THE USUAL WARNINGS:

This is a work of fiction by a twisted mind.  If you
are offended by graphic descriptions of natural and/or
unnatural sexual acts, if you are underage, or if this
type of material is illegal where you are, don't read
any further.

This is a fantasy.  You will have to loosen your clench
on reality a little when you read it. This is a tale in
which physical acts and human responses are not limited
to, nor necessarily based in, reality.  Some of the
actions and responses in this story may be physically
impossible and/or physiologically improbable.

Also, as is the case with most of the stories in this
newsgroup, all the women in this story are beautiful -
gorgeous, even.  Gravity has not caused breasts to
droop nor have wrinkles creased unblemished faces.  The
men (the leading men, at least) are hung like bulls.
They can get it up and keep it up often and at will.
In this special little fantasyland, there are no STDs,
morals, or unwanted pregnancies.  Guilt is a four-
letter word.  Most important of all, neither strength
of character, courage of convictions, nor moral belief
stand a chance against even the slightest erotic
stimulus.  This can be as benign as an accidental
glimpse of a bared ankle or as stimulating as a
whipping on the genitals.

This story is intended for the salacious entertainment
of consenting adults.  Do not try to do any of the
things described in this story.  You could injure
yourself or your partner, be arrested, or shot by her
father....

For those who didn't understand the preceding
statements, GO AWAY!

If you are under 18 years of age, GO AWAY!  This story
will burn your eyeballs and fry your brain.

If material of a strong sexual nature is prohibited
where you are, GO AWAY!

By continuing to read this story, the reader accepts
all responsibility for any disgust, revulsion, jail
sentence, or pleasure that results from reading it.  If
you don't, GO AWAY!

You have been warned!

If you enjoy this story and feel the irresistible urge
to post it on a <free> site, at least give me
(NightShade) credit for it.

So, stick your tongue firmly in your cheek and enjoy
the story!     <g>

NightShade
















Petunia

by NightShade

September, 2002

Chapter 1

Mrs. Alex Wilson wasn't a stupid woman, but right now
she was having serious doubts about the exact level of
her intelligence.  She had been walking down this trash-
strewn deserted street in a rundown part of the city
for more than 20 minutes and the building numbers just
weren't changing very fast.  What she had assumed was
only going to be a walk of a block or two had been four
blocks so far and now looked like it would be another
four or five blocks at least before she found the
specific number she was seeking.  The longer she
walked, the further she was getting from the relative
safety and security of the main thoroughfare.  She
hadn't had much of a chance to start any closer,
however, as the city buses stuck to the main roads.

It was a testament to her determination that she kept
on walking, despite her misgivings and growing
uneasiness.  It was 10:00 on a weekday morning and Alex
stuck out like a sore thumb in this seedier industrial
part of town.  She was wearing her Sunday best, not
knowing exactly who she was going to meet, if anybody.
Her silky print dress, the bright one with the tiny
little blue and yellow "Forget-Me-Not" flowers on a
white field reflected the bright sunlight.  The
reflecting light gave her an angelic glow as she walked
down the gloomy street, though she seemed unaware of
her striking appearance.  Her sensible shoes, her
nicest flats, clicked loudly on the concrete, echoing
off the solid stone walls of the buildings that lined
the sidewalks.  Twice so far she had turned around to
see if anyone was following her as she heard her own
echo.  She had not seen anyone behind her, in fact, she
had seen no one at all, but Alex couldn't shake the
growing feeling she was being watched.

White cloth gloves with a lace ruffle clutched her
white leatherette purse to her chest.  It wasn't
clutched to her in fear, but in embarrassment, sort of.
She had decided, at the last minute, to wear her
combination slip and bra with the dress, rather than
her usual sturdier undergarment.  She hadn't worn this
slip since her honeymoon, and it really did look better
under the dress.  It didn't support her like her other
heavier bras did and the subtle bouncing of her breasts
embarrassed her to no end.  Only Harold had ever seen
her breasts bounce around and that was when he had her
do a `hootchie' dance for him one night last month.
Secretly she had been pleased he had gotten so excited
watching her boobies bounce, but their unrestrained
motion still bothered her.  This morning her nipples
were clearly visible, too, and that was another reason
she was carrying her purse like a shield.  Her other
bras were thick enough to prevent them from showing so
obviously, but what she was wearing now just wasn't up
to the task.

A white pill-box hat with a blue rim set at jaunty
angle completed her outfit.  The white hat set off her
red hair nicely, though it wasn't really necessary.
Her lustrous hair was her best feature, she thought,
and she spent hours every day brushing it.  It wasn't
Lucile Ball red, that orangey color that looked like it
came from a bottle.  It wasn't a dark red or brunette
with red highlights, either, but somewhere in between.
It was definitely red but not the hue typically
associated with a hot temper.  Hot sex, maybe, though
that suggestion would have made Alex blush fiercely.

She still wasn't used to all the attention the men in
this new city gave her.  Those men lucky enough to have
caught a glimpse of her wouldn't have disagreed that
her hair was a nice feature.  But her best one?  To a
man they would have said it was her body.  When
pressed, however, there would have not been any
agreement on specifically why they thought that.  There
wasn't any one part of her body that was more
outstanding than the others, but none of them were
anything to sneeze at.  Her breasts were normal sized
or maybe a bit larger and very firm, but nothing
outstanding, like the whoppers on the women had that
Harold was always staring at in his magazines.  For the
casual observer, it was hard to tell what their shape
and size truly was, as Alex tended to "dress down" to
de-emphasize that part of her body.

Her ass was well rounded and pert, but again, nothing
to draw attention away from anything else.  Those boys
from her high school who had seen her in a bathing suit
would have argued perfection or nearly so, but Alex
avoided tight-fitting clothes so not many people had a
chance to see for themselves.  Like a fine wine, Alex
had improved with age.

Her legs were long and shapely, but not exaggerated.
Her waist was thin and her tummy flat, but still, just
about what you would expect.  All in all, she was very
well put together, but seemed neither ashamed nor aware
of her attributes.

To her family and the few friends she had, her bright
green eyes captivated your attention, drawing you to
her with dancing amusement.  Her intelligence and
curiosity were evident in those expressive eyes.  She
always seemed to be laughing inside, too, and when she
wasn't hiding her mouth and nose with her hand, you
could see a persistent smile, sometimes impishly
teasing the corners of her lips.  Her face was usually
devoid of makeup, part of the reason the women in her
new neighborhood tended to be jealous of her.  She had
a naturally striking beauty without any artificial
coloring or enhancements.

Alisson `Alex' Wilson had been married for only 9
months.  Her husband, Harold - not Harry! - was an
accountant for a local Accounting firm and was several
years older than she was.  Actually, he wasn't
certified yet, so most of his jobs were more
bookkeeping than accounting, but Alex knew that one day
he would make it.  It was just a matter of finishing
his degree -- well, actually, he had to start first,
but that was going to happen as soon as he could get
his next promotion -- and then he could get certified.
Which Harold said was almost automatic.  Harold had
such big plans!

She had graduated from the county high school last
June, ranked third in a class of 27 when Harold had
come into her little town.  She had dated a little in
high school, but most of the guys there were more like
her brothers or cousins and it didn't feel right.
Besides, with all of the chores everybody had after
school and during the summer, there wasn't much time
for socializing.  These days, the survival of their
farms and their families depended on everybody pitching
in and working hard.  Alex had not been looking for an
escape from her life, but what with graduation and
falling madly in love with a mysterious older man,
Harold, her life had been turned upside down.

Harold had proposed to her on their third date and they
were married in a small ceremony before the local
Justice of the Peace.  Only her mother and two of her
best friends had been able to attend.  Everyone else
had had to help with the first harvest, but they sent
their best wishes.  Alex wasn't disappointed, but
Harold was surprised at all the produce they received
for wedding gifts.  It was as if he had expected money
or something.  Folks in these parts had big farms and
were considered millionaires because of the property
values, but money was always tight.

Alex had been a virgin on her wedding night, a fact
that Harold had not expected nor appreciated.  Alex had
known what to expect as her mother and aunt had
prepared her, but even then she was disappointed.  It
was over so fast and really, she couldn't see now what
all the fuss was about.  Harold had got on, grunted,
rolled over and snored.  Big deal.  She didn't let her
disappointment show, however.

Daddy was thrilled when Harold agreed to help on the
farm.  There was sort of a mix-up, because Harold had
thought he would just handle Daddy's money.  He wasn't
prepared to handle the pitchfork Daddy handed him.
Harold didn't last an hour.

Harold was also surprised to learn that the farm wasn't
going to be broken up between Alex and her older
brother.  Farmers had learned that lesson the hard way
a long time ago.  The land stayed intact and in the
family.  Alex' brother, away at college getting his Ag
Degree, was getting the farm.  Alex wasn't getting
anything and didn't expect it.

Two weeks later Harold had decided to get 'a real job,'
as he put it and moved his new family out of state to a
small apartment in a big city.  There was no question
that Alex would move with him, even though she was
needed on the farm, as wives were supposed to support
their husbands.  Since the move, Alex had been trying
to make the small two room apartment a home for them,
but time was beginning to weigh heavily on her hands.
She was not used to having so much idle time and Harold
didn't want her to work.

In his newest job, the third new job since they had
moved, Harold traveled across a 5 county area doing the
books and payroll for several small businesses.  His
travels kept him away from home four nights a week, two
nights to the north, home on Wednesdays, then two
nights to the south and home for the weekend.  In a
way, his schedule was what brought Alex to this part of
town.  She was looking for one of businesses Harold
visited on Wednesdays when he was in town.

Blushing even now as she thought about why she was
here, Alex couldn't suppress a soft sigh.  She knew she
was not experienced sexually, having had no experience
prior to Harold but watching the animals on the farm.
Watching barnyard copulation was different than
actually doing it herself and she had been a bit
disappointed in the experience.  However, she had
noticed that recently, about once a month, Harold would
come home on Wednesday evening and, well, the best way
she could describe it was that he `ravished' her.

He would be more forceful and demanding than usual,
asking her to do new and, for her, imaginative things.
He had even had her touch and stroke him with her hand
one time.  She had felt so naughty and tingly doing it
that she wasn't even that disappointed when he rolled
over after he had messed in her hand and started
snoring softly.  Alex had lain there for a long time
that night rolling the sticky residue between the tips
of her fingers, reveling in its texture and smell.  It
never crossed her mind to taste it.

The anomaly of her new husband's Wednesday night
behavior had been quickly apparent the following
Saturday night.  It was back to normal with Harold and
when it came to sex, Harold was clearly uninventive,
unimaginative and uncaring in his love making.  Not
that Alex would ever dream of complaining or of
discussing anything so personal with anyone for
comparison -- not ever her mother! -- but even as
inexperienced as Alex was, she could tell that Harold
was, well, pretty dull in the bedroom.  Downright
boring, in fact.  He was so predictable, that with only
a couple months' experience Alex had noticed the
pattern of the odd Wednesday nights.

Alex had been raised since birth to please her husband
to the point of suppressing her own needs and desires.
She had come to assume that that meant sexually, too,
as it never seemed there was anything for her when he
was pounding away on top of her.  She didn't mind when
he was forceful.  In fact, that was what had drawn her
to him in the first place.  He had been so forceful on
their first date, touching her titties and stroking her
behind.  She hadn't been as shocked as she had
pretended and when she went to bed that night, she
found her panties were still soaked.

She had no idea if her mother was ever satisfied by her
father, but hearing them in their bedroom late at night
or on Sunday afternoons hadn't been difficult.  Her
mother had, from the sound of it enjoyed it more than
Alex was, but apparently, it wasn't important enough to
discuss with her daughter.  Her mother's upbringing had
been terribly old fashioned, she knew, so it was hard
for her to talk about breeding cows, much less human
sexuality.

Even Alex, raised in the '90s, but in a rural area,
often felt at odds with the often prurient topics of
discussion when she watched TV talk shows or when she
talked with the other married women in her apartment
complex.  So she kept the TV off most the time and kept
to herself rather than gossiping with the neighborhood
women.  It was how she had been raised.

What was important to her was to please Harold.  This
was becoming her sole objective and so far, she felt
she was failing.  They were still newlyweds and he was
losing interest in her.  And she wasn't pregnant yet,
either, a fact that her mother had not failed to
mention.  Alex was willing to try anything to please
Harold, and besides, except for the first time when he
frightened her with his aggressiveness and those
strange demands, she found she liked being `ravished.'
It made her feel tingly, almost like it was leading to
something bigger, but never quite got there.

Not being stupid, Alex had soon realized that ravishing
her was clearly out of character for Harold.  So she
began keeping track of where Harold went, trying to
discover what was prompting him to act in this
aggressive manner.  In the back of her mind was the
unconscious idea to see if she couldn't somehow find a
way to encourage this behavior.  It obviously pleased
him, so, in her mind, she was justified in her actions.
That she liked him to be forceful was just an extra
benefit.

In typical female fashion she didn't ask him what she
wanted to know directly.  No, that would make him too
suspicious.  Instead, she questioned him everyday about
how work went, pretending more interest than she felt
in what he was doing.  She wanted to know what happened
in the offices he was in, what he had for lunch, where
he ate, who he talked to, and so on.  Two months of sly
investigation had given her a lot of information, but
not the answers she was looking for.

That called for more drastic measures, so Alex began
snooping.  Each evening he was home, Harold would
shower immediately after walking in the door, recently,
even before he kissed her.  Every night, like
clockwork, he would drop his overnighter for her to re-
pack, drop his coat, pants, shirt, socks and dirty
underwear for her to pick up and headed for the shower.
So each evening, while Harold was in the shower, Alex
would go through his pockets.  She had to pick up his
pants anyway.  When that failed to yield anything but
lint, she turned to his briefcase.

The second week of snooping she got her first big
break.  It was in the bottom of his briefcase that she
found a corner of a matchbook cover.  There was a name
"George" scribbled in pencil on the back.  And on the
front were the letters "DUNGE."  The rest of the
letters were torn off.

That night, Harold had ravished her.  Twice.  The next
week as she did her snooping, the torn matchbook cover
was gone.  It was her only clue.  Those five letters,
the name "George" and the place where Harold had said
he had had lunch that day.  He said he had eaten lunch
in a dilapidated old diner, a greasy spoon.  It was the
kind of place Harold seemed to favor, and it was
located down on Main Street, about a block from the bus
stop where she had just gotten off.

Searching the telephone directory for that part of town
yielded only one business with the letters "DUNGE." in
their name.  Only one business that would have a
matchbook cover, too.  But Harold had never mentioned
to her that he was doing any work for a nightclub.  It
was his complete silence on the subject that convinced
her she was on the right track.  Why wouldn't he have
told her about working at The Dungeon unless he was
secretly excited about what he saw while he was working
there?  Especially if he was secretly ashamed of being
excited about it, too.

So, undaunted in the midmorning sunshine, Alex walked
on until she reached the nondescript door of the club.
There wasn't even a lighted sign to advertise the
business, just a small bronze plaque above a bell.  She
tried the door and found it locked.  Chagrined, she
suddenly realized that it was a nightclub and probably
closed during the day.  After mentally kicking herself
for missing something so obvious, she almost headed
home.

But first, what the Hell, she pushed the buzzer.  She
had come this far and it was a long walk back.  With a
solid click, the electronic lock of the door buzzed.
Giddy with her surprising success, she pulled open the
heavy door.

The cool stale air assaulted her senses, confusing
odors of smoke, incense, sweat, beer and something else
captivated her, luring her onward to the second door.
It was a heady, seductive aroma to the na‹ve country
girl.  This second door was an elegant door, shining
darkly in the dim interior.  It was covered in black
leather with polished brass fittings, very ornate.
There seemed to be a lot more fittings than were
necessary, so Alex assumed they were for show, as well.
Overall, it gave the door a rather medieval look,
somehow befitting the name of the place, The Dungeon,
without being blatant.

A small but powerful halogen light overhead created a
small spot of light on the wall, highlighting an
electronic keypad.  Alex had only seen one like it
before and that was on the vault at the local bank back
home.  She was impressed and depressed at the same
time.  Without an entry code, she had no hope of
getting inside.  Then her hopes soared.  The cleaning
crew must have been expecting someone to come in later
as the door was propped open with the deadbolt
extended.

She frowned.  The extended bolt was marring the perfect
finish of the doorframe.  It was a careless act, but it
would explain the buzzing of the lock on the outside
door, if they were trying to get someone inside.
Regardless, she had come this far.  Alex dug her
fingernails into the edge of the door and pried it
open, opening the door to a new world

Chapter 2

"Hello?" she called out.  "Hello?  Is anyone here?"

Her light soprano voice seemed to disappear into the
cavernous space before her.  In the dimness she could
make out tables with chairs stacked on top of them,
like they did at the pool hall back home when they put
down fresh sawdust.  Over on the left was a bar with a
single glowing neon sign advertising the product of an
upscale local brewery.  In the light of that sign she
could see the diamond-like reflections of hundred of
glasses of all shapes and sizes.  Row upon row of them,
shining and spotless.

Alex had taken about three steps into the darkened room
when she was stopped short.

"May I help you?"

Even before she whirled around, surprised by the sudden
sound of his deep voice, Alex knew what the owner of
that voice would look like.  He would be tall.  He
would be young and dark.  And he would be handsome.
Very handsome.  Turning, she gasped audibly as she
realized she had been both right and wrong in her
prescience.

The man standing before was dark.  Wuthering Heights
dark.  Heathcliff in the flesh.  Wet your panties dark
and handsome.  He was young, too, she saw.  She
estimated by the lack of grey and the smooth unlined
skin on his face that he was only a couple of years
older than she was, but he could have been older, too.
What took her aback, what surprised her was just how
tall he was.  He was well over six feet tall, maybe
even two inches over.  Alex had thought Harold was big
at five feet, seven inches, as tall as Daddy.  But now,
Alex had to tip her head back to just to look at this
man's face.  His beautiful face.  His gorgeous face,
looking at her with a curious expression, as if waiting
for an answer..

Alex jerked herself out of her reverie, blushing as she
felt the unfamiliar moistness between her thighs.

"George?" she queried, hopefully.

"I prefer Mr. Smith," he replied.

Alex nodded, trying to place his accent.  Or maybe it
was just his pronunciation of the word `mister.'  It
had almost sounded like he had said `Master Smith.'
She shook that thought from her mind and, having found
what she assumed was her quarry, launched into a
complete explanation, minus the ravishing, of course,
of how she had come to be here.  She didn't notice in
her rush to get out her explanation just how
comfortable he made her feel.  Nor did she find it
strange that she was telling him much more about her
life than she had intended.  All she knew was that when
she looked in his eyes, she felt like she belonged
here.  She wanted to belong here.

The man's name was not George.  Or Mr. Smith.  His name
was Damon Arquette, though few, if any people in this
country were aware of his real name.  He answered to
`Mr. Smith.'  He had no idea who George was, nor did he
care beyond the fact that there was no one named George
who worked here.  That made him suspicious of the
pretty woman standing in front of him.

Damon was, by nature and by necessity, suspicious.  It
was how he had survived in this business and how he had
been as successful as he was.  His immediate reaction
upon seeing this pretty young woman standing in his
club was that the Feds had sent in yet another
undercover agent.  True, he had been expecting a new
dancer this morning, but this innocent young thing in
front of him was obviously not her.  No makeup, no
attitude, no piercings, no leather, no whip marks or
scars.  This was definitely not a girl from one of the
other clubs owned by the syndicate.  And the dancer he
was expecting, was, by the way, two hours overdue, and
therefore, was not coming.  She had probably not
survived her last dance.  It wasn't unusual, in this
business.

Damon kept a pleasant smile on his face, nodding
occasionally at the babbling woman, pretending to
listen.  He could listen to the tape later, if he had
to learn anything from the story she was telling.  She
was good, he had to admit.  But was she Narcotics, ATF,
IRS or from some RICO-type committee?  He had found the
best way to find out what the bastards were after was
to let them think he was cooperating.  But not quite
fully.  He had learned the hard way, as several dead
agents could have told you, that if he kept them
thinking that if they only looked a little harder or
let him get a little closer, the evidence they needed
would be found.  By digging more than they intended,
they inevitably tipped their hand and let him know what
they were after, and, thus, what to hide.  None had
survived.

Damon ran a straight club.  On the surface.  No drugs,
no minors, no prostitution.  That still left a lot of
opportunities to profit from the weaknesses in others.
It was his club, by its very existence, however, that
grated most often on the moral self-image of the
community.  Sanctimonious hypocrites.  No one wanted to
admit out loud that there was a market for his kind of
club, the kind of club that let men and even some women
explore their darker sides.  The self-righteous bitches
that squeezed their legs shut after the honeymoon and
one kid couldn't stand the fact that it was their
husbands' money that kept him in business.  And highly
profitable.

Hell, he just provided a service.  They provided the
demand.  Supply and demand, that was true market forces
at work.  Somehow, in the tiny little minds of those
frigid bitches, because he supplied the services they
wouldn't or couldn't, that made him the `bad guy.'
Well, they weren't far off, but it wasn't for any of
those reasons.

The woman, 'Alex' she said her name was, was still
yapping away.  He wondered what 'Alex' was short for,
but he suspected it wasn't for brevity.  It didn't look
like she was winding up anytime soon, either.  Damon
allowed himself an assessing glance of her body, taking
a calculated risk that her eyes would still be held by
his when he looked back.  He effected some women that
way, and she seemed to be susceptible.

His eyes drifted down over her chest, noting the
generous swells capped by the obvious protrusions of
her nipples.  Her waist was slender, her hips flared
nicely.  What he could see of her legs showed a shapely
calf and ankle, even with the flat shoes.  Already
Damon was imaging her legs in stiletto heels and the
wonderful effect they would have on the shape of her
legs and buttocks.

Looking back at her green eyes, Damon was surprised to
see the flush of pleased embarrassment that colored her
neck and cheeks.  She had noticed him checking her out
and it pleased her.  Odd.  He gave her his most
disarming smile, as if was only natural for him to
inspect her bodily attributes.  He gave no sign of
noticing her subtle shift in posture, as she moved her
cheap purse behind her back and thrust her breasts out
at him, as if in invitation for a greater inspection.
Had it not been for the unconscious blush, that move
would have convinced she was an agent.  As it was, he
wasn't sure what he thought she was.

"So.  How can I help you, Alex?" he asked her when she
finally wound down her lengthy explanation.

She looked up at him in dismay.  She couldn't just come
out and ask this stranger that she needed to know what
made her husband horny and how to turn him on.

"I -- I -- Uh, I guess I want to learn, to know...."
she stumbled badly and ended weakly.  This part of the
conversation had gone so much easier when she had had
it in her mind.  George, Mr. Smith, was supposed to
know what she needed.

"You want to learn what?  How to tend bar?  How to
serve drinks?"

Alex shook her head.  She felt hot.  She knew she was
blushing and it wasn't all from embarrassment.  She was
strongly attracted to this man.  It must have been the
long walk to get here, she rationalized.

"What?  Do you want to learn what we do here?"

The look of relief on her face as she nodded almost
made him laugh.  That, however, would have been a
mistake, and Damon didn't make many of those.  Not when
it came to women.

Damon pursed his lips, thinking.  For the Feds, this
was a novel approach, but he wouldn't put it past them.
Still, the girl's reactions seemed to be genuine.  She
looked to be too young to be that good of an actress,
but even that wasn't outside the realm of possibility.
It had been a while since he had had the opportunity to
break in a new girl, and he had never tried to train
one that was this na‹ve.  It might be fun.  The thought
of having total control over this diminutive redhead
was extremely tempting to him, and that set the hairs
on the back of his neck on end.

"Well, I think I can give you an idea of what goes on
here.  But tell me this, Alex: Are you interested in
learning about it or experiencing it for yourself?"

She looked up at him, her green eyes dancing in
excitement.  "Is there a difference?" she asked him.

Damon gave a short laugh.  Na‹ve and beautiful.  This
girl, agent or not, had just delivered herself into his
hands.  At least until he could find out who she worked
for.  Regardless, he was sure he could turn this into a
profit somehow.  It was an opportunity he couldn't
resist.

Taking the girl gently by the arm he led her from the
bar area down a long dark hallway to his office.  The
soundproofed door closed behind them and he led Alex
over to a large wooden chair.  He turned it so that it
faced a bank of nine TV screens set in the wall.
Normally, these screens were set up for viewing
security and the observation of all key points in the
club.  It wasn't unheard of that the occasional
blackmail tape was produced here, as well.  But with
the club now empty, this would make a good educational
center until he could get the other room set up with
the special 'training' equipment he had designed.  It
hadn't been used for a while, but it wouldn't take
much.

"OK, Alex.  If you would please sit here."

Alex sat in the chair.  She was obviously nervous but
she was unaccountably excited, too.

"I don't know what your level of experience is and I'm
not going to be able to sit and watch you while you
watch these tapes.  In addition, some of the things you
see or hear may disturb you.  If they didn't, though,
you wouldn't learn anything, would you?"

Alex shook her head silently.  She had been captivated
by this man, his actions, his voice.  She was trying
hard to get a hold of her feelings, to control her
heart rate.  It felt as if it was fluttering and racing
in her chest.  Her breathing was erratic, as well, and
she didn't trust herself to speak.  So she dumbly
nodded her assent.

"Not only that, but this is my private office.  I have
things in here that I wouldn't want any stranger to
look through, contracts and things, you understand.
So, we're going to play a little game."  He produced a
roll of masking tape.  "Place your arms on the arms of
the chair if you would, please."

He said it so nicely, she didn't object.  She laid her
arms, palms down, on the arms of the chair.  She
watched silently as he took a length of the masking
tape and wrapped it around her wrist.  Another went
just below her elbow.  The other arm was taped in the
same manner.  Each loop was just a single band, easily
broken.

She giggled a little when he did her ankles and knees,
taping them to the front legs of the chair, as the tape
tickled her.  Damon grinned up at her conspiratorially
and gave her a friendly wink.  He could smell her
arousal and it amused him.  Her dress, normally below
her knees, had ridden up above them.  Her upper legs,
however, were still modestly covered, so she wasn't
threatened by this minor exposure.

Damon pulled off a long strip of tape and centered it
across her chest above her breasts.  A second long
strip was centered across her stomach below those
swells.  With delicate firmness, Damon slipped the ends
of the two lengths of tape under her arms and taped
them to the back of the chair.  He did this without
copping a feel, and Alex was almost disappointed.  It
was getting more difficult for him to keep a straight
face, she was so obvious.

"There.  That should do it.  If at any time you wish to
stop watching the tapes, all you have to do is stand up
and walk out.  However, if I come back in and any of
the tapes are broken, you must leave and not come back.
Do you understand?  This is, of course, only to protect
myself and my business.  Do you have any questions?"
He had spoken with authority, forcefully.

Her heart was racing.  She could feel the pulse
pounding in her throat.  Alex shook her head.  She had
a thousand questions, but couldn't ask them.  She could
barely manage a nod.

Damon went to his desk and began setting knobs and
punching buttons.  It was a simple multi-media
presentation he was setting up, a mixture of still
photos and video clips.  He had some difficulty
filtering out the harder core folders.  On the off
chance this girl was genuine, he didn't want to scare
her away by exposing her to too much the first time
out.  As it was, he had a feeling she would be shocked
by what she would see.

The center screen came to life.  The images that
changed every 5 seconds or so showed a beautiful young
girl smiling at the camera, lying by a pristine
swimming pool.  There were a series of poses, gradually
more daring as she removed her bikini top, coyly
covering her naked breasts with her hands.  Damon liked
this model because she exuded a joyfulness and
impishness that came across on film.

The next model was posing in a kitchen with an apron
and heels and little else.  Again, her playfulness was
obvious and even after the apron had disappeared, there
was nothing of her nudity to see.  The pictures were
risqu‚, but not pornographic.

The first video showed the first model dancing.  The
music was haunting and there was no playfulness in the
dance.  It was, however, sensuous and sexual.  The
girl's hands slowly caressed her body as she writhed in
time to the strong beat of the music.  Damon watched
the video closely and as she began removing her dress,
he moved to another set of still pictures.

Having set a bookmark in the digital video, Damon
created a loop of the dancing model up to the point of
her shedding the top part of the slinky dress she was
wearing.  He put that video loop in one of the other
monitors and let the loop play continuously.  The
sensuality of the music added to the 'educational'
value of the total experience.

From the first glimmer of light on the screen, Alex had
sat as if paralyzed, her eyes riveted to the screen.
She had never seen such beautiful women before.  It was
obvious to her they enjoyed what they were doing, and
that they were comfortable with removing their clothing
for the camera.  Their bodies were perfect, they were
young and beautiful.  Why shouldn't they take off their
clothes and let someone else appreciate their beauty?

Her breath caught in her throat when the video started.
The girl moved so gracefully, so easily.  She imagined
herself moving like that for Harold and what his
reaction would be and began, within the limits imposed
by the weak tape, to move her body in harmony with the
dancing girl.  She noticed the first shoulder strap
slip off of that smooth shoulder and felt a pang of
disappointment when the video was interrupted at that
point.  When the dancing appeared in another screen,
she was torn between watching the swaying graceful
movements and the vivid images in the center screen.

After setting up the first couple of loops for the
mesmerized girl, Damon sat back and observed the effect
of the images on the girl.  She was flushed and
aroused.  The tape strips above and below her breasts
had pulled the fabric of the dress tight against her
undergarments.  There was now no doubt that her nipples
were standing erect.  Already he could see the track of
sweat as it trickled down between her heaving tits.

Her breathing was erratic, especially when she focused
on the videos of the girls dancing.  She was
rhythmically squirming her bottom on the hard seat of
the chair, as if she were clenching and unclenching her
thighs and groin.  He worried about the weak tape and
hoped she wouldn't squirm too much and break it.  But
she appeared to be in control of herself, for now,
anyway.

Damon smiled, remembering.  The first dancer had been
one of his favorite pupils.  She had come to him not
much more experienced than Alex and had been an eager
and willing student.  It was only later, when she had
acquired a jaded edge that she had betrayed him.  She
was gone now.  Only her pictures remained.

He quickly set up other picture series, some in
sequence of the photo sessions with one or two pretty
models gradually disrobing and showing tasteful nudity.
For later, he prepared some individual random photos to
be interspersed with the others of a mildly sexual
nature.  Mostly these were pictures of two women
together, touching, kissing, fondling each other.
Then, for near the end, some random pictures of a
stronger sexual nature.  Sapphic erotic poses, with and
without sexual appliances.

There was an audio track that he pulled up, mostly
groaning and grunting of exuberant sexual acts, but
also some narration of some of the pictures, the models
describing exactly what they were doing to one another.
There were a pair of small speakers directly behind the
girl's head and the volume was set low.  She would have
to strain to hear it.  He could also talk to her
through a microphone, but he would see how it went.  It
was a crude system, but in the short time he had it was
the best he could do.  He hoped it was enough.

The random shots were sprinkled throughout the
presentation, hopefully just enough to titillate and
tease, to whet the appetite for more but not enough to
scare the tender young girl away.

She remained enraptured, absorbing the images like a
dry sponge soaking up water.  He waited until the first
couple of racy random images had been screened.  Seeing
her total concentration on the screens, Damon silently
slipped out a hidden door into the next room where he
could monitor her education unobserved while carefully
reviewing the tape he had made of their initial
meeting.  The girl would either leave soon or would be
there for hours.

Alex presented him with an interesting situation.  He
hadn't had a sub in a long time and the need for that
special release was building.  That she was married was
not a problem to him, but an opportunity.  He could
think of several scenarios that would resolve the
situation, all profitable.  It depended to a large
degree on the husband.  What he needed now was
information.  Most important, was she for real or was
she a government agent?

He picked up the telephone and after a moment's
thought, dialed a number.  The scrambler device was
activated and he gave his lengthy instructions to the
silent person on the other end of the connection.

Having set the wheels in motion, he took the
opportunity to considered the irresistibility of Alex'
offer.  It frightened him more than a little to think
that someone out there might know him well enough to
bait him with this girl.  It was the most damning
evidence against her and, if not for the genuineness of
her reactions, would have been immediately fatal for
her.  To his mind, however, her reactions couldn't have
been faked.  He would have to watch this girl closely.

Chapter 3

Alex hardly remembered the walk back to the bus stop
that evening.  It had not seemed possible that she had
sat for seven hours without breaking the tape.  Not one
strand had been broken.  Mr. Smith had seemed surprised
and, she thought, somehow pleased with her.  Alex
couldn't explain the rush of pride and those other
strange emotions that that thought caused her to have.
It was almost sexual.

She had seen so much today!  The dresses those girls
wore seemed to be designed to show off more than they
covered up.  They were so beautiful, too.  And happy.
What she really liked, however, were those other
pictures, the ones that popped up so suddenly and then
disappeared.  The ones that showed the women together,
or alone and touching themselves.  She had never done
that, or even thought about doing it by herself or with
a girlfriend, but it looked so natural.

Her head was buzzing with new words and ideas.  Words
like 'cunt' and 'fuck' and 'pussy'.  What was that
thing they used on each other?  Oh, yeah, a dildo.  It
had been enormous, eight inches long, at least!  She
couldn't believe that such a thing existed much less
that it would fit up inside a woman.  Sure, Daddy's
stud bull was bigger, but that plastic thing had been
so much bigger than Harold.  The women had enjoyed it,
even when one of them wore it strapped around their
waist and fucked the other one.  Alex blushed crimson
as that naughty word came effortlessly to her mind.

The best word though, the best thing that she had seen
was cunt-licking.  She had completely soiled the back
of her dress with her fluids when that had popped up.
She had never been so wet, so excited, so unfulfilled.
It was like she was striving for something, needing
something, stretching, yearning to get some release,
but couldn't quite reach it.

It was going to be another day before Harold came home.
A very long day and it wasn't time for him to ravish
her.  She wished there was some way she could excite
him to make him take her more forcefully.

Her mind on other things, Alex didn't notice the quiet
little man who followed her at a distance from the club
to the bus stop, then copied her transfer at the
downtown station and got off with her at her stop.  It
would have been odd for her to notice him, as he made
his living by going unnoticed.  Even the neighbors he
talked to over the next three days wouldn't remember
him.  If they did, no two would be able to give the
same description of him, should anyone have asked.  No
one would ask, however, as nothing had happened.  Yet.

Harold was surprised when he came in the door late
Saturday morning.  His wife had taken one of his old
undershirts and slit it up the sides almost to her
armpits.  When he came out of the shower, she was
standing there wearing that and a big smile.  He
supposed she was trying to be sexy, but all he could
see was straw coming out of her ears.  Not really, but
her fucking family were just a bunch of ignorant hicks.
But, if she wanted to try to be sexy, he was willing to
let her jump around.

She had found a radio station that had some dancy-type
music and she was swishing around.  It was pretty bad
and Harold had a flashback to the stripper he has
fucked last night.  Shit, the bazoombas on that bitch
had been fucking huge, and could she shake them.  Not
like Alex.  Oh, they were jiggling around, but he liked
them to flop around, slapping him in the face.  You'd
need a vice to titty-fuck Alex and that was just too
much fucking work.  He laughed out loud at his own pun

Still, she seemed to get the hang of it a bit, and
Harold felt that familiar urge.  Standing up suddenly,
he ripped the fragment of cloth from her body, leaving
her barefoot and naked.  She squealed in pleasure,
smiling up at him, inviting him to do more.  He did,
and ten seconds later he, rolled off her and started
snoring.

The buildup and planning for her dance had been
exciting for Alex.  More than the actual event, but
still, he had responded to it.  They had never fucked
in the morning and never on the living room floor.  The
tingling between her legs, though not as intense as
when she had been with Mr. Smith, lingered for a long
time.

Later that evening, Alex had danced for her husband
again, only this time, she stripped off his old shirt
more quickly.  It had been ripped that morning and she
had simply tied it together in back.  With a hard tug,
it had come off in her hand.  She had been so excited,
as had Harold, at her dancing around naked, that she
had touched herself.  That seemed to excite him,
especially seeing her pinch and pull on her nipples.
When she did it hard, it took her breath away, a
feeling she didn't understand but loved.

Harold had pitched her over the end of the couch in the
middle of her dance and pumped her for a long time.
Well, a long time for Harold.  Ten, fifteen strokes, at
least.  Then he grunted, as if he was in pain, and
headed for the bedroom.

As she lay in bed next to her snoring spouse later that
night, Alex allowed her hand to steal down to that
aching place between her thighs.  She was still sticky
from Harold's cum, another word she had learned, and
the slippery fluid aided her fumbling fingers.  She had
never done this before, had never thought of it until
she had seen those pictures, and just touching it
lightly felt so good.  There was another reason for the
dampness, though, and the secret she had discovered
about herself tonight had extended her pleasure far
longer than the pain in her nipples had lasted.  It
wasn't Harold's face she was thinking of as she
tenderly massaged her vaginal lips and squeezed her
breasts.

Touching herself as she had seen those other women
touch themselves and each other, Alex felt the tensions
within her body building.  If something didn't happen
soon, she would snap.  Gently at first, then with
increasing urgency she struggled towards that void in
her mind, her fingers stroking and plunging, torturing
the newly discovered nubbin of sensitive flesh that had
been throbbing non-stop for the past two days.  Pushing
it back and forth, pinching it, trapping and rolling it
between her thumb and forefinger.

Not to be ignored, her other hand joined the first,
abandoning her chest, burying first one then two
fingers in her throbbing cunt.  Her thumbnail grazed
across the sensitive area around her anus and she
moaned in frustration.  It was almost enough, but for
what?

Faster and faster her fingers moved.  She was lying on
next to her husband doing what her mother had always
taught her was dirty, naughty and nasty.  She didn't
care.  She needed this.  She needed something.

Alex was never sure if she reached her decision
immediately before she discovered what all the fuss was
about, or immediately after.  Either way, whether the
thought of going back to the club and seeing the
mysterious Mr. Smith sent her over the edge, or whether
the thundering experience of her very first orgasm
convinced her to go back, it didn't matter.  All that
mattered right then was how she felt.  Like she had
never felt.

Later, sitting alone on the tattered sofa in the living
area of the tiny apartment, Alex thought what Mr. Smith
had told her, those delicious words he whispered in her
ear as she had watched those beautiful women.  He had
told her what she was supposed to wear the next time.
He had instructed her to practice those moves of the
dance she had watched over and over.  She grinned to
herself as she thought how proud he would be that she
had done that.  She was even more thrilled that he
wanted her to come back.  He said he would teach her.
He said he would train her to please him.  Of course,
he had meant to say to please Harold.  She was married.

Alex didn't like to admit it, even to herself, but that
had been when she had really soiled her dress.  The
thought of pleasing him made her really wet down there.
When she thought of him she tingled.  If anything, Alex
was a practical girl.  She knew she was attracted to
Mr. Smith, but it was just sexual.  She was married to
Harold, and that meant a commitment.  They were a team.
She was only trying to please him, her husband.

Harold watched football all day Sunday starting as soon
as they came back from Mass. Uncharacteristically he
splurged on a six-pack on the way home from the
neighborhood church and got a little drunk.  Alex was
disappointed.  Sunday afternoon was always such a
special time for her parents.  During the two weeks
they had lived with her parents, Harold had even
commented, if somewhat crudely, on the amorous sounds
coming from her parent's bedroom on Sunday afternoon.
Nothing she did that day, however, could pry his
interest from the ball games.  He didn't even look
twice when she served his beer topless.  Or bottomless.
She finally felt silly throwing herself at him like
that, so she just went to bed.  He came to bed late and
was gone by the time she got up.

Monday and Tuesday dragged by for Alex.  She found if
she spent time practicing for Mr. Smith she would
become so aroused that she would have to touch herself.
If she thought about Harold, she would usually end up
sad and cry uncontrollably.  She knew she was avoiding
the truth about her marriage, even with the interest he
had shown in her on Saturday.  She was just not
pleasing him as she ought to.  It had to be her fault.

Wednesday Harold didn't touch her.  In fact, she
smelled a strange perfume on his shirt when she picked
it up off the floor.  There was a smudge of red, too.
Despite the hole in her stomach, Alex tried to excite
him.  She had fashioned a new outfit, two pieces that
didn't hide hardly anything, but Harold wasn't buying.
Worse, he wouldn't even talk to her.

Not one to be so easily discouraged, Alex decided she
would simply have to learn more from Mr. Smith about
how to be exciting for Harold.  Thursday morning,
bright and early she prepared for her next visit to the
club, to the handsome Mr. Smith.  She reviewed what he
had told her to wear when she came back.  She didn't
have many clothes, but the ones he had requested she
did have.  A simple white blouse and a pleated skirt.
They were clean and pressed to a fault.  The white
blouse she had was old and a little tight through the
bustline, but it buttoned down the front like he
wanted.

She didn't have to wonder why he had requested those
items of clothing.  She didn't have to imagine because
he had told her what he was going to do to her.  In
lascivious detail, whispering in her ear, describing
the touching, the stroking, the pain and pleasure he
would give her if she returned.  The whisper had stayed
with her all week, teasing her, arousing her in her
dreams, making her toss and turn all night in restless
slumber.

She had been driven to masturbation several more times
since that first time.  Her hunger for gratification
was increasing, becoming an obsession.  She was
constantly wet between her thighs, her clit proudly and
prominently erect.  At times, the slightest pressure on
that sensitive tissue would set her off, the electric
shocks coursing from her groin to her boobs to her
brain, overwhelming her senses.

With giddy schoolgirl excitement she boarded the cross-
town bus to the central terminal, then waited
impatiently for the next departure on the Main Street
bus.  After an interminable delay to change a tire, she
was headed for the industrial part of town and the
club.  Alex couldn't recall ever being so happy or
excited in her young life.  She arrived at the club and
was buzzed in.

The second door was locked this time, but Mr. Smith had
given her a special code.  As she punched in the
numbers she blushed.  He was teasing her with the code,
making fun of her innocence.  She suddenly understood
why he had said it was an easy one to remember.  "6-9-6-
9" she entered and the door popped open like magic.
Alex gave a little squeal of delight and went in.

Damon was not displeased to see Alex' code show up on
the security alert.  After the reports he had gotten
back about Harold's activities of the last week, he was
a little surprised she had shown up, but not totally.

Damon knew a lot more about Mrs. Alisson Wilson and her
deadbeat husband now.  He knew about her family and
that Harold didn't have any living relatives.  He knew
Harold was on his last chance at his job, having cost
the company more money than he could hope to repay.
And, if things went as planned, he also knew Harold's
luck was going to turn for the better.  For a while,
anyway.  He knew Alex had stripped for Harold and that
he had fucked her.  He knew she had masturbated
afterwards and then several times after that.  He even
knew what brand of beer Harold had had and the name of
the stripper he had screwed on Wednesday.  The same one
he screwed every Wednesday before he came home to his
little wife.

