Warnings: MF, MM, Fdom, bd, fist, cbt, best, mutilation

There were some with interests similar to hers who considered themselves hobbyists. Others preferred the term afficionado. Still others fancied themselves masters of the universe. Those looking in from the outside tended simply to call them monsters.

But Glennis believed that she was, in fact, a Fury--an ancient force, magically reincarnated into the modern world of technology and secrets. There was no other way she could explain her life. In the beginning, she'd been humble, even downtrodden. Lightning wasn't supposed to strike twice, but when it did, it had to mean something. Winning a fortune at Powerball and then investing in the right tech stocks, two of the darkest horses, had catapulted her into that gravity-free space of wealth that was beyond everyone's touch. She could do whatever she wanted, and she couldn't help but believe that this was exactly as it was supposed to be.

And what she wanted was retribution. It was the raison d'etre of a Fury, after all. She could never quite fathom the other hobbyists or afficionados or whatever they called themselves and their taste for exploiting the weak, the innocent and the helpless. Where was the challenge in that? Anyone could lure a child off a playground with the promise of a puppy or an ice cream cone. Runaways would trust the first person to offer them a decent meal and a chance to break into modeling. It was hardly sporting. And, besides, Glennis had a feeling for the little people. She'd been one of them herself once upon a time.

But to hunt and capture and break the guilty and the powerful--now that was work a person could be proud of. It was an art, a true calling. Half the time, she didn't even undertake it for the profit, simply for the satisfaction. A Fury liked to admire her own handiwork.

She heard about cases where retribution was needed through various channels--letters to the foundation she ran and referrals from colleagues and articles in the newspaper. She could spot an injustice seemingly from half way around the world. Furies could see things other people couldn't.

There had been the doctor, or butcher as she preferred to call him, who had made quite a profitable living off plastic surgery procedures he wasn't qualified to perform. Things went wrong more than a few times, but the powerful doctor's lobby always managed to protect him, until he finally ended up killing a woman during what should have been a routine liposuction. Her husband sued, but the doctor's high-priced attorneys convinced the jury that the doctor could not possibly have foreseen what would happen. They made it seem as if it were the dead woman's fault, as if she somehow should have known better, that death was the price for her vanity.

It was the kind of reasoning that did not sit well with Glennis.

Since his abduction, the doctor had become one of her star attractions. He had broken easily, as the guilty invariably did. He now serviced an enthusiastic and growing clientele who enjoyed performing medical procedures on him. In a typical day on the job, he received enemas and had catheters inserted into his penis. He would lie on his own examining table that Glennis had removed from his office, with his legs in stirrups as his "doctors" probed his anus using a very large speculum. The photographs and videos were hot sellers.

But Glennis had decided that the perfect comeuppance for someone who had no respect for women's bodies would be to give him one of his own, so he could learn the proper reverence, firsthand. The traffic from the net cast of his silicone breast implants had nearly crashed the server. She couldn't imagine what sort of crowds the doctor's castration and the creation of his female genitalia would bring in.

The proceeds from the doctor's performances had been channeled through the foundation to the dead woman's grief-stricken husband, a sizeable grant with which he planned to begin an advocacy group to enact stricter legislation governing the cosmetic surgery industry. Glennis was pleased to have helped with the cause in her own small way.

One of the foundation's other current projects was helping a group of Guatemalan women begin new lives in the States. They had originally been lured into the country by a wealthy American heiress who had promised them good jobs and green cards. When they arrived, they were beaten and held against their will, put to work in inhumane conditions in a sugar refining factory. After their long shifts, they were expected to sexually accommodate their male co-workers. One young woman tried to escape, to return home to her fiancee and her family. She had been caught, and the rich American woman had cut off the girl's breast in punishment, leaving her maimed and unmarriageable, as a lesson to the other women.

Eventually, the authorities had discovered what was going on and had liberated the Guatemalan women. However, their rich American slaver managed to wriggle her way out of any legal action. Thankfully, Glennis did not need the law in order to deliver justice. She had the woman kidnapped and brought to her compound, where she compelled her to work as a prostitute, giving blow jobs to busloads of men brought in from all over the area, letting her have a taste of her own medicine, so to speak.

Of course, the woman tried to escape, and that gave Glennis the perfect chance to serve up the same kind of justice this spoiled socialite had shown the Guatemalan girl she'd mutilated. The netcast of her cliterectomy surpassed even the doctor's breast implants in generating revenue. The before and after photographs and videos were also doing quite well, not to mention that the woman had built up quite a large clientele of regular customers. Many men and not a few women were willing to pay a considerable fee for the novelty of being serviced by a circumcised female slave. All that money had enabled the foundation to offer a generous stipend to the Guatemalan immigrants, who were now happily settled with their families out in California.

