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Message-ID: <40971asstr$1045757402@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: hungry@stoolmail.zzn.com (Hungry)
NNTP-Posting-Date: 19 Feb 2003 23:52:27 GMT
User-Agent:  Xnews/2.09.30
Subject: {ASSM} {ASS} HUNGRY FOR MONIQUE {Hungry Guy, Monique} (M/F fist tort nc Mdom exhib oral bd va humil Celeb Fpov)
Date: Thu, 20 Feb 2003 11:10:02 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

{ASS} HUNGRY FOR MONIQUE {Hungry Guy, Monique} (M/F fist tort nc Mdom 
exhib oral bd va humil Celeb Fpov)
COLLABORATION BY:  Hungry Guy (hungry@stoolmail.zzn.com) and Monique

Foreword:  This is the second story that I have written by request, 
and it is partly a collaboration with her.  I normally give 
permission for operators of erotic story web sites to post my 
stories.  However, because this is a collaboration, we ask that you 
get permission from both of us before posting our story.  Authorship 
for this story belongs to both Hungry Guy (hungry@stoolmail.zzn.com) 
and Monique (who has requested to be anonymous).  Thanks.

    ###

    Monique read the teleprompter, looking directly into the camera, 
as she wrapped up tonight's report.  "...and that's tonight's 
national news headlines for this Friday.  Next up, let's see what Ken 
has to say about tomorrow's weather.  Edison Carter has the local 
news after the weather.  Stay tuned to Network Twenty Three for 
Missile Mike after the news."

    "Camera two, zoom out.  Camera three, lead the weather man.  
You're on, Ken.  Cue Doppler on blue-screen.  Fade to camera three.  
Good job, Monique!"

    Monique walked off the sound stage and walked down the hallway to 
her office.

    "Monique!  Got a minute?" the news editor called out.

    "Sure, Murray.  What's up?"

    "Last week, didn't you ask me if you could do a story on the 
bizarre sex trade?"

    "Yes.  Do you have any leads?"  

    He handed her a file folder.  "There this new club down on 
Fourteenth Street called _Edge Play._  Sources report some bizarre 
goings on down there, you know, transvestite slave auctions, that 
sort of thing."

    "Oh yes, I remember a story that came over API a few weeks ago.  
Some guy got bought in a slave auction there and then disappeared.  
Then he was brought to that hospital for torture victims in 
Copenhagen under very strange circumstances.  I'm surprised no one 
picked up that story.  And then there's that guy they found hanging 
by his balls from a fire escape the morning of nine eleven not too 
far from that club.  That didn't make the news either, of course."

    "Yup!  There's something funny going on down at that club, 
Monique.  So if you want the story, its yours."

    "Thanks, Murray!  I'll stop by the club tonight."

    "Talk to Theora before you go if you want a crew."

    "Nah, I'm just going to check it out for a few minutes on my way 
home."

    Monique returned to her office and changed to jeans and 
sweatshirt in her dressing room.  Then she stopped in to makeup on 
her way out.

    "Hi Monique.  How can I help you tonight?"

    "I'm checking out a lead on my way home tonight, Carol.  It's for 
an undercover story.  I just need a temporary disguise."

    "Sure thing.  Have a seat.  I'll give you a 'Senator's aide', 
okay?" referring to the disguise she used to get information from a 
Senator's aide last week.

    Monique sat in the salon chair while Carol gave her a temporary 
hair dye and makeup to change her highlights.  Monique also put brown 
contacts over her hazel eyes.

    A little later, Monique exited the private elevator reserved for 
the top stars into the private parking level and approached a row of 
black Lincoln Town Cars.  Her driver was out of one car and had the 
door open when she reached it. 

    "I take it we're not going home, Ma'am?" the driver asked raising 
his eyebrow at her disguise.

    "No Bill.  Take me down to Fourteenth Street.  I'm onto a story 
that I think might be interesting."

    "Yes, Ma'am."

    The traffic down Fifth Avenue was horrendous as usual, so she 
took her cell phone out of her purse and placed a call.

    "Hi honey, I missed the sports report, how'd you do?"

    ...

    "Well, congratulations, dear.  That's three games in a row.  
You're going to win the Stanley Cup this year.  I just know it!"

    ...

    "Me?  Oh, I'm just off to scope out a story about that kinky sex 
club I told you about."

    ...

    "Yeah, Murray _finally_ gave me the story!  Isn't that great?"

    ...

    "Oh, I miss you too.  You'll be back home next week, right 
honey?" 

