation, now leave me, give me a few moments, you know if she wasn’t so ugly Melody could be my dresser for the summer,” she said wistfully and I closed the door.
It didn’t seem fair somehow, Warwick was peeling off the brown stained condom and Silas was now rhythmically pounding her, choosing the hairy vaginal option, his coveralls unbuttoned to the crotch, and then Mother appeared, not a hair out of place, immaculate as ever, just slightly flushed. “She’s all yours!” she grinned “Very amenable.”
Melody was looking angry, desperately trying to spit out mother’s juices and some stray pubic hairs.
“Hello, have you eaten,” I asked.
“Only Pussy,” she snarled.
“Would you like a drink?” I enquired.
“And I guess you’ll piss in my mouth like that Negro bastard!” she snarled.
“No, I meant bottled water, I’ll get some.” I promised.
“Don’t go.” she said.
“I’ll be right back,” I promised and I opened a cupboard door to reveal a refrigerator full of frozen bottled water and bottles of diet coke, beer, whiskey and many other drinks.
I took a bottle of diet coke and tipped it in a glass, and offered it to her.
“My hands are cuffed Moron.” she wailed.
I released the cuffs and supported her shoulders with my arms to let her use her arms to drink, she gargled and spat most of it across the floor, “Yuck, pussy,” she complained, “Can I have some more?”
I got her another bottle.
“I’d offer you something to eat but you have enough blubber to live off for a month!” I explained and as expected she swore at me.
“I guess you will be processed by the time I get back from Engand,” I explained, “But enjoy yourself!” I gave her a little wave, she almost smiled.
England was a disaster. My father had wanted to be a racing driver, but he was too busy building the business to actually race so he had me race to fulfil his boyhood ambitions, but despite some real top quality machinery I just didn’t make the grade, and it was embarrassing, running a top quality machine in mid field alongside beat up worn out three year old machinery.
Don’t get me wrong the team were great, the race day atmosphere wonderful, my father loved every second but it was just that I didn’t like the bit where I took the car around the blacktop, which was the bit I was supposed to do.
“I bet even a girl could have beaten you today,” someone muttered as I walked home after spinning off at Cascades while running a lonely sixth, and I had to agree,
I flew home early, not waiting for the after race party at a Cheshire Hotel after the Oulton Park race, and I went straight downtown to check on the business.
“Where did we place the Melody girl,” I asked Miss Rawlings on reception.
“Oh, she was so popular we left her in prep for a few more days, I hope you don’t mind,” she said.
“No, I suppose I might as well try her out myself.” I said, “I’ll go on down.”
There was a queue waiting as Silas was busy reaming her ass, and Alex Hausman was waiting with a Negro I didn’t know.
I went in Prep two to see her face. she looked terrible, “Thank god.” she wailed, “For gods sake get me a coke.”
“You look like you had a week like mine.” I sympathised.
“Yeah right!” she said.
“At least you have been in the dry,” I said, “It’s no fun driving at a hundred miles and hour in an open car in the rain.”
“Well its better than this!” she said.
“I suppose so.” I said as I slipped a straw into a coke bottle and held it so she could suck the coke easily. “Although going backwards into the gravel trap at Cascades at eighty is no fun.”
“Did you hit the barrier!” she asked between sucks.
“Nearly.” I said, “Why?”
“You weren’t going fast enough then!” she laughed.
“So you’re an expert suddenly!” I said.
“No but I was supposed to be travelling to Europe this week to try to scrounge a drive before I get too old.” she said.
“You want to drive race cars?” I asked, my mind racing.
“Yes thats what I wanted to, oh who cares.”
“I do,” I explained, “Do you race.”
“A few times, I have a license but.” she said.
“What?” I asked.
“Someone is fucking me Moron.” she said, “Holding a conversation, Ah, is, Uggh, oh god I’m cumming.” she calmed down, “I hate it when I cum, it’s so embarrassing.”
“Race cars?” I probed.
“Yes open wheel, except the team owners just screw my metaphorically and physically and I just get to race worn out crap.” she said.