It was the kind of charitable endeavor that Glennis took great pride in.

Of course, not all her work was purely altruistic. She indulged in the occasional personal project. After all, she had been one of the little people once upon a time. Wrongs had certainly been committed against her. She was not above seeking retribution for them.

When she looked back on her life, it amazed her that she had ever been so young and so very defenseless. She'd first come to the city when she was barely eighteen, just out of school. She'd taken a job, the only one she could find, as a secretary in an investment bank. Everywhere around her, there had been people making millions of dollars--and that was just before lunch--while she barely scraped by on the poverty wages they paid employees at her level. Her boss had been very well aware of her desperate financial situation, and instead of trying to help with a raise or a bonus, he had played on it to coerce certain favors out of her, threatening her job if she didn't go along with him.

Last year, she had sold him to a wealthy Asian industrialist whom he had cheated in some business dealing. She hadn't inquired what the man planned to do with his acquisition. But it was well known he had a recreational interest in creating certain rather imaginative tableaux, a sort of performance art, he liked to think of it, although others would most certainly have called it torture.

Now, at this point in her career as a Fury, she had but one last personal grudge to avenge. His name was James.

Back in the old days, when her lack of funds had grown quite critical, she'd asked some of the other secretaries in her office what they did to get by. They had told her about a club where she could go to make extra money, if she didn't mind having sex with strangers. Glennis had been rather innocent for her age, and she'd only ever done it with her mouth, to appease demanding boyfriends without having to get their greedy hands all over her. Not that she was saving herself, exactly. But it did seem like the first time ought to be treated with at least as much respect as a fine bottle of wine or the good china. It should be kept for something that at least resembled a special occasion, if only a genuine flush of desire, something she'd never really felt before.

Although the other secretaries assured her that men would happily pay for her mouth, she still put it off for the longest time. Eventually, though, she really did need the money. And she figured it couldn't be any worse than what she did for her boss, the furtive blow jobs delivered beneath his desk. At least, she'd be well paid for her trouble for a change.

So one Friday night, she put on some red lipstick and her nicest dress, which was kind of sad, actually, looking back on it now. It looked like something you'd wear to a church social, hardly the thing to drum up business. Back then, she had really not understood the kind of power a woman had or how to wield it.

When she arrived at the place where the other secretaries had directed her, it was hardly a "club." Dreary, grimy dive of a bar was really more descriptive. She went inside anyway.

It wasn't a particularly large room, and everyone stared at her as she stood in the doorway. She blushed and hurried over to the bar. She perched on a stool and ordered a drink, a Manhattan, because that's what her mother always drank, before the habit rotted her liver and put her in an early grave. She just hoped they wouldn't ask for I.D.

"Hey, there, Bright Eyes," a man said and sat down on the stool next to her.

He wasn't ugly, exactly, just sort of old and in ill repair. His hair was slicked back to cover a bald spot, and he smiled crookedly to try to hide a missing tooth. It wasn't very successful.

"Hello," she said, primly, sipping delicately from the high ball glass, trying not to look at him too closely.

"You come here often?" he asked.

She shook her head. "First time."

He slung a beefy arm across her shoulders. "You looking for a little company? You on the clock, so to speak?"

"I-- Uh--"

"What do you say, sweetheart? Can I get a date?"

She calculated the bills in her head. She stared at the man's missing tooth. She slid off the bar stool and started to back away.

"Sorry," she said, and then turned and ran.

Happily, there was a back way out. She pushed through the heavy metal door into the alleyway and stopped for a moment to breathe in deeply. The air tasted like relief, like freedom. The alley led back to the street, but before she could head for it, a hand grabbed her by the shoulder and whirled her around.

"Where do you think you're going, Miss?"

The man was tall, so tall he towered over her, unnerving her, making her feel far more slight and helpless than she ever had in her life. He had close cropped dark hair, military style, and an armed forces build, strong but lithe. He looked like he could slog through the muck all day and still have the strength to break the enemy in half with his bare hands.

"I was just leaving," she stuttered, staring up at him, her eyes large and scared.

He put his hand into his coat pocket, and her heart pounded violently. He pulled out what looked like a leather wallet.

"Oh, no. You see, I changed my mind. I'm not--"

He flipped it open, and she saw the badge. "Detective Henderson, Vice. You're under arrest for solicitation."

"Please. No! I didn't. I swear!"

