The Dildo That Stole Claire Bonneville's Memory
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For all that
had huge gaps in it, Claire and John settled back into a lifestyle
like that before the accident. It was
easy for John to avoid further confrontation (or working on the
simply going back to his TV shows.
Claire didn't remember what she had done with her free time
accident so, if she wasn't sleeping, she wandered around the house,
learn more about "herself."
fruitless. If you look around your own
house, you might think nobody could tell much about you from the
it. I'm not talking about the
traditional, "My house is a mess! People will think I'm a slob!"
Everybody fears that, but the truth is that
the vast majority of us, if invited into a "messy" house, don't
notice that at all. It just looks lived
in, as opposed to the sterile habitats of the rich, who hire maids to
everything ship shape so people will be impressed.
Maybe people are impressed with the display
of wealth, but those places don't look lived in. They
look like what they are - showcases.
The fact is
that you can
tell a lot about the occupants by casually examining a given, average
explored the stairs that led down to the basement, she found a small,
home gym down
there. The equipment wasn't dusty, but
surfaces were, suggesting the equipment was used on a fairly regular
basis. The kind of equipment was
interesting too. There was an 80 pound
punching bag hanging from a rafter at one end of the room, and a speed
mounted on the wall at the other end. In
the middle was a kicking dummy, fastened to a stand bolted to the floor.
A Karate gi hung on a peg beside the speed
bag, with a black belt casually looped over a hook next to it.
A pair of grappling gloves lay on the bench
of a weight set against one wall. She
wondered, briefly, why she remembered they were called grappling gloves.
of the gi
suggested it was her size, rather than John's.
And the grappling gloves were partially pink.
So she was the one who worked out down here.
kick. It had been instinctive, and
executed with the exact amount of force to knock him senseless without
either his jaw or his neck. It was the
kind of kick she had apparently practiced hundreds of times, maybe
As she picked
gloves an image flashed through her mind. She recognized it as having
during college. She was in a room with
others, all dressed in gi's, working out.
She slipped on
gloves and went to the bag. She gave it a few exploratory punches and
she'd gone into a crouch without thinking about it.
thought to herself. "I'm dangerous
when I want to be."
John away when he'd been drunk. Her
subconscious must have been ready to defend herself, and issued those
In the kitchen,
cupboard stuffed with cook books suggested an omnivorous interest.
There were books on vegetarian cooking, and
others on how to prepare various meats.
A bread machine stood on the counter, next to a toaster.
Next to both of those was a Keurig machine,
but all she could find to put in it were various kinds of tea and a box
three hot chocolate K cups in it, mixed in with three cups of spiced
There was no
coffee maker, and there was no coffee.
"But I like
coffee," she thought to herself, puzzled.
It was at times
that that she approached John, if he was home.
Do I like coffee?"
"You did in
college, but you gave up caffeine when we were trying to have a baby."
"We didn't so
try to have a baby as we stopped trying to prevent it," he said.
"That was a long time ago.
I hadn't noticed that you never started
drinking coffee again."
"Why weren't we
successful?" she asked.
"At having a
baby? I don't know," he said.
"Didn't we talk
a doctor about it?"
"You wanted to,
then you got a new job and I guess we had other things to think about."
In a sense,
conversations were very positive, in terms of the tentative
were having. They spoke with an easy
familiarity, but it was more like people who have worked together for a
time, rather than a mating pair. He
always willing to talk, and didn't seem to mind imparting information
In other ways,
so good. Again and again, John made it
clear that he was self
absorbed, self centered, and
It wasn't that he didn't care about anybody
else, such as a sociopath might, but that he didn't seem to pay any
to the needs of others, and therefore rarely did anything to make
life any better.
She didn't know
ever studied psychology or not, but it seemed odd to her that she had
attracted to the man.
Still, he was
insofar as being in the house with her.
Not once did he approach her sexually.
