Friday, 12 August 2011

Two for torment

TWO FOR TORMENT


Startled by this development, Joyce was not immediately aware of Derek
approaching her. Before she could avoid him he had seized her wrists in his
hands. Though she struggled, the small man held on to them with surprising
strength, while Collins rose from his chair and came toward her, holding a small
coil of rope. Joyce kicked out at him desperately, but between the two of them
they overpowered her, though she fought so hard they had to force her to the
floor. There, with both men using their bodies to hold her down, Derek held her
arms while Collins managed to tie her wrists tightly together in front of her.

The ceiling cable had played itself out, and the metal hook dangled only
a few feet above the floor. The two men raised the girl's arms and attached the
hook to the ropes binding her wrists. Then Collins, panting a little but smiling
triumphantly, went back to his chair. Again he pushed a button., The cable began
to wind back up.

Joyce cried out as the slowly ascending hook pulled her arms high in the
air. The pressure forced her into a sitting position; then, as the gradual but
inexorable ascent continued, she was compelled to clamber to her knees, and then
to her feet, to alleviate the strain on her arms and shoulders. But still the
hook rose, stretching her arms tightly over her head. Her body strained. Her
breasts rose, tautened. Her face twisted with pain. She went up on tiptoe.

"Stop it!" she cried at Collins. "Stop it!"

He did not stop it.

The ropes bit cruelly into the flesh of her wrists, and the girl gave a
loud shriek as her struggling body was lifted clear of the floor. Her legs
flailed, her feet stretching in a vain attempt to maintain contact with
solidity. Her shoes fell from her writhing feet.

Collins watched the helpless body rise until her feet were a good six
inches above the floor. He then pressed the button, and the mechanism stopped.
Still he gazed with rising triumph at the incredibly exciting sight of the
squirming, groaning, naked girl hanging in front of him.

"You may as well stop struggling, my dear," he said, a bit hoarsely. "It
will only exhaust you prematurely. And it will do you no good." He turned to his
assistant. "That will be all now, Derek. Thank you."

"Yes, sir. Thank YOU," the small man said. He went out quickly, closing
the door behind him.

The girl had stopped her futile struggles and was laboring to catch her
breath. "Let me down," she gasped. "Let me down! Please! It hurts!"

Collins smiled at her. "Oh no, my dear Joyce. You're going to be up
there for some time, I'm afraid. Until you're tamed, in fact. Until you agree to
do exactly as I say. From now on. No matter what."

"Oh please..."

Collins went on as if she hadn't spoken. "Of course, just agreeing isn't
enough. That will be easy. But I must be convinced--completely convinced--that
you are ready to cooperate. That you will be utterly acquiescent. Because, of
course, that is how the Council wants you."

The girl's eyes closed, as though to blot out what was happening to her,
and tears rolled out from beneath their lids. But at the same time she summoned
up from somewhere a reserve of stubborn strength, for she whispered tightly:
"You... go to... hell."

Collins' eyes were bright. "As I said before," he murmured, "it is going
to be an exquisite delight to break you." He opened another drawer in his desk
and took out the whip. "And we shall start right away," he said.

Her eyes opened, then widened with shock as she saw him approaching her,
the whip in his hand. The blood drained from her pain-distorted face; the
dangling body began to tremble. "What--what are you--" she gasped.

He unfurled the black whip, holding it by the handle and letting the
wicked length of it hang down to the floor. "What I am going to do, Joyce, is to
give you more pain than you ever imagined to be possible. I am going to hurt you
so badly that you will wish you had never been born. And, when you are
absolutely certain that no one in the world has ever known, or could ever know,
such suffering--then it is going to get worse."

A tiny, involuntary sound escaped her; but she said nothing more.

"Here we go," Collins breathed. He raised the whip. He was an expert
with it. He swung it back as far as he could, and then with astounding speed and
all of his strength lashed out at the hanging girl. The thing whistled sharply
through the air, and then landed with a loud, savage crack across her uplifted
and defenseless breasts.

Her first scream almost made him come in his pants.


10



"You were right," David was saying, over the inhuman howling sounds that
were coming from Lisa's mouth. "She screams beautifully."

"Yes," Avery said. "But Christ, I've never had her screaming like this.
Those things are wicked!"

"And I've hardly started yet," David said, his eyes devouring the
twisting, writhing body of the girl, who seemed to be nearly out of her mind
with torment. She was still tied as before, her straining arms and legs pulling
frantically and futilely against the ropes that held her helpless body arched
tautly against the bed rail. She still wore her short skirt, but otherwise she
was naked. Two of David's needles were embedded in her breasts, one in each
nipple, pushed in until only the little ball on the hilt was exposed.

Lisa had screamed herself hoarse, but still she went on screaming
continuously, pausing only when lack of breath made her gasp desperately for
air, choking and sobbing. In one of these intervals David, aroused by her
suffering, took a fistful of her long dark hair, bending her head back
forcefully, and leaned down to mash his mouth to hers. Her lips were twisted
with pain, and she panted heavily into his mouth.

David lifted his head, but kept his hold on her hair. Looking down into
her wild, pain-fogged eyes, he deliberately pressed his body close to hers,
crushing her tortured breasts, with their buried needles, against his chest.

Lisa began to scream again. David held himself in position for several
moments, watching her eyes, and then moved away from her, but still kept his
grip on her hair. When she paused for breath again, David said, "I want you to
kiss me, Lisa. Do you hear me? I want you to kiss me nicely. And sexily. If you
don't, I'm going to put more needles in your breasts, right now."

Lisa made a frightened, mewling sound. David brought his mouth to hers
again. The girl was gasping and crying and moaning, but she did her best to
comply with his demand. Her panting, quivering mouth pressed itself to his and
she met his probing tongue with her own, fearfully trying to please him through
her pain and terror, keening into his mouth, her breath wheezing loudly in her
nostrils.

David kissed her for a long time, occasionally touching his body to hers
as before, pressing against her breasts to make her scream down his throat. At
last he stepped back from her, his own breathing none too steady now.

Lisa was sobbing and gasping with agony. "Please. Take them out," she
babbled. "Please. Please take them out. God it hurts. Oh Christ it hurts.
Please. Please take them out. Please."

"Poor suffering Lisa," David said.

"Put the others in," Avery said. Lisa screamed.

"Look at her," David said, reaching out to touch the twisting body. "I
have to have her, Avery. Right now."

"With the needles still in her?" Avery said, his eyes gleaming.

"Yes."

"No!" Lisa shrieked. "Oh god, no, don't... please no, please no, please,
please, I'll do anything..."

"Lisa," David said. "You remember I said I'd like to have you suck my
cock for me?"

Lisa moaned.

"If you do that for me, Lisa, and do it really well, then I'll take the
needles out. All right?"

"Oh god... take them out... now... please..."

"No, Lisa. Afterwards. If you do it well. If you give me the best
sucking I've ever had. Then I will. All right, Lisa?"

"Yes..."

"Avery," David said. "Get her down from there for now."

Avery cut the rope connecting Lisa's bound wrists and ankles. When he
did, the girl immediately fell forward, tumbling off the bed to the floor, where
she lay twisting and writhing, her wrists still lashed behind her, her ankles
tied together.

"That's fine," David said. "Leave her like that. Lisa, get on your
knees."

Slowly, awkwardly, every movement adding to the terrible agony of the
needles in her breasts, the girl managed with great difficulty to get herself
into a kneeling position. David now began to take off his clothes, his eyes on
the crying, keening, shuddering girl. Naked, he stepped up to her, his cock
large and throbbing with lust.

"Do it, Lisa," David said. "Be a good little cock-sucker, Lisa baby.
Open up."

Lisa opened her mouth and took his cock into it. Still sobbing and
groaning loudly with pain, she began to suck him.

"That's nice, Lisa," David said hoarsely. "That's good. Nice and slow,
Lisa, that's right. I know you're hurting, Lisa baby, I know you can hardly keep
from screaming, and it's so nice. It makes it so nice for me, Lisa. Keep it up,
now. Take it deep, Lisa. All the way, that's the girl. Lick it too, Lisa. Let me
feel your tongue. That's it. Oh, that's so sweet. Oh, you fine little suffering
cock-sucker, you. So good. You hurting little thing, you sweet... aching...
pain-wracked little thing..."

"You said you wanted to come in her face, David, remember?" Avery said.

"Oh yes," David panted. "I remember. I'm going to do that all right. You
hear that, Lisa? I'm going to come all over your pretty little face, just like I
said. And then... Oh yes, do it, Lisa, it's so beautiful..."

The kneeling girl was trying to control herself, but she couldn't hold
back the cries and howls of pain that she let out around his prick, couldn't
stop the agonized shuddering of her body or the gasping sobs that transmitted
themselves to the fleshy rod in her mouth; but still she sucked him, steadily
and deeply, her desperate obedience adding immeasurably to his pleasure. At
last, with a great groan, David pulled himself out of her mouth, reaching down
to grasp her hair again, holding it cruelly so that she couldn't move away from
him, and shot jet after jet of spurting gism directly into her face. The stuff
shot into her eyes, up her nose, over her lips, her cheeks, her forehead, her
hair, until it seemed as if it would never stop. The white viscous liquid
dribbled down her face and dripped from her chin.

"Wonderful!" Avery cried. "Fabulous! My turn now!"

"No! Take them out!" Lisa screamed. "Please god take them out now!"

David smiled at her. "As soon as you do that for your brother, Lisa," he
said as the girl collapsed, sobbing, to the floor. "Then I'll take them out. For
a while."


11



John Collins remembered that first scream with particular pleasure.
There had been pain and agony in that scream, of course, and that had been
magnificent, but there had been plenty of that, and worse, in the screams that
had issued from her again and again and again, as the whipping had continued.
What set that first scream apart was the sheer shock at the horror of it--shock
at the unexpected intensity, the unimagined awfulness of the unbearable pain;
astonishment at the sudden knowledge that such pure animal agony could exist in
the world, could be experienced by any one person without being immediately
followed by unconsciousness, or death; horror at the realization that this was
happening to her, that it would go on happening to her, this torment that she
had never dreamed possible, and that there was nothing she could do to stop it.

John Collins had paused to savor all this, as he was savoring it now in
his mind. Then he had whipped her again, and had gone on whipping her, steadily,
mercilessly and with all his strength, relishing the inhuman shrieks and howls
and cries and strangled, inarticulate pleas for mercy; enjoying to the utmost
the struggles of the writhing, squirming, twisting body, which plunged and
kicked and flailed wildly as he circled it, lashing the whip across her back,
her buttocks, her breasts, her legs, her stomach, never stopping until his arm
ached with fatigue and she hung limp in exhaustion, gasping and moaning. Then he
had stopped to rest.

And after a while he had started again.

Now he continued to stroke his exposed cock idly as he gazed at the
dangling woman. Her head drooped, her hair was lank with perspiration, her face
streaked with sweat and tears. But the fine breasts, held high and taut by the
position of her upraised arms, were not diminished by the marks of the whip that
crossed them. The long, shapely legs were still perfect, the body still
arousing--more so because of the agony it was suffering. She had not lost
consciousness, and though she had no more strength to twist and scream, that
agony was expressed in every twitch and quiver and moan that came from her.

Now, slowly and painfully, she raised her head once more, peering at him
through glazed, tormented eyes. He smiled at her, still playing with the stiff
pole of flesh that stuck up through his open fly. "How do you feel, Joyce?" he
said mockingly. "Not too well, I take it. Being whipped is quite a humbling
experience, isn't it? Rather changes your outlook on things, I would think.
How's your outlook, Joyce? Feeling a bit more docile, perhaps?"

"Please..." Joyce gasped out. She was barely able to whisper. "Please, I
can't... stand it... for god's sake..."

"You don't want to be whipped any more, is that it?" Collins said
innocently.

"Oh god..." The words ended in a terrified gasp.

"Would you like me to take you down now, Joyce?"

"Yes... oh god yes... please... please..."

"And if I do, will you be a good girl? Will you be good to me and do as
I say? Think about it, Joyce. I don't want to have to take you down and then put
you up there again. That would make me angry. Do you understand, Joyce?"

"Yes... please..."

"Will you, Joyce?"

"I--yes... I will... I will... oh god..."

"We'll see," Collins said. He pushed a button. The winch in the ceiling
began to turn, and the cable slowly began to unwind, lowering Joyce gradually
toward the floor. When her feet touched the solid surface she gave a hoarse cry
of relief; but she was unable to stand, and still sagged in her bonds, until her
knees touched the floor. At that point, Collins touched the button again,
stopping the cable. Joyce was kneeling now, her arms still stretched upward by
the ropes on her wrists, her body upright, her breasts thrusting. She gave
another cry as the cable stopped, and looked fearfully at Collins.

He rose and walked around his desk, then came toward her, his rigid cock
poking out before him. He did not stop until he was quite close to the kneeling
girl. His prick loomed at her face. He took one more step, touching her lips
with the throbbing tool.

"Show me, Joyce," he said harshly. "Go on. Show me what you'll do,
girl."

Distressed and startled at this unexpected demand, Joyce instinctively
turned her head away with a cry of horror. Collins stepped back, his face hard.
"Just as I suspected," he said softly. "You're not ready yet, after all. But
that's all right, Joyce, darling. I'm rather glad, actually. It gives me more
time to enjoy taming you. And it makes it all the better when you finally
break." As he spoke he moved back to his desk, sat down, and once again pushed a
button. The cable began to wind back up.

Joyce gave a sudden shriek as she felt her arms being pulled up again,
then continued to moan with terror and pain as first her knees, then her feet,
left the floor. In a minute she was hanging as before.

"No!" she cried out. "No! Please! Don't! I--I will... I'll do it... I
swear it... oh Jesus, I'm begging you..."

"Dear Joyce," Collins said. "What you will do with me is nothing
compared to what you will have to do in order to make amends to our friends on
the Council. I have to make absolutely sure you will do whatever they want you
to do. Without hesitation, without argument, with nothing but utter and complete
obedience. Do you understand?"

"Ohhh... dear god... help me..."

"And only when I have made absolutely sure of that," Collins said, "will
I let you down from there again. And I suspect, Joyce, that it's going to take a
while."

"For god's sake..." the girl whispered. "Don't. I--I can't take any
more. Don't whip me again. I'll do what you want. I'll do anything. I can't...
Don't whip me any more... please..."

"Oh no, Joyce," Collins said, smiling. "I'm not going to whip you any
more. No. There are too many other pleasurable things I can do to you to make
you into the docile slave I know you can be. It's time now to try some of
those." Still smiling, he took a pack of cigarettes and some matches from his
pocket, pulled out one of the cigarettes, and lit it. Then, taking it from his
mouth, he blew gently on the tip of it, watching it glow redly. His gaze moved
from the burning tip to Joyce's dangling, helpless body, and then, slowly, up to
her bulging, terrified eyes.


12



"I did it," Lisa gasped, still choking on Avery's gism. "I did it,
please, you said you'd take them out, please..."

She was naked now, because David had pulled off her skirt and her
panties, making sure she continued to suck Avery's cock as he did so.

"Of course I will, Lisa," David said. "But look, watching you suck your
brother off has made me all hard again. And the only thing that's going to help
me out is to be inside that luscious, pain-wracked little body of yours."

Great sobs burst from the girl's throat, mixed with gasps of pain. She
writhed helplessly on the floor, her bound and suffering body doing nothing to
decrease David's hard-on. "Please..." she sobbed out, her desperation forcing
the words through her labored breathing. "Please, I'll be good for you, I'll do
anything you want, I'll make it so good, I swear, oh god please just take them
out... I'll be good... I promise... oh Jesus help me..."

"Roll over," David said.

Lisa's eyes widened with terror. "Oh no... I can't... no..."

"I have more needles, Lisa," David said. "Lots of them. I wouldn't mind
sticking a few more of them in those breasts of yours. Then a couple in your
stomach, and then maybe--"

"NO!" the girl cried. "Oh god, don't!"

"Then do as I say," David said. "Roll over. Now."

The moaning girl, tied as she was, managed to roll herself onto her
side, and then, fearfully, onto her front. She screamed as her breasts touched
the floor, the hard surface driving the needles harder into her flesh. With her
hands behind her, she was unable to raise her upper body, and twisting from side
to side only added to the pressure. Cries of agony came from her straining
throat as her body squirmed helplessly against the carpet.

"Look at that ass wriggle," David said softly. "It's a great ass,
Avery."

"Are you going to stick pins into it?" Avery asked eagerly.