"No? I suppose you just like your men old and a little rough around the edges. I'm not stupid, Miss. I'm going to have to run you downtown."

She shook her head desperately. "There must be something else. I've never been in trouble before."

"Well..."

"Please," she begged.

"I'd need your complete cooperation."

"Anything."

He smiled, and it surprised her with its lasciviousness. "That's more like it," he said.

She swallowed hard. "What do you want?"

"Open your blouse," he demanded. "Let me see your tits."

"No, I-- You don't understand."

He took a step toward her, crowding her space. "What I understand is that you said you'd cooperate. Now, do you want to stay out of jail or what?"

She nodded, trying not to cry.

"Then open your blouse."

She hesitantly complied, her hands shaking as she undid the buttons.

"The bra, too," he prompted.

She unhooked it, and her breasts sprang free. The air felt cool on her sensitive skin, and her nipples hardened.

"Gorgeous." His hands closed around her breasts. "Tits that just beg to be held."

She couldn't help trembling. Her nipples were so hard they hurt. She blushed furiously.

He laughed at her. "Hey, why not enjoy it, right? Why fight the inevitable"

She blushed harder, even more humiliated.

She was about to ask him if she could go now when he suddenly lifted her and pressed her back against the wall. She could feel his biceps flexing beneath his leather jacket as he boosted her up above his waist. He was so large and strong it was as if he were lifting a rag doll. She felt his hand fumbling between their bodies and realized with a flash of panic that he was opening his fly. He didn't even bother to take off her panties. He just pushed them aside and shoved inside her, before she could beg him not to, before she could even get out the words to tell him that she was a virgin.

She cried out as he began to move inside her. He was so large, and it hurt so much.

"Shut up!" he warned.

But she couldn't stop crying. She pressed her face into his jacket to muffle the sounds, breathing in the dark leather and the scent of her own tears.

He pressed her back more heavily against the wall. "Lock your legs around my waist."

She hesitated.

"Do it!" he ordered.

She numbly obeyed.

He buried his face in her hair. "You're so tight. So good."

"Please!"

He laughed in her ear. "Is that what you want, sweetheart? You want me to please you?"

She sobbed.

"Hold on!" he commanded.

And she knew there was no use resisting, so she did as he told her and tightened her grip on his shoulders.

He slid a hand between their bodies and began to work her with his thumb, a wiggling motion that sent sparks all the way up her spine, unlike anything she'd ever felt before. She dug her nails into the leather of his jacket.

"That's it, baby," he crooned in her ear. "Give it up. Let go. Come for me. Come with me."

Between his dick and his hand, her body was flying apart.

"Oh, yeah. Yeah," he moaned and began to thrust more urgently.

Her belly tightened, and the heat shot through her. She banged her head back against the hard brick and came violently. And as her vision went dark, she could feel him surging forward, climaxing in short, sharp spurts. When she came to, he had his hands under her bottom, supporting her weight. He was breathing heavily against her shoulder.

"That was great," he said, still panting. And then he kissed her softly behind the ear. "God, you're beautiful."

She tightened her arms around his neck and pulled him closer. She was sore and in shock and more than a little afraid he might do it again. But he was still her first, despite the circumstances. And she couldn't hate him outright.

He kissed her throat and smiled. "You're such a sweet little whore," he said, and then he laughed.

And she could feel something shatter. It was the last vestige of her innocence.

He pulled out of her and lowered her to the ground. Her knees were so weak she would have fallen if she hadn't grabbed for the wall.

"From now on, you can turn tricks here whenever you want. Nobody will bother you, including me. I only collect once."

Then he turned and walked back down the alley, still chuckling to himself, leaving her there with his come and her own blood running down her thighs.

Needless to say, Glennis had not forgotten him. And yet, she did actually believe that people could change. He was her first, as imperfect as it had been. So there was a part of her that hoped he'd reformed entirely. A part of her dearly wished he had a wife he worshipped and four children he lived for, that he would never consider being unfaithful, most certainly not with the working girls he swept off the streets every night. Even Furies had some capacity for forgiveness, and she was willing to give him another chance, if he deserved it.

So she planned a test for him.

One Friday night, she put on one of her sleeker outfits, a deceptively simple black dress, perfectly cut, with that special sheen all painfully expensive things have. She left her hair down, flowing straight down her back like a soft curtain. She pursed her lips and applied her lipstick, the same shade of red she had worn back then. When she glanced in the mirror one last time, it was as if she had become that younger self again, as if there had been no passage of time. It was true what they said. Money really was the fountain of youth.