In fact, there was very little of significance that
Damon didn't know about these two or their families.
He wondered what Alex would say if she knew there had
been four other Mrs. Wilsons before her, all destitute
now and all glad to be rid of the SOB, even without the
alimony.  'Life was too short to live it with a big
prick with a little dick,' one of them had told his
agent.

"Come in," he answered to the soft knocking at his
office door.

Alex barely opened the door enough to slip through,
then closed it quietly behind her.  Following Mr.
Smith's pointing finger that directed her to his side,
she shyly stood, waiting for him.

He started inspecting her from the top down.  His first
touch was on her cheek, turning her head to see the
unblemished purity of her face into the glaring light
of his desk lamp.  She wore no make up and he was
surprised at her ability to arouse him.  Normally he
like painted ladies, tastefully and artfully made up.
It was something about the artificiality that attracted
him, he supposed.  This girl, beguiling as she was,
would be devastating when she learned the cosmetic
arts.

Apparently satisfied she was pretty, he continued his
inspection.  At least, that's what if felt like to her.

"I see you're wearing the blouse and the skirt I
suggested," he stated.

"Yes."  She didn't know what else to say.

"And you're wearing pantyhose and a brassiere?" he
continued.

"Yes."  Somehow, it seemed she should be saying
something more.

"And just exactly what was it I suggested you wear
today?" he asked, his voice suddenly menacing.

"A- a blouse that buttoned down the front and a pleated
skirt," Alex responded.

"Did I say anything about pantyhose and a bra?" he
queried her.

"No.  But I thought --"

His hand moved so fast she didn't even have time to
flinch.  After a couple of seconds she wondered why she
hadn't felt the pain from his slap.  Or heard the sound
of it echoing off the walls of the spacious room.  Then
she realized that his hand had stopped so that just the
barest touch of his fingertips on her lips halted her
words.  Just that barest touch excited her, yet she
wasn't embarrassed.

"I don't' need you to think, my Pet.  You are here to
learn, right?"

Not trusting herself to speak, she simply nodded.

"You may take them off."

"Here?" she asked.  "But I'd be naked and you'd see
me."

"Does the thought of me seeing you naked bother you,
Alex?"

"No.  I mean, Yes.  Oh, No.  Yes.  I don't know!" she
answered.

Grinning at her obvious discomfort, Damon pushed button
on the bottom of his desk and a door in the wall hissed
open.  Behind it was a bathroom.  "You may change in
there, Alex, if you wish to stay."

Grateful for the privacy, Alex slipped off her heavy
duty bra and her new pantyhose.  She had been saving
this pair for a special occasion and now Mr. Smith was
upset with her.  It seemed nothing was going right for
her today.  Carrying her clothing she stepped back into
the room barefoot.  He hadn't said anything about
shoes, either, and she just wanted to be safe.

Damon noticed the shoes in her hands.  A very good
sign.  He hadn't told her to wear them, but she looked
good barefoot.  Primitive and innocent.  Unspoiled.
Well, that was about to change.

He was pretty sure this young woman was what she
claimed to be.  Either that or the Feds had gotten a
lot better very fast.  Still, he liked the challenge
Alex Wilson presented him.  She was intelligent and
able to think, even when she thought he was upset with
her.  Which he wasn't.  In fact, he was extremely
pleased with her at the moment, but she would probably
never know that.  He had found that it was best to keep
them guessing.  That way he could stay in control.  And
control was what it was all about.

He took the clothing she had removed and her shoes and,
folding the clothes neatly, placed them in a drawer in
his desk.  The shoes were on the bottom, thoughtfully
placed there so as not to get the other cloths dirty.
Alex watched him handle her undergarments, still warm
from her body heat.  He didn't show any of the usual
male phobias for touching the delicate garments, like
her father and Harold did.  Like most men she knew, in
fact.

When he stood up and moved to her, her breath caught in
her throat.  With only the slightest touch on her
elbow, he guided her over to the chair in front of the
screens.

"Dance for me, my Pet.  Show me what you have learned."

This was what Alex had been dreading and hoping for all
at the same time.  He had told her, whispering in her
ear, to watch the videos carefully and to practice them
at home.  He had told her to stand in front of the
mirror, naked, and to move a sexily as she could, as
she would for him.

Her first awkward attempts in front of the bathroom
mirror had ended in tears.  Her arms didn't move right
and her hips wouldn't wiggle that way.  Besides, the
jiggling and bouncing of the other parts of her anatomy
aroused her too much and she usually ended up jerking
off on the cold tiles.  But the dance for Harold had
been OK.  At first, anyway, then he had lost interest.

Now Mr. Smith was waiting.  Waiting to see her move.
Waiting for her sexy dance.  Closing her eyes she tried
to imagine the girls in the videos.  She managed to get
one hand motion sort of, but the other just flopped
around on the end of her arm.  It wasn't a bad attempt,
but nothing like what she could see in her mind.  Even
with all her practicing she felt clumsy

Suddenly, she felt him behind her, guiding her
movements.  A touch here, a tug there and her arms and
hips were moving in a semi-coordinated manner.  He was
whispering naughty things in her ear and she was wet
between her thighs.

When he moved away, she continued to dance for several
minutes, gently swaying with her eyes closed.  She
could still smell his scent, hear his whisper, feel his
touch.  Her heart pounding, she slowed and stopped
dancing, sweat beading up on her skin.  When he had her
sit down, he made her lift her skirt up and sit bare-
assed on the hard chair.  It was uncomfortable only in
that if felt funny, but she was glad he had suggested
it.  She couldn't afford to dry clean her good dress
yet, much less this skirt, too.

This time he didn't use masking tape to tie her to the
chair.  He used a light twine, almost a string.  He had
her test it first to show her she could break it, but
again reminded her that if any of them broke she would
have to leave and not come back.  He was doing this
protect himself and his business, he said.

Alex nodded her agreement, even though she didn't
follow his logic.  She was impatient for the pictures
and the videos.  She wanted to see more, to learn more.
She wasn't disappointed.

Damon had spent the last week preparing for her
continued education.  Last week had been a slapdash
affair, thrown together at a moment's notice.  He was
surprised at how effective that presentation apparently
had been, judging from her eagerness today.  But from
now on, nothing would be left to chance.  Every slide
had been reviewed and the insidiously progressive level
of debauchery was so gradual as to not be noticed.  The
videos had been prepared, each step of the intricate
striptease dance routine presented in segments, easy to
learn, easy to practice on her own.

Alex didn't notice the room lights dimming,
accentuating the contrast of the screens.  She couldn't
look away now.  Her eyes were riveted to the glowing
images on the screen, one after another after another.
They were different this time, hardly in sequence at
all.  Beautiful girls, hundreds of them, possibly.

The pictures of them touching each other came earlier
this time.  There were more of them, too.  And the
costumes they were wearing were more exotic.  More
leather and shiny latex.  More chrome chains and
buckles.  More dildos and penetrations, once or twice
of the anus.  It was just a tease.  There were corseted
ladies and even a gag or two.  Ropes and whips were
introduced towards the end, but just as a playful hint.

The first penis made its appearance in this session,
too.  Damon grinned as he heard the audible gasp coming
from his mesmerized pupil as she viewed the model's
proud and hard cock.  She would see many erections in
the coming weeks, all of them sizable, particularly
when compared with her husband's equipment.  Soon she
would come to think of anything less than ten inches as
small.  Harold's four inches would seem totally
inadequate.

The videos played continuously to one side, constantly
coaching her, teaching her.  The dancing seemed simpler
this time, the movement clearer, the theme more erotic.
She could see now where one movement would flow into
the next or a different move could be inserted.  The
help Mr. Smith had given her earlier had gotten her
started and she imagined in her mind the subtle and
graceful movement of her body.  She could be sexy.

The videos now were not just dancing.  Couples were in
them and doing things she had never imagined possible.
Nor had Harold suggested them.  Exciting things,
arousing her.  Soon she wasn't concerned with Harold
anymore, but only with the building need within her
loins.

Helping to boost her confidence and undermine any
resistance she might have later, Damon had carefully
planted hidden messages.  It was not just the
progressive nature of the photos and videos, but he
used subliminal messages as well.  He had found that
simple commands worked best, mostly to obey her master,
but also commands defining her view of herself in a
subservient role, playing off the theme in an
increasing number of the pictures and videos.  He had
picked up on her need to please her man.  He was simply
instructing her that she was there to please him, a
message not far from the way she had been raised.  It
just needed to be twisted a little.  It wasn't hard.

At the end of six hours, Alex sat with glazed eyes,
watching a blank screen.  Her mind still re-played the
vivid and exciting images she had seen.  The chair was
soaked, even some of it running along her thighs and
dripping onto the floor.  She was puzzled later that
she hadn't been more embarrassed with the mess she had
made.

The quiet little man followed her home again, though
this time he stayed a little closer to her.  Before, he
had been there to gather information.  This time, he
was there to watch out for her, to make sure she got
home unmolested.  She was rather vulnerable after these
sessions and would be until she had an identifiable
Master.  She never noticed the quiet man, even though
he sat beside her twice.

Chapter 4

The next week was agony for Alex.  All night Thursday
and all day Friday and Friday evening she had practiced
the moves she had learned.  Over and over, stopping
only to frig herself off, which was happening with
increasing frequency.  It was harder for her to make
herself come, too, as if she was building up a
tolerance to the feelings.  She was still horny as
Hell, her nipples and clit sticking out even in sleep.
It amused her, sort of, but it was distracting.

Still, she worked hard.  For Harold.  Shit, who was she
kidding?  She was only working this hard because of Mr.
Smith.  She would have quit days ago if it was just
Harold.

When Harold came out of the shower Saturday morning, he
found he had no clothes to wear.  She had taken them
all and hidden them.  Playfully, she sat him in one of
the kitchen table chairs and proceeded to give him what
she had learned was called a 'lap dance.'  With her on
top, a first for her, and Harold, too, apparently, she
was more in control and he lasted for several minutes
before spraying his goo all over the inside of her
thighs.  As he was still semi-erect, Alex tried to re-
insert him, but Harold pushed her off of him, dumping
her unceremoniously on the floor.  Almost.  She had
almost managed to come.  She was elated.  She was on
the right track.

Harold went out early Sunday morning, foregoing the
early Mass they had been attending together at the
neighborhood church.  He didn't come back for Sunday
lunch and Alex carefully wrapped the expensive roast
she had prepared.  When he came in he threw down some
betting slips and cursed her, as if it were her fault.
He had gone to the race track and had lost heavily.

The rent was due this week and Harold left Monday
morning without leaving any money for that or for
groceries.

Harold was in a piss poor mood when he came home on
Wednesday night.  He had been passed over for the new
position.  In fact, Jeremy Hobbs, the son-of-a-bitch,
had managed to take away his best clients as well as
snatching the job he had wanted.  He was either going
to have to find more clients on his own for this
fucking company or go on part-time.  The Goddamn
fucking ass-holes.  Then, to top it off, Jeremy fucking
Hobbs had shown up in his favorite bar to celebrate, so
the bartender knew Harold hadn't gotten the new job he
had been bragging about.  The jerk couldn't even find
his own bar, but had to take that away from him, too.
Then the fucking bartender had made him settle up his
tab, taking most of his fucking paycheck.

The final straw was his fucking wife, wanting to
fucking do it.  Again.  Well, he had showed her.  He
had slapped the bitch a couple of times to shut her up,
then ripped off her fucking granny panties and thrown
her over the back of the couch.  He was so drunk he was
going to last a long time tonight, he knew it.

Her sopping cunt was so loose and sloppy he couldn't
get a good grip.  Spying her tiny asshole winking up at
him he pulled out and positioned his mighty cudgel at
the virgin entrance.  It only took a thrust or two in
her dried orifice and he was finished, leaving her
sobbing on the hardwood floor.  Best fuck he'd had out
of her yet.  More than the bitch deserved.  She hadn't
even made him his fucking dinner on time.

Alex had lain on the floor until she heard Harold
snoring.  He had come home two hours late and drunk.
She had tried to keep his dinner warm, but had finally
given up.  Excited to finally see him, she had been
playful, hoping to excite him.  He had rebuffed her
advances at first, then had suddenly struck out and
slapped her.  Hard, across the face.

On the one hand it had hurt, terribly, and the bruises
on her face would show for weeks.  Mostly she had been
surprised by his violent reaction.  On the other hand,
his roughness had sent a thrill through her, at first.
Even after he hit her and tossed her carelessly over
the couch, it hadn't been that bad.  The anal intrusion
had burned a little, but when he had emptied himself in
her bowels she had cum with him.  For the first time,
ever, with him.  It hurt that it was in anger.

What had hurt more had been the words he had tossed at
her this morning.  When he was sober.  He didn't love
her.  She was a burden to him.  He was going to leave
her.  In one ugly moment, her beautiful dreams of the
life she thought they were making together were
shattered.  There could be no more delusions.  There
was also no money on the table.  The rent was due
tomorrow.

She lay there weeping after he had gone.  It was as if
that part of her life was over.  Dead.  Just like Aunt
Shirley's and Uncle Roger's marriage.  Mom said they
only stayed together because no one else would fight
with them.  It was a loveless relationship and painful
to watch, especially at Thanksgiving.  It filled her
with dread to imagine her life like that.

It never entered her mind not to go to the club today.
To go to Mr. Smith.  She would not have understood if
someone would have tried to explain to her that she was
simply replacing one man for another.  All she knew was
that she needed to see him.  Mr. Smith.

Alex dressed in her blouse and skirt and went to the
club.  The reassuring click of the ornate door as it
opened to welcome her almost made her cry.  She
belonged here.  She had her own code.

Silently she walked down the hall to the office.  The
building was empty, but his deep voice called her into
his presence.  She closed the door behind her.  She was
trembling.

Damon wasn't surprise to see Alex show up.  He would
have bet money on it and he hated to lose a bet.  He
had a complete report from last night's activities.  He
should have.  He had arranged the whole thing, except
what happened in their shabby apartment.  And thanks to
Harold, that had been predictable, as well.

It didn't surprise him that she was trembling.  If he
wanted, he knew could fuck her right now.  That wasn't
what he wanted.  No, he wanted to control her, totally,
with her consent, then squeeze the life out of her, one
day at time, to use her up.  Then toss away the empty
carcass.  It wasn't anything personal.  It was what
drove him, his internal demon.  Some men got off on
cars, or skydiving, or other thrills.  He got off on
control.  Life and death control.

He pushed the button to the bathroom and Alex went in
without being told and removed her undergarments and
shoes.  She brought them back to him and he again took
obvious pleasure in touching her still warm clothing.
She didn't know it, but she was surrendering herself,
her will to him.  Even her body heat and the fresh
moisture on her panties.  Bit by bit, he would take
control from her.

She stood before him, her head bowed.  Touching a
finger to her chin, he tilted her face to the harsh
light from his desk lamp as he had before.  This time
her face wasn't perfect.  The swelling had gone down a
bit, but the discoloration had started.  Without makeup
the bruises were very visible.  Harold had backhanded
her across the cheekbone and most of the damage was
from that.  Damon was sorry she had been hurt, but it
had been one of the risks he had to take to break her
emotional bond with her husband.

He had learned a lot about this woman.  Divorce didn't
seem to be an option in her family.  He couldn't find
one dissolved marriage ever, and he had looked a long
way back.  Loveless marriages, yes, but no divorces.
So she was used to total and irrevocable commitment in
relationships, exactly the kind of commitment he wanted
from her, but in a slightly different type of
relationship.

What would surprise him would be if Alex asked him for
money today.  He knew about the rent being due and that
Harold didn't leave any money.  Harold didn't have any
money to leave and was already borrowing at the race
track.  Yes, he had learned a lot about this intriguing
woman in the last few weeks.  Other women would have
prostituted themselves for the money in a heartbeat,
but he didn't think she would even have considered it.

When she danced for him today, he stood close behind
her and let her feel his excitement.  She cried as he
pressed himself against her moving buttocks, but she
kept up the dance.  She was doing much better and in
the next couple of weeks would proceed to actually
removing her clothing.  Damon found he was looking
forward to that.

He tied her into the chair this time with wide Velco
straps.  There was no pretense of her getting loose on
her own.  The game was now serious and they both knew
it.  When he tightened the last strap around her chest
she looked up and him.

"Thank you," she said simply, a final tear falling down
her cheek.

Nodding understandingly he took a small rubber ball
from his pocket.

"Open your mouth please, Alex."

She did.  He pressed the ball behind her teeth.  It was
not a tight fit, but it was large enough so that she
would not be in danger of swallowing the ball.  It was
also large enough to show the material of the ball
between her teeth and the bright red color leapt out at
him.

"You look pretty tied up and gagged, Alex.  Do you
enjoy it as much as I do?" he asked her.  He had knelt
down beside her.

Her green eyes were shining brightly as she vigorously
nodded her assent.  He leaned over to her and she
tilted her head towards him.  He kissed her forehead
and felt the tremors passing through the bound girl.

"If you wish to quit today, simply spit out the ball.
I know you are in pain, but I would really like you to
get through this for me."  God, he was good.  She
wouldn't leave now if he pulled out her fingernails.
He knew.  He'd done that once.

The pictures started, and with no fear of breaking the
bonds, Alex let herself go.  She worked her butt on the
chair as much as she could and forced her nipples up
and down against the rough cloth of her blouse,
straining for even the slightest amount of stimulation.
She grunted and groaned, the sweat soon soaking her
blouse and making it transparent.

Damon sat where she could see him, perched on the edge
of the console.  Her attention was riveted to the
screens for the most part, but when her breathing would
turn ragged and her body would shudder, she would focus
on him.

She was progressing nicely, he thought.

Alex found the envelope on her kitchen table when she
got home that evening.  The rent money was inside and
even a little extra.  Harold must have felt guilty,
come back and left if for her.  She felt a twinge of
guilt, too, about visiting the club today, but not
enough to change her mind about going back again.  And
again.

Harold had made his decision, too.  Alex could still
see the evidence of it every time she looked in the
mirror.

Being called into the boss's office on a Friday night
had never been a happy experience for Harold.  He
already had his cubicle cleaned out and packed into
boxes, the stolen office supplies hidden at the bottom
of the cartons, before he stepped into the fucking
asshole's office at five minutes before 5:00.  He
walked out two minutes later in a daze.

A promotion!  A temporary transfer to a sister company
and in another state.  But a Goddamn, shit-eating
promotion.  Finally, those fucking assholes had
recognized his talent, if not his genius.

Harold celebrated heavily before arriving home that
night.  Alex sat quietly at the dinner table waiting
for him to come back out from the bedroom and his
shower, but Harold had fallen asleep cross-wise on the
bed not leaving any room for her.  Alex slept on the
couch.

The next two days were a whirlwind of packing and
buying new clothes for Harold on credit.  Credit they
didn't have, as near as Alex could tell.  Harold kept
referring to a new promotion or something, so Alex
finally quit asking.  She didn't quit worrying.  Sunday
night Harold packed all his belongings into the back of
his Chevy and left for his temporary assignment.  He
would be gone a month, then he would be back for a
brief meeting, then he would be gone another month.

He never made arrangements to send her any money.
Worse, he seemed to have forgotten about their
anniversary coming up.  Their first.

In the silence of their now half-empty apartment, the
only sounds were those of tears falling onto the
cracked linoleum floor.  Alex wept bitterly at the loss
of her hopes and her dreams.  She had been abandoned.
But she was not alone nor was she defeated.

Tuesday morning, Alex dried her tears and never looked
back.  Harold was gone.  She had to survive.  She
needed money.  She needed a job.

In a very organized and systematic fashion Alex began
to canvas the local merchants.  First in the immediate
neighborhood, then in increasingly greater distances
from her apartment.  Amazingly, she found nothing.  She
would probably have not been so amazed if she had
noticed the quiet little man who followed her into each
store and had a few quiet words with the management.
No one called her with a job.

Two weeks later, on a Friday afternoon, exhausted from
her fruitless job search, she discovered an envelope
shoved under the door of her apartment on her return.
There was no postage on the envelope and no return
address.  Just her name.  Inside was a wad of cash with
a note from a stranger to the effect that this was
Harold's per diem money that he had forgotten to pick
up.  It was enough to pay the rent for several months
and to pay off all the credit charges Harold had run
up.  First, she cried.  The she went out and
immediately paid off all the stores where they owed
money.  She felt no need to tell Harold about the
money.

Back in her apartment, freed from the immediate
necessity to earn money, Alex realized she had not gone
to the club for a long time.  She had not seen Mr.
Smith this week or last and she felt a pang of regret.
More than that.  She felt a pang lower down, between
her thighs.  With a sudden start, it dawned on her that
thinking of the mysterious Mr. Smith made her horny and
happy!  She laughed for the first time in two weeks.
It felt good.  Better, she decided to go to the club.
She needed to see him.  Desperately.

Without stopping to plan what she was going to do, she
grabbed her coat and headed for the bus stop.  She
caught the bus, transferred downtown and in the
gathering gloom of twilight arrived at the deserted
doorway of the club.

Damon had set the security system to notify him
whenever Alex' code was entered.  The pager went off
just as he was finishing a telephone call.  He was very
satisfied with the way things were working out, and
Alex' arrival couldn't have been timed more perfectly.

She entered his office at his brusque command.

"I missed you this last two weeks, Alex," he stated.
"Were you too busy for me?"

"Yes.  Uhm, no."

"Alex?"

"Yes?"

"Say 'Sir.'  You should always address me as 'Sir.'  Do
you understand?"

She looked at him, her eyes wide, brimming with tears.
"Yes.  Uh, Sir."

"Does that upset you, Alex?"

"Oh, no, Sir!"

"Then why the tears?"

"I'm so happy, Sir.  And a little afraid, too, I guess.
Sir."

"That's good, my Pet.  You should always be a little
afraid," he said with a sad smile.  He looked at her
clothing.  She had not thought about coming here for a
session, only to be with him, but she was still wearing
the blouse and skirt.  And undergarments.

"You may change in the bathroom, Alex," he said
dismissively.  He pressed the button under his desk and
the door hissed open.

"But --," she began, then stopped as he looked up at
her sharply, daring her to continue.  She headed for
the bathroom.

"And Alex?"

She turned just at the door.  "Yes, Sir?"

"You may leave your blouse unbuttoned when you return."
He turned to some papers on his desk, leaving the wide-
eyed girl to make her own decision.

It was several minutes later when a trembling figure
stood beside his desk, her head down.  She was
frightened, but there were no tears.  Damon finished
reading the memo, signed the appropriate line on a
contract, signed off his computer and cleaned up his
desk, putting all the sensitive material in a locked
drawer.  Standing, he perched himself on one butt cheek
on the edge of his desk in front of the silent girl.

Silently he took the clothing and shoes from her hands
and went through the ritual they had established in the
sessions prior.  The neatly folded garments were put
away in the drawer.  The silence weighed heavily in the
room.

"I missed you, Alex."

"Yather."  Her head was so far down she was mumbling.
Damon took a finger and placed it under her chin and
raised it up until her eyes met his.  She hadn't
flinched when he touched her.  Her bruises were faded
now, a memory.  She didn't look away now.

"What did you say?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Were you busy?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Too busy to see me?"  He let a note of exasperation
creep into his voice.  Actually, he was very pleased
she had not rushed to him, begging for money or a job.
And he enjoyed making her squirm.  She did it so
nicely.

"I was looking for work, Sir."

"Oh."  He was silent for several seconds, as if he was
thinking.  "Did you find a job?"

"No, Sir."

"So, is that why you're here?  You need work?  Money?"
He threw the accusation at her, knowing it was false.

A horrified look crossed Alex' face.  "Oh, NO, Sir!"
She looked at him, pleading with her eyes for him to
understand that that was never her intention.  Her near
nudity was forgotten.  "I should go, Sir," she said
finally.

He let her get almost to the door.

"How will you get home?"

"Sir?" she asked, turning back to him.

"The last bus left ten minutes ago.  There won't be
another one until 5:30 tomorrow morning."

It didn't surprise her that he knew she took the bus.
She just stood there, defeated.  It wasn't too far to
walk.  She had grown up in the country and had walked
farther than that many times.  But not through a
dangerous dark city.  Not a pretty young girl alone.

"Should I call you a taxi, Alex?"  His hand was on the
telephone.

"No, Sir.  I can't afford a taxi.  Sir."  She didn't
even think of asking him for cab fare.  Damon smiled.

"Well, then.  I guess I could take you home after work
if you like.  You did want to see what we did here,
right?"  Tonight a special group had reserved the club.
It would be an eye-opener for the innocent girl as well
as establish some other precedents.  "What do you say
to that?"

Alex' eyes were wide with excitement.  Her feelings
were reeling from the emotional whiplash Mr. Smith had
just put her through, but right now she was elated.
"Oh, yes, Sir.  That would be wonderful.  Sir."

"Well, then.  Let's get you ready, shall we?"  He
pulled the questioning girl into the bathroom.  With
practiced skill he gathered her luxurious hair into
several bundles behind her head.  In short order, he
had plaited her hair into an attractive braid that
fell, perfectly centered down the back of her neck.

After the first moments of uncertainty, Alex relaxed as
she felt his knowing hands working on her hair.  More
than anything that had happened between them before,
this quiet moment cemented her trust in this strange
and wonderful man.  This man who was perfectly
comfortable with women's undergarments and had the
skill of a hairdresser.  Yet there was no doubt at all
in Alex' mind that this man was all man, especially if
that was what she thought it was pressing into her
back.

She shifted slightly, edging back into Mr. Smith and
watched him smile briefly at her in the mirror.
Blushing, she saw she had been caught.  But she didn't
pull away.  Neither did he.

"Tonight is a special party," he said as he finished
her hair.  "There will be some women there, but it
wouldn't be safe for you to be out there on your own.
Sometimes the people at these parties get a little
carried away and it gets a little rough.  So, what
we'll do is make sure that everyone knows you are
spoken for, OK?"

Alex nodded.  She hadn't moved from her spot in front
of him, her back was pressed against his abdomen.  She
could feel his swelling.  It took her breath away.  Mr.
Smith let her stand there until she began to grind her
hips against his groin.  He pulled back just a bit and
she let out an unintended moan.

Taking both her shoulders in his strong hands he guided
her back into the office.  From a drawer in his desk he
took several items and laid them out for her
inspections.  She tentatively reached out her hand and
traced their gleaming surfaces with the tips of her
fingers.

"For me, Sir?" she asked him.

"Yes.  Do they frighten you?"

"Will you be with me while I am wearing them, Sir?"

"Yes."

"It will please you for me to wear them, Sir?"

"Yes."

"Then I will wear them.  But, Sir?

"Yes?"

"They do frighten me.  Sir."

Damon laughed a deep booming laugh.  He enjoyed this
woman.  She surprised him and pleased him.  That was
rare.  He saw her looking up at him, a worried look on
her face.  "Don't be alarmed, my Pet.  You will never
leave my side tonight.  You will be perfectly safe."

Taking the heavy steel handcuffs off the desk he
stepped behind Alex.  She gave him her hands without
hesitation.

"Are they too tight?" he asked.

Alex stood there, working her shoulders and arms,
testing the strength of her bonds.  She wasn't
struggling, trying to escape, but simply pulling her
arms this way and that.  Her face was a study in
concentration.  He watched her for a while.

"Alex?  Are they too tight?"

The expression on her face was priceless as she looked
up at him.

"I - uh, I'm - " She started, then stopped.  She just
looked perplexed.

"Are they too tight?  Do they hurt?"  Damon was
beginning to get worried and stepped behind her to
check.

"No, Sir," she answered.  "They don't hurt.  But I
don't know if they are too tight.  I'm sorry, Sir, but
I have never worn them before.  I don't know how they
are supposed to fit.  But, no, they don't hurt."

He gave a short guffaw, followed by a longer laugh.  He
laughed so hard that he had to sit down in his chair.

"Did I say something wrong, Sir?"

Drying his eyes with his fingers he looked up at her
and gave her a warm smile.  "No, my Pet.  But thank you
for reminding me just how much I have to take care of
you.  I will try to explain everything that happens
tonight so that you will know what is going on.  Some
things that I take for granted will seem very strange
to you.  I don't want you to be frightened."

He picked up a thick collar.  Stepping behind her he
fastened it snuggly behind her neck.  It locked on and
he pocketed the key.  He attached a chrome leash to the
D-ring in the front and let it hang down between her
breasts.  The cold metal raised goose bumps on the bare
flesh.

That left one piece of equipment left on the table.  He
picked it up and held it for her to see.

"Do you know what this is?"

She looked at it closely.  "Do you whip me with it?"

He grinned.  "No.  But if you forget to call me 'Sir'
again, I will whip you, Alex."

"Yes, Sir.  No, Sir.  I don't know what it is for."

He stood up and held it up to her mouth.  "The ball
goes in your mouth.  The straps are tied behind your
head to keep it in.  At some point tonight you will
wear it."

"Yes, Sir."  Alex continued to look at the ballgag.
"It is very large, Sir.  Why must I wear it?  Have I
displeased you, Sir?"

Damon smiled down at his nubile pupil affectionately.
"You will wear it because it pleases me to see you
wearing it.  You are beautiful when you are bound and
gagged, remember?  Do you need another reason?"

"Oh, no, Sir!  Would you like me to wear it now?
Please, Sir?"

"No, not now.  Don't be too eager, my Pet.  There will
be a certain discomfort involved.  It is a big ball."
He slipped the ballgag into his jacket pocket.

He stood looking at her.  She met his gaze, not
wavering from his eyes even as his hands reached
towards her and opened her unbuttoned blouse.  The
spread halves of the shirt exposed her naked breasts to
his gaze for the first time.  Tearing his eyes from her
sparkling green ones he allowed his dark ones to feast
on the unblemished vista.  Alex closed her eyes, her
breathing rapid and shallow.

She moaned and shook with a small climax as his thumbs
lightly caressed her twin nipples.

"Perfect," he said to no one in particular.

Then, with just that simple caress, he took the tails
of her shirt and knotted them firmly under her tits.
The cut of her shirt with her arms bound behind her and
the adequate size and firmness of her breasts made the
opening gap widely, leaving ready visual access to her
charms.

He stood and studied her for a moment.

"I like it," he said.  "It's a good look for you."

"You'll get a good look, too, Sir, as will everyone
else," she quipped back.  She had to look down her nose
to see what everyone else would be able to see.

"Does that bother you, Alex?"

"No, Sir.  The question is, Does it bother you, Sir?"

He laughed happily this time at her remark and, in
answer, picked up her leash and slipped it over his
wrist.

With a gentle tug he led her out into the club.

Chapter 5

The first person Alex saw when they entered the club
was a huge man standing by the door.  True, there were
only the various staff people in the bar areas getting
ready for the evening shift, but this man would have
stood out in a crowded room.  He almost seven feet tall
and stood solidly on his feet as if he was a part of
the building, yet Alex got the impression he was
capable of explosive and lethal speed.  As they got
closer to him, she could see the reflections of the
various spotlights in the smooth and shiny skin that
covered his head.  His upper arms were the size of
trees, thicker than Alex' thighs.  He seemed to be
naked, but she realized that his skin color was so
black that in the dim light of the bar, she could only
make out the transition between the black leather
clothing he was wearing and his bare skin when she was
almost standing right next to him.  He was wearing a
black leather vest and black leather pants that seemed
to be painted on his lower extremities.  His broad
chest was smooth, hairless and gleaming in the dim
light.

Mr. Smith was leading her directly toward this mountain
of Nubian muscle.  The man solemnly observed their
progress across the club, his eyes flicking between the
two of them and the various activities around the club.
There was a hands-free communications device in his ear
and he spoke softly in to the mike as they approached.
Alex' eyes widened continuously as they neared, her
head tilting further and further back to be able to
look into his handsome face.

"Alvin, I'd like to introduce Alex to you.  She will be
with me this evening.  I want you to keep an eye out
for her.  Alex, Alvin," said Mr. Smith, completing the
brief introduction.

"Hello, Alvin," said Alex, grinning up at the face
towering above her.

"Hello," came a deep growl in return.  He flashed her
an ear-to-ear grin, his white teeth dazzling against
his dark skin.

Alex gave a spontaneous and hearty laugh when she saw
his smile.  Alvin had a gleaming gold front tooth.  A
sudden flash of brilliant rainbow colors indicated that
he had a diamond set in the gold.  It stuck her that
this huge bouncer had done that as a joke, something so
clich‚ as to be beyond stereotypical.  His laughing
eyes caught her own and a look of silent understanding
passed between them.  They had said three words to each
other, yet there was a connection.

Mr. Smith frowned at her, stifling her sudden outburst,
and began going over the myriad details necessary to
run a successful bar.  It was soon obvious to Alex that
Alvin was more than a bouncer who watched the door.  He
controlled the whole club for Mr. Smith.  The
professional respect they had for each was obvious.
Alex didn't understand very much of what they were
saying, but she could follow the tenor of the
conversation.  She thought it was interesting that they
respected each other, but didn't seem to like each
other very much.

As they parted, Alex looked up at him and said, "It was
nice to meet you, Alvin."

"The pleasure was mine, Miss Alex," rumbled from the
smiling man.

Turning to follow Mr. Smith, who had tugged gently on
her leash to remind her of it, she waved 'Good-bye'
with her hands that were cuffed behind her back.  A
quick smile over shoulder and she followed Mr. Smith
into the bowels of the club.  She didn't see the smile
fade on Alvin's face to be replaced by a look of
thoughtful refection.  It was a dangerous look on
someone as potentially menacing as Alvin was.  The
first of the guests began arriving and the big man
turned to his tasks.

Mr. Smith led her around the club.  It was bigger than
she had imagined at first, with several areas that
could be closed off for smaller private affairs.
Tonight, they were all open, each area with its own bar
and staff.  In the main part of the bar was a dance
floor.  The edge of a stage was visible behind a heavy
black curtain, closed for the evening.  A four-foot
wide section in the center could be extended out into
the crowd area creating a short runway.  A dancer at
the end of the extended runway would be in the center
of the bar area, surrounded by the crowd.

There were smaller stages in most of the other sections
of the club and odd looking equipment being assembled
on them.  Mr. Smith explained what each piece of
equipment did and demonstrated some of them for her.
She put her head in the neck hole of a set of stocks
and he lowered the top bar.  She was totally restrained
by the device and a thrilling shiver ran through her
body.

Next Mr. Smith showed her a simple hook hanging from
the ceiling.  He slipped the hook over the short link
of her handcuffs and pressed a button on the floor with
his foot.  The hook rose up slowly, forcing her arms up
and her body down.  He left her dancing on her bare
feet, walking around her wiggling form.  She followed
him with her eyes, watching his face as he looked at
her in this awkward position.  His obvious satisfaction
with her sent yet another thrill through her body.

Mr. Smith uncuffed her and introduced her to the St.
Andrew's cross, the Swedish Horse and several other
mind-boggling devices of restraint.  Mr. Smith strapped
her onto a large wheel and spun her around a couple of
times.  They laughed as her boobs fell out of her wide
open blouse that had come untied as she whirled around.
Although she was not handcuffed when he released her
from the wheel, she didn't try to cover herself.  Mr.
Smith replaced her handcuffs first, then re-tied the
blouse.  Each new device sent shivers of excitement
through Alex until she was literally quivering.  Had
Mr. Smith touched her in the slightest, she knew she
would have swooned.  After screaming in a tremendous
sexual climax.

There were other devices, not so much for restraining,
but for inflicting pain.  Mr. Smith seemed to take
particular pleasure in detailing the effects of each of
these implements.  There were large needles he said
were used not only for piercing holes for jewelry, but
also for inserting into various parts of the body, such
as breasts, cheeks, lips (both upper and lower), the
penis and large muscles.  There was a generous supply
of disinfectant, and the needles were all gleaming and
new.

Another section had a sturdy wooden device and a
brazier that was glowing with red hot coals.  Mr. Smith
leaned Alex backwards over the wooden bars and used two
thick leather straps across her stomach and chest to
hold her down tight.  Two more straps at her widely
spread feet completed her restraint.  He explained that
this was where slaves were branded, where they received
their Master's marks.  It wasn't allowed to disfigure
the slave, at least, here in the club.  He told her
that several slaves had consented to be marked tonight.

With her still strapped to the wooden trellis, he stood
there looking at her silently, the only noise in the
room the white-hot hiss of the coals.  Alex' breath
caught in her throat and a series of shudders convulsed
through her.  A low moan escaped her throat.  Mr.
Smith, watching her, smiled.

"Did you like Alvin, my Pet?" he asked her innocently.

Even in the aroused state she was in, Alex knew a
loaded question when she heard one.  She decided the
only answer was the truth.

"Yes, Sir.  He is very big."

"Why did you laugh?"

He didn't need to tell her what he was referring to.
He had noticed the instant bond between them and it had
bothered him.  She stuck with the truth.

"He has a gold tooth with a diamond.  It makes him look
evil.  But he's not.  Sir"

Damon had moved up between her wide spread legs.  She
was breathing hard through her nose, her eyes wide.  He
ran a finger up under her skirt and touched her thick
patch of pubic hair.

"You got all that, did you?  Well, I suppose woman's
intuition can be wrong on occasion.  I happen to know
Alvin is a very bad man.  You will do everything he
tells you, do you understand?  Or you could be hurt
very badly."

"Yes, Sir."

He let his finger slip down along her moist furrow.

"You're married, aren't you Alex?" he asked, suddenly
changing the subject.

She groaned from his touch.  She squirmed in the
bondage, trying to make more contact with his roaming
finger.

"Yyyyeesss, Ssssir," she hissed.

"So I suppose you're not a virgin here anymore, right?"
His finger slipped in to the second knuckle and she
shrieked and shuddered in a hard and fast orgasm.

"N-n-nnnno, Sir ---- OH God!" she shouted, as his slick
finger slid down and probed her nether hole.

"What about here, Alex?"

"N-n-no, Sir.  Oh, please don't take it out, Sir."

"So your husband managed to take you ass, yes?"

"Ooooohhh, Yes, Sir.  Once.  Only once.  Oh, more,
please.  Sir!"

"And you liked it when he butt-fucked you?"

"Uhhhhhh.  No, Sir.  It hurt me a lot.  Sir."

"I think you did like it, Pet.  Tell me, did you cum
when he was in your ass?"

Lost in the wonderful feelings of his huge finger in
her ass, and shamed beyond answering as she remembered
that fateful day, she was silent.

"Alex?"  Damon jammed the finger completely up inside
her ass.  She grunted, but didn't cry out.

"Yyess, Sir.  I came.  Sir.

"So, you have no more virginities to give to me,
right?"

"Yes, Sir.  I mean, No, Sir."

"Well, which is it?"

"My mouth, Sir.  He never used my mouth."

Damon's eyebrows rose in sudden interest.  Now this was
news.

"But, surely, your boyfriends in high school...?"

"No, Sir.  Never, Sir."

Pulling his finger from her rectum, he held it up to
her mouth.  Without hesitation she opened her mouth and
sucked in his stinking finger, cleaning her fluids and
her feces from his finger.

"Well, then.  I want your mouth first, Alex," he said
quietly, more to himself than to her.

He took the ballgag out of his pocket and held it up to
her mouth.  She opened it and accepted the large ball.
It forced her mouth wide open and then kept it there.
He tied the two ends behind her neck.  Screaming into
the gag, she orgasmed.

Alex didn't remember much of the rest of the tour.  She
walked obediently behind him on her leash through the
growing crowd as he continued to demonstrate to her
some of the implements of torture and pain throughout
the rest of the extensive labyrinth.  Each device that
was strapped on her head, fitted to her bared breasts,
or otherwise demonstrated simply increased the
throbbing need she was feeling.  Being this close to
this powerful man, being teased by the handcuffs and
the leash and teased even more by the carefully
orchestrated demonstrations was like torturing a
starving man with the odor of fresh-baked bread.
Everything she saw, everything Mr. Smith did aroused
her as she had never been aroused before.  At some
point she stopped being aware of anything but her body
and its sexual needs.

As the rooms started filling up with more and more
people, Damon withdrew to a quiet section of the club.
From here he could observe the crowd of outlandishly
dressed people.  Some he recognized as regulars.  Some
were even serious about the bondage scene and were
known to him not only by name and sight, but by their
level of skill.  These were all Doms.  He didn't waste
his time getting to know Subs.  They didn't last long
enough, as a general rule.

Those who knew him smiled knowingly and nodded to him
as they saw Alex kneeling next to him.  They recognized
the hyper-aroused state she was in, a novice
overwhelmed by the sights, sounds and feelings of the
scene.  No one who saw the state she was in would
approach him, not if they wanted to live.  They knew
the sensitive nature of training a new sub, and this
one was obviously brand new.  They also knew the club
owner as vicious and ruthless when crossed.  His hand
caressing the neck of this sub was an obvious sign of
his possession of the sub.  Discretion being the better
part of valor, they stayed away tonight.

One of the bar staff approached his table and quietly
whispered in Damon's ear.  A telephone call for him.
Urgent.  He had left instructions.

Cursing to himself, Damon urged the girl to her feet.
She had been rocking back and forth, shudders passing
through her body continuously.  She wouldn't notice his
short absence, and he could park her over in the
holding area where Alvin could keep an eye on her.

Alex stumbled after him on rubbery legs.  It felt good
to get up off her knees, but the fluids running from
her core were now dripping down below the level of her
skirt.  Mr. Smith took her over to a better lighted
area near the entrance.  At eye-level in the wall there
were several hooks spaced about every three feet where
Doms could safely park their Subs and get a drink or go
to the restrooms or whatever.  It was a safe area, well
lit and everyone knew that if it wasn't yours you
didn't take it.

He looped her leash through one of them of the hooks.
He allowed enough slack for her to get back on her
knees.  He whispered in her ear that he would be right
back and that Alvin would watch her until he returned.
He wasn't sure she had understood him.  He spoke to
Alvin, who had seen him coming, and hurried to his
office.

Alvin saw the state Alex was in and smiled.  It wasn't
a sad or sadistic smile, but one of recognition of what
she was feeling.  He had seen it before.  As he watched
her kneeing and rocking, he moved the other slaves
parked there away from her.  It was a sign of his
respect and admiration of her ability to feel achieve
this level of arousal and he didn't want anything to
infringe upon her experience.

The telephone call lasted longer than expected and soon
Alex was kneeling alone in the holding pen.  She was
still oblivious to most of what was going on around
her.

A sudden beep in the earpiece Alvin was wearing,
followed by a terse message alerted him to an over-
riding danger to the club and its patrons.  A slave had
broken free in the marking room and accidentally kicked
over the brazier with the hot coals.  Without a second
thought, Alvin was racing towards the area, a fire
extinguisher and First Aid kit in his mammoth hands.

The crisis over, he returned to his post a few minutes
later.  No damage to the club and only a few minor
burns.  The bartender was handing out free drinks for
the next ten minutes.  Everything should be fine.

