2 in stock
Bed Ridden by Jo-Anne Wiley
As a bedridden invalid, Cloey was forced to suffer sexual abuse at the hands of her caregiver. But now, eight months later, she can walk, and that is Cloey’s most guarded secret. As long as she is perceived as an incapacitated shell of a woman, confined to her bed, she is free to act – with impunity. She can wreak havoc on those who stripped her naked. Forced her to play their dirty games. Used her. Defiled her when she couldn’t move, couldn’t scream, couldn’t defend herself.
But now, yes… sweet payback. After all, who could accuse a paralyzed woman of wrongdoing, if her neighbor happens to turn up one morning with his throat slit? Being bedridden has its advantages and is her perfect alibi.
Expect explicit sexual content, including oral and anal, rough fucking, gross humiliation, nipple piercing, pornos, hard-smacking impact sports, much of it nonconsensual, all told in Wiley’s uniquely brusque and brutal style.
Cover Image © sarymsakov andrey – Shutterstock.com
Rudd sat a moment, studying his neighbor’s house and thinking of Cloey, all alone in the front room. Naked in her hospital bed– and, all alone. Rudd tossed his beer can. “Bet your wife would enjoy a friendly visit, being you’re away at the office,” he said out loud at Nick’s side door. “It’d be right neighborly, don’t you think?” And he checked his jeans pocket for the key.
Cloey’s eyes landed on the computer’s digital display and she listened hard for signs of Rudd as the seconds ticked down. He would wait thirty minutes, she knew, but thirty minutes could take an eternity, second by second, minute by minute. Then finally, ten-thirty and Cloey was aware of the first stirrings of hope rising in her chest. Would she be spared? Would she be allowed to live out the rest of her day in peace and dignity?
Another minute passed and Cloey’s heartbeat began to slow. Then abruptly, she thought her heart had come to a complete stop. The sound of the key in the lock? Oh no… She listened harder and then her insides seemed to flow out in a panic. There could be no mistaking the sound of Rudd’s footfall on the stairs. Anxiety, like a thumb pressing in the notch of her throat, took a strangle hold.
Rudd stepped through the kitchen door and at the sight of him, Cloey began to shake uncontrollably. The thought of been raped again, tortured and raped, was more than she could bear. And he was primed and geared up– the drooling penis sticking past the zipper of his jeans, bobbed out in front more menacing than a knife.
He stepped into the room and eyed the contours hidden beneath the sheet. “Cloey. I figured you might enjoy some playtime.” He went to the window and pulled the curtains closed. “You’re looking well. Great, in fact. I love the short hair.”
And to Cloey’s intense revulsion, he ruffled the top of her head like she was a ten-year-old. He looked down to where her nipples, twisted with dread, distorted the smooth surface of the white bed sheet. Two lofty peaks on a wintery landscape.
Rudd caught a lungful. Her nipples were large, as were her breasts on such a small body. Yes. Very nice. Lovely, in fact. “Is it true, you can’t move? Or even speak?”
Cloey wanted to scream. Wanted to reach up and attack his eyes with her fingernails. But she could only lay in stillness and horror as the tears gathered in her eyelashes.
“God. You look so small, so vulnerable laying there,” he said softly. “You couldn’t have known, but I’ve always had a thing for small, boyish women. Especially you, Cloey. You’re so perfect.”
Cloey closed her eyes and a tear escaped the corner of an eye. Rudd watched it trickle down the side of her face. He wanted to use his tongue. Wanted to taste her moisture, her body-fluids in his mouth.
“You know I watch you, don’t you? Of course you do– I watch the way you walk. Your legs and thighs. Your breasts. The rhythm of your body moving. Your body is an amazing machine, Cloey, did you know? I don’t think Nick appreciates you, your body I mean. But I do. And I know you love that about me. That I can do things to you which Nick can’t. Deep down, you love the thought of my eyes on your thighs and tits. You long for me to hold your ass down and do those things to you that Nick never will.”
Cloey closed her eyes to escape the image of him moving toward the bed, a hand outstretched, fingers reaching. There was the wash of cool air as the bed sheet was pulled from her body and suddenly his hands were on her.
Rudd grabbed her about the ankles and twisted her around until her legs hung from the side of the mattress. Her knees were rudely yanked open and he gingerly stepped up to the mound. Rudd took her by the shoulders first, before allowing his hands to slowly drift down to her breasts. He cupped each one, temping his sexual thirst with her nipples bunched between his fingers and thumbs. Then he stepped closer, a hand on his cock, rock-hard and rearing. “It’s playtime, Cloey…”
Rudd moved the head of his penis along the tiny slit, found the divergence in the smooth slide, low down and, lifting her by the hips, he pulled her close as he drove forward.
It was like being punched in the groin.
He bulldozed into her like a man reaming out a clogged sewer pipe. “Christ, you’re tight. Nick hasn’t even broken you in yet. But never you mind, girl. Old Rudd is here to take care of it. We’ll have your little pussy opened up and back in business in no time.”
Cloey seethed. She felt the tissues twist. There was the wrenching of unaccustomed muscle and the jab of pain as he bottomed-out inside. Cloey threw her head back and heard her jaw crack as she attempted to scream but there was only the hiss of expelled air, her howl of indignation reduced to a breathy wilt.
With her legs wide open and Rudd holding her in place to meet the onslaught of his thrusting, Cloey realized there could be no escape for her, no way to lessen the impact of each blow. She would have to allow this, she had no say in the matter– her only option was to hold on as best she could and pray he wouldn’t make her bleed. Cloey rolled her head to the side, ground her molars and screwed her eyes shut against the tears and the relentless slamming.
But then he hesitated. Rudd withdrew slightly and paused. Cloey waited but didn’t feel contractions, nor a release. With her heart hammering against her breastbone, she braved a look. Rudd was looking at her computer and grinning.
“Smiley faces,” Rudd cried gleefully. “You’ve got smiley faces.”
It wasn’t the computer, she realized, but the tiny cork-board beneath the screen which held the cheat-sheet Jessie had pinned there. Each push-pin was adorned with a colorful smiley face. And without pulling from her vagina, he reached across and plucked two lavender pins from the cork-board and jostled them in the palm of his hand.
“These are going to be so much fun,” he said, holding a pin up to her eyes. And to Cloey’s horror, he grabbed her right nipple between his thumb and forefinger.