James had come up in the world since she had known him. He had advanced in rank, and so he no longer worked the streets and the neighborhood dives. Nowadays, he plotted elaborate stings on illegal pornography operations, went undercover to bust up pedophile networks. Her sources had funneled him information about a new high-class prostitution operation, and he was, even at the moment, figuring out how to bring it down.

The penthouse arranged by her sources was comfortable and well-appointed, a believable venue for the upscale flesh trade.

"Thank you for coming," she greeted the other women who had been hired to help her carry out the little charade. "Please, get ready. Our visitor should be here soon."

The women, also fashionably dressed, took places on the various divans and love seats, lounging with casual, erotic grace. One went behind the bar and began to mix martinis. Another sat down at the piano and played.

The bell rang. Glennis smiled.

"We're on," she said.

She opened the door, and there he was, James, still looking as handsome as she remembered him, perhaps even more so. Only now did she realize what a rookie he must have been back then. He couldn't be any older than his early forties now.

"Mr. Henderson?" she said, in her most polite good-hostess voice.

"That's me."

"Do come in."

She stepped aside, and he swept past her.

"Mmm. Mmm. Mmm," he said in appreciation as he surveyed the room.

On cue, the women all smiled and waved and said hello.

"It's so lovely to meet you all," he said.

"I hope you don't mind that I've asked some friends over," she said, coquettishly.

"Of course, not. I thank you for introducing me to such lovely ladies. I believe our mutual friend mentioned how much I enjoy meeting new people."

It amused her, his put-on chivalry, his faux sauveness. The James she remembered wasn't nearly so subtle. But she enjoyed his act. It made for a more interesting dance.

"Indeed, he did. Let me take your coat and get you a drink. Do sit down. I'm sure you'd like to get to know my friends better."

He smiled, and there was a carnality in the expression that she remembered all too well.

"You read my mind," he told her.

She took care of his coat and motioned the girl over with a drink. James was soon surrounded by women, all chatting and flirting with him.

When she caught his eye, she asked, "Are you making new friends?"

"So many," he said and laughed.

"Do you have a favorite?"

"It's hard to choose."

She smiled. "That's the secret to throwing a successful party. Only invite fascinating people."

He nodded. "And you've certainly succeeded wonderfully here. It's just--"

"Yes?"

"I think what I'd really like is a tour of the place from the lady of the house. Would that be possible?"

She tilted her head flirtatiously. "Not just possible, but a pleasure."

He stood up. "Ladies. Thank you for the drink and the conversation. Will you excuse me please?"

The girls smiled and giggled and winked at him.

Glennis took his arm and led him to the stairs. "Let's start with the second floor."

"That sounds like an excellent idea."

Upstairs, she guided him down the hall to one of the bedrooms. She opened the door and motioned him inside. The room was filled with antique furniture and precious object d'art. "As you can see, we have many lovely things here."

"You certainly do." His eyes travelled sensually over her body.

"Would you like to make yourself more comfortable?"

He hesitated. "I was hoping--"

She arched an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"To see your office. There's little I find more fascinating than a woman of business."

"Interesting."

"Is it out of the question?"

She smiled. "Nothing is out of the question here. That's our allure." She held out her hand to him. "It's just down the hall."

He laced his fingers through hers. "Thank you for indulging me."

She led him to the other end of the hall, their hands still entwined. She unlocked the door, and they both went inside.

"Well, here it is."

He glanced around the room. "Nice," he said.

She tilted her head, letting her long hair fall across her cheek. "I'm so glad you approve."

"So, we're in the office," he said. "Shall we talk business?"

"I thought our mutual friend would have filled you in on the terms."

"Oh, he did. Of course. But I always like to confirm the details of a deal. It's a habit you acquire when you've run a company as long as I have."

"Of course," she said, leaning against the edge of desk. "It's a thousand. For an hour. It's twenty thousand for the night. Other arrangements can be negotiated as needed."

"And that's for any of the girls?"

'Whoever pleases you."

He came nearer. "What about the lady of the house?"

She laughed. "When there are all those beautiful girls waiting downstairs, just hoping you'll crook your little finger at them?"

"I am a connoisseur, you know. I can always spot the most exquisite treasure. And I always get what I want."

"Indeed? Well, I feel certain we can reach an agreement then. As long as money is no object, of course."

"Of course," he said and slipped his hand into his inside coat pocket.

"We usually deal in electronic transfers," she said, acting innocent.

He pulled out his I.D. and flashed it at her. "I'm afraid in this case you're going to be dealing in prison time."

She pursed her lips. "Busted."

He laughed. "Well, at least you're a good sport about it." He took out his handcuffs.

"Is that completely necessary?"

