The Dildo That Stole Claire Bonneville's Memory

by Lubrican

Chapter : 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6-15 Available On

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Chapter One

Claire had never had a panic attack, but she felt a kinship with those thusly afflicted as she stared through the windshield of her car at the establishment called "Christie's Toy Box."

She'd never done anything like this. In her opinion, had someone looked up the entry for "good girl" in the dictionary, her picture might be there. Not that she was completely innocent. She'd giggled with her friends as they watched the occasional porn video, but that had been years ago, decades, in fact.

And while she'd heard quite a bit about sex toys, she'd never owned one. The very idea of going into an adult entertainment store seemed so foreign to her that she couldn't believe she was actually parked beside one. The same frustration that had driven her to get this far made her open the door and place one foot onto the ground.

Christie's was located about fifteen miles outside of town, just off the interstate. It stood alone, the only building in sight, perched next to cow pasture, as befitted a place that was a social pariah. But that was good, because Claire couldn't have gotten up the courage to go there if it had been in town, where anybody might have seen her going inside. As she scurried toward the entrance, she had a brief but hilarious fantasy that, when she entered, she'd find Jennifer, the neighborhood gossip, inside buying all sorts of perverted things.

A bell dinged as she opened the door. She expected everyone in the place to turn and stare at her, but forged ahead. She'd assumed it would be a dark, sleazy kind of place. That it wasn't, was her first surprise.

There was a woman behind a counter, hunched over a Sudoku book.

Nobody looked at her. The place was well lit and, other than the actual contents, looked like any other store she'd ever been in.

There were half a dozen people browsing around, and none of them gave her so much as a glance. She suddenly felt silly in her floppy hat and big sunglasses. Upon impulse, she removed them. She was surprised at how liberated that made her feel.

Now the woman looked up at her.

"If you need any help finding anything, let me know," she said.

"Okay," said Claire, gratified that her voice sounded firm.

She moved then, looking first at the wall on her left. It was literally covered with things packaged in plastic. She hit the jackpot within twenty or so feet, where she saw penis-shaped objects of every size and color. It was like being in that candy store in the mall, where it would take hours just to examine everything they offered.

She stifled a giggle as the word "flavored" leapt off one plastic container at her.

Her mood turned from apprehensive to fascinated. All the objects arrayed in front of her were phallic shaped, but there the similarity ended. The variety was astonishing. They went from things that were slim and smooth, to those that had ridges, and even spikes. She winced as she looked at one monstrosity that was double ended, with protrusions on the shaft, a veritable Swiss army knife of dildos.

She arrived at the section where things looked lifelike. This was more like it. Her eyes wandered over the different colors and sizes. Some had testicles attached, and looked so real she had a short, uncomfortable fantasy that involved a knife and some unfortunate man.

She leaned forward.How on earth did they make these things? Did someone model for them? Were they copies made with casting materials?

She did let out a giggle one time, as she saw one called, simply, "Lenny". Only then did she take in the plethora of names some advertising agency had come up with, all of which meant "artificial penis."

She looked at her watch. She needed to hurry.

She picked the most lifelike one that matched her own coloring. She was conscious of the fact that it was bigger than her husband's.

At least she could depend on this one to be firm and ready when she needed it.

The clerk looked put her Sudoku book aside and used a hand-held scanner to ring up the sale.

"Good choice," she said."You'll like this one, but we're having a special on Wascally Rabbits. Forty percent off. And they vibrate too. They're amazing."

Claire swallowed. This was a transaction just like any other she'd ever made, but it still felt surreal.

"No thanks," she said. "Just this one."

The woman lowered her voice, conspiratorially.

"I'll give you a card good for forty percent off any item. It's good for sixty days, okay?"

"Sure," breathed Claire.

Five minutes later she was back on the interstate, headed east.

The dildo was in the bag in the back seat, the one that held all the other birthday presents she'd gotten at the party her best friend had thrown for her, earlier that day.

"You won't believe what I got for my birthday," said Claire as she set the bag down on the dining room table.

"Try me," said John, whose eyes remained on the TV screen.