"I'm going to stick something into it, all right," David said, lowering
himself to the floor and putting his hands on Lisa's writhing buttocks. "I
imagine it will be painful enough."

"Especially with her like that," Avery said. "Want me to untie her
legs?"

"I don't think that will even be necessary," David said. He placed his
hands on Lisa's hips and pulled them upward, until she was half-kneeling. The
position put even more of her weight on her breasts, causing her to shriek more
loudly. Then he found her buttocks again and pulled them apart, positioning
himself against her.

"What a sweet little baby," he said, and pushed himself into her.

It was Avery's turn to get hard again as he watched his friend fucking
his sister's ass, lunging at her again and again, each thrust crushing her
breasts harder against the floor, driving the needles mercilessly into the
tormented nipples, while Lisa emitted a continuous, inhuman, high-pitched howl
as she was driven nearly out of her mind with the unrelenting, horrible,
all-consuming pain...


13



After he had lowered the girl once again, and removed her manacles, John
Collins had to wait a long time before he was able to speak to her with any
assurance that she was able to hear him, let alone to pay attention. He wasn't
bored, though. Quite the contrary. He sat happily in his chair, watching the
naked, quivering body curled up into a writhing ball on the floor, and listened
with intense pleasure to the sounds she was making, to the gasps and the
whimpers and the deep animal moans, to the repeated retching, to the continual
wracking, choking sobs. He watched and listened for quite a while, and his eyes
were very bright.

"The proud Miss Gordon," he said at last, over the diminished but still
quite audible sounds of her suffering. "The oh-so-confident Miss Gordon who
walked in here ready to defy the whole world. Look at you now."

Joyce retched.

"I told you I would break you, Joyce. And I have. Haven't I?"

Sobbing from the girl.

"Say yes, Joyce," Collins said. "I want to hear you say it. I want to
make sure you know it. I've broken you, now and forever. You'll never be the
same again. And right now you're mine. I'm your master. You're my slave. Now say
it. Say yes, I've broken you. Say it."

With great effort, she choked out the word. "Y-yes..."

"And I've enjoyed every minute of it," Collins said. "And I'm going to
enjoy the fruits of it even more, and very soon. Because now you're going to do
whatever I say and whatever I want. Aren't you, Miss Gordon?"

"Unnhhh... yes..."

"Yes. But first I'll tell you what you're going to do for the Council,
which after all was the main purpose of this little exercise. First, tomorrow
you're going to call your editor. You're going to explain to him that you've
made a terrible mistake, and that all the data you gathered for that story was
false, planted by unscrupulous political enemies. You were too gullible, you
were so eager to get a big story that you didn't check deeply enough. But it was
all lies, and you feel terrible about your part in it. You'll tell him you're
writing a retraction of the story which you will send in to him, and then you're
going to take some time off. Two weeks, at least. Are you listening, Joyce?"

"Oohhh... god... I... yes..."

"Then I'll take you to meet the Councilmen. Now listen carefully, Joyce.
Here's what you're going to do..."

He told her in great detail what she was going to do, and what she was
going to say, and how she was going to act, and what was going to happen to her
afterwards. The girl sobbed and whimpered and retched, but when he asked her if
she understood she said yes.

"Good," Collins said. "And now, Joyce, it's time for me to collect my
reward. After all, I have to make sure that the Council will be getting its
money's worth, don't I? I'm sure you know how to use that beautiful body to give
pleasure to a man. Very great pleasure. In any way he wants it. I'm going to
find that out, Joyce. And if there's any particular aspect in which you're
deficient, we'll soon have you trained to do it properly. Won't we, Joyce?"

"...yes..."

"Yes. Come to me now, Joyce. Come here to me. No, you don't have to get
up. Just crawl over here. Crawl to me, Joyce."

She crawled.


14



Avery lay stark naked on the bed, his erect, throbbing cock standing
straight up. David was standing a few feet away, looking down on Lisa kissing
his feet. He had untied the rope binding her ankles, but her wrists were still
lashed in back of her. The needles were still buried in her nipples. She was
crouched on the floor, sobbing uncontrollably, kissing and licking his bare feet
in a desperate, frenetic efffort to persuade him to release her from her
torment.

"Come on, David," Avery said. "I want her again."

"Poor Lisa wants her needles taken out," David said. "You want to take
them out for her?"

"I'd rather put some in her," Avery said.

"Oh, no," David said. "Only I can do that."

"Are you going to?"

"Yes."

Lisa screamed, her eyes wild with horror. "NO! NO!"

"Don't worry, Lisa, I'll take those out first," David said. "Or Avery
will. Avery wants you now, Lisa. I think you better get up there and fuck him."

"Please..." the girl moaned. "Oh god please, don't do it again, please,
I'll do anything..."

David sighed. "I enjoy your pleading, Lisa, but this is getting a little
tiresome. And I don't like being disobeyed. I told you to get on the bed and
fuck Avery. Unless you want to start looking like a pincushion, you'd better do
it."

The sobbing girl struggled to her feet. She had some trouble doing so,
since she was unable to use her hands, and every movement of her body added to
the inescapable pain in her breasts. David did not help her up. Neither man
helped her as she climbed awkwardly onto the bed next to her brother.

"This is going to be fun," Avery said. "Just get on top of me, Sis.
You're going to do all the work. Here, let me help you." He helped her by
clamping his hands over her breasts and pulling at them, his fingers digging
hard into the flesh and his palms pressing cruelly against the needle tips where
they protruded from her nipples. Shrieking out her torment, the bound girl moved
as he directed, straddling his body. Avery released one breast to reach down and
adjust his cock.

"Okay, Sis," he said. "Get right down on it now. All the way down."

When she had taken him all the way inside her and was sitting astride
him, Avery let go the other breast also. For a moment he just lay there,
grinning up at her. She was crying less frantically now, but her eyes were
glazed with pain, and every breath from her panting mouth was a hoarse,
unearthly groan of inexpressible suffering.

"Those things look real good on you, Sis," Avery said. He raised a hand
again toward her breast, and Lisa flinched. "Stay still, Lisa," he said, and
putting thumb and forefinger together, he snapped hard with his fingernail
against one of the needle heads. The girl screeched, and he did it again.

"Now fuck me, Lisa," he said. "Fuck me good and hard. I want to see
those titties bounce. Go on, that's it. Faster, Lisa. Oh yeah..."

Lisa's breasts indeed bounced up and down as she obeyed her brother's
commands. Her bound, useless hands strained futilely at her bonds, her fingers
clutching at nothing. Her shapely thighs pumped, her body rose and fell, and her
breasts, impaled by the agonizinag needles, rolled and jiggled and jounced and
bobbed, until she was again yelling and howling, her whole body twisting with
pain, which only added to her brother's pleasure. Only the fact that she had so
recently sucked him dry prevented him from shooting everything he had into that
deliciously squirming body.

Lisa was forced to pause at last, exhausted by pain and exertion. Avery
slapped at her breast to encourage her to continue, but David spoke up. "Let her
rest for a moment, Avery," he said. "Why don't you pull those things out of her
now? You should enjoy that. If you do it slowly, they'll be nearly as painful
coming out as they were going in."

"Not yet," Avery said, as his sister moaned with despair. "Not just yet,
David. Come here, Sis." Reaching up, he grabbed a handful of Lisa's dark hair
and pulled hard, bringing her body down atop his. Lisa screeched loudly as her
breasts were crushed against his chest. Her body writhed frantically on top of
him. Avery's cock was still inside her, and he groaned at the ecstasy of it.

"Kiss me, Lisa," he grated, and still clutching her hair he turned her
squalling, gasping mouth to his and jammed his lips against it. He held her
there for a long moment, relishing the squirming friction of her cunt, the
writhing torso, the tortured breasts mashed against him, her twisting lips as
she cried and yelled and panted into his mouth. He held her that way until he
felt on the verge of climax again, and then let her go.

"Now," he said when she was sitting astride him again, struggling for
breath, and his pussy-sheathed pole, while still stiff and throbbing, was no
longer poised to explode. "Now I'll take them out of her."

"Slowly," David said.

"Of course," Avery said. "We don't want her to enjoy it, do we?" As he
brought his hands to her nipples, Lisa bit at her lip, torn between the
desperate desire to be rid of her present agony, and fear of further pain. Avery
pulled the needles out one at a time, as slowly as he could, turning them in his
fingers as he did so, while Lisa shook and shrieked and twisted on his cock.

Lisa's relief was short-lived.

"Give them to me," David said, stretching out his hand for the needles.
Avery did so. "Now," David said, "if you'll position her the way you had her
before, Avery, we'll see what else we can do with them."

Lisa's face contorted with fear and horror. "NO!~ she shrieked. "No
more! You can't! No!!"

"Can't I, Lisa?" David said.

"Do it," Avery said, reaching up once more to grasp his sister's hair
tightly, and pulling her down on top of him. David was standing behind her, and
now he sat down on the bed, his eyes on Lisa's round, shapely buttocks, which in
her present position stuck up and out enticingly, the skin taut over the
luscious curves.

David reached out to touch them. "Beautiful ass," he said softly. "So
firm. So tender. So vulnerable."

"NO!" Lisa yelled. "No, please, don't, oh god oh jesus for god's sake
don't, please I can't--no, no, I'll do anything, no--"

David was running the tips of the needles lightly over the curving
flesh, as if searching for the ideal spot. He paused finally, needles poised,
one in the exact center of each quivering cheek.

"Right here, I think," he murmured.

Lisa made a great, desperate effort to speak calmly, to make herself
understood. "David, please," she panted, her voice quivering badly. "Listen,
please, I'm begging you, I can't stand it, please don't, I'll do anything you
want, anything you say, for god's sake, please..."

"Lisa," David said.

"Yes."

"You'll do anything I want anyway. Whether I put these needles in you or
not. You have no choice. Isn't that right, Lisa? Be logical. I can hurt you all
I want, and you're still going to do what I say. Isn't that right, Lisa?"

"Oh, god..."

"Answer me, Lisa."

"Yes..."

"Of course," David said, and he pushed the needles into her buttocks,
slowly but firmly, both at once, and Lisa went crazy with the pain. Her screams
seemed to shake the walls; she squalled and howled and flailed her body wildly
against Avery, who at last could not hold out any longer, and who gave a great
cry of his own as he spurted explosively over and over again inside his sister's
bucking, jerking, agony-wracked body.


15



The room in which the City Council gathered on this particular evening
was not the large, ornate chamber in which they usually conducted their
business. That was considered too public, too accessible for their present
purposes. The room into which Collins led Joyce was a simple meeting room,
curtained and carpeted but relatively plain. There was a long table at one end
of the room, and behind it sat the seven men who made up the Council, with Alex
Trifford, the Council president, in the center. Their ages ranged from forty to
sixty, and they all had the look of men who knew what they wanted and had few
scruples about how they got it. This was not the way they looked when they were
in public; there they appeared friendly, or jovial, or serious, or
concerned--whatever the situation demanded. They were, after all, politicians,
and shrewd ones. But here, now, they could be themselves, and their faces were
hard and showed little expression, except for a certain amount of irrepressible
anticipation at the sight of the full-figured blonde girl as she came through
the door.

"Gentlemen," Collins said, somewhat triumphantly, "this is Miss Gordon."

She was wearing the same sweater and skirt she had worn in Collins'
office. This was because she had not left that office until this evening.
Collins had kept her there for several days, locking her in at night, having
food sent up when necessary. During most of that time she had worn no clothes at
all. The delay had allowed the marks on her body to fade somewhat, and had
allowed Collins time to train her. She had learned a great deal about how to
please a man. Not that she'd exactly been inexperienced, but he had taught her
things she'd never dreamed about. Some of them were disgusting, some were
painful, but she did them. If she expressed the least bit of reluctance, just
the threat of being put back up in the air--just the suggestive lighting of a
cigarette--would set her shaking and moaning, and she would do what he wanted.
So she crawled for him, and she debased herself, and she learned, and she
listened when he told her exactly what she was to do when he took her before the
City Council.

And when, finally, he let her get dressed again, he made her leave her
bra and panties off. So she was wearing nothing under her outer clothes. The
sweater molded her breasts tightly as they rose and fell with her rapid,
frightened breathing; the shapes of the nipples, hard with fear, could be
plainly seen against the straining cloth.

"How do you do, Miss Gordon," Alex Trifford said. His voice was
pleasant, but his eyes were hard. "It's certainly a pleasure to see you. I think
I can speak for all of us when I say that we have been looking forward to this.
Yes, indeed. We've certainly been looking forward to this. Haven't we,
gentlemen?"

There was a murmur of assent along the table. Every eye was focused on
the girl, who was trembling visibly.

"All right, Joyce," Collins said. "You know what to do."

She hesitated for just a moment. Then, very slowly and rather
unsteadily, she walked to the middle of the room and stood facing the council
table. She did not look at them, but kept her eyes cast down. She was very pale
now, but the pallor did little to distract from the loveliness of her face. She
darted a quick, nervous glance at Collins, who nodded his head to her, his eyes
hard. She swallowed, and then went down on her knees.

She knelt there before them on the floor, her eyes still down, and then
her mouth opened and she tried to speak, but could not. She had to swallow
again, and when she tried again her voice was barely audible.

"Gentlemen," she said faintly, "I--I wish--"

"Louder, Joyce," Collins said. "We want the council to hear every word."

This time her voice was louder, though it quivered and faltered. But she
said what she had to say.

"Gentlemen--I'm--I wish to apologize to you for--the things I've
written. I know--I know they were false, and I most humbly beg your pardon. I
know that--" She began to choke, but cleared her throat and went on. "I know
that I've done you a great wrong, and--and that no apology can make up for it.
I--I will do anything I can to--to compensate you for--for what I've done.
Anything you wish. I am--I am at your service. My body--my body is yours to do
with as you will. I give it to you. I--you may use it for your pleasure. At any
time, in any way, and for as long as--as--" She was crying now. They watched her
crying as she knelt there.

"All right, Joyce," Collins said. "Now show them."

Slowly she got to her feet. And slowly, still facing them but not
looking at them, she took off her clothes. She pulled the sweater up over her
head, and several of the men gave low whistles at the sight of her naked,
perfectly shaped breasts. Then she opened her skirt and let it fall, and stood
naked in front of them.

"Gorgeous," one of them said. "Absolutely gorgeous."

"What are those marks on her breasts?" another man said. "Looks like
burns."

"As you know, I had to do some severe training," Collins said. "It took
a great deal of--persuasion--to prepare her properly for you gentlemen."

"That's no problem," Trifford said. "They don't take anything away from
that sexy body. In fact, I like them. They give me some terrific ideas."

Joyce shuddered visibly, and made a tiny moaning sound.

"She's all yours, gentlemen," Collins said. "We've arranged for Joyce to
take a two-week vacation from her paper. For that time she has nothing to do but
to serve your pleasure."

"Excellent," Trifford said. "Why don't we start right now?"

Nobody objected.

Some of the Council members wanted her to suck them off first, all of
them, one by one, just to degrade her as much as possible, this uppity woman
who had dared to try to expose them, show her what kind of a crawling slave slut
they could make of her, now that she was in their power. Others wanted to start
by fucking her, spreading her right across the long table and taking that
luscious body there and then. So, like good politicians, they took a vote.
Sucking won.

So she got down on her knees again, and she crawled to one end of the
table, as they opened their trousers, and she sucked them off, one by one,
moving down the line under the table; and she did it well, because she knew she
had to do it well, because Collins had made it clear to her that if there were
any complaints about her, if she performed badly or objected to anything she was
told to to or showed any sign of rebellion, he would have to take her back to
his office and start training her all over again, only more severly this time.
She couldn't imagine what could possibly be more severe than what he had already
done to her, but she had no desire to find out; the only desire she had now, the
only thing she knew with absolute certainty, was that she had to avoid any more
of his punishment. She couldn't endure it again; the very thought of it made her
start to shake and sweat and feel sick. So she did it well, she made it good for
them with her mouth and her lips and her tongue, and when they came in her mouth
she forced herself to swallow it all, just as Collins had told her. When she
finished with one she crawled to the next, and when she felt like gagging on
their come she took deep breaths through her nose and suppressed the instinct.
And when she had finished the last one, she stayed there on her knees and waited
for further orders. Tears ran down her face, but she couldn't help that.
Besides, they wouldn't mind her tears. They would enjoy seeing her cry, it was
part of their vengeance, their debasement of her.

