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From: mithryl@walrus.com (Mithryl)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.bondage,alt.sex.stories,rec.arts.prose
Subject: CODY: A DIAMOND AS...corrected
Date: 22 May 1996 21:53:56 GMT
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	All rights to the following story are reserved to and owned by 
the Mask Operating System, Inc. (tm).

                  A DIAMOND AS BIG AS YOUR FIST

	I was sent to a strict Baptist church school for girls.  In the
ninth grade, my roommate was a pretty blonde named Whitney.  She was from
out west, Montana, and when summer vacation came, she invited me to visit
her parents' home.  I had never been west of the Loxahatchee, except for
the time Parson Scott took me to Vegas for the Church Conference on Sin
and Female Degradation, so of course I agreed.  We took a plane to Helena,
where we got a bus for Lincoln.  From there, it was necessary to go by
burro into the mountains.  As we crossed the timberline, Whitney casually
mentioned that we had left the United States.  "I didn't know you lived in
Canada," I said.  "We don't." 

	It turned out the piece of land where her family lived was not on
any map.  It was in a deep pocket of mountains that for some reason had
never been incorporated into either Canada or the United States. 

	Gradually, we descended into a deep, narrow valley.  As we rounded
a bend in the trail, I caught my first glympse of the main house.  I
gasped.  It was incredible.  Built against the mountain side, it looked
just like the Enchanted Kingdom at Disneyworld .  "My father was a great
admirer of Walt's," Whitney said. 

	As she spoke, several rough looking cowpokes on horses came
galloping out to meet us.  They were Whitney's four brothers, each named
for a great American hero, Homer, Bart, Hoss and O.J.  I admired them
already. 

	Naturally, they were glad to see Whitney, because as Hoss said,
they hadn't had a woman since their mother died.  None of them, it turned
out, had ever been out of the valley.  Four brave hearted studs, they eyed
me with curiousity.  "What's that?" Homer asked.

	Whitney explained that I had been her roommate at the Baptist
girl's school where she went.  "Her name's Cody." 

	"I never knew Buffalo Bill was so pretty," Bart said. 

	"Not that Cody," Whitney laughed.  "This is Cody Ann."

	"Pretty little filly," Hoss said.  "I'd sure like a chance to break
her." 

	"Cody has been trained as a pony," Whitney said.  "You'll all get
your chance.  Come on.  I'll race you for the house." 

	We whipped our horses and set off.  I couldn't help feeling
something unspoken was being said between sister and brothers.  It made me
uneasy.  Sitting on the steps of the house was an old man, whittling a
stick.  Whitney jumped down and ran up to him.  "Hello, Father.  I've come
home."  Their reunion was touching.  Extremely.

	After some initial fondling and groping, Whitney then introduced
me to the old gentleman.  "Father, this is Cody.  I've brought her home to
visit." 

	Whitney's father welcomed me cordially and said it would be a
pleasure to have a young, beautiful girl about the old spread.  He got
tired, he said, of watching his boys butt fuck each other.  Maybe I could
teach them some manners. 

	I was amazed at the interior of the house.  The furniture was
particularly impressive.  This stuff didn't come from Sears Roebuck. 
Whitney said it had all had to be trucked in by burro over the mountains. 
I asked why they didn't use a helicopter.  She said her father was very
conservative.  There was also a lot of art work on the walls.  Vermeer. 
Rockwell.  Vargas.  I recognized a number of art works that had been
stolen from great museums.  How had they ended up here?  And then there
were the diamond s.  There were diamonds everywhere.  Big ones.  Little
ones.  The whole front drive was covered with them.  "Whitney," I said,
"do you know what these things are?"  "Yes," she said.  "They're diamonds. 
Why?" 

	"Well, don't you think it's odd to have so many?  I mean, just
laying around." 

	She shrugged.  She said the whole mountain behind the house was
one big diamond.  She picked one up and handed it to me.  It was as big as
my fist.  I couldn't believe it.  "Dad mines them." 

	"But," I gasped, "do you know how much this is worth?"

	"Nothing," she said.

	"You see, Cody," she explained, "the diamonds are never taken
beyond this valley.  Except on very special occasions.  When Daddy wants
to raise or lower the diamond market, shake up the stock exchange, cause a
world war, or elect a president.  Other than that, they stay here. 
Understand?" 

	"uh, yeah."

	"The consequences of taking a diamond out of this valley can be
devastating." 

	"oh."

	She smiled.  "Even members of our family are not immune."

	"oh?"

	She glanced at a portrait of a ravishingly beautiful woman hanging
over the mantlepiece.  Like myself, she had long curly red hair.  She
might, in fact, have been me.  Whitney said it was her mother. 

	"She only married him for his money.  She didn't realize he was
going to lock her up here for the rest of her life.  She looks a little
like you.  I noticed Father noticed it, too.  Did I tell you, Daddy is a
tit man?" 

	"uh, no.  What happened to her?"

	"He caught her on the trail.  She had two saddlebags full of
diamonds.  He and the boys led her back here." 

	"Weren't they her sons?"

	"Only O.J.  Bart and Dewey, we call Hoss Dewey, are twins.  From my
father's first marriage." 

	"What about Homer?"

	"We call him Louie.  What about him?"

	"Never mind.  What did they do to her?"

	"Nothing.  They just told her she couldn't leave.  I'll show you
the video later." 