    ...

    "I can't wait!  See you then!  Love you!"

    ...

    "Bye!"

    The car stopped in front of _Edge Play_ soon after the club 
opened.  

    Monique stood before a pair of plate glass doors in a stainless 
steel frame on an, otherwise, featureless gray stucco building, the 
entrance to _Edge Play._

    She entered and walked down a short hallway, past a BDSM 
bookstore on the left and a novelty store on the right, around a 
corner and down a short hallway.  A bouncer was standing at a podium 
in front of a pair of elevator doors.

    "ID, Ma'am?"

    Monique showed the man her license.

    "Okay, go on in," he said absently.  

    "No cover?" she asked, wondering if he recognized her and was 
letting her in for free.

    "There's no cover.  Some of the services downstairs are," he 
paused and grinned, "personal."  Getting serious again, he continued, 
"It'd be like we were charging for prostitution if we charged a 
cover.  If it's free to get in, it's perfectly legal.  They make up 
for it with the price of drinks anyway."  

    Monique shrugged and entered the waiting elevator.

    She rode the elevator down and exited into another short 
corridor, passing a political poster that said:

    ###

    _Defend our lifestyle against the Puritans, moralists, 

    censors, and control freaks -- vote Libertarian!

    ###

    "Hmmm," Monique thought to herself, "damn Libertarians are 
everywhere these days!  I wonder if Koppel has done a story about 
this place for Nightline yet?"

    Proceeding down the corridor, she came to a schedule of events. 

    ###

    _Cass Carnaby Five live tonight_

    _Big Boob Parade in Blue Dungeon at 8:00_

    _Branding Demonstration in Orange Dungeon at 8:00_

    _Co Ed Tandem Beer Pissing Contest in Red Dungeon at 9:00_

    _Comedy King in Yellow Dungeon at 9:00_

    _Hot Male Revue in White Dungeon at 10:00_

    _Master of Illusion in Green Dungeon at 10:00_

    _Slave Auction in Blue Dungeon at 11:00_

    _Torture Demonstration in Violet Dungeon at 11:00_

    ###

    Looking down, she saw that there were narrow colored lines on the 
floor leading away from the wall under the sign.  The colored lines 
streaked away into the room where they split up and each went their 
separate way into smaller rooms and corridors. 

    She ignored the rainbow on the floor and walked over to the bar 
and paid $10.00 for a White Russian -- at least it was a fairly large 
glass that would last a while.  Then, drink in hand, she found an 
empty table in the main room.  Then she watched and listened.

    The band, five guys in pastel blue leisure suits, were playing a 
bossa nova tune.  She had expected a lot of leather and scene garb, 
and outrageous antics, but most of the people were dressed in street 
clothes, talking quietly.  

    After a half hour she stood and explored some more.  She walked 
through the maze-like club through all the smaller rooms.  She found 
a small room that was relatively empty and took a seat at another 
empty table.  This room was much more interesting.  Over at one 
table, a group of men were sitting.  But they weren't sitting on 
chairs.  They were siting on the backs of women who were all on their 
hands and knees while dressed head-to-toe in black leather.

    On one wall, was a topless woman in leather pants chained spread-
eagle to a big wooden "X" mounted on the wall with her feet dangling 
inches off the floor.  She seemed to be a prop of the club for no one 
was paying any attention to her.  Monique quietly turned on her micro 
cassette recorder, checked the microphone under her collar, and 
walked over to her.  

    "Hi," she said, "What are you doing hanging on the wall here?"

    "Hello Mistress.  It's a service of the club.  They let masters 
park their slaves on these Saint Andrews Crosses while they go and 
party."

    "So you're a slave?"

    "Yes, Ma'am."

    "And your master 'parked' you here while he is enjoying himself 
elsewhere in the club?"

    "Yes, Ma'am."

    "How long have you been here?"

    "I'm not sure exactly how long, Ma'am.  Maybe about am hour."

    "And when will he return for you?"

    "He didn't say, Ma'am.  He usually likes to close the club on 
Friday nights."

    "So you're going to wait here, shackled to the wall, for him 
until two A.M. or so?  While he's having fun?"

    "Yes, Ma'am."

    "And this is okay with you?"

    "He owns me.  He can do whatever he wants to me."

    "I see."  Monique returned to her seat and made some comments 
onto the tape before stopping the recorder.

    She continued exploring the club, losing track of time.  Looking 
at her watch she said to herself, "Look at the time, it's after ten 
thirty already!"