She took a deep breath and reached into the bag. She pulled out the dildo, which she'd removed from the packaging. It felt firm, astonishingly lifelike, except it was cold.

"This," she said.

He finally looked, and she wiggled her hand. The silicone masterpiece in her hand swayed.

"You're shitting me!"

She finally had his full attention.

"Who the hell gave you that?"

"Cindy. She said it was for when I wore you out and needed more."

He stood, and approached. There was an odd look on his face.

"You're not going to ... um ... actually use it ... are you?"

"You haven't paid any attention to me in months, John."

"You know how tired I am when I get home from work."

"I know how late you stay up and watch TV," she countered.

He stared at his potential replacement, gripped in her manicured fingers. His face smoothed.

"You won't use that," he said, firmly. "You're not that kind of girl."

"I'm the kind of girl who has needs," she said, her voice level.

He grinned. "You won't use it. And you don't need to. I'm your husband. I'll take care of you."

"You haven't been," she reminded him, anger simmering under the smooth features of her face.

"I've just been tired. Everything will be fine, Claire. You don't need that."

"Whatever," she said, suddenly unwilling to extend whatever this was. She turned on her heel and took the bag with her presents in the bedroom.

He didn't follow. She was pretty sure he'd gone back to sit down in front of that thrice damned TV again.

She sat on the edge of the bed and lifted her hand to look curiously at her brand new dildo. She'd taken it out of the plastic packaging hastily, and hadn't taken the time to examine it. That would be all she needed ... for Mrs. Hopkins, next door, to look out her window and see her, sitting in her car, fondling a rubber penis.

It seemed heavier, now that it was out of the packaging. It was both more flexible than she'd expected it to be, and amazingly firm at the same time. It was a permanent erection.

It was her permanent erection.

Her nipples tingled inside the sensible bra she was wearing.

She had no idea what to do now. She'd bought the damn thing. Her plan had been to show it to John, and she'd expected him to perceive this actually quite lovely thing as a threat. She'd hoped he would show her that she didn't need something like that. But all he'd done was tell her she didn't need it.

He did that a lot ... telling her what to believe ... what to think ... what to do ... what she did and did not need.

She wrapped her hand around the dildo and, tentatively, stroked it. It wasn't like John's. Nothing moved on it. It was lifeless.

She tried to imagine using it, and felt frustrated that she wasn't sure she'd know how. Did you just stick it in? Did you move it in and out? How deep should you go? This thing was almost twice as long as John was. It would touch her in places she'd never been touched before.

If she used it.

He still hadn't come to bed. She'd gotten home late, hoping he'd already be in bed, so she could show him the toy then.

No such luck.

With a sigh, she removed her other presents from the bag and sorted through them. Some went on the dresser, some on the vanity, and a couple in the chest of drawers. They were typical kinds of presents from people she worked with ... a scarf ... a tube of fancy bubble bath crystals ... a pair of ankle high insulated slippers, for wintertime. Cindy had actually given her a very nice silk blouse. She admired it again as she hung it in the closet. She'd have to make sure John didn't talk to Cindy about the dildo. She didn't think he would. Cindy intimidated him. She was beautiful, out of John's league, and he knew it. She also exuded self confidence. Cindy knew men like John lusted after her, and undressed her with their eyes, but she ignored them. She had better things to do than lower herself to their level.

She was suddenly tired. Her plan had failed. Now she owned a dildo which was useless to her. He was right. She wouldn't use it. She couldn't. She'd be too embarrassed.

She opened the drawer in the night stand and dropped the long, pink, astonishingly realistic faux penis inside. It thumped heavily.

Feeling drained, she undressed, performed her nightly rituals in the bathroom, and put on her pajamas.

Crawling into bed, she put on her sleep mask, leaving the light on. If she turned it off, he'd just turn it on when he came to bed anyway. Sometimes he was so thoughtless.

As she drifted off to sleep, "sometimes" in her previous thought became "most of the time."

She didn't think about the dildo until she got to work the next morning. She wouldn't have thought about it then, except Cindy sauntered into her office and leaned against the door frame.