When they told her to get up and climb onto the table and stretch
herself out on her back, with her legs spread wide, she did it. The men she had
sucked first were ready again, and the others soon after. Some of them took off
most of their clothes, some of them didn't bother. But they all took her there,
crushing her body under them, squeezing her breasts roughly, pushing themselves
hungrily into her softness. Some of them kissed her tired mouth as they battered
eagerly at her, some grunted obscenities, some just grinned with evil triumph
into her tear-filled eyes. Through it all she felt Collins' eyes on her, and
again she did what she had to do. She arched and squirmed, she met their
thrusts, trying to match their rhythms, she kissed them back with passionate
tongue, she wrapped her legs around them, she did everything she could to give
them pleasure. And she never stopped crying.

"The bitch is good," Trifford said to Collins, when they had all
finished with her. "You did a good job on her."

"Yeah," one of the others said. "But this is just the beginning. We've
got a long way to go before we're done with her."

"I don't think she'll give you any trouble," Collins said. "But if she
does, just give me a call. I guarantee I'll take care of it."

Joyce started to shake.

"That's good," Trifford said. "But I think maybe we'll be able to take
care of it ourselves, you know? I wouldn't mind putting a few marks on her
myself, if necessary."

"Sounds like fun to me," another man said.

"Well, I'll leave her to you now. But remember--when you get through
with her, I want her back. She has a date to keep with my assistant. Right,
Joyce?"

"Yes, sir," Joyce said.


16



Avery and his sister were spending a quiet domestic evening at home when
the unexpected visitor showed up. They were, in fact, watching television. Avery
was enjoying it immensely, Lisa somewhat less so. What they were watching was a
videotape made by Avery's friend David only a few days before. It showed David
sitting in a chair, naked, with Lisa, also naked, sitting astride his lap, with
his cock inside her. Avery was standing behind her, whipping her across the back
with his belt. There was no sound with this particular tape, but it was obvious
that Lisa was howling loudly at each blow, and her violent jerking and squirming
under the repeated lashing was giving David great pleasure. As he watched the
tape, Avery was receiving great pleasure also, not only from the sight of his
sister's torment, but also from her mouth as she sucked his cock. She was
crouched beside him on the sofa, and because he had insisted she watch the tape
also, she was keeping one eye on the screen as her head bobbed up and down.
Slowly, the way Avery liked it.

When the doorbell rang, Avery scowled. "Who the hell can that be?" he
muttered. "Shit!" Pushing Lisa away, he stood up and tucked himself back into
his pants, zipping up and trying to push down his hard-on. The girl sat up,
straightening her clothing. Avery went to the door.

The visitor was a middle-aged, rather rotund man wearing a three-piece
suit and carrying a black briefcase. "Good evening," he said, when Avery opened
the door. "Is this the--" He took a piece of paper from his pocket, looked at
it, put it back. "--the Childs residence?"

"Yes," Avery said. "I'm Avery Childs. Something I can do for you?"

"Ah, Mr. Childs," the man said. "Forgive me for calling at this
unconventional hour, but we have been trying to contact you for some--Oh, excuse
me. I'm Henry Donaldson. I'm the student liaison coordinator for the local
school district. I believe you have--"

"Student WHAT coordinator?" Avery said.

"Liaison," Donaldson said, smiling rather apologetically. "That's what
the school district likes to call it nowadays. It used to be called a truant
officer."

"Oh," Avery said.

"Our records show that there is a person, a student, residing at this
address by the name of Lisa Jane Childs. Is that correct?"

"Well, yes," Avery said. "She's my sister."

"Ah. I see. Yes. Well, Mr. Childs, I'm not sure if you're aware of this,
but according to our records, Miss Childs has not been attending school
recently. In fact, at appears she has not attended at all for a period of
several months."

"Well," Avery said. "Actually, Mr. Donaldson, we've decided to take Lisa
out of school. She won't be coming back. So you can close the case. Thank you
for--"

"But--Just a moment, Mr. Childs. I'm afraid it's not as simple as that.
You see, the law in this state requires that a minor child be enrolled in a
certified educational institution, and attend it regularly. Perhaps if I could
speak to the girl's parents..."

"Our parents are dead, Mr. Donaldson. I'm Lisa's guardian."

"I see. Well, let me explain--"

"The fact is, Lisa is being educated at home. She's a very bright girl,
you see, very intelligent, and she's perfectly capable of pursuing her studies
on her own--with the proper supervision, of course. So I don't think you have
to--"

"But unless the girl is under the instruction of a licensed, certified
tutor... And even then, the circumstances would have to be approved by the
school board. I'm afraid, Mr. Childs, you'll have to--"

Avery sighed. "I'll tell you what, Mr. Donaldson. Perhaps the best thing
would be for you to meet Lisa and see for yourself how well instructed she is.
Why don't you come in?"

"Well, I'd be happy to meet the young lady, of course, but I'm afraid it
won't make any difference. The law is very clear on this point, and the board
must conform to it, of course."

"Of course," Avery said, ushering the other man in and closing the door
behind him. "But I think you may find this a special case. Right in here, Mr.
Donaldson." He led the way into the living room. Lisa was sitting demurely on
the sofa--as demurely as she could, given the fact that she was dressed the way
Avery liked her, with her very tight sweater clinging to the curves of her
breasts and outlining clearly the little bumps of her nipples, and her short
skirt revealing most of her sweet young thighs.

"Mr. Donaldson," Avery said, "this is my sister, Lisa. Lisa, this is Mr.
Donaldson. He's from the school district."

"How do you do, Mr. Donaldson," Lisa said dutifully. Her eyes were
apprehensive and somewhat fearful as she looked at Avery, as if to discover what
it was he had in mind. But Avery was watching Donaldson intently as the other
man looked at the girl, searching his face for the signs he hoped to see there.
And he was rewarded. Donaldson's eyes widened a bit, and his mouth seemed to
soften as his gaze took her in, and for a long moment he was unable to keep
himself from staring. Avery smiled.

Donaldson, with an effort, forced his eyes away from her body. "How do
you do, Lisa," he said, a bit hoarsely.

"Pretty, isn't she?" Avery said. "Please sit down, Mr. Donaldson."

Donaldson sank into the proffered chair. "What? Oh, yes--yes. Very
pretty. Now, Lisa, according to our records--"

"Sexy-looking too, don't you think?" Avery said.

Donaldson looked startled. "I--Well, I--I don't think that's really..."

"Oh, come on, Mr. Donaldson," Avery said. "I saw you looking at her. Not
that I blame you. She's really something, isn't she? Would you like to get a
better look? Stand up, Lisa."

Lisa stood up. She didn't look at Donaldson, nor at Avery. Her face was
expressionless, if a bit pale.

"You see how well trained she is?" Avery said. "She has the best
instruction in the world."

"I don't--I don't understand what--" Donaldson said.

"Look at those breasts," Avery said. "Don't they make your mouth water?
You can tell she's not wearing any brassiere. That's because I don't let her. I
often don't let her wear any underwear at all, in fact. That's part of her
schooling."

"Mr. Childs, I--Now look, I--"

"You can see how round and firm they are, even with that sweater on,
can't you? But wouldn't you like to see them naked? You can if you want. I can
just tell her to take the sweater off for you, and she will. She'll do anything
I tell her to. Anything."

"But--but--Mr. Childs... this girl is your SISTER!"

"She's also my student," Avery said. "And I've taught her well, as you
can see. Would you like her to take her clothes off?"

"I--Jesus." Donaldson was sweating. His eyes traveled again,
compulsively, up and down the girl's body. "I don't--Lisa--" He cleared his
throat. "Lisa, what--what do YOU think about all this?"

Lisa hesitated.

"Answer him, Lisa," Avery said.

She did not meet his gaze. When it came her voice was low but clear. "I
do what my brother tells me," she said.

"You see?" Avery said. "Take your sweater off, Lisa."

Her hands trembling only slightly, she took hold of the bottom of the
sweater and pulled it off over her head.

A small sound came from Donaldson.

"Gorgeous, aren't they?" Avery said. "Would you like to touch them? Or
do you want her to take her skirt off first?"

Donaldson's eyes didn't leave Lisa's bare breasts, but he made some kind
of effort to pull himself together. "Now, look," he said gruffly. "I don't know
what you're--if you think you can--can bribe me in some way with--with this
girl..."

"That's just what I think, Mr. Donaldson," Avery said. "I think you want
Lisa in the worst way, and I think it won't be a big deal for you to just adjust
your records a little bit, so we won't have any more interference from the
school board. That's not asking much. Not for this. And when you see what Lisa
can do, I'm sure you'll agree that she doesn't need to learn any more. Not after
you find out just how educated she is--and how well trained. She's got a hell of
an educated mouth, I'll tell you that. And a damn well-educated pussy, too. I'm
still educating her asshole, but it's coming along fine. Maybe you'd like to
help me with that, would you, Mr. Donaldson?"

"Oh, Christ," Donaldson said. He swallowed.

"Take your skirt off, Lisa," Avery said. "And show Mr. Donaldson your
sweet little ass."

Lisa looked at her brother quickly, then away. She pushed the short
skirt down over her hips and let it fall to the floor. She then stepped out of
it and turned around, showing Donaldson her back and buttocks.

"Is that a great little ass or what?" Avery said.

"I--" Donaldson cleared his throat. "Christ," he said again.

"Lisa," Avery said, "go over to Mr. Donaldson and let him touch you."

Lisa, turning again, walked slowly toward where the man was sitting, her
eyes lowered. Donaldson watched the slight sway of her breasts as she
approached. She stopped just in front of his chair.

Donaldson's hand reached out reflexively for her breast, then stopped
and fell back. "I can't do this," Donaldson said hoarsely. His breath was coming
faster. "I shouldn't--I could get--"

"Nobody will ever know," Avery said. "I promise you that. Whatever
happens here will never leave this room. Touch her."

"I shouldn't," Donaldson said again. "But it's--she's so... so..."

"Touch her," Avery said.

"Oh, god help me," Donaldson said, and put his hand on the soft tempting
curve of Lisa's thigh. A small sound came from his throat.

"Feels nice, doesn't she?" Avery said.

"Christ," Donaldson said, his hand moving upward over the naked flesh.
"Christ, she's so smooth. So young and smooth. Such a young, lovely girl..." His
hand slid around to clutch at her buttocks.

"Lisa," Avery said. "Ask Mr. Donaldson if he would like to fuck you in
the ass."

Donaldson caught his breath. Lisa's eyes closed for a moment and she bit
at her lip. Her voice was very low.

"Mr. Donaldson, would--would you like to--to fuck me?"

"In the ass," Avery repeated.

"In the ass," Lisa breathed.

"Oh, good Christ," Donaldson said breathlessly. "I can't say no to that.
I'll probably be damned all to hell, but I--she's--I can't say no to that."

"Good," Avery said. "Where would you like her? How about we have her
just bend over the sofa arm here. I find that's a pretty convenient position."

"I don't care," Donaldson said. He stood up and took off his jacket.
Without bothering to undress further, he opened the zipper of his fly and pulled
out his penis, which was fully erect and surprisingly well developed. "I want
her. I just want her now."

"Over the sofa, Lisa," Avery said. "You know the position."

The girl, trembling slightly, moved to one end of the couch and lowered
her upper body onto it, face down, her hips bent over the raised leather arm.
The position thrust her buttocks up provocatively. Her feet still rested on the
floor, imparting a certain tension to her lovely outstretched legs, while her
breasts were crushed beneath her as she hid her face in the sofa cushions.

Avery watched with satisfaction as the sweating Donaldson approached the
girl and bent over her, his hands pulling her firm rounded buttocks wide apart.
A tiny fearful whimper came from Lisa. Donaldson positioned his eager cock
against the small, crumpled opening of her anus, and then, with a hoarse groan,
plunged himself into her.

Lisa's head came up and she gave a shriek of pain, and then continued to
cry out as the man forced his way more deeply into her narrow passage.

"Noisy, isn't she?" Avery said. "Let me help shut her up for you."
Following Donaldson's example by unzipping his trousers and pulling out his
ready cock, he moved to the sofa and sat down, lifting his sister's head by the
hair so he could slide beneath her, then lowering it to his crotch so that her
open, squalling mouth was forced down over his cock.

"That's better," Avery said. He kept his hand in her hair as a kind of
warning, but Lisa didn't need to be told what to do. In spite of her continued
sobbing and moaning, she proceeded to suck Avery's cock while Donaldson moved
still deeper into her tender asshole.

"Jesus, she's tight," he panted.

"Well," Avery said. "Lisa's young."

"Oh, yes," Donaldson said, gasping now as he began to move back and
forth, his movements accelerating, his words coming in breathless spurts,
accompanied by the girl's stifled cries. "Oh yes, she's young... God, she's so
young and tight and gorgeous... A sweet young girl... A lovely little slut of a
girl... Take it, you slut... you gorgeous fucking slut... fucking young girl...
Oh Christ Jesus... Take it... Soft young slut of a girl... fine young girl...
sweet fucking slut whore of a girl... I'm... I'm fucking you... Fucking your
ass... god help me... sweet young girl... sweet... gorgeous... fucking...
slut... of a giirrrrlllll..."

And Donaldson came, his words fading into a rasping, rattling sound as
he collapsed over the girl's body. His weight forced Lisa's mouth down hard over
Avery's cock, and her cry of pain was choked off by her brother's sperm, which
at that moment shot powerfully and repeatedly into her throat. All she could do
to keep herself from strangling was to swallow desperately, gulping the stuff
down while trying to breathe through her nose. At last Avery's cock slipped from
her lips and she lay gasping, panting and sobbing, still trapped under
Donaldson's heavy body.

At last the man had recovered enough to get to his feet. He stood
looking dazed, still breathing hard, and shaking his head. "Christ," he wheezed.
"Jesus H. Christ. That was something!"

"You see?" Avery said. "I knew you'd enjoy it. I did too. She's got a
great mouth, our Lisa. Want to change places?"

"Oh, my god," Donaldson breathed. "That's tempting, all right, but I'm
not as young as you, boy. I think she ruined me for the night."

"Oh, I doubt that," Avery said. "I'd bet anything that we can find a way
to get you ready again. Don't you think so, Lisa?"

"I... Yes, Avery," Lisa got out.

"Of course, I'm sure you're going to fix up those records for us now,
aren't you, Mr. Donaldson?" Avery said.

"Oh, hell, yeah," Donaldson said. "I'll just say she died or something.
I guess it was worth it."

"Great," Avery said. "Now let's see, what can we do to give you some
inspiration? I know. Lisa, why don't we show Mr. Donaldson that tape we were
watching. That ought to put him in the mood."

"Avery..." Lisa said.

He looked at her sharply. "What?"

"Nothing, Avery," Lisa said quickly. "I'm sorry. Nothing."

"Good," Avery said. "Go turn it on for us, Lisa."

Donaldson joined Avery on the sofa as Lisa obeyed.

The tape did indeed put him back in the mood, just as Avery had
predicted. He caught his breath and leaned forward attentively at the first
sight of what was happening on the screen, and after a while his breathing
became audible as he watched the silent spectacle of the girl's torment.

When the tape ended, Donaldson turned to Avery, his face red, his eyes
glittering. "I want that," he said. "I want her like that. Fucking me while
you--"

"Why not?" Avery said.

After Lisa, shaking and moaning with fear, had gotten into position,
straddling Donaldson's lap with his revived cock deep inside her, Avery played
the tape again. And as he plied the belt steadily and mercilessly across his
sister's naked back, Donaldson was able to look over her squirming shoulder and
watch the same thing happening on the screen; as he savored the ecstatic
pleasure of the girl's body twisting under the pain of the blows, as she jerked
and bucked and pressed her writhing breasts hard against him in a frantic,
futile effort to get away from the punishing belt, as she plunged dutifully and
agonizedly up and down over his now steel-hard cock, he could watch the girl on
the screen going through the same contortions, suffering the same torture; and
though on the tape her screaming and howling and shrieking could not be heard,
now, in actuality, those sounds resounded through the room, ringing loudly,
abundantly, beautifully, in his ears.


17



One of the members of the Council was in real estate, and he supplied
them with an apartment where they could keep her for the two weeks in which they
were to have the ownership of her. She was not sure what her status would be
after that, and she was afraid to ask.

The apartment was large and luxurious, a penthouse duplex. They stocked
it with plenty of food and drink, and with Joyce. She could not leave. There was
a guard outside the door, twenty-four hours a day, whose sole duty was to see
that no one but the Council members went in, and that she did not go out. There
was no telephone. And there were no clothes, not even the ones she'd worn that
first night. They kept her naked, all the time, naked and ready to receive them
whenever they appeared.