A glance at the telephone showed the line for the
boss's office was still lit.  He was still on that
important call.  Alvin turned to check on the holding
pen and froze.  It was empty.

Miss Alex was gone!

Chapter 6

Lewis was having a bad day.  Hell, he was having a bad
life.  First that bitch had threatened him with Assault
and Battery charges unless he paid for her medical
care.  Fucking bitch!  It wasn't his fault.  Sure he
had knocked her around a little -- she liked it rough -
- they all did, but it was her fucking jaw that got
broke, not his.  The fractures on her arms where he had
dropped the barbells on her weren't that serious,
either.  Now the fucking bitch wanted fucking nurses to
fucking care for her for the next fucking three months
until the fucking casts came off.  Shit, she only had
to fucking drink through a fucking straw.  How much
fucking trouble could that be?

Yesterday the fucking bank had repossessed his Beemer,
his Baby.  He'd only missed five payments.  How was he
supposed to pay for the car when that damn bitch
demanded so much of his money?  He had to fucking pay
the bitch first, didn't they understand?  That fucking
'three strikes' law had been implemented in this
fucking state and he was already down for two A&B
strikes.  So now he was driving this fucking lame Ford
piece of shit.  Like this was going to help him get
fucking laid tonight.

Then he had had to go clear across fucking town to get
his STD certification so he could get into the club
tonight.  Like fucking Hell they were discrete.  He had
had to almost fucking tear down the fucking window to
get at that fucking smirking bitch.  She wouldn't give
him his card and said he had to wait his turn.  Well,
he showed her.  Fucking bitch would think twice before
making him wait again.  Just wait until she tried to
drive on three flat tires.  Fucking bitch.

Lewis popped the cap off of the vial of pills he kept
hidden under the seat of his car.  He'd managed to at
least salvage that before the fucking RePo asshole had
driven off with his Baby.  He shook two different
colored pills into the palm of his hand, then
reconsidered and shook out two more.  He wanted to fly
tonight.

He swallowed the pills as he approached the desolate
door.  He couldn't take them too soon, or that fucking
black bastard wouldn't let him in the club.  No drugs,
my ass.  There were always ways around the fucking
rules.

He started to sweat when no one answered the buzzer to
let him in.  That black asshole was probably off
fucking a waitress instead of doing his job watching
the door.  In another couple of minutes the shit would
kick in and his pupils would fixate, giving away his
drugged condition.

Suddenly the outside door to the club burst open and
two leather-clad men came out carrying a limp female
figure between them.  Lucky bastards.  Lewis briefly
considered following them and possibly getting their
leftovers, but almost immediately decided to go in.  He
managed to get in the first door and then the second
before it closed.  Shit, if he'd have known it was
going to be that easy, he could have saved himself the
two grand on the STD card.  Fucking waste of money,
anyway.

The big fucker was nowhere to be seen.  Lewis couldn't
believe his luck.  Not only was the big guy not around,
there was a fresh piece of meat just sitting there.
Without a second thought, Lewis pulled a blindfold from
his back pocket.   He slipped it over the young girl's
eyes and grabbed the leash tied to the hook over her
head.  Some bastard had thoughtfully gagged her
already.

"Come on.  Your Master wants you.  I'll take you to
him," he whispered in her ear.

Urging the compliant bitch to her feet, Lewis led her
down the steps and into the dark interior of the club.
The speed was kicking in and his thoughts were racing.

As he pushed her ahead of him into the crowed and dark
labyrinth of rooms, he studied his prey.  Young and
pretty.  Fresh, too, just the way he liked them.  Nice
white skin that would show bruises for weeks, reminding
the bitch and all who saw her who the boss was.

He reached around her and opened her blouse, pulling it
back off her shoulders and hanging from her cuffed
hands behind her.  It exposed her bra-less tits to the
crowd.  Not as much flesh as he liked, but they
responded well.  He squeezed them hard, then twisted
the prominent nipples.  The stupid bitch screamed
behind her gag and dropped to her knees.  Right, as if
anyone could hear her in this crowd.  He jerked the
leash and got her back on her feet.

He turned into an empty area and looked around.
Perfect.  He led the bitch over to the hanging hook and
slipped it though her handcuffs.

"He'll be here soon.  He wanted me to get you ready for
him," he whispered in her ear.

The cunt nodded eagerly.  God, what a stupid bitch!

He kneeled down beside her and grabbed one of her bare
ankles with his hand.  There were shackles bolted to
the floor and he snapped one around her ankles.  The
other shackle was a stretch for the small girl.  The
last slave here had apparently been a male.  He didn't
have time to reset them.  Her legs were spread
painfully wide.  Her groaning complaints were making
him hard.  But it would take a lot more pain than that
before he could get stiff enough to give her what she
wanted.  What all the fucking bitches wanted.  Take,
take, take.  That's all they did.

"He said you were a bad little bitch.  He wanted me to
warm you up for him," he taunted her, mauling her
sensitive tits hanging down below her.

The panting girl groaned and shuddered.  Lewis was
disgusted.  She was enjoying this too much.

Lewis stepped on the pedal and raised her hands.
Higher and higher.  She was screaming into the gag now,
the pain intense.

"What, bitch, did you think your fucking Master was
really coming?" he shouted at her now.  He wanted her
to know there was no help coming.  He wanted her
terrified.  He wanted her to piss on the floor.  He
gave a really crazed laugh.  He sounded, and probably
was demented.

It started to draw a crowd.  This jaded group could
sense something special was about to happen, something
unstaged, unplanned, maybe even non-consensual.  There
was an electricity building around the pair in the
spotlights.

Standing up behind her, he brought his heavy crop down
as hard as he could across the bitch's jutting ass.
Look at her, waving it around like that, just asking
for it.  The fucking skirt had hindered his swing and
he could barely hear the sound of the leather striking.
It was in the fucking way.  He reached down and lifted
the hem of the skirt up.

Fuck this shit.  Lewis pulled out his switchblade knife
and cut the fabric from waist to hem.  The skirt fell
to the floor, useless.  Even high on speed he
recognized a near perfect work of art.  He gazed at the
tender globes, forgetting for a moment his anger.  The
glittering blade in his hand reflected the bright spot
lights overhead, making patterns on her unblemished
ass.  Someone, someone not quite caught up in the
moment as the rest of the crowd, reached out and took
the blade from Lewis' hand.  It clattered to the floor,
forgotten for the moment.

Lewis kneeled behind the sobbing, swaying figure.  He
touched the tip of his crop first to the dripping lips
hanging swollen and exposed between her glistening
thighs, probing and poking at them.  A sadistic image
passed through his addled brain and he reversed his
grip on the crop.  The large phallic-shaped handle was
aimed right at her gaping cunt.

With the narrow shaft in his hand, Lewis whipped the
heavy handle rapidly up and down.  There wasn't much
force to it, but when he moved his arm forward, the
handle slapped loudly against the bitch's cunt.  Ten,
fifteen times it splattered in there, faster and
faster, harder and harder.  The mewling sounds from the
cunt infuriated him.  The fucking bitch was enjoying
this, too!

Another sadistic gleam and the handle was pulled back,
the slick handle grasped in his hand.  With his free
hand, he yanked her blouse up her arms and around the
chain from the ceiling, out of the way.  Moving around
her as Damon had earlier in the evening her swatted at
her now bare chest and back, landing blow after blow on
her back, her stomach and her hanging tits.

She squealed when he hit those and focused his attack
on them.  He was still too spaced out to hit really
hard, but it didn't take much force to cause real pain
there.  She was screaming constantly by now, dancing
from foot to foot as best she could.

He was finally getting hard.  He would have to remember
this for the next slut he got a hold of.

He stopped behind her and fumbled with the lacings on
his leathers.  Fucking things cost enough, you'd think
they'd make them easier to get out of in a hurry.
Finally getting them pulled down and one leg free, he
moved up behind the bitch, his respectable erection
brushing her striped ass.

Just before he fucked the cunt's ass, he wanted to give
her something to remember him by, something to think
about while he plowed into that fuckable ass.  Grabbing
his crop once more, he took an underhanded swipe at the
defenseless girl standing in front of him.  The crop
slashed upward, the flat leather tip splatting loudly
against her navel.  The braided leather stalk laid
itself perfectly between the girl's labia, smashing
against her extended clitoris and leaving perfect
impressions of the woven pattern in the swollen mucus
tissues.

Shocked out of her lethargy by the extreme pain, Alex
reared up as far as she could without dislocating her
shoulders.  The pain coursed through her, blazing  away
the cobwebs of arousal that had been accumulating all
evening.  Accumulating for the past two weeks.  For her
entire life.  It was like a bolt of lightning burning
everything away, searing in its intensity.  Then came
the thunder, and Alex was suddenly very confused.  And
frightened.

She screamed, the noise increasing in pitch until it
went beyond the capability of the human ear.  She began
convulsing violently in her bondage, inadequate volumes
of air whistling into her lungs through her nose.  The
rubber ball wedged in her mouth prevented her from
biting her tongue as a result of the tremendous blow to
her genitals.  Alex fought the urge to vomit, then
realized she was just dizzy.  Very dizzy and very
relaxed.

Just before she passed out she heard a surprised yell
and a crash, like something heavy falling over.  Then
there was lot of shouting, but she didn't care anymore.

***

Harold thought he had died and gone to heaven.  This
new company was paying him a shitload of money to do
nothing.  No fucking shit!  No meetings, no memos, no
reports, no fucking sales calls, no lame-ass traveling.
Seriously!  Abso-fucking-lutely nothing.  He did
nothing all fucking day long.  Except fuck his big-
titted secretary, Marcy.  God, did that girl love to
fuck!  And suck, and fuck again.  A certifiable
nymphomaniac.

Every morning at 9:00 sharp he would get to work.
Marcy would meet him at the door to his office with his
coffee.  As she closed the door behind her, he would
hear it lock.  Within minutes she would be naked and
dancing around while he finished his coffee, watching
her.  Then she would suck him until he was hard,
something his bitch wife had never done.  Following
that they would fuck.  All day.  Over and over.  She
even let him do her in the ass, something else Miss
Icecube had never let him do.  Until he forced her.

By five o'clock they would drag their clothes on and
wobble out to the parking lot.  She never let him touch
her outside of the office, barely acknowledging his
existence when they parted.  Except once.

She had invited him to a party once just after he had
started the new job.  Sort of way for him to get to
know some people.  He thought it was odd that she was
acting cool towards him at the party after having
invited him and all.  He was beginning to think about
leaving when he started up a conversation with this
guy.  He was a fast-talking insurance salesman, and
Harold let the guy know in no uncertain terms that he
didn't need any more fucking insurance.  The guy had
laughed, slapped Harold on the back and thanked him for
speaking so plainly.  It was refreshing, he said, to be
able to hang out with someone who didn't want something
from him.  He was really tired of making all those
fucking rich assholes even richer.  Harold liked him
right away.

The conversation went on from there and by the end of
the evening and a fifth or two of Jack Daniels, they
had hatched 'The Plan.'  Nobody could know about it.
It was ingenious, brilliant, if Harold did say so
himself.  The insurance salesman had been stupefied at
Harold's brilliance as the plan had developed.  It was
as if they were two minds totally in concert with one
another.  Of course, being Harold's plan and with him
now being an executive, Harold had insisted that he get
the lion's share.  It took some arguing, but the guy
finally agreed on an 80/20 split.  After all, it was
only fair.

They had met a couple of more times in the following
week, each time starting sober but not ending that way,
to hammer out the details.  They had finally agreed
that there needed to be a third party between them so
that no one would be able to discover a connection
between them other than the huge insurance policy.  A
cut-out, the guy called it.  The insurance policy would
be explainable because the guy sold a lot of insurance
policies to the executives in Harold's company.  The
next day, they arranged for one of Harold's colleagues
to casually introduce them over a beer in a trendy
Yuppie bar.  Marcy, who knew them both, could act as an
intermediary for any communications that needed to go
back and forth.

That left the third party, the cut-out.  This was going
to take a lot of cash to bankroll, what with the huge
initial premium and then the living expenses on the
island and so on.  The third guy had to have some ready
cash.  Harold could put up a lot of it for the premium,
but he was tapped out after that.

Harold was at a loss, despairing.  His beautiful plan
could die before it was even born.  He didn't know
anybody with that kind of dough.  Fortunately, the
insurance guy knew a lot of guys with money.  He had
one in particular in mind.

Tonight they had called him, this guy named Smith.  He
was a tough bastard, but Harold had held firm and had
gotten every single thing he wanted.

The plan was simple.  Harold, due to his new executive-
level position, would obviously want to secure his
family's future with an insurance policy.  A lot of
guys did and the insurance company would eat this up.
Even better, because Harold was older and his family
was young and expected to grow soon (Harold and the
insurance guy had a good laugh at that one), the policy
was rather large.  Five million large.  More than
enough to take care of the survivors for life.

The plan called for Harold to continue in his job as if
nothing had changed.  Then, when everything was ready,
on one of his trips back to his lovely wife, he would
disappear.  Mr. Smith had a plane and a condo in the
British Virgin Islands.  Harold would be met on the
road near a private airstrip, spirited to Miami-Dade
Airport, board a yacht and sail to the islands.

Mr. Smith had a friend in the morgue.  He said it
wouldn't be difficult to get a hold of a body matching
Harold's body.  When it showed up the plan would go
into effect immediately.  Harold's identification, car
and charred remains would be found along a deserted
stretch of road, the sad result of a happily married
man anxious to get home to a loving wife.  He had
pushed too hard and fallen asleep at the wheel.  Sad,
sad, sad.  All the while, Harold would be living it up
in the islands.  Marcy had even hinted she would give
anything to go with him to help pass the time.

Of course, there were a couple of things Harold had to
do first to finish setting up the plan.  The primary
one being to get his wife, his beneficiary, to sign the
policy without getting her suspicious.  Harold wasn't
worried.  He could get her to do anything, he boasted.
He also needed her to sign some signature cards that
would open up an offshore bank account where the
insurance company would deposit the money from the
settlement.  With his own name, he would be a second,
silent signatory on the account and would empty it out
as soon as the insurance company put the money in.  The
BVI bank wouldn't check the death certificates in the
US.  It was absolutely foolproof!

So, as soon as the insurance company had reviewed and
approved the policy, the clock would start ticking on
the plan.  Then all they needed was a body.  And Alex'
signature.

Harold was smug on the way home that night.  Finally,
all those years of being passed over, getting the shit
jobs, doing all the hard work.  Finally, it was going
to pay off.

He had thought about this from every conceivable angle.
He couldn't lose.

Chapter 7

Alvin didn't panic.  Miss Alex couldn't have
disappeared into thin air.  She had either been taken
outside or was still inside the club.  He immediately
barred the door, then stepped into the tiny security
office and rewound the surveillance tapes for the past
10 minutes.  He only ran the one for the door and that
at high speed.

As he suspected, only one exit was made during the time
he was away from the door.  The two homosexual Doms
were escorting their sub out the door.  Fucking
assholes had refused to tie down her legs while they
branded her.  They were intending to brand their names,
Bruce and Martin, up one side of her pussy and down the
other.  On the third letter, she had reconsidered and
kicked Martin into the hot coals.  Bruce, going over to
help his lover, fucking stood on the hot coals and
burned his feet through his fucking expensive boots.
Alvin shook his head remembering the look of surprised
indignity on the asshole's face when he felt the heat
through his expensive kickass boots.

The three of them together could hold each other up,
barely, and had rushed out of the club.  Just as he was
about to fast forward again, Alvin saw a blur on the
screen.  Someone had entered as they were leaving.  He
wouldn't have thought much of it but it placed the
person at the right time and in the right place.  With
a cold knot twisting in his stomach, Alvin slowed the
tape down and replayed it.  He almost got sick when he
saw it was that little shit, Lewis.

Lewis was on Alvin's black list.  He couldn't prove
anything, but a couple of months ago they had found a
waitress badly beaten, raped and tortured.  Broken
bones, teeth knocked out and bleeding vaginally and
anally from a brutal sexual assault.  She was also
bleeding from being whipped within an inch of her life.
One eye was useless, the lens dislocated from a direct
hit with the tip of a crop.  The only reason it didn't
explode from the impact was that she was wearing a
blindfold.

Alvin had asked several of the people in the club if
they had seen anything that night.  Obviously, the
private parties like this one frowned on tapes of what
went on inside the club and regardless of his
recommendation, Mr. D made him turn off the cameras.
The little shit wouldn't have got in at all if Mr. D
had sprung for the triple door security checkpoint.  He
had demonstrated to the boss just how easy someone
could get in unchecked with just two doors.  Just like
now.  But he had demurred.

The BDSM Club members reluctantly agreed to security
tapes of the outside entrance, but the tapes and
cameras had been off during the party that night, like
they were tonight.  In his investigation, Alvin had
narrowed it down to a couple of unlikely possibles and
one very probable culprit.  Lewis.  The guy had had the
opportunity and was a mean little shit.  Loco.  Crazy.
Nuts.

Quickly determining that Miss Alex was still in the
building, Alvin set out to find her.  He systematically
scanned through the public areas nearest the door,
examining and eliminating every female regardless of
clothing, hair, skin or build.  She wasn't in the
public areas close to the door.

Next on his list were the closest less-public areas.
He barged into the women's restroom, then the men's,
checking every stall and every trash can for evidence.
Hair dye, discarded clothing, large chunks of beautiful
reddish hair.  He found nothing.

He went back to the starting point, the front door.  He
was beginning to get a bad feeling about this.  Too
much time was passing.  Mr. D was off the phone now and
was walking towards him.  He had just looked to see
Miss Alex missing and saw the look on Alvin's face.  To
his credit, the cold bastard had blanched white as a
sheet when he saw she wasn't where she should have
been.

Just then, there was a noise from out in the club.  Why
it caught his ear, he didn't know, but he knew it was
Miss Alex.

Alvin was flying through the crowd, knocking people
over, hurdling the Subs crawling on hands and knees.
He reached the room with the hanging hook and saw her,
Miss Alex.  She had been strung up tighter than he
would have believed possible, her feet shackled tightly
to the floor.

Alvin lowered his shoulder and put his whole being into
getting into that room.  A crowd had gathered around.
The macabre always attracted a crowd.  The unsuspecting
spectators gave with a groan.  One huge black hand
swept low off the ground and came thundering up,
catching the shit with the flat of his hand on his
chest.  The fucker lifted off the ground, sailed over
the ducking onlookers and crashed solidly into the
wall, his erection a fading memory.  The crowd, not
wanting to be witnesses, dissolved into the hubbub of
the party.

Alvin hit the emergency release and the strain came off
Miss Alex' screaming muscles.  Her legs were too widely
spread to allow her to sink down and she just hunched
there, moaning softly behind the gag.  Alvin fumbled
with the shackles, then finally just ripped them from
their anchors.  Miss Alex collapsed into his arms and
he was cradling her protectively when Mr. D finally
made his way into the room, pushing past the dispersing
spectators.

Two legs were flopping in spastic panic over against
the wall.  One leg was bare and hairy, the other had a
pair of cheap leather leggings around the ankle.  The
rest of the body was deep in the shadows of the room

Damon saw the big man holding Alex, one hand covering
her lower nudity in a manner so chaste, he almost
laughed.  Covering her but not touching.  The look in
his bouncer's eyes told him not to try to take her from
him.  It wasn't romantic.  It had been his job to watch
out for her and right now it looked like the man had
fucked up royally.  That wasn't like him at all.  Damon
decided to wait and hear what he had to say.  Then he
would kill him.  Or someone.  But someone was going to
pay, that much he knew.

Alvin motioned with his head at the legs on the floor.
The man's dick was glistening, droplets of fluid
refracting the harsh spotlights even from the side of
the room.  Damon went cold.  Someone had touched Alex,
his Pet.  Effortlessly, he began the process of picking
up the struggling man.  Finally upright, the light in
the room revealed a hopped up prick he had seen a few
times before.  Bad news.  No one liked the little
fucker.  He smelled, too, and Damon looked down at what
he was standing in.

While the little shit got his pants on and laced up,
Damon used a piece of discarded cloth on the floor to
wipe up the puddle of urine the guy had been laying in.
It took him a minute to comprehend that it was the
shithead who had pissed himself, not Alex.  Somehow
that made him feel better.  Not much, but a little.

A firm grasp on his arm propelled the man out the door,
down the hallway, and into his office.  A forceful hand
in the chest had flattened the jerk into a chair in the
center of the room.

"Stay there!"  There was no misunderstanding the order,
on drugs or not.

Damon went next door.  He suspected Alvin had already
taken Alex in there.  Knocking twice, he waited.  Alvin
opened the door and stepped outside.

"She's alive and appears to be in one piece.  The guy
in your office is named Lewis something or other.  Give
me a couple minutes and I'll come in and give you a
report."  Seeing the look on Damon's face, he added, "A
full report."  He knew Damon would want to know who,
what, why and how this had happened.  He also knew his
boss wouldn't like the report.

The bouncer slipped back into the dimly lit room.
Damon turned and went slowly back to his office.  He
had known Alvin for several years and the man had never
lied to him once.  There was no reason to believe he
would start now.  If anything, Damon and he had had
some heated disagreements about the security
arrangements for the club.  They had discussed this
very thing happening.  Even after the incident with the
waitress, Damon hadn't relented.

Now it was personal and close to home.  He had an
uneasy feeling he wasn't going to like the full report
Alvin had promised him, especially as Alvin hadn't
seemed worried.  Damon knew he was getting constant
updates over his wireless.  No doubt he had made
several inquiries about the little shit in his office.
Alvin didn't usually hesitate to state what he felt was
the truth and to name names.  Even when the name was
his own or Damon's.  Odd, he reflected, it was that
very trait of integrity that made the bastard so
fucking indispensable.

What he couldn't let Alvin know was that the first
thing that had gone through his mind was not about Alex
being OK, but that if anything happened to her now, the
whole scheme of the insurance scam built around her
would be fucked up.  A delay was almost as bad.  The
bitch Marcy could only put up with that prick Wilson
for so long.  It was going to cost a bundle to keep her
on the team, and, after talking to that asswipe of a
husband on the phone for nearly an hour, he couldn't
really blame her.  What a jerk.  Cute trick, though,
putting Viagra in his morning coffee.

Alvin slipped into the room and held his finger up to
his lip, signaling for silence.  Two glittering points
of light across the room followed his every move.  Alex
had regained consciousness in his arms on the walk down
the hall.  She had not tried to cry out or struggle
against his huge hands holding her.  He had noticed the
change in her breathing and sensed more than anything
that she was awake.  Looking down he had seen her clear
green eyes gazing calmly up at him.  She had seemed
more ashamed and confused than frightened and Alvin
suspected he knew the cause.  The same bright eyes were
watching him now from the cot on the far side of the
room.

He stood silently by the door of the room, listening to
the faint footsteps outside.  They were so faint he had
to will himself to hear them, going towards the main
office.  Then the office door opened and they could see
Damon enter his office through the one-way mirror.  His
boss headed for the well-equipped bar in his office.
Good move.  Give yourself time to think.

Alvin flipped up a switch on the wall underneath the
mirror.  She noticed he had flipped it the wrong way,
up instead of down, where the 'On' marking was.  The
clink of ice tumbling into a crystal glass filled the
room.  Alex looked at him with a bemused smile.

"I swapped out the switch."  He shrugged, grinning
mischievously, then grew serious.  "Miss Alex, I have
to examine you.  I'll be as gentle as I can, but it may
be uncomfortable."  He had already removed the
handcuffs and the ballgag.  She had removed the
tattered remains of her blouse herself.  All she was
wearing was the collar and the leash.  It was locked on
and Damon had the key.

Alex lay back on the cot when he pressed her down.  She
looked up at him without fear as he began to examine
her body, looking for bruises, swellings and sudden
pains which might indicate internal bleeding or other
soft tissue damage.

Gently he spread her legs.  "Did he penetrate you, Miss
Alex?"

"No.  I don't think so."

"Here?"  He touched her swollen labia.  The fluids
still seeping from her were thick and sticky, much like
semen would be.  He smelled his finger.  It wasn't male
and now he was sure what had happened.

"I don't know.  Maybe."  She turned her head to the
side, biting her lip.

"I'm sorry, Miss Alex."  He moved his finger down.
"How about here?"

"No, I don't think so.  I don't remember," she said and
stifled a sob.

"It's OK to cry, Miss Alex.  It wasn't your fault."

"I know.  But I don't have any clothes to wear.  He cut
my skirt.  And I...  I..."  She didn't say anything
more.  She just sat there hugging herself.

Alvin never ceased to be amazed by the tiny details the
human mind would grasp onto in a crisis.  Silly little
minutia that would later seem odd, but he knew that
those were the things that helped people hold onto
their sanity.  He shrugged off his vest and draped it
over her shoulders.  She looked like she could
disappear under it, but she was covered.

"I have to go out for a minute, Miss Alex.  I'll be
right back."

"OK."  She called out as he reached the door, "Can they
hear us, too?"

He grinned back at her, his gold tooth flashing, "That
wouldn't be any fun now, would it, Miss Alex?"

Her light laugh followed him into the hallway.

He stepped into the office without knocking.  He
delivered his report to Damon, knowing Miss Alex could
hear him.  "About twenty minutes after you left Miss
Alex in the holding area, I got a call from the marking
area.  The brass holder with the hot coals (I told you
not to use.  Soldering irons work just as well.) had
been kicked over by two imbeciles doing an arts and
crafts project on a runaway with what turns out to have
been a fake ID.  Probably underage.

"The bartender reacted quickly and properly, (trained
by myself for just this situation) contacting me first,
then quietly clearing the room of everyone not involved
or injured.  By the time I got there the coals had been
neutralized with the water cannon (which I had brought
in since we had to turn off the sprinklers to use the
fucking coals) and the three main parties treated.
They were leaving as I got there (leaving Miss Alex
alone and unprotected as it is your own fucking rule
that puts the club first and everything else second).

"I helped treat a couple of the injured bystanders,
calmed one or two persons, then came back.  Total time
off station was no more than seven minutes.

"I immediately noticed Miss Alex was missing.  As you
were still on the phone I had to assume someone else
had taken her from the holding area.  I barred the exit
and reviewed the security tapes.  The only persons
exiting the building were the three individuals from
the marking room.  On their leaving, however, both
doors were open at the same time, (just like I fucking
showed you) allowing Lewis, here, to enter without
being checked.

"I searched the club, starting with the public areas
nearest the door.  There was no sign of Miss Alex.  I
then searched the restrooms, looking for evidence of
any altering of her appearance.  I didn't find any.

"I was going to head down into the club when I heard a
noise that sounded odd, out of place.  You know what
happened next."

Alvin took a deep breath.  There was a lot he could
have said, wanted to say, but parenthetically, he just
added it to his report in his mind.  They could assess
the blame later.  It wouldn't be his.

He continued, "I have checked Miss Alex.  She is still
out, probably sleeping as a result of the excitement of
the party and then the brutality of the attack on her.
She was not penetrated vaginally or anally, but she was
badly beaten and with even less skill."  Holding up
Lewis' crop, he said, "I imagine that he used this.
It's certainly cheap enough."  He tossed the crop to
Damon.

Damon's face was death.  He continued.  "There is
evidence of a severe whipping and at least two serious
blows landed, one across the buttocks which broke the
skin, the other a vicious cut to the genital area.  Her
breasts were a favorite target of Lewis and she will
have marks on them for several weeks.  The blow to the
genitals will mean Miss Alex will be unable to walk for
a week and will be sore for another week.  There is no
evidence of internal injuries or of permanent injuries
or marking, but a visit to a clinic would probably tell
you better if anything occult was damaged.  Finally,
there is no DNA evidence of penetration or of the
attack and I could find no witnesses who would be
willing to testify."

As he said this last his eyes met Damon's.  No DNA
evidence and no witnesses meant that they couldn't
report this to the authorities and hope for any
satisfaction.  Alex had been blindfolded and couldn't
identify her attacker.  A good lawyer would make the
case that Lewis was the Good Samaritan and was in the
process of saving the poor girl when he was set upon by
Alvin and Damon.  No, if this was going to be handled,
it would be done quietly without the authorities.

Damon suddenly realized that Alvin knew what he was
doing.  He was delivering this schmuck, for whatever
reason, to Damon gift wrapped for execution.  Alvin had
never, ever involved himself in the dirty side of the
business before.  He was a good club manager, excellent
even, but he drew the line at getting his hands bloody.
He probably knew what happened, any good manager does,
but always before he had given himself an out, an
excuse to be away when the dirty deed was done.

He had made sure it was Damon's decision to punish or
forgive and to adjudicate any judgments, usually
terminally.  This time it was different.  Alvin, by
specifically telling Damon there was no physical
evidence against this bastard, had just signed Lewis'
death warrant.  He smiled to himself.  There was hope
for the black SOB yet!

It didn't surprise him when Alvin bowed himself out of
the room and indicated he would be in the next room
with Alex.  Damon's eyes flicked towards the tiny
telltale he had had concealed in the ceiling.  The
indicator light was off.  Good, they wouldn't hear what
he was saying.

Chapter 8

"I can walk, Alvin.  Why did you say I couldn't?  I'm a
little sore, but I'm fine, really!"

Alvin came over and sat beside the girl.  He was silent
for a long while, then picked up her hand in his giant
paw.  He held it as if it were a piece of fragile glass
that would shatter if held too tightly.

"I've seen a lot of bad shit working for Mr. D, Miss
Alex.  I don't think you belong here.  I just wanted to
give you a couple of weeks to think about what happened
tonight before they could pressure you any more."

"I'm not afraid of him, Alvin," she said quietly.

"I am.  He's a bad man, Miss Alex.  You should be
afraid of him, too."

"Well, I don't love him, if you're worried about that."
She wasn't defensive, but wondered what made her say
that to him.

The big man guffawed.  "He doesn't and won't ever love
you, either, Miss Alex.  Make no mistake.  Mr. D is
only out for Mr. D."

Alex was silent.  "But Alvin, I liked what happened
tonight.  I was excited when that man took me.  He said
he was taking me to Mr. Smith.  He called him my
'master' and I was so thrilled.  I knew it wasn't right
but it felt so good.  The he tied me down and said I
was bad and that I was going to be punished."

She looked up at him.  "I was so excited, Alvin.  I had
never felt so alive.  Then he hit me.  A lot.  And cut
off my skirt.  That's when I knew Mr. Smith wasn't
coming.  That's when I got scared, but I was too
excited by then and then he hit me down there and I...
I..."

"I know, Miss Alex.  Some crazy fucker takes a whip to
your privates and you have the best fucking orgasm of
your life."

Alex buried her face in his broad chest.  He knew.  She
was so confused, but Alvin knew.  It was going to be
OK.  He put his hand up to stroke her hair
instinctively.

"How could you tell?  Does everyone else know?"

"I don't know how I know, Miss Alex.  Something about
your scream, maybe.  And I was holding you right after,
no one else knows.  I could tell you weren't scared
anymore.  You just seemed happy."  He hesitated.  "You
sang to me, too," he said softly.

"You heard that?"  Alex blushed.  She had sensed it was
Alvin carrying her after she was released and that she
was safe.  From out of nowhere - no, from out of her
heart she had sung a song just for him.  She was gagged
and handcuffed, but safe and relaxed in his strong
arms.  It just seemed right.  It just came out,
somehow.  There were no words, just soul to soul.  And
he had heard it.

"Miss Alex, please be careful.  Think about what you're
getting into here.  I know it's exciting.  But use the
time to think."

He paused for a moment, considering something.  Then he
continued.  "I can't tell you how I know, but something
is going on with your husband, some big scam or
something.  That's what the phone call was about
tonight.  Mr. D wouldn't have left you if it wasn't
important, and the only thing that is important to him
is money.  Lots of money.  I don't know what or how
your husband is involved yet, but I'll let you know as
soon as I can."

"Oh, Harold is always trying to get into some scam or
another," Alex giggled.  "He's harmless."

"Maybe, but Mr. D isn't.  Just be careful."  He got up.
"I have to go check on the club.  Think about taking a
couple of weeks off, Miss Alex."

Alex watched the big man leave, her face thoughtful.
Maybe she would take his advice and give herself a
chance to cool down.  But it had been so exciting
tonight and there was so much more she had to learn
still.  It was too tempting.

***

Damon had had two drinks while waiting for the little
shit to stop crying.  God, he hated wimps.  The sobbing
slowly abated and finally he could get some answers.
He heard the door to the next room shut and the light
tread of the big man going back to check on the party.
That meant at least that Alex was resting quietly, if
not comfortably.

"So, Lewis, you've had a rough day, no?" he started
gently.

"FUCKING BITCH, THE FUCKING BITCH!  I should have
FUCKING killed her..."

Damon started toward the cowering fool in a murderous
rage.  Then he stopped, visibly controlling himself.
Too many people had seen the little shit hauled in
here.

"... and now I've got all those FUCKING medical bills."

Oh-ho!  A gift.  A bloody gift.

"And the fucking bank.  My baby.  They took my baby and
I have to drive a fucking ass Ford.  My baby.  They
took my baby."

The shit was fading fast and starting to babble, but
with a little luck, well maybe...

"Lewis, I know it's hard for you right now.  You've had
a tough night, you're angry, you're confused, you're
upset and everything is going wrong.  Am I right?  Of
course I am."  He had placed a sympathetic hand on the
quaking shoulder and was patting him gently.  He had to
act quick, the bastard was going to fall over soon.

"You know what I like to do to feel better, Lewis?  I
like to write all my problems down.  Then I burn the
paper, and 'Poof', the problems are gone.  Like magic!"

The dip wad was stoned enough to actually buy that line
of psycho-crap.  He was nodding and sniffling, the snot
glistening as it streamed down into his mouth.  Damon
took out a stack of paper copier paper, then removed
the top sheet.  The one with his fingerprints on it.

"Tell you what, why don't you try it.  Why don't you
write 'Fuck the bitch' on the paper?" he said.  "Here,
use my pen."  He handed him an everyday BIC pen.  It
would be untraceable.

He watched while the fucker wrote it out.  It was
laborious, but it was in his own handwriting.

"Now, how about 'Fuck the bank'?  They took your car,
right?"

Lewis dutifully wrote it out.  Then looked up,
expectantly.  This nice man was going to help him.
Maybe he could get his car back for him.  He looked
like he was rich enough.

"Any other problems, Lewis?  Your job?  Your family?
Kids?"

Lewis shook his head 'No' to each suggestion.

"Well, then, son, let's have a drink to celebrate the
end of all your problems."

Damon went over to the bar and fixed another glass of
scotch.  With his back turned to the young man, he
reached to the back of the bar and lifted off the top
of a bottle of Cognac.  The bottle looked full and
sealed, but with the top off you could see it was
hollow.  It was a hidey-hole of some sort.

With practiced easy, Damon took out a small glass
syringe and a vial of clear liquid.  He pulled out the
plunger, inserted the needle into the rubber stopper,
injected air into the bottle and withdrew some of the
fluid.  The vial was back in the fake bottle and the
bottle closed.  The whole sequence had taken less than
5 seconds.

Damon held the syringe behind his back as he walked
towards the trembling man.  He handed him the glass,
picked up his own and said, "Cheers."

The crystal glasses clinked together and Lewis gulped
the strong single-malt scotch whiskey.  He choked.  He
wasn't used to such a smoky or strong flavor.  He
preferred those colored drinks with fruit in them.  He
coughed as a little of the burning fluid went into his
lungs.

Damon stepped behind him, slapping him on the back to
help him.  To the casual observer, you would not have
seen the syringe palmed in his hand that plunged into
Lewis' neck.  Even Lewis didn't notice the tiny
pinprick.

Suddenly Lewis stopped choking and gave a funny little
twitch, his arms and legs fluttering briefly.  His eyes
rolled up into the top of his head and then slowly
drifted back down, glazed and unfocused.  He sort of
slumped down in the chair, like he was asleep.  The
empty glass thumped on the thick carpet, unbroken.

Damon dropped to one knee in front of the unnaturally
still man.  He slapped him once, hard.  The man didn't
react or flinch.  The man's breathing was very, very
slow and shallow.  A sadistic grin spread slowly across
Damon's face.

"Listen, you little piece of shit.  That bitch you beat
up tonight was mine and you touched her.  Nobody
touches my Pet until I'm ready to let them.  I know you
can hear me, so let me tell you what is going to
happen.  You're going to leave the party tonight very
drunk and very depressed.  Some friends are going to
take you home.  Then you're going to sit in your garage
with the motor running, and you're going to die.
Nobody fucks with me, asshole."  He said all of this so
quietly, than he wasn't sure if the man had heard.  But
he was sure he had.  He would know until the last
breath.

But caution had made him say it quietly, almost in the
guy's ear.  A statement like that could get him put
away.  But he was so fucking mad.  Anyway, only the
best microphones would have been able to pick up that
volume.  And those mikes weren't in this room.

Damon went to the telephone and dialed a four-digit
extension.  An internal call.

"Hello, Vinnie?  Yeah, it's me.  I need you and Max to
do a job for me.  Yes, now, dammit.  Well, tell him to
wipe his ass and get up here.  Now!"

He slammed down the phone.  Surprisingly, within a
couple of minutes two burly men rushed into the room,
the larger of the two doing the 'wedgie-walk' and
buckling his belt.  The smaller one, Vinnie, was
putting on a pair of rubber gloves.  He would be
driving Lewis' car home.

The note Lewis had written was now held between two
other sheets of paper.  Lewis' prints would be the only
fingerprints on it.  Using a gloved hand Vinnie fished
the car keys out of his pocket and the two men escorted
him out of the office.  Mr. D had given them their
instructions as they were hoisting the guy up between
them.  They would make sure that several party goers
would see him leaving alive.  Very drunk, very sad, but
alive.  That was all that mattered.

When they had gone, Damon sat at his desk.  He was
furious.  That dip shit had cost him several thousands
of dollars.  He was going to be delayed at least
another two weeks before that fucker Wilson could get
Alex to sign the papers.  He couldn't let him near her
until she was healed and back to normal.  Fuck, Fuck,
Fuck!

The hooker, Marcy, was going to cost him a bundle more,
too.  She had already been making noises about bailing
out.  Maybe she should join Harold in the islands.  The
CFO of that company would need to be paid off for
another month or two to keep the vacant office
available.  He was getting a good cut so that shouldn't
be a problem, but sooner or later someone was going to
realize that Harold and Marcy weren't in that office
auditing the books.  Or that they weren't real
employees, either.

It could be done, though.  Marcy was the key.  He had
to get her cooperation.  He looked at his Rolodex and
dialed a number.

"Hello, Marcy?  Yes, it's me, Mr. Smith. ...  Fine,
just fine.  Say, we had a little problem here
tonight...  ...  No, everything is still on, it's just
going to be a little delayed.  ...  Oh, about two
weeks, maybe a little more.  ... No, Marcy, I know he's
got a little prick...  ...   I understand...  ...  I
understand...  ...  Listen, Marcy, I really need your
help with this.  ...  I know...  ...  I know.  ...
Just name your price, whatever it takes.  ...Ouch!  You
sure know how to make a guy dig deep.  ...  No, no,
it's a deal, if that's what you want.  I tell you what.
I'll even pay for your time to go with him to the
Condo.  ....  Yes, the same rate for more three months
lying in the sun on the islands.  Just keep him quiet.
...  Yes, I'll get you some more Viagra.  ...  Listen,
Marcy, I have to go.  I owe you for this.  Big time.
...  Yeah, me, too.  Say 'Hi' to your Mom for me.  ...
You, too. ... Right.  Bye, now."

He hung up the phone.  "Fucking Bitch!"

Alex had a bad feeling.  Oh, she had thought everything
was going to be fine until she saw the needle.  It
wasn't that she was squeamish, but it had suddenly
brought back unbidden a vague, unhappy memory.

Mr. Smith was helping the man work out his problems.
Alex had never heard of therapy like that, but if it
worked for Mr. Smith, why not give it a try, no?  She
had thought the needle was a sedative for the man.  He
was obviously distraught and upset.  Mr. Smith's
sympathy for the man that had attacked her was
touching.

She had caught the quick injection with the palmed
needle.  That's what triggered the memory.  Mr. Smith
did it just like Daddy had done, only Daddy did it on
the cows and pigs.  Just before they were slaughtered
and bled out.  The animals gave that funny little
twitch, too, just like Lewis had.

But it was the man's eyes that brought all those bad
memories flooding back, as clearly as if they had
happened yesterday.  She had been five years old.
Bright, happy, smart as a whip.  Two years earlier,
just three and barely able to get around the farm by
herself, she had been helping Daddy in the barn.  She
had heard a plaintive squeal from an empty stall and,
investigating, had come out lugging a very large
piglet.  Well, large for a three year old.  The piglet
had been abandoned by the mother, being the runt of a
very large litter.  Alex had promptly adopted the runt
and named her Petunia.  Pet for short.

Pet and Alex had been inseparable for the next two
years and both had grown.  Pet a lot more than Alex.
When Pet got too big to sleep in Alex' bed, Alex slept
in Pet's new pen.  In the summer, anyway.  But Pet was
a piglet and they grow into hogs and then into great
big hogs.  Soon Pet was inadvertently destructive.  She
couldn't help it.  One time that Alex family still
laughed about was when her older brother, Benny, was
teasing her and Alex had started screaming.  They were
in the family room at the time.  Pet, frantic to help
her owner, came running straight for the pair.
Unfortunately, there wasn't a door or window in that
wall.  Until then.  Daddy had had to put in a door to
fill the hole.  A double wide French door.

After coming through the wall, Pet had buried her snout
in Benny's crotch, his family jewels in her mouth, and
she holding him up, pinned against the wall, his feet
dangling off the ground.  She held him there until Alex
was able to sooth her and she lowered him and let him
go.

Benny never bothered her much after that.  But that was
the beginning of the end for Pet.  Soon after that Alex
was bribed with goldfish, turtles, a dog and a cat, but
she always preferred Pet.

When school started Daddy had suggested putting Pet in
with the other hogs.  She was bigger than all of the
rest of them now.  Alex had been proud when her Petunia
had taken first prize at the county fair.  Her runt was
now the best of all.  She felt guilty leaving her
friend, but she was in first grade now, and there was
so much to learn and new friends and everything.

Each day when Alex would get off the school bus and
walk by the big pig pen, Pet would squeal and make that
funny sound she made whenever she saw Alex.  Alex would
stop and rub her snout, but she had her good clothes on
and couldn't roll around with her like they used to.
On Saturdays, because she was a big girl now, she had
other chores and couldn't spend time with her old
friend.  Daddy mentioned one night that Pet had started
to lose weight.

It happened late in the Fall.  She remembered because
it was cold outside but not freezing, and the leaves
were so pretty on the tree outside her bedroom window.
It was dark out, too early even for Daddy to be up.
Something was wrong with Pet.  It was just a feeling,
but to a five-year-old, such a certainty can be
terrifying.  She had gotten dressed and slipped out of
the house to check on Pet.