"You'll never guess where Janet said she saw your car parked last night," she said, without preamble.

Claire froze. She'd left the party and driven straight to Christie's. Then she'd gone home. There was only one place Janet could have seen her car that she would comment to anyone about. She thought furiously. It would do no good to deny it. And there was no way in the world she was going to confess to Cindy Richardson why she'd actually been there. Better to try to play it off.

"Christie's? I was looking for something to use as a gag gift for a friend of mine," she said, trying to keep her voice calm.

"No problem there," said Cindy, as if this were the most normal conversation in the world. "I could spend hours in that place."

"Really?" She couldn't keep the surprise from her voice. This was astonishing!

"What? You think there's some reason why I wouldn't be seen in there? They don't exactly know me by name, but I've dropped a pretty penny in that place."

"I am astonished," said Claire, deciding to just be truthful.

"Don't be," said Cindy, grinning. "What'd you get? Anything interesting?"

Claire tried to suppress her amazement at Cindy's casual acceptance that a woman like Claire might visit a place like Christie's Toy Box. She thought about the plethora of things she'd seen, and tried to remember one of them that was more innocuous than a ten inch rubber dildo.

"I was just getting some ideas," she said. "I was looking for something silly. Like they have something they call 'Instant Pussy'." It was out of her mouth before she realized she'd actually said it. She blushed furiously.

"Somehow I thought you didn't swing that way," said Cindy, arching one eyebrow.

"No, no!" gasped Claire. "You drop this in water ... it's a capsule ... and when it melts, it turns into a little sponge, shaped like a cat."

"Oh yeah," said Cindy. "Good grief. I remember one of my boyfriends in high school buying something like that from a vending machine in the toilet of a filling station. For some reason he thought that would get me to let him play with mine."

Claire was suddenly worried.

"Do you think Janet will spread it around I was there?"

"What if she does?" said Cindy. "You're an adult. It's a store for adults. There's nothing wrong with patronizing it."

"Yes, but people will talk."

"Fuck'em if they can't take a joke," said Cindy.

Cindy was like that. She was so unafraid, so sure of her own identity, so willing to be herself, even if other people disapproved.

"I don't need the grief," said Claire.

"Then ignore any drama that develops," counseled Cindy. "You're good at your job. It's nobody's business where you go or what you buy on your own time. By the way, did you get anything for yourself?"

"Like what?" asked Claire, carefully.

"Like something to liven up your sex life, of course," said Cindy, completely unashamed.

"What makes you think there's anything wrong with my sex life?" asked Claire, a little offended.

"Because you're normal," said Cindy. "So am I. So are our husbands. I've been married ten years. I know the deal. It happens to pretty much everybody. There's no shame in taking matters into our own hands - pun intended - when life lets us down now and then."

"Oh?" Claire felt prickly with anger at Cindy's blithe assumption that Claire and John were having problems of some kind. Almost immediately, though, she admitted to herself that, whether it was rude or not, Cindy was right on the money. In fact, Cindy's allusion to the concept that she, too, got less attention from her husband than she wanted, made her feel a little better somehow. That feeling transposed into bravado. "What do you use, then?"

"Me? I'm a Rabbit fan, tried and true," said Cindy, shamelessly. "I've worn out two of them. When I had to buy the third one, I decided to spend a little more and get a better quality one."

"Oh," said Claire, helplessly. She hadn't expected the woman to actually answer her.

Suddenly she remembered Sudoku woman saying they were having a special on "Rabbits." Claire had no idea what a rabbit was, other than a long-eared, fluffy animal. And she didn't think they were selling bunnies at an adult toy store.

"They were having a special on those last night," she said, more to herself than to be heard.

She was, of course, heard.

"Did you get one?" asked Cindy, once again making Claire feel a bit breathless at how bold this woman could be. "What brand? I know almost all of the brands, and which ones are good and bad. Have you opened it? You can't return it if you've opened it."

"I didn't get one of those," said Claire, holding up her hand to stop the woman. For some reason, she felt compelled to say more, and was astonished to hear her voice add, "I just got one of the regular ones."

