Author's note:  This story, although a continuation of a rape fantasy, has
a completely different feel to it.  It is much more indulgent and
extravagent, with almost all of the non-consentual elements purged.  If
you stick with it through the first thirty or so lines, I'm sure you'll
realize what I'm talking about.

Warning:  This story contains scenes of sexual explicitness, including
sexual acts which might be considered under coercion.  If this stuff
doesn't do it for you, don't read it--it's that simple.





	As Mr. White walked away down the hall, Terry looked up into the 
grinning face of her rapist.
	"You heard the man," he said, stooping to pick up her skirt and 
blouse.  "Put these on," tossing them to her.
	She quickly dressed, feeling the sluggish roll of his semen 
down her thighs, her head down and face flushed as she was reminded of 
her humiliation.  What had happened to her? she thought.  Half an hour 
ago she had been at the top of the world, a hard bitten lawyer on her way 
to the big time, in complete control of her own fate, depending only on 
her own abilities; now, she thought with a lump in her throat, she was no 
more than Mr. White's whore.  The worse thing, though, was how her body 
had reacted; she blushed in shame as she felt her body tingle at the 
remembrance.
	"Get a move on, cunt," Ted snarled, shoving her toward the 
elevators.
	Meekly she obeyed, padding down the hall in her bare feet.  Her 
mind was filled with dread as the elevator hummed its way down to the 
underground parking garage.  What was next?  And would Mr. White really 
allow her to keep her job?  If only Ted weren't standing there smirking 
at her like that, his hand painfully gripping her upper arm.
	When the elevator doors opened, Mr. White was waiting, standing 
next to his car.  He opened the door and waved her in, and she obeyed 
numbly, not daring to look up.
	"Uh, Mr. White..." Ted started.
	"Don't worry, Ted," Mr. White replied, "you'll be able to fuck 
her, and hurt her, in the future.  Just keep your mouth shut and do your 
job."
	"Right-o, Mr. White.  Have fun," he said, smiling.
	Five minutes later they were on the highway, and for the first 
time since in the office Mr. White spoke to her.
	"Here," he said, reaching behind him and presenting her with a 
small vibrator, about four inches long and slender, "use this to play 
with yourself, but don't orgasm."
	She gulped silently and reached out to take the plastic toy, 
feeling the heat radiating from his hand.  She felt like a small child as 
she slid her skirt to bunch around her hips, spreading her legs so that 
she could insert the vibrator.  She turned it on, feeling the buzzing hum 
radiate through her hands, matching the smooth vibrations of the luxury 
automobile she was within.  The whole world took on a strange, removed, 
air:  only she and Mr. White existed in the entire world, she, Mr. White, 
and this humming, buzzing little stick in her hand.  She glanced down, 
her vision gliding past her sparse pubic hair to focus on the slightly 
swollen lips of her labia, the juices of recent intercourse shining 
between her legs.  She slowly moved the vibrator until its side touched 
her outer labia.  She felt it spread a delicious numbness through her 
groin, and she slid it up and down her crack, now staring out the window 
at the cars moving like dream shapes along the highway with them.
	Too sensitive! and her hand jerked back as the vibrator touched 
her clitorus.  She looked over at Mr. White, saw him watching her out of 
the corner of his eyes, and opened her mouth to ask a question.
	"Mr. White...?"
	"Don't worry, Terry, you've still got your job.  Your duties have 
just been...expanded."  Now he was staring directly at her hands and 
crotch, watching the way she gently ran the vibrator along and between 
her labia.  "And if you do a good job, in both your new responsibilities 
as well as your old ones, you might even make partner by the end of the 
year."
	The words stunned her, and almost unconscously her hands pressed 
the vibrator deep into her vagina, and she gasped at the pleasure of it.  
Her mind was both stunned and awhirl:  she couldn't believe any of this 
was happening to her--it was like a strange hallucination; and she had thought
about fucking her way to the top--no moral or personal qualms there--but this 
was ridiculous.  What was Mr. White's plan for her? the question 
crystalizing in her mind as she felt the growing pleasure her hands and 
the vibrator were bringing her.  It was so...obscene...twisted...what she 
was doing now, in a car, with her boss sitting right beside her, 
watching.  She shuddered.  Why?  She was to be a sex toy, but she was 
also to keep her job; how did that fit?  And an offer of partnership, but 
only if she was good at both whoring and lawyering?  She was confused; 
she didn't understand it.  
	Her mind slipped from these subjects as the pleasure in her groin
grew.  She began gently stroking her clitorus with her fingers as she
swirled the vibrator inside herself, soft moans now escaping her lips. 
She leaned her head back on the cushioned head rest and closed her eyes,
concentrating totally on the sensations coming from her vagina.  She
teased herself, aware of the command not to bring herself to orgasm--how
strange, she thought, the care she took not to bring herself to a point
she had never reached before tonight.
	She was brought out of her sexual daze when she felt the car come
to a halt, and she lazily lifted up her head to look over at Mr. White. 
She saw his eyes rivited on her exposed groin, and a similtaneous blush of
shame and pleasure suffused her whole body.