She never knew when one or two of them might drop in during the day,
demanding her services. She might go the whole day without visitors--although
this only happened once or twice--or she might be kept busy all day long,
servicing five or six of them as they dropped in whenever they had the chance
and the inclination. But the evenings were the worst. In the evenings they would
gather together, most if not all of them, and stage a repeat, with variations,
of the scene in the meeting room, until she was so exhausted that she could
hardly move. But she had to be good for them. If she showed the slightest sign
of slackening, of not putting everything she had into her performance, they
would punish her.

Not that they did to her what Collins had done; although the threat of
that, or of their calling him in to deal with her if they weren't satisfied, was
always in the air, and kept her obedient. But they had no qualms about being
rough with her, and some of them seemed to get especially aroused by spanking
her, or hurting her while they took her. They never forgot why they were doing
this to her, never lost their anger at her for trying to destroy them by
exposing their dishonesty.

One day near the beginning of her period of servitude, Trifford had
appeared at the apartment, along with another councilman, George Kalinkos, the
real-estate man. Trifford was surly and scowling, evidently upset because of
some business deal that had gone badly. He dropped moodily into a chair and
ordered Joyce to fix him a drink. She did so, self-consciously, feeling the eyes
of both men on her naked body. Even after all the things she had done, she could
still not escape the feeling of shame at having her nakedness so casually
exposed to the gloating, lustful eyes of the men.

Kalinkos sprawled on a sofa as Trifford sipped his drink, his gaze
travelling over the girl's enticing body. She stood waiting for orders, knowing
she would have to do it with both of them, the only question being which way
they wanted her this time. Which openings they would use. In which position. And
whether they would take her separately or together.

But Trifford was looking at her now with something more than plain lust
in his eyes, something that made her fearful. "You're a real sexy piece, all
right," he rasped. "But you're too smart for your own good. Women like you
should stick to fucking and making babies, not go around messing in things that
are none of your business. You damn near ruined us, you little bitch. You tried
to take us down. We've been so busy fucking you, we haven't really dealt with
that, now have we?"

Joyce swallowed. "I--I apologized," she forced herself to say. "I'm
sorry. I--I retracted the story. I'm sorry."

"Maybe that's not enough," Trifford said. He put his drink down and
stood up. "Come here, Joyce."

She was trembling, but she made herself move toward him. She was within
arm's reach of him when he told her to stop.

"You fucking busybody whore," Trifford snarled. "That's what you are. A
fucking busybody whore. Aren't you?"

"I--I--"

"AREN'T YOU?" Trifford demanded loudly.

Joyce looked at the floor. "I--Yes."

"Yes, what. Tell me. Come on, tell me. Say, 'I'm a fucking busybody
whore.'"

"I--I'm--" She swallowed hard. "I'm a fucking busybody whore."

"Right," Trifford said, and raised his hand and slapped her hard across
her left breast. She screamed and reflexively brought her hands up to cover her
bosom.

"Put your hands down, Joyce," Trifford said. "Down, I said. That's
right. Now. You're also a dirty nosy cunt. Isn't that right, Joyce?"

"Please..."

"Tell me, Joyce."

"Yes... please..."

"Yes, what, Joyce? Say it."

"I'm a--a dirty nosy cunt."

Trifford slapped her with his other hand this time, hitting her right
breast. Again she screamed, and again her hands came up automatically.

"I told you to keep your hands down, Joyce. Didn't I tell you that?"

"Yes," Joyce said. Slowly, she lowered her hands. "Please..." she said.

"Please what?" Trifford said.

"Please don't hit me any more."

"No, Joyce, you don't understand," Trifford said. "If I want to hit you,
you don't ask me not to. Because if I want to hit you, that's what you want,
too. Isn't that right?"

"I--"

"Isn't that right, Joyce?"

"Y-yes..." she whispered.

"Right. So don't ask me not to hit you, Joyce. In fact, what you should
do is just the opposite. You should be asking me to hit you, because that's what
I want to do. So do that, Joyce. Ask me to hit you."

Her eyes widened. She looked up at him, then down again.

"I'm waiting," Trifford said.

Her voice shook badly. "Please... please hit me..."

He did, slapping her left breast again, even harder this time. Her legs
buckled, and her hands came up on their own before she could think to stop them.

He slapped her face.

"You don't listen, bitch," he snarled. "George. Come here and hold her
hands for her."

Kalinkos rose from tbe couch and came over. Standing behind the girl, he
seized her wrists in his hands and pulled them sharply backward, holding them
tightly and twisting her arms up just hard enough to make her cry out. The
position arched her back and thrust her shapely breasts outward toward Trifford,
as if inviting his punishment.

"That's better," Trifford said. "Now ask me again, Joyce. Ask me to hit
you again."

"Oh god..." she moaned, and Kalinkos twisted her arms harder. "Aahh! No!
Hit... P-please hit me again..."

Trifford did. Her breasts were red with the marks of his hands.

"So," Trifford said. "We agree you're a fucking whore and a nosy cunt.
What else? How about a shit-eating slut. Are you a shit-eating slut, Joyce?"

"Yes..." she gasped as Kalinkos twisted her wrists again. She was
sobbing.

"Tell me."

"Ohh... I... I'm a shit-eating slut..."

Whap! across her breast. She shrieked.

"And a slimy little cocksucker," Trifford said. "Say it!"

"And a--" She could hardly speak. "--a slimy... little cocksucker."

Whap!

"AAAHHH! Stop! Please stop! Please!"

"And a piece of rotten shit," Trifford said. "Say it!"

"I can't! Oh, Jesus... AAAAHHHH!" Kalinkos had pulled her arms high up
behind her back, until she was forced up onto her toes to relieve the pressure.
"All right! All right! I'm--a piece of rotten shit!"

WHAP!

Joyce was screaming and sobbing hysterically, her body twisting and
jerking in Kalinkos' tight grip. Trifford watched her for a few moments, until
she had quieted enough to hear him.

"Now, cunt," he sneered at her. "You get this straight, you hear? When
you go back to that rag you work on, you write nothing but good things about us.
Right? All about what great civic-minded guys we are, how good we are for the
city and all that stuff. That way we won't have to deal with you again. You got
that, Joyce? You understand?"

"Yes..." she gasped out. "Yes... yes..."

"Good. Now I want you to do something for me right now, Joyce baby. I
feel like having my ass licked out. I want you to do that for me. I want you to
lick it out real good, get it all clean and shiny. You'll do that for me, won't
you, Joyce?"

Her face twisted with a mixture of disgust and despair which she could
not control, but her hesitation was brief. Not only was she at the mercy of the
two men and their punishing hands, but somewhere out there was Collins, with his
whip, and his cigarettes, and--

"Yes..." she choked. "Yes... anything..."

She ended up doing it for both of them. They both stripped, and they
took her into the bedroom, and Trifford knelt on the bed and Joyce knelt behind
him. Trifford reached back and pulled his buttocks apart to expose his anus.
"Now do a good job, Joyce baby," he said. "I want to feel your tongue right up
in there. I want to feel you swabbing me out like a Roto-Rooter. Let's go."

With Kalinkos looking on, ready to twist her arms again if she didn't
perform satisfactorily, Joyce forced herself to do what she had to do. Bending
down, she brought her mouth to the hairy cheeks in front of her. Her quivering
tongue crept out, touched the waiting flesh, licked reluctantly, and then, at
his urging, began to probe.

She did a thorough job. He kept demanding that she push deeper, until
her tongue ached at the roots. She jammed it in as far as she could, and then
followed his instructions as he commanded her to twist her tongue, to lick him
out, to thrust back and forth as though her tongue was fucking his asshole. All
the while she felt sick, and tears ran down her face. But she did it.

After a while he ordered her to reach around him and stroke his pulsing
cock at the same time. She tried to do that well too, and at last he pulled away
from her and turned around. "Keep playing with me, baby," he panted. "And use
both hands. No, keep your face right where it is." Her face was just in front of
his cock, and she realized what he wanted to do, but she didn't move away. Her
hands stroked him and caressed him, faster and faster, until he stiffened and
groaned, and strong jets of come spurted from his cock and splashed onto her
face, hitting her eyes and her mouth and her cheeks, spurt after spurt until it
was over.

He wouldn't let her wipe it off.

Then it was the other man's turn. Kalinkos was not as clean as Trifford,
and he smelled. The odor from his unwashed anus nauseated her, and when she
began to lick him, the taste of him was too much, and she had to run into the
bathroom to throw up. She was afraid they would punish her for that, but they
just thought it was funny. They just made her continue where she had left off.
She gagged and she retched and she had to work very hard not to throw up again,
but she probed and licked and finally tongued him cleaner than he had probably
been for a long time. She stroked his cock too, and when he was finally ready
and turned to her, he grabbed her by the hair and pulled her face to him,
ramming his cock into her soiled, gasping mouth. He exploded almost immediately,
and she retched again as she was forced to swallow his filth-flavored come.

Then they were finished with her--for the moment. "By the way," Trifford
said as they were dressing to leave, "we'll be coming back tonight, with the
rest of the boys. All of us. We'll be coming over kind of early, so we'll want
something to eat. There's plenty of food here, you can cook dinner for us." He
grinned at her. "You can be dessert," he said.


18



When Avery told David about the visit from Donaldson, and how he had
persuaded him to forget about Lisa as far as the school board was concerned,
David laughed and laughed. "Wonderful," he said. "Your sexy little sister has
her uses, all right."

"No man could resist her, I bet," Avery said. "Not the way I've got her
trained."

David looked thoughtful. "I think you're right," he said. "You know,
Avery, we might just be able to profit from that. In all kinds of ways."

"What do you mean?" Avery asked.

"Well." David looked over at Lisa, who was standing stark naked in the
middle of the room, her hands tied behind her and her long dark hair hitched up
to a hook which dangled on a rope from the ceiling. Her hair was fastened to it
in a manner calculated to keep Lisa on her toes, since if she tried to stand
flat-footed, it would tighten and pull painfully at her scalp, threatening to
rip itself out by the roots. The two men enjoyed watching the constant struggle
between the girl's need to rest her cramped and exhausted toes, and then to
relieve the awful pulling at her scalp. That struggle had not yet reached the
crucial point, but as time went by it would become unbearable. They were looking
forward to that. They also enjoyed the way her precarious balance on her toes
caused her body to turn this way and that, giving them a constantly changing
view of that fine body from all angles.

"Well," David said. "For one thing, we could get all kinds of favors and
so on from a lot of people, if we played our cards right. Like you got from
Donaldson. The possibilities are endless."

"I see what you mean," Avery said. "Interesting."

"And also," David said, "we could make a lot of money."

"You mean--"

"Oh, they would pay for that body, don't you think? Especially, as you
say, since you've got her so beautifully trained."

A sudden gasp came from Lisa. "Oh, my god!" she cried. "Oh, no! Avery!"

"Well, yes..." Avery said slowly. "It's something I hadn't thought of--I
mean, up to now I've enjoyed just keeping her for myself, and a few friends like
you..."

"And Donaldson," David pointed out.

"Right. But she could certainly bring in a lot of money, no doubt about
that."

"Avery!" the girl gasped. "You can't! For god's sake! You'll make me a
whore!"

"Well, yes," David said dryly. "That is the general idea."

"Oh god, no!" Lisa said, struggling on her toes to keep her body still
enough to face them. "No, please. Avery, please. I don't want to be a whore. Oh,
don't do this, please. Avery, don't make me a whore. I'll do anything..."

"She doesn't want to be a whore," Avery said to David.

"What a shame," David said. "And if she doesn't want to be one, I guess
there's no way we can make her, is there?"

Avery smiled.

Lisa moaned.

"But maybe we can change her mind," David said then. "How about it,
Lisa? Maybe if you think about it, you'll find you want to be a whore after all.
Don't you think?"

"No," Lisa said. "No. I don't. No."

David sighed. "That's the wrong answer, Lisa. The right answer is yes.
So let's not waste time. Tell us you'd like to be a whore."

"No!" Lisa's voice was unsteady, and there was fear in her eyes. "No,
please. Please. I don't... I can't. Please."

David smiled. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box. It
was the box containing the thin, sharp needles which he had used on Lisa the
night he had met her. He didn't open the box, but set it down on the table.

Lisa's face went deathly pale and her body began to shake. An
involuntary moan came from her throat.

"No," she whispered. "Oh Jesus, no. Please. Oh dear god..." She began to
sob.

"Come on, Lisa," David said. "Tell us you want to be a whore."

"I want to be a whore," Lisa said.


19



She had never cooked for seven men before, and she was no gourmet cook
to begin with. But fortunately their culinary demands were not overly elaborate.
They told her to just fry up a bunch of hamburgers. Food was not the main reason
they were there. As Trifford had said, she was to be the dessert. They never
seemed to get their fill of her. Aside from the obvious lure of her body, and
the fact that she was freely available to them, the idea of taking their revenge
with her continued to fire their lusts and add to their pleasure in her enforced
submission.

They sat around the kitchen table and watched her as she cooked. She was
naked, of course, and she moved self-consciously under their leering eyes. And
she soon found that frying hamburgers, though simple, had a distinct
drawback--as the grease in the frying pan sizzled and bubbled, hot little
droplets would spatter out of the pan and land painfully on her breasts and
body. She asked--she begged, humbly, respectfully--if she couldn't please just
put on an apron, something to protect her from the burning grease. But they said
no. They wanted her naked. Period. And they enjoyed watching her predicament as
the burgers went on frying; they got a kick out of her unsuccessful efforts to
avoid being spattered, and they laughed each time she jumped and cried out as
her breasts were scorched by the flying drops.

The breaking point came as she had finished one batch of burgers and was
about to start another. She was turning down the burner when something crackled
in the hot pan, sending up a small shower of grease which splashed onto her
right breast. The accumulated pain and humiliation momentarily broke down her
fear. "No!" she cried, turning to the watching men. "I can't take this any more!
I want to put something on! Please!"

There was a brief silence, and then Alex Trifford slowly rose from his
chair, with an expression on his face that made her instantly regret the force
with which she had spoken. "Are you complaining, Joyce?" Trifford said softly.
"Are you arguing with us?"

She had to swallow hard, but she tried to hold on to some of her
purpose, even as she backed down. "No," she said quickly. "No, I'm--I'm not.
It's just that... the grease burns, and... it's hard to..."

She trailed off as Trifford came around the table toward her. She wanted
to back away, but her back was to the stove, on which the hot pan still sizzled.
"Burns, does it?" Trifford said. "Well, that's too bad, Joyce. I guess those
gorgeous tits of yours are just too damn precious to get a little burn, is that
it?"

"I--I just--"

"Let's just see," Trifford said, and he suddenly reached out for her,
grabbing her arm and twisting it hard up behind her back. He turned her to face
the stove, and before she realized what was happening she found herself, to her
horror, bending over the smoking frying pan, her arm forced so high on her back
that she was unable to straighten up, was in fact being pushed further down
toward the surface of the stove, her dangling breast hanging just over the
spitting, bubbling liquid.

"NO!" she screamed. "No, please! Oh my god, don't! No! No!" The liquid
was splattering onto her breast, and she could feel the searing heat from the
pan, dangerously close to her swaying nipple. Trifford increased the pressure on
her arm until she thought it would break, forcing her body still further down.

"Now you'll REALLY know about burning," Trifford said, his voice husky
with his exertions. "Maybe we'll have some fried tit for dinner, okay, Joyce?"

"PLEASE!" the girl shrieked. "Oh god, don't! Let me go! Please! I'm
sorry! Please!"

She was struggling now against the pain in her arm, fighting to keep her
breast from actually making contact with the surface of the pan. Trifford now
brought his free hand up to her head, grasping the hair at the back of her neck,
and pushed downward. Joyce shrieked frantically, babbling wild pleas as her body
was forced inexorably downward, until just the tip of her breast touched the
bottom of the scalding pan.

Her screams nearly shook the walls as the hot metal and the sizzling
grease seared her nipple, and her body bucked and twisted desperately. Trifford,
exerting all his strength, held her where she was for one long, deliberate
moment, and then let her go.

She fell to the floor in front of the stove and curled her body into a
ball, sobbing loudly and cradling the injured breast.

"All right, Joyce," Trifford said. "Now that wasn't as bad as it could
have been, you know. I could have burned your whole tit right off for you. But I
guess you got a taste. So you're not going to complain any more, or give us any
more demands. Are you, Joyce?"

"N-no," she sobbed out. "No. No."

"Good. Now you can get up and get on with the cooking."