"It's procedure."

She fixed him with a sultry look and lowered her voice. "That's not what I asked."

Hesitation flickered across his face. "I suppose there are other ways."

"Something that will make this go away, I hope."

"You'd have to make me an offer," he said.

"You'll want money, of course."

"Of course." He smiled and took a step closer. "But I'd need other considerations as well." He ran one finger lightly down her bare arm. "Do you think we could work something out?"

"I don't see why not. I suppose you'll need my full cooperation?"

He laughed. "Well, now that you mention it--"

"I live to please," she told him, and then she twined her arms around his neck and pulled him closer.

He boosted her up, so that she was sitting on the edge of the desk. He nudged her knees apart and moved to stand between them. She could feel his hard on pressed against her panties. He kissed her breathlessly and reached behind her to unzip her dress. He pushed aside the silk and the straps of her bra and kissed the swells of her breasts.

"I'll need to see you often," he said, his voice whispering across her skin.

"Oh, you will. Don't worry," she said, eyes closed, head tilted back.

She ruffled the hair at the nape of his neck and then kissed him.

"You're so beautiful," he said, against her mouth.

"You always say that," she said, smiling with amusement.

"What?" he asked, smiling back at her.

She brushed her fingers across his lips. He sucked them in.

Then he frowned. "What the hell?"

"Hugo!"

The detective reeled on his feet, pressing heavily against her. "Wha-- hell you do to me--"

He collapsed, just as her assistant arrived to catch him.

"Get him out here," she said.

He nodded and hoisted the limp man over his shoulder.

Glennis reached back and rezipped her dress. She carefully smoothed her skirt. She took a tissue from the box sitting on the desk and wiped her lips. She never wore red lipstick anymore.

It was really quite a pleasure to watch James as he slept off the drug she'd slipped him, his face relaxed and peaceful, his lithe, naked body sprawled unselfconsciously on the silk sheets of her bed. Glennis stood at the foot board and surveyed him. She had not had the luxury of looking at him all those years ago. Now she took her time and enjoyed it.

And it had been worth the wait. He was beautiful, broad shoulders and narrow waist, slim hips and powerful thighs, muscular but not grotesquely overdeveloped. It was the body of a natural athlete, not a gym junkie. This didn't surprise her. She remembered how effortlessly he had lifted her, how rock solid his arms and shoulders had been as she'd hung on to him for dear life. It was not surprising either that he was unusually well- endowed, that he had the genitals of a god, in fact, large, well-shaped balls hanging heavily between his legs, long, thick penis resting lazily against his thigh. No wonder she'd bled so much.

As she appraised his anatomy, she felt something uneasy stir in the pit of her stomach. If she were really honest with herself, she had to admit that she had imagined him here, not drugged of course, but sleeping, sated after a long night of lovemaking. She would lie in her bed at night, more times than she cared to count, and imagine him touching her, not the way it had been in the alley, but the way a real lover would, gently, to arouse and please her. At times, her fantasies threatened to blot out the memory of the actual experience, for a few moments at least.

Nothing like this had ever happened to her before. She'd always pursued her duties as a Fury with single-minded zeal. Even with her former boss, she'd maintained a completely professional detachment. But with James, she occasionally found herself losing focus. It was enough to cause a Fury to color with shame.

Still, she understood human nature well enough to realize that no one could help what they wanted. She couldn't and James couldn't. And that's how she would own him, through that gorgeous, insatiable cock of his. Control a man's dick, after all, and you could control everything else about him, too. And what had ever been simpler than controlling a man's dick? That wouldn't change, no matter what kind of concentration problems she was having.

James stirred restlessly in his sleep and moaned softly.

"Bradshaw," she called to her assistant.

The man materialized in the doorway. "Yes, madam?"

"Is everything ready?"

"Yes, madam."

"I think we should start then. Have him moved to one of the training rooms."

"Yes, madam. Right away."

"Call me when he wakes."

"Of course."

Glennis took one last look at James before leaving him in Bradshaw's capable hands. It would not be long now, not long at all until she began to exact her well-deserved revenge.

As it happened, Glennis didn't need Bradshaw to inform her when James regained consciousness. She heard him bellowing quite clearly from several corridors away. It made her smile. James really did have quite a colorful vocabulary.

Bradshaw met her outside the training room.

"I believe you can hear that he's awake," Bradshaw said dryly.

"Indeed," she said, bemused. "Is he restrained?"

"Of course."

"Has his situation been explained to him?"

"I thought you might prefer to do that yourself. If not, of course I'll be happy to--"

She waved her hand. "No, you were right. I would like to see to it myself. Let's begin, shall we?"