	"Get out of the car," he commanded.
	Carefully she opened the car door, removing the vibrator and
switching it off.  She stepped out onto the driveway, her legs weak and
rubbery from unfulfilled lust, and looked up at a gorgeous victorian
mansion.  She stared at it, taking in its magnificence, until she felt Mr.
White take the vibrator dangling from her hand and place it into his
breast pocket.
	"Come."
	Terry followed him, the pavement hard beneath her feet--what had
happened to the rest of her clothes, she wondered idly:  probably thrown
away by Ted, Ted her body shuddered.
	Through a large atrium, turn left down a long hallway lined with
doors, through one of the doors down stairs to a small room with a couch
and a television and a door.  The door is locked, and unlocking it into a
short hallway with another locked door, opening into a bright, huge, she
could only describe it as a paradise.
	Ferns grew along the walls, pushing out toward the center of the
room, full spectrum heat lamps making the room muggy with a slight mist
spraying from mirrored walls and ceilings onto the plants every few
minutes.  Italian tile, a deep, rich green, covered the floor, leading to
a pond--a swimming pool--in the center of the room.  Surrounding the pool
large pillows of every color lay spread about, with glittering silver
chains and leather cuffs and strands here and there.  A table between the
far wall and the pool held a dizzying array of fruit and jams and honeys: 
large strawberries piled haphazardly in a bowl spilling onto the table,
crowding green and red and yellow melons, sliced into thin cresent moon
wedges, aside.  Grapes, small and large, green and red, lay scattered
among bowls of apricot and peach, strawberry and apple jams, and slender,
small caraffs filled with amber honey sticking their necks above rolling
apples.  Kiwis, sliced open to reveal their sparkling green flesh, and
cubes of dull yellow mango interwove themselves into this tapestry, and
other fruits too, fruits she could not name but which looked cool and
sweet and pleasant.
	A cooling breeze blew from somewhere, swirling about, breaking up the
humidity of the room, and a movement from across the room caught her eye. 
Adam and Eve, her mind immediately thought, but no.  She stood stock
still, her feet beaded with the dampness of the tiles, Mr. White slightly
behind her to her right, while the two most beautiful people she had ever
seen raised themselves from a pile of pillows and began to cross the room
toward her.
	The man was about 6'1" with dark hair, short and in a gentle wave,
and the face and body of Adonis.  Dark eyes stared piercingly out of a
strong, masculine face, a face with strong lines and a sharp nose.  His
chest was broad, his arms muscular, his stomach a board of rippling
muscles stepping down to a trim waist and large, strong thighs and calves.
Embarrassed, her eyes skipped past his naked manhood.
	The woman was maybe 5'9" and an Aphrodite to match his Adonis. 
Dark blonde hair, wet and matted like an otter's skin, hung down her back
to her waist.  A large forehead, large, languid blue eyes, a soft, round
nose, high cheekbones, and full red lips arranged as if by a master
painter (no, not Picasso) make up her face, and her body was even more
beautiful.  Wide, strong shoulders--swimmer's shoulders--narrowed to a
firm chest and outthrusting breasts topped by small, dark red nipples.  Her
waist was narrow and her stomach flat, the skin sliding smoothly across
the muscles underneath.  The light patch of her pubic hair split two
gorgeously long legs, with full, strong thighs and well-rounded calves. 
She radiated an air of sensual sleekness.
	"Terry," Mr. White startled her out of herself, "my son and his
wife, Dan and Diane."
	"She's beautiful," Diane cooed, her hand gently caressing Terry's
arm, sending goosebumps across her skin, "and her hair....  Terry, you
must promise me never to change your hairstyle.  This braid is so becoming."
	Terry was completely out of her element.  She felt unsure,
defenseless, scared, and, she admitted, shy and excited.  It was like she
was a little girl again, standing before her mother while being bathed. 
She nodded to Diane, not able to say anything.
	"She is stunning, Dad.  She wasn't hurt, I hope."
	"No.  She wasn't hurt.  Enjoyed herself, I think."
	She blushed at this and Diane still fondling her braid, running
the end teasingly across her back and buttocks through her clothes.
	"Good, good," Dan continued, "and don't worry, Dad, we've got
everything all set up.  See you later."
	With a grunt Mr. White left, leaving her alone with these two
beautiful people in this room of lavish excess.
	"We can't call her Terry, now, can we Dan."
	"No no.  You're right.  We'll have to think of something else."
	They paused for a moment, still staring at her, and she trembled
under their gaze.  It was so appraising, so possessive yet also strangely
tender and kind.
	"I know," Diane said, "Kiko.  Her name will be Kiko."
	"Good.  I like that.  Now little one, your new name is Kiko. 
Whenever you're with us, you will be Kiko.  Understand?" he asked, smiling
down at her.
	"Yes, Mr. White."
	"Oh no, that's all wrong," Diane broke in.  "You must call us
Master and Mistress, for that is who we are.  Now what is your name?" she
asked, stroking her head.
	"Kiko, Mistress."