Which she did.

They didn't let her eat with them at the table. When she had finished
serving them, they made her get down on the floor on her hands and knees, and
from time to time one of them would toss bits of food at her, which she then had
to eat off the floor. Without using her hands. Though she was hungry, she would
have preferred to go without than to undergo the humiliation of scarfing her
food from the dirty floor like a dog. But she had no choice. The men demanded
that she eat every scrap they threw down, as they chortled in lascivious triumph
at her degradation.

A couple of them ordered her to suck them off while she was down there.
("You can wash down your dinner with my come, honey," one of them said.) The
kitchen table was much smaller than the table in the Council office had been,
and she had to crawl carefully among a cluster of legs and feet to position
herself in front of the recipient of her ministrations. As she sucked, the man
across the table stretched out his legs and rested his feet on her back, and the
man in the next chair did the same. She had a sudden sharp realization of how
she must look at this moment, and she thought with horror of what her friends or
co-workers would think if they could see her right now--her, Joyce Gordon, the
smart, sophisticated, self-confident professional woman, naked, crawling,
debased, using her mouth for the pleasure of a fat, unpleasant stranger, while
half a dozen others looked on, waiting their turn to use her however they
wanted... The pain of it was in a way greater than the pain that still burned at
her breast. Sudden tears stung her eyes and ran down her cheeks, but she did not
stop her slow, accomplished, obedient sucking.

When they had finished eating, they allowed her to get up in order to
make coffee for them. A few of the men, she saw, had become so aroused by
watching her on the floor that they had opened their trousers to release their
erect cocks. One of them, a sallow-faced man named Calley, reached for her and
pulled her over to him, his hands searching her body.

"Let her go, Calley," one of them said. "I want some coffee, god damn
it!"

"Hell with the coffee!" Calley grunted. "I want this cocksucking bitch
now! Come on, baby, come and sit on me. Right here." He pulled the girl onto his
lap and positioned her so that she was sitting astride his legs, with her back
to him. His hands went around her and squeezed her breasts hard.

"Come on, sweet tits," Calley said, "Raise up and let me get into that
pussy." He pulled her back against him, and she managed to lift herself enough
for him to put himself inside her. "Oh, yeah," he gasped as she sank down over
his eager pole. "Oh, that's beautiful, honey. Now fuck me nice."

Joyce, with some effort, was able to shift her legs so that her feet
could get a purchase on the rungs of the chair, giving her enough leverage to
raise and lower her body as Calley desired. The others watched avidly as she
moved herself up and down, her thighs rippling sensuously as she worked.

"Faster," Calley demanded, squeezinag her breasts harder. "Faster, damn
it!"

Though she did her best, the position was awkward for her and she was
unable to move as rapidly as he wanted. Calley suddenly released her breasts,
and with his right hand picked up his fork from his plate. "Maybe this will get
some action out of you," he rasped, and he jabbed the fork hard into her right
buttock.

She gave a sharp cry and her body jerked spasmodically, bringing a hiss
of pleasure from Calley. "Hey, that works real good!" he said, and he jabbed her
again. Again she jumped and cried out. Now he began to poke her repeatedly with
the sharp instrument, and to vary his jabs from her right buttock to her left.
The men around the table watched with glee, laughing as her body jerked and
spasmed and jumped, her breasts bouncing wantonly with her enforced movements.

At last her contortions made Calley shoot up into her with a triumphant
shout, the fork dropping from his hand. A few of the others wanted to try the
same thing, but now they were shouted down by the majority, anxious to get their
coffee.

Joyce set about the chore as efficiently as she could, but the evening
had taken its toll, and she could not keep her pain-wracked body from trembling
with strain and exhaustion. She fumbled with the coffee things, and once or
twice she had to pause in her task to get herself together. She was afraid to
look at the impatiently waiting men. When the stuff was ready, she brought the
pot over to the table to pour it out for them. Trifford, at the head of the
table, was first. Her hand was shaking as she poured, and some of the coffee
splashed from the cup onto the saucer. This made her shake harder, and a few
drops missed the cup entirely and rebounded onto Trifford's lap.

He jumped up immediately, rage suffusing his face. "You bitch!" he
shouted. "You fucking goddam bitch! Look what you've done!"

Joyce was trembling so badly she could hardly hold the coffee pot. She
managed to set it down on the table, backing away from him. "I'm sorry," she
gasped. "I--it was--I didn't mean to..."

But Trifford wasn't listening. His eyes were blazing now, his face
working, and when he spoke he no longer shouted. His voice was soft and deadly.
"You've got to learn, Joyce," he said. "You stupid fucked-up cunt. You've got to
learn."

"Please..." she said faintly.

"Get on the table," Trifford said.

"W-what?"

"Get on the fucking table!" His voice was loud again. The thought came
to her that he was crazy, really crazy. Fear clutched at her throat as he
cleared the dishes and utensils from his place with one angry sweep of his hand,
sending them crashing to the floor. "Put her up here!" he said to the others.

Several men moved to carry out his order, and Joyce found herself seized
roughly and lifted onto the table top, a number of other dishes being swept away
and demolished in the process, until she was lying in the middle of the table,
surrounded by men looking down on her and waiting to see what their leader was
going to do.

"Stretch her out," Trifford said. "And hold her down. Hold her down
good."

Her arms were pulled tightly above her head, her wrists held in a strong
grip by one of the men at the end of the table. Calley, at the other end, held
on to her ankles. Her body was stretched taut, her breasts pulled up, her legs
straining.

"Now, cunt," Trifford said, staring down at her. "Pour coffee on me,
will you? Well, how about letting ME pour some for YOU? Would you like that,
Joyce?" He picked up the coffee pot.

Joyce's eyes went wide with fear. She shook her head wildly and tried to
speak, but she could only whimper.

"What's the matter, Joyce?" Trifford said. "Don't you want some nice
coffee?"

"No!" she choked out. "No! God, no!"

"I think you should have some, Joyce," Trifford said, holding the coffee
pot over her face. "Open your mouth."

She turned her head away. "Please! Please!"

"Joyce," Trifford said, "if you don't open your mouth and drink this
coffee, I'm going to pour it on your tits. All of it. Now open your mouth."

Slowly, she turned her head back so that she was looking up at him, her
eyes wild with terror. Tiny mewling sounds came from her throat. With fearful
reluctance, she opened her quivering, panting mouth.

Trifford tilted the pot and poured a slow stream of the steaming coffee
down her throat.

He stopped pouring as Joyce choked on the hot liquid, turning her face
away violently, retching and gasping. Her breath came in great gulps as she
tried to cool her scalded throat, gasps interspersed with hoarse, rasping moans.

"Now that's not very polite, Joyce," Trifford said. "Spitting out my
coffee that way. I guess we'll just have to teach you some manners." And with
deliberate care, he poured some of the burning, steaming liquid directly onto
her left breast.

She howled with agony, her body arching and straining against the hands
that held her wrists and ankles.

"Jesus," one of the men said hoarsely. "Look at her squirm!"

Trifford, still holding the coffee pot, waited until her body was
quieter, though wracked with painful gasps and great, shuddering sobs. "Now,
Joyce," he said, his eyes glittering. "Will you drink your coffee like a good
girl, or do you want it on the other one too?"

She was unable to speak, but her eyes pleaded with him frantically. With
a terrible, unearthly moan of despair she opened her mouth. Trifford poured
coffee into it.

She made a desperate, heroic effort to swallow the stuff as it poured
into her raw and blistered throat, but the more she managed to get down, the
faster he poured, until at last she gagged and it spilled out of her mouth and
ran over her face, still steaming.

"All right, Joyce," Trifford said. "If that's how you want it." And as
her burning mouth twisted in a horrified attempt to forestall him, he lowered
the pot and poured the remainder of the coffee over her right breast.

She screamed and screamed, and her taut, outstretched body flailed and
writhed and bucked, every muscle and tendon straining futilely and standing out
against the smooth, luscious flesh. Her shrieking and struggling went on and on,
as the men watched avidly, until she had exhausted herself and lay there crying
and whimpering, still held helpless in their grip.

"Oh, shit," one of the men said. "Oh man, I want this bitch now! I mean
now!"

There was a chorus of excited assent around the table, and most of the
men began rapidly stripping themselves of their clothing. The man who had
spoken, a heavy bald man with bad teeth, climbed up on the table and lowered
himself eagerly on top of her. She screamed when the weight of his upper body
came down on her scalded breasts, but he only laughed in her face. Now her
ankles were separated and pulled widely apart, her legs held painfully open,
while the man at the head of the table continued to pin her aching wrists. The
man on top of her adjusted himself and plunged deep inside her with one mighty
thrust. He then happily, piggishly pleasured himself on her helpless, agonized
body.

When he had finished, another man swiftly took his place, battering at
her as he mauled her breasts and pinched her abused nipples until she screamed
again. After him there was another, and then another. Their appetite for her
now, in her pain and suffering, was unassuagable.

After a while they turned her over.

And the evening went on...


20



"There's a problem," Avery said. He was sitting comfortably on the couch
with a drink in his hand, his feet resting on the naked body of his sister, who,
exhausted, had fallen asleep on the floor.

"What's that?" David said.

"If we hire her out to somebody else, the minute she's alone with them,
she's going to start spilling her guts, and pretty soon all hell will break
loose and we'll wind up in jail."

"You don't think we could persuade her that that's not a good idea?"

"Would you want to trust her? Once she's out of our clutches..."

"All right," David said. "Then we don't leave her alone."

"What, you mean stay with her while she's making it with other guys? Who
would pay for a girl who brings another man along?"

"A lot of people," David said. "Look, Lisa's not going to be just
another hooker, okay? She's got a specialty. She's a slave."

"Damn right," Avery said.

"But she's a slave with a master. And wherever she goes, her master goes
with her to keep her in line. There are plenty of men who go for that kind of
thing. Some women too. We can put her through her paces for them, get them all
heated up, then let them do whatever they want with her. Hell, we'll clean up,
Avery! Your luscious little sister is going to be the most popular whore in
town."

"Sounds good," Avery said. "As long as you know where to find these
people."

"Don't worry about that," David said. "I know everybody. And word will
get around mighty fast. I'll bet we can charge five hundred an hour for her."

"Jesus!" Avery said.

"Your feet are resting on a gold mine, Avery. I'm surprised you haven't
thought of this before."

"Like I said, I liked having her all to myself," Avery said. "But then I
kind of got to like the idea of showing her off. And now I guess it's time to
let the rest of the world hava a crack at her. As long as it's going to make me
rich."

"And you still own her, don't forget," David said. "And you can have her
for free. Any time, any place, any way."

"How about right now?" Avery said. "All this talk about money is making
me hot."

"Me too," David said. "Wake her up."


21



It wasn't that they were tired of fucking her. Her fine, sensuous body,
marked and bruised though it might be, never failed to stimulate them, and her
cunt, her asshole and her mouth were in constant use. But as the days passed
their sexual abuse became almost routine, while their appetite for her
humiliation seemed to grow stronger and more demanding. Her humiliation, and her
pain. There was a limit to the pain they could inflict if they wanted her to
remain functional--even Trifford realized that--but they could shame and debase
her all they wanted. They enjoyed thinking up new forms of degradation for her,
coming up with perverse acts for her to perform for their entertainment. They
brought in instruments for her to masturbate with while they watched, they made
her lick their feet clean after walking barefoot around the apartment, they used
her as a urinal and chortled when she threw up on the floor.

Also, they took pictures of her having sex with them. Still pictures and
videotapes. This was part of their insurance, they told her; if, after they were
through with her, she ever had the notion of reporting any of this, or going to
the authorities, the pictures and tapes would be spread around. With the proper
editing, it could easily be made to seem that she was doing all this quite
willingly. Nobody would believe her story. Besides, they told her, if she did
anything like that she would soon be dead. She didn't doubt them for a second.

After a while, when they had all had her body in every way a dozen
times, and had made her do everything they could think of to humiliate herself,
they started bringing in other men--only their most trusted acquaintances, of
course--and making her perform for them.

She was surprised at how much shame she could still feel. After serving
as a sexual plaything for seven men, being used and abused repeatedly in every
possible manner, she would have thought that nothing they could do could
increase her feeling of degradation. But she found that with each new man her
shame and humiliation was as intense as ever, as the Councilmen forced her to
display her naked body, and then to service the stranger in whatever manner he
desired, as well as to perform some of the tricks they had thought up, for his
entertainment as well as theirs.

It was near the end of her allotted period of servitude that someone
suggested they bring in another woman. A thoughtful silence greeted this
proposal.

"For us or for her?" somebody said, bringing a round of laughter.

"For both," said the man who had made the suggestion, who happened to be
Calley, the sallow-faced man who had first used his fork on Joyce's buttocks.
"Listen, we could have the two of them put on a girl-girl show, you know what I
mean? And then we could screw the shit out of both of them. Hell, nothing wrong
with a little variety!"

"You know, I like that idea," Kalinkos said. He happened to be fucking
Joyce in the ass at that moment, as she bent over the arm of a couch with her
head buried in the crotch of a seated man. He reached out to grab her blonde
hair, pulling her head back sharply and bringing a painful cry from her mouth,
as well as a mild protest from the man whose cock that mouth had been
pleasuring. "How about that, baby?" he said, not pausing in his movement. "You
ever make it with another gal?"

"No..." Joyce gasped out.

"Would you like to?"

"N-No..."

"What?" He pulled viciously at her hair, forcing her head back as far as
it would go.

"Aaaahhh!! Yes. Yes!"

"That's the girl," Kalinkos said, releasing her head, which the seated
man promptly guided back to his crotch. "It ought to be a lot of fun. What do
you think, Alex?"

"I think it's a fine idea," Trifford said.


22



"Anything I want?" the man said.

"Within reason," David said. "We don't want her permanently injured or
disfigured, of course. But within reason..."

"She's very beautiful," the man said, looking at Lisa.

"Yes," David said.

"And very young."

"Yes."

"And very frightened." He was not complaining.

"Yes."

"And," the man said. "Very expensive."

"And worth it," David said.

"I am very wealthy," the man said. "I can get any number of beautiful
young women."

"But not women to whom you can do anything you want. Not without
trouble."

"No."

"Do we have a deal?"

"Anything?" the man said again.

"Anything," David said. "Within reason."

"She will have to be gagged," the man said.

"Why not?" David said.

"I want her gagged."

"Of course," David said.

"You understand," the man said, "it is not necessary. I have a special
room, completely soundproofed. It is not that she might attract attention by
making noise. That's not it."

"All right," David said.

"It's the way they look," the man said. "I like to see it, do you
understand? I like to see them gagged. It excites me."

"I understand," David said.

"Their mouths, their lovely mouths, stopped up," the man said. "Unable
to make a sound. Unable to say a word. They try to talk, try to beg, but they
can't. They can't. Then, later, they try to scream, to cry out; their eyes pop
and their throats strain and they struggle and fight to scream out their agony,
their suffering, but nothing comes out. Only whimpers, tiny little mewling
sounds, and their bodies--" He broke off.

"David..." Lisa said faintly.

"Be quiet," David said.

The man was breathing harder. "I want to gag her myself," he said.

"Of course," David said.

"David, please..." Lisa said.

David slapped her across the face.

"Good," the man said. "Discipline. Good." His eyes were glazed.
"Anything?" he said again. "Anything I want?"

"As I said," David said. "Within reason."

"Reason. Yes." The man paused. "Come with me," he said.

The house was large and ornate. The man led them to a small elevator,
which took them down into the basement. There he unlocked a thick black door
with an old-fashioned key and ushered them inside. It was a classic torture
chamber, complete with stone walls. Manacles hung from the walls and the
ceiling. There were whips and branding irons on display. A small cage stood in
one corner, a huge St. Andrew's cross in another. In the center of the room was
an object that looked like a large wooden bed, and which, on closer inspection,
turned out to be a stretching device, or rack.

The man led them to this object and touched it reverently, running his
hands over the smooth wood. "My pride and joy," he said softly. "It cost me a
fortune. An authentic, working rack. See how beautiful it is! You see, the
victim lies flat. Her arms are pulled over her head; her wrists, strapped
together, are held by these chains here at the top. Her legs, spread apart, are
held by straps, here and here. And then--" he indicated a winch at the top of
the device-- "this is turned. Tightening the chains, you see. Stretching the
body. Stretching it painfully. Agonizingly. Unbearably. Until the victim is
pulled so taut that she is unable even to writhe in her agony. Until every bone,
every tendon, every muscle in her body stands out in relief against that tightly
pulled flesh. Until she feels that one more turn of the winch--one more
notch--will literally tear her apart, ripping her flesh, sundering limb from
limb..."

