Pennies

She rolled the pennies in her hand as she walked down the hall, feeling the metal discs grind together in her palm.  Jingled them against one another, let them slip between her fingers and pushed them back into her fist with her thumb.

She’d given him the jar awhile ago.

“A jar?”

She’d licked her lips and nodded, sat down on his lap and worked her lips across his neck.  “Not just a jar, a very special jar.”  She’d planned to make him guess, tease him with it, but the anticipation was too delicious not to taste and the words rushed out of her.  “That, is your whore jar.”  She’d leaned back and smiled so she could see his eyes move from her to the jar and back, suddenly wary, nervous, frightened.

“My whore jar?”

“Yes.”  She’d gone back to kissing him, rolling her lips up to the lobes of his ear.  “Every time I use you, I’ll put some change in the jar, but only if you’re a good whore.  When it’s full, you can give it to me, and I’ll let you out so you can cum.  Not before it’s full though.”

His hips bucked under her, involuntarily, as she grabbed a handful of hair and pulled.  He felt her gasping laughter against his face, and thought about the chastity device she’d locked him in three days ago.  He’d asked her when she’d take it off, but she’d just smiled and told him not to worry.

That she had something in mind.

She held his head in her hands, felt him trying to look back at the jar.  “Now, I bet you’re wondering how long it will take to fill that jar, but I can’t tell you.  It all depends on how good of a whore you are.  A very good whore, who takes a beating without complaining, even eagerly, might get a whole ten cents a lashing.”

“Ten cents?!”

Her laughter made her shake against him, and he felt himself trying to get hard in the steel tube.  She ground herself against his thigh and pulled his head down to her breasts.  “I know, you don’t deserve that much, but I’m feeling generous.  And lippy whores, or bad whores, they make much less.  They might even lose money if they’re not careful.  Now, are you ready to start earning some of my pocket change, whore?”

He groaned as his flesh pushed against the locked chastity tube.  She felt him fighting against her, wanting to get up and walk away, at least protest and argue.  Her hand found his and pulled it down the front of her jeans, let him feel how wet her panties were.  She pushed his knuckles tight against her slit and they moaned together.

“I said, are you ready to earn some pennies, whore?”

He’d nodded, hissed out a reluctant “Yessss.”

He earned thirty-seven cents that evening before she hopped in the shower and left him handcuffed to the bed, beaten and bruised, naked except for a steel tube locked to his groin.  Legs held apart in a spreader bar, blinking his eyes and working his aching jaw back and forth.

In the morning, she’d given him two more pennies.  One for sleeping in the wet spot, and one for spending the night in bondage.

She paused at the door and thought about tonight.  His jar was almost full, but not quite.  She’d watched the glass become an obsession with him, a way of keeping score in their perverse games.  At first he’d refused to look at it, then he started to steal glances when he thought she wasn’t looking.  She started making him put the pennies in the jar himself, watched him learn what was worth more to her.  Beg to be used in the ways that would fill the jar faster, buy his release sooner.  Bring her the hard rubber flogger he hated in his mouth, crawling to her on his hands and knees, biting down hard on the gag she offered him, lying naked in front of her heaving, joyous body and counting the pennies she dropped on the floor.  Always frustrated, always locked tight in his chastity, imprisoned by his limits and wishing he could take just a little more pain.  Except, maybe, tonight.

She’d been saving her pennies, waiting for this night too.  When the jar was almost full, right at the point where he could fill it up, but not easily.  Where he’d have to beg her to push his limits hard, to hurt him more than she ever had before, to torture him and wreak havoc on his flesh for the pennies in her hand.

To break him down into a whimpering, sobbing, lust filled thing who only existed to hurt for her.

She let herself in the apartment, and automatically looked to the jar.

It was empty.  Sitting under it was an envelope.  Her breath caught in her throat, afraid she had pushed too far, that he had taken his pennies and left.  That she hadn’t held him enough, told him how she felt, that she had taken her stupid fucking games too far.  Trembling hands picked up the envelope and opened the flap, peered inside through quick forming tears.

She closed her eyes, and shuddered for a moment.

Walked through the house, looking for him.

She found him in the bedroom, asleep in his shoes.  Of course.

She sat down on the bed, leaned over and kissed him, pulled him tightly against her.  He woke up smiling, rolled over and put his head in her lap, looking up at her.  “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“You’re what’s wrong.  I thought…”  She stopped, ran the back of her hand across her eyes.  “I thought you hated Tom Waits.”

He shrugged and rolled his eyes.  “A couple of his songs aren’t bad.  The Matilda one is pretty good.  And he doesn’t tour that often.  And I had all those pennies, and a guy at work had a couple of tickets he couldn’t use.”  He shrugged again and looked away.  “And you like him a lot.  And there’s always more pennies, right?”

Her fingers slid though his hair, teasing and pulling it.  “Yeah.  There’s always more pennies.”

Three hours later, a woman walked into a gas station, and asked for a roll of pennies.  The bored cashier popped her gum and told her she’d have to make a purchase.

Twitching fingers tossed a stick of beef jerky on the counter, left it and just took the change.  The cashier shrugged, tore open the stick of jerky and went back to reading her magazine.

The clerk didn’t see the woman walking back to her car, tearing the paper away from the roll of pennies, rolling the brightly shining coins back and forth in her hand.

Copyright Jerry Jones.  Unauthorized use is prohibited.