    She stopped into a restroom labeled, "Alternate Ladies' Room" 
before leaving.  Passing a row of sinks, she was pleased to see that 
each toilet was in a private little room rather than just surrounded 
by those flimsy metal partitions that give no privacy.  She closed 
the door and looked down and let out a gasp.  In the hole in the 
middle of the toilet seat was a mannequin's head.  Wait -- no -- a 
real man's head -- as if his body was embedded in the wall behind the 
toilet.  

    Monique looked down at him looking up at her and backed out of 
the stall.  She hurried out of the restroom and waited in the 
corridor for a moment.  Quickly regaining her composure, she turned 
on her recorder and went back inside the restroom.  She chose a 
different stall this time and closed the door. 

    Looking down, Monique saw that there as a woman in this stall.  
Her face was framed by the toilet seat as if her body was also 
embedded in the wall.  But for the life of her, Monique couldn't 
think of anything to say -- unusual for a reporter with her usual 
nerves of steel.  Realizing that she had to go pretty bad, Monique 
decided to try her services.  She turned to face the door, and pulled 
her jeans and panties down.  She hesitated a moment before taking a 
seat on the woman's face.  It was eerie to be exposing herself to a 
total stranger, a woman yet, and about to sit on her face.  Monique 
reminded herself that she wasn't being gay -- she just had to use the 
toilet really bad, and as they way, "When in Rome..."  So she sat and 
squirmed a moment to position her clit over the woman's open mouth.  
Her bladder was nearly bursting, so she peed easily enough.  

    Surprisingly to her, the woman didn't seem to have any problems 
absorbing her pee.  She emptied her bladder after a moment and then 
stood again.  She tore off a stream of toilet paper and wiped herself 
and then wondered what to do with it.  Seeing a trash bin mounted on 
the wall, she tossed it in there.

    She pulled her jeans back up and exited the stall, feeling mildly 
giddy from the experience.

    After washing up in the restroom, she found her way back to the 
corridor to the elevator to leave the club when she noticed the event 
schedule on the wall again.  She peered at the last two entries 
again.

    ###

    _Slave Auction in Blue Dungeon at 11:00_

    _Torture Demonstration in Violet Dungeon at 11:00_

    ###

    "Hmmm," she thought, "either of those might be worth observing."  
She spun around and followed the blue and violet lines into the room.  
The two lines stayed together to leave the room and go down a short 
corridor.  They entered a small lounge room where they split up to, 
each go down a different corridor.  

    She flipped a coin.  Heads, follow the blue line to the slave 
auction.  Tails, follow the violet line to the torture demonstration.  
She tossed the coin and caught it in the back of her hand clasping it 
with her other hand.  Lifting her hand revealed the head side of the 
coin.  

    She followed the blue line into its corridor and around a corner, 
past more rooms, where it veered into an open doorway.

    There was a table sign just inside the doorway piled with flyers.  
The blue dungeon was a small assembly room decorated in the motif of 
a medieval torture chamber.  She took a flyer and read it over.  It 
explained how the slave auction worked. 

    Every time you enter the club, you are given 10 slave points.  
That must mean she had 10 points to her name right now.  You can 
offer yourself for sale, and the high bidder gets you as their slave 
for 24 hours.  You also gain 10% of their bid amount added to your 
total number of points.  

    To offer yourself, you sign a release form stating your sexual 
orientation: straight, gay, or bi.  If you're straight, you're only 
offered to masters of the opposite gender; if you're gay, then only 
to masters of the same gender; and if you're bi, you are offered to 
anybody.  You give your minimum bid, which works much like the 
"reserve price" on eBay -- you only get sold if someone bids at or 
above your minimum bid.  You also list your limits and print your 
safe word -- they recommend "may day," but "red" is the customary 
safe-word.  If a slave refuses to do something that he didn't list as 
one of his limits, then the slave is banned from the club for life.

    On the other hand, if you buy a slave, you can't leave the 
premises with your slave except under special circumstances.  For 
this reason, there are suites that you can rent for the night like a 
hotel room -- with a bedroom, bathroom, kitchenette, and dungeon.  
Likewise, a master who violates a slave's limits is banned for life 
from the club and is reported to all the newsgroups. 

    Monique barely gave it a thought -- what a way to get a story 
from the inside!  She filled out the form and gave it to the couple 
sitting behind the table. 