He didn't even offer any simple touches or phrases that
missed any intimacy they'd lost. He
never said he loved her, or hated her, for that matter, and he never
he was glad she hadn't been injured worse than she was.
Cindy came over
night at first, to check on her. They
sat in the breakfast nook, sipping tea, and talked.
Claire wasn't comfortable at that point
telling Cindy about what had happened with John. Instead,
she tried to learn more about her
life. Cindy gave her information about
herself, and Martin Industries. She also
told Claire things about herself and Danny.
The third night she came over, she apologized for having to
but said it was date night.
eat and then things might get kinky."
"Do I want to
know?" asked Claire.
"I'll tell you
about it later if it works out," said Cindy.
fine. You don't need to come over as
often as you have been. Don't get me
wrong, having you here makes life a lot less boring, but you have your
to live. Go get kinky.
If I need something, I'll call you."
Cindy had made
promise that she'd call every few days, and then left.
She hadn't been back since, but they were in
regular contact on the phone.
It was during
one of her
exploratory wanderings one day that Claire investigated all the drawers
bedroom. She already knew that she
enjoyed wearing undergarments that were made of soft materials, rather
scratchy lace. Her former self had gone
to the effort of finding panties and bras that were comfortable to
which were also delicate, and sexy.
When it came to
thought of as "work clothes" there was variety, but all of it was
very tasteful and conservative.
The drawers she
gone through entirely revealed a mixture of items that were of little
with two exceptions.
The first was
that consisted of elastic straps, attached to a sheath, inside which
what her mind casually identified as a push dagger.
The blade looked to be between three and four
inches long, and was made of stainless steel.
She realized the sheath was designed to be worn on the upper
under a skirt.
The second, she
It was the
When she saw
felt her eyes widen in interest, and a surge of something in her chest.
She liked this thing. Claire liked this thing.
She picked it
gingerly, holding it between her thumb and forefinger.
It was heavier than she expected, and she had
to depress the soft, yet firm,
of, to keep control over it.
enough, but what she was feeling inside told her it wasn't harmless at
all. Her body had a visceral connection
to this thing.
Cindy had told
used it the night before the accident.
She tried to think back about either this item's use, or any
sexual experience this body she was in had engaged in.
The errant thought came into her mind that,
for all intents and purposes, she was a virgin.
Again. Sort of.
Psychologically, at least.
the device was comforting somehow. She
reached with the other hand and, using both, rearranged her grip so
fingers were wrapped around the shaft.
She squeezed. Butterflies began
dancing in her belly.
She lifted it
the balls, which were fascinatingly detailed.
That was also true of the shaft, clear up to the tip, which had
permanent sort of hood that, if it were a real phallus, would be
movable as the
foreskin was shifted by pressure. She wondered why she'd chosen one
foreskin. John was circumcised.
She'd seen that when he was preparing to rape
She held it out.
It was big.
She didn't know how she knew that, but she did.
Most men didn't sport this kind of attachment
in real life. But it wasn't ridiculous,
she needed something larger than life.
Thinking about John made it understandable.
Any woman would want more than John had to
offer. Of course she wasn't thinking
about John in physical terms, but maybe Claire had tried to
on a physical basis.
"I must have
an interesting woman," she mused, aloud.
"I can kick butt, and run a marathon, and I like a big, hard
inside me." She grinned.
"I can get used to this."
her mind, and she searched the rest of the drawer carefully.
Then she went on to any other place people
might store a condom. There was
nothing. Nor were there any condoms in
the bathroom. The few medicines in the
cabinet used to store them didn't hold any birth control pills either.
She went to get
purse. She hadn't gone anywhere, and so
hadn't needed to take it anywhere. She
also hadn't dumped it to see what was in it.
She did that now.
And only one
lipstick, in a clear color.
advertising anything, but she also still wasn't trying to avoid having
head. Something was wrong here.
This woman had a lot to offer.
All that was on hold at the moment, because
of the circumstances. But she'd had a
lot to offer both the world and her husband before the accident.