"Of course."

She opened the door and went inside. Bradshaw followed. James lay strapped to an examining table. He was still nude and his feet had been shackled. His wrists were cuffed to a belt that circled his waist. The belt was padlocked for complete security.

Adrenaline flared in Glennis' veins, the dizzying rush of power, more transcendent than any religious experience, more addictive than any drug. This, at last, was what she'd been waiting to feel, the sense of domination she appreciated so much. Earlier in her bedroom, she'd been fighting the pull of the personal, and that had been profoundly disconcerting. But here she was on familiar terrain, the ground solid beneath her feet, nothing confusing or doubtful. Here it was all pure and professional, the uncomplicated arena of crime and punishment, the domain where Furies ruled.

James craned his neck to see who had come into the room. His eyes turned hot and furious when he saw her.

"You!" he said. "You are in seriously deep shit here, lady. You're guilty of assaulting and kidnapping a police officer. Do you have any idea how much time you're going to do for that? Release me right now, and maybe you'll get out prison before you're on social security."

She had to admire him. It was a fine effort, trying to pit his bravado against her power. But she could see everything he so desperately wanted to hide with his he-man act. She knew how profoundly disturbed he was to have awoken naked and immobilized in a room full of people who were all staring at him. This was the very essence of vulnerability, to have control of one's body taken away, to be unable to cover one's nakedness, to feel sexually at risk.

He knew they could do anything to him. And it petrified him. And that excited her.

She smiled at him. "I really don't think you're in much of a position right now to be making threats or demands, do you, Detective Henderson?"

"You're nuts! What you do think you're going to accomplish with this?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe teach you a lesson?"

"Let me GO!"

James struggled furiously, his face turning bright red with exertion. But the restraints were fool proof. Glennis and her staff had perfected them through years of trial and error.

"This really is pointless, you know," she told him.

"Bitch!"

He continued to thrash.

"Okay, so fight all you want. Exhaust yourself completely," she said. "If that's what you need to do. When you're ready to calm down and listen like a reasonable person, I'll be back."

She started to go.

"No! Wait."

She turned around.

"Yes?" she said.

"What do you want?" His voice grew more conciliatory. "Just tell me, okay? You want me to make this investigation go away. No problem. You want me to protect your operation. You got it. Anything. Just let me off this table, okay?"

She titled her head, as if considering his request. "Mmm, no. I won't let you off the table just yet. But I will be happy to explain your situation, if you're ready to pay attention and not interrupt. Do you think you can do that, Detective?"

"You realize you're not going to get away with this, don't you?"

"Oh, Detective, I get away with this kind of thing all the time. It's one of the perks of being the third richest woman in the world. Now are you ready to listen to what I have to say?"

He glared at her insolently.

"Should I take that as a yes?"

"Yes," he finally said, angrily.

She smiled sweetly. "Good. Then I should tell you that you've been brought here to my private estate. This is where you'll remain until I'm done with you, if I'm ever done with you."

"You can't do that," he said, looking at her as if she'd just sprouted a second head. "You can't just keep people against their will."

"Oh, but I can. Now I'm sure you're plotting all kinds of ways to escape even as I'm standing here explaining all this to you. Let me save you the trouble. It won't work. No one has ever escaped. There are all kinds of elaborate security measures between here and the outside. And even if you were to make it that far, the grounds are protected by armed guards. And even if you were to get by them, every employee who works for me knows there will be an extra special bonus for them if they bring back a runaway subject."

"Who the hell are you?" he asked.

She ignored his question. "But let's suppose you do somehow make it off my property. The estate is surrounded on all sides by swamp land. It's virtually impassible, even to people who have a clue where they are, which you of course don't. Not to mention that it's crawling with alligators on the lookout for their next meal, and you'd certainly make a tasty treat. But then even if by some miracle you did make it through the swamp and managed to stumble your way into town, you'd simply be brought back here by the sheriff's department or one of the town's fine, upstanding citizens, all of whom make it a point to stay in my good graces."

"You don't own everyone," he insisted. "You don't own me."

She patted him on the shoulder as if he were a slow-witted child. "The point is that you will not be leaving here any time soon. And if you're smart, and I know you are, you'll make your peace with your new life and be as cooperative as possible. That way everything will go much easier for you, and Bradshaw here won't be forced to resort to any brutish measures while he helps you learn your new station in life."

"My station? What the hell?"

"Oh, yes, James. I told you that you were going to be taught a lesson. You've been such a naughty boy. It's time you had a taste of your own medicine."

"You know you really are one crazy bitch."

