He grabbed Cheryl’s left wrist, put a plastic tie on it, jerked it tight, and then tied it to the bed.
The headboard was wrought iron. Sometimes when the headboard was material-or there was no headboard at all; that had happened twice-there was a problem. You had to tie the bitch to the springs, which meant tying a couple of the ties together to make one long enough.
No problem like that tonight. He tied the left tie to a curve in the wrought iron, then reached across the bitch for her right hand.
Cheryl started to sob.
Homer slapped her, hard.
“Not a sound, bitch!” he said.
Once he had the second plastic tie in place, he jerked on it to make sure it wouldn’t come loose, then jerked on the other one.
Then he knelt on the bed, sat back on his heels, and ran the blade of the Jim Bowie replica down Cheryl’s body, from the neck between her boobs to her crotch.
She whimpered again.
He tied her right ankle to the wrought iron at the foot of the bed, and then the left ankle. Then he ran the blade up her body again.
“Not a peep, you fucking bitch!”
He went to the light switch by the door and flipped it on.
Cheryl’s eyes were wide with terror.
He leaned over the bed and put the blade of the Jim Bowie replica under her pajama top, and one by one cut the buttons off so that it could be easily opened when it came time for that.
He took the digital camera from the coveralls and took Cheryl’s picture.
Then he leaned over her and pushed the left side of her pajama top off her breast and took a picture of that.
Very nice. Her nipples had become erect.
Homer became aware that he had a hard-on. A real hard-on.
He reached into the coveralls and took it out and waved it at her.
“This is for you, bitch!” he said.
He walked to the bed and pushed Cheryl’s pajamas off her right breast, and then took a picture of her like that.
Then he went and knelt on the bed so that he could rub the head of his penis on her nipples.
That was very exciting, so exciting that he knew he was going to have an orgasm, and since that was the case, he might as well have a good one, so he put his hand on it and pumped rapidly until he ejaculated onto her breasts and face.
She turned her head and whimpered.
As fast as the camera would permit, Homer took three pictures of that, and then had an artistic inspiration. He took the Jim Bowie replica and carefully scraped some of the semen from Cheryl’s breast on it, and then laid it between her breasts, with the tip just under her chin. And he took two pictures of that, looked at them in the camera’s built-in viewer, and then put the camera on the bedside table.
“I’ll be right back,” Homer said. “We’re just getting started.”
He went into the bathroom, and first urinated, and then, standing over the washbasin, washed his genitals, toying with them, thinking that when he went back in the bedroom, he would be able to get a shot of his sperm on her breasts and face.
That was an exciting thought, so exciting that he felt himself begin to grow hard again, and he thought that’s what he would do, get it up again, so that when he went back in the bedroom, she would see it and get a hint of what was in store for her.
When he went back in the bedroom, the goddamn bitch had somehow got her right hand free from the plastic tie. That had given her enough movement to twist onto her side, and to pull her telephone from the bedside table. She was punching in a number.
“You goddamn fucking bitch!” Homer said, angrily. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”