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, on the fucking top of all that, 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 that clinic was 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. A double dose. 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 that watched the door 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 he had taken 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 just 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 black fucker was nowhere to be seen. Lewis couldn't believe his luck. Not only was the big guy not around, but there was a fresh piece of meat just sitting there. All alone. 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. When her other foot was fastened, 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 collection of thrill seekers 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 a 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 cut-out needed to have some bucks, too.
The insurance policy would be explainable because the insurance guy sold a lot of 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 said he had a friend in the morgue. He said it wouldn't be difficult to get 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. It would appear as if 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 application for the life insurance policy without her getting 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.