Monday, October 15, 2007
Fiction: The Seven Curses of Hannah Part Two
(Legs contributed by Musns)
Monday was Hannah’s cleaning day. She never cleaned on weekends. It wasn’t because she needed the break. She just liked giving the clutter a few days to build so that she would be kept busy on Monday. She found that she always got depressed on Mondays, and this way she was too busy to dwell on the little things that bothered her like clockwork every Monday morning.
Like why hadn’t Adam fucked her this weekend? Why hadn’t she started working out like she’d sworn she would? Did she really spend all that time playing World of Warcraft instead of getting out to a movie? Hannah used to nag Adam with these thoughts till he got tired of her bitching. Now she held them deep within, smothering them with furniture polish and drowning them in mop water.
Hannah had recently added a dirty secret to her cleaning. She stripped down to her panties and white tank top. She liked the idea of being half naked while she cleaned the house. It was a tiny defiance, proof that she was still sexual even if her husband wasn’t. She had come up with this twist during the summer, but even when October rolled around and there was a chill in the air indoors, Hannah wasn’t willing to put more on. Being barely clothed made her feel more playful, and on Mondays, Hannah needed all the help she could get when it came to ignoring her worries.
This Monday, though, she had a new worry that she couldn’t just clean away. She thought about the previous night and about her neighbor Samuel. She thought of his magnificent hard body and his stiff cock. Hannah thought about why it had been so hard to admit that she had been spying on this beautiful man, why it had been impossible for her to confess that yes, she had masturbated to the site of him, reaching seven wonderful orgasms. Most of all though, she thought of Samuel’s threat of a curse.
To read more, click Whole Post
As Hannah scrubbed the floor with the mop, her heart pounded as she considered what Samuel could have meant by a curse. Was he going to tell Adam? Was he going to tell her husband of six years that she spied on her neighbors while masturbating? How disgusted would that make Adam?
Hannah paused in her mopping and sighed. Would that mean Adam would stop not having sex with her? Seriously, other than embarrassing her about it, what was Adam going to do? Spend more time at work, golfing and watching television?
Hannah went back to mopping. She had a routine for cleaning the house, and she had a routine for cleaning her mind. She reminded herself of what her mother said, about how lucky Hannah was to have a husband who worked hard and got paid enough that she didn’t need to work. She remembered what her friends said, that she was lucky that Adam had a small sex drive compared to some of their husbands, who fucked everything that moved. Hannah dutifully remembered how lucky she was that the only bad thing Adam did was bore her to tears, and wasn’t that her problem, not his?
By the time Hannah was ready to vacuum, she had tidied up her lingering doubts about her marriage. She had also convinced herself that the most Samuel would was make some sort of pagan voodoo doll. Hannah giggled as she imagined
Samuel, naked in his yard, whispering dread curses while sticking a Barbie doll with pins. Heat flashed between her thighs when she wondered if he would do it tonight.
Lost in her giggling, she didn’t notice that the vacuum cleaner cord was coiling around her feet. She was completely unaware of how the cord was slowly inching on its own around her. The cord always pulled back when Hannah pulled the vacuum back, so she never noticed the oddity of it gathering it’s length around her unsuspecting feet.
She cried out when she tripped. The cord had wrapped around her feet and cinched tight. She spilled forward and landed hard on the floor. Her knees hurt from the fall but not nearly as much as her ego did. She had tripped and fallen like a child. What if she had gotten seriously hurt? How bad a housewife would she have to be to hurt herself cleaning the house?
She tried to get up, and that was when she noticed the vacuum cleaner cord was still moving! She panicked as the cord snaked around her legs, wrapping them higher and higher.
She looked up to see her carefully folded dust rags leap from the coffee table and walk on their corners towards her. They walked over to her hands and wrapped around her wrists. With an invisible strength, they pulled her arms wide apart, puling her face down on the freshly cleaned carpet.
Doubting her sanity, Hannah tried to getup, but something was holding her chest down. At first, she thought something was on top of her, but then she realized that the pulling was from her own tank top! Her panties came to life next, rolling gently down her bottom and stopping at the top of her thighs. Hannah couldn’t believe that her very clothes had turned against her.
“Oh, God,” she whispered. This must be the curse. Held down by dust rags, vacuum cords and her own clothes, she became a believer in Samuel and the strange forces of desire he worshipped.
“Stop, stop, please!” she yelled. She didn’t see Samuel, but somehow she though he must be there.
Her carefully arranged stack of magazines came to life. All nine of the thick magazines floated into the air and flew towards her. They rolled themselves up, turning into curved instruments of discipline. Hannah instantly knew them for what they were. Visions of bad dogs and misbehaving cats leapt to her mind.