    She listed her orientation as straight, but she wasn't sure about 
what limits to list.  She put down, "No children or minors," but 
couldn't think of anything else to list as a limit.  She also gave no 
minimum bid.

    They gave her a numbered tag and told her to go wait into the 
back room, pointing to a door on the rear wall of the room.

    She entered the changing room.  A woman dressed all in black 
leather looked at her tag and ordered her to strip naked and put her 
clothes in a like-numbered Tupperware bucket.  She hesitated, seeing 
that the room contained about twenty other slaves-to-be -- both male 
and female, some naked and others becoming so.

    "Now, slave!" the dominatrix yelled at her at her moment's 
hesitation.

    "Yes, Ma'am," Monique meekly answered, shocked at being addressed 
this way.  As a TV anchorwoman, she was accustomed to being treated 
oh-so-courteously all the time.  Oddly enough, being without her 
press pass, recorder, microphone, and notebook made her feel more 
vulnerable than her nakedness. 

    She took a seat in one of the folding chairs there and the 
auction got started out in the blue dungeon.

    One by one, the auctioneer brought the slaves out to the auction 
block as Monique waited her turn.  About halfway through the auction, 
when about half of the slaves had been auctioned off, the auctioneer 
ushered her out into the room.

    Her face turned beet-red as she stepped up, buck naked, on a 
pedestal, and faced the small crowd.   

    The auctioneer started the bidding, "Here we have a newcomer to 
the scene.  She's five feet six and 118 pounds.  Just take a look at 
that beautiful head of red hair, at those big brown eyes, and those 
firm breasts and buttocks."

    She almost spoke up at that description of her when she 
remembered she was still in disguise.  Her blonde hair and hazel eyes 
were well hidden.

    The auctioneer continued, "She's straight, so only guys can bid.  
She has no experience, but such a beautiful woman rarely comes our 
way.  Do we have an opening bid, fellas?"

    The audience murmured.  After a few moments, Monique worried that 
no one was going to bid on her.  Then a big burly biker-looking guy 
opened the bidding by calling out, "Two hundred slave points!"

    The auctioneer announced, "We have a bid of two hundred for this 
fine specimen of womanhood.  Surely such a catch can command a higher 
price.  Can we have a counter bid?"

    At that, another bid came from a beefy black guy dressed in the 
usual black leather, "I bid two hundred and fifty!"  

    The auctioneer continued his pitch, "We have a bid of two fifty!  
Anyone care to up that?  Come on ladies and gentlemen!"

    Then a geek in a jeans and a _Tech TV_ T-shirt yelled out, "I'll 
pay three hundred for the bitch!"

    "Three hundred, folks!" the auctioneer called out.  "The bidding 
is getting serious now."

    "Four hundred!" from the black woman.

    Then an older bald man wearing the seemingly obligatory black 
leather called out, "Four fifty!" 

    The biker dude who opened the bidding called out, "Five hundred!"

    Geek called out, "Six hundred!"

    The black dude countered, "Seven fifty!"

    "Wow!" the auctioneer announced.  "We have quite a bidding war 
here, folks.  Anyone else care to make a bid before her price gets 
too high?  Come on folks!" 

    A smallish Chinese man called out, "I bid one thousand points!"

    After a pause, the auctioneer called out, "Wow, we're up to one 
gee already!  Can anyone top this?"

    "One point two," geek called out.

    "Can someone top twelve hundred?" called out the auctioneer.

    The crowd started to murmur a little, then the auctioneer 
announced, "We have a final bid of one thousand two hundred!  Going 
once!  Going twice!  Gone for one thousand two hundred slave points 
to Hungry Guy."

    Hungry Guy approached the podium.  The auctioneer clicked a leash 
to Monique's collar and handed the leash to him.

    That moment felt so humiliating, yet erotic, for her -- standing 
there completely naked while a total stranger held a leash attached 
to a collar on her neck.

    Hungry Guy led Monique by her leash into the back room and then 
through to an adjoining room.  Purchased slaves were there getting 
dressed, some in their original clothes, and others in fetish-wear 
provided by their new masters. 

    He asked one porter, "Please bring my slave's clothes in here to 
me."

    Then, to Monique, he handed her a leather and steel mesh garment 
and said, "Put this chastity belt on, bitch."

    Monique gasped, but pulled the chastity belt up -- this was her 
idea, after all.  He then belted it and clicked a padlock onto the 
clasp over her crotch.  He also latched a padlock to her leash and 
collar.

    The porter then returned with the plastic tub that she placed her 
clothes in before the auction.  