"To each, her own," said Cindy, shrugging. "Have you ever tried a Rabbit?"

By now Claire had decided that, as far as Cindy was concerned, this really was a normal, casual conversation. Somehow that made all this less surreal.

"Actually," she said, her voice low, "I don't even know what a rabbit is."

"Oh you poor girl," said Cindy, sounding like she was actually sad. "We must discuss this further. But not now. I need to get some actual work done. Tell you what. Tomorrow I'll bring mine and show it to you. That's the easiest way to describe it."

"You can't bring something ... like that ... to work," moaned Claire.

"I can if it's in my purse and nobody can see it," said Cindy, confidently. "In fact, let's both be a little naughty. You bring yours and I'll bring mine. It will be our little private show and tell. How about it?"

"That's crazy," said Claire.

"That's what makes it fun!" grinned Cindy.

And then she was gone, leaving Claire to get a very late, very slow start on her work. Even after she got going, she had a hard time concentrating on her duties. Twice she made a simple mistake and had to start over.

She was just lucky that her workload was light that day.

Claire almost always got home from work before John did, and this day was no exception.

She fixed herself a light meal, knowing that if she prepared something for both of them, John would more than likely ignore that and make his own dinner. Their tastes had always been different, when it came to food. She tried to eat healthy. She got plenty of exercise, and had no trouble staying in her current size clothes. John liked fatty, prepared foods, and didn't seem to care that he had developed a paunch.

Claire didn't delude herself. While she was in pretty good shape, she didn't have Cindy's looks, or even the kind of looks that made men notice her. Her hair was auburn and long, but even at five feet eleven, she felt like she blended into a crowd of other women so that she felt invisible. Her breasts were still firm, and sagged only a little. Standing in front of the mirror naked, she saw the lean runner's body she'd always wanted, but felt most men didn't appreciate. Then there were her shoulders, which looked too wide, and muscled. To her, they looked manly. The manly look was from her workouts in mixed martial arts, something she'd picked up in college.

But she just felt better, knowing that she was taking care of herself. She ran three times a week, though lately she'd been running shorter distances. Life intruded, preventing her from running for the hours that she'd spent doing that in both high school and college, and for the distances she'd commonly run back then. Back then she'd had aspirations to be a marathoner, but she'd only run in one of those since she got married. As she thought about that, she decided to go for a run that night. John would most likely come in, get a plate, and sit in front of the TV with it. What he watched didn't interest her, so she might as well go get a little exercise.

She was dressed in knee length spandex shorts and a loose tank top when John came through the door. She was bent over, tying her shoes.

He slapped her on the ass with one hand.

"There's my girl," he said. "Nice ass."

"Thank you so much," she said, looking over her shoulder at him. "You make me feel so lovely."

"Because you are," he said, missing the sarcasm in her voice. His response sounded canned, automatic. "I'm starved."

With that he seemed to forget her, ass and all.

She sighed, opened the door, and went for a little run.

When she got back she was sweating and breathing hard. She'd pushed herself, working off the feelings of aggression she felt. John was, as she expected, sitting in his recliner, the remote under one hand and his dirty dishes sitting on the floor beside the chair. Usually, she picked them up and took them to the kitchen.

Not tonight.

She leaned against the matching recliner and stretched her calves.

"What's on?" she asked, just to make conversation.

"Bones," he said, without looking at her.

"Ugh," she said, wrinkling her nose. They were more graphic on that show than was necessary, in her opinion. "I'm going to take a shower."

A commercial came on as she walked away.

"Hey!" he called.

She turned to look at him.

"Did you use it?"

"Did I use what?" she asked.

"You know," he said, a sly look on his face. "The rubber cock. Did you use it?"

She felt the anger bloom in her belly again. She didn't want to admit he was right.

"Wouldn't you like to know," she said, instead.

"Did you?"

"Maybe if you'd have come to bed, instead of sitting in front of that idiot box all night ... you'd know," she said.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," he said, grinning.

She turned away and went, somewhat stiffly, to find refuge in the bedroom.