“I have the other problem,” I said, “Too much pressure, top quality equipment, no talent.”
“Wow, honesty.” she said sarcastically.
“I had a bad experience in the Army, I came round this bend too fast, ran wide.” I explained.
“So,” she said,
“So the land mine was in the wheel tracks and they guys following were blown to bits, it should have been me.” I explained.
“Oh you poor thing.” she said, “Let me give you a big hug,” she paused “Oh I can’t you sealed me in rubber and there’s some big Negro raping me.”
“Fine, but you try six months fighting the Taliban, it’s not much fun.” I explained.
“That where you got the idea for this torture?” she asked.
“Ah no.” I explained, “and I got into trouble when I suggested we use it.” she looked blank, “Gitmo.!”
“Oh my God.”she exclaimed.
“Have you eaten?” I asked.
“Spunk mainly” she said, “No I haven’t eaten.” she explained.
“I’ll sort something out,” I promised.
I called Miss Rawlings, “I think Melody may be ready.” I explained.
“Thank you sir, I’ll be right down.” she agreed and put the phone down.
Miss Rawlings was about five six, blonde, blue eyes, nicely rounded but her skin betrayed her thirty eight tears, and she arrived slightly out of breath, “I’ll use number two if you will install me sir.”
“What?” I asked.
“PMT, I find a session here helps.” she explained, as she punched her ID into the lock on her locker open ed the door, took out her moulded rubber wall plug and started to strip.
I looked away in embarrassment.
She kept her knickers on and pulled the two halves of the rubber ring tight around her, then she wound an elasticated strap around the outside to hold it together and sort of bounced towards prep one and the hole in the wall.
I took down the picture of my second step mother and as Alex from IT screwed Melody, so Miss Rawlings sort of dived through.
“Put a hundred more condoms in the dispenser please,” she asked, “And put my panties in the locker and just close the door. she said before she pulled herself firmly into place.
I went round to prep two.
“You can call me Paula.” Miss Rawlings was saying. “it’s my turn!”
“You do this from choice?” Melody asked.
“PMT,” Miss Rawlings suggested conspiratorially.
“Comfy,” I asked, Miss Rawlings nodded. “I’ll do the bolts.” I added.
I fitted the lower flange, tightened all thirteen bolts, and as Alex moved aside I took Melody’s ankle restraints and put them on Miss Rawlings ankles, after pulling down her panties to show she was ready for business.
I put the panties away, topped up the condom dispenser, and went to back into prep two, they were still chattering.
“Are you coming Melody?” I asked as I released the restraints from her wrists.
“Don’t be stupid I’m bolted to the bloody wall!” Melody complained.
“He means you should wriggle out, if you lost enough weight you should slip out.” Miss Rawlings explained, “Otherwise you’ll get all the fit ones and I’ll be miserable!”
“I can’t!” Melody complained, but when I went round to prep one and hit her backside with a whip a few times she soon proved that she could indeed slip out forwards, in fact she slid out faster than she expected and did a complete somersault before she tried hard to stand up and hit me but her legs buckled from disuse.
She looked terrible, her ribs were clearly visible, she was only supposed to have spent three days in the hole, but after a week of constant sleep deprivation, no food and constant orgasms, or at least constant arousal, she was showing signs of serious mal-nourishment.
“Ah, please be careful,” I cautioned, as I held her up,”Mind Miss Rawlings, lean on me a moment.”
I put my arm around her and supported her, “I feel so weak!” she moaned.
“I’ll find you some coveralls,” I promised. “Just sit on the floor a moment.”
I quickly found some coveralls and Melody’s own socks and shoes, then I took a simple smock we sometimes used and took them all through to her.
She tried the coveralls first, “God they chafe, I’m so sore.” she complained but the smock was far more to her liking.
“I’ll never be able to wear panties again.” she whined.
“You do look rather sore.” I commented, noting how red and swollen her sex appeared.
“Oh you will, after about a week until the next time!” Miss Rawlings suggested.
“Miss Rawlings volunteered to take your place, wasn’t that kind of her.” I suggested.
