Chapter 16
Marcy stripped down to a tiny yellow bikini and danced around the cowering executive. Over the past week, the routine the two had gotten into had changed quite a bit. 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 on the two days 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 the shine on 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 to the islands.
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 told her to get ready 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 just the way he wanted. It was perfect. He stood behind her, his arms wrapped around her, looking in the mirror at their image. 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 that 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 after giving him a drink. 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 do cleaning or other work. Even on those days when Alvin had let her sleep, she had made him bring her in here so she could check. The syringe and the small vial of the drug were still there, untouched as far as she could tell. One of her jobs was to clean and stock the bar in the office, 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 chance 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 tumbler's full of the conscience-numbing fluid 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 too tight, but in a narrow band so 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, even through her skimpy bra, until she shrugged her shoulders and they gave way letting it fall to her hips. Only a wisp of lace covered her breasts, barely containing them. She unclasped the bra and it fell away from her orbs 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. But always 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 the flare of her hips, she had managed to lower them without the use of her hands, leaving them free 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. It had had been a long time. They had waited. 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 it 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 the glistening head 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 high paying 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 their 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, though. It fit the pattern of the bastard. 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. Then she would dance for everyone, taking on all comers, a common dancer. That would be the end, for her.
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 with 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 to him, like a lover. 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 felt a pang of homesickness. He recognized the setting if not the exact furniture. Poor, but hardworking people lived here in this building with her. Proud and honest. It had been in another city, but the ethnic smells of cooking, the burned out lights in the stairwells, 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. His heart was aching. He wanted her to run away from the club, but he knew she wouldn't leave yet. She still needed something from Mr. D and the bastard was still trying to take something from her she wouldn't give him. He'd said as much, but not what it was.
Miss Alex stood frozen in the middle of the floor, staring at something. A floor lamp. He started to talk and she whirled on him, her eyes wild, not knowing what he was going to say, but sensing from his attitude that it was probably something he would rather others not know about. Something she wasn't ready to hear from him yet. If she did, she would have to tell him she felt the same way.
She stopped him, 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. She wasn't safe. Not even here.
As he left, he kissed her hand. She leaned up and kissed his cheek. She approached, coming close to him. He heard her whisper, "Oscar," and she held up three fingers. Then she cried.
She started to say, "I'm not a..." but he held up his fingers over her lips to stop her. They could hear any sound in this 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 heart wrenching sob
wrack her slender frame. She was going to have a long night.