“No!” she cried out as the first magazine smacked her on her exposed ass. The first blow was so loud that she screamed before realizing that it wasn’t nearly as painful as she’d expected. It was actually just a gentle sting.
It stayed a gentle sting when the second magazine hit her ass, and the heat only increased gradually when the third magazine struck her bottom. It was the fourth, fifth, sixth smacks of the magazines that started to hurt. By the seventh smack, Hannah’s bottom was burning. By the tenth, she was squirming from the incessant heat. By the 20th, her ass felt like it had been set on fire.
Hannah struggled, but there was no escape. The vacuum cord kept her legs together. The dust rags that seemed so flimsy were more than enough to hold her wrists down. She couldn’t even move her torso; the shirt pinned her down to the ground like she had been stapled in cotton. The only parts of her body she could move were her head as she buried her face in the carpet and her ass, which clenched every time it was struck. She had never felt so physically helpless. There was no choice except to take what was happening. In a way it was almost comforting. She had been taking this marriage for six years.
Time became strange. The endless smacking of the magazines made every moment more important than the last. Her ass was attacked from every angle with every thickness of paper. Gentle blows caressed the bottom of her ass before giving away to the heavy thwack of the damned Wired magazine. The TV Guide smacked the sides of her ass with almost glancing blows right after the precise stinging strikes of People magazine. The world was measured in the pauses between smacks and the force of each blow.
She didn’t notice when she started to get wet. All of the sudden, she became aware of this moist inferno in her pussy. It confused her at first. How could she possibly be turned on by being spanked in her living room? She knew the answer as soon as the next hard blow landed on her bottom. It was attention. This was the most she had been touched in months, and the fact that someone, anyone, wanted her bound and butt-naked in her living room was flattering beyond words. She was being punished, yes, but she was also being touched.
The magazines kept striking her ass, but Hannah’s focus shifted to her pussy. She couldn’t touch herself, but she could feel the carpet against her. She tried to grind against the floor, expecting her restraints to hold her tight, but the vacuum cord did nothing to stop her. Escape was forbidden, but apparently humping the floor was OK.
Hannah didn’t care why. She shamelessly ground her pussy against the carpet. The magazines kept hitting her ass no matter how much she squirmed. She welcomed the blows now. She could barely get any friction on her pussy from the carpet, but she could feel every delicious smack of her ass. Every blow sent shockwaves to her pussy. Maybe, just maybe, she could trick it into climaxing.
The magazines kept punishing Hannah’s tender ass.
The dust rags, shirt and cord kept Hannah down.
The carpet refused to get Hannah off, but she kept humping.
And then, it stopped. The magazines fell to the floor. The cord became slack and parted for her struggling legs. The dust rags offered no resistance as she reached under herself and stroked her soaked pussy. It was awkward masturbating on her stomach, so she rolled over onto her back.
She screamed. Her ass, abused for who knows how long, exploded in stinging heat as soon as it touched the carpet. It hurt so damn much, but the need between her thighs was so much greater.
Hannah masturbated. She used both hands. One hand stroked her clit while the other hand plunged deep within her. She thought of the magazines tearing up her bottom. She thought of Samuel spanking her with his hand. She thought of Adam walking in and fucking her silly.
She climaxed. She came so hard that her toes curled for the first time in months. The orgasm was so much better than the tiny climaxes she had given to herself. This was a sex climax, as powerful and overwhelming as first-time love.
The tears came from nowhere. With her fingers buried in her sex, Hannah started to cry, and she had no idea why. She rolled over to her side and sobbed, getting something out of her system that she hadn’t known was there. Much like the spanking, the crying went on forever, taking as long as it needed to.
“What the fuck is wrong with me?” she asked. The crying had finally stopped. The pain in her ass, however, still lingered. “What the fuck was that all about?”
She got up on shaky legs and nearly fell over again. She giggled. It was the masturbating that had turned her legs to jelly. Hannah felt sexy. She felt a little dirty. Looking at the damp spot on the carpet, she felt like a teenager having to cover up her first wet spot. Already, she was thinking of what she needed to treat the carpet, but somehow, cleaning didn’t have the same appeal.
Hannah stumbled to the bathroom and washed her face instead. She didn’t want to think about the crying. She didn’t want to think about what strange magical forces had attacked her today. She wanted to savor the orgasm and the odd feeling that she was a woman again for the first time in ages.
She looked up in the mirror and nearly screamed again. Her long brown hair was a mess — and right in the middle of her long brown locks was a shock of yellow. Hannah pulled the strand and looked at it. Right there, a streak of blond hair in the middle of her normal, everyday brown.
How the fuck was she going to explain this to Adam?
To be continued,