Petunia hadn't been in her private stall.  The door was
wide open.  Alex knew she had closed it last night,
just after she had kissed Pet good night.  Daddy had
let Pet eat all her favorite foods and as much of them
as she wanted, too.  Benny had mumbled something about
a 'last meal' but Mommy had shushed him real quick.
Alex was just glad Daddy had finally let Pet back into
her own private stall.  Maybe he'd even forgiven her
for making the new door in the side of the house.

The light was on in another part of the barn and Alex
had moved toward the light.  Daddy would be really mad
if someone left on the lights and wasted electricity.
That cost money.  She was just about to turn them off,
when she had heard Daddy talking.  He was using his
soothing voice, the one he used when he slaughtered the
cows.  He didn't like to scare them.  Daddy was always
so nice.

From the shadows, Alex watched her father prepare the
needle.  She had seen him use it before.  He always hid
the needle in the palm of his big hands so the animals
wouldn't see it and get scared.  He didn't like to hurt
them.

Daddy moved away from the table and, still talking
soothingly, knelt down on his knee.  Alex moved closer
to see around the big workbench that held all of the
medicines and the knives and saws for skinning and
butchering.  She saw Daddy's hand dart down and hear a
familiar squeal.

"PETUNIA!" she had screamed, but it was too late.  Too
late.

Pet had shuddered, her body twitching.  Then her legs
had collapsed and she had crashed to the ground.  Daddy
had shouted at her and grabbed her just before Pet had
collapsed.  If Alex had been any closer, she would have
been crushed under her pet.  Alex watched Pet's eyes,
always so expressive, so alive as they disappeared,
then rolled back down.  They didn't look right anymore,
like Petunia wasn't in there.  Slowly she moved to
where Pet could see her, cradling her bristly head in
her child's arms.

Daddy had said a very bad word, the first and only time
Alex had heard him use the 'S' word.  He had looped the
short chain around Pet's hind feet.  Using a block and
tackle, Daddy had hoisted the unmoving hog up, until
Pet was dangling over the big drain in the floor.  He
didn't say anything to Alex, but didn't make her move
away, even when he cut the large blood vessels in the
hanging hog's neck.  The warm tangy blood flowed over
Alex' arm and dripped down into the darkness of the
drain, making tiny splashing noises far below.

Alex had seen a pig bled out before and had even been
allowed to help.  Everybody helped on a farm.  But
before, it hadn't been her Pet hanging there.  That
made it different somehow.  Alex stayed by her
cherished childhood friend until the light went out of
her eyes.

Daddy had explained before that it didn't hurt the
animals, that the stuff in the needle made them not
feel anything and not able to move and jump around, but
that it let their hearts keep beating so all the blood
could be pumped out and the meat would taste better.
You can't sell tainted meat and you can't eat it
yourself.

After Pet, Alex had known better, that Daddy was wrong.
They could feel things.  She had watched Pet's eyes.
She knew Pet had felt everything that had happened to
her from the loss of the use of her legs, the chain
around her feet, the rush of blood to her head as she
hung upside down to the sharp knife slashing her
throat.  She knew Pet could even feel the warm blood
dripping off her snout, draining the life from her with
each belabored beat of her heart.  Alex knew.  She had
seen her eyes.

She had never cried for Pet, not then and not in the
weeks that followed.  Alex was raised on a farm.  She
understood that Petunia was a pig, and pigs get
slaughtered.  She understood she was a just a pet and
when you don't need them anymore or they're used up,
they get flushed down the toilet like Benny's goldfish
or buried in the backyard like Bowser and Meow.

It had been a long time since Alex had thought about
the death of her childhood pet and she found herself
crying uncontrollably on the cot.  Damon saw her
weeping when he looked in on her a little later and
quickly backed out of the room, misunderstanding her
tears completely.

Hearing the door close, Alex stumbled over to the one-
way mirror and flipped the jimmied switch back to the
'Off' position.  She didn't know why she was protecting
Alvin.  Maybe it was because she knew she was going to
need a friend, and he was nice to her.  But she wasn't
sure of him.  He seemed to be tricky as Mr. Smith,
because he had replaced that switch and didn't want Mr.
Smith to know.

Alvin had not only replaced the switch, but he had
replaced the microphone as well.  Alex, unfortunately,
had heard every word Mr. Smith had said in there.

Chapter 9

Alex took Alvin's advice and spent the week in bed.
Thinking.  And being pampered.  It was funny to watch
Mr. Smith.  Sure, he could do some things really well,
and he wasn't afraid to try to do anything.  But it was
obvious he had never taken care of a sick or injured
person before.  He was a disaster.  It was hard not to
laugh, because he was trying so hard, but finally,
after he had fallen into the bathtub while trying to
lift her out, she couldn't help herself.  It was hard
to call him 'Sir' and laugh hysterically at the same
time but she had tried, and then got the hiccups.

He finally saw the humor and started to chuckle, too.
For a moment, she had thought he was going to be mad at
her, but she guessed he was so pleased to hear her
feeling better that he decided against it.  After that,
however, he had Alvin take care of her.

Since she supposedly couldn't walk, she had moved in
downstairs in the club.  She didn't even know the
basement was there, but Alvin said there were still two
more floors below this one.  Vinnie and Max lived on
the next one down and Alvin had a room down there when
he wanted it.  Mr. Smith had his personal apartment
here and there were a couple of other rooms for
'guests' Alvin said.  The rooms were all very
sumptuous.  There were a lot of closed doors in the
hallway and, since she couldn't get around, she just
had to wonder what was behind them.

She got used to seeing Alvin everyday.  As opposed to
Mr. Smith, Alvin had had some training.  She didn't
feel like she'd just come through a car wash when Alvin
bathed her.  Oh, yes, she was pampered and made him do
everything for her.  After all, it was his idea, no?
Between the Alvin and Mr. Smith, they would have held
her spoon and fork for her at meals if she would have
let them.

She got a perverse thrill of having those big strong
hands bathing her, kneading her muscles, patting her
dry and the powdering her.  She stayed naked almost the
whole time and, after a while, it felt good.  She
teased him with little jokes at first, but he had
warned her off with his eyes.  He was afraid of
something.  Still, it had been his idea, so he could
just put up with it.  She noticed that he never touched
her in any way that was inappropriate, even when
cleaning her privates.  He was almost clinical.

Finally the day came when she could get out of bed.
And not a day too soon for her.  She was going stir-
crazy.  In the bathroom that day, while he was filling
the bathtub for her, Alvin had quietly warned her to
move slow and hunched over sort of, to look like she
was in pain.  After watching her the first day, he said
she was a pretty good actress, just don't expect an
Oscar anytime soon.  He had made a joke!

Mr. Smith was thrilled to see her up and about.  He
questioned Alvin closely about what activities she
could engage in.  With a straight face he had suggested
that walking, shopping and light housework were fine,
but she probably shouldn't see Harold for another
couple of days.  Alex thought that that was just a
polite way of telling Mr. Smith that he couldn't have
sex with her.  She kicked Alvin under the table.  She
was getting very horny.  Even Harold was beginning to
appeal to her again.

Mr. Smith let her borrow a T-shirt and they found a
pair of running shorts somewhere that weren't too big.
The neck of the shirt came almost down to her naval and
if she wasn't careful, one or both of her titties would
pop out for anyone to see.  Mr. Smith gave her a quick
inspection and nodded.  Then he took her shopping.

Alex came back from shopping subdued and thoughtful.
It had been an experience like she hadn't dreamed
possible.  She had been thoroughly seduced by this
man's charm, his style, his commanding presence and his
authority.  She had come back with a selection of
clothes she would never have purchased on her own, yet
each garment was perfect.

Mr. Smith had taken her in his private limo to the most
expensive boutiques in the city.  Some were private, by
appointment only and they were always treated as if
they were special customers.  Everyone knew Mr. Smith.
She had tried on tiny wisps of lace, sheer silk
stockings that clasped her thigh, all right in front of
him.  He enjoyed looking at her and she enjoyed him
looking.  It was a tease for both of them.

High heeled shoes, higher than anything she had ever
seen were placed on her feet.  She walked back and
forth, a bit unsteady at first, but she had strong
ankles and soon she was doing much better.  Then he
made her walk just wearing her new panties and her
thigh-high hosiery and then come and stand in front of
him.  He had run his hands down the back of her legs
and back up over her ass cheeks, showing her in the
mirror how it made her ass stick out and how it defined
the muscles in her legs.  Together they had watched his
hands in the mirror as he caressed her legs and ass
intimately for several moments.  She had shivered and
had to bite her lip to keep quiet.

That was early on in the day and he kept touching her
often after that, always telling her how beautiful and
sexy she was.  And she was.  She could see it herself
in the mirrors that surrounded her as she tried on the
beautiful clothes and lingerie.  She was turned on,
too, throbbing with unfulfilled needs.

Mr. Smith had made all the choices for her.  Two pair
of high heeled shoes, one pair black and one red.  She
had two new blouses to replace the one that was torn
and a new pleated skirt.  It didn't really replace her
other one, as this one was so short she couldn't bend
over without showing her butt.  But Mr. Smith liked it,
and secretly, so did she.  With her new underwear that
was barely there, she felt naked walking out of the
store.

But the best part was the dress.  It was light and it
fit her so perfectly, like a glove.  The bright blue
material was so thin she could only wear her new skimpy
sexy thong panties under it.  Even those showed a
little bit of a line.  She was supposed to wear the
silk stockings that snugged her thigh so tightly, too.
She didn't dare sit down in it that day as she was so
wet she would have left a stain.

She recognized the dress and the other clothes from the
videos.  They were the same as the girls wore in the
videos.  Beautiful, sexy clothes that slid with your
body as it swayed.  This dress made her feel like
dancing.  A sexy dance, a dance that would inflame her
lover, one that would make him take her and ravage her.
Alex could imagine herself dancing in this dress and
making Mr. Smith want her.  She knew he would want her
then.

She had cried when he gave her the necklace.  It was a
simple gold chain with a pendent that hung down between
her breasts, tickling them with her every breath.  The
pendent was a pair of gold handcuffs.  It was in the
last store, one of the private boutiques.  They had
kissed when he put it around her neck.  Then he had
captured both her hands in one of his behind her back.
He took his tie off and tied them there, keeping them
there the whole way home, only releasing them to re-tie
his tie as they arrived back at the club.  She had
knelt on the floor of the car on the ride back, resting
her head in his lap while he had stoked her hair.  She
had worn it loose that day.

Alvin carried in the packages from the limo when they
returned and carried them to one of the rooms on Mr.
Smith's floor.  Into Mr. Smith's bedroom!  Alex hadn't
been forbidden to snoop during her recovery, but
somehow she knew she was being watched.  It was just a
feeling.  As a result, she didn't know what any of the
rooms were except the room she stayed in and the next
one where Mr. Smith slept.  Alvin had taken all her new
clothes in there.  She was torn between hope and fear.

All the while Alvin took care of her, he was very
careful with what he said to her, being very polite and
respectful.  She returned his cautious behavior, with a
few notable exceptions, not saying anything about their
conversation of that night of the party.  In fact,
until Alvin gave her a questioning look with a raised
eyebrow on the way in from the car, looking at all the
packages and back at her, and then having Mr. Smith
tell him to put them away in his room, he hadn't made
one reference to that night.

Alex gave him a smug look in return to his questioning
look and pranced into the club ahead of him, swishing
her cute butt in the tiny skirt.  She knew she looked
hot.  Of course, it would have been better if she
hadn't caught the heel of one of her new shoes on the
threshold and nearly had a catastrophic pratfall.

Alvin was laughing silently as he helped her regain her
balance.  So much for being sophisticated.

When Alex came in to breakfast two days later, there
was a package where her plate usually was.  It was
wrapped with a fancy covering and a huge bow.  Since
they had returned from shopping, she had not seen
Alvin.  She missed him.

"For me, Sir?" she squealed.  It was like being a
little girl again.

"Of course!  Alvin said you could do some light
housework, so I got you some work clothes."

"Oh, Sir," she faux pouted, "You spoiled the surprise."

He just grinned like the cat that ate the canary.
"Just open the damn box, Alex," he said, still
grinning.

Opening up the box was a simple affair.  The top came
right off.  When the two layers of tissue were opened,
he saw the puzzlement on her face, and then her eyes
went wide.

Alvin had let him know not to have intercourse with
her, but that didn't mean he couldn't fuck with her
mind.  What was in the box would keep her stirred up
quite nicely until he could get her back in front of
the screens.  He had been going slow with training this
new pet and now he had had to chafe for two weeks
because of the fucking creep.  He had expected to be
fucking Alex by now and having her well under control.
His need was building and time was running out.  He
didn't like delays.

He watched Alex pick up the shiny garments.  One of the
boutiques did specialty latex garments.  Since they had
her measurements, he had had a bra and panty set
specially made.  As she would soon find out, they were
very special.

She had already noticed the thick and heavy crotch and
the extra weight in the ends of the bra cups.  The
inner surfaces of both were knobby where they would do
the most good.  There was one larger knob that would
nestle up and tease her cute little anus.

Her eyes wide, she slipped off the terrycloth robe she
had worn in from her shower.  As usual, she was naked
underneath.  Damon felt a stirring that he just barely
managed to get under control.  This innocent child was
getting to him.

Slowly she stepped into the latex panties and pulled
them up her shapely legs.  Higher and higher they
climbed.  He realized with a jolt that she had turned
slightly to show her wiggling ass to best effect.  She
was enjoying teasing him.  The thick crotch piece
fitted between her legs and she tugged the sides up
firmly on her hips, seating the knurled surface tightly
against her own sensitive tissues.

The bra came next and it was tight by design.  The
shape of the cups forced her breasts up and together,
and mashed her constantly erect nipples against the
thickened ends.  She moved around experimentally and
grinned at him.

"Oh, Thank You, Sir!"

He thought she was going to run over and jump on his
lap, an act he wouldn't have minded at all.  But she
restrained herself, but remained bouncing on the balls
of her feet.

"Come here," he said pointing to a spot in front of his
chair.

She came over to him, clasping her hands behind her
back, her head bowed.  She was shaking with excitement.

He took his hand and ran it between her legs, stopping
to move the anal knob around until the sweat broke out
on her upper lip.

"Is it in the right place, Alex?"

"If you mean, is it sticking up my butt, then Yes,
Sir."

"Are you being smart with me?"

She hesitated.  Then, in a more serious tone, "No, Sir.
Just very appreciative.  Thank you very much, Sir."

"We'll see just how appreciative you are tonight," he
said ominously.

Raising his hand to her breasts, he ran his fingers
firmly over the tightly held globes.  There was hardly
any movement between her natural firmness and the tight
latex binding them.  Taking his thumb and forefinger of
each hand, he grasp the edges of the thicken ends of
the cups and squeezed.  A hole, like a pupil in an
iris, opened in the center of the thickening.  He
manipulated the openings around until he captured first
one, then the other of her constrained nipples.
Satisfied, he released his grasp on the clamps and they
tightened gently on the sensitive buds.

Alex' eyes flew open at that new sensation and her
knees buckled.

"OH!  Sir!  My...  They...  Thank You, Sir!"

He grinned at the aroused girl.  He wondered how she
would make it through the day if that was all it took
to push her over the edge.  He decided to give her a
demonstration of just how special this suit was.

"Alex?  Walk over to that table and get me the orange
juice, please."

She headed for the juice bar with a happy smile and a
sexy wiggle in her latex cover hips.  She never made
it.  With a groan and a gasp she slid to the floor, an
orgasmic pile of flesh.

"Oh, my!  Did I forget to mention the electrodes and
vibrators?" he said teasingly when she could finally
open her eyes and look up at him with a semblance of
coherence.  "I'm sorry.  I should have said something.
Anyway, there are tiny sensors scattered all around
this floor.  They activate the suit when you are close
to them, like that one did.  I want you to find them
all and tell me tonight at dinner.  If you don't find
them all, then I will have to punish you."

He grinned down at her with a mischievous grin.  He was
enjoying this.

"Since you're going to be in all the rooms on this
floor anyway, you might as well dust and vacuum while
you're at it.  You should be able to find everything
you need if you look."

He paused.  "And Alex?  Don't leave this floor.  If
there is an emergency, Alvin will come and get you.
Otherwise, stay here."  It was an order and a threat.
It made her tingle and shiver at the same time.

He leaned down and kissed her sweaty forehead.  "I'll
see you tonight, Pet.  Oh, and one more thing.  Put
your hair into that braid like I showed you.  I like it
like that."

Bit by bit, he was taking control.

Chapter 10

It took Alex a short time to find the vacuum sweeper
and the feather duster.  She figured she'd get that out
of the way first, then search for the sensors, then do
her hair.  It seemed a simple enough plan.

By her third shattering orgasm, Alex was having severe
doubts as to the simplicity of her plan.  Sure, she had
found the utility closet but after that, it was a blur.
As soon as she started sweeping, the rubbery suit had
started to vibrate and shock her.  Tiny little shocks
that swept though her and numbed her reasoning powers.
Soon it was all she could do to drag the machine
around.  After her third climax left her gasping on the
floor, it dawned on her.  Mr. Smith had put one of the
sensors in the handle of the vacuum sweeper.

Armed with this theory, she rushed to the kitchen to
find something to take apart the handle.  She found the
junk drawer and extracted a 6-in-one tool.  Every
kitchen should have one!  She wasn't daunted by the
task of taking the appliance apart.  If she could fix a
tractor, she could disassemble a puny sweeper.

She lowered the handle of the sweeper so that it lay
flat on the floor.  Then, lying on the floor herself
and extending her body away from the handle she pulled
it toward her.  She found she could reach the screws
without activating the panties, although her boobies
were getting a workout.  But she could live with it.

Carefully extracting the plastic switch from the
handle, she saw a small transistor taped to the switch.
She assumed it was feeding off the power cord and could
be so small, yet so powerful.  She loosened the tape
and experimentally moved the tiny chip towards her
waist.  At about three feet the electrodes and
vibrators in the panties kicked in.  Oh, well.  So much
for needing a power cord.

Because she was expecting it this time, the shock and
vibrations were less effective.  Make no mistake, they
were still a thrill, but now she knew what to look for
and what the range of those little sucker was.  Now it
was a game and she was back in control.  Mr. Smith
would be so proud of her.

Methodically Alex swept the living quarters and the
other rooms on that floor, just like Mr. Smith has
asked.  Every inch of it.  She found 25 of the little
transmitters, though one of them had been really
tricky.  Satisfied she had them all, she was positive
Mr. Smith would be very pleased with her.

She finished vacuuming and dusting the apartment.  Then
she showered and braided her hair like he liked.  It
was hard, as she wasn't used to doing it that way but
after a couple of tries, the thick braid lay perfectly
down the nape of her neck.

As she knelt in the dining room awaiting his return,
Alex had time to reflect on what she had seen today.
In one of the rooms next to Mr. Smith's, the one on the
other side from the room she had been using the last
two weeks, she had found her new clothes carefully
folded or hung.  Because of that, she paid particular
attention to room.

The first thing she noticed was that it was small,
being more the size of a large closet.  Or a cage.  She
tried to push that thought from her mind, but it was
there, and kept coming back, nagging her.  It felt like
a cage.

There was no knob on the inside of the door and the
lock was on the outside.  The only door opened into Mr.
Smith's room.  Fortunately Alex had seen that just
before the door shut behind her and she was able to jam
the tool she was carrying into the crack and stop it.
She briefly considered hiding the tool in the small
room for later, just in case, but quickly decided
against it.  It might make things worse, rather than
better if Mr. Smith found it.  And he could be watching
her even now.  She hadn't seen any cameras, but she
really didn't know what to look for, either.

There were two shelves on which were folded her new
panties and bras and the hosiery.  A short pole held
the dress, the blouses and the tiny skirt hanging
neatly on plastic hangers.  There were three pairs of
shoes on the floor.  Two were her new spike heels that
made her legs look so sexy.  The third was a new pair
of running shoes in her size that he must have gotten
later.

The rest of the room was taken up by the bed.  More
correctly, it was a sleeping pad.  A thin, cloth
covered mat just longer than she was tall and flat on
the floor.  It was only about three feet wide.  At each
corner was a shackle set into the floor, two for her
wrists, two for her ankles.  She would have very little
movement when she was locked in them, but, trying it
out, it didn't seem that uncomfortable.  She would have
to get used to sleeping on her back.

What caused her to reflect as she knelt waiting for Mr.
Smith to come home was what she had seen while laying
down.  From the corner of her eye, she saw something
that seemed out of place.  Unless you were lying down
and twisted your head back and up, you wouldn't see it.
Certainly no one standing or kneeling would see it.

Alex scooted over and looked at the bottom of the
lowest shelf, about nine inches off the floor.  There
were a list of names and dates.  All women's names.
Gouged with fingernails in the soft pinewood of the
shelf.  The oldest were dark, tinged with dirt and
dust, darkened by the oils left by fingers as they
traced over the impressions in the wood.  As Alex'
fingers were.  It was automatic.  She touched each name
lightly, trying to bond with the ones who had stayed
here before her.  Alex had no doubt she would be
staying here.

The dates were in rough columns and there were at most
two dates by each name.  Two names only had one date in
the first column.  The first column was titled "1st
dan."  The second was headed by the cryptic word
"owned."  The last date entered had been over a year
and a half ago.

Alex had lain there reading the names, memorizing them.
The ones with only one date tantalized her.  The first
was almost eight years ago.  The last one with a single
date was the last one on the list.  She wondered what
had happed to those two women.

It finally occurred to her as she waited for Mr. Smith
that the girls who had come before had felt the need to
hide the list.  Why did they need to hide their names?
From whom?  She was no closer to an answer when he came
home.  A shiver ran up her spine.  Home.  This was home
now.

Alex looked up at him smiling.  He seemed surprised to
see her kneeling there, calm and clean, hair perfect,
the apartment spotless.  No, not surprised.
Disappointed.  Confused.  Even a bit flustered.

He was even more flabbergasted to see, carefully lined
up at his place at the table, a neat row of tiny
transistors stuck to a piece of tape laying face
upwards.  Unbelievable.

"Well, Alex.  I see you have had an interesting day.
Your hair looks lovely."

"Thank you, Sir.  Uh, it was fun, Sir.  I enjoyed it a
lot, Sir."

You weren't supposed to fucking enjoy it, you stupid
bitch.  You were supposed to be a quivering mass of
throbbing cunt by now.  "Really?  So.  How many of the
sensors did you find?"

"Twenty-five, Sir.  They're all there on the table.
Sir."

Damon froze.  It couldn't be.

"How many?" he asked carefully.

"Twenty-five, Sir."

"Please count them again, Alex."

"Yes, Sir.  But, Sir?"

"Yes?"

"I, uh, it would be really helpful if you didn't talk
while I was counting.  If you could, Sir?  Please?"

"Just go count them, Alex.  Now!"  He didn't know if
she was being insolent or what, but he was getting
pissed.

"Yes, Sir."  She got up off her knees and move
cautiously to the table.  She was carefully moving her
finger over one after another, silently counting.  When
she was done, she stood up to move away from the table.

Damon had walked up beside her.  "Well, how many?"

A look of terror crossed over the girl's face as she
heard his voice and she sank to the plush carpet and
started flopping around.  Pain was etched across her
face.

"Sshhh, Sir.  Please," she whispered to him as he
kneeled over her, alarm showing on his face.

Not liking to be commanded by a Sub to be quiet, he at
least had the sense to be silent.  Alex rolled over on
her stomach and slithered in visible agony away from
the table.  When she was about fifteen feet away, she
quit shaking and relaxed, relief written in her eyes.

"Twenty-five, Sir.  I counted them.  Was that all of
them, Sir?  Are you going to punish me?"  She sounded
hopeful.  He wasn't sure if she was hoping for a
punishment or not, but right now that wasn't his main
concern.

Right now he was wondering where the Hell the extra
transmitter had come from.

Turning away from Alex he moved to the table.  He
counted them himself.  Twenty-five.  Shit!  He looked
at them again.  They were so damn small.  Wait!  That
one.  There was a tiny red band on it, so thin he
almost missed it.  He picked it off the tape and went
back over to the girl.

"This one, Alex, where did you find this one?"

As he neared the girl, her eyes widened, then slammed
shut.  Still holding the transmitter, he knelt down
beside her.  Alex screamed and fainted, but the shaking
of her body continued, the electrodes buried in the
latex panties and bra still firing and stimulating her
insensate tissues.

Kicking himself, Damon tossed the transistor back on
the table.  Lifting up the unconscious girl he took to
the room she had been using for the last few weeks.
The one with a bed.  He had no doubt she had found her
new room.  Two of the transmitters had been in there so
he knew she had had a chance to look at it well.  He
was a little surprised she hadn't been trapped inside.
Maybe the door wasn't swinging shut fast enough.  He'd
have to check.

He got a damp cloth from the bathroom and stroked it
over her forehead.  She had been watching him for
several moments before he saw her eyes were open.

She smiled up at him.  "That feel's nice, Sir.  Thank
you."

He gazed down at the calm girl.  He had a feeling he
may have misjudged her.  But that was for later.  Right
now he had to find out where the extra transmitter had
come from.

"Alex, I am very proud of you.  You found all the
sensors I had hidden."

She was beaming up at him.  "Thank you, Sir.  That last
one, that was a mean trick you played on me, Sir."

"Which one was that, Alex?"

"You know, the one that only transmits when you talk,
Sir."

"Oh," he said easily.  His blood, however, ran cold.  A
voice-activated burst transmitter.  Almost impossible
to detect in an electronic sweep.  He was starting to
sweat.

"Uh, remind me where I hid that one.  Was it hard to
find?"

"You bet, Sir.  Would you like me to show you, Sir?  I
found it in the storage closet where you keep all the
old furniture and stuff.  Come on, Sir."

She grabbed his hand and started down the hall to the
storage room.  It was huge, and there were a few things
in here he hoped she hadn't seen or looked through too
closely.  But if there had been a bug in here, then
where else might they have been planted?

Damon grinned as he noticed she gave a very wide berth
to the table with the transistors.  He grinned wider as
he realized the reason for it; she was still wearing
the latex suit.  Maybe there was still hope.

Alex pulled open the door to the storage room and stood
aside for him to enter after flicking on the light
switch.  She was proud of her afternoon's work, even if
she hadn't completely finished.  A couple of more days
and the room would be completely organized.  But
already it was spotless.

Damon stopped, stunned.  He turned slowly to the girl,
his face a mask of anger.

"What have you done, you silly twit?"

"Sir?"

"What were you doing in here?"

"Sir?  You... you said to clean and dust, Sir.  It was
filthy in here.  I cleaned it up.  I can move the
furniture back like it was if you like, Sir.  I was
just trying to make it neat and organized, Sir.  For
you, Sir...."  The girl's hopes of pleasing him dashed,
she was nearly in tears.

He stood, speechless.  How could she be so stupid?
Nobody cleaned up a storage room.  But, on the other
hand, she had found the bug.  And the boxes with the
documents, those were untouched.  He was safe.  She
didn't know anything, and if she did, it wouldn't
matter in a couple of weeks.  Keep in control.
Control, control.

"So Alex," he continued, getting a grip on his panic,
"Where did you find the sensor?  You've moved
everything around and I've forgotten where it was."

Beaming once again, Alex moved over to a tall floor
lamp.  It had been in his office in the club for
several years.  Until just recently, in fact, when he
went with the more modern halogen lamps.  Alex was
disassembling the lamp and pointing, showing him where
the transmitter had been.  He felt sick.

He took the girl and led her back into the dining area.
She held back as she neared the table.

"Please, Sir?"

He looked at her dumbly, then realized she didn't want
to get within range.  "That one is stronger, isn't it?"

"Oh, yes, Sir, and it hurts when it's real close."

"Hurts?"

"Yes, Sir.  Like big shocks, only tiny.  But lots of
them.  It's a lot stronger than the others and it only
makes the shocks, not the vibrations.  I'm sorry if
that's not clear, Sir."

"No, no.  I'll take it back and talk to the
manufacturer."  He pulled her closer.  She came
reluctantly.

He started to say something and she blanched.  He
withdrew to a safe distance with her.

"Why didn't you just take those clothes off?" he asked
her, exasperated.

"May I, Sir?" she answered, the bra already up over her
head, the nipples extracting from the iris clamps with
a slight sucking sound.  The latex panties followed
immediately.  She picked them up and folded them
neatly.

"Thank you, Sir.  I enjoyed it, mostly.  Sir."  She
beamed up at him, like a small puppy awaiting her pat
on the head.

He gave her a warm smile he didn't feel like parting
with and, with a pat on the ass, told her to fix a
light supper for them.  He watched as she fucking
skipped into the kitchen, her domestic instincts taking
over and keeping her fully occupied.  Simple cunt.  He
had other problems to worry about now.

After a light dinner he took her into the small room
next to his bedroom.  The room where he kept his pets.
He put a hand on her shoulder and pushed down slightly.
Alex dropped to her knees readily and looked up
hopefully.  She was moving her hands towards his belt
and zipper when he realized what she was expecting to
happen.  What she was willing and eager to give him.
Her last virginity.

It wasn't time.  Not yet.  And he didn't want her to
give it.  He wanted to take it.  On his terms.  Soon.

"Soon, Alex.  Soon," he echoed his thoughts.  He leaned
down and urged her to her back on the sleeping mat.  He
fastened one wrist, then the other in the shackles by
her head.  Her ankles followed.

Large tears welled up in her eyes.  "Have I displeased
you, Sir?"

He looked down at the confused girl.  He walked away
without answering her question.

He didn't know the answer.

Chapter 11

When the door closed, Alex cried for a while, then got
a grip and forced herself to stop feeling sorry for
herself.  She wondered if those other girls had cried
here.  Of course they had.  But she would not cry over
such a silly thing.  She would just have to try harder
to please Mr. Smith.  She wasn't sure what had gone
wrong tonight, but she would try hard not to do it
again.  Whatever it was.

She had some thinking to do, anyway.  Those boxes in
the storage room, the ones with the documents.  She
hadn't thought anything of them at first, but the names
of the girls had haunted her and drawn her to look
through them with more care.  Each file had contracts,
releases and other legal papers as well as notarized
Powers of Attorney.  She knew what those were.  Her
best friend in high school and she had worked in the
office of the town clerk.  Actually, her friend had the
job and got paid.  Alex just shared it with her and
took her place for a couple of months when her friend
had to leave town for a while to have her baby.  That
way she had the job when she came back.  Alex was glad
to help.

But these were the same kinds of documents they handled
there.  Estate stuff.  Guardianship and Wills.  She had
been fascinated by them, especially after a big local
scandal involving a race horse had been in all the
papers.  She had asked a thousand questions to anyone
who would stop by her desk to flirt with her.  At first
the lawyers and judges had been amused and given her
short answers.  But she kept asking and the questions
got harder and soon, one or two of them had taken her
seriously.  They had spent time with her and she had
learned and asked even more questions.  If she hadn't
gotten married right after high school, she had wanted
to go on to the community college and then Law School.
But Harold had changed all that.

Still, she knew what a lot of those papers were.  And
in the back of each file were the personal ID cards.
Driver's License, Social Security Cards.  Some had
passports and credit cards.  Thinking about it, she
wondered why Mr. Smith had them.  Didn't the girls need
them anymore?  She couldn't think of any reason she
would give up her Driver's License.  It puzzled her for
a long time and she fell asleep, her first night as a
pet.

She awoke in a cold sweat.  She knew why.  If she
hadn't been shackled to the floor she probably would
have bolted out the door of the club and never looked
back.  But the list of names on the bottom of the shelf
stared at her.  Daring her.  Challenging her.  She wept
for those names.

As the long night passed into morning, she found she
had resolved to play the game to the end.  It would be
dangerous.  She would probably end up like them.  But
with her marriage over she had nothing to look forward
to from Harold.  In the last few months, she had seen
too much to ever just go back to the farm.  She didn't
mind the work.  That was fun.

But now she had seen a different side of herself.  She
liked how she felt with Mr. Smith.  She knew she needed
it.  She needed to feel like she had that night, to be
so overcome with emotions that even a brutal whipping
on her pussy by a maniac would send her into the abyss.
Most of all, Alex knew she needed to be owned by him.
To be allowed to call him 'Master.'

It wasn't just for those selfish reasons, though.  Alex
knew that Mr. Smith was probably going to mess with her
head, and selfish reasons weren't going to be strong
enough to keep her on course.  But they could.  She
could do it for them.  For the names on the bottom of
the shelf.  And for Petunia.

Alvin came and freed her in the morning.  His eyes
searched hers as he worked on her wrists, rubbing them
and then her arms to stimulate the circulation.  She
almost said something to him, but his brusque manner
made her hesitate.  She liked him but she didn't know
which side he was on.  He had been nice to her, but so
had Mr. Smith, for the most part.

Alex started to stand up, but he shook his head and got
her to her hands and knees.  He fastened and locked on
her collar and leash and led her to the breakfast area.
Her bowl was ready.  On the floor.

She looked up at him and gave him a wry grin.  For an
instant, he grinned back, then went deadpan.  She
started to reach for the bowl to pick it up but he
slapped her hands away and handcuffed them behind her
back.  So that's the way it was going to be.  Well,
they hadn't had a pet pig named Petunia to have pig
eating contests with.

She ate her breakfast with gusto, her face in the bowl.
She belched loudly as she sat back up, her face a
schmeer of eggs, jam and mush.  She tried licking as
much as she could, but her tongue wasn't designed for
that.

"Alex!  What do you think you are doing?"  Mr. Smith
had come in while she was finishing her breakfast.

"Belching, Sir.  And trying to clean my face, Sir."

"Don't get smart with me.  I don't want to hear it
again."

She didn't see Alvin pleading silently to keep quiet.
She probably would have ignored him even if she had.

"Then don't feed me like a pig, Sir.  Pigs belch
because they eat from a trough.  Have you ever heard a
hog let one loose, Sir?  You can--"

"ENOUGH, bitch!  You are NOT an animal and you aren't
on your precious farm anymore.  I expect you to act
appropriately!"  Mr. Smith was out of his chair and
towering over her, his fists and teeth clenched.  Alex
had no time to react, he moved so fast.  Thundering
over her, he turned without touching her, tossed his
napkin, still tucked in his belt, on the table and
stormed out, grabbing his coffee and a piece of toast
as he left.

Alex grinned stupidly over at Alvin, who stood there
petrified, trembling at Mr. D's anger, his large eyes
two white circles in a mask of black fear.  If Mr. D
had struck at her just now, Alvin would not have
stopped him.  He couldn't have.  Not yet.  He had seen
him in just such a rage, about 18 months ago.  The girl
had made a mistake, spilled his coffee or something,
then made a joke.  Mr. D had flipped out.  Alvin had
left as Mr. D was beating her with his fists.  He
couldn't stop him and he couldn't watch.  She had been
cuffed, just like Miss Alex.  He had never seen the
girl again and Mr. D had never mentioned it.

Alex, watching as Alvin laboriously got his breathing
back under control, slowly grasped that she might have
made a serious misjudgment in sassing back to Mr. Smith
right then.  She would have to watch herself.  She was
making too many mistakes.

Without a word Alvin spread a damp towel on the floor
for her to wipe her face on.  She did so with relish,
refusing to be humiliated by the beastly act.  It
wasn't until he had had her crawl into the bathroom on
just her knees that he had said anything to her.  She
wasn't sure she had heard correctly, but if she had,
she was lucky Mr. Smith had stormed out instead of
beating her up.

He had made her pee and poop in front of him.  With her
arms bound behind her, she couldn't clean herself.  The
giant lifted her up, gently, and set her down on a
bidet.  While the toilet flushed and the water was
gurgling up cleansing her privates, Alvin had leaned
next to her ear, trying to reach the knobs behind her.

"Please be careful, Miss Alex.  He beat his last pet to
death for sassing him.  Watch what you say.  To him and
to me, too.  He's listening and he's watching us," he
had whispered quickly.  At least, that's what she
thought she heard him say.  He did seem honestly
frightened.  So she went along with him.

Alvin had her crawl to the elevator on her knees and
took her up to the club level.  It was the first time
she had been off the apartment level since Mr. Smith
had taken her shopping.  That seemed like such a long
time ago.

Just before the doors opened onto the club level, Alvin
let her stand up and uncuffed her.  Stepping off the
elevator, Mr. Smith was waiting for them.  He was
holding her latex panties and bra.  He handed them to
her.

Grinning widely at him, she fitted the thick crotch
piece in place, making sure he saw her contented sigh
as the knob settled against her asshole.  She also
fitted her nipples into the iris clamps.  Then she
presented herself for his inspection.

Mr. Smith just rolled his eyes at her, but he did give
a grudging smile.  At even that small sign of
recognition, Alex giggled and hugged him like a little
schoolgirl.  She felt his hands slowly go around her
and give her an answering hug.  She let loose
reluctantly as those wonderful hands pried her off of
him.  On impulse, she took one and kissed his palm as
she sank to her knees obediently by his feet.

Her head bowed, she couldn't see Damon's face.  Or the
total disbelief on Alvin's.  Damon stared down at her
for a long moment, then at his palm.  He needed to get
back into control.  This silly little farm girl never
let him get his balance.  What she had just done meant
nothing.  Nothing.  Everything.

He had to get away, get back in control.  Of her and of
himself.  All she had done was find a bug that had gone
undetected for years and innocently told him.  All she
had done was everything he had asked of her.  And then
some.  He had yelled at her.  He had almost struck her.
Yes, that's what pets were for, but she wasn't ready
yet.  The plan wasn't in place yet.  Not yet, but she
was already so much more than any of the others had
been.  He needed to get away from this bewitching
vixen, catch his breath.

Patting her on the head, then leaning down and kissing
her softly on the cheek he told her he would see her in
a couple of days.  Alvin would work with her, but she
was to stay in her old apartment.  He would call her
when to come back.

She beamed up at him and wished him a successful trip
and a speedy return.  She rubbed her cheek suggestively
over his crotch, letting him know wordlessly that she
would be waiting for him when he returned.  He broke
out in a sweat thinking of her soft mouth --  Stop!

She stayed where she was as Damon and Alvin walked to
the front of the club.  He gave his club manager his
list of strange instructions, but didn't tell him why.
Let the SOB figure it out on his own.  He had no doubt
that if there had been one bug planted, there were
others.  He thought about the painful effect the
transmissions had on Alex.  He was almost sorry for
her.  Almost.

The limo was waiting to take him to the airport.  He
had been called to give an account of The Dungeon's P&L
statement to the Board.  His expenditures had been a
bit higher than normal this last quarter.  So had his
profits, but to this Board that was never a
justification to spend more than necessary.  He tried
not to think about Harold's and Marcy's accumulating
expenses that were already fucking up this quarter.  If
that insurance money didn't come in within the next 90
days or so, he was going to have to hide those costs in
the operating expenses, and he hated to do that.  It
screwed up the averages.

He wasn't going to tell the Board about the insurance
scam until the money was in his hands.  It was safer
that way.  Better for them to be surprised and pleased
when it came in than disappointed and pissed if it
didn't.  Not that it wasn't a sure thing.  He didn't
deal with anything else.

Still, he wasn't worried about the meeting tomorrow.
He ran the top club in the syndicate and he had for
years.  He had earned a little latitude.  He wondered
how he was going to get them to spring for the added
security measures he was going to install.  He was now
convinced they were necessary, but how could he explain
his sudden about-face without admitting the security of
his own club had been breached.  Then again, the
bastards probably already knew.

He'd suspected for a long time that Alvin was reporting
to them.  He didn't have proof, and it was actually a
sign of their respect for him that they spied on him.
Either that, or it was a competing club wanting to
steal his secrets.  Thank God his telephone line was
scrambled and secure.  Regardless, they'd let him
squirm, but he'd get the security.

***

"Shit, Miss Alex, what's wrong with you?" boomed the
deep voice above her.

They had been walking around the bar for three hours,
just like Mr. D had told him to.  Taking a break they
were sitting silent at the bar, sipping Cokes, when he
had said something and she had collapsed, flopping
around on the floor.  Alvin was now crouched over the
thrashing figure, concern in his voice and his posture.
He just needed to know which way to strike out and he
would try to save her from her torment.

"Quiet.  Please," she whispered.

"No, it's OK, here.  He can't hear us here," he said in
normal voice.

Alex continued to thrash around and finally managed to
put her finger over his lips.  He seemed to understand
she needed silence and slowly she was able to get
herself under control.  She crawled away from the bar
area until she was a good twenty feet away.  This
little bugger was even stronger.

Alex stripped off the latex panties to Alvin's amused
gaze.  She stuck her tongue out at him.  It wasn't as
if he hadn't seen it all before.  He'd just have to
deal with it.  The pain on her inflamed and unfulfilled
cunt was just too intense to keep them on.  She would
leave the bra on and grit her teeth while they found
this new transmitter.

Walking back to Alvin bare-assed she giggled at his
expression.  Maybe she ought to let him wear the
panties and see how he reacted when she shouted in the
transmitter.  That made her giggle louder and she
detected the first stinging pains on her breasts that
indicated the chip was active.

Using the same technique she had worked out yesterday
in the storeroom, she sang a nonsensical nursery rhyme
as she quartered the bar, triangulating the source of
the stimulus.  What she did was mark the floor with a
match torn from a matchbook, laid down by her toes
where she first felt the tingles.  Then she would move
away and try from a different approach.  It was simple,
once you figured it out.

Alvin sat silent, watching her with interest.  He
didn't know what she was doing, but he recognized a
triangulation search pattern when he saw one.  After
watching her mark three spots, he had already figured
out where the point of focus was.  Miss Alex did two
more.  She was either new at this or very careful.

Alex reached for a glass from the bar and carefully
placed it in the estimated center of the five points
she had marked.  Her chest throbbed with pain, but she
fought through it.  She looked puzzled.  There was
nothing there where something was supposed to be.
Underneath, the bar was empty.  She ran her hand over
the bottom of the solid wood.  It was smooth and
natural.  She looked at Alvin.

An enlightened smile flashed across her face as she
continued to look up, past his face, and up the hanging
shelf above the bar.  There were recessed lamps in the
bottom, one directly above the glass.  With as squeal
of triumph she hopped up on the bar and pulled the
fixture loose from the hole it was set into.  Grinning
proudly, she plucked the tiny transmitter from where it
was taped and laid it on the bar.  She replaced the
fixture and looked expectantly at Alvin.

She didn't know what to expect from him, but horror
wouldn't have been high on the list.  He just sat
there, staring at the little silicon chip.  Thankfully,
he was silent.

Making a snap decision, Alvin reached past her and
grabbed one of the bar aprons.  He quickly bundled it
around Miss Alex, covering her nakedness, though she
was still showing a lot of leg.  He headed for the door
of the club and hustled her outside and down to a small
neighborhood diner a block further down past the club.
She hadn't even known it was there.