"Oh my god," Lisa breathed in a quivering voice. "David... for god's
sake..."

"Why, what's the matter, Lisa?" David said. "It really sounds quite
exiting. I'm looking forward to seeing it myself."

The trembling girl made a bleak, despairing noise.

"Of course," David said to the man, "there must be no permanent damage.
Pain and suffering to any extent you please, but no actual sundering or anything
like that."

The man's breathing was quite loud now. "And then--" he said, "we can
enjoy her body. That, you see, that is the beauty of this type of instrument,
that's why it's so much better than the old-fashioned rack where the victim is
stretched over a wheel. How can you possess a woman who is bound to one of
those?"

"Not very comfortably, I should think," David murmured.

"But with this..." The man's eyes were gleaming as he again caressed the
polished wood. "Ah, with this, the victim is beautifully available, beautifully
accessible. One simply mounts her as she lies there on her back, legs spread
wide, helpless in her agony. Mounts her taut, pain-wracked, straining body. And
takes her. Takes her and takes her. Plundering that defenseless treasure between
her legs. Looking into her eyes, her frantic, horror-filled eyes as one's weight
presses down on her, as each thrust adds unspeakably to her terrible torment.
Listening to the beautifully muted, stifled, desperate sounds that emerge from
her gagged mouth as she tries to scream and howl and beg for mercy. As one takes
her and takes her and takes her..."

Lisa fainted.

Neither of them made a move to help her. The man's voice had gotten
thick, his words tumbling out until they became hard to understand. He paused
for breath. "You think I'm crazy," he said to David.

"Yes," David said. "But aren't we all? I take it we have a deal."

"Yes," the man said.

"You understand that I stay with her all the time."

"Yes. That's fine. When she's there--" He caressed the rack. "When she's
naked and gagged and stretched in agony--I can have her, and then I'll watch
while you have her. And then Simmons can have her."

"Simmons?"

"My butler. I always let him participate in these things. He enjoys it
nearly as much as I do. It keeps him happy."

"We'll have to charge extra for Simmons," David said.

The man sighed. "Keeping good help is so expensive these days..."


23



"They'll be here any minute," Kalinkos said.

"They?" Trifford said. "How many did you get, for Christ sake?"

"This is a special kind of deal," Kalinkos said. "Her manager comes with
her. He stays with her, too. At least that's how it's supposed to be."

Trifford frowned. "What the hell kind of shit deal is that? We don't
want some strange prick in on this. Why did you set this fucking thing up,
anyway? We could've got--"

"I'll tell you why," Kalinkos interrupted. "First of all, this girl is
supposed to be good for anything. I mean, they've got her in some kind of bind,
see, so we can do anything we want to her, and she can't complain. You know what
I mean? Anything we want. Okay?"

"Well, that sounds good. But--"

"Second, she's young and she's damn good-looking. I've seen her. And
third--" He grinned. "Her manager is in for a little surprise tonight. I brought
a couple of my guys along. They're outside. We'll have the girl all to
ourselves, don't worry."

"I don't want any trouble, damn it!"

"There won't be any. Believe me. Where's Joyce?"

An anguished cry was heard from the bedroom.

"There she is," Trifford said. "Entertaining the guys. Calley brought
some new toys along."

The doorbell rang.

"There they are," Kalinkos said. "I'll take care of this." He went to
the door and opened it, but not all the way.

David and Lisa were standing in the hallway. "Well," David said, "Here
we are."

"Okay," Kalinkos said. "The girl comes in. Just the girl."

"Now, wait," David said. "I told you I stay with her. If you want her,
that's how it is."

"Not this time, sonny," Kalinkos said. "Just her."

"No way! I told you--"

Kalinkos gave a signal. Two men stepped out of the shadows and took hold
of David's arms, pulling him backward. He tried to struggle, but one of the men
produced a gun and shoved it into his ribs, and he stopped fighting.

"Keep him quiet," Kalinkos said. "Come on, honey." He pulled Lisa
inside.

"Don't try anything, Lisa!" David yelled as the door closed behind her.
"Don't say anything! You know what will happen!"

Inside the apartment, the startled girl looked around like a trapped
animal. "Don't worry, sweetheart," Kalinkos said. "We're not gonna hurt your
boyfriend. We just want you all to ourselves for a while, okay? We're gonna have
a good time, right?" He turned to Trifford. "Didn't I tell you she was a ripe
one?"

"What was that all about?" Trifford said. "What did he mean, don't say
anything? Don't say anything about what?"

After the impact of her initial fright at what had happened, Lisa
suddenly seemed to realize that for the first time in months she was free from
the presence of both David and her brother. She looked with dawning hope at the
two men, her gaze shifting wildly from one to the other.

"Please," she said frantically. "Please help me. You've got to help me.
Please!"

"Relax, sweetheart," Kalinkos said. "Everything's gonna be just fine."

"No, listen! Please. Listen! You have to help me. They--my brother,
and--they're keeping me prisoner. They--they make me do--they make me a slave,
and I--I have to--oh god, help me get out, for god's sake, help me!"

The two men looked at each other in astonishment. "Wait a minute,"
Trifford said, approaching the girl. "Wait, let's get this straight here. This
guy out there--he's your brother?"

"No, he's--he's my brother's friend. The two of them, they--they make
me--"

"These two guys are keeping you prisoner?"

"Yes! Please get me out, please!"

"What do they do to you?" Kalinkos said.

"They--they make me have sex with them, and--and they hurt me. Oh god,
they hurt me! And they made me into a... a whore, and... oh, god..."

"This is quite a story," Trifford said. "How do they get away with it?
Don't you have anybody else?"

She shook her head. "My parents are dead, and--and my brother got me out
of school, and--there's nobody... Please... help me... call the police, or--or
something... please..."

Trifford frowned. "What did he mean--you know what will happen?"

The girl looked at the floor. "I--" She hugged herself, shivering.
"My--my brother knows about something I did to somebody. If he told, I--I could
get killed." She raised her eyes to him, blinking away tears. "But I don't care
any more!" she cried. "I can't keep on this way! I can't! I don't care what
happens! For god's sake, help me!"

Again the two men looked at each other. The same speculation was in the
eyes of both. Trifford signaled to Kalinkos, and the two of them walked to the
far end of the room, where they conferred in low voices.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Trifford said.

"This chick's got nobody to miss her, she's young and juicy, and all
that's between her and us is this brother of hers and that punk outside."

"So maybe we should just take her over," Trifford said. "Sort of a
permanent replacement for Miss Hotshot in there. What do you think?"

"Sounds damn good to me," Kalinkos said.

"Get rid of the punk," Trifford said. "Make it look like an accident.
We'll take care of the brother later."

"Right." Kalinkos went to the door and stepped outside, where he spoke
briefly to his two associates. In a moment he was back. The two men went back to
the girl.

"Now," Trifford said, smiling at her. The smile didn't seem to reassure
her. "What was your name again, honey?"

"L-Lisa."

"Lisa. Pretty name. Well, Lisa, good news. You don't have to worry about
your brother and his friend any more. You won't be going back to them."

"Oh, thank god! Thank you, oh, thank you! I--I'll have to get away from
here, go someplace else... Will you help me?"

"No, that won't be necessary either, Lisa. Nobody's going to kill you,
we'll see to that. You're going to be staying right here. With us."

"W-what?"

"We're taking you over, Lisa darling. There are seven of us, and we're
all going to share you from now on. You'll make a sweet little toy for us to
play with. It's nice that your brother broke you in for us, but you're not his
slave any more, Lisa. Your ours."

With a terrified cry, the girl rose from her chair, shrinking away from
them. "No!" she gasped, her face twisting with fear. "No! Oh god, no!"
Instinctively, she broke and ran for the door.

Kalinkos stopped her easily. She pulled away from him and turned to see
Trifford coming toward her, his mouth set in a hard line.

She shook her head automatically, but tears of despair were in her eyes.
"Don't--oh please, you can't do this to me... You can't..."

"We can do anything we want to you, Lisa," Trifford said. "And you must
never say no to us. You might as well learn that right now. Never say no to us.
Never."

With startling swiftness he raised his hand and slapped her viciously
across the face several times, forehand and back, forehand and back. As she
shrieked and stumbled backward, he came after her, and as her hands came up to
protect her face, he hit her with his fist, and with all his strength, in the
pit of her stomach.

She doubled over and fell down, writhing on the floor, choking and
gagging and struggling for breath. The skirt she was wearing pulled high up over
her thighs as her shapely legs flailed helplessly. The two men watched her
attentively as she slowly recovered, taking air into her lungs with eager but
shallow gasps, retching and sobbing.

"Get up, Lisa," Trifford said finally.

She tried, but she was too slow. Kalinkos reached down, took a handful
of her hair in his fist, and pulled. She came up howling.

Releasing her hair, Kalinkos now clamped both hands over her breasts,
pulling her back against him. "Nice," he said, squeezing the breasts hard
through her flimsy blouse. "This is really nice. Try some." He let her go, then
gave her a hard shove in Trifford's direction. She cried out as the force of it
sent her stumbling helplessly toward the other man.

Trifford's hands went over her rapidly. One of them slid down under her
skirt and went between her legs, where it probed roughly as she squirmed and
whimpered in his grasp. In a moment he shoved her back to Kalinkos.

The noise had attracted a few of the men from the bedroom. "What's going
on?" one of them asked.

"We got a new toy," Kalinkos replied, grinning. "Here, try her out." And
his hard shove propelled Lisa across the room to him.

"Jesus," the man said. "This is fantastic." His fingers scrabbled at the
buttons of her blouse.

"Don't take her clothes off," Trifford said. "I want Lisa to strip for
us. After that you can do anything you want with her."

"Let me have a look at her," another man said, and Lisa was shoved over
to him. "Real pretty," the man said. "Let's have a kiss, honey." He pulled her
against him and kissed her. Lisa did not resist, but neither did she help.

"Shit," the man said. "How about a little cooperation, honey?"

"Yes, Lisa," Trifford said sharply. "Let's have a little cooperation."
Lisa looked over at him, a flicker of fright suddenly replacing the blank
despair in her eyes. "Kiss him back," Trifford said.

Lisa kissed him back. She did it very well.

"All right," Trifford said. "Now Lisa's going to take off her clothes
for us. Aren't you, Lisa?"

She did not look at him now. Her head was bowed, and her body was
trembling.

"Yes," Lisa said.

They called in the rest of the men from the bedroom, and all seven of
them lined up to watch, as Lisa stood in the center of the room and stripped
herself naked. They made her turn around, and they made her walk up and down for
them, and then they dispersed to various parts of the room and for a while they
played games with her, pushing her around from one to the other, each one making
free with her luscious body, kissing and squeezing and stroking, until finally
they were all aroused, even those who had satisfied themselves earlier with
Joyce.

Lisa had never had seven men in succession before. She had been had by
two men at once, but never by three. She had been used and abused to the point
of exhaustion, but never for five hours, non-stop, over and over again in every
way there was.

That night she learned what it all felt like.

"Shit," Kalinkos said, when the long orgy was over and they were
lounging, lazy and depleted, with Lisa lying naked on the floor before them.
"This was a hell of a lot of fun, but Christ, we forgot why we wanted another
chick in the first place. We were gonna have a show, remember?"

"That's all right," Trifford said. "There's no hurry. Joyce will still
be here tomorrow. And Lisa's going to be here for a long, long time."


24



When his sister did not return home that night, Avery became very
worried. By the next morning, he was frightened. He called David's house
repeatedly, but there was no answer. Something had obviously gone wrong.

He had the address of the place to which David and Lisa were supposed to
have gone, but no phone number. He was nervous about going there, but as the
morning passed and Lisa still did not show up, he felt he had no choice. It was
nearly noon by the time he had made his determination and set out.

The address turned out to be a large, modern apartment house in one of
the better districts. He had no trouble getting into the building, but when he
had taken the elevator to the floor he wanted, he was met by a guard outside the
apartment, who blocked the door and glared at him suspiciously.

He didn't know what to do but tell the truth. He drew himself up and
tried to look authoritative. "I'm Avery Childs," he told the guard. "I think my
sister may be here."

The guard nodded, as if he'd been expecting him, and rang the doorbell.
He gave Avery's name to the man who opened the door. The man smiled and swung
the door wide, extending his hand to Avery and motioning him inside.

"Mr. Childs, how do you do? We've been expecting you. I'm Alex Trifford.
Do make yourself comfortable. Would you like something to drink?"

"No, thank you. Look, is my sister here? My sister Lisa?"

"Oh, yes," Trifford said. "Yes, she is indeed. Lovely child, Lisa. Just
lovely."

"And my friend? David?"

"Ah," Trifford said. "No, David's not here, I'm afraid. I'm afraid
David's met with a little accident."

Avery frowned. "An accident?"

"Yes. Most unfortunate. But your sister is fine, just fine. Would you
like to see her?"

"Well... yes."

"Lisa," Trifford called out. "Would you come in here, please?"

Two men brought Lisa out. They brought her out on her hands and knees,
crawling between them. She was naked. One of the men held onto a leash that was
fastened to a dog collar around her neck. When she saw Avery she looked
surprised, but only a soft moan escaped her lips.

"What's going on?" Avery said. "Where's David?"

"I thought I made that clear," Trifford said. "David is no longer with
us."

Avery felt weak. "I--I don't--"

"You see, Avery, we're taking your sister off your hands. She belongs to
us now. As you can see, we're keeping up the training you gave her so well. I
think she'll be every bit as unhappy with us as she was with you."

"Wait--you can't--you can't just--"

"Why not?" Trifford said.

"Damn it!" Avery burst out. "What do you think you're--You can't get
away with it! I'll go to--I'll--"

"You're a fool," Trifford said, his tone suddenly changing. "Who would
you go to? The police? And tell them how someone has stolen your sister, who you
kept prisoner and abused and tortured, and sent out to whore for you? I don't
think so." He shook his head. "I had hoped you would be more intelligent," he
said. "A reasonable man would know when he's been outplayed, and would accept
the situation. We might even have given you visiting privileges. But you're too
much of a fool, and you could be dangerous."

Avery was pale. "What--what do you mean?"

"I mean you have to be gotten rid of, like your friend. But with you
it's easier; we won't have to stage any accident. A brother and a sister, two
orphans, connected to nobody, suddenly disappear--it'll be thought you just ran
off someplace or something."

"You--" Avery choked, swallowed. "You're--you're going to kill me?"

Trifford smiled. "I have a fine idea," he said. "No, Avery, I'm not
going to kill you. I'm going to let Lisa do it."


25



"How about it, Lisa?" Trifford said to the girl on the floor. "Wouldn't
you like to kill your brother?"

Lisa's only answer was a soft whimper.

"I asked you a question, Lisa," Trifford said sharply. "I want an
answer. Think about it, Lisa. This is your brother Avery, who did all those
terrible things to you that you told us about. Making a slave out of you. Tying
you up, giving you to strange men. Beating you and burning you with cigarettes
and sticking you with needles. Terrible things. You told me how much you hate
him, remember? Well, now you have a chance to get even. Would you like to kill
him, Lisa?"

"I--I can't--No," Lisa said brokenly. "No..."

"That's the wrong answer, Lisa," Trifford said. "Try again."

Lisa looked up into his face, then down again.

"Yes," she whispered.

"I think that's a wise decision," Trifford said.


26



They had to wait for the rest of the men to show up. Trifford had called
them, both because he wanted all of them to be in on it, and because he thought
they'd enjoy it. Joyce was kept in the bedroom, where she'd been since Avery had
arrived.

They had tied Avery into a chair, with his hands bound behind it, his
ankles tightly lashed to the rungs, and his body bound so that he was unable to
move. Lisa was in another chair, facing him, about six feet away. She was
similarly tied, except that her arms rested on the broad wooden arms of the
chair, and were bound to them tightly from elbow to wrist.

When everyone had arrived, Trifford arranged them so they stood well
behind Lisa's chair. He then placed a loaded gun in the girl's right hand.

Her bound wrist prevented her from turning her hand enough to aim at the
men behind her. But the gun pointed straight ahead at her brother.

"Any time you're ready, Lisa," Trifford said.

Avery was sweating and shaking. "No!" he choked out. "Don't--don't, for
god's sake! Lisa, you can't! No! No!"

A sudden gasp was heard from the hallway, and they all turned toward the
sound. Joyce was standing there, her startled eyes wide at the sight of the gun
in Lisa's hand.