“You’re kidding!” Melody squealed.
“Best PMT cure I know!” Miss Rawlings announced, “But get going and give me some privacy.”
“Come along Melody, ah, Miss Parker,” I urged, “Can you walk.”
“Just,” she said as she waddled in an ungainly manner, “Stop laughing, it’s not funny, I’m sore.”
“I did think a restaurant but perhaps under the circumstances we had better eat at Father’s house,” I suggested.
“Andrews is standing by with a car at the loading bay if you need one sir” Miss Rawlings helpfully informed me and I guided Melody through the various security doors and to the car.
“Can I lie on the floor?” she asked, “Only I’m so sore.”
“Sure.” I agreed, “I’ll sit up front and you can lie on the seat.”
She slept most of the way, and then as I carried her in to the house she woke, “Oh,” she said “where are you taking me.”
“Dinner, well supper,” I explained, “I’ll have it sent up, your purse is in my room you left it behind.”
My room was rather a mess, little used since my teens it had just a bed and a computer and a couple of chairs, I rang the kitchen and Mrs Freeman, Father’s cook promised to bring a cold Supper for two hungry gentlemen.
“Hide in my bed,” I suggested.
“I’ll hide in your shower if that’s a shower room,” she suggested.
She disappeared and returned minutes later looking refreshed and smelling a lot sweeter
with her hair wringing wet.
I found a dryer and by the time Supper appeared she looked almost presentable.
She ate a whole meat pie, she just wolfed the whole thing down with a lack of table manners which could not be entirely explained by her American origin and she washed it down with a quart of diet coke, and then she crawled in my bed and went to sleep.
I watched her for a few moments and then slid in beside her, as the time change caught up with me, and I fell asleep too.
She was looking at me when I woke.
“Its eleven thirty.” she said.
“So,” I replied curiously.
“I thought.” she said.
“Thought?” I queried.
“I was being prepared.” she queried.
“Slight change of plan.” I explained.
“Great!” she exclaimed sarcastically.
“At least I had thought about a change of plan, except last night,” I reminded her.
“Oh god.” she said, “What now.”
“Nothing happened!” I admitted.
“That was very considerate.” she said.
“No, I don’t find you attractive, I’m sorry.” I said.
“Great,” she said, “It’s mutual.”
“Melody, ” I said seriously, “Are you interested in taking over my race car drive?”
“What!” she demanded.
“My race car, the open wheel, I think its much like you drive, except in England, I hate it, I don’t mind the Touring Car because that has a windscreen and roof but the open.”
“Oh my gosh, is this for real,” she gushed, “Look forget I called you a bastard ok, and yes I’ll spend every day in that dungeon if I can race at weekends!”
“I’ll pretend you are my new girl friend, only I don’t fancy you.” I said, “I used to, but now?”
“I suppose it is the thought of all those men who fucked me.” she said knowingly.
“Perhaps” I agreed.
She started exercising that afternoon, and by Thursday she was pretty much back to race fitness, so I took her to a track day at the County raceway and let her try my last years car.
It had a misfire first couple of laps so we spent half an hour working on it, her lily white hands suffering from the sharp edges and hot metal, and when we had to take the cam cover off to check the valve clearances when there was no compression on number three cylinder she got oil everywhere, even in her hair.
She did real well and after maybe thirty laps we loaded up the racer and I drove the truck back towards the Mansion.
“John,” she asked, “Why have you got a hard on?”
“I’m very sorry, I’m afraid I don’t know.” I explained.
“It’s engine oil, the smell of sump oil, all in my hair,” she exclaimed, “I can dab some behind my ear like perfume.” she giggled.
“You may mock but I think you’re right.” I explained, “Had you been racing when you had your initial interview? “
She nodded, and I continued, “That’s why I found you so attractive.”
“Do you want to?” she asked hopefully.
“God no, wait till we get home, its only a couple of minutes,” I suggested.
“No, seize the moment,” she said, “Just pull over.”
“No!” I laughed and grinned, “Plenty of time for that later.”