"Such a gutter mouth. You've been on the streets too long, James. You've picked up far too many bad habits out there."

"It's not too late for you. You can still get out of this. Just let me go. I won't say a word to anyone. I swear. It'll be our secret."

"Secrets. Mmm." She nodded. "That's what it's really all about, isn't it?" She leaned closer. "You see, I already know your secrets, James. I know how you use your position of authority and trust to exploit people, how you just take whatever you want, in the name of the law. But I'm going to help you see the error of your ways. I'm going to help you make restitution."

"Look, what happened back at that condo, it was all just a fluke. I swear, I've never--"

She laughed and shook her head. "You really don't remember me, do you? I guess I shouldn't be surprised."

He frowned, obviously confused, clearly not able to place her.

"Don't overtax yourself," she told him. "You'll figure it out eventually. But needless to say, I know you make it a habit to force yourself on the unlucky working girls you happen to catch."

"That's what this is all about? Look, I don't know who you are or what you think I'm guilty of. But I always gave every girl I was with a choice. They wanted it. Hell, that's what they do. They fuck. And you can damn well bet they got off on it. So just undo these straps, and I'll be on my way."

"That's a very interesting theory you have there, James. So you think it's a perfectly fair choice, having to decide between being locked up or fucked over?"

James snorted. "Yeah. Otherwise, they would have just gone to jail. I gave them a chance."

"Hmm. Well, we'll see if you change your mind about that once the shoe's on the other foot. Anyway, I was explaining the rules. And this is the most important part. So listen carefully. There will be some things you'll be asked to do. Asked. Of course, you will always be free to say no. On the other hand, there will be the occasional thing that I'll tell you to do. In those cases, you will promptly obey, or you will be punished."

"What the hell-- I'm a cop. And there's such a thing as the law."

She sighed. "Try to keep up, James. You were a cop. Now you're mine. And I can do with you as I please. From now on, as far as you're concerned, I am the law. " She took a deep breath. "Now, I'm not one who actually enjoys meting out punishment, as so many others do. For me, it's always a last resort, when more reasonable methods fail. Make no mistake, though. I won't tolerate any rebelliousness, and the penalty for disobedience is quite harsh."

"You lay a hand on me, and I'll fucking kill you!"

"You think?" She smiled. "But, you know, let me show you what I mean by punishment. A picture really is worth a thousand words, as they say. Bradshaw, could you bring in Kenny, please?"

"Of course, madam."

Bradshaw left the room and returned a few moments later with another subject in tow, a dark-haired young man, nude and shackled, with a sulky expression on his face.

"Ah, Kenny," she said to him. "You're not looking very happy."

Kenny's lip trembled, but he made no response.

"But you have learned your lesson, haven't you?" she said, caressing his cheek.

He nodded, his eyes down cast.

Glennis turned back to James. "You see, Kenny comes from a very privileged background. He's been used to having his way in most everything. A little too used to it, I'm afraid. Other people's rights, not to mention their feelings, never meant very much to him, and he was really quite a bad boy. But whenever he got caught, his father would just use his money and influence to get him off. So he was able to rape pretty much with impunity. I guess it's no wonder that he really had some adjustment problems when he arrived here. He hit one of his trainers and tried to run away. Two strikes against him, I'm afraid. And the penalty-- Well, Kenny, why don't you come stand by James and let him see for himself what the penalty was."

Kenny shuffled forward, the metal of his shackles clanging as he moved. He pressed close to the side of the examining table, so James could reach him with his bound hand.

"Okay, James, go ahead."

"Go ahead and what?" James asked, with alarm.

"Touch Kenny's scrotum."

"Fuck!" James tried to scramble away, unsuccessfully, his bonds holding him in place.

"Don't get an aneurism. I'm just asking you to--"

"Hey, look, I'm not into that queer shit. I'm not--"

"Just do it," she said, impatiently. "I'm trying to make a point here. Kenny, move closer so James can reach."

"I told you--" James started to insist.

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" She forced James' hand open and pushed Kenny's hips forward. "There. That's what happens to slaves who act out."

James stared at her in horror, as he felt Kenny's scrotum. "Oh, my God. His sack. Its--"

"Empty," Glennis finished the sentence for him. "We castrated him."

"Oh, God," James said, and then he vomited.

Glennis told Bradshaw, "We're finished with Kenny. He can go. And could you help James get cleaned up?"

"Of course, madam."

Bradshaw motioned for a technician to escort Kenny from the room. He picked up a basin of soapy water that was waiting on the counter. They had come to expect a strong reaction from new subjects hearing the rules for the first time. He began to mop away the vomit with a sponge. James was pale, and he shook, as though in shock.