"We told you to stay in the bedroom, goddamn it!" Kalinkos shouted at
her.

She shrank back. "I--I'm sorry. I was just--I heard--"

"Get the fuck out of here, you bitch!"

"Hold on," Trifford said. "As long as Joyce is here, she might as well
join the party. Joyce, this is Avery. He's Lisa's brother. Avery, this is Joyce.
Nice, isn't she?"

Avery, in spite of his predicament, was staring at Joyce with obvious
admiration mixed with suprise, his eyes avidly taking in the beautiful naked
body, the high firm breasts, the luscious legs.

"See, Joyce, we're having a little going-away party for Avery here. He
was just about to leave us, but since you've crashed the party, I think we'll
let you give him a nice sexy farewell present. Would you like that, Avery?"

Avery couldn't answer.

"Sure you would. Joyce, why don't you go over there and give him a good
send-off. Use that talented mouth of yours. Oh, don't worry about the gun.
Lisa's not going to shoot you. Unless I tell her to." His voice was suddenly
harder. "Go on, Joyce. Suck him off."

Joyce's face was red. She took a long, uneven breath, and drew herself
up, as if preparing herself for what she had to do. Then she walked, somewhat
stiffly, toward Avery's chair. She did not look at him. She stood in front of
him for a long moment, then slowly went down to her knees.

Her movements were almost mechanical as her hands went to the front of
his trousers and pulled down his zipper. Her fingers sought and then pulled out
his mostly flaccid penis.

"Poor Avery is a little frightened," Trifford said mockingly. "You're
going to have to work on him a little to get him going. But I know that if
anybody can do it, you can. Right, Joyce?"

Joyce worked on him. She kissed him and licked him and caressed him with
her soft lips, and before long Avery was hard in spite of his lingering fear.
Joyce took him into her mouth, and, under the gazes of her seven captors, as
well as the naked girl with the gun, she used all the skill she had to bring him
to climax. It took a long time, but she did it, sucking him unceasingly, varying
her tempo, using her tongue and her throat and her warm, soft breath, until at
last Avery stiffened in his bonds and gave a loud groan as he exploded
repeatedly into her mouth.

She didn't have to be told to swallow it all. They always loved to see
her do that.

"Very good, Joyce," Trifford said. "You can go back in the bedroom now.
Close the door, and stay there until we call you."

Joyce went.

"See, Avery?" Trifford said. "We're not such bad guys, after all. Now
we've wasted enough time. All right, Lisa. Shoot him."

"Christ!" Avery tried to struggle. He started to sweat again. His cock
still hung ridiculously from his fly. "Please. Don't. I--I won't tell anything,
I swear! Please!"

"Do it, Lisa."

Lisa was almost as pale as her brother. The hand that held the gun was
shaking. "I-I can't," she whimpered. "I-I can't do it. I can't."

Trifford sighed. "Remember those needles, Lisa? The ones you told us
about, that your brother and his friend stuck into you? Remember how painful
that was? Think about that. Shoot him."

"Please... I can't... I can't..."

"Well, guess what, Lisa," Trifford said. "We found those needles in
David's pocket when we... sent him away. He must have carried them around with
him all the time. And I just happen to have them here." He took the little case
containing the needles from his pocket.

Lisa gasped sharply.

Trifford selected two needles from the case and put it away. Then,
holding one of the needles in each hand, he stepped up behind the bound girl's
chair. Reaching around her body with both hands, he carefully held the needles
against the sides of her naked breasts, their sharp tips just denting the tender
flesh.

The girl gave a frightened moan. "Don't..." she begged piteously. "Oh,
please... don't..."

"Think about the needles," Trifford said softly, pressing just a little
harder against the soft skin. "How much they hurt. How Avery liked it. Shoot
him."

"I--oh, god... please..."

"Think about how you screamed," Trifford said. "Screamed and begged and
pleaded with them. And how they laughed. Shoot him."

"I--"

Trifford pushed the needles into her flesh. She screamed, and shot. The
bullet smashed into Avery's chest. He jerked sharply and slumped in the chair.

"Again," Trifford said, and pushed the needles further in.

"OH GOD, STOP!" She shot again. This one caught Avery in the face. She
shrieked with both pain and horror.

"Again," Trifford said, pushing harder.

Lisa emptied the gun into her brother's body.

"Good girl," Trifford said.


27



It wasn't until that evening that they were all able to assemble again.
Avery's body had been disposed of. Lisa and Joyce had been kept in separate
rooms during the day, but now they were both sitting in the large bedroom with
the Council members, while Kalinkos was explaining to them what they were going
to do with each other, for the men's entertainment.

Both girls were very pale.

"I can't," Joyce whispered, when Kalinkos had stopped speaking.

"What?" Trifford said.

Joyce swallowed hard. She was trembling. "I can't--I can't do that.
It's--it's sick. Please, you know I--I'm--I do what you want, but this--oh,
god..."

"Are you saying no to me, Joyce?" Trifford's voice was very soft.

"Oh... please... not this... It's so..."

"I'm sure you'll love it once we get started," Trifford said. "We'll let
Lisa do it to you first. How about it, Lisa? You don't have any objections, do
you?"

Lisa was biting her lip. "I-I've never done it with another girl," she
quavered. "I--I don't think I--"

"You'll learn," Trifford said. "Let's get to it, all right? Joyce, lie
down on the bed."

When Joyce hesitated, four of the men put her on the bed and stretched
her out, each taking a wrist or an ankle. They held her tightly, her body pulled
taut, her legs wide apart.

"All right, Lisa," Trifford said. "Get to it."

"I don't--I--"

"Would you like to do it with needles in your tits, Lisa? How about all
over your body? There are twelve of them, you know. Did you ever have all of
them stuck in you at once? Let's see, we can put four in your breasts, two in
your behind, a couple in your legs, a couple in your belly, one in your cunt..."

Lisa did it.

Joyce shrieked and tried vainly to pull away as the younger girl
crouched over her body. Both to prolong the entertainment and to torment Joyce
further, Trifford had Lisa make love to her body before getting down to the main
event. He told her exactly what to do, and the girl did everything he said.
Under his instructions, she first played with Joyce's breasts, then kissed them.
She licked the nipples, then took them into her mouth, sucking and nibbling.
Joyce did not enjoy it. She cried out with revulsion, trying vainly to pull away
from the hands that held her. Lisa, at Trifford's direction, left her breasts to
kiss and lick her way down Joyce's body, her lips and tongue sliding softly and
tantalizingly over the smooth flesh. Joyce's struggles had exhausted her, and
she lay panting and sobbing. Lisa's obedient mouth traveled down to her legs,
moving along her inner thighs, while her hands caressed the helpless body. And
at last, with a certain fearful hesitation but too frightened to resist, Lisa
licked her way all the way up along Joyce's widespread thighs until her mouth
reached her open cunt, and stayed there.

Trifford's voice cut through Joyce's horrified moan. "All right, Lisa,"
he said. "Do it good now. Kiss that cunt. Now stick your tongue into it, all the
way up inside it, and move it around so she feels it. Now work on her clitoris.
Suck on it, nibble it, lick it good. Faster. Now slower. Keep it up. Do it all,
Lisa. We'll make a great little dyke out of you yet."

Lisa did it all. She did it and did it, afraid even to pause without
permission, although from time to time she was forced to raise her head and take
in great gulps of air. At first Joyce's sounds of protest increased, and she
again tried feebly to pull away. But as Lisa's ministrations continued, the
quality of the older girl's moans began to change. Very gradually, and obviously
against her will, she appeared to be responding. Her panting became hoarser, and
her body began, involuntarily, to writhe with something like passion.

"Hey, look!" one of the watching men called out. "She likes it!"

"Keep it up, Lisa," Trifford said.

Lisa kept it up.

Joyce's face and neck were growing crimson with shame and self-disgust,
and she seemed to try desperately to fight off the feelings that were betraying
her, setting her lips tight and stiffening her body against them. But as Lisa's
mouth and lips and tongue continued their work, she appeared to be losing the
battle. Groans of unwanted desire forced themselves from her straining throat,
and in spite of itself her tautly spread body arched and twisted.

The men were chortling now.

"No!" she cried hopelessly, piteously. "Oh, no! No! I don't want

Tears of shame and horror spurted from her eyes, even as her traitorous
body convulsed and spasmed in helpless orgasm.

"All right, Lisa," Trifford said. "You can stop now."

As they released Joyce's arms and legs she rolled over, hiding her face
from them, and sobbed uncontrollably into the pillow.

"Hell, what's she bawling about?" Kalinkos demanded. "She liked it fine
at the end there."

"Just so," Trifford murmured. "That's exactly why she's crying.
Exquisite, isn't it?"

"Well, shit," Kalinkos said. "Exquisite or not, what I want to see now
is her doing it to little Lisa here. Then I want to fuck the shit out of both of
them."

"Of course," Trifford said, watching Joyce. "That's the next thing on
the agenda. Turn about, as they say, is fair play. Isn't that right, Joyce?"

Joyce, more suddenly than might have been expected, stopped crying. She
sniffled a few times, then, using a corner of the bedsheet, she made a pass at
wiping her face and blowing her nose before she turned to face them. At last,
slowly, she sat up.

There was something in her expression that kept the men silent. Though
her face was still damp, there were no tears in her eyes now; they seemed very
stark and hollow as she met Trifford's gaze. Her voice, when she spoke, was not
quite steady, but it was clear.

"I won't," she said.

Trifford sighed. "Joyce--" he started.

"I won't," she repeated. She was very pale; she was trembling; her arms
were crossed in front of her, her fingers digging deeply into her own flesh; but
she looked straight at him with her hollow eyes. "Listen to me," she said, her
words forcing themselves past her constricted throat. "Just listen, please. I've
done everything you wanted. Everything. I let you make me a slave. I let you
degrade me and shame me in every way you could think of. I let you use my body,
and torture me, and humiliate me, and make me do things that--" She stopped to
swallow. "I've done it all," she went on. "But now--this--this filthy, perverted
thing--I--I can't do it." She swallowed again. "I won't do it. I don't care what
you do to me. You can't bring me that low. You can hurt me all you want. You can
kill me. I don't care. I won't do it!"

Trifford just looked at her for a long time. She shook harder than
before, but her eyes didn't drop from his. Finally he turned away and spoke to
Kalinkos.

"Call Collins," he said.


28



"Where's Joyce?" said Dexter Burns, the business editor of the JOURNAL,
to Roger Miles, the city editor. "I haven't seen her around for a while."

"She's taking a little time off," Miles said. "She took that City
Council thing very hard. She was really down on herself about screwing up on
that story, so she just wanted to get away for a couple of weeks."

"Poor kid," the business editor said. "That was a rough break. But hell,
she'll snap back. Joyce is tough."

"Yeah," Miles said. "Well, wherever she is, I just hope she's managing
to enjoy herself."


29



"Make it stop," Joyce was saying. "Oh sweet Jesus, make it stop. Dear
god in heaven, please make it stop. Please dear Jesus, oh sweet Jesus, Mary and
Joseph. For mercy's sake, help me. Somebody help me. Make it stop."

She was stark naked and spread-eagled, as she had been when she had been
subjected to Lisa's enforced attentions. But instead of a bed, she was lying on
a large wooden table, and instead of being held by rough hands, her arms and
legs were stretched wide by heavy chains attached to the manacles that
imprisoned her wrists and ankles. A block of wood had been placed under her
hips, raising her lower body a few inches from the surface of the table. Small
clips, attached to wires, were clamped over her nipples and her clitoris.
Another wire disappeared into her anus, where a small probe had been inserted.
The other ends of these wires were attached to a device with several dials on
it, which stood on a smaller table a few feet away. Next to this table stood
John Collins, with his hand on one of the dials and his glittering eyes fixed
avidly on the naked girl. Nearby stood his assistant, Derek, also watching
eagerly.

"Why, it's only on the moderate setting now, Joyce," Collins said,
smiling at her. "I know it feels unbearable, but--have you forgotten what
happens if I turn it up a little?"

"No," Joyce said, panic seeping into her unsteady voice. "No, I haven't.
Please don't do it again."

"Just a little reminder," Collins said. He turned the dial.

Joyce arched off the table, all of her quivering, straining so hard that
the muscles and tendons stood out against the flesh of her arms, legs and body.
Her head went back, her neck taut. She did not scream. She was beyond screaming.
What came from her was a kind of choking, rattling, gurgling noise, but the
sound of it chilled the blood. "Aagghhghhghhgghh," she said.
"Aughhghhghhghhgg..."

Collins brought the dial back to where it had been. He waited then,
patiently, until Joyce could speak again. "Let me die," Joyce said faintly.
"Dear sweet Christ in heaven. Stop it or let me die."

"Not yet," Collins said. He turned the dial, but only slightly this
time.

"DEAR JESUS!" Joyce cried out. "No. No. Not like that, I can't stand it,
no. Stop it. I beg you, Christ I beg you, stop it..."

"You disobeyed, Joyce. Deliberately. You refused to follow an order. You
said you couldn't do it. That you wouldn't do it."

"I'm sorry," Joyce said. Her words could be made out, but her voice did
not sound human any more. "I said I was sorry. I'm sorry. Please stop."

"You mean you'll do it, Joyce?" Collins said.

"I'll do it. Please stop. Please please stop. I'll do it. You know I'll
do it. I'll do anything. Anything at all. Just make it stop."

"You said that before, Joyce. You can't be trusted."

"I swear it. I swear I'll do it. I swear. Please make it stop."

"What is it that you'll do, Joyce?"

"I'll do what they want. I'll--I'll make love to that girl. I will.
Please stop."

"You mean you'll eat pussy, Joyce. Isn't that what you mean?"

"Yes... oh dear god..."

"Then say that, Joyce," Collins said, his hand moving to the dial again.

"I'll eat pussy. I'll eat pussy. I will, please. Please don't. I'll eat
pussy, make it stop, Christ in heaven, I can't--stop it, stop it, stop it..."

"You have to really want to do it, Joyce," Collins said.

"I do. I do! I want to eat pussy, please, I want to..."

"Then ask me to let you," Collins said, and he turned the dial. "Beg me
to let you do it, Joyce."

"PLEASE!!" Joyce cried, her body stiffening. "OH STOP please let me eat
pussy, please, I'm begging you, oh dear god...Please let me eat pussy, DON'T NO
PLEASE LET ME EAT PUSSY, PLEASE LET ME, PLEASE, PLEASE..."

"All right, Joyce," Collins said. "Just one more little push now, so
you'll remember."

"You can't," Joyce said, quite helplessly. "You can't do that again.
I'll die if you do it again."

Collins did it again.

"AAAARRRGGGGHHHHHH!" Joyce said. "AAAUUUUUGGGHHHGGHH!"

Collins held the dial where it was for a long moment, then slowly turned
it back again, but this time he turned it all the way down, to the "off"
setting. "I think that should do it," he said smugly.

Both men watched the writhing girl come gradually back to sanity, her
taut body still quivering, her round, upthrust breasts heaving as she gasped and
panted for breath.

"Mr. Collins," Derek said hoarsely. "You remember... what you promised
me... Do you think I could... now?"

Collins smiled. "Why not? I don't think, at this point, that the Council
would mind." He moved to the large table and swiftly removed the clamps and
wires from Joyce's body. "Do you want to release her first? Or do you want her
like this?"

"Like that," Derek said breathlessly. "Just like that."

"Fine, " Collins said. "Joyce, dear, I want you to ask Derek to fuck
you. Ask him nicely."

She had to make a strong effort to speak, but when she did her voice was
quite clear.

"Please fuck me, Derek," Joyce said.

Derek had already torn his clothes off. He climbed up on the table, lay
himself down on top of her, and took her for a very long and happy time.


30



When Collins brought her back to the apartment, they didn't even have to
give her an order. As soon as she had stripped off the clothes she had worn for
the transition, they took her into the bedroom. All the men were there, and so
was Lisa, stretched out on the bed. Joyce's hesitation was almost imperceptible.
She got onto the bed and crouched between the other girl's thighs, and put her
mouth on her crotch. She was crying, but she did it. She did what Trifford told
her to do. Twice she was sick, and had to hang over the side of the bed to throw
up on the floor. The men only laughed and made her clean it up, and then she
continued. Sobbing and retching, she continued as long as they wanted her to.
Lisa came five times before they let her stop.