Alvin was silent, thinking furiously.  He was trying to
recall all of the conversations he had had within fifty
feet of that light fixture.  He had swept the place
himself several times and had never found it.  It was
one of the few places inside the club he had thought
Mr. D couldn't hear.  The bug wasn't the latest
technology, so he had to assume that it had been there
for a long time.  It would be too easy to make the
mistake that someone had bought it cheap and recently.
The people he dealt with didn't buy cheap.  Neither did
he.

Then, the more he thought about it, the more he guessed
Mr. D didn't know about the bug, either.  Maybe, just
maybe this would save his neck.  If Mr. D thought there
was a rogue third party or even the Feds, just maybe he
could get out of this alive.  He eyed the girl across
the table from him.  He had a sudden hunch.

"Miss Alex, I'm sorry about grabbing you so hard."

"That's OK.  What's for lunch?  I'm starved!"

She grinned up at him.  Being an interracial couple,
and her practically naked besides, they were causing
quite a stir in the little diner.  She didn't think he
even noticed the stares of the blue collar men
surrounding them.

"Huh?  Oh."  He turned to the man behind the counter.
"Hey, Louie!  Two specials and two strawberry shakes,"
he called out.

"Comin' up," came the answer.

Knowing Louie was apparently the key here, as the lunch
crowd turned back to their sports pages and lotto
picks, leaving the new pair alone.

"Miss Alex," he started.

"What's the special, Alvin?"

He glared at her.  "How the Hell should I know?  I've
never been in here before."

"Well, then.  How do you know Louie?"

Rolling his eyes, he pointed at a spot above his heart
and waggled his finger back and forth.  Looking as the
man behind the counter and squinting, she could just
make out his nametag, which proclaimed him "Louie."

"Oh."

"May I talk now?"

"Are you going to ask me what happened yesterday and
last night with Mr. Smith and me?"

"Should I?  I'd hate to pry."

"Yes."  She ignored his sarcasm.

He growled at her in exasperation and she giggled.

"Miss Alex, what happened last night?  Please tell me
the whole story.  I promise not to interrupt."  He gave
her a sweeping gesture, as if she now held the floor.
He ended by cupping his chin in his hand, the picture
of rapt attention.

She stuck her tongue out at him for being a spoilsport.
She was having fun teasing him.  Then, in a
surprisingly concise manner, she summarized the events
of the previous day, only leaving out the part about
the names and the documents in the box.  He listened
intently, keeping his promise not to break in with
questions.  When she was done, he just stared at her.

She realized they were both in the same predicament.
Could they trust the other?  She hadn't really told him
anything he wouldn't have figured out eventually. But
she didn't know which side he was on.  He was probably
wondering what the Hell she was up to, as well.  Even
she wasn't sure of that herself half the time.

They were still eyeing each other speculatively when
Louie dropped the huge plates with the specials in
front of them.  It turned out the special was the most
expensive item on the menu, a private joke among the
regulars.  Regardless of the practical joke, the food
was not laughing matter.  The thick steaks were tender
and cooked to perfection.  The piles of hash browns and
heaps of tender buttered corn were also tasty.  They
attacked the mounds of food with gusto.  He finished
off what she couldn't eat, spearing her meat from her
plate without asking.  In retaliation, she stole the
rest of his double-thick shake just as he was reaching
for it.  He paid, and they left.

Now knowing what to look for, they searched the rest of
the club level.  They found two more bugs planted in
the public areas, both near the satellite bars.
Whoever had placed them wanted to hear what was said at
the bars.  It didn't make sense.

On a whim, Alvin took her into a large storage area in
the back.  Two more bugs were found in some fixtures
they hadn't had a chance to throw out.  But that table
and lamp set had been the one where Mr. D always sat
and watched the crowd.  His private table.  Alvin
didn't say but she saw the shiny brass "Private" sign
fastened to the edge of the table and suspected that
was what it was.

Mr. D's new table was clean, at least as far as this
type of transmitter was concerned.  Undaunted, the pair
meticulously disassembled and inspected the entire
area.  It was Alex' tiny fingers that discovered a tiny
ultra-modern chip in the leg of the table.  She showed
it to Alvin, who just grinned.  Now he knew who it was.

She was surprised when he made her put it back exactly
where she had found it, but she did it.  They
reassembled the table and went to finish searching in
the office area.  As they walked down the hallway,
Alvin leaned over and whispered in her ear, "If you
find one in here, can you pretend there isn't one?  If
the answer is 'yes', trip on the carpet going in the
room."

Alex squealed as she tripped going into Mr. Smith's
office.  Alvin barked at her to pick up her sorry ass
and get to work.  She quartered the office, mentally
cursing him every time her tits throbbed.  She had
found three.  One in his desk lamp, one near the bar
and one in the chair Lewis had sat in the night Mr.
Smith injected him.  Whoever was listening had heard
Mr. Smith threaten Lewis.

Alex used a series of obnoxious delays and gestures to
let Alvin know where the bugs were.  They got pretty
good at 'yes' and 'no' by rolling their eyes.  He was
smiling at her when they were finished, but they both
knew it was now a deadly serious game they were in.

Chapter 12

Harold came back to his old apartment frustrated and
pissed off.  He looked around at the dump she lived in
and he couldn't believe how he had managed to survive
all those years living like this.  Or how that bitch
who called herself Mrs. Wilson could call this 'home.'
The place was a fucking disaster.  A squalid, vermin-
infested sty.

They had laughed at him today.  At Suzie's Whorehouse,
out on Route 117.  When he was living here, he'd been
going there every fucking Wednesday for almost a year
before he came home to his cold wife.  He'd never been
laughed at before.  It was humiliating.

He couldn't figure it out.  For more than a month now
he'd been putting the wood to Marcy like John Henry
drove railroad spikes.  All fucking day long, day after
day.  He felt like he had been reborn, come into his
own, his virility greater than when he had been a
pimply-faced teenager.  Then today, when he went in and
slapped down his new Gold Card, he had taken three of
the most expensive whores upstairs, booking them for
two hours.  They had fucking fallen asleep waiting for
inspiration to strike him, but only after they made
sure the whole establishment had heard of his flop.
Inadequate, they had called him and then made him sign
the charge slip, including a huge tip.

To add insult to injury, he couldn't even get a twitch
in the vertical direction for his loving wife, the cold
bitch.  It didn't even help to remember her bending
over the couch like last time, her tight little asshole
squeezing him dry as he humped her ass.  There was
nothing.  Nada.  Zip.

He had to be so fucking sweet to her tonight, too.  He
had hoped to get her in a good mode by balling her.
Then he could have gotten her to do anything.  Sweet
talk the cunts and fuck them good.  Then they'd do
anything for you.

He'd managed the sweet talk but she seemed cool,
distant somehow.  Oh, she was very polite and smiled at
him, but she seemed sad, somehow.  Probably that time
of the fucking month.  Just his luck.  There was no way
was he going to stick his dick in that smelly swamp of
a pussy, so maybe it was just as well to give his pride
and joy a well-deserved rest.

He had to get her to sign those papers.  He shuffled
them in with a lot of health insurance forms, and
general information stuff from the company.  There
wasn't a ghost of a chance she would even notice it was
there.  Marcy had marked all the places for her to sign
with and "X" and highlighted it in a neon pink color.

He watched her as she waded though the forms.  She was
fucking reading them!  What did she expect to do,
understand Corporate America?  She was from fucking
Hicksville, Minnesota, for Chrissakes!

He had to think of something else.  He had to keep
cool.  He-- they needed her cooperation for the plan to
get put into effect.  Oh, God!  She was reading the
life insurance policy and was checking the fucking
actuarial tables.  He was an accountant and he had
trouble with those fucking things.  ...  Oh Shit!  ...
No, thank God!  It looked for a second like she was
going to ask a stupid ass question.  ...  There!  One
signature.  ...  Oh, for fucking shit.  Just sign the
damn things.  ..  Oh, Christ!  Don't look back at what
you've already done.  We'll be here all fucking night
and this place in giving me the creeps.  What a rat-
infested shit-hole.

Alex finished signing the stack of forms and placed
them in a neat pile.  They were an interesting
assortment of nonsense, almost enough to make her want
breeze through them without reading them.  But Daddy
had taught her to never sign anything without
understanding it.

"Should I take these to the post office and mail them
for you, Harold?" she asked.  "I think I have enough
money for stamps."

"Oh, no.  Don't bother.  I'll have Marcy drop them in
the outgoing mail when I get back.  As an executive, I
get free postage from the company.  It's one of the
special perqs."  Fucking bitch just wanted more money.
Well, now that she had signed the forms, he was done
with her.  She had gotten the last dime she was getting
from him.  She could get a job and make her own money,
like he did.

Alex heard the name 'Marcy' and her heart broke in two.
She died a little, even though it had been over between
them for a long time.  She had known, since she had
overheard the telephone call.  True, Mr. Smith had not
used Harold's name, but she knew.  A woman knows.

Hearing him speak the name of the 'other woman' so
easily in her presence was the hardest thing she had
ever heard.  Yet she didn't cry.  They still had to
spend the night together.  He wondered if he would be
able to tell the difference in her, her increased
sensuality and her increased sexuality.  She was still
his wife and she was ready and willing to give him
whatever he demanded.  She hoped and prayed he wouldn't
take her mouth, but she would sacrifice even that for
her husband if that was what he wanted.  In her heart,
she hoped he wouldn't, and she wasn't going to offer,
either.  She was saving that for, for, well, she didn't
know what to call him.

Yes she did.  She wanted to call him 'Master.'  With
all her heart and soul, that was what she wanted.  It
shook her to as that came to her, yet it calmed her.
Grinning wryly, she now understood her first
misunderstanding of what he said he preferred to be
called.  He had told her, from the very first time they
had met.  "Master Smith."  He had known then and had
been so patient with her.

Unbelievably, Harold didn't want sex from her.  He
didn't even undress before he went to bed.  He acted
like the sheets were dirty or that there were bugs or
rodents crawling around the apartment.  But soon he was
snoring and Alex was able to get back up and re-examine
those insurance papers.

She found them very interesting and vaguely familiar.
If she was reading all the paperwork correctly, what
Harold was involved in was a variation on a huge scam a
race horse owner had pulled back in Wisconsin.  The
only difference was that in this case, Harold was the
horse.  Back home, the guy had used a trumped up,
worthless old nag with a false, but documentable track
record.  An altered ID tattoo here, a few charred
remains in a barn fire there, and the insurance company
was paying out a couple of hundred thousand bucks for
what amounted to a pile of overcooked dog food.

The insurance policy was too big.  That's what made her
suspicious.  That and the off-shore bank account.  Why
did they need one of those?  She thought long and hard
about telling Harold of her suspicions.  She had
started to say something when she first saw the policy
stuck in among all the other crap.  But she hadn't.  He
wouldn't listened to her, anyway.  He was too excited
about this, too involved.

She wondered how they had suckered him into doing this.
She figured they had made it seem like his idea, his
scheme.  Now, he thought that this was his big break.
She was his wife and he needed her help to pull it off.
That made her an accomplice to it, plus she was the
named beneficiary.  That explained the off-shore
account.  They wouldn't be likely to check if he were
really dead.  It was a risk and he was putting them
both in danger, but if he was willing to take it, she
would support him.

She did, however, make a couple of changes to the
policy.  Minor checkboxes that wouldn't add much to the
premium, but added tons to the benefits as well as
splitting the deposit accounts.  Just in case someone
else could get access to the account.  Like Marcy.  She
doubted he would notice.

What kept nagging at her was Mr. Smith's involvement in
the scam.  She had already witnessed his ruthlessness.
Alvin even said he was involved with something to do
with Harold.  But maybe Alvin was just saying that to
confuse her.  He had tried to scare her by telling her
Mr. Smith had beaten a girl to death.  She didn't think
he could, but, well, maybe.  He had been very angry.

She was confused, pulled by her longings one way and
her gut the other.  She so wanted to believe in Mr.
Smith, wanted him to be the Master she was longing for
that it was hard for her to believe anything bad about
him.  She was even beginning to doubt he had really
killed Lewis.  Maybe he was just scaring him.  There
hadn't been any police asking questions or anything.

Harold left at first light.  She had his coffee waiting
for him, made just like he liked it.  He had tossed it
out, said it tasted funny.  Marcy's was better.

She didn't say anything to him about the scam.  Now,
she didn't care.

Alex waited for Damon's call for three days.  She
wasn't idle.  She borrowed one of her nicer neighbor's
sewing machines and made some alterations in the few
clothes she had.  If she had learned anything from the
past couple of weeks, it was how to look sexy and how
to make clothes look as sexy as possible.

With quick and sure stitches and snips, she altered her
one remaining blouse, modified Harold's silk shirt and
then completely redid her Sunday dress.  The white one
with the little flowers.  When she was done, she stood
in front of the cracked mirror on the closet.  She'd
probably best not wear this to church anymore, she
giggled to herself.  She could see clear through it and
it fit a lot tighter now.  She brushed her thumbs over
her protruding nipples and watched as they stiffened to
their full height.  They were always aroused now, and
it made her feel sexy.

The slits up the side of the skirt had gone a little
higher than she had intended, but with the high
waistline the long skirt bound her thighs too much.
She could have cut the bottom off and hemmed it up, but
she rather liked the sexy effect of the slits.  When
she twirled around the material flew up and you could
see her dark hair between her thighs.  Oh, she felt
wicked.  Wonderfully wicked.

Damon came back from his meeting late and furious.  It
had not been the meeting he had been prepared for.
Someone was feeding them all the wrong information.  He
was convinced now it was Alvin, and that made the
bastard expendable.  He had just the thing, too.  He
had picked it up from an untraceable source, but it was
delicious revenge.  It was un-fucking-believable.  Give
the guy a break, help him make something of himself,
and how does he repay you?  Fucking stabs you in the
fucking back, that's how!

As soon as he had got to the resort he had sensed
something was wrong.  First, the bitch was there with
her sniveling toadies.  She never came to these low-
level business meetings.  What was she doing here?

How a female had gotten on the Board was a topic of
much discussion, but Damon leaned towards the
inheritance theory.  He had heard that she got on after
her husband died, leaving all the blackmail evidence he
had accumulated on everyone else in her fucking little
hands.  Others said she fucked her way onto the board,
but even 50 years younger she would have been ugly.
Damon didn't buy that one.  The most ridiculous theory,
however, held that she had fucking outperformed every
other director the company had ever had.  Like that was
possible!

She had not avoided Damon right from the first
reception, as she usually did when they met.  She had
several male 'secretaries' and attendants to care for
her needs and she wasn't really his type.  Too wrinkled
and ugly, though he had only expressed that opinion in
his office.  Privately.

Waggling her finger at him, she motioned him over to
her.  Smiling and silently cursing her and her fucking
mother who gave birth to her, he made his way
gracefully over into her sphere of influence, edging
out some of the lesser toadies.  She made him stand by
her, smiling and laughing.  The directors were
constantly judged by their grasp of social graces, and
this bitch was the one board member you didn't say 'No'
to.  Not if you wanted to keep your job, much less your
head.

By the end of the reception, an interminable length of
three hours, she had maneuvered him so that he was
somehow kneeling at the foot of her chair.  Like a
fucking slave!  Impossible, but she had done it.
Everyone there saw him kneeling, smiling and laughing
up at her.  Sucking up.  They had to have seen, as she
had made several general announcements from her chair,
her fucking throne, her sharp nail digging into the
soft tissue of his carotid artery.  If he stood he
would be committing suicide.  In more ways than one.
No one but her sycophantic secretary could see her
lethal grip and that cocksucking bastard just giggled
until he peed his pants.

His public humiliation could have been mitigated at the
business meeting, but he hadn't been there.  A junior
flunky he had never heard of from headquarters gave his
report and was promoted on the spot.  The bastard had
been one of the bitch's toadies and had gotten the new
club in South Beach.  It wasn't that Damon wanted to
move down there with all that money and beautiful
women, it was the principle of the thing.

He hadn't been at the meeting because he had been tied
up at the time.  Literally.  For the first time ever.
Elizabeth fucking Farnsworth had commanded --
Commanded! -- him back to her room.  For a quick little
private chat.

She had roofied him.  The date-rape drug of choice.
When he came to, he was naked, sore and confused, with
several days growth on his face.  He couldn't move.

There was a slide show running on the hotel TV channel
complete with sounds, flashing through the pictures one
by one by one.  A hundred or so.  All of him.  Over and
over, it just kept playing.  Everyone in the resort
would see them and he was sure they would have been e-
mailed or posted on a web site also.  He would have.

There were pictures of him sucking the bitch's cunt,
white semen running out of it and over his tongue and
down his chin.  Others were of him kissing her wrinkled
ass, his tongue stuck way up inside it.  One series
showed her pissing on his face, flabby thighs
straddling his head, his mouth open and a chunk of
brown shit on the tip of his nose.

Those kinds of pictures he could have lived down.  And
live with.  Given enough time.  The photos with the
faggot secretary he couldn't.  How could he explain
having an erection while sucking the guy's cock?  And
those groans of passion, obviously in his own voice,
urging the fat cock deeper into his own ass, all while
pictures of him being sodomized by the little fucker,
who, incidentally, wasn't so little, were being flashed
on the screen for all to see and hear.

He had been bound with wire hangers and left for the
cleaning crew to find.  They found him wearing a pink
lacy padded cross-dresser's bra and pantyhose with
enough lipstick and mascara to paint a small house.  He
wondered where the pictures of him like this would show
up.

He had been thoroughly humiliated.  By the time he was
freed, everyone had left the resort and his chartered
jet had been sent home.  At least he hadn't had to face
them.  There had been a ticket in coach class on a no-
name airline waiting for him at the desk, along with a
huge room-service tab.  He knew better than to change
the reservation or upgrade.  He would take it, take all
the shit she could throw at him.  He had seen others.
The directors were tested.  He'd never seen a test
quite like this one, but he was sure it was a test.

There was a note waiting for him, too.  A warning.  The
bitch wanted a five million dollar increase this
quarter or the local police would get a tape that would
make them reconsider a recent suicide in his little
town.  Make it happen or else.  His blood ran cold when
he saw the amount she was demanding.

She knew everything, even to the exact amount of the
insurance scam.  And only one person could have helped
her.

Alvin met him just inside the club.  He had obviously
been waiting for him in the small security office by
the front entrance.  He'd probably been viewing his
copy of the pictures from the meeting.  He wondered if
he had copies of the cross-dressing session.

The big man took his arm, gently, but firmly and
ushered him back outside the club and down to a rundown
diner a block down the street.  The place was deserted
and no wonder.  It was a fucking dive.

What his club manager told him stunned him.  The place
was bugged and had been for years.  Years!  He had
thought they'd find maybe one or two, but almost ten
devices had been found.  He was even more stunned when
Alvin told him about the ultra-modern devices only
recently out of R&D from the spy shops.  very trendy,
very powerful and almost impossible to detect.  He
didn't need to mention Alex' help in the search.

He reconsidered his previous assessment of Alvin's
loyalty.  He had expected there to be a bug in his
office and that he would tell him about it.  He had had
no reason to tell him of all three or of the newest
ones at his reserved table.  He could tell Alvin was
worried, too.  He probably had some things to hide, as
well.  Any good club manager did a little business on
the side.  The question was; Who was Alvin afraid of?
The obvious answer was the Feds.  He didn't like
obvious answers usually, but this time he was going to
go with.

The reason he did was that Damon knew the bugs weren't
the Feds, so that meant Alvin wasn't working for them.
Convoluted logic, but it fit.  The big guy was ethical,
had integrity and couldn't stand the sight of blood.
He was just a little dirty on the side.  Damon could
live with that.  He could work with that, too, and make
it work to his advantage.  He filed that information
away for future use.

He felt better than he had in days.  Much better.  He
felt even better when he got his phone messages and
heard that the life insurance policy on Harold had been
filed.  The agent had already received a favorable
reading from the company, too.

Alex answered his call on the first ring and was in his
office with a small overnight bag within the hour.  He
had asked her if she wanted to continue her training --
he had used that word specifically -- and she had
readily agreed.  He said he wanted her to stay with him
at the club until she was ready.  He didn't say for
what or how long she would be here and she didn't ask.

He noticed she was more subdued than when he had left.
He wondered what had happened, but didn't pry.  It was
a move in the right direction.  He would just keep her
moving along that path.

He kept her standing in her new white blouse, sexy
short skirt and bare feet for about 30 minutes.  He
wasn't busy and she knew it.  He just wanted her to
wait.  He was pleased to see she did so without
fidgeting or complaint.  Things were coming together.
She seemed to be back under control, and right now she
was the key to her future.  He'd show that bitch
Farnsworth, then shove his humiliation down her throat.
Then rip out her heart.

Alex sensed a change in Mr. Smith, too.  He had no
humor about him now, no sense of joy.  He was still
very polite, but he was cold, like he was dead.  Her
heart ached for him, and she vowed to please him as
best she could.

She looked carefully around the room.  Several things
had been changed, including the chair she had been
using for her education.  Her training.  The chair was
missing and the monitors had been moved.  The security
cameras were active in each of the separate screens,
showing the various views of the club.  They were empty
and still, except for the ones that captured Alvin
moving about the club.  He was using something that
looked like a metal detector and was working
methodically around all the floors, walls and ceiling
of the club.  Every once in a while he would put a
small mark on a large floor plan of the club.  He would
look at it and shake his head.

She saw Mr. Smith watching her watch the screens.  He
smiled nice, like he meant it and it set her heart
racing.  She chided herself for reacting like a
schoolgirl then let her feelings go.  It was what she
wanted, to please him.  He was happy, and that made her
happy.

"I have you to thank for that, Alex.  Thank you."

"Sir?"  She didn't know what he was referring to.

He seemed puzzled that she didn't know what he was
talking about.  Then it struck him.  She didn't know
what a bug was, or had never seen one.  He remembered
her reaction to the latex training clothes.  She had
thought it was a game, a contest.

"Never mind.  Are you ready to continue your training?"

"Yes, Sir!" she said eagerly.

He took a collar from his drawer, the same one she had
worn before, and fastened it around her neck.  He
attached the chrome leash.

Without a word, he tugged on it and led her out of the
office.  She followed obediently.

Chapter 13

They took the elevator down to the third level.  It was
cooler down here and she could hear the thrumming of
big machines in some of the rooms they passed.  The
doors were labeled for maintenance, furnace, HVAC, and
a huge freezer.  There were also some huge vats of
water with pumps and filters running.  They looked like
huge aquariums as there was some sand and plants in
them.  She didn't see any fish, but she assumed they
kept the live lobsters for the special banquets in
them.  The tanks were big enough to swim in.

Mr. Smith turned into a room about in the middle of the
building.  There were only a couple more rooms further
down and then the hall opened up into a big space.  It
was dark but she saw some equipment scattered around
the darkened space.  The darkness seemed to draw her to
it, calling to her.  It was such a brief feeling, then
Mr. Smith had unlocked the door and tugged her out of
the open hallway.  She wasn't sure that she had felt
it.  She shook her head.  She didn't believe in such
nonsense and superstition.  It was just her excitement
affecting her.

The training room was Spartan but spacious.  Two large
screens, a locked cabinet, and an apparatus made from
steel tubing, mostly.  There were some rings set into
the floor and some wires hanging from the ceiling with
hooks on them.  The sight of them made her shiver in
anticipation.  There were wires running from the
cabinet to the apparatus.

That was what drew her attention.  It was fashioned
from tubular steel and was set firmly into floor.  The
body of the frame was a single tube in an 'L' shape
about two feet tall and one foot long across the base.
From the top of the 'L' extended a centered crossbar
about two feet wide.  A post from the center of the
base was embedded firmly into the cement of the floor.
There were two protrusions sticking up at different
angles from the base, angled slightly towards each
other.  Alex had an ominous feeling where those were
supposed to go.

Below the base, attached to the base were two
extensions pointing forward and out.  They reminded her
of the stirrups in the OB-GYN office.  All of the parts
were adjustable, polished and gleaming in the bright
spot lights focused on it.

"How do you like the chair?" he asked.

He called it a 'chair.'  Now she knew why those knobby
things had filled her with dread.  No, not dread.
Uneasy anticipation.

"It looks uncomfortable, Sir."

"HA!" he burst out, as if that was the least of his
concerns.  When she thought about, she supposed it was.
It pleased her that he wasn't concerned with her
comfort, in a perverse way.  She wanted to experience,
to feel to the fullest whatever it was he had prepared
for her.

Unsnapping her leash, he directed her over to an open
area.  He opened the cabinet and she could see an
assortment of electrical equipment.  He pushed a button
and music flooded the room.  Music with a strong
seductive beat, music that went straight to her pussy
and tickled her.  It was the same music that she had
heard on the videos.  The videos with the girls
dancing.  Beautiful, sensuous dancing.

He watched her as she moved to the music.  Her
programming was already taking effect and she didn't
know it.  Her moves were much improved from just a
month ago.  He found it hard to believe that that
awkward housewife was the same person as the sexy vixen
in front of him now.

After a while he moved behind her and let her feel his
arousal.  Soon he would satisfy his lusts, but first
she had to be his and his alone.  He moved his hands to
the top button on her blouse.  It came undone.

He could feel her shudder as the cool air brushed
across the slight opening in the blouse.  He moved his
hands to the second button and her hands interrupted
his.  Turning to face him she slowly and sexily
unbuttoned the entire blouse.  Teasing him a little,
she turned away and bared one shoulder, pulling the
blouse off that one side.

Damon smiled at her playfulness, encouraging her.  Soon
she bared the other shoulder and turned to face him.
She was holding the blouse to her chest, but not to
hide from him.  She was teasing him with the
infuriatingly slow descent of her hands.

One nipple popped into sight and for a long agonizing
moment stood alone.  It was joined by its twin
eventually and the blouse fluttered to the cold
concrete.

If anything, the sensuality of her movements increased
as she danced topless.  She caressed her body without
touching it, teasing both of them with the promise of
pleasure withheld.  Her hips moved on their own accord,
the short skirt flipping up, flashing her charms at
him.

Damon looked pointedly at her skirt.  Her fingers
fumbled from excitement as she worked with the closing
button.  She finally opened it and slid the zipper
down.  She made no pretext of teasing him this time.
She had dreamed of this moment from the first time she
had seen the video.  She had wanted to dance naked for
him, to arouse him, to please him.  She hadn't been
conscious of her longings, but now she knew.  This was
what she wanted.

Damon let her dance, and was pleased.  He took a black
silk cord from his pocket, smooth, soft and very strong
and handed it to the writhing girl.  The four foot
length wasn't short, but wasn't overly long.  It was
the final piece of the dance.

Alex accepted the cord without breaking her movements.
The cord hung motionless, trailing on the cold floor.
Then it moved with her, to her, caressing her as if it
had a life of its own.  First it wrapped itself around
her left leg, curling slowly from the thigh down to her
ankle.  She stopped momentarily, as if surprised at its
soft embrace.  Then in a trance, she pulled the end in
her hand upwards, letting the length of the cord rub
against her aroused center.

She repeated the move with the right leg and then
pulled it up so that it rubbed her inflamed clit.  She
was moaning and sweating now, fully aroused.  She was
aware Mr. Smith was in the room, but she was dancing
for the love of the dance now, totally immersed in the
sensuality of her body.

The cord found its way between her thighs, held by one
hand in front and another behind her body.  Back and
forth it sang, making music like a bow on a violin.
Faster and faster, grunting with the effort.

The music stopped.  She hung there, on the edge.

"Stop!"

The command came like a slap in the face.  Wild-eyed
she looked up at the man who controlled her,
manipulated her.  Her breathing ragged, her senses
dulled for everything but fulfillment not achieved.
Aching, she turned to him, her controller, moving to
him as he directed her.

Damon took the silken cord from the trembling figure
and drew her hands behind her back.  Starting with her
wrists, he bound them tightly, winding the cord up
higher and higher on her forearms, pulling them
together until her elbows touched.  The girl groaned
but did not complain.  The pain kept her on the edge
and, as she had sought pleasure, she now embraced the
pain she was feeling.

It wasn't enough to push her over, however, though he
would have allowed it without punishing her.  This
time, at least.  He wanted her to experience as much
pleasure as possible during this phase.  In fact, he
wanted to drive her crazy with lust.  From this moment
on, his little project would never be without some sort
of insidious stimulus.  In two weeks, she would be
putty in his hands.  Totally.

Damon led her over to the apparatus and backed her up
to the center bar, her legs straddling the base.  He
lifted her bound arms over the crossbar at her back and
urged her gently to sit down.  She knew without looking
where the knobs were aimed and, in her present
condition, was looking forward to them invading her.
Perhaps they would provide her with the relief she so
desperately sought.

She screamed as they impaled her, front and rear.  They
weren't long but they were much thicker than Harold
was.  Unbelievably, he was still all she had to compare
anything to, although she had seen pictures.  And she
had felt the hugeness of Mr. Smith.  Alex moved her
hips back and forth, forcing the thick knobs to touch
each part of her throbbing tissues.  She came again and
then again, finally slowing in her frantic motions.

The crossbar lay comfortably between her upper arms and
her back.  Well, almost comfortably, but Alex relished
the awkwardness of it.  Mr. Smith seemed fascinated
with the effects this position had on her breasts,
making them rise and protrude.  She had done something
similar with Cathy, her best friend from high school.
They were vamping at a sleep-over, pretending to be
sexy models or something..  Then, she was exploring all
the aspects of her newly developed boobies, and the
feelings she had then were nothing what was coursing
though her body now.

Her legs fit naturally into the stirrups below the
chair, her knees splayed outward.  Thick leather straps
just below the knee and around the ankle kept them
firmly in place.  The chair was actually much more
comfortable than she had imagined when she first saw
it, but then, she was hornier now than then.

Damon moved to the cabinet and pushed a button.  The
training chair was already programmed.  Four sessions
in it and she would be a mindless automaton, seeking
pleasure, pain or oblivion, at his command.  He watched
for a while then left the room as the deeply imbedded
vibrating and throbbing probes sent the first shocks
through her lower body.  In later session he would add
the electrodes for her nipples, navel, toes and tongue.

The shocks today would build through pleasurable levels
to painful ones, increasing in strength until she lost
consciousness.  When the chair sensed her collapse, the
program would pause automatically as she recovered,
then start in again at a lower, more tolerable level.
It would build again, forcing her to accept greater and
greater stimuli, until that line between pain and
pleasure were forever blurred in her mind.

The visual and audio cues were designed to complement
the physical feelings of vibration and electrical
shock.  He had spent thousands of dollars developing
this training machine and the programming for it.  It
had paid for itself many times over.  He used it not
just to train his pets, but practically every dancer
that came through the club spent time on it.  After
being trained, there was never any problem getting them
to do those lucrative private parties.

Lots of dancers wouldn't do those private gigs.  Word
got around.  It wasn't all uncommon at these orgies
that the dancer would be 'accidentally' snuffed in the
drug-induced debauchery, if not permanently scarred or
disfigured, but they were easily replaced.

Pets were another matter.  They fed his need for total
control.  They would be pampered, coddled, used, and
abused, at his beck and call, totally subservient.
When he was sated, he would share them, with only a
select few at first, then with any who could pay the
price.  It was a very high price, as his pets were
always the best of the best.  There were many who would
willingly pay the price, however, and the pets would
rush to do his bidding, begging for more.  When they
were of no more use to him, he would put them down,
gently and with care, as a good master should.

Damon knew this pet would be different, though.  He had
to get as much out of her as he could, while he could.
He resisted the nagging tug he felt at his heart as he
thought of the exuberant and free spirit she offered so
willingly to him.  He shut out the faint nudge that
said this one was special.  That she was the one.

In a rage, Damon envisioned Elizabeth Farnsworth's
wrinkled cunt hanging over his face, her piss running
into his eyes and mouth.  He shoved any thoughts of
reprieve for the girl in the chair out of his mind.
Pets were replaceable and cheap.  He had a deadline
approaching and five million dollars to make.  It was
her tough luck she was in his way.

Alex was lost in a sea of emotions.  She was cleaning
the bar in the afternoon, naked, after her first
training session.  Everything she touched, saw, heard
or smelled reminded her of a hard cock or a steamy
cunt.  She had cravings she had never felt before.  She
wanted to lick a woman and suck up her juices.  She
wanted a cock up her ass.  Not just any cock.  A big,
hard one.

She had had trouble getting out of the bathroom.
Urinating tickled her clit.  Shitting was so
pleasurable she screamed in orgasm.  The bidet made her
shudder several times over before Alvin had found her,
her genitals looking like wrinkled prunes.

She had seen the dance for the first time.  The whole
dance.  She knew what he wanted, now.  It didn't
surprise her that it was what she wanted, too.  With
her whole being, it was what she desperately wanted.

The girls in the tapes had danced.  Oh, they had
danced.  Moving, touching, flirting, their clothing
dissolving into the darkness.  They moved in a
brilliance of light, on a stage, a man on a stool in
the shadows, watching.  Not a man.  Their master.

They danced for him.  Only for him.  She could hear the
shouts, the whistles of the others, but there was only
one man for whom they danced.  The shoulders would
bare, then the beautiful breasts.  The shouting would
increase as the dress would tease its way over the
grinding hips.  Then the wisp of lace, so fragile, so
futile in its attempts to cover or protect.

The girls would dance in their hosiery and their heels,
the only thing left from their apparel would be a black
cord.  Her cord.  She knew it was the same one.  She
could sense it, feel their sensuality flooding through
her bound arms.  She watched as they let the cord touch
them, caress them, binding it around their breasts,
spanking the ends teasingly on their throbbing nipples.
Then winding it around their bodies, twining it in
their hair, teasing the master, begging him, seducing
him.  The cord would wrap around their neck, sensuously
sliding, tightening, frightening in its grip, willing
to give even this to the master, their very breath,
then slowly relaxing, shuddering in climax the cord
would sink, lower and lower, touching the private area,
the master's garden.

At a sign from the master, the dancer would move to the
shadows, swaying, pleading for his touch.  The hands
would move, touching, caressing, reassuring the girl.
The cord would once again wind around her body, this
time at the control of the master.  Binding her wrists
behind the back, elbows touching.  It was what he
wanted.  His soft lips on her nipples, possessing her
soul, then urging her back to the stage.

Looking back at the master, the dancer would dance once
more, seeking his permission.  She needed release and
on the floor was a pillar of flesh, an erection, a tool
for her to use.  Lower her hips would sway, lower and
lower, balancing on her high heels until she would
scream, impaling herself completely on the phallic
organ.  Looking always at the man in the shadows.
Seeking to do his pleasure.

Another man, then another would join her on stage,
filling her cunt, fulfilling her needs as she looked at
the man in the shadows.  She was pleasing him, dancing
for him, fucking for him.  Man after man, in her cunt,
in her ass, in her mouth.  Alex was jealous of the
dancers who could take a man between their breasts,
tittie fucking them.  She felt inadequate, somehow,
incomplete.

When the dance was done, the master would be gone.  The
shadows dark, the stool empty.  The lights faded and
the dancers slept in a pool of fluids, sated.

Over and over the videos had run that day.  Over and
over the probes had driven her slowly insane, filling
her with strange desires and cravings.

It was hard work cleaning the bar.  When she didn't do
it right, Mr. Smith or Alvin would lean her over a
table and whip her.  Never in the same place, so she
never knew where she would be whipped.  The lashes
across her bare feet hurt as she limped back to the
bar.  Mr. Smith had done those.  Strange, the lashes
from Alvin didn't hurt as much.  But he was very eager
to punish her until finally Mr. Smith was able to
leave, knowing Alvin would do a good job whipping her.

Alvin sighed a deep sigh of relief when Mr. D finally
left.  Miss Alex was in bad shape, dazed and totally
pliable.  Those blows the bastard had landed on her
feet hadn't fazed her loyalty to him one bit, but they
would hurt for days.

He knew the program she was going through and had
participated in it before with others, dancers.  Never
at this level, and never with one of Mr. D's pets, but
since the business meeting, Mr. D had been different.
Friendly, almost, and that scared the shit out of him.
That man was an explosively dangerous mix of psychotic
and genius.  But keeping close to him meant keeping
close to Alex and right now, he was all the friends she
had.

Alex presented herself to Alvin, the bar sparkling.  He
inspected it carefully.  He would punish her for any
infraction.  He had to, if he wanted to keep Mr. D from
doing it.  Finding none, he leaned her against the bar
and whipped the backs of her thighs.  Not surprisingly,
she accepted the beating and didn't complain.

He knew Mr. D was in his office.  "Go down and clean
the apartment."

"The whole floor, Mr. Alvin?" she asked him innocently.

Something in her question struck her as not quite so
innocent.

"Of course, Miss Alex."

The look she flashed at him for the barest of instances
made him wonder what she was doing, but if was
obviously the answer she had wanted.  He hoped she
wouldn't get them both killed.

Alex went downstairs and immediately got out the
sweeper and the feather duster.  The apartment was
still pretty clean from the last time she was down
here.  Mr. D came down once and slapped her tits,
making her ears ring.  She was beginning to like the
pain when he gave it to her and she didn't mind.

Then Alvin came down and would give her more
reasonable, if unwarranted punishments.  Keeping an eye
on the clock, she timed his visits.  As soon as he had
left for the third time, she made a bee line for the
storage room.

It hadn't changed since she had been in here with Mr.
Smith.  Going directly to the boxes she rifled through
them and pulled one item from each of them.  It only
took her two minutes and another two to secrete the
items where she can get them.

Alvin came back down and she was sitting on a chair
playing with her pussy, fingering herself towards what
appeared to be a tremendous climax.  That is, until he
saw her eyes watching him.  She was acting.

He stormed over to her, and taking his lead from the
nod on her head threw her against a buffet table.  He
saw her hand snake out and grab something behind the
center piece, but only because he was looking for it.
Playing his part, he beat her severely, until she fell
to the ground, grabbing his feet and kissing them,
begging for mercy.

Her last words, as she collapsed were "Why?  Tell me
why?"  She wasn't acting.

Mr. D met him as he came off the elevator.  With a nod,
he simply said, "Good."  As he had suspected, he had
been watching.  He stood there as the doors closed,
watching Mr. D.  He was afraid to move.  Whatever it
was Miss Alex had shoved inside his instep on his shoe
was coming out.

Bending down and retying his shoe, he palmed the stack
of plastic cards in his big hands and went to the front
door.  He called down to the apartment and told Mr. D
he was going home, and what time did he want him in the
morning?  Getting an early hour, he said 'Good Night'
and left.

Damon nudged the faintly striped figure on the floor
with his foot.  He had watched every encounter between
the two and was pleased.  The black man was almost as
ruthless as he, but the marks would fade in a few
hours.  Alvin could take over this part of the
training, the constant breaking down of self-esteem and
infliction of pain.  That would mean he would have his
afternoons free for the next three days to do his own
investigations on the source of the bugs.  Well, not
the source.  But who was listening.  And who had
planted them.  With Alvin cleared, he was fresh out of
suspects.

Leaving Alex on the floor, he remembered something he
had meant to do earlier.  Since she was going to have
free rein of the club and the apartment for the next
few days he would need to lock that storage room.  He
took a key out of his pocket and went to the room at
the end of the hall.  On an impulse he opened the door
and peeked inside.

Everything was as it should be.  He shook his head.  He
really shouldn't keep that stuff.  Oh, he was probably
safe, as the pets had never been reported as missing or
shown up dead.  These were the mementos he kept of
them, of their time together, as a boy with a dog might
keep a treasured photo of the two together at the
beach.  Or the nametag on the collar.  Well, he had his
videos and his pictures.  And he had their papers,
their identities that they had surrendered to him.
Those were his mementos, in those boxes.

He stepped back out and locked the room.  He pocketed
the key.

Chapter 14

Alex realized Mr. Smith had not been idle while she was
working in the bar.  It was, if she had to admit, quite
clever.  Diabolically clever.  It was, she decided,
driving her insane.  Sweetly and pleasurably insane.

She watched the big armature stop and the end of its
long arc, then slowly gather speed.  Gritting her teeth
to keep from screaming again, Alex watched the pendulum
sweep towards her crotch, then lift just as it was
about to touch her and lift away, decelerating.

Alex had woken to the dripping of cold water on her
heated and inflamed skin.  Mr. Smith was standing above
her holding an ice cube.  The melting icy drips were
creating small shock waves within her, striking with as
much effect as the crop had earlier.

Immediately she had rolled over on her knees, head to
the ground and groveled, begging, pleading for mercy.
He had laughed at her pleading and nudged a bowl at
her.  It was slop, but she was starving.  She placed
her hands behind her back and bowed to the bowl.  As
daintily and lady-like as she could, she ate the
contents.  It was watery and weak.  Near starvation was
one of the keys to a successful brainwashing.  He held
life and death in his hands, not just pain and
pleasure.

She tried to crawl, but collapsed.  Weeping from her
inadequacies, she used her arms to crawl into his
bedroom.  He had pushed her a little too hard the first
day, and she wasn't done yet.  He waited for her by the
cage door while she used the bathroom and crawled to
his feet.

He helped her put on the latex panties and the latex
bra.  She watched as he had unplugged them from the
charging unit next to his bed.  She was to make sure
they were charging when she wasn't wearing them, he
told her.

Then he let her lay down and shackled her to the
sleeping mat.  Looking up at him and then past him, she
was something from and Edger Allen Poe story.  Only no
big blade.  Just a pendulum.

She was wishing it was a blade.  Mr. Smith had taped
one of the sensors to the end of the armature.  As it
swung towards her, the shocks and vibrations would
strengthen.  As it moved away, they would weaken and
then stop.  Then start again.  And again.  And again.
With her last sane thought, she looked to the bottom of
the shelf and promised them that she would help them.

She wasn't sure if she slept, but morning came.
Finally.  Mr. Smith released her and let her use the
bathroom.  Then he took her into the kitchen and, while
he ate a breakfast of bacon and eggs, toast and coffee,
she sipped the water that was in her bowl.  She didn't
complain.

Finishing his meal he tossed her a crumb of toast.  She
snatched in mid-air and kissed his hand.  He seemed
pleased with himself.

Again, they took the elevator to the third level and
went to the room.  Alex heard the voices stronger this
time.  She shook her head.  She was going crazy.

She danced for him.  He made her dress first, then take
them off.  She didn't mind.  She saw his eyes looking
at her.  He wanted her.  She wanted him to and moved
and lewdly and wantonly as she could.  She caught the
smiles he gave her and she floated in ecstasy.

He bound her again with her black cord.  She rubbed her
breasts on his chest and he stopped to appreciate their
firmness.  She mewled and purred to him.  Gently he
lowered her into the chair.  The probes were larger
today and filled her uncomfortably.