The water felt good, pummeling her body. It was good to get the sweat off.

Fondling the bar of Irish Spring, she soaped up her hands and then spread the suds over her arms and upper torso. As her hands slid over her breasts, she was more aware of them than usual. She let her fingers linger and tease her nipples.

She'd masturbated before, of course. It had taken her years to get to a place where she didn't feel guilty about doing it. But in her case, it seemed to take forever to bring herself to completion. She usually did that in the shower. If she did it in bed, she was always worried that John would come in and catch her. But it took so long that she got pruney skin if she stayed in the shower.

She abandoned her breasts to wash the rest of her body. She gave her groin some extra attention too, stroking. Her pubic hair felt coarse. She only trimmed it minimally, even though she didn't particularly like the feel of it under her fingers. She'd thought about shaving, but John had to shave every day to remove his stubble, and she didn't want to have to shave every day. She didn't actually know how often she'd have to do "maintenance". For all she knew it might be the same as shaving her legs and under her arms, which was only every other week. She just didn't think about things in that manner.

When she got in bed she tried to read, but she was vaguely uneasy. It took reading the same paragraph four times before she realized she was horny.

Her head rolled on the pillow to look at the night stand, where her brand new, still unused sex toy was hiding.

No. She couldn't do that.

She slid one hand into the waistband of her pajamas, her fingers seeking in the familiar, habitual way.

She had done this when she was younger, but it had seemed more experimental back then, as compared to the more frequent ... more required sense in which she engaged in this activity these days.

She looked at the door, automatically worried that John might come in, and her free hand pulled the sheet over her lower body.

Then some slightly angry, slightly pessimistic part of her mind assured her that would not be the case. He never came to bed early. He almost never came to bed while she was still awake.

Something new, unfamiliar, coursed through her body and she threw the sheet back, spreading her legs. Her fingers delved more firmly, rubbing, pinching, massaging, as her hips gave a little involuntary lurch. She slipped a finger within, hooking it so the pad would apply pressure to her bud.

It felt delicious. It wasn't as good as having a good, stiff penis inside her, but it still felt luscious. She'd read someplace that women had two kinds of orgasms, one centered on the clitoris, and the other associated with penetration and the inside of the vagina. She was pretty sure the orgasms she'd had - and they were few and far between - were of the second kind. She liked rubbing her little nubbin, but she really craved something stiff inside her, moving around.

Again, her head lolled and her eyes fixed on the night stand. Was that why she'd chosen something so outlandishly oversized? She'd only seen three cocks in her life, and all were about the same in overall appearance, nowhere near as impressive as the thing she'd purchased. Had her subconscious chosen something larger than life in some attempt to satisfy her? As she rubbed, not actually trying to coax an orgasm from her body, she thought back to the time, almost twenty-four hours before, that she'd stood in front of that wall, adorned with an astonishing variety of phallic shapes.

She tried to remember why she'd picked the one she'd taken to the register. All she could remember was being nervous and embarrassed. She did remember choosing one that was Caucasian, as opposed to one of the black ones. She hadn't given any consideration at all to a garishly colored one, such as blue, pink, purple, or bone white. She'd chosen something that looked as lifelike as possible. Was that because she wanted the real thing so badly?

The zings coursing through her loins distracted her. She didn't think about the irony of the situation. What she needed was within arm's reach. But the pressures of culture, society and upbringing prevented her from stepping across the arbitrary line of becoming a woman who used sex toys to achieve satisfaction.

She just wasn't that kind of woman.

And so, as she had in the past, she worked at it until, with a luscious little shudder, she got some relief.

She wasn't aware of any change in her life.

She didn't think about the fact that, for the first time, she hadn't cared whether John walked in on her or not while she masturbated.

That tiny change, of deciding that her own pleasure was more important than keeping her husband from knowing how she got it, was also responsible for the fact that, before she left for work the next morning, she retrieved her new dildo, wrapped it in two paper towels, and stuffed it deep in her purse. She actually giggled as she started the car and glanced at her purse, sitting on the passenger seat.