    "Thank you," he told the porter as he took the bin.

    He then yanked on her leash hard as he led her out of the room 
with a curt, "Come."

    He led Monique through the club.  People at tables barely seemed 
to notice a man leading a naked woman by a leash as if this was a 
common occurrence here.  After passing through the warren of rooms 
and corridors, they stopped in front of another dungeon.  Monique 
gasped when she realized where she was -- the torture demonstration.

    Upon walking inside, past a couple of big beefy bouncers watching 
the room, Monique couldn't believe her eyes.  She had expected it to 
be some lame fake show.  

    Upon walking inside, there was a woman hanging by her breasts 
from a pulley in the ceiling.  

    Next they passed to a man shackled spread-eagle to a giant wooden 
X standing upright.  He was naked, and he had a sort of collar 
wrapped around his balls.  Hanging from that collar was a cloth sack 
containing what seemed like a bowling ball.  A woman in leather 
occasionally touched the ball with her foot, sending it swinging back 
and forth. 

    Next, was a woman laying on her back on a low wooden platform 
with her feet hanging over the ledge.  Monique almost puked when she 
saw the woman's feet, for they were all slashed and blistered.  One 
of her toes was cut off, and a couple of her toes were missing their 
toenails.  In a tray at the base of the table were assorted bottles 
labeled, "Sulfuric Acid" and "Rubbing Alcohol."  Monique looked away 
as they walked past.

    Next, there was a woman straddling another sawhorse.  The top 
beam was made into a point lengthwise.  She was standing on her 
tiptoes while her wrists were bound together over her head and toed 
to a shackle mounted in the ceiling.  As Monique watched, the victim 
lowered herself onto the beam, sit for a few moments, then lift 
herself back up on her toes, then sit, then stand.  Her constant 
rising and lowering reminded Jack of someone riding a horse.

    They stopped at an unoccupied sawhorse at the rear of the room.

    "What are you planning to do?" she asked, her voice trembling.

    "You didn't list any limits, so I thought I might start with some 
tit torture, then move to your cunt, and maybe a few of your other 
holes."

    He led her up to the sawhorse and told her to lean over it.  

    "Wait," Monique hesitated, "I'm having second thoughts about 
this."

    "Shut the fuck up, bitch and get that ass in the air!"

    Monique was shocked at being addressed this way.  Never before 
had anyone spoken to her so rudely.  Yet, Monique was frustrated 
dating men who treated her like gold and would never dream of getting 
rough with her.  Even her hockey player boyfriend handled her like 
delicate china.  She wanted to be treated like a woman, not a 
pampered puppy, so she decided to play along.  She bent over the 
sawhorse as instructed.  

    He shackled her ankles to the two wooden legs on one side, and 
then shackled her wrists to the two wooden legs on the other side.  
This left her bare ass sticking up in the air above the horse.  He 
then removed the chastity belt and the other objects, exposing her 
pussy and asshole for all to see.  He pulled a large wheeled toolbox 
from next to the saw horse and opened it up, revealing a wide variety 
of sex toys, kitchen gadgets, and bottles of unidentified fluids. 

    The first thing he did was to reach under and attach a nipple 
clamp to each of her nipples.  Yeow, that stung!

    A small number of observers had gathered behind her, though her 
view of them was upside down through the sawhorse what with her upper 
body bent over the horse with her head hanging just inches above the 
floor.

    "Hello folks," Hungry guy said to his spectators.  I'm making a 
special offer.  I'll insert a number of interesting objects into my 
slave's pussy and asshole, for a price.  He handed them sheets of 
paper, presumable with his price list printed on it.  He must have 
had this all planned out before he bid on her, she realized.

    One of them said, "I'll pay you one slave point to see you stick 
a dildo up her cunt."

    They exchanged some slips and then Hungry Guy reached into his 
tool chest and pulled out a dildo.  He shoved the dildo into her 
pussy.  "Yeow!" she yelled again -- it hurt being that she was dry.

    "Silence, bitch!" Hungry Guy yelled at her.

    A woman observer then said, "I'll pay two slave points to see a 
vibrator up her asshole."

    "You got it, Mistress," Hungry Guy answered.  He reached into his 
tool box and pulled out another dildo.  He started it humming and 
shoved it up her asshole.  "Gaaaaah!" she screamed.  Oh God, that 
hurt!  

    "I said be quiet, whore!"

    Oh God, she thought, it felt like she had to take a huge shit.

    Then another guy standing there