Mr. Smith retrieved a small stainless steel bowl and a
towel from the cabinet.  He laid the towel over her
leg.  In a small jar, he whisked a frothy foam with a
stiff brush.  He took an ivory handled razor from his
pocket.  It was an expensive tool, extremely sharp,
just like Daddy's straight razor.

Daddy had had a strop hanging on the back porch.  Alex
would love to watch him caress the gleaming blade up
and down the thick leather strap, the hiss of the blade
the only sound in the cool morning air.  With a foamy
grin at his favorite daughter, he would start the
process of scraping the follicles from his face.

Just like Mr. Smith was scraping her bare.  Trying to
remain still as the razor caressed her mound, cleaning,
baring her.  She screamed, the tensions and feelings
culminating in an orgasm approaching the best ever.
Drained, she watched him finish, skillfully cleaning
her, leaving only a narrow wedge of pubic hair, just a
hint of her womanhood.  She hadn't been a hairy woman
down there, but now she felt salacious, free and
delightfully wicked.

When Mr. Smith lowered his head to her privates, she
squealed her joy, over and over.  Cunt-licking was
every bit as wonderful as she had imagined.  Again and
again he brought her up to and over the edge of sanity,
pushing her harder and harder into the fathomless abyss
of mindless pleasure.  He was deliberately cruel in his
manipulation of her, teasing when she needed to be
fulfilled and she craved more stimulation and then
tonguing her relentlessly as she fought for her breath.
Finally, she relinquished her body to him and was swept
away into oblivion.

Sensing her complete surrender to his tongue, Damon's
eyes coldly assessed the convulsing figure.  She was
easier to control now, easier than he had expected.  No
matter, she would still get the full training, if
somewhat accelerated.  He still had to try to make some
profit from this investment, and, if all went according
to plan, she would have a rather short profitable
period.  And he needed to slake his desires, too.  His
needs were building.

Just before he turned on the chair for the day's
programming, he attached electrodes to her clitoris and
her nipples.  He pushed the button and dimmed the
lights.  She would be alone with her nightmares for the
next four hours.

Alex fought to keep sane.  She was tired and the
experience of being shaved had thrilled her beyond
anything she had imagined.  And he had touched her.  It
was the first sexual touch her had given her.  Her body
craved for more and more and was demanding, insistent.
She fought for a few minutes.  She had to remember.

Today there were photos.  She didn't recognize all of
them, but some of the models now had names.  From the
drivers licenses she had taken from the storage area.
She had just about pissed on the rug when Mr. Smith had
gone in there.  It was now locked.  She had studied the
small plastic cards in secret, memorizing the names.
She recognized all of them.  Now, as they flashed on
the screens, happy, gay and beautiful, she talked to
them.

She heard their voices, dubbed over the photos that
showed them being whipped or fucked with dildos by a
big leather-clad woman, begging for more and more.  She
knew how they felt.  They just wanted to please their
master.

Alex wondered if he was their master yet, when the
pictures were taken.  They didn't use that word, or at
least not all of them.  Maybe some of them held out,
maybe some--- Ahhh!

The electrodes on her clit and nipples, sensing her
lack of a proper response to the other stimuli, got her
attention back.  The machine, designed to break any and
all resistance, whipsawed the bound girl between agony
and ecstasy for the rest of the morning.  It was easier
not to fight the machine and Alex surrendered to the
demands made of her body and spasmed her way to
oblivion.

Mr. D left Alvin in charge of his project, saying he
would be back by 5:00.  Alvin knew the routine.  But he
broke it.  As soon as the door closed he curled Miss
Alex around his feet in the small security room and
told her to sleep.  She was out before he stood up.

He had seen the devastating results of the same methods
of brainwashing used on his comrades in 'Nam.  Sleep
deprivation coupled with starvation, beatings, loss of
identity and humiliation.  He knew about that machine
in the basement, too, and had no doubt it was many more
times more effective when the victim was totally
helpless to resist any suggestion or demand.  He was
worried about this innocent little farm girl at his
feet.

Alvin had gone home last night and spread out the worn
and expired driver's licenses on his kitchen table.  He
had known three of them in his time at the club.
Another he had known in another life.  A knife went
through his heart.  Again.  He thought he was over her
by now.  It had been almost ten years.  Ten years
since...

Miss Alex had given these to him.  Why?  She had
risked, had begged for a severe beating to pass them to
him unobserved.  Why?  That was the question she had
asked.  Why?  Why?

He was asleep when it hit him.  Why, indeed?  Why did
Mr. D have them and not the girls?  Why, unless they
didn't need them anymore?

What the Hell had Miss Alex found?

Alex woke up screaming, in another part of the bar, a
glass of juice next to her on the floor.  Alvin was
standing above her, bellowing at her to clean up that
juice.  The whip that had woken her slashed down once
more, landing solidly on the floor by her hand.  He
missed her completely.  Throwing him a quick smile, she
gulped down the juice.  She could taste the raw eggs
mixed in it.  Not her favorite, but it was nourishing
and full of vitamins.

Alvin beat her soundly after she had finished the
drink, making her body look as if she had been thrashed
regularly all afternoon long.  She even rolled over on
her back to let him have easy access to the front of
her naked body.  She held her hands by her side,
defenseless.  Their eyes met and his hand with the whip
faltered.  She willed him to continue with her eyes.
They both knew the risks he had taken by letting her
sleep and feeding her.  He didn't look away as he
lashed her repeatedly.

She glanced down at his crotch as he stood.
Interesting, she thought to herself.  He enjoys it, but
not this way.  His consternation touched her and she
realized she had made the right decision.  The other
pets would be safe with him.

That night after the watery gruel, the pendulum swung
and Alex screamed until she was hoarse.  She looked at
the shelf of names and they laughed at her courage.

Damon opened the soundproofed door to his pet's room to
a nicely deranged cunt.  He didn't like to hear them
screaming, so he took the risk of not bugging that
room.

Today she would start the next phase.  He would begin
to ask her to sign the papers giving him control over
her.  Up until now all of his pets but one had given
him ownership by the end of the third day.  The pet
that had hesitated had come screaming to him on the
fourth.  He had made her pay dearly for that delay.

After a breakfast of water and another tossed scrap of
toast, Damon led Alex back downstairs.

It was a repeat of the prior day.  She dressed, she
danced, she stripped.  He bound her and tied her to her
chair.

"Pet, I want to this to be special between us.  I want
to make this permanent, what we have."

"Sir, I would like that, too, but I am married.  I
can't until I am free from my marriage vows, Sir."

"Don't be ridiculous, Pet.  No one takes those vows
seriously anymore."

"But, Sir, if I don't take them seriously, how will you
ever trust me to take my commitment to you seriously?"

"Pet, I don't want to be your husband.  I want to be
your Master."

"M- master?"

"Yes.  You'd like that, wouldn't you?  To call me
'Master'?"

"Oh, yes, Sir!  With all my heart, Sir!"

"Then sign the papers, Pet.  Then you could call me
'Master'."

Alex wept bitterly and Damon knew he would have to work
on her more, to soften her up.  Oh, well, it had been
worth a shot.

As if forgiving her her intransigence, Damon leaned
toward the bound figure and kissed her forehead softly.
He dried her tears with his fingers and whispered in
her ear.

"That's OK, Pet.  Maybe later."

He walked over to the cabinet and took out a small
leather packet.  He always enjoyed this part.  He had
always considered this the beginning.  From here on,
there was no backing out.  Smiling contentedly, he went
back to the waiting girl.

He laid the leather packet on her thigh and unrolled it
slowly.  He could sense the dread as the gleaming
needles, hooks, blades and pliers were gradually
revealed.  He took a sharp blade and drew it softly
across her breasts.  Even that light touch left a
bright red line in its wake, occasionally spotted with
a droplet of blood.  He licked the droplets and kissed
Alex on the mouth.  She eagerly accepted his tongue,
tasting the sharpness of her own blood.  She sucked
hungrily for more and he broke away, laughing
cynically.

He took out a large needle and she whimpered in
excitement.  She had no fear.  She didn't trust this
man, but she had given him control over her.  It was an
odd disconnect when she had time to think about it, but
she was finding she was less able to focus lately.  It
always seemed that her senses were being assaulted
constantly, even in her dreams, or was she dreaming
now.  She was becoming less sure, able only to give
into to the constant demands of her body.  For
pleasure, for pain, for anything this man would take
from her.

Damon traced the needle over the smooth surfaces of her
breasts.  They weren't as large as he preferred, and,
if he had intended to keep this on for long, would have
had her fixed already.  But still, they were amazing in
their firmness and perfection.  The point of the needle
rested against the nipple and he pushed gently.

A low sound escaped from the girl.  Damon let loose of
the needle and it hung there, pointing cockeyed at the
ceiling, wavering with each breath she took.  Another
needle joined the first, just slightly inserted through
the first layers of skin.  He didn't want to do deep
tissue damage.  At least, not yet.

When one breast looked like a porcupine, he started on
the other.  The girl's eyes were glazed, but never
wavering from watching each and every move he made.
She didn't protest once.

With the last needle, a curved one used for stitching
wounds, he lowered his aim.  Placing the sharp tip
against the dainty flap of skin, he force the needle
through and left it protruding, an obscenely gleaming
crescent in a field of human flesh.  The pain from the
penetration brought a mournful wail from the girl, but
no protest.

Slowly and painfully he removed the needle, and while
the wound was still fresh, he inserted a small
stainless steel loop.  The soldering iron had been
preheating and it was a simple and practiced task to
seal the loop permanently with silver solder.  The
smell of singed flesh filled his nostrils and he
shifted his huge erection to a more comfortable
position.  The girl had climaxed from the pain and
passed out.  Good.  Right on schedule.  The belly-
button ring was his first mark of ownership.

The girl still needed to be wooed, so he lowered his
head to her cunt and licked gently until she regained
consciousness.  Had he left her alone, she would have
fallen into a deep sleep, something he couldn't afford
at this point.  But she responded to the demands of her
body and, within the confines of her bondage, urged her
hips forward as much as she could to meet his wonderful
tongue.

Today he teased her, bringing her to the edge, then
twisting and wiggling one of the needles.  At first the
pain broke the flow of the feelings of pleasure from
his tongue, but after a while they combined.  The
feelings were different, but complimentary in her mind.
Both were from him, the man she wanted to please, the
man she had to please.

She was screaming, begging for release, for more as he
attached the electrodes.  Today she got them all.
Toes, nipples, clit, and tongue.  He liked the one for
the tongue.  When it was stimulated, the airways
clamped shut, making it impossible for her to breathe.
He would control her very breathing from now on.  She
was almost his.  He could feel it.

Before he left, he gave her one more chance to sign.
She refused, politely.  Fuck her.  He pushed the
button.  She would not enjoy the session today.  Today
she would learn what control was.

Alvin gave her a glass of juice with several eggs when
she first came up that afternoon and again when she
woke up several hours later.  He didn't whip her today.
Mr. D had given him instructions not to mark her at
all.  Verbal abuse only.

Alvin said several things after Mr. D had left, but
under his breath and none directed at the soundly
sleeping girl at his feet.  He was worried about her.
Her look today had been furtive.  The sparkle was
leaving her eyes.

He had made some careful inquiries about the missing
girls.  He was waiting for word back.  He wished at
times he could just go into a police station and get
their attention.  But he couldn't.  So he had to work
carefully, through a 'friend of a friend' and wait
while these things went through the back channels.  He
hoped Alex would last.  She had one more day.

Damon was persistent the next day, cajoling her,
bullying and demanding that she sign.  She refused.  He
refused to let her call him 'Master'.  It was only
right, she was just a slut.

She danced for him, putting her whole being into
pleasing him, but he refused to be mollified.  Her
energy at an end, she collapsed naked on the floor at
the end of her dance.  She had nothing left to give
him.

Alex awoke to a new sensation.  Her shoulders were on
fire, her head hanging forward on her chest.  She
jerked up her head to see a girl in the screens.
Hanging spread-eagled from the ceiling hooks, her feet
bound by ropes tied to the rings on the floor.  The
girl's body was taut as a bowstring.

Alex saw Mr. Smith on the screen moving behind the
girl, then in front, just as he came into her own
vision.  He was holding a glowing rod with a wooden
handle.  Alex had seen them on the farm, only bigger.
Branding irons.

Without another word, Mr. Smith knelt in front of her
and pressed the incandescent brand into her flesh, just
above and to the right of her vaginal slit.  The pain
was so intense, so brutal she screamed, the pitch
rising as the pain lingered, burning.  Then the pain
changed and she struggled, her brain refusing to accept
what her body was doing.  Copious fluid flowed from her
center, her breast swelled and ached, her nipples were
painfully hard.  Her cunt flowered, blossoming with the
influx of blood.  Her clitoris snapped to attention
with an almost audible sound.

Alex was in agony.  She was aroused as never before in
her life.  From the pain.  She was ashamed.  She was
ashamed because she knew she loved it and would seek
this out, regardless of the consequences.

The man she called Mr. Smith, the man she longed to
call 'Master' didn't realize it, but he made his first
critical error in judgment in the process of totally
subjugating Mrs. Alisson Wilson.  He didn't ask her to
sign after the branding.  He was too angry with the
stubborn bitch.

Mr. Smith whipped her lightly as she watched the girl
in the videos get whipped.  Her body was so sensitive
that even the light blows he gave her felt like
lightning bolts.  She didn't notice that her skin was
not marked or that Mr. Smith was using a suede strap,
the soft leather caressing and slapping her skin more
than cutting and biting.  She developed a lovely rosy
hue as the blood rushed to the stimulated surfaces.
Alex climaxed once early on and never seemed to stop
after that.

It took her a while to realize that the girl in the
video was her.

Damon fitted the electrode and probes from the chair to
the hanging girl.  She was still babbling, incoherent.
Angry, he jabbed the button without trying a final time
to get her to sign.  It was his second error.

He sent Alvin down to clean her up and left for the
day.  He came back late that night and checked on his
recalcitrant Pet before going to bed.  She was
screaming nonsense as the pendulum swung back and
forth, as if she were conversing with someone.
Satisfied she wouldn't get any sleep tonight, he shut
the sound-proof door and went to bed.  Tomorrow or the
next day, signed or not, he had to take her.  He
couldn't wait any longer.

Alex heard the door shut through the tiny fraction of
her mind that was still grasping reality.  She hadn't
heard it open, or she would have told the voices to be
quiet.  They had started calling her last night.  She
was one of them now, she had the ring.  She belonged
now.

Alex argued with the voices, she was married.  She
still had her ring.  She had committed herself to
another man.

The voices laughed at her.  What man?  That worthless
failure?  He couldn't even satisfy you.  He left you
for another.  Marcy.  Why waste yourself on him?  Give
in to the Master.  Let him own you.  You can join us,
belong.

On and on they would argue as the pendulum swung, the
constant shocks to her erogenous zones now almost
unfelt.  Almost.  She couldn't sleep with them, nor
could she think.  But she could talk to the voices.

This afternoon, to placate them, she had insisted that
Alvin leave her alone in her cage for an hour.  She had
asked for a knife, or even a fork, but he had refused
her, concern in his face and voice.  She laughed madly
at him.  What did he think she was going to do, kill
herself?

But he had left her alone and she had carved in the
soft pine with her fingernail.  She had left her mark.
She hadn't had her first dance so she left the first
and second dates blank.  Drawing her finger over the
names, she forced herself to envision their faces, the
terrible pictures from the small plastic cards and the
beautiful and sexy models in the pictures and videos.
She cried for them.  they were silent, for once.

Alvin had let her sleep for almost eight hours and had
given her three drinks of juice and eggs.  Even with
his help she was beginning to look thin.  Her
cheekbones were coming into high profile and her
breasts seemed over large compared to her sunken
stomach.  He told her he wouldn't be able to see her
tomorrow.  It wouldn't be allowed.  He didn't know when
he would see her again.

The sleep was a help but not enough to fully restore
her grasp of reality.  It had only taken three sweeps
of the pendulum before she heard the voices in her
head.  They had still been talking when Mr. Smith had
looked in on her.

Chapter 15

The next day, the fifth of her training, marked a
change.  The first thing she noticed was that he let
her walk.  On her feet.  And shower and get clean with
warm water.  He even helped dry her off.  She cried.

She stared at the food on her plate.  She was sitting
at the table with Mr. Smith.  She kept her hands in her
lap until he said she could take a bite.  He allowed
her to use the fork.  She chewed the savory food
slowly, relishing the texture against her tongue.  It
was the first solid food she had had if four days.  She
cried as she swallowed and thanked him.

He allowed her to eat the entire meal.  If she had
taken one bite without permission, it would have been
the last.  He didn't say that, but somehow, she knew.

Instead of turning off into the training room, Mr.
Smith took her to the large room at the end of the
hallway.  The one where the voices were.

There were lights on today and people bustling around,
setting up things and moving big lights.  She was naked
and didn't notice.

Mr. Smith led her to a chair, a real one, and had her
sit.  She felt awkward, not being bound.  She looked at
him for reassurance and he smiled at her.  It felt
cold, but at least he wasn't angry with her.  She would
try to please him today.  Maybe he would forgive her
for not signing, but she couldn't.  She was married.
She stole a glance at the cheap narrow band Harold had
given her.  It was almost a year.  It was a part of
her, yet it wasn't.  But it was a symbol of her
commitment with Harold.

She didn't judge him harshly anymore.  How could she?
Look at her, a married woman, sitting here without
shame.  Lusting for another man, willing to give him
everything he asked for.  Everything but what she
didn't have.

She was pampered that morning.  Washed and oiled with
glistening oils, her hair was washed and set.  The lady
trimmed it a little, just like in a beauty salon.  Then
the man came and worked on her face, adding a
foundation and then some color.  He used eye shadows
that made her eyes stand out.  All the time he was
explaining what he was doing, showing her how.

Alex watched the transformation of the pretty girl in
the mirror into a sexy siren.  Her green eyes and red
hair were stunning.  When the make-up man was done he
stood looking at her for a long moment.  He looked
almost sad.

Mr. Smith was pleased with her, she could tell.  She
saw him staring at her, as if he had never seen her
before.  She smiled at him as sexily as she could and
he licked his lips.  She laughed and stopped suddenly.
It had been so long she couldn't remember when she had
last laughed.  When had she stopped?

Then the man with the cameras took over.  Mr. Smith was
in charge, but she followed the directions of the
photographer.  All the time, in her mind, she was
posing for Mr. Smith.

They started out with tiny swimsuits.  By now Alex knew
the routine.  Start with it on, then it comes off, as
sexily as possible.  It was what the others had done
for Mr. Smith.  She had posed in three different suits
when she stumbled.  She felt dizzy, tired.

Mr. Smith gave her a pill and a glass of water.  She
didn't know what it was.  She looked at him and he told
her to take it.  It was safe, he said, just some speed.
Alex didn't know what speed he wanted her to go.  The
water tasted good.

In a couple of minutes, Alex felt better.  Not good,
but better.  Like she was nervous and antsy.  She
couldn't stay still.  The lingerie that she posed in
next deteriorated from an elegant, if transparent gown,
to ludicrously obscene pieces of lace that had no
practical purpose but to expose and excite.

It was about this time that Alex noticed that there
seemed to be a shift change in the people in the room.
Most of the gaffers set up the lights in a fixed
position and left.  The make up man that had been
giving her touch ups all morning long left her with a
kiss on the cheek and a large bag of cosmetics for her
to use.  She thanked him.  He looked so sad when he
left.

Soon it was just Alex, Mr. Smith and a new
photographer.  He wasn't as nice as the first one and
was touching her and making her do things she didn't
like.  Mr. Smith saw and didn't stop him, so she let
him, even sticking things inside of her anus and
opening herself up, holding her pussy open so he could
take pictures.  Mr. Smith looked like he was waiting
for someone.  He kept glancing at his watch and walking
up and down.

Alex had never before seen the woman who finally came
in, but she knew who she was.  She was beautiful.  Tall
and elegant, perfectly made up and covered from head to
toe in black leather.  She looked so sexy.

Without a word from Mr. Smith, the woman took over the
photo shoot.  The costumes Alex modeled now were made
of leather, latex and chrome.  She was corseted and the
woman put her knee in Alex' back and pulled it tighter
than she had thought possible.  Then the nipple clamps
were put on and Alex didn't think much more.  Between
the pain, the pills and the arousal, she was lost to
her feelings.

A month ago this would have seemed strange, to be so
free, wanton and wicked with a total stranger, but now,
it felt right.  Mr. Smith was there, and it was all
right.  Alex watched him the whole time, watching his
eyes, wanting to please him.

He watched this part of the photo session much more
intensely and Alex was thrilled.  She did everything
she could to please him, looking to him constantly for
reassurance.  She did things she had only dreamed of,
and then, only because he had shown her pictures and
videos of the other girls doing them.  She did them to
please him.

She was bound and laid on a low table.  The woman
licked her and Alex climbed for the sky.  But she
stopped too soon.  Mr. Smith was telling the woman
something.  'Not to come' was what she heard.  But the
lady was already here.  How could she not come if she
were already here?

The pretty lady had smiled at Mr. Smith and showed him
a small vial.  Different than Mr. Smith's.  She
injected Alex with something in her cunt and around her
ass and under her nipples.  In about five minutes, they
felt like her mouth did when she went to the dentist.
Like they were dead.

When the lady straddled her face, Alex knew what to do.
She had never done it before, but she licked and sucked
the woman with gusto.  The pill Mr. Smith had given her
helped keep her going.  She knew she was exceedingly
tired.  She could feel it in her bones, but the pill
helped her.  She pleasured the woman and the woman had
kissed her.  She had sucked Alex' tongue in to her
mouth, then explored Alex' mouth with her own.  Alex
liked that.

They kissed a lot after that, passionately.  The
photographer kept taking pictures from every angle.
The lights were hot, they were sweating, slippery.  It
was sexy and the giggled and laughed, sharing little
secrets.  Alex had never kissed a woman before and
found it thrilling.  It was different, softer.  The
woman pushed her further and further until Alex was
gasping.

The toys were next.  At least, that's what the woman
called them.  She was almost naked now and so was Alex.
They strapped Alex over a bar that pushed her butt way
up in the air.

Alex didn't scream when the lady rammed a huge plastic
dildo into her pussy.  She could barely feel it.  She
did feel the fullness of it pressing against her
diaphragm but the usual feeling the nerves sent to her
brain were blocked.  She felt cheated.  Her body knew
it was getting fucked and the juices were flowing, the
tensions building.  Unfortunately for Alex, her brain
was sitting this one out and refused to allow her to
climax.  It was very frustrating.

That frustration grew as the afternoon wore on.  The
beautiful woman had used a huge strap on dildo and had
fucked her for what seemed like hours, then had
switched to her ass.  They had finished the session by
the woman putting her whole hand up inside Alex' pussy
and pumping in and out.  She did that for a long time.
They had been excited at those shots.  They called it
'fisting.'

The numbing from the shots hadn't worn off yet.  Mr.
Smith was impressed and told her they were getting some
great shots, that she was doing great.  She was
thrilled that she had pleased him.  Alex thanked him
and pleaded for release.  Not from the bondage.  From
the sexual tensions.  He held up the clipboard with the
papers.  She cried.  The Dom saw that exchange and
looked thoughtful.

She began to get hopeful towards the end.  The numbness
left her nipples first and the millions of tiny
prickles that preceded full sensation almost set her
off.  The beautiful woman, having used the drug before,
was watching for this and left Alex hanging on the
edge.  Now that her brain was back and willing, the
woman toyed with Alex, teasing and tormenting her
relentlessly but never letting her go over the edge.

At the end Alex was strung up on a portable frame
spread-eagled.  She was naked, sweating, her new makeup
a wreck, her hair in straggly clumps.  Her breathing
was ragged and in her mind the thin sliver of reality
she had remaining was fading.  She was screaming
hysterically at them.  The woman and Mr. Smith.  The
photographer was gone.

The woman was holding a belt with two huge vibrators.
They plugged into the wall.  Mr. Smith said he was
planning on leaving her all night wearing it.  The
woman said not yet, it would set her off, ruin the
whole effect.  Mr. Smith agreed.  They waited.  He
touched the woman, right in front of Alex.  The woman
let him.

They got tired of waiting and left her, forgetting to
put in the vibrators.  Alex screamed at them for a long
time, then the urgency passed.  The effects of the pill
finally wore off.  Without stimulation, Alex slept.

She dreamed for the first time in many nights.  It was
them.  All of them.  And Petunia.  Why was Petunia
here?  In her dream, Alex was awake, but was hanging
just as she actually was, like they had left her.  Or
was she really dreaming?

She looked around.  Without the bright lights on, she
could see into the other half of the room.  The studio
was only on the left side.  The voices were coming from
the right side of the room.  Alex wanted to walk over
to them and pull them back.  They were in danger but
they didn't know it.  They were calling her to join
them.

Then she saw Petunia, as she had last seen her.
Hanging by her legs, head down, her blood flowing into
a large square drain on the floor.  Like the one in the
floor on the right side of the room.  Under the block
and tackle hanging from the ceiling.

Alex called out for her Daddy.  She was back in the
barn at home.  Daddy would save her.  Her voice echoed
back at her.  There weren't echoes in the barn.  She
knew.  She had tried over and over as a child but never
found an echo in there.  But it looked like the barn.
Over there was the butcher shop.  There was the big
drain that had that always had that funny acrid smell
of blood that tickled her nose.  There was the big
grinder for the sausages.  Over there were the coiled
hoses for cleaning the floor and washing all the ground
up guts down the drain.  The sharp knives were hanging
in order on the wall, not on a big bench.  They were
for skinning and the saws were to cut through the thick
bones.  Gleaming and sharp.  But not old, like Daddy's.
These were new.  This was a dream.  Petunia was here.
Petunia was dead.  And the girls.  All his pets.
Calling her.  Come join them.

In spite of the discomfort, Alex slept.  And dreamed.
In the quiet of the third basement, no one heard her
pitiful screams.

The cold water blasting at her from a high pressure
hose woke Alex the next morning.  Damon was pissed that
she had slept.  He had been too needy and had allowed
that Dom to seduced him.  It had been a good pairing of
almost equals.  It had been a dangerous but exhausting
dance they had done, and it had taken longer than he
had planned.  They had dallied and dallied again.  He
had forgotten the girl.

The damage wasn't too severe.  She woke nicely, and the
look of terror that had crossed her face brought a
twitch of life to his cock.  It was about time she
showed some fear.  He had dragged her over to the other
side of the room and positioned her above the drain.
That was after he had slapped her several times trying
to wake her.  He wasn't surprised she was dead to the
world.  Four days of constant stimulation without sleep
will do that to you.

When that had failed he had spied the hoses.  No sense
making a mess, so he moved the frame she was bound to
over here and turned the hose on her.  She had come to
with a start, looked down, and voided herself from
terror.  Good thing she was already over the drain, he
congratulated himself.  He hated to clean up shit.

Mr. Smith released her.  Her terror abated and he led
her, dripping and stinking up to the apartment and let
her shower.  She was beginning to feel almost human
again.  The only problem was that she was
hypersensitive.  Everything aroused her.  She decided
she needed to be fucked.

When she went through to her cage to get dressed, she
noticed his room smelled like sex.  The sheets were
messed up and there were some leather garments that
weren't his size.  She remembered the beautiful woman
from yesterday.  She was happy for Mr. Smith.  She
hoped the woman had pleased him.  Alex automatically
changed his sheets and cleaned up the room.  She folded
the leather vest and chaps neatly and put them in a
paper bag.  Going into the dining area, she set them by
his plate without a word, without a glance.

He was watching her to see if she was jealous.  It
would be interesting to see if she was.  He could use
it.  He was disappointed.  Her eyes looked at him as
they always had.  Clear and open, willing to give,
wanting to please.  Not judging him at all.

He had had her dress in her skimpy skirt, her blouse
and high heels.  He told her to go back and put on some
make up, like the man had showed her yesterday.  She
had to go back three times before she had it right.
First it wasn't enough, next it was too much and the
last time, he was just being ornery.  She could tell.

They went upstairs to the club.  Except for Alvin, it
was empty.  Mr. Smith turned on the music, the music
the others had danced to.  She knew what he wanted.
She wanted it, too.

It was her best dance yet.  He was pleased.  He was
aroused.  Even in the shadows she could see him, see
the swelling that indicated his arousal.  From the dark
corner of the club she saw a glint of gold.  Alvin was
watching her dance, the first time, from a corner where
Mr. Smith couldn't see him.  It made her feel safe,
knowing he was there.

She danced over to his stool and he bound her.  She was
ready, needy.  Hot.  She pleaded with him to take her,
use her.

Damon looked down at the shivering bitch.  One more
chance, then it was gloves off.  He held out the
clipboard with the forms for her to sign.  She begged
for understanding with her eyes.  She had explained to
him, to the voices.  She couldn't give back what wasn't
hers to give.

He was displeased.  But she was there, begging for it
and he had waited patiently.  He pushed her down onto
her knees.  She went willingly, bending her head
towards his groin, anxious to take him as she had
received no other man.  Damon slapped her and she went
down, ass high in the air, wanting him.  She lay there,
waiting, whimpering, begging.

He dropped his pants, his need suddenly impelling.
Without warning he thrust into her sopping cunt.  The
fisting yesterday had convinced him he needn't worry
about her accommodating him, not that he would have.
He held her head pinned to the floor while he pulled
the belt from his pants.  It was good quality leather,
smooth and supple.  He looped it, holding both ends in
one hand.  With the other hand, he grabbed a handful of
her red hair.  He yanked her head up roughly and
slipped the belt around her neck.

Slowly he withdrew from her depths, watching as the
folds of her pink flesh clasped at him, keeping him in.
With the same slow speed he moved back into her,
pushing in to the maximum depth, nudging against her
hard cervix.  Her body eagerly accepted him.

Damon was glad now he had spent the time with the Dom
last night.  The urgency was gone and he would last a
long time.  He wondered idly, as he fucked slowly in
and out of the bitch under him, what it would take to
break the Dom?  She would make a challenging pet.  How
would he get her on the machine?  What could he use?

Slipping his hand down he tightened the belt around her
neck.  He wasn't close yet.  He wanted to give her a
thrill.  He heard the rasping of her breath as her
airway was closed, then there was only silence.
Regardless of the training, when threatened, instinct
takes over.  It was what thrilled him, watching the
poor bitches fighting their own instincts for survival.

As expected, his new pet fought for air.  With her
hands tied and him pinning her down with his weight,
she couldn't do much but buck up and down  As she
fought for her life, her cunt muscles tightened and
shuddered so pleasingly on his hard cock.  He could
feel the fight, the need, the hunger for air.  He was
in control.  He felt the familiar rush, the thrill of
this one moment, like none other.

He held the belt tight until she stopped, then waited a
beat more.  Then, releasing the pressure of his hand on
the back of her neck he let her breathe.  In a great
gasp, the bitch filled her starved lungs, gulping for
several moments.

Damon saw Alvin standing by the stage.  He looked at
his new friend and grinned.

"The slut gives a good ride," he said.  "I felt her cum
when I strangled her.  The little slut.  She loves
this."

The black man just stood there.  He was an enigma.  Why
was he watching?

Damon pulled out of her cunt and the pet moaned,
begging for more.  She had thanked him when she could
talk again, when she had air.  What a fucking slut!

He knew she had been in a constant state of orgasm from
the first thrust.  He had felt it.  He placed his tool
against her tight sphincter and pressed in.  There was
only a slight hesitation and then she relaxed, allowing
him easy entry.  She really was a slut.  He told her
she was.

He pumped faster now, his own need building.  The belt
tightened around her neck again.  It would stay there
this time until he came.  His pet bucked and thrashed,
fighting for air.  It was so good.  She quit fighting
but her ass was still clenching at him, pulling him.

He exploded into her.  As he came down from his
wondrous release, he slowly let the belt loosen.  The
pet lay still under him.  He looked up at Alvin and
shrugged his shoulders.  No great loss, really.  But
what a rush!

With a sudden gasp, the cyanotic girl started to
breathe.  Oh, well, just as well she was alive.  He'd
have had to forge the signatures and that wasn't an
easy thing to do.  They tended to check those things
very carefully for five million dollars, especially on
such a quick death after the policy went into force.
The wouldn't like it at all.

He got off the gasping figure.  He didn't notice the
big black man, wound as tight as a coiled spring, relax
slightly or see him slip the deadly blade that was
hidden in his huge fist back into his pocket.

"Here.  You want a piece?  On the house.  The slut
likes it and likes it rough.  Just not her mouth.
Clean her up and put her away when you're done," he
tossed off carelessly, got dressed and left the club.
He had an idea how to get the Dom into his clutches.

It was early evening when Alvin finally lay her gently
down in her small room.  She had clung to him on the
stage after he had freed her, still needy.  She would
have given herself to him willingly, if he had wanted.
But he didn't take her.  He wanted her, and let her
know.  She had needed that reassurance right then, and
it would have been hard to lie, anyway.  She had her
head in his lap and she would nuzzle him, bleating
softly, cooing against his thickening member.  But this
wasn't the way he wanted her.  He let her sleep,
holding her, crying with her until she fell asleep.
She was still catching up from the deprivation and
stress of the last four days, gaining strength, but she
was still susceptible.  As she cried, she had repeated
one thing over and over.  He had trouble catching the
soft sounds as she mumbled into his chest.  The words
were almost a mantra, said over and over.  Finally,
just as she was nodding off, he heard what it was.

She was repeating over and over to herself as she
rocked back and forth, "Not a slut, not a slut."

She woke as he laid her down on the low sleeping mat.
Her hands were still free.  With a lurch she grabbed
his neck and pulled him down.  He was off balance and
landed, with an effort, beside her and just managed not
to crush her beneath him.  Giggling, she made him roll
over onto his back.

He thought she would get on top of him and initiate
sex, but she didn't.  If she had, he wouldn't have
stopped her.  She turned her head toward him and
motioned with her eyes.  It took him a couple of times
before he understood.  Turning his head away from her,
he looked up.  All he could see was the bottom of the
shelf above his head and some writing.  A list.  Some
carpenters had used this for some notes or something.
Probably a lunch order or a football pool.  When they
needed a piece of scrap for the shelf, they had used
the good surface on top, leaving the scribbling
underneath.  It was done all the time.

He looked back at her and frowned, questioning her.
What was there?  She again motioned with her eyes.  He
looked again.  There was nothing in that direction but
the shelf.  As he was looking back at her, a name from
the past jumped at him.

He gave a strangled cry.  It scared her as he started
shaking suddenly, sobbing.  In a complete reversal of
their roles to this point, she was now the one giving
comfort to him, holding his bald head in her arms as
the bitterness and frustration of all those years
poured out.  They were rocking together, crying, their
tears mingling on the floor.

It was a struggle, but he got himself under control.
All these years.  He had known in his gut it was here.
The trail had run cold, but he had stuck it out.
Against all evidence and no evidence, he knew she had
been here.  And now, finally, here was the proof.  She
had been here, in this room.  He had seen her driver's
license, but had not understood.  The memory of their
tender love flooded over him again.  He felt like he
had just been kicked in the nuts.  He rolled in pain,
then groaned and knelt over the teary-eyed girl.

He leaned over her to shackle her down for the night.
As his ear was over her face she whispered to him.

"Think I'd get an Oscar, now?"

He looked quickly at her face.  Her eyes were clear,
focused.  She was looking up at him steadily and
sanely.  They both knew she would soon be lost for the
night when he started the pendulum.  But right now, she
was here with him, in control.

He nodded at her, grinning.  He held up his fingers.
Two.  She laughed.

Closing the door on her, he said a prayer for the brave
little girl.  One thing puzzled him.  The list of
names.  He knew the name of the last pet Mr. D had
here.  He had seen her name on the list.  But not on
the bottom.  He had expected to see Miss Alex' name
there at the bottom, but it wasn't.  The last name was
just a single name.  A flower.  Petunia.

The next two days were repeats of this one.  Mr. Smith
would have her dance.  He would ask her to sign the
papers and she would refuse, as politely as she could
knowing it would anger him.  He would then verbally and
sexually abuse her, strangling her with his thick belt.
She never failed to cum when he did that to her.  She
never failed to cum when he did anything to her,
anymore.  She began to question if she was a slut.  She
never failed to thank him when he got dressed and left
he club.  He didn't hear her.  His plans for the Dom
were coming together.  And in a couple of days he would
start the last phase of the plan for Harold and Marcy.
The sooner the better, too.  They were costing him a
bundle.

By the end of the second day, she saw Alvin's worried
face looking down on her.  He didn't know what the
program was Mr. Smith had her on now.  She wasn't aware
of it, but none of the other pets had gone through what
she had been put through the last three days.  Those
pets had been cherished, pampered women, had the finest
of everything.  Beautiful, sexy, obedient.  None had
been abused like Alex was.

She was tired but managed to grasp his thumb and give
him a reassuring squeeze.  He smiled at her, knowing
what it took from her to think of him.  But it was a
worried smile she saw.

She was frightened at first when he didn't start the
pendulum.  But soon, the fright gave way to a restless
sleep.  The voices were still arguing with her, but
tonight they weren't as loud.  After a fitful start,
she fell into the first peaceful sleep she had had in a
long time.

In the back of her mind was the nagging worry that
whatever Mr. Smith had planned for tomorrow must be
very bad, if he was being so nice now.  But tomorrow
was later.  Right now, she could sleep.

Chapter 16

Marcy stripped down to a tiny yellow bikini and danced
around the cowering executive.  For the past week, the
routine had changed.  This was yet another change in
their routine.

Harold's erectile problems had continued when he went
back to Marcy.  Seizing the opportunity, she had added
a few variations.  First, she had doubled the dose of
Viagra in his morning coffee.  Second, she didn't strip
down now.  Harold did.  She wore a lot of leather
things and carried a whip and a paddle, part of her
standard hooker gear.

When Harold was naked, he kneeled at her feet, licking
her boots until he was hard.  That took a long time,
sometimes, especially when she cut out the Viagra
altogether.  She loved to torment him, cruelly
punishing him for being lazy and incompetent.  And
impotent.  He would cry when she said that.  When he
was finally hard and she was satisfied with her boots,
she would allow him to lick her cunt until she came.
That also took a long time, almost always.

It wasn't long before she had Harold gagged -- when he
was through licking her, of course -- and handcuffed as
part of the routine.  He accepted most anything she did
now.  And with the gag in his mouth, she didn't have to
listen to him complain all the time.  What a whiner!

She introduced him to cock bondage and whipped his
balls with a little flogger.  He had squealed and
fought until she pointed out just how much bigger he
was and how much longer he could stay hard.  He didn't
know, of course, that she had reintroduced the Viagra
that morning.  After that, it was an easy sell.

He hadn't liked the leather paddle she had used on his
ass or her riding him like a horse, but she just
stroked him once on his puny cock and he had actually
turned around and offered his ass to her again.  He had
become, in just a few short days, a total wuss.

Thank God, Mr. Smith had called.  Finally!  In three
days they were going to be headed for the British
fucking Virgin Islands.  BVI!  She was wearing her new
bikini to celebrate.  She only hoped Harold wouldn't
slobber all over it.  She did look hot and her big tits
were obscenely exposed by the tiny swatches.  She
didn't care.  She was going to be rid of this lump for
good!  Or if not, at least she knew how to effectively
control him.

Marcy had been toying with the germ of an idea to
double-cross Mr. Smith.  She knew the whole plan for
the insurance scam from bits and pieces she had heard.
Harold couldn't keep his mouth shut, anyway, so they
must have trusted her if they wanted her to keep him
quiet and out of circulation.  They were sure paying
enough.  She knew where the weak spot in the plan was.
Someone had to withdraw the money as soon as it was
deposited and move it to another account.  That's why
Harold was going down there.

She had heard of these places down in BVI, places where
you could buy and sell people.  People who could
disappear and wouldn't be missed.  An ex-boyfriend had
told her about snuff films and how they got the
'actors' for them.  When she called him last week he
had given her a name to contact when she got down
there.  With her hold over him, it wouldn't be hard to
convince Harold to be an actor, especially in a sex
film.  He would jump at the chance.

That would happen after, of course, he had withdrawn
the cash.  Marcy, with her newfound power over the
wimp, had no doubts she could get the cash transferred
to her own account.  She had already set one up in the
same bank as his was.

She saw Harold's eyes light up as he heard the news
they would be leaving soon.  The greed was almost
palpable as he, too, thought of the islands.  She
mentioned acting in a sex film and he got hard without
the Viagra.  She smiled to herself, knowing her plan
would work.  Harold was a very good licker that morning
even if he did slobber a little.  And she could get a
new suit.  She could afford it.

Mr. Smith's attitude at the table the next morning was
a radical departure from the abusive man of the last
three days.  He smiled and chatted with her, letting
her eat uncontrolled and even stroked her cheek.  She
began to relax a little but was still wary.  She always
got hurt when he was nice.

She was allowed to work unbound but naked in the
apartment and upstairs in the club.  One of the smaller
areas was having a private party tonight and the bar
needed to be stocked.  If her nakedness bothered her
she didn't show it.  The other staff, both male and
female, were wary of her because of her special
relationship with Mr. Smith.  They could see his mark,
his brand on her.

For the most part, they tried to ignore her nudity, but
for some of the men, it was awkward to walk when she
was around.  The women, dancers and waitresses, were
nice to her.  When they had a break, they chatted a bit
and Alex listened to them.  Once she chanced a few
questions.  Mostly, she kept to herself and worked
hard.  The others respected her for that.

By the early afternoon, Mr. Smith came in and got her.
He led her back down to the apartment.  There he made
her prepare for an evening out.  He laid her clothes
out on his bed, selecting and caressing each article of
clothing as she dressed.  He had laid out the naughty
underwear, her hosiery and heels, and her sexy dress.
She now knew what was going to happen.  In a way, she
was glad.  He had accepted her.  And she was ready

He helped her with her makeup and hair, fussing with it
until it was perfect.  It was perfect.  He stood behind
her, his arms wrapped around her, looking in the
mirror.  They made a stunning couple.  He smiled at her
and she melted.

Almost as if he didn't want the ruin the moment, he
hesitated before picking up the clipboard with the
forms he wanted her to sign.  But he did, and she shook
her head 'No.'  The look that flashed across his face
was murderous but it was gone in an instant.  She could
almost pretend it hadn't been there.

He took her up to his office and poured her a generous
glass of whiskey while they waited.  She was kneeling
in her familiar spot by his desk.  She tensed until she
saw both of his hands were empty.  She remembered how
he had helped Lewis with his coughing.  He hadn't gone
near the cognac bottle, either.  She had watched.

In fact, she had been checking on that fake bottle
nearly every day.  At least, every day when they let
her clean.  Even those days when Alvin let her sleep,
she had made him bring her in here so she could check.
The syringe and the small vial of drug were still
there, untouched.  It had been her job to clean and
stock the bar, so she had arranged the bottle so that
she could tell at a glance if it was out of place.
Just like she had arranged her dollies on her bed at
home to catch Benny snooping for her diary.  He never
did figure out how he always got caught.