She was convinced that, somehow, someone would know what was in her purse as she entered the glass door of her office building. She expected, at any minute, for someone to call out her name and announce that she was a pervert.

But no one did.

On the elevator, someone bumped up against her purse, but neither looked at her nor said anything.

In her office, she put her purse in the bottom right drawer, just as she always did, and then sat back in her desk chair. She looked around. Everything was as it always was. Jimmy, the building courier, went past the glass partition beside her door and waved. She was startled to see her hand up, fingers wagging back at him, as he disappeared.

Something she'd never felt blossomed in her chest. It was a kind of excitement. She took the time to examine it, and realized it wasn't new after all. It was just like what she'd felt as a girl, when she got away with taking her bra off in the girls bathroom at school, and going all day without it. She'd been sure that somebody would castigate her for that, but she'd gotten away with it.

Now she felt that again. It was the thrill of being a little naughty ... of knowing you were being naughty ... but also knowing that you were going to get away with it.

She felt agitated. It was insane, but suddenly she wanted to tell somebody what she'd done. She wanted to expose her bawdy behavior and get some kind of approval.

She clamped down on that impulse, sobering instantly. It was enough that she'd done this crazy thing. Now it was time to get to work and ensure that her secret remained just that.

Claire was just finishing up a file when Cindy popped her head in the door.

"We going to lunch?" she asked.

"Where?" asked Claire.

"Giovanni's?" suggested Cindy.

"Too rich," said Claire.

"They have salads."

"Okay, then. Giovanni's," said Claire.

"Did you bring it?" Cindy grinned, conspiratorially.

What Claire felt, just then, was something close to admiration, based on the fact that Cindy didn't look furtively to the sides, or come in and close the door before asking the question. Claire knew exactly what Cindy was referring to, and she recognized her impulse to assume others would also know what Cindy was asking about. But common sense told her that nobody could really infer from that question what it might pertain to.

That feeling returned to her chest as she looked at her friend and said, "I did." Her heart lurched as she admitted it.

"Me too," said Cindy, still grinning. "We can show and tell at lunch."

"In Giovanni's?" gasped Claire. She had a mental image of the cool, dark interior of the Italian restaurant, with its upscale clientele, erupting into chaos as she walked through the dining room waving a big, flesh-toned dildo around in her hand, like an old time beat cop threatening someone with a billy club.

"We'll ask for a booth in one of the alcoves," said Cindy. "It will be nice and private."

Claire looked at her friend.

"You know this is insane."

"Not at all. It's just a couple of working girls discussing recreational possibilities. Nothing strange about that."

"Until the waiter sees what we mean when we say 'recreation'."

Cindy laughed.

"Guys love the idea of us girls using vibrators. It drives them goofy."

"You think so?"

"I know Danny does," said Cindy, referring to her husband. "He begs me to let him watch."

"You're lying!" gasped Claire.

"If I'm lyin' I'm dyin'," said Cindy, crossing her index finger over one of her impressive breasts. "I can get him to do just about anything I want by teasing him with my little friend."

"You actually let him watch?" Claire was trying to imagine that scene, and she felt the heat of a blush blossom on her cheeks.

"Only sometimes. I make him beg, but I only let him watch every once in a while. That way it's something special."

"Ohhhhh," moaned Claire.

"We'll talk about it at lunch," said Claire, airily. "See you then!"

She disappeared, leaving Claire to lean back in her chair, stunned. It was hard enough for her to imagine how mortified she'd be if John even found out she diddled herself, much less form the concept in her mind of him standing there, actually watching her do it. She felt weak, as if she were struck with a bout of hopelessness.

Slowly she gathered her strength. She fiddled with papers on her desk as she tried to come to grips with this new world in which she found herself. She'd seen Danny Richardson at parties. He seemed like a nice guy, normal in every way. He was polite, and didn't look at her breasts when he talked to her, like many other men did. Now, the image of him standing there, excited, leaning over his wife while she put something in her vagina, and watched ... it was just insane.

But she could imagine it.

And that was another step along the pathway that was steadily leading Claire Bonneville to new and interesting places she had never been before.

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