"So now you've had your warning," Glennis told him. "From now on, the price for bad behavior is the loss of a testicle. Make two mistakes, and you'll be a gelding, just like Kenny."

"You're sick," James said, his voice hoarse, filled with terror and disgust.

"No, just practical. You wouldn't believe how effective a simple threat to a man's balls can be in gaining his cooperation." And then she laughed. "Well, maybe you would believe it."

James visibly flinched.

"Oh, don't panic. It's not like I want to do anything to these beauties." She fondled him appreciatively. "In fact, you just might have the most gorgeous balls I've ever seen, Detective Henderson, so large and shapely. Let's be a good boy and make sure they stay that way, hmm?"

"What do you want from me?"

"You mean you haven't guessed by now? Tsk, tsk, Detective. I had expected better powers of deduction than that."

"Just tell me."

"I want you to experience what your victims went through. I want you to know what it's like to be a whore. Have you ever given a man a blow job, James?"

"Fuck!" James lurched and thrashed at his bonds. "You bitch! I'll never do that. You can't make me!"

"Make you?" She shook her head. "Oh, no. Remember your own theory, James? That whores willingly choose everything that happens to them? That they want it, like it? Even deserve it? You're going to service clients of your own free will. You're going to beg to be allowed to suck as many dicks as you can get. And you're going to tell anybody who'll listen how much you love it."

"Now I know you're insane."

"Well, we'll just see about that, won't we" She motioned to Bradshaw. "Turn him over."

Before James could react, Bradshaw and three other experienced assistants had flipped him over onto his stomach and refastened his restraints.

"Fuck! FUCK! Let me up!?"

"Try to calm down, James. You're going to give yourself a stroke."

Bradshaw snapped on a pair of latex gloves, and the sound made James jump with alarm.

"What the fuck are you doing? Don't you touch me. Don't you FUCKING touch me!"

"Just try to relax," she said to him.

Bradshaw squirted some lubricant onto his gloved hand and squeezed a small dollop of medicated cream onto his index finger. He parted James' cheeks and began to push the finger inside him.

"Hey! HEY!" James' face turned scarlet. "Get off me, faggot! Hey! You hear me? Get your faggot hands off me!"

Bradshaw ignored him, pushing his finger deeper, probing for the prostate.

"STOP!" James screamed. "It hurts. It fucking hurts! Get it out. GET IT OUT!"

James continued to shriek, but Bradshaw just went on massaging the cream into his prostate. When he was finished, he withdrew his finger and removed the gloves.

"Now that wasn't so bad, was it?" Glennis said.

James was breathing heavily, his lip trembling. "Bitch," he muttered.

"Okay, let's turn him back over," she instructed her team.

The four assistants flipped James over, so that he was lying on his back once more.

"I feel weird," he complained. "Too hot. What the hell--"

He sucked in his breath as he grew suddenly and ferociously erect. The cream they had given him was twenty times more powerful than Viagra. Glennis could only imagine that it had never been put on the market because of the way it had to be administered. She knew the average man would rather remain impotent than allow something to be stuck up his butt, even if it was for medicinal purposes.

"Fuck! What did you do to me?" James demanded, looking down at his rampaging hard on with the beginning of terror in his eyes.

Glennis loved this part. To make a man hard against his will was a violation in and of itself, a prelude to all the other indignities that would follow. No matter how James might rationalize it--that it was the drug and he couldn't help his body's reaction--she knew there was a part of him, somewhere in the back of his mind, that wondered if someone else could have resisted, if there was something wrong with him, if maybe his worst nightmare had just come true and he'd actually thrown a boner from having his ass fingered.

"I'm giving you the same kind of choice you gave all those working girls you hassled over the years," she told him.

"It hurts! Fuck, it hurts." James desperately tried to move his hands.

"I'm afraid that's not going to help. You're not going to be able to touch yourself or rub against anything."

"Help me. Please! God, do something."

"I'll be happy to help you, James. Just as soon as you agree, of your own free will of course, to start performing fellatio."

"Fucking bitch. I told you. That's never going to happen."

"Never, huh?" She looked down at his red and enormously swollen cock. "I hope you can hold out that long." And then she laughed. "Let me know when you change your mind. Bradshaw's ready when you are to start teaching you all about the fine art of cocksucking."

She headed for the door.

"Fuck you!" he screamed

She smiled to herself as she walked down the corridor.

"Fuck you! FUCK YOU!"

She could hear him screaming almost to the next level. Sometimes being a Fury could be so satisfying.

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