	We dressed that evening for dinner around the campfire at the old
corral.  There were a few guests, mostly people who had walked over from
the neighboring countries that line the upper border of the U.S. and make
up more than one fifth of the United Nati on's General Assembly.  I wore a
short white silk dress with a low bodice, long diamond earrings which had
belonged to Whitney's mother, white velvet gloves, black stockings and
high heels.  And a small English riding saddle.  The strap cinched in my
wais t, separating my ribcage and hips, and pushed up my tits.  I could
hardly breathe.  I also had a tight black leather collar with studs on it. 
Whitney led me down to supper on a leash. 

	"This is Cody," she said to the assembled guests.  "I hope you will
treat her well." 

	She jerked my head down by the leash, so that my tits hung out.

	The conversation turned mostly on the properties of diamonds. 
What was of interest to most of these people was not how diamonds looked,
but what you could use them for.  Chief of these seemed to be cutting
things.  They glanced at me.  The old man showe d them a whip he had had
made of diamond studded leather.  He had used it on his wife. 

	So that's what happened.  I was getting scared.

	I did not plan to be a mother substitute.  He snapped it at my
feet and everyone laughed as I jumped.  "Why don't you ride her around?"
he said to one of his boys.  "See how she is." 

	Hoss came over and got into the saddle.  He was heavier than he
looked.  "Okay," he said.  "Let's go."  And kneed my tits. 

	I started off, but my legs gave way before I got out of the
corral.  Hoss whipped me, trying to make me get up.  I could feel the whip
taking pieces off my behind.  Whitney kicked me in the back.  "Get up. 
You pig.  Get up." 

	I got up.  My stockings had been torn by the diamonds.

	They led me back to the table and I sat down.  Tenderly, because
my buttocks were bleeding.  Old Fitz stared at me. 

	Thoughtfully, he took one of my breasts and held it in his hand. 
I tried not to let him see I was crying.  It was as if he was thinking
what to do with me. 

	I started to become horny.

	Of course, my breasts were a lot different from the cold hard
diamonds he was used to fondling.  They were soft and beautiful.  And very
large.  Even at fourteen, I was already in the high forties.  I knew he
was thinking about Allison.  His wife.  Had h e held her tit, too, while
he thought about what to do to her?  Had she sat there, shaking, scared
out of her wits?  And then what had happened? 

	I asked him about the flyers.

	"What fliers?"

	"The ones who fly over here and see that this is a hidden valley?"

	"Nothing."

	"Don't they report it?"

	"No.  Why should they?"

	"Well, wouldn't the government, the American one, want to know?"

	"No.  Why should it?"

	"Why not?"

	"Because I own it."

	"oh."

	He picked up a diamond as big as his fist.  "This will buy a lot
of senators and congressmen.  And a couple of generals.  And the United
States Army, and CBS and Michael Jackson videos." 

	"Wow.  You must be as rich as Bill Gates."

	I thought I saw him flinch.  He tossed the diamond over his
shoulder. 

	"Almost."

	The next day, Whitney explained that the real reason she had
brought me home was so that I could give her father grandchildren.  I said
I wasn't married.  She said it didn't matter, because I was soon going to
be.  "To who?"  "Homer, Bart, Hoss and O.J."  I said that was illegal. 
She said, "not here, it isn't." 

	None of them had ever been with a woman before.  Except their
mother.  What they thought was love making would get an American fifty
years in the slammer.  Each had his variation on a theme.  Since Whitney
was a virgin -- they were devout Baptists -- sh e couldn't help them out. 
They must have heard me screaming in Helena. 

	Patsy Montana's "I want to be a cowboy's sweetheart" kept playing
in my head.  "I want to rope and to ride."  I want to be dragged by a
steer and thrown off the moutainside.  When the coyotes are a calling, I
want to be staked down and knifed and hit and pounded, and fucked up
against a tree.  Or be taken into a corral and stamped and kicked by a
wild bronco while a bunch of owl faced dudes hung on the fence and
watched.  They dragged me.  They beat me.  They kicked me.  And got me
pregnant.  I don't kno w how.  None of them knew how to do it.  Even the
old man had trouble remembering. 

	Then they said I could go.  I said where?  They said back.  Back
where?  Back to America.  Get out.  But I'm pregnant.  So what?  I can't
go home like this.  My father's running for congress.  He'll kill me. 
They didn't care.  Whitney loaned me a mule.  She said leave it with Crazy
Ted in Lincoln.  "Who?"  "I don't know what his last name is.  They'll
know him at the post office." 

	It took months getting back across the mountains.  More than once,
I lost my way.  Winter closed in early that year, and I had to seek
shelter with bands of indigenous freedom fighters holed up in the woods
defending our American way with their Uzi's and Kalashnikov rifles.  I
left the mule with Ted.  He asked me would I mind mailing a package for
him when I got to Sacremento?  And another from Sioux Falls.  And one in
Greensboro, North Carolina.  Geez, I had enough trouble with my own
luggage.  And the baby.  He helped me deliver it.  Right there on his
cabin floor.  So I figured I owed him some favors.  But what did he think
I was, Santa Claus?  I still have the box I'm supposed to send from Miami. 
I never saw Whitney again.  She didn't come back to school in the fall. 
But every year, my little Zelda gets a Christmas card from her favorite
aunt.  Crazy Ted sent her a present, too.  But it's marked "Do not open
until your fourth birthday."  That's tomorrow.