Why had she put up with John's self absorption?
to Cindy and saying she had taken her marriage vows seriously.
Where had that come from?
She thought about it. That concept
seemed comfortable ...
normal. The fact that John had
patronized a prostitute offended her.
And not just because she'd been lying in a hospital bed when he
it. The whole concept of marital
infidelity offended her.
So that must be
something that was bone deep in her, both before the accident ... and
Except that now
conditional. She didn't know how Claire
would have felt about it before the accident, but now she knew that he
voided those vows.
From what she
deduce based on her explorations, Claire had been trapped in a loveless
marriage, but had endured it because she thought that was what was
her on a moral basis. She'd stretched
the bonds of that morality by procuring something to deal with her
needs, but that was as far as she was willing to go.
only used that dildo once, before the accident?
She went back
bedroom and stared at the artificial penis, lying inert on the bed.
She tried to imagine how she'd feel if she
nothing. No guilt.
But also no particular drive to pick it up and put it to work.
Those flutters in her belly only told her
when she had used it, it must have been a positive experience.
She tried to
she assumed the old Claire would have thought.
She was a good girl. She suffered
in silence the fact that her marriage had gone downhill.
She had been driven to buy this thing. She
had used it. The next day, while talking
about that with
Cindy, she had become so upset that she bolted.
Maybe it hadn't been
wording Cindy had used. Claire had said
that she thought about another man while she used it.
That was the problem.
It wasn't the thing. It
was her fantasy about cheating on John
that had upset her.
find some kind of guilt in her mind about such a fantasy.
There was nothing. Of course it
would help if she knew what man
she'd thought about. Was it someone she
knew? A friend's husband?
Nothing came to
surface, where she could see it.
She sat down on
feeling helpless. Her hand landed on the
She looked down
and then picked it up again.
flicker of memory that had returned down in the home gym, of her
others in college.
She stared at
penis in her hand.
hell," she said, aloud. "Maybe
trying you again will spark a memory too."
She took off
clothes, unashamed to be naked, and lay down on the bed.
the tip until she felt her natural lubrication appear.
Then she slid
inside her, to see what would happen.
in the feelings of bliss that coursed from her pussy through her
abdomen up to
her breasts. It was the first time
something other than pain had dominated her body.
At first, she
pushed it in and left it there, letting her internal tissues spread and
used to the intrusion. Without knowing
she had done this before, she turned the mass until the balls became a
put pressure on her clit.
It felt like the first time she'd been able
to relax since that bath. She wondered
what doing this in a hot bath would feel like, and determined to find
out. But not now.
She didn't want to take it out so she could draw a bath.
She let her
arms flop to
her sides, lying with her legs spread, feeling like she was floating on
a soft, salty sea.
muscles to squeeze the thing inside her, and her right hand came to
balls and pull, twisting slightly. A
groan of happiness escaped her lungs.
experiment with moving it in and out, pushing and trying to apply more
to one side of the tip than the other.
There was a place where, not fully inserted, the bulbous head
rubbed a special
place deep inside her. By moving only
her wrist, she used that protuberant tip to massage that special place,
her first orgasm.
she was there was a drawn out, "Ohhhhh fuuuuck," as what felt like
little fingers of some kind played inside her, tickling something that
be tickled. It was a small one, but she
didn't know that yet.
impaled, and then tried moving it a lot, in and out. That made her hips
move and soon as she slammed it in, she raised her hips to meet the
thrust. She went deep and used the balls
to bump her clit, not rubbing it, but hammering it gently.
The orgasm she
doing that was even better.
She lost track
until she was just stroking, making herself feel good, not even trying
another climax, and the bedroom door opened.
She'd been so absorbed in the pleasure that she hadn't heard him
from work. John stood, frozen, as he
took in the scene.
unashamed. For some reason she was
unafraid as well.
"Don't come any
closer," she said, making that decision in a complicated kind of way.
He was her husband.