The cognac bottle was turned so that when she knelt by
the desk in her usual spot, the label of that bottle
and the label of the bottle in front of it were
perfectly aligned with the seam in the mirror.  Basic
geometry; three points make a line and from here she
could sight along it.  Since you had to move the bottle
in front to get to the bottle with the syringe, the
chances of both of them being put back perfectly
aligned was unlikely.  In a hurry, or when Mr. Smith or
Alvin were in the room, all she had to do was check on
the alignment.  A quick glance and Alvin could take her
downstairs.

She took the crystal glass from him.

"You don't need to get me drunk, Sir."

"Why should I get you drunk?"

"I know what to do tonight, Sir."

"Really?  Are you going to be a slut tonight?"

"I'm not a slut, Sir."

"Then tell me, why are you going to do this?"

"For you, Sir.  Because you want me to."

"And you?  Will you enjoy it?"

"Yes, Sir.  You have trained me to enjoy it."

"I've trained you to be a slut!  And tonight I'll prove
it to you."

"Yes, Sir."

After a moments thought, she tossed back her drink, the
strong whiskey burning her throat.  She looked up at
him, grinning derisively down at her.

"May I have another, please, Sir?" she asked, holding
out her glass.

He handed her the whole bottle and laughed cruelly at
her, letting her drink five more large drinks before
leading her out to the private party.  You could barely
notice the wobble in her step.

Mr. Smith took her to a part of the club she had only
been in a couple of times before, backstage in one of
the smaller rooms.  She could hear the noise of the
party on the other side of the heavy curtain.  Mr.
Smith looked around and pulled up a stool.  He knew
just where to put it so that he would remain just at
the edge of the shadows.

Mr. Smith didn't say a word to her.  When the music
started and the curtains opened, he moved to sit on the
stool, watching her.

She danced.  She was drunk and she knew it, but she
danced.  With all her new-found skills and more, now
that her few remaining inhibitions were damped by the
alcohol.  She was beautiful.  The bright lights shining
down on her caught the brilliant colors of her hair.
As it moved with her, it looked alive, flashing and
flowing, caressing her face.

She had wound the black cord around her neck, not to
tight, but in a narrow band that looked like she was
wearing a collar.  The silver bands at the end of the
cords were tucked in under the windings.  It wouldn't
come undone until she wanted it to.

With her hands free, she floated in the lights.  The
party-goers, sensing something special, hushed.  The
reverent silence added to the effect, letting her dance
for one man alone.  The man she wanted.

He was there in the shadows, watching her as she moved.
She reached for him and he knew.  He nodded and the
first strap of the shoulder fell, baring the top of her
breast.  Then the second fell.  Her nipples held up the
dress until she shrugged her shoulders and they gave
way.  Only a wisp of lace covered her breasts, barely
containing them.  She unclasped the bra and it fell
like a nuisance.

The crowd gasped, and, the silence broken, called for
more.  Whistles and cat-calls, clapping and cheering.
She looked to the shadows and he nodded.

With a wiggle, the dress melted from her hips and the
room erupted in a cheer.  She danced around the circle
of light, teasing them, teasing the man in the shadows,
her creamy buttocks flashing, her legs sensuous,
promising and hiding the treasures between them.

She moved her arms, caressing her body, teasing it,
arousing it and exciting the men in the crowd.
Pleasing the man in the shadows.

The final wisp of lace was teased down her thighs and
over her calves.  After the first help over her hips,
she had managed that without the use of her hands,
leaving them to pinch and pull her nipples, wetting her
fingers in her mouth and touching herself.  No one
seemed to mind the time it took for the panties to
reach the floor.  The room was in a constant uproar, by
now.

With a shake of her head, the ends of the cord were
freed and, again without using her hands, shook and
wiggled as the cord unwound from her neck.  She caught
it as it fell free.

If the room had been in an uproar before, the noise now
escalated to a full riot as they watched her work her
body with the cord.  They knew what the significance of
the cord was.  They knew by the brand that this dancer
was one of the special ones, the owner's private stock.
They knew.  They had waited a long time.  The owner had
set a premium on this party, triple the usual cover
charge.

The girl was worth that and more.  They were mesmerized
by her beauty, her sensuality, the juxtaposition of raw
innocence and raw sex.  This was a once in a lifetime
event and they all knew it.

The cord sang between her legs and the girl moaned her
own arousal.  As if on its own, it bound her legs,
teasing her.  It twisted around her perfect breasts,
making a figure '8', the black cord a clear contrast to
the whiteness of her skin.  The softness of the silken
cord tantalized her, tickling her, driving her to the
edge.

The man in the shadows signaled her over.  She went,
dancing, teasing, hoping he would take her away and
ravish her.  It was what she wanted, to please him, to
make him take her and ravish her.

He bound her hands and then used a ballgag to bind her
mouth.  The crowd held its breath.  No one could use
it, but neither could she.  She could not call out for
him to stop them.  Their blood ran hotter.  She was
theirs to use.  All but her mouth.

Mr. Smith urged her back into the lights.  She knew
what she would find.  It was there, large and angry
looking.  Waiting for her, standing upright, the man's
hand holding by the base with two fingers.  It was so
large it couldn't stand up on its own.  Watching the
shadows, she straddled the supine figure.  Weaving back
and forth, teasing up and down but always lowering her
core towards the man below.

Finally she touched and a cheer went up from the ones
not lucky enough to have been chosen to go first.  It
was beginning and she felt the fullness of the man as
she let herself sink down, finally resting on his hips.
She had never taken her eyes off the man in the
shadows.

Another man approached her from the rear and got on his
knees.  He had been lubed and his thick cock probed and
pushed at her rear.  The man in the shadows nodded and
she relaxed.  The thick head and shaft surged into her
and she screamed into the gag.

They fucked her hard and fast, knowing she would be
available again later when they could last longer.  And
again after that, if they could get it up.  Within
minutes she came.  All the buildup and tension of the
past weeks flooded her senses.  She blacked out for a
moment, but the men pounding into her never noticed.
They didn't stop.

When she could think again, she looked anxiously at the
man in the shadows.  He was gone.  The stool was empty.
Even in the state she was in, aroused, horny and more
than a little drunk, Alex felt a pang in her stomach,
like her heart being torn out.

The twenty men at the party had never had a night like
this before and they were not inexperienced in this
sort of thing.  They had the owner's private girl, all
night long.  They discovered why his girls were so
special, in such demand and so well worth the price he
charged.  Even without the use of her hands and mouth
she had outlasted them all, and was begging for more.

The big black manager finally had to drag her away.

Alvin drove Miss Alex to her old apartment.  Mr. D had
given him specific instructions.  He had also given him
permission to fuck her, if he could stand it, he had
said.  Alvin had seethed at that comment.  He knew then
that Mr. D was finished with Miss Alex, and that meant
her time was short.  Wherever he had sent those others,
she was on her way there shortly.

The other pets Alvin had known had all done a couple of
private parties, then they had disappeared.  Word had
it that the pets were all living in luxury somewhere,
pampered and well taken care of.  Alvin suspected
something different.  White slavery, maybe.  They had
never found any bodies, so it made more sense for them
to be shipped out of the country.  That would explain
them not needing the driver's licenses.  But he had
never found a link between Mr. D and any of those
groups.  All it would take would be one, though, and
then only once in a while.

He knew Alex was being tossed out.  As far as Mr. D was
concerned, she was used up.  Alvin tended to disagree.
The exclusive private party was the first sign.  And he
had more, less selective parties scheduled in a couple
of days.  Alex was to be told to stay home and wait for
a call.

Surprisingly, they had found her dress and underwear
folded neatly on the side of the stage.  Her expensive
stockings were ruined, one missing and one badly
laddered, but she had kept her heels on the whole
night.  The men had loved it.  He had been told not to
let her clean up, but to take her straight home,
'smelling like a slut.'  Those were the bastard's own
words.

Alvin had watched the whole evening.  He had seen her
stumble going down the hallway to the stage area.  It
was a familiar stagger to one of his experience.  Mr. D
had gotten her drunk.  But he had watched her
performance and knew that it hadn't been necessary.
This was what she had been trained for and she was
good.  For a moment during her dance, he thought she
had seen him, standing there in the back.

Alvin realized that night for the first time how much
he wanted Miss Alex.  The way she moved, the way she
danced.  She was beautiful.  Even as the men took her,
over and over, as she had drawn them out and excited
them to more and more excesses, he had wanted her.
Like he had never wanted a woman before.

It didn't matter to him that she had been used and
abused.  Sitting there next to him in his car, smelling
like an orgy, she was more woman than any he had ever
known before.

At the apartment building, Alvin walked up with her,
holding her firmly.  The elevator was broken again and
she had had a long night.  This early in the morning,
they met no one on the stairs.

Inside the tiny apartment Alvin feels a pang of
homesickness.  He recognized the setting if not the
exact furniture.  Poor but hardworking people lived
here.  Proud and honest.  It was in another city, but
the smells of cooking, the burned out lights, the clean
floors in the small rooms and the neat but worn sofa
and chair.  He would bet the TV was a black and white
model.

He started to talk to her, to tell her his feelings for
her.  He wanted her to run away from the club, but he
knew she wouldn't.  She still needed something from Mr.
D and the bastard was still trying to get something
from her.  He'd said as much, but not what it was.

Miss Alex was frozen in the middle of the floor,
staring at something.  A floor lamp.  He started to
talk and she whirled on him, not knowing what he was
going to say, but sensing from his attitude that it was
probable something he would rather others not know
about.

He stopped, her finger on his lips.  Her other hand
pointed to her ear, then the lamp.  He looked again at
the lamp.  It was out of place, designed more for an
office than a home.  Even used, it would cost more than
any other single piece of furniture in the place.  And
it scared the shit out of Alex.

As he left, he kissed her hand.  She leaned up and
kissed his cheek.  As she approached, he heard her
whisper, "Oscar," and she held up three fingers.  Then
she cried.

She started to say, "I'm not..." but he held up his
fingers over her lips to stop her.  They would hear any
sound in the room, even with old equipment.  He nodded
that he knew what she was going to say.

He gave her the cryptic instructions Mr. D had given
him.  She was to wait for a call.  There wasn't a
timeframe.  She said she understood.  As he closed the
door behind him, he heard the first hard sob wrack her
slender frame.  She was going to have a long night.

Alvin picked Alex up the next morning as she walked
back from the market.  It was so exciting, like in a
James Bond movie.  She was grinning like a little girl
again, smiling up at the handsome face of her friend.
She giggled.

Chapter 17

Early the next morning she had heard a scratching at
the door.  It was odd, but she thought maybe one of the
neighbor's cats had the wrong apartment.  Cats weren't
allowed but almost all the tenants had either a cat or
dog.  She opened the door, but didn't see anything.
She almost missed the tiny slip of paper on the floor.
It hadn't been there earlier when she had mopped the
kitchen.

"Market. Red car."  The note was puzzling.  There was
crude diamond at the bottom, and suddenly she knew what
who it was from.  She threw on her old house dress and
her flats and hurried to the market.

The tiny Mom and Pop shop carried a lot of ethnic foods
for the changing population in the surrounding
neighborhoods and Alex had always enjoyed the simple
pleasures of the smells and the strange labels.  It
made her imagine the lives of the people in those
countries, how different they were, yet how much the
same people were everywhere.  She wandered the isles
for a while, then, with a wave to the owner, headed
out.

The shiny red car pulled smoothly in front of her as
she was crossing the street.  The door popped open and
she slipped in.  To anyone watching, it would appear as
if she had vanished into thin air.

No one was watching.  The quiet little man who had been
her constant companion before and who had bugged her
apartment was now watching another woman.  The new one
was more of a challenge.  She was sneaky and up to
something.  He was excited, or as excited as a non-
descript quiet little man could allow himself to
become.  Finally he could use his talents.

"New car?" Alex asked after they had driven for a
while.

"Rental," came the one-word reply.  Alvin was focused
on the rearview mirror, looking for a tail.  It was
unlikely, but he was taking no chances.  He rarely did.

"Oh.  Is your car in the shop?"

"Sort of.  It had a few bugs in it."

"Oh.  What kind of bugs?"

Alvin threw her a disbelieving look.  How could she not
know?  She had been the one to tell him about the ones
in the bar and then the one last night.  He held up his
hand and cupped his ear.

"Oooooh," she said understanding.  It was just like
James Bond.  She slouched down in the seat, below the
level of the window.  She saw him look and then grin at
her new seat on the floorboards.  She watched him
drive, watching backwards constantly.  They made a lot
of turns.

Alvin pulled into a deserted parking area in one of the
many parks in the city.  She had heard about the
beautiful parks in the city but had never been in one
before.  Harold hated parks.

"Miss Alex.  We need to talk."

"Can we walk, too?  I love parks.  There's no one here,
not even the joggers.  Please?"

He nodded and they got out.  Without asking, she took
his hand in hers.  She heard him make a small choking
sound and she knew.  She had known last night.  She had
seen him in the room.  He had watched her dance.  She
had seen him watching her, and knew.  She felt it, too.

They couldn't talk about it now.  Not now.  Later.
When the voices stopped, when she was done with the
insurance thing.  When she was free from this craving,
free from her marriage.  When Mr. Smith let her go.
She had always known he would not keep her.  Last night
had confirmed that.  Soon.  Then she would be able to
talk about this.  About love.  Not now.

"Did you ever find out what happened to that man, the
one that attacked me?" she asked, diverting the
conversation to another area.

"Lewis?  Yeah.  He got depressed and drunk, went home
and committed suicide.  Can't say I feel sorry for
him."

"Did he leave a note?" her breath held in futile hope.
She knew.

"Yeah.  Cute one, too."

"Oh God, oh God, oh God," she muttered half to herself,
half in prayer.  "'Fuck the bitch, Fuck the bank'," she
quoted.

"Yeah!  Hey, how'd you know?"

"He wrote it in Mr. Smith's office.  Just before he
killed him."

"No way.  I saw him alive, leaving with two guys."

"Vinnie and Max."

"Right.  They take a lot of drunks home."

Alex proceeded to tell him what she had observed and
overheard that night.  How Mr. Smith had gotten him to
write down those sentences, dictating them to him.  She
told about the strong drink and Lewis choking.  How the
needle had been hidden, first in the bottle of cognac
then in his palm.  She told about the pat on the back
and the injection, the twitch and the rolling eyes.

Alex explained in detail how the paralytic agent
worked, like the drug the Amazon tribes used to kill
monkey. Curare, or something.  Lewis couldn't move, but
Mr. Smith had known he could hear him.  She related how
he had told Lewis that they were going to drive him
home and close the garage with the car running.  She
had said Vinnie was wearing gloves.

Alvin walked beside her, silent during her story.  He
sensed there were things she wasn't telling him, but
didn't push her.  What she had told him was more than
enough for him to think about.

"Miss Alex?  The names on the list.  The one you showed
me."

"Yes.  The girls.  I hear their voices."

He turned to her, alarmed.  He wondered if she was
loosing it.  If so, how much of what she had told him
about Lewis' death would hold up?

"I'm not crazy.  I don't hear them now.  Only when the
pendulum swings.  I can't help it.  I started to talk
to them to keep from going crazy.  Then, when it I was
really tired, they talked back.  Hallucinations."

He nodded.  He had experience with that.

"Do you know where he sent them?  The girls?  When he
was done with them?"

"Oh, sure."

"Where, Miss Alex?  It's very important."

"Nowhere."

"What?"

"Nowhere.  They're in the basement.  But you won't find
them.  But that's where he took them."  She hesitated,
begging him silently to understand.  "They told me,"
she said quietly.

Now he was scared.  For Miss Alex.  He had hoped to get
her out, but if what she said was true, he would never
know.

"Tell me about the girl you knew, Alvin."

The big man closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"We were in high school.  Sweethearts, though with the
racial differences, we had to be careful.  But it was
love, or as close as any two hormone-addled kids can
get.  Her parents disapproved, my mama disapproved.

"Mama took me down and enlisted me in the army the day
I turned 18.  The day I left for boot camp was the last
time I saw Terry.  I drove by her house to say 'good-
bye.'  Her father met me at the door with a rifle.  I
saw her on the steps behind him.

"They liked me in the Army.  Even though I was too big
for Special Forces, they made an exception.  I had
passed all the intelligence tests with the highest
marks they had seen."  He blushed, not wanting to brag.
"I was too late for 'Nam, but the older guys, the
officers, opened up to me.  They told me what had
happened to them in captivity, to their buddies.
You've gone through a lot of that here, Miss Alex.

"My first mission was in Africa.  I can't tell you
where, but we weren't supposed to be there.  I was the
only survivor, but it took a long time for them to get
me out.  I lived in the jungle for months.  I killed a
lot of people, too.

"When I got back I found out what had happened to
Terry.  Her father had sent her to college.  Some ritzy
girl's school back East.  Terry was the kindest,
sweetest person I had ever known.  She was still a
virgin, but her father would never have believed us if
we had tried to tell him that.

"She got hooked up with some rich kid her first
semester.  He got her hooked on cocaine.  She would
never have done it if she knew what it was he was
giving her.  He got her drunk at a party, then held the
straw up to her nose, four people holding her down.  He
kept her high for a week, day and night.  Then he
fucked her.  Then he dumped her.

"She was out of it when the police came and arrested
her.  She had shoplifted some jewelry and hocked it.
They took her to a local precinct.  This fancy lawyer
shows up.  She thought her father had found out and
went with him but the guy takes her here, to this city.
She used a credit card for a hotel here.  Then she
disappeared.

"Her parents were devastated.  So was I.  I resigned
the Army, moved here and started asking questions.  The
last clue led to The Dungeon.  One of the dancers in
another bar recognized her picture.  She'd seen her
here, with Mr. D about a year before.  Just a couple of
months after she was arrested.  Called her a 'Pet.'

"I got a job here.  Then, about a year ago, when the
previous manager developed a sudden case of cement
shoes, I was made the manager."

He paused.  "Uh, Miss Alex?  I have to tell you that I
have certain connections.  I can find out things.  I
can't say more than that, but believe me when I tell
you that you are in danger.  I want you to leave.
Now."

"I can't, Alvin.  I can't explain it but I just can't.
I need something from him, Mr. Smith.  It's, it's a
hole inside."

"Give it up, Miss Alex."

She just shook her head, squeezing his hand tightly.

"I guess we both have a few secrets left, huh?" he said
after a while.

Nodding, she wondered if he knew that she knew how he
felt about her.  If that was one of his secrets.  She
wondered if he knew she felt the same way about him.
Looking at his worried face, she thought he did.

***

Marcy and Harold checked into fancy hotel in the city
he lived with Alex.  No way was he going to stay in
that slum again.  Besides, with Marcy here, Alex
wouldn't understand.  Things were different now.  He
had to move on with his life.  He was on the way to the
top.

He had to meet the insurance guy at this exclusive club
down in the warehouse district to sign the final
policy.  He didn't need his wife's signature this time.
The location of the club told him it would be an
exciting place, exclusive and discriminating.  A little
over the line.  In fact, the guy had told him not to
bring Marcy down here.  This was going to be a man's
night out.  Harold agreed.  Marcy was getting a little
demanding lately.

Marcy was soaking in the tub when he left.
Surprisingly she had made no effort to stop him.  She
said she was going to soak and then order room service.
She'd see him later.  Or tomorrow before the plane left
for Miami.  They already had the tickets in false
names.

The club was fancy.  A little kinkier than Harold was
used to, but the patrons were obviously well heeled.
He recognized a State Senator from another state
sitting three tables down.  There were several other
well-dressed men in expensive suits at the other
tables.

The insurance guy must have known somebody, because
they were sitting at the owner's table.  The 'Private'
placard gleamed in the dim lighting.  Harold knew he
had it made.  He could feel it.  The drinks were
flowing, the food was great.  'On the house' the
waitress had said.  Only the best scotch, too.  Their
table was 10 feet from the stage with a clear view.  No
one was in front of them.

He'd developed a taste for scotch.  Marcy had been
teaching him about how the rich people lived.  She said
that that way, he wouldn't stick out when he had his
money.  She had said 'their money,' but he knew she was
just excited about the trip.  It was his money.

The insurance guy had him sign the policy, then said
he'd hold it for him.  Wouldn't want it to get lost
tonight, with all the celebrating and all.  Two friends
of the insurance guy joined them.  He must have been
expecting them.  Vinnie and Max, they introduced
themselves.  They apologized for being late.  They had
just delivered a package downstairs and it had taken a
little longer than they expected to put everything
away.

There was some music and the room got dark.  The floor
show was about to begin and they had the best seats in
the house.  The insurance guy had hinted that this was
going to be a special show, not one you would normally
see, at least in the US.

The show was amazing.  These three girls put on a
lesbian act for a good half hour.  Then, when there
wasn't a limp dick in the place, they went to one of
the tables and pulled this guy up on stage.  There they
proceeded to suck him off.  One girl stayed with him
and the other two went back into the audience.  Another
guy was taken up on stage and they dropped his pants.
Then the last girl went out and got a guy.  Soon all
three were busy sucking on these guys' pricks.  When
one guy finished they just pointed, and wiggled their
finger, calling up another lucky bastard.  It looked
like they were taking on all the patrons with their
mouths.  Even the State Senator had a go at it.
Several of the men around the room went two or three
times.  Harold had wanted to go up, too, but with
Vinnie on one side and Max on the other he couldn't get
out.  They didn't seem to want to go.  They started
kidding him.

"You married, Harold?" Vinnie had asked him.

"Yeah, the ol' ball and chain," he replied, holding up
his ring finger with the band.

"So, you must get this all the time, huh?" he nodded at
the stage.

"Oh, it's not that special," he'd said.  How did they
get on this?  He was too drunk to lie about it.
"Besides, my ol' lady is so frigid, we don't need a
cooler in the house," he joked.

"You mean she never sucked the weenie for you?" asked
Max.

"That's not her thing.  She just doesn't like sex."

"That so?  I know a guy that can get a girl to do
anything.  In fact, he's the owner of this club.  I've
seen him do it with a movie star once.  Five minutes
and the bitch was putty," put in the insurance guy.

"You're shitting all over the table, man," said Vinnie.
"I'll bet he couldn't get ol' Harold's wife to put out.
Waddya say, Harold?"

"Nope.  She's tighter than a rusty bolt on a Peruvian
steamer."  He didn't know what that meant exactly, but
he'd heard that line before.

"This guy could do it.  $50 bucks says she's sucking
his cock in 5 minutes."

"You're on," laughed Vinnie.  "I'll take that bet.
Here's my $50, on the table.  Harold, you in?"

The drinks had done there job.  "Damn straigh'.  Easy-
ess 50 bucksh I made tonigh'," digging in his pocket
for his wallet.

"So give her a call! Get her down here!"

"Wha'? Now?"

"Sure.  Here.  You can use my cell phone," the
insurance guy said.  "Just press the button.  The
number's already dialed."  Then, as an afterthought,
"Oh, and tell her to wear something nice, too.  When
you're done, I'll call a cab and have her picked up in
twenty minutes."

Harold didn't see the set-up heading at him like a Mac
Truck.  He pressed the 'Send' button.

"Hey, Alex.  It'sh me, Harold, your hushband.  ...  Uh,
yeah, a li'l bit.  Just a few with the boysh.  Lishen,
I need you to meet me down at this here club.  The
Dungeon.  What? ..."

He listened to the whispered instructions from the
insurance guy

"... Oh, yeah, I'm shupposhed to tell you, wear that
nishe dressh.  You know the one, wi' the li'l flowersh.
A taxshi will be pickin' you up in tw-twenty minu's.
Oh, and jus' go meet this guy in the club offish.  ...
No, that'sh it.  Shee you, babe."

For the next half hour, Harold was put on a ration of
hot coffee.  Orders.  Mr. Smith wanted him as sober as
possible.  Harold didn't notice.  They were all
drinking coffee, joking and laughing.  He watched the
floorshow until they all got up to use the john.  It
was just about time.  He knew he couldn't lose.

Chapter 18

Alex stared at the phone.  It was only about the fifth
call they had gotten, other than the ones from the
credit card companies who always called at dinner time.
There was no question in her mind that this was the
call she was supposed to be waiting for.  It had come
sooner than she expected, but not soon enough.  She
wanted to find a resolution.  She needed to have only
one man, not two.  She needed a master.

Alex dressed in the white dress she had altered.
Harold had been so drunk.  She wondered if he would
even notice the changes in it.  Probably not, but he
would need to be blind not to.

A pair of hose and some make up had arrived by
messenger.  No note.  Just the those items.  Alex could
take the hint.  She applied what little make up she
needed, heavy where Mr. Smith liked it.  Around the
eyes and around her mouth.  The lipstick color was new.
It was brighter than she had worn for the photos.  The
makeup man had explained to her that a shade this
bright would draw attention to her lips.  He'd said
that in her case, with her mouth and lips, that wasn't
necessarily a bad thing.  The only downside, he' said,
was that the observer would miss her gorgeous face.  He
had said the nicest things.

She felt foolish pulling on her virginal white gloves
and the little pill box hat.  A look in the mirror
confirmed her feeling.  A hooker going to church.
That's what it looked like.  She laughed, and it felt
good to her.  She had laughed yesterday, too, with
Alvin.

She was waiting when the taxi pulled up and it was
early.  The cabbie knew exactly where to go and
wouldn't take any money.  He also couldn't keep his
eyes on the road.  They were glued to the mirror.  To
her face.  Her lips.

She entered her code at the front door and walked into
the now-familiar club.  In her clothes, the bartender,
who had worked with her only three days ago, didn't
recognize her.  Alvin did and he gave her a little hug.
He had been told to keep her here, at the front for a
few more minutes.  As they were speaking, she thought
she saw Harold with three guys.  They were going into
the men's room.  But it couldn't have been Harold.  She
knew two of the others.  Vinnie and Max.  No way would
Harold get mixed up with those two.

Alex waved to the lady from the photo session, the
beautiful lady that had posed with her.  The lady
seemed surprised to see her, but came over and chatted.
Alex mentioned she was supposed to see Mr. Smith in a
few minutes.  Would she have time for a drink later?
Alex really wanted to thank her for the other day.  She
had been so, well, kind to her.

The lady just smiled and said that she'd wait for a
while.  She had some girls working here tonight and
needed to take care of them.  But she was still here
when Mr. Smith was finished with her, they'd have that
drink.

Alvin pulled her inside the small security office, away
from the crowd, away from the floorshow.  Alex had seen
what those girls were doing on stage.  She thought it
was cute that Alvin was trying to protect her.  They
stood in silence, side by side.  She wondered if Alvin
had a hard on every night.

They didn't see the four men walk down the hallway to
the room just past the club office.  The one with the
one-way mirror.  They didn't see the trim figure of the
pretty lady that followed them into the room.  Vinnie,
Max and Harold were so intent on the one-way mirror,
they didn't even notice her.  The insurance guy thought
she was part of the Mr. Smith's plan.  Vinnie reached
forward and flipped the toggle switch under the mirror
down to the 'On' position.

Damon saw the tell-tale go on and called the front
security kiosk.  Alex was waiting.  He told Alvin to
send her down.

Damon's first thought as she walked into his office was
the she was the perfect picture of an innocent slut.
It was the gloves and hat.  No.  It's what she was.  It
stirred him, and he was glad.  When she was kneeling in
front of him, he wanted to be hard, he wanted it to
spring out at her.

"Hello.  You must be Mrs. Wilson.  I'm Mr. Smith.
Harold has told me so much about you."

If anything, he was counting on her quick mind.  She
had demonstrated that enough in the past.  She didn't
fail him.

Coming forward, she extended her hand.  "Hello.  It's a
pleasure to meet you, Mr. Smith."  She copied his
inflection and used the 'master' pronunciation.  He
grinned at her and winked with the eye the hidden
observers couldn't see.  She had noticed the telltale
light was on when she came in.  This was for show.

"So Harold was telling me a bit about you two.  I'm
afraid he was a little drunk at the time, and he said
some things that were perhaps a bit indiscrete."

"Oh, my.  I hope that didn't cause you any discomfort."

She was looking right at his crotch.  She had noticed
the swelling and was licking her lips.  Damon wondered
how much they had told her on the telephone.  Or how
much she had guessed.

"No, no.  Nothing I can't handle.  But there was some
talk of a bet, a silly man's thing.  It's nothing
really..."  He let it hang, hoping she would pick up on
his cues.

"Oh, a bet?  Those aren't silly.  That's serious, a
matter of honor.  Is that why you wanted to see me?  Is
there anything I can do to help?"

"Well, as a matter of fact there is.  I don't mean to
be crude, but Harold bet that you had the softest lips
in the city."

She smiled brightly at him.  "Oh, he was being silly.
Would you like a kiss to prove it?"

"Well, I would like you to prove it, but not with a
kiss."

"Then how, Mr. Smith?  The only other way I know about
is like this."

With that, Alex knelt in front of Mr. Smith and put her
hands to his belt.  He didn't stop her this time and
she smiled up at him.  It was a joke on Harold, and she
didn't feel guilty at all.  His zipper followed and
Alex lowered his pants down past his knees to his
ankles.  His short followed.

"Oh, Mr. Smith.  It's so beautiful.  May I kiss it?"

"But of course, Mrs. Wilson.  Tell me, do you do this
often?"

"Oh, no.  Never."

"Do you know how?"

"Well, I've seen pictures and heard stories, but I'm
not real sure.  Would you teach me, Sir?"

Looking down at those twinkling green eyes, Damon
almost changed his mind about his plans for her.
Almost.  She'd pissed him off by not signing the
ownership papers.  No one had done that before.  He
still had to get that taken care of.

"Sure, I don't mind.  See that drop of clear fluid.
Lick that with the tip of your tongue."

"Ummm.  That tastes good.  Is there more?"

With a laugh, Damon begins instructing this novice
fellatrix in the joys of cock-sucking.  He groaned as
she applied herself with great enthusiasm, only needing
to be warned once to watch her teeth.  Soon her head
was bobbing, taking more and more of him into her
mouth.

He felt her gag as his fat cock reached the back of her
throat, but she was prepared for this.  She had watch
the videos and seen those impossibly long cocks slide
down, completely swallowed by the girls.  Deep-
throating, the audio had called it.  She had felt him
in her body and knew he was large.  As large as the
plastic dildos the pretty lady had used on her if not
bigger.  For the last two day, she had practiced with a
sausage she had gotten from the market.  Her cheeks had
burned when she had gone though the checkout line with
just the sausage.  She knew that everyone would guess
what she wanted it for.

Staring at the wonderfully hard cock in front of her,
Alex was a little afraid she had not gotten a big
enough sausage to practice with.  She would try to
swallow this monster, but it would be a stretch.

When it hit the back of her throat, he had pushed a
little.  That was what made her gag.

"Am I supposed to swallow the whole thing, Sir?" she
asked, taking the glistening cock out of her mouth.

"Yes.  All good girls swallow the whole thing."

"OK, Sir," she said and dove back down on him, this
time relaxing her throat muscles and burying her nose
in his pubic hair.  Then she hummed.

Damon felt the vibrations of her vocal cords and the
sensation surprised him.  His cock swelled and his jism
burst deep into her throat.  Feeling him cum, she
slowly backed off, keeping just the head of his prick
in his mouth.  She sucked him dry, swallowing it all.
She wanted to be a good girl.  He was amazed.  For a
first time blow job, that had been one of the best he
had ever had.

When he had softened he pulled himself from her mouth.
Her red lipstick smeared its length and had come off on
her white gloves as she lovingly caressed the slowly
deflating organ.  It was an erotic sight.  She kept
sucking him until he pulled out.  She wanted more.

"Did I do good, Sir?" she asked, looking up at him with
an impish grin.  She was proud of herself.

"That was very good, Mrs. Wilson.  Perhaps you'd care
to do it again sometime?"

"Oh yes, Sir!  Now?"

He laughed, peeling her hands away from his groin.
This had gone much better than he had hoped.  Much
better.  He could just imagine the little bastard in
the other room.  Probably going out of his fucking
mind.

She remained kneeling as he pulled up his pants,
whispering "Thank you, Sir" as their heads were
together.  It had been a wonderful game to her.  She
helped him buckle his belt, leaning forward as she
finished and kissing the leather than had strangled her
earlier in the week.  He shook his head, stiffening
again at her willing subservience.

"If you can stay for a minute, Mrs. Wilson, I have some
business to attend to.  Do you mind?"

"Oh, no, Sir.  I'll stay right here."  She moved to
kneel in her spot beside his big desk.

Damon busied himself at the bar for moment, handing her
a drink as he left the office.

Harold had smirked when Alex had walked into the
office.  What a prude.  A good looking prude, he
corrected.  There was something different about the
dress.  It looked, well, sexier, somehow.  But she was
wearing her silly little hat and those stupid gloves.
Who did she think she was, the Virgin Mary?  She sure
as fuck acted like it.

Vinnie and Max had been ready when Harold had jumped
out of his chair.  Or tried to.  The insurance guy had
his hands just above Harold's shoulders.  He didn't
have a chance.  They tied his arms to the arms of the
chair he was sitting in.  In a touch of irony, it was
the same chair Alex had first been bound into when she
had come to the club searching for a way to save her
marriage.  The two men on each side of the enraged
husband used wide nylon bands that wouldn't leave any
marks to bind his arms.  They did his legs, too.  Too
many of these guys kicked like girls.

Harold had accepted the ties, eventually.  It had been
a bet, he shouldn't be a sore loser.  But that Mr.
Smith, was deformed!  Huge!  No one was that big.  He
had started yelling when she had licked the tip with
her tongue.  He was going to lose.  That couldn't be
his wife.  It was an actress, a double.  This was all a
joke.

The three men had laughed with him.  Or laughed at him.
He wasn't so sure anymore and Alex was carrying the
joke way too far.  She couldn't have taken him that far
down her throat.  It was an optical illusion, it had to
be.  The mirror was a trick mirror.

The guys weren't laughing any more.  They were
fascinated by the sight in front of them.  It wasn't
fake.  They weren't faking it.  Oh, God.  Alex.  That
could have been him, taking her mouth.  It should have
been.  That cunt Marcy couldn't hold a fucking candle
to that beautiful woman in the other room.  That was
his wife, damn it.

Harold heard the man's groan and saw his wife gulp and
swallow the ejaculate.  She kept his prick in her mouth
far longer than necessary.  Come on.  It was just a
fucking little bet.  Get off your knees!  Get up, go
home.  I'll be there as soon as I check out of the
hotel.  I'm coming, darling...

Damon strolled into the next room.  He felt rather
proud of himself.  He saw the red-faced balding paunchy
man.  That must be Harold.  Then he saw the Dom
standing in the corner, clapping sardonically.  He was
surprised to see her, but it gave him a thrill, too, to
have been seen to be so masterful, especially by his
next pet.  It would make it all the more sweet when she
was on her knees.  Oh, life was good.

"Hello, Harold.  I'm Mr. Smith.  That's OK, don't get
up.  I won't keep you long.  I just stopped in to tell
you thank you for handing me your wife on a silver
platter.  I couldn't have asked for a better gift."

Harold sputtered but was speechless.

"I wanted to thank you for participating in our little
insurance scam, too, Harold.  Without you, I have to
say it wouldn't have been possible.  And since you were
such an integral part of the plan, I wanted to share
with you just how it's going to go from here."

Damon walked over to the man strapped in the chair.
For a second it looked as if he was going to put his
hand on the man's shoulder in a comradely gesture.
Then at the last minute, his hand darted towards the
man's neck and the syringe was emptied into his neck.
It happened so fast that three of the observers never
saw it happen.  The Dom did.  She had seen his cupped
hand when he had come in the door.  The same way she
cupped hers to hide a needle.

Harold gave a sudden twitch and his eyes rolled up into
his head.  Slowly they rolled back down, unfocused, but
still seeing.  Damon knelt in front of him and started
undoing the straps that bound him.  The three men were
surprised when Harold didn't try to get up.

"I'm going to tell you your future, you little piece of
shit.  You're going to sit here and watch while I go
back in that room and fuck you wife.  Then she's going
to suck me hard again and I'm going to fuck her again.
When that's done, you're going to go get ready for your
trip to the islands.  Vinnie and Max here are going to
take you downstairs and put on your swimming trunks.
Then they're going to put you in a big tank of salt
water.

"You're going to drown, Harold, in the basement.  But
don't worry.  We're going to take you to the islands.
We still have to collect on the insurance, now, don't
we?

"Oh, you were so fucking smart.  You had it all figured
out.  You thought you couldn't lose, didn't you.  Well,
you little fuck, you lose."

On the way, out the Dom caught his arm.  "You want some
help in there with the little bitch?"

Damon eyed her.  "You'd like that, wouldn't you?  Are
you after her cunt or my cock?"

"A little of both, I guess," she teased him.  "But I'd
settle for your cock."

"Stick around, then.  You can stay and watch, but I
imagine you want to see to your girls.  Thanks, by the
way, for letting us use them.  I didn't know lesbians
were such good cock suckers.  How'd you do it?"

"Oh, I have my secrets, too," she said, drawing a sharp
fingernail down the side of his face.  "I'll see you
later.  I promise."

She grinned.  Unless that bitch was totally out of it,
the perfume she had just scented him with would cause
her some serious doubts.  Guys had no clue when it came
to aromatic warfare.  This dick was no different.  She
settled in to watch for a while.

Alex was kneeling in the other room.  She had been
euphoric, basking in Mr. Smith's praise.  It had been a
fun game.  A little cruel, maybe, but Harold already
had another woman.  Marcy.  She hoped they would be
happy together.  It was the way she was.

She had sipped a little of the strong drink Mr. Smith
had given her, but it wasn't what she needed.  She
liked the taste of him in her mouth and the whiskey
burned that out.  She reached up to put in on his desk
and nearly spilled it.

The bottle.  It had been moved.  It had been closed
when she came in.  Oh,God.  Harold!  With a sickening
knot growing in her stomach, she knelt and clutched her
arms around her body.  She didn't know for sure, but
she knew.  She knew.

This wasn't a game anymore.  She didn't want to play.
She grabbed her arms, pinching herself.  Get a hold of
yourself!  You knew it was dangerous.  From the time
you saw the size of the policy.  Harold's a big boy.
He can take care of himself.  He knew the risks.

Alex talked her way through her panic.  It was too late
now, anyway.  And she still needed something from Mr.
Smith.  Now more than ever.  She had willingly started
to severe her ties with Harold.  Maybe a divorce wasn't
impossible.  Her family would understand.

The scent of that woman struck her as Mr. Smith walked
into the room.  She looked behind him for her.  She
wouldn't have minded her being here.  But she had been
in that other room.  With Harold.  More to the point,
she had been in there with Mr. Smith.

"Come, pet.  Dance for me."

The music started and as if drawn into its seductive
beat Alex danced.  She tossed her parochial little hat
and her catechism gloves across the room.  She was done
with that part of her life.  Gone.  It was gone
forever.  She could never go back to her church.  She
would be a tainted woman when the divorce was final.

Her silky dress was off in a hurry.  There was an
urgency, a desperation to this dance.  Alex wanted to
get naked and get fucked.  Now.

Mr. Smith through her the black cord when her bra and
panties were gone.  She looped it around her neck and
handed him the ends.  Then lowering herself to her
knees, she began stripping him of his clothes.  He let
her remove her clothes then turned her around and tied
her arms behind her back.

He lifted her onto the large desk and set her on her
knees.  Then he got on the table himself and lay back.
In a flash she was poised over his loins, capturing the
tip of his cock in the mouth of her vagina and impaling
herself on his hardness.

Alex screamed and began sobbing, the sexual release
immediate and continuous.  She thrust her body up and
down his length, now working for his pleasure.  She
screamed as he slapped her tits as they bounced up and
down with her efforts.  He was not gentle and she egged
him on.  More, she demanded of him.  More, harder.

He came inside her and she wept.  She had pleased him.

Mr. Smith urged her off of him.  Suck, he said.  Clean
me and suck.

Alex complied eagerly.  He would give her more!  Her
tongue laved over his semi-hard organ.  She sucked his
testicles into her mouth and cleaned them.  He gave no
response to her efforts.  It wasn't until she chased a
trickle of her fluids down the crack of his ass and
licked his asshole that he showed further signs of
life.  Seeing that twitch, Alex buried her face in his
ass, urging his knees up and out so she could get in
and lick.  Finally, when it was almost hard, Alex took
it once more into her mouth and down her throat.  Then
she hummed.

She hummed the song she had hummed when Petunia died.
The one she hummed when she was looking for the bugs in
the storage room.  It was a nursery rhyme.  She didn't
remember the words.  Just the tune her Daddy had
hummed, over and over to her at night.

Mr. Smith pulled her off of him when he was finally
hard.  The humming had worked again.  He positioned her
on her knees and pressed her head against the desk.
With only her spit for lubrication, he stood on the
floor behind her and rammed his hard cock up her
asshole.  She screamed, in pain now the pleasure burned
from her mind.  That hadn't happened before.  Now she
could tell the difference.  Now it just plain hurt.

Then her body betrayed her once more.  The rhythmic
filling and emptying of her body, even in that cavity
stimulated the basic core of her brain.  Endorphins
flooded her blood stream and she became aroused,
despite the pain.  But not because of it, this time.

Mr. Smith lasted a long time before coming in her ass.
Alex came, too, at the end.  She cried when he pulled
out.

She cleaned him and he untied her.  He put the black
cord in her special drawer in the desk.  Her old cast
iron bra and granny panties were still in there.  It
seemed such a long time ago when she had surrendered
them to him.  So long ago.

She knelt, waiting because he had told her to wait.
Someone would come.  She hoped it was Alvin.

Vinnie and Max carried Harold downstairs to the third
basement.  Once there, the paralyzed man was stripped
and dressed in his own swimwear.  They laid him in a
large tubular frame that could be hoisted up and over
the big tank of water.  The frame had a lid that could
be closed, trapping whoever was in it.  The frame was
still wet, but Harold hardly noticed.

The two goons hoisted him up and over the large
saltwater tank.  He was lowered in, without visible
protest.  The only sign he gave of life were the
bubbles that were his last breath.  On his next breath,
Harold inhaled sea water.

For all intents and purposes, Harold had just drowned
in the ocean.

Vinnie and Max waited the half hour the boss had said
to wait.  Then they hauled the dead man back out of the
tank.  Splashing in the water that pooled on the floor,
the two lifted the lid of frame and heaved the
deadweight into a sitting position.  Max held his arms
out while Vinnie fitted and fastened a bright orange
life vest on him.  The name "SS Big Break" was
stenciled on the fabric of the new jacket.