31



In the remaining days of Joyce's sentence, the men had a fine time with
two women to play with. They delighted in thinking up ways in which to force the
girls to compete against each other. One popular game was the cock-sucking
contest, in which Joyce and Lisa, each kneeling on the floor before one of the
men, and allowed to use only her mouth, would attempt to make her partner climax
before the other. The loser of this contest would be punished, and the
designated punishment was usually severe enough to cause them to use all their
skills in a sincere effort to bring the men off, while the men tried to hold out
as long as they could. The men's reward was a double one: the pleasure of having
two luscious women frantically debasing themselves for their enjoyment, and the
further pleasure of participating in the chastisment of the unfortunate loser.

Once they varied this procedure by having both girls suck off all seven
of them in succession, and comparing the time it took them. They did this on two
separate evenings, to make it fair. That time Joyce lost. Her punishment
involved being hung up by her ankles and learning how to suck cock upside-down.

But more often the competition itself involved some kind of punishment.
On one occasion both girls were tied down side by side on the big bed, on their
stomachs. Each had her wrists lashed together, her arms stretched over her head
and tied to the bedrail at the top, her ankles also bound and tied to the foot
of the bed. The men then took turns whipping them across the back with their
belts.

The object of this exercise was to see how long the girls could hold out
before starting to scream. The first one who screamed would be the loser. The
loser would be turned over and have the front of her body whipped as well. So as
the men, one by one, viciously lashed first one girl and then the other with
their broad leather belts, Joyce and Lisa struggled to contain their pain. Each
received only one blow at a time, but the men did not hold back; they went at it
with all their strength, the wicked leather slashing across the naked flesh,
causing the bound bodies to jerk and twist with the pain, bringing muffled cries
and agonized whimpers from the tightly clenched mouths.

Both girls held out until over a dozen blows each had seared their
tortured backs. They sobbed and groaned and writhed in torment; they began
giving out half-stifled yelps and awful, choking groans; but still they did not
scream. The men began to strike even harder, the belts whistling through the air
and smashing with terrible cracking sounds against the striped skin. And at
last, just as Joyce felt she couldn't hold out for one more blow, Lisa, her body
bucking under the latest slash of leather, lost it completely. Her mouth opened
and gave out a terrible, full-throated, ear-piercing scream; a scream that
seemed to express not only all her pent-up pain and agony, but sheer despair and
horror as well.

Joyce, released from the necessity of holding back, now screamed also,
with pain and in sympathy with the other girl. But the men paid little
attention; they swiftly untied her and pushed her off the bed so they would have
room to roll Lisa over. The dark-haired girl screamed again as her tortured back
made contact with the only slightly yielding mattress; and she sobbed with fear
as the men, belts in hand, gazed with glittering eyes on her high, shapely and
defenseless breasts.

Those breasts made excellent, tempting targets. Her stomach and thighs
were beaten too; but her breasts were by far the favorite. There was no need now
for her to keep herself from screaming, and she screamed on and on and on...

Of course, between and before and after these ingenious competitions,
the orgy went on unabated. Eventually the guard who had done such a good job
outside the door was rewarded by being let in on it, and so were the two
henchmen of Kalinkos who had dealt with David. And when the men were satiated
for the moment, they could always have the two girls put on a show for them.
This activity may have lost some of its erotic novelty for them after a while,
but they continued to demand it, mostly because Joyce hated it so much. And they
always enjoyed that.


32



"Kalinkos thinks we should kill you," Alex Trifford said.

Her two weeks were over. They had put her through a long, painful
farewell orgy before letting her go. Then they had given her back her clothes,
and now Trifford was driving her home.

"He's afraid you'll spill the beans, as he puts it," Trifford went on.
"But I don't think you will. You know what would happen to you if you spilled
even a single bean, don't you, Joyce?"

"Yes," Joyce said.

"You'll die," Trifford said. "Slowly. And most unpleasantly. You'll be
begging to die long before it actually happens. You believe that, don't you,
Joyce?"

"Yes."

"So you're not going to say anything to anybody. Ever. Isn't that right?

"Yes," Joyce said. "I mean, no. I won't."

"That's good," Trifford said. "I really don't want to see you killed,
Joyce. Because even though the Council may be through with you, I am not."

Joyce stared at him, her body frozen, color draining from her face.
"What--what do you mean? I--I thought it was over."

"That part of it is. You're free now. But I can't let a girl like you
just slip through my fingers. You can be very useful to me--just from time to
time. It won't be so bad, as long as you cooperate."

"Useful?"

"An attractive woman is always useful. There will be circumstances where
I'll ask you to use your... talents, to further my interests. For instance,
there's a man right in your own backyard--on the JOURNAL. Do you know Dexter
Burns?"

"He's--he's the business editor."

"Yes. He and I are negotiating a deal. And he likes you. I suggested he
might find you... amenable. He'll probably approach you upon your return. I
expect you not to let me down. And there will be other such situations, from
time to time."

Tears stood in the girl's eyes. "And I suppose I have no choice?"

"Of course you have," Trifford said gently. "There's always that pretty
little machine with the wires..."

Joyce was sick.


33



"So nice to see you back, Joyce," Dexter Burns said. "You look fine.
Hope you had a nice vacation?"

Joyce looked at his smiling face. How much did he know? She couldn't
tell. "Yes," she said. "Thank you."

"Good," Burns said. "Say, Joyce, would you come into my office for a
moment? Something I'd like to talk about."

"All right." She rose and followed him. Her legs felt weak. He took her
into his office and closed the door. Then he locked it.

He sat behind his desk and looked at her for a moment. He looked at her
body. He didn't invite her to sit down.

"I believe we have a mutual friend," Burns said. "Alex Trifford. Do you
know him?"

"Yes," she said. "I know him."

"He told me--" Burns cleared his throat. "He said that--"

"I know what he told you," Joyce said in a dull voice. "Just tell me
what you want."

Burns sat back in his chair. "Well," he said, his small eyes bright with
anticipation. "Why don't you start by taking off your clothes for me, Joyce."

"All right," Joyce said. And she did.

"Well, now," Burns said softly, when she stood naked before him. "Isn't
that something. But say, they marked you up a bit, didn't they?"

"Yes," Joyce said.

"Tell me what they did to you."

"Oh, god," she said wearily. "Isn't my body enough?"

Burns's eyes narrowed. "Alex said you'd be cooperative."

She bit her lip. "I'm sorry," she said. "I will be. What do you want to
know?"

"It'll keep," he said shortly. "Turn around."

She turned.

"You have a great ass, Joyce. I always loved looking at your ass,
walking around here. It's even better than I imagined. I want that ass, Joyce. I
want to fuck it. I want to fuck you in the ass."

She took a shuddering breath. "All right," she said.

Burns rose and unzipped his fly. "Bend over the desk," he said hoarsely.
"Right here, that's it. Lean over, all the way. Oh, that's beautiful. That's
just fantastic."

She was bent forward over the hard edge of his desk, her legs apart, her
buttocks thrust invitingly up and out, her breasts flattened against the desk's
surface. Burns came up behind her, his hands touching those buttocks, kneading
them, then pulling them apart to expose her tight anus. Stepping up against her,
he adjusted his cock at the entrance to that small hole, then began to push
himself forcibly and inexorably inside her.

She gritted her teeth to keep from crying out too loudly, but his brutal
plundering of her unready asshole brought a series of moans and pained whimpers
from her writhing lips.

"God, that's great!" Burns grunted, as he thrust more deeply into her.
"Oh, Christ! It's fabulous! Oh, shit, I've been dreaming about this ever since
you came here!" His steady lunges crushed her hips against the sharp edge of the
desk. Tears of pain and of hatred, both for him and for herself, dropped from
her eyes onto the hard wooden surface.

"Now," Burns rasped, when he had lodged himself fully inside her narrow
passage, and had begun to fuck her with a steady, relentless movement. "Now you
can tell me what they did to you. That should get me off, all right. Come on,
tell me."

Gaspingly, between sobs and pauses for breath, Joyce described some of
the things the men had done to her. She told him about the frying pan, about the
coffee, about the things she had to do with them and their friends. She didn't
say anything about Lisa, or about Collins; she didn't know how much Burns knew,
or how much she could tell him without incurring Trifford's wrath. But what she
told him was quite enough to add to his excitement, and as she spoke his breath
came harder and his movements speeded up.

"Fantastic!" he grunted, his hands digging into the flesh of her hips.
"I'm going to come now, Joyce, I'm going to come right up into your belly." He
was pounding at her now. "Hey, Joyce?" When she didn't answer immediately, he
whacked her hip hard with the flat of his hand. "Joyce?"

"What?"

"After I come, I guess you can clean me off, right? With your mouth.
Right, Joyce?"

Her voice was strained, but audible. "All right," she said.

He laughed, and with a loud, savage grunt he gave one final shove of his
hips and spurted his passion up inside her.

When, after taking a moment to catch his breath, he pulled away from
her, she slid down to her knees on the floor in front of him, and she took his
soiled cock into her mouth, and she cleaned him off.

"That was marvelous!" Burns said, still a bit breathless. "You can get
dressed now, Joyce. But I guess we'll be doing this again, right? I guess I've
got a kind of power over you myself now, don't I? I guess as long as I stay on
Trifford's good side, I can have you any time I want. Like tomorrow. How about
it, Joyce?"

"You'd better check with Alex," Joyce said flatly. "He's the pimp, after
all."


34



A few minutes later, upon leaving Dexter Burns' office, Joyce went back
to her desk and wrote the whole story.

They had counted on her fear--and they had been right. They had told her
they would kill her if she tried to expose them again, that no matter what she
did or where she went they would have her tracked down and killed. And she
believed them. And if it had ended there, if she could have gone back to her old
life and tried to put it all behind her, she would have kept quiet. But it
hadn't ended there. She was still a slave to Trifford; he was still controlling
her and degrading her, and he would continue to do so. As long as that went on,
she had no life. She was not a person.

She didn't care any more. If she couldn't be free, let them kill her.
She would bring them down too, if she could.

She wrote the story, and she told it all. Everything that had happened
to her, and about Lisa, and about the murder of Avery and David. All of it. When
she was finished she turned the story in to Roger Miles, and went home.

As soon as she arrived the next morning, the city editor called her into
his office.

"This is an incredible story, Joyce!" Roger Miles said. His face was
puzzled, and skeptical. She wasn't surprised.

"It's true," she said flatly. "Every word."

"Joyce--" Miles scratched his head. "Look, don't take this wrong, but
you've been under a lot of strain lately, and--"

"Stop it, Roger! I'm not crazy, and I'm not making anything up. It
happened just as I wrote it."

"You have no evidence, right? No confirmation. Nothing."

"You want to see the marks on my body?"

"Oh, come on, Joyce! Look, even if I believed this--which is pretty hard
to do--I couldn't possibly print it. Not after what happened with your last
Council story. You'd be laughed out of town, and so would the paper. Hell, no
paper in the country would print this now."

"Laughed at, hell. I'd be dead. But I don't care about that! I have to
do this now. Christ, Roger, if you knew what these men are--"

"Why don't you go to the police?"

"Because they control the police, don't you understand? If I went to the
police I'd be killed anyway, and nobody would know a damn thing. This way at
least--" She broke off, because Miles was shaking his head. "Look," she said
after a moment. "Just print it as my story, just one crazy lady's wild story.
The paper doesn't have to stand behind it. Print a disclaimer, or--"

"Joyce, that's no good and you know it. Look, maybe I'll put a couple of
people on it and poke around a little--"

"No! They'll know! It'll never get out unless you run it right now!
Tomorrow!"

"No way," Miles said. "I'm sorry, Joyce."

Joyce was silent. But she had one more weapon.

"Roger," she said, after a long pause. "Roger, look at me. You've always
liked me, right?"

"You know I have. But--"

"You've always wanted to go to bed with me, haven't you?"

He stared at her a moment, then grinned sheepishly. "Well, sure. Along
with most of the other guys around here. But it's not just--"

"You can," Joyce said.

"What?"

"You can go to bed with me. You can have me. Right now, right here if
you want. Look." She stood up and started unbuttoning her blouse.

"What the hell are you doing?" Miles demanded, but he made no move to
stop her.

She took the blouse off. She wore a white brassiere. He stared at the
curves of her breasts and the tantalizing shadows of her nipples through the
cloth.

"My body is a little marked up right now," Joyce said. "But it's still
pretty nice, don't you think, Roger?"

"Joyce, look--"

Joyce took her skirt off. His eyes slid reflexively down her body, clad
only in brassiere and panties. He swallowed.

"You can have me right here on your desk, Roger," Joyce said. "Or on the
floor. Or in your chair. Any place you want. Any way you want." And she took off
the brassiere.

"Jesus!" Miles said hoarsely. "Joyce, what are you--"

"I want you to print the story, Roger. That's all you have to do."

"I can't! For god's sake, how can I--"

She took the panties off.

"Print the story," she said.

"Oh, my god," Miles said.

Joyce walked around his desk and approached his chair. She sat down on
his lap and kissed him, a very long, very thorough kiss, during which his hands
found their way to her legs and her breasts.

"Anything you want, Roger," she whispered when she drew her mouth away.
"Just print the story."

"I--I don't--I--"

She slid off his lap and sank to her knees in front of him. She pulled
down his zipper and freed his cock, which was stiff and throbbing. She bent her
head to it and touched it once with her tongue, making him gasp. She bathed it
in the warm breath from her open mouth.

"Will you do it, Roger?" she said, her lips just brushing his flesh.
"Will you print the story?"

His words were strangled. "Yes. Damn it, yes! All right! God...
Joyce..."

The words turned into moans as her mouth devoured him.

After a while he pulled her up and took her on his desk. She made it
very good for him, arching and twisting and wrapping her legs around him,
matching his rhythm with hers. She felt nothing. She wondered if she would ever
feel real sexual desire again. She doubted it.

Miles had good staying power, and he enjoyed her body for a good long
time before he finally shouted out his climax and exploded inside her. After a
few moments he rose and began pulling on the clothing he had hastily discarded.

Joyce got up too. "That was good, Roger," she said. "Now what about the
story? It has to be page one, right? Are you goingto--"

"No," Miles said.

She stared at him. "No? No what?"

"No story."

Sudden tears of rage and frustration came to her eyes. "You son of a
bitch! You promised!"

"I lied," Miles said.


35



She ran. She couldn't stay around and be Trifford's private whore. She
knew he might still track her down, even if she kept quiet, but maybe he
wouldn't bother; and if he did, she would rather be dead than to be at his beck
and call, giving her body as a bargaining chip to strange men, with no end in
sight...

She quit her job, she packed only what she could carry, and she left the
city and flew as far away as she could get. She told nobody that she was
leaving. In the new city she changed her name, dyed her hair, and found herself
a job that had nothing to do with journalism. She found an apartment and kept to
herself.

For a long time she was nervous. She told herself that Trifford wouldn't
come after her just for running away, but she didn't know if that was true. It
took months for her to stop looking over her shoulder constantly, to stop
jumping at every tiny noise. When six months had passed and nothing had
happened, she was able to relax a little, but never completely.

Slowly she started rebuilding her life, making a few friends, even
seeing one or two men, though she never let it develop into anything serious.
Then one day she saw a news story about a scandal in her home city. She caught
her breath as she read about the secret investigation, initiated by the governor
himself, that had been going on for some time into the activites of the City
Council. All seven Council members had been indicted on various charges,
including fraud, grand larceny--and murder. All had been convicted, and were
going to jail.

She cried for joy.

The story didn't say anything about Lisa, and she wondered what had
happened to her. She thought about calling a friend back home and seeing if she
could find out more; but even though she felt relatively safe now, she decided
it was best to just leave things alone.

Another month passed. She was doing well on her job, and was getting
more involved in the world around her. There was a man she was quite fond of,
and though she had not gone to bed with him yet, she was happy to find that the
sexual feelings she thought she had lost forever were gradually returning.

She was becoming whole again.

One evening in May she returned home rather late from her office,
looking forward to a hot bath, a light dinner and a relaxing evening in front of
the TV set. As she entered her dark apartment after unlocking the door, she
heard a small sound from inside, muffled yet somewhat familiar. Puzzled, she
reached for the light switch. A sudden, terrified cry of astonishment tore
itself from her throat, and her body froze with fear and horror at what she saw.

A gagged and naked girl hung by the wrists from the chandelier in her
ceiling.

The girl was Lisa.

Before she could begin to absorb the shock of this discovery, there was
another small sound, this time from behind her. She whirled around, and nearly
passed out at the sight of the smiling man standing between her and the door.

"Hello, Joyce," John Collins said.

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