She didn't remember that ... but she
knew it. She had denied him before this,
something wives weren't supposed to do, at least in theory.
And she wasn't interested in taking him into
her bed now, either. But she also
decided not to scream at him to leave.
"Can I watch?"
he asked, already panting.
"Do you want
"Fuck yes, I
me," she warned.
His face worked. "Can
I touch ... myself?"
"I don't care,
long as you don't try to touch me."
He was eager
now, but he
didn't undress. Rather, he just unzipped
and extracted his cock. She looked at
it, but only out of mild curiosity.
She'd seen it once before, that first night.
It had been pitiful then.
Within a minute
though, he had an erection, and was pulling at it eagerly.
In its rigid state it was a little more
impressive, though nothing to write home about, like the one inside her.
It was maybe three quarters of the length of
the one pleasuring her, and smaller in diameter.
groaned, closed his eyes, and dribbled on the carpet.
whined. She didn't know whether he was
unhappy that he'd cum so soon, apparently unable to make it last, or
that he'd cum on the carpet, or not unhappy at all and just making
care. She'd thrown him a bone and let
him gnaw on it.
He put another
his coffin when, without ceremony, he stuffed his penis back into his
and backed out the door. He said nothing.
She could have
But he didn't
the carpet, and he left the fucking door open.
Dressed in her
again, Claire exited the bedroom to get something to eat.
John was in his
the TV on, as usual. He was drinking a
beer. For once, he looked over at her,
and acknowledged her existence by raising the bottle, as if to toast
She went on
kitchen, muttering, "What a putz," under her breath.
What man treated his wife that way?
Then again, she
being much of a wife to begin with.
She decided she
going to sweat that. That ship had
sailed before the accident and she had plenty to occupy her mind
to incorporate an artificial romance into things as well.
After she ate,
decided that she was tired of staying home.
She knew she had a car. Cindy had
driven it home from the parking garage.
She'd gotten to meet Danny then, who winced when he saw her
said he was glad she was on the mend.
She'd been in
that happened, though, and John had received the keys.
She went to the
where she could see John.
Where did you put the keys to my car?"
He looked over.
"Do you think
"I'm not all
up," she said. "I'm bruised and battered, but my legs work fine, and
so do my hands."
"I saw that for
myself," he said, leering.
"Where are the
keys?" she said, deciding not to kick his ass.
a clip on the side of the refrigerator," he said. "That's
where you keep them."
She located the
but left them there while she went to get dressed.
When she came out she called out to John.
"I have cabin
fever. I'm going for a drive.
I don't know how long I'll be."
He waved, but
look at her this time. She thought about
telling him she was going to stick that dildo up in her pussy while she
for the drive. If she did, she'd give
even odds that he'd ask if he could go with her.
She decided not
because if he did that, she might not be able to resist
kicking his ass.
It felt good to
moving, in control of her immediate destiny.
She hadn't even thought to look in her purse to see if she'd
money until she decided, on impulse, to get some ice cream.
She parked in a stall at Sonic and opened her
purse. Her wallet had a single dollar
bill in it. She had three credit cards,
She ordered and
shake came, she picked the wrong card, it being a debit card instead of
credit card. She had no idea what the pin number was, and had to give
another card. That one went through.
She made a
to go to her bank tomorrow and explain the circumstances, and get a new
number. She examined the card, It was a Visa card, which had
an American flag on the front and an 800 number on the back to report
to. That was all, though.
As she left the
in, sipping her delicious chocolate shake, she sighed.
Now all she had
was figure out which bank she patronized.
She decided to
around and see what looked familiar. It
was odd that so many things did ... and so many other things did not.
It was impossible to tell if she was in a part
of town she'd never visited before, or she just couldn't remember it.
One of the
noticed were all the couples. Some were
walking together. Others sat, sharing a
park bench, or at an outside table at a bistro.
