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The Red Shelf

The first in a series of short scenes from an imagined cuckquean relationship

She has sat on her hands until they are numb, willing herself to leave him be. He has not asked her to. He hasn’t asked her for anything, Today is Wednesday; he’s seeing Claudia. Claudia is being taken to dinner and Puppy is sitting at home in her room. She is not allowed to know where they are going. Last week they went to the theatre; it was only four days later he told Puppy what they had seen, how he had enjoyed it.

He had told her how she had brought him off during the second act – how he spat in her palm as the crowd laughed and she worked it around his cock with glee. When he came, he wiped the resultant mess over her face and walked her brazenly out into the street with white splashes of semen adorning her otherwise unremarkable face.

Claudia got fingered in the cab on the way home. Claudia got eaten out on the bottom stairs of the apartment building at midnight. Claudia slept with her arms around him that night.

Puppy slept in her flat, listening to lullabies and show tunes. But not before she had spent half an hour or more sifting through a book from the red shelf.

The red shelf was his idea. Every visit he would produce a book from his coat pocket and add it to the selection above the fireplace. When he first instigated it, he arrived with an armful of bad porn novels from the seventies and eighties, and these were followed by classics of erotic literature and borderline erotic literature. A glut of spy novels he got from his grandfather’s estate. Books that were passed around the school yard at lunchtime with wide eyes. When the shelf was full, he selected a text at random and sat on the sofa, indicating she should settle on his lap.

With her head on his shoulder, he read aloud, and the words were harsh and made her sicken and twitch. The hero fucked the heroine hard, impregnating her with certainty. He left handprints and bruises on her tender flesh. Puppy shivered when he had finished.

“These are dirty books. Your job is to snip the dirty bits out. All the dirty bits.” The scissors had pink flowers on them. “Every bulge, every throb, every bared nipple. Every word, scissored out and brought to my attention. You will have until we next meet to complete your task.” his hand insinuated between her thighs. No knickers. Her dress was long, but flimsy, tore easily. There were rips in the fabric around her breasts and hips.

“Do you think you can do that, Puppy?”

She nuzzled his shoulder, shifting into his grasp, onto his fingers.

“Yes, I think so.”

“Think isn’t good enough, Puppy.”
“Yes Mister, I will.”
“Good Puppy. And you will have a new name. Collecting filthy little scraps. Stealing lascivious words. Magpie.” He kissed the top of her head and pinched the wet folds of her labia. Magpie whined.


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