Dragging him by his armpits and his ankles, the two men
butt-bounced Harold over to the huge walk in freezer.
Max got the corpse in a fireman's carry and staggered
under the deadweight into the depths of the huge
freezer.  Vinnie took a meat hook and slipped it
through the loop in the back panel of the life
preserver.  Max eased down, out from under Harold,
letting the meat hook take the weight of the man.

The two looked at their handiwork.  They were
satisfied.  The body was lying like it would if it were
face down in the water.  Not straight up and down, but
with the torso at a slight angle, the arms and legs
dangling straight down.  Any postmortem lividity
studies would show he had died in this position.

They closed the freezer door, leaving Harold swaying
gently in frigid repose next to a smaller, big-titted
bikini clad figure.  Marcy was going to the Islands
with Harold after all.

Chapter 19

"Ooooh, lover, that was good.  I didn't think you'd
have anything left after servicing your little bitch."

They were laying in Damon's bed, panting still from the
exertions of their combative coupling.

"You just bring it out in me, I guess."

"So, where do you keep her?  I can't see you letting
something that needy out in the world.  She'd fuck
every pair of pants between her and there and still
want more."

"Yeah, she is a demanding little cunt.  Kind of like
someone else I know."

The Dom gave a low laugh.  "Flattery will get you
anything you want.  So, where is she?"

Damon nodded with his head at a door she had assumed
was a closet.

"Really?  Is she in there?"

"Yes.  At least, she should be.  I told my manager to
put her down for the night."

"Oooh, goody.  Can I see?"

Damon looked at her.  "You want some cunt?"

"No, silly.  I just want to see how you keep her so hot
and pliable.  I just want to steal your trade secrets.
You are the best, you know."

He didn't catch the sarcasm.  She knew he wouldn't.
After a good fuck, a man's ego didn't let him think.
He had fulfilled his God-ordained task of procreating.
Like God on the seventh day, the fuckers shut down and
rested.

"In that case, OK.  But no touching and keep quiet.
I'm still working on her."

The beautiful, if bedraggled lady stepped gracefully
out of the bed, using her nudity as a weapon.  All was
fair in this war and love had no part of it.  She
opened the door to Alex cage and the girl's plaintive
wailing filled the bedroom.  Her cries vacillated,
quiet to loud, quiet to loud, in coordination with a
large swing pendulum.  The lady saw the girl was nearly
insane with frustration.  A cruel smile of satisfaction
crossed her lips.  It was amazingly simple yet
diabolical in its effectiveness.  A slut-making
machine.

She recognized the latex clothing.  Her girls each had
their own, too.  But the swinging arm, that was genius.
Sheer genius.

Silently she shut the door.  If it all worked out, she
would get this little bitch for her own.  Oh, God, what
she could do with her.  Such devotion.  Such loyalty.
It was fucking wasted on this prick.  He didn't even
know how to break her.

And the idea was planted and grew.  It was brilliant.

"I can't believe there would be anything more you could
possibly get from her after observing her performance
today."

"The bitch is stubborn."

"Oh, come on.  She's dying to serve you.  It couldn't
be that hard."

"You have no idea."  Damon was opening up to this lady.
His guard was down.  He had never had someone he could
talk about his work with, someone who understood.

"Anything I could do to help?" she asked carefully.
This was the make or break point.

"I don't know.  I can't get her to commit, sort of."

Yes!  She was in!

"I'll bet you I can get her to commit to it, whatever
it is, in three days.  If I win, I get you for a week,
in my parlor."

"Ha!  Sure after I softened her up for you."

"Are you making any progress?"

"Well, no."

"So?  How about it?"

"And if I win?  I get you for a week?"

She didn't even hesitate.  "Deal.  Shake?"

"Done.  So.  What's your brilliant plan?  What do I
do?"

The beautiful woman leaned back in his soft bed and
grinned.  God, he was going to look cute on his knees
sucking her cunt.

"Nothing."

"Huh?  Nothing?"

She sighed, like a trainer with a stupid dog.  "Yes.
Nothing.  I'd suggest you turn off that ingenious
machine, too.  And then, you ignore her."

"Ignore her?"

"Yes.  Give her the 'silent treatment.'  Be there, but
don't be there.  Let her see you, but to you she
doesn't exist."

"It'll never work."

"Then you'll have me in your clutches for a week.  And
you'll only have lost three days.  Sounds like a good
deal to me."

"You're pretty sure of yourself."

"Let's just say I know women.  I know that woman."  She
grinned, "At least, I sure the Hell hope I do."  She
paused.  "As long as we're in this together, you mind
telling me what it is she won't give up?"

He looked chagrinned.  "A divorce," he said finally.

"You're shitting me.  You married that little cunt?"

"No, not me.  You met him earlier.  Harold."

"Oh.  I see.  It could be hard to get a divorce from a
dead man.  Hmmm.  That may take a bit longer than I
estimated."

Damon looked at her, his interest piqued.  He had
swallowed the hook and she had just set it.  Hard.

"You want out?  Too tough for you?"

"No way, lover.  Come over here."

Giggling as her newest victim attacked her with renewed
vigor, the Dom salivated over her plans.  This Mr.
Smith liked to use drugs to his advantage.  She had
seen that at the photo session and earlier tonight.  He
had one drug, apparently, that he like to use with a
very lethal effect.  He was very good at it, too.  She
had never suspected him of it and the police had
obviously never connected him to anything.  She had
never had much use for actually killing people, but it
never hurt to have it in her arsenal.

What Damon had forgotten about was her arsenal, her
medical bag of tricks.  Her newest little
pharmaceutical helper was a Central Nervous System
(CNS) drug that had failed spectacularly in the
clinical trials.  It had been intended to help severely
depressed individuals by making them more open to
suggestions, allowing therapists to alter their
thinking patterns.  If anything, it was too successful.
The patients were so open to suggestion that their
entire moral code could be influenced.  A normally
harmless person could be made to do the most
reprehensible things imaginable without the slightest
remorse or guilt.  And all with only one dose.

Obviously the Army was interested in guilt-free killing
machines and had tried to hijack the project, but the
company and the FDA had thought better of it and shut
it down.  She, of course, had a contact in the lab.
All the samples that were supposed to have been
destroyed had ended up in her vault.  Her first three
subjects, normal heterosexual college freshmen two
weeks ago, had put on an outstanding performance
tonight at his club as lesbian nymphomaniac cock
suckers.  They still attended college, but they served
totally at her whim and without question.

As would this prick and his 'pet.'

Damon got out of bed and opened Alex' cage after their
latest mating.  He stopped the pendulum and she opened
her eyes, glazed and unseeing.  Staring down at the
delirious girl, he wondered if she knew what was going
to happen to her.  In three days, he would have his 5
million dollars or he would have that bitch in his bed
under his control.  Either way, he couldn't lose.

He didn't even notice he was using the same words he
had used earlier with Harold.

The next two days were pure torture for Alex.  Alvin
would get her up, feed her and walk her through her
day.  She was now a considered just a regular worked at
the club.  She cleaned the bars and waited tables.

She didn't dance.  She had to tolerate the none to
subtle pinches and advances of the club members.  She
did so stoically.  While on the outside she was calm,
inside she was a tightening coil.

She hadn't quite figured it out the first day.  She
told herself that Mr. Smith was just busy.  He had a
lot of important things to do.

Then she got her first paycheck.  Alvin had handed it
to her along with passing out all the other employees
their checks.  At first she had been excited, even
jumping up and down.  Then she saw the amount and asked
Alvin why it was so much.  He said Mr. Smith had told
him to tell her that he had given her the earnings for
her dance.  Suddenly, Alex got sick to her stomach and
had to rush to the bathroom.  She threw up and was sick
again when she thought about it.

Pale and wan, she came back and gave the check back to
Alvin.

"Please, Alvin.  Could you hold this for me?  I--  I
don't..."

"I know, Miss Alex.  You're not a whore.  You did that
for him, not the money.  It was a bad thing for him to
do."

"But, why, Alvin?"

"I don't know, Miss Alex.  I don't know anymore."

Mr. Smith made frequent forays into the club, stopping
and chatting with Alvin and the other employees.  It
was as if Alex didn't exist.  He would see her and walk
right by her.  By the end of the day she was in tears.

Each morning and evening Alvin would hand her the
clipboard with the forms.  Each morning and evening she
would shake her head and the tears would fall.

On the third morning Alvin handed her the clipboard.
Tears falling down her cheeks, she took it from him.
Alvin moaned, as if in pain.  She didn't hear him.

Alex took the clipboard into the dining area of the
apartment.  She laid it by his hand softly and then, on
top of them, laid her wedding band.

"I'll sign them, Sir.  I'll go out today and file for a
divorce from Harold.  I need your advice, Sir.  I don't
know any lawyers.  Could you help me?  I could use the
money from the check, Sir."

Damon stared down at the clipboard in disbelief.  The
fucking Dom bitch had been right!  He'd won!  Five
Million Dollars!  Yes!  Eat that, Elizabeth Farnsworth!

"Pet," he said, "Don't worry about anything.  A good
master takes care of all of those little details, like
lawyers and money.  Tell you what.  Let's have a
signing party tonight to celebrate.  That will give me
time to get all the other papers drawn up and you can
sign them all at once.  How does that sound?"

"Wonderful, Sir.  But, Sir?"

"Yes, my Pet?"

"May I call you 'Master' now?"

He thought for a minute, toying with her.  It had been
a delicious fight, especially since he had won.

"Yes, Pet.  I think that would be a good idea."

"Oh, Thank you, Master!" she sobbed, kneeling to his
feet and kissing them.  "Thank you!"

As Alvin was no longer necessary to his plan, he waved
him away after giving him instructions for a small
quiet celebration in the bar tonight.  Employees only,
then they could have the night off.  He and his new pet
would be having their own celebration.  Alvin had a bad
feeling about the whole thing.

For a celebration, it went well, even if the guest of
honor was a bit subdued.  Alex was not bound, but she
was collared and leashed.  She stayed by her Master's
side all night long.  Her Master was in a wonderful
mood.  She had signed the papers, all of them, without
glancing at a single one.  They were even now sitting
in an envelope in his outbasket, addressed, notarized
and with the proper postage.  It was all over.

Then they had gone to the party.  He was the center of
attention and the life of the party.  He was witty,
smiling and everybody's best friend.  It was a
wonderful celebration.

Through it all, Damon was seething.  How could he have
been so fucking blind.  Right under his fucking nose.
Right there, all the time.  Shit!

He had left Pet kneeling in the office.  He had to make
a call.  He probably could have done it with her there,
but better safe than sorry.  He stepped to the next
room and dialed the four digit number for Vinnie.

"Hello, Vinnie?  Yeah, it's me.  All the papers are
signed.  ...  Yeah, it's great news.  Listen, I want
you to get those two out of here tonight, OK.  ...
Right.  Get them ready.  I'll get everybody out of here
early.  ...  Yeah, him, too.  ...  You got the boats,
right.  ...  Right, the 'Big Break.'  ...  Yeah,
Vinnie, I got the joke.  Cute.  Was that your idea?
...  Funny.  A good one.  OK, you get them ready and
I'll let you know when it's clear up here.  Better safe
than sorry.  ...  Yeah.  Bon Voyage."

He hung up.  Then he remembered he needed to tell them
to put them in plastic bags with dry ice.  Those idiots
would probably just let them thaw out in the back of
the van.  Eight hours in this heat to Miami and there
would be a big stink, in more ways than one.

He had picked up the handset and was puzzled.  He heard
Vinnie talking.  But the light for the line wasn't lit.
Something was very fishy.

"Hey, Maxie!" he heard him yell, "It looks like Mama's
going to get her $5 Million bucks.  Oh, happy shit!
Wait until I tell her."

Damon heard the familiar sounds of a cell phone
dialing.  He hadn't know Vinnie carried one.  He had
never given him the number if he did.

"Hello?  Mrs. Farnsworth, please.  It's Vincent."

There was a delay.  Damon was ice cold.  Everything was
falling into place.

"Hello, Mama? ..."

That was all Damon had to hear.  He sank down in the
chair and held his head in his hands.  He didn't see
his new pet through the one-way mirror as she fixed him
a drink at the bar.  He wouldn't have thought anything
of it, anyway.  Then she straightened out the bottles,
fumbling with a couple of them.  She was just being
domestic.

It had all been too simple, so easy, when you thought
about it.  He remembered the rumors now.  No one put
any credence to them because there wasn't any proof.
The bastard kid was never with her at any functions.

He had heard Elizabeth Farnsworth had had a kid before
she married her husband.  Named Vincent something or
other.  Pirolli.  Vincent Pirolli.  But no one had
heard of him since.  And the bitch had managed to slip
him in right under his nose.  Vinnie had obviously been
bugging the club since the first day.  What was that,
three years ago?  That was about right.  The phone in
this office was obviously one of his listening posts.
Neat trick.  Dial an extension while a room is empty,
or even when someone is there.  Let it ring or be
answered, it didn't matter.  The connection would stay
active, the handset acting like a microphone.  It would
be totally untraceable, as there were no bugs to
detect.

He made a decision.  He still had those gifts he had
been planning on giving to Alvin.  That was before he
had found out that Alvin was in the clear.  Damn, that
would have been a terrible mistake.  But they were
perfect for this occasion.  Perfect and appropriate.

Steeling himself, he had gone in to the office,
collected his pet and gone to the party.  No one
suspected he was acting a part.  Which wasn't unusual,
if he had thought about it.  He was always acting a
part.

Alvin had primed the staff to leave early.  After a
rousing cheer and several well wishers kissing the
bride, so to speak, the small gathering dispersed.
When the three of them were left, Alvin was shocked
when Mr. D hugged him, in a manly way of course.  Of
all the nefarious deeds he had witnessed or heard of,
that short physical contact disturbed him the most.
Something had happened to completely clear him in Mr.
D's mind.  Either that, or Alvin was a dead man and
just didn't know it yet.  He wasn't sure he liked
either choice.

He also didn't like it when Mr. D sent him home, too.
He had an uneasy feeling about tonight.  Too much was
coming together.  People could get hurt in the
stampede.  He hurt for Alex, too.  She looked beaten,
defeated.  Oh, she was radiant and glowing, but her
eyes were empty of their fire.  She had what she
wanted.  He could tell, every time she said 'Master' he
could hear the enjoyment in her voice.  She relished
it, savored it.  But it was a hollow victory.  She had
had to give up too much.

From the office where he had taken her, Mr. Smith sent
Alex back into the club to get her black cord and then
meet him downstairs in the apartment.  He had an errand
to run but would be right back.  She hadn't been bound
tonight, but unquestioningly she had searched for the
cord.  She found it where they had left it.  It was in
her special drawer in his desk.  It had been in his
office all along.

Mr. Smith wasn't there when she had come back into the
office.  She was just about to leave when, out of
habit, she checked the alignment of the bottles.  It
had been moved again!  As she was alone, she checked
the contents of the cognac bottle.  An icy hand gripped
her heart.  The syringe was gone and the vial was
empty.

With growing dread, she made her way down to the
apartment.  She didn't have to look to know, but she
checked anyway.  She found the syringe in the drawer of
the nightstand.  He hadn't even bothered to close the
drawer all the way or cover the syringe to hide it from
view.

Alex laid the black cord carefully on the bed.  He had
never taken her sexually without her being bound.  She
had one chance.  If he could be convinced he had
completely won, there was a chance, a slight chance he
would be magnanimous.  He might make a mistake.
Probably not, at this stage, but she could only try.
Otherwise, she was dead.  As dead as Petunia.  She had
no doubts that he didn't need her anymore.  You didn't
keep pets you didn't need.

Chapter 20

Damon left the apartment and took the elevator down to
the third level.  As he suspected, the fucking dolts
hadn't packed the bodies in ice.  They were sitting on
the cart, ready to be hauled up to the service entrance
when everyone was gone.  Vinnie's smug expression was
almost enough to make him want to bash his face in.
But not yet.  They had to get the bodies to the
Islands.

"Hey, guys!  Looks like you're all set, right!"

"Yeah.  For a little guy, he weighs a ton, ya' know,"
said Max.  Vinnie just smirked at him.

"Say, Max, how long will it take you to get to the
Marina?"

He looked up at Vinnie.  "Oh, dunno.  Maybe 8-9 hours.
Don't want to speed or nothin'."

"Yeah, that's good thinking, Max.  So, have you
arranged to pick up some ice on the road?"

"Ice?  What for?"

"Oh, come on, Max.  Quit joking with me.  It's over a
hundred in the back of the van and it will be even
hotter in Miami.  You're not going to load them into
the yacht in broad daylight, are you?"

"Uh, no, boss."  His eyes were flicking over at Vinnie,
who was no longer smirking.  It was a major screw up,
the kind of detail Mama would have expected him to
think of.  Especially when he took over this club from
this faggot.

"We'll get some ice from the freezer, Mr. D," said
Vinnie.  "I was planning on getting that out at the
last minute, so it wouldn't melt.  And, oh yeah, we'll
put it in plastic bags, so it won't melt all over,
too."  With that 'save' his smugness returned.  He
could do this job as good as that phony bastard.

"Well, look.  I'm sorry you two had to miss the
celebration.  To make up for it, I saved two of the
best bottles of champagne for you.  Besides," he kicked
at the largest lump on the cart, "it's his Anniversary
tomorrow.  It would be a shame not to toast to his good
health, right?"  He gave a big laugh, as if this was a
great joke.

"Gee, that's nice of you boss.  Thanks."  Max took
possession of the bottles.

"Remember guys, work first, play later.  This is the
good stuff.  You'll probably never have any better.
So, get them in the water, arrange for them to be
found, then party to your heart's content.  And drink
one for me, too, will you?  I really owe you guys for
your help with this project.  I think we'll be talking
about moving you up in the organization after this.
Finish this, then we'll talk."

"Hey, boss?  Any chance we'll get a piece of the new
girl when we get back?  She's a hot one, she is."

"Well, Max, you know I don't like loose ends.  But I'll
tell you what.  If she's still around when you get
back, I'll arrange for you to have her for a while.
How about that?  I'm not sure how things are going to
work out with her, but you're on, OK?"

"Gee, Thanks, boss.  You're d' best!"

"You, too, Max.  Vinnie.  Drive safe."

He managed not to ball up his fists as he turned away
from them.  It was always the weakest links that fucked
up a perfect plan.  All the idiots had to do was drive
to Miami, wait until nightfall, load the bodies on the
yacht and sink the sucker where it could be found.  It
was all arranged.  They couldn't fail.  They couldn't.
Harold's body had to be found and in the next couple of
days.

Damon was feeling slightly better when he got back to
the apartment.  His new pet was waiting for him, naked
and kneeling beside his bed.  Fresh sheets, freshly
showered, her hair in the thick woven braid he favored.
She smelled of musk, a sensual scent she didn't usually
wear.  He liked it.

He called her in to the bathroom and she scrubbed his
body while he showered, thoroughly and with a
refreshing delight.  She explored him, touching him,
calling him 'Master' over and over as would a child
with a new toy.  She dried him tenderly, his arousal
evident as he led her to the bedroom.  She seemed
nervous, a bride on her honeymoon.

Damon picked up the black cord.  It was a symbol of his
dominance, his mastery over his pets.  He fondled the
cool silk, remembering the many different pets that had
been bound by this cord.  It had been passed from pet
to pet, a link between them.  It had a legacy.

"Master?" his new pet asked, breaking his reverie.

"Yes, Pet?"  She kneeling, shivering.

"Master.  I would ask your forgiveness.  You were
right.  I belong to you.  It was wrong of me to make
you wait.  Please forgive me, Master."

"Not to worry, my pet.  All is forgiven."

"Oh, thank you, Master.  I would love to make it up to
you, if I may.  And I have a request."

"And what makes you think I would grant it?"

"Because you are a wise Master.  If you don't wish to,
I will never ask again.  But it would mean so much to
me.  To us, Master."

This was intriguing.  He had always been attracted to
her brain.  It was her sexiest feature.  It kept things
exciting.

"So what is your request?"

"Master, always before when you have given me the
pleasure of your body, you have bound me.  I would like
to give you, just once, myself as a woman.  I know I am
your pet and unworthy.  But this night, on this special
occasion, let me give you my whole being."

He considered her request, weighing the silken cord in
his hands.  It would be a novelty to have a free pet.
He had had to be so wary with that Dom.  With her hands
free he hardly could let himself go, but it had been
nice.  There was no rush, either.  The needle could
wait.  Now that those to idiots had finally taken the
cart up the elevator, the building would be empty until
tomorrow night.

He coiled the cord in his hands and set it on the
nightstand.  Later.  He would put it on her later.

He was not disappointed with his choice.  His pet
exceeded his expectations, which were very high indeed.
She gave of herself completely, teasing him, exciting
him over and over.

The long night passed by, cry after exalting cry
filling the silence of the darkened building.  Time and
again his pet urged him to a new hardness he didn't
think he could manage.  Still she urged him on,
demanding, giving herself to his pleasure.

No, it hadn't been a mistake.  It was a memory he would
always cherish.

When he could give her no more, his pet slipped from
his side.  He heard the water running into the bath,
her silvery voice humming a child-like melody.  Then
she was urging him up again, but to his feet this time.
It was as if she couldn't get enough of his body, she
was touching and caressing him constantly.  It was her
only chance to do so and he indulged her.

He eased into the steaming water.  It felt so good, so
relaxing.  Her hands were on his chest, her lips on his
face.  Like a good pet, she was kneeling beside him,
outside.  Her hands found his masculinity and softly
caressed him.  It was not to arouse him, but to worship
his superiority.

He drifted off under her calming touch.  His eyes
slowly closing.  Just for a minute.  Then he would
finish his plan.  It had been delicious, thrilling.
This was a just reward for his hard work, this
delightful little pet.  Too bad about her.

Mr. Smith hardly felt the prick of the needle in his
neck, but he knew what had happened in the next
instant.  He struggled to get out of the tub, but the
drug's effect was fast acting.  Her aim had been true
and the needle had found a vessel leading directly to
his heart.  Ten beats, fifteen at the most and his arms
collapsed.  Then his legs buckled under him as his body
shuddered, his brain having lost control of all of the
voluntary muscles.  Only the smooth muscles of his
heart and diaphragm still functioned.

He could live for hours before his lungs filled with
fluid and he drowned.  Terror filled hours with the
blood coursing through his brain, keeping him alive,
letting him wonder what had gone wrong.

Slowly his eyes rolled back down and Alex turned his
head so he could see her.  She wasn't crying, neither
was she jubilant.  The pet had turned on her master.
She looked at him and caressed his face softly.  He was
confused.  What had gone wrong?  How had she known?"

"Master, I have done a terrible thing.  I know you can
hear me and I don't want you to die wondering what went
wrong.  I owe you that much.

"I knew you weren't who you said you were.  I suppose I
had always known it, but by then, all I wanted was to
call you 'Master.'  But I knew for sure the night of
the party, the night I was attacked.  So much happened
that night.  I tried to ignore it, but tonight I
couldn't.

"I saw you sign your name on some contracts.  You
didn't sign it 'Mr. Smith' or even 'George.'  You
signed it as 'Damon Arquette.'  That's your name.
That's why you let Alvin call you 'Mr. D.'

"That same night, I saw you kill that man, the one who
took me into the club and beat me.  You killed him,
just like Daddy killed Petunia.  I saw him write the
suicide note when you were pretending to help him.  I
watched you get the needle from its hiding place and
hold it just like Daddy did.  I saw you put the needle
in his neck and watched him twitch like Petunia.  I
heard you telling him how he was going to die.  I saw
the look in your eyes as you watched his terror.  It
excited you.

"Finally that night, I heard your call to Marcy.  It
wasn't until later I found out she was Harold's lover.
It was then, though that I realized you were planning
something big that had to do with me.  Alvin had told
you I would be out for two weeks.  You told Marcy there
would be a two-week delay in your plans.

"You sent me home to be there when Harold came home.
He thought I wouldn't read all those forms, but I know
about insurance policies.  And insurance scams.  It was
coming together.  Harold, big dope that he was, was
your race horse.  And the race horse always died.

"I understood the genius of your plan when I saw my
paycheck two days ago.  It was drawn on the club's
account in an off shore bank.  The same bank you had
arranged for Harold and me to have a joint account.
The account where the money was to be deposited in the
event of a payout.  Did you ever find out that I
changed the deposit instructions?  Only 10% of the
payout would go into it.

"I wonder, too, what happened to Harold.  He called me
from the club.  He was drunk.  I thought you were
playing a game, teasing him.  He had hurt me and I
wanted to hurt him, too.  I wanted to please you more,
so I went along with your game.  It was exciting.
Until I saw the bottle with the needle had been moved.

"You were so good with accidents.  Like Lewis' suicide.
I hope Harold's death will be an accident.  I changed
the insurance payout on that, too.  Accidental death
pays double.  Ten million dollars.  Tax free.

"I would have been a very rich widow.  I would have
given it all to you, willingly, gladly.  But you had to
take it from me, like my marriage.  You had to have it
your way.

"I know about pets.  Pets are put down when they're
used up, when you're through with them.  Like Petunia.
You were through with me.  I knew.  You already had
your eye on the next one, a challenge.  I smelled her
in your room.  She put her scent on you after she
watched us in the office, the night I gave you my last
virginity.  She wanted me to know.

I found the syringe missing tonight when I looked for
the silk cord.  That's when I knew.  I would have given
you everything, Master, even my life.  All I wanted was
a Master, to be allowed to call you 'Master.'

"I couldn't let you take my life from me.  Not that.
It was all I had left."

Alex stood slowly.  She had begun crying as she talked
and her tears were running down her cheeks to fall to
her chest, then dripping from her nipples onto the
floor.  She turned to the cabinet where he kept his
razor.  The one like Daddy used.  Using a towel she
picked it up.

Folding his unresisting fingers around the handle of
the sharp instrument, she turned his hand to the other
and drew the blade down along the inside of his
forearm, careful not to cut crosswise, across his
wrists.  If the tendons in his wrists were cut, it
wouldn't look like a suicide.  You can't hold a razor
with fingers that have had their tendons cut.

The blade sliced deep, cutting through throbbing artery
buried there.  She carefully folded the razor into the
bleeding hand and repeated the careful, but deep cut
down the other forearm.  She let the hand and the razor
drop into the warm water.

The water turned pink, then crimson, then deep red as
the life flowed from her Master.  She sat with him,
cradling his bristly head in her arms, humming a
wordless tune.  She sat with him until the lights went
out of his eyes.

She would have been surprised by his last cogent
thought:  "Who the Hell was Petunia?"

Prologue

Alvin found her locked in her cage.  After the blood
spattered scene he had found in the bathroom he had
searched for her frantically, not knowing what he would
find.  He was about to search the third basement when
he took a quick look in her room.

Miss Alex was in her bed, shackled, tear stained, but
sleeping peacefully.  She smelled of sex, but that
didn't worry him nearly as much as the blood on the
soles of her feet.  A drop or two had fallen on the
bathroom floor and she had not seen it as she stepped
in it.  It put her at the scene of the crime.

Alvin shook her gently.  He didn't let her loose.  Not
yet.  Her eyes were haunted as she looked up at him.
She didn't have to tell him she was still hearing the
voices.  He asked her what had happened and she told
him everything, including how she sliced his wrists.

After that, she was hazy.  She thought she had tried to
clean up the bathroom, but was careful not to use the
towels.  Only paper she could flush.  She had scrubbed
her hands and arms with bleach.  She remembered putting
the syringe away upstairs.  She told him where the
hiding place was.  She remembered seeing the envelope
with the forms she had signed.  She had shredded it in
the big office shredder.  Then she opened her fist.
She had her wedding ring tightly clasped in it.  Damon
had thrown it in the trash.  She found it in there and
picked it up.  She had asked him to keep it for her.
Keep it safe.

Alvin went upstairs first.  He found the syringe and
wiped it clean.  It was OK for her fingerprints to be
on the bottles.  It had been her job to keep them neat
and clean.  He was amazed she had been able to clean up
as much as she could.  There was very little evidence
to counter the suicide theory.  But what there was, if
it was found, would hang her.

Alex looked up at the towering black figure above her.
He had gloves on and was holding Master's little whip.
He'd only used it on her once.  Last night on her back.
She had begged him for more and more and he had become
aroused.  It was the last erection she had been able to
draw from him.  Alvin was telling her about the blood
on her feet.  She understood.  She closed her eyes and
tried not to scream as the whip bit into the tender
soles of her feet, cutting and breaking the skin.  They
waited together for the blood to congeal, her blood
covering all traces of his.  It would never be found.

An hour later, the 911 service got a call for an
apparent suicide.  The whip was left in the door to
Alex' cage.  It propped the door open a crack and she
could be heard moaning and weeping.  Alvin wanted them
to find her as soon as possible.

Vinnie and Max arrived on schedule in Miami.  After Mr.
Smith's gentle tongue-lashing, Vinnie was doing
everything by the book.  He still couldn't believe the
cocksucker didn't know what was going on.  But until
Mama put him out of his misery, he would keep his nose
clean and follow orders.

The bodies were kept on ice during the day and loaded
onto the decrepit yacht that night.  The "Big Break"
had had many names in its life.  The latest and last
name was a small scheme of the owner of the marina.
This old tub had been sitting for years.  He had too
much tied up in it to tow out and sink, but no one
wanted it.

Then Mr. Smith had called.  Yes, he had a boat he could
rent.  No, he didn't mind if it didn't come back.  He
would insure it.  No problem.

He had stripped the boat of all valuables, changed the
name and sent two new life jackets to a PO Box.  They
were the newest fittings on the boat by decades.  He
renewed and increased the insurance, as befitting a
rental property.  As instructed, he fitted a tow line
to the bow.  Then he cashed his hefty check.

He was not there when two men loaded the bodies on the
leaking boat.  He was not there when the two motored
out of the private marina without running lights later
that night.  He was not there when the men took axes to
the hull after running the craft up on a reef just off
shore of an inhabited island.

The pounding surf quickly tore the boat to bits.  The
bodies, already thawed to water temperature, floated
face down until noon, when the rescue helicopter
spotted their bright orange live vests.  The partially
eaten bodies of the couple were taken to the nearest
morgue for identification and autopsy.

Vinnie and Max stayed within sight of the morgue until
the helicopter came back and unloaded the two bloated
bodies.  Vinnie put the high powered binoculars back in
the holder next to the captain's chair and patted Max'
head as he worked on sucking his cock for the third
time today.  Today was Vinnie's day.  Tomorrow he would
suck of Max.  Unless they could get women, it was how
they passed the time.  As it had been since boarding
school, when they had been two lonely boys, ostracized
for being Italian.

Interrupting his devoted friend, he handed him a glass
of the exquisite champagne Mr. Smith had given them.
As requested, the two hoisted a glass to the first
anniversary of the dead man.  Then they had one for the
success of the plan.  Then they just drank.  The wine
was excellent.

Three hours later Vinnie rushed to the head, only to
find it was already occupied by Max.  His urgency so
great, he didn't wait to yell at the rude man.  He
could tell by the smell that Max had a problem.  It
sounded terrible, too.

Vinnie dropped his shorts and hung his ass over the
port side rail.  Shit flew for several yard as he
explosively defecated into the pristine waters of the
deep blue ocean.  The dark brown matter continued to
flow from him, forced out by painful contraction.  The
flow turned a reddish brown then was bright red.  The
ocean around him turned a pale pink and the scent of
that much fresh blood attracted every sea-going
carnivore in hundreds of miles.

A gentle wave broke Vinnie's precarious balance and he
fell backward into the churning water.  He had lost so
much blood he was too weak to scream for help or to try
to fend off the ravenous beasts that attacked him.  Max
wouldn't have heard him anyway.  He was already dead.

Damon would have been pleased to know his revenge had
been successful.  It had been a gamble, giving them the
champagne.  But they were soldiers, they would follow
orders.  Mama needed the money.  Still, it was a
gamble.  Had they had the wine too soon, the fast
acting poison would have ruined everything.  Still, he
had won.

Alex was taken for treatment to a secure medical
facility while her feet healed.  Two weeks later she
was quietly transferred to a secure psychiatric
facility for observation.  She was hearing voices and
wasn't sleeping.  Her case was still pending and she
was the only suspect in a questionable death.  It was
just a precaution.

Josephine (Joey) Murphy, M.D was admitted to the room
in which Alex was being held.  The eminent psychiatrist
was an expert in traumatized women.  The medical staff
that had been observing the new patient were disturbed
and concerned about her.

The doctor scanned the room.  The room was sterile and
bare, like every other room in every other psych ward.
Alex was strapped into the bed.  Her hair was brushed
and clean.  Had it been visible, she would have sent
that the hole in her cute little naval was healing.
Body jewelry was not allowed in the prison.

The cool grey eyes smiled down at her.  Alex met them
calmly.  She did not seem to be irrational at all.
Still, the doctor was intrigued by the facts in this
case.

"Hello, Alex.  How are you feeling today?"

The patient grinned back.  "Wow.  That's a switch.
Everyone else asks; 'How are 'we' feeling today?'  I
don't know how to answer that."

"Somehow, I don't think you belong in here."

"In the loony bin or in prison?"

"Neither."

"Thanks.  Be sure to tell the warden."

The doctor was silent for a while.

"I'd like you to come and see me when you get out.  It
shouldn't be much longer."

Alex looked down and shook her head.

"Why not, Alex?"

"I have a Master," she said quietly.

"He's dead, Alex."

The girl looked up the doctor.  "Not to me," she said
simply.

The doctor took one of the bound hands in hers, holding
it lightly.

"Oh, how I wish you had found me first, before him.  We
could have been so much to each other."

Alex squeezed the strong hand tightly.  "I know, Ma'am.
I wish I had found you first, too."

With a parting squeeze, the doctor stood and walked to
the door.  Alex watched the beautiful Dom leave,
knowing she would never see her again.

Alex slept peacefully for the first time that night.
She was free.  The voices were finally gone.  A week
later Alex was moved to the general population.
Surprisingly, both the inmates and the guards left her
alone and her mind slowly healed.

The board met and discussed a growing problem in the
Syndicate.  They met without the knowledge of one very
powerful member.  A decision was reached and it was
unanimous, based mostly on the terrible loss of one of
their top directors, who had tragically been driven to
suicide by a vengeful woman.  Mrs. Elizabeth Farnsworth
was invited to a garden party a week later.  Sadly, she
was laid to rest in a lovely ceremony attended by only
the board and their closest friends.  She died two days
later when the oxygen finally ran out of the large
coffin the board had special ordered.  She screamed
until the end.

Alex stepped from the courtroom a free woman.  During
the brief questioning, the prosecutor hadn't asked her
if she had killed Damon Arquette and she hadn't
volunteered.  A secret witness for the defense had
cleared her.  There had been a government agent in deep
cover who had witnessed the events that had occurred in
the months prior to Mr. Arquette's death.  That
testimony corroborated the evidence.

When she was released from custody, the property clerk
handed her the small envelope with her personal
effects.  Attached to the envelope were a couple of
other claim tickets that took forever to find in the
disorderly mess of the property room.  Alex walked out
with a large canvas bag and an envelope from a coroner
in the British Virgin Islands.

She opened the envelope first and read, "We regret to
inform you that your husband, Mr. Harold Wilson, was
found dead in the waters off the islands.  The cause of
death was found to be accidental drowning. ..."  The
rest of the papers were the death certificate and a
copy of the autopsy report.  It hardly registered.

She stepped out into the bright sunshine and stood on
the steps of the courthouse.  She had been confined for
three months before she had been cleared.  The state
apologized and she agreed not to press charges.  In
fact, she thanked them for the kindness and care she
had received, both in the hospital and in the lock up
facility.  They had been stunned by her attitude.

She saw the familiar figure sitting on the steps, about
mid-way down.  Slowly, and with not a little fear, she
made her was slowly down to stand beside her friend.
Alvin had come to see her released.  It pleased her.

"Hello, Alvin.  I'm surprised to see you here.  And
pleased."

"Hello, Miss Alex.  When I checked, they said you'd be
out today.  I've been waiting."

"Oh.  Thank you."  There was an awkward silence.  "Tell
me, what have you been doing lately?  Since the club
closed, and all."

Alvin looked at his big hands and sighed.  "I've been
meaning to talk with you about that Miss Alex.  I
didn't tell you the whole truth before."

"That's OK, Alvin.  I wasn't exactly completely honest
with you, either."

He grinned.  "I know.  But I just resigned my job.  I
was working for the government, sort of.  It was
complicated.  I had a job at the club already, they
just sort of recruited me.  I was handing them enough
information as it was without their help.  They didn't
know how to handle me, really.  I guess they checked me
out, liked my record and signed me up.  It's easier to
hand out money to an employee than a snitch.  Still, it
was all very unofficial, of course."

"Oh.  So you're unofficially unemployed...  Oh, God!

He looked at her with an amused grin.

"You just figure it out?"

"Oh, Alvin.  Thank you.  But how?  ...  Why?  ...You
knew what happened.  Why didn't you tell them?"

He looked down at his feet.  "I figured it was self-
defense, Miss Alex, only there was no way a jury would
see it that way.  I just saved the tax payers some
money, that's all."

"But you lost your job!"

"I wasn't fired.  I resigned.  After I knew the truth
about Lewis' death, I couldn't stay on.  I killed him,
just as sure as Mr. D did.  I was responsible for too
many deaths, very nearly your own, too."

"What I did was my decision."

"It took guts, even if you won't admit it."

"I was being selfish, Alvin.  You could have gotten
hurt, too."

"Yeah."

They were silent.  It was hard, remembering.  He took
her hand and they started walking down the steps.
There was a big park across the street.

"What's in the bag?"

"I don't know."

"You want me to look for you?"

She handed him the bag.  He unzipped it and rummaged
through it.  Inside it were her collar and leash, some
clothes and shoes and some other things.  She didn't
see him palm one item before he closed the bag.

"It's the past, Miss Alex.  Just the past.  Let it be."

She nodded.  He tossed the bag into the nearest trash
bin.  She didn't look back.  It was over.

Alvin stopped under a tree and made her face him.  He
took his hand and laid it over both of hers.  When he
removed it, she held the black cord.  She stared at it
the up at him, her eyes misting.

"I know it's part of the past, Miss Alex.  But it's
part of you, too.  I watched you.  You need this, you
need a master, someone strong.  But I figure you need
more.  You know that now, too.  You need to be loved,
Miss Alex.  And when you find the right man -- or woman
-- you give them the rope.  They'll know what to do."

A single tear fell from her eye, then she slipped the
silken cord into her pocket.

"So what are you going to do now, Miss Alex?"

She showed him the Death Certificate and told him there
was an insurance policy.  She didn't say for how much,
only that there was about a million dollars in a
British Virgin Island account.

"I'm free, Alvin.  I thought I'd go somewhere warm and
open a club.  Would you care to join me?"

It was a hard question to ask.  If he said 'no'...

"I'd love to work with you, Miss Alex.  But not in a
club.  That's not the place for you."

"Oh," she whispered.

Slowly she turned away and walked into the park.  She
had no idea where she was going.  But where ever it
was, it would be alone.

He let her get to the edge of the clearing.

"I know about Petunia."

She stopped walking, but didn't turn around.

"I know about your pet, Petunia, Miss Alex."

She turned.

"What?  How did you find out?"

"I spent some time with your family.  They're really
nice folks."

"What?  Why?"

"Well, I had to hide somewhere, didn't I?  I just
figured I'd hide out with them."

The thought of this huge mountain of a man, black as
night, 'hiding' in her little lily-white town struck
her as funny.  She started to laugh.

"You?  Hide there?  The most color we ever get back
home is a sunburn.  How did you pull it off?"

"I worked as laborer.  It felt good to work hard.  It
felt right, too.  And I loved your Mama's pies.  The
peaches were in season while I was there.  The pies
were fresh and creamy with flakey cinnamon crusts..."

"Stop, you're making me homesick!"

"And your Dad is a lucky man.  Especially on Sunday
afternoons..."

"Ooooh, that's terrible!"  She punched him in the arm.

"Daddy talked to you about Petunia?" she asked when he
had stopped laughing.

"Well, he did after I told him how important it was.
I'd told him up front who I was, that I'd known you
while I was undercover at the club.  I think he guessed
a lot more than I told him.  He's pretty smart.

"I told him someone named Petunia saved your life, kept
you same.  He cried, then told me about the pig.  The
window, too.  They still laugh about it, but they miss
you.  I think he would like to see you.  Your Dad, he
misses you, most of all of them."

"Oh."  Tears fell silently as her heart was torn in
small pieces.  She couldn't talk because of the lump in
her throat.

"Benny says 'Hi.'  I met his bride-to-be.  She's nice.
She said you know her.  Said she was your best friend
in high school.  Cathy something.  Turns out, ol'
Benny's the father of her first son."

"I wondered why she named him Franklin."

Alvin laughed.  "You folks sure got a strange sense of
humor.  A pig named Petunia, Benjamin Franklin."  He
looked at her.  "That's why you laughed at my tooth,
isn't it?  The first time we met."

Alex nodded.

Anyway, looks like it's just going to be one big happy
family.  From the looks of her, the wedding will need
to be pretty soon."

"Oh, I'm so happy."

Alvin paused.  He looked nervous.

"I bought us a house there.  The farm next to your
family's was for sale."

"Oh, the Jenkins' place?"

"No.  Ben and Cathy bought that place.  I picked up the
Anderson's, on the other side.  Old man Anderson had a
stroke.  Billy doesn't want to run the dairy.  I had a
little bit of cash squirreled away. It seemed...

"Wait a minute.  US?"

He grinned and plowed ahead.  "Yeah.  I thought you and
I could move there for a bit while we plan our future."

"You and I?  Our future?"

"Sure!  Maybe we could enroll you in the local college
and I could work the three farms with your Dad and
Benny."

"We?"

"Then, of course, you could go to law school and I
could retire.  I'm an old man, you know.  You'd have to
support me."

He looked down at her.  She was crying.

"How you like the sound of that?"

Alex reached into her pocket.  With both hands, she put
the black cord back into his.

"I do," she said, simply.

He looked down at the cord.

"Huh?  I do?" he repeated slowly.  Suddenly the light
went on.  The big man blushed and turned suddenly shy.

"Yeah, I guess I do, too, Miss Alex."

Both of them wearing stupid grins, they walked out of
the park to where he had left his car.  He had packed
everything he owned in the back.  Her things from the
apartment he had had shipped back to her family.  On
the way to the car she took his hand and compared it to
her small one.  An impish smile crossed her face.

Looking up at him shyly she asked "Alvin, are you big
all over?"

Smiling mischievously, his diamond caught the afternoon
light and filled her eyes with rainbows.

"Oh yes, Miss Alex. Oh, yes."

***

The End

I hope you enjoyed it....    <g>

All my published works are archived and can be
read or downloaded free.  The archive is located
at:

http://www.asstr.org/files/Authors/NightShade


Comments to:  i_m_nightshade@hotmail.com