Once she saw two people seated, talking, waiting for a bus and
tugged at her memory, but not hard enough to reveal itself.
was the fact that so many people felt the urge to share life with
else. She felt that urge too, but also
felt like the pursuit of that kind of happiness was being withheld from
her. At least until her memory got
out. She felt like she was mired in mud,
neck deep, and dry land was just out of reach.
She got home
later. John was still sitting in front
of the glow of the TV. She wondered,
idly, if he was awake, or dozing, but didn't care enough to actually
the bedroom to find out what using the dildo, while soaking in hot
It was even
she'd anticipated it would be.
Not only was
of her body reduced, which led to a direct and corresponding reduction
aches and pains, but the warmth of the water seemed, somehow, to
zings of pleasure that began zapping between the three points made up
nipples and the spot just at the top of her sexual split.
That split was stretched wide by the body of
the dildo, but there was no discomfort in that whatsoever.
that the hot water tended to render her nipples less than able to fully
making their erection only half of what it had been the last time she'd
molested her vaginal tract with her new best friend.
And that made it easier to squeeze them
between her thumb and fingers without the traces of pain she'd felt
before. Before, they had engorged almost
and had complained when she pulled at them.
Now, though, in
water, they were pliable, almost elastic, and she could pull them hard
to lift her entire breast mass away from her chest wall.
She didn't have
She wanted the
penetration, prodding deep, like it was, and moving as well.
But both nipples wanted attention too. And
she wished her lips were involved. She
couldn't remember kissing anyone, or the feel of another body against
some instinct told her that would be wonderful in this situation.
She needed a
consternation, not at the thought of being intimate with a man, but of
to think of a man she'd be comfortable doing this with.
any. Not in the tatters of her memory
Which led to
wandering to the other gender possible for this kind of fulfillment.
The only woman
really knew was Cindy. As she lay,
feeling the water cooling, she let her mind flicker around a hazy image
there being two women in the tub, one of them Cindy.
Her hips lifted as she pushed the dildo deep,
and she snorted as her face came perilously close to being submerged.
She liked Cindy.
But she was
she wanted a man.
That put her
square one. It certainly wasn't going to
be John. And the only other man she had
any memories of at all was Danny, and she wasn't going to ask Cindy if
could borrow him. Some residual social
memory warned her that wasn't how things worked.
She closed her
trying to forget about men - and women - and get back to exploring her
would do the trick. It was a combination
of pushing the dildo deep, using the balls for her grip, and then
balls go in little circles. This made
the tip go in little circles too, which made it massage something she
remember the name of but knew was the mouth of her womb.
Meanwhile, the fingers of her other hand
flicked back and forth across her clit.
And it was
orgasm she got from doing that, that a face appeared in her memory.
It was just a face, a man with sandy hair and
a smile. His head seemed to be hopping
up and down for some reason. She didn't
know who he was, but this memory felt real.
Which meant she
probably see him again.
house had turned up nothing that suggested she had much of a social
life. There were no appointment books, or
pamphlets. She didn't appear to have
joined any clubs. And that meant that
the only place she could have met a man was probably at Martin.
Her imagination, which was just about all she
had to work with until some memories resurfaced, decided that the
was an FBI agent who checked up on her occasionally, to make sure she
selling secrets to whoever the government wasn't happy with at the
moment. He was single, of course, and
privacy didn't bother him. Or her, in
this flitting fantasy.
a few moments, by wondering why she didn't feel guilty for imagining
a man other than her husband. It
occurred to her that John didn't act like a husband and so, therefore,
part of her considered him to be something else. He
was a "not husband" in a very
real sense because the ties between them were legal, rather than
emotional. She was pretty sure "marriage"
supposed to be an emotional bond, rather than a legal one.
And in any
case, he had
voided their vows by fucking that hooker.
As she mopped
water that had splashed over the edge of the tub during the orgasm
left her internal muscles still feeling tight and happy, she tried to
what she'd do when she did see this mystery man again.
Maybe it was
think about getting back to work.
The speed bag
her. She couldn't even figure out the
theory involved. It was fun to hit, but
she had to wait until it slowed from its wild gyrations before she
could hit it
again. The 80 pound Everlast, however,
was more cooperative. She didn't even
have to think about it. Her body went
into a crouch and her right arm shot out to make solid contact with the
bag. Even before that hand was back
close to her body, her other fist thudded into the bag and she was
moving. She twisted sideways, bending at
and her right foot came up to smash into the bag, a little higher than
she'd hit it with two fists.
grinning. This was fun!
Things still ached, around her body, but she
ignored that and went back to work.
She found that,
tried to think about what she was doing, it didn't work.
She could complete the movements, but the
grace and fluidity were gone. Her
actions were mechanical and she felt off balance. It
was when she was thinking about something
else that her muscle memory was allowed to work.
FBI agent, dreaming up different scenarios in which they met and,
ended up in that bathtub with her. While
she thought of that, she practiced the kind of violence that other
be dreaming to use against such a man, but missed the irony in that.
stopped it was
because she was out of breath. Sweat was
dripping off her body. She walked in
little circles, just breathing, and ended up back in front of the speed
bag. She gave it a tentative thump, just
stretch tight arm muscles. While she
worked out on the punching bag, she'd built a complete image of her
man, her special agent. He was an inch
taller than she was, and in excellent shape.
For some reason he had to search her, every so often, and it was
that his hands wandered over her body in ways that went far beyond his
job. He knew that. She
knew that. He knew that she knew, and that
nothing to prevent it. In her fantasy
she had taken to hiding little objects around her body, things for him
inside her bra, or panties. They were
always innocent things, but finding them wasn't so innocent.
She was brought
her reverie by the rhythmic thumping of the speed bag in front of her.
Her hands were moving in an almost hypnotic,
casual series of repetitive movements and the bag was moving so fast it
that it was her hands that were making it do that, the rhythm
and the bag veered to swing and bounce wildly.
She dropped her
aware that she couldn't do that again if her life depended on it.
It had all been muscle memory.
She stepped back, breathing deeply and
regularly. She lifted her arms and
flexed the muscles in them. They felt
dull, but she knew that feeling would give way to something she'd like
the aches and pains. She'd given her
upper body a pretty good workout, even if it had been a bit clumsy.
She bounced on her toes. Now
it was time to see what she could do with
her legs. Cindy had said she was a
It was time to
if that was true.
"My name is
and I am a runner," said Claire, out loud.
There was no one around to hear her say it, at least not close
hear it, but this was the first thing she'd been able to say with
since she woke up in that hospital bed.
That she was a
was beyond any doubt. She felt
completely at home in her body as she loped along, her legs reaching to
another yard of ground behind her.
Everything about it felt right.
Her breathing progressed at a slow, even pace.
Her legs felt like they could keep doing this
forever. It was effortless.
She felt free, almost able to fly.
little shocked that she had no idea where she was.
She hadn't been paying any attention to where
her legs carried her. Not only that, but
she couldn't even remember whatever it was she'd been thinking about
ran. It wasn't her fantasy lover.
That much she knew. She'd
started out daydreaming about him, but
had been so surprised at how natural it felt to run that she'd given
her attention for a while. Then, as she
fell into a totally natural rhythm, her mind had gone on to something
else. Hadn't it? It
wasn't possible that she could have spent
all this time actually not thinking.
She looked at
and goggled. She'd been running for a
stress of that hour in her lower extremities.
She didn't feel like stopping, but she did moderate her pace,
bit. Something in her right thigh complained, but not too badly.
She looked around her again, and recognized a
strip mall she'd driven by on her exploration of the city.
She turned left
on her way back home.
When she got
soaked once again in a tub full of hot water.
It felt fabulous.
Even though the
was still in its drawer beside the bed while she did it.
As she drifted off to sleep, later, she wondered what her life was going to be like.
She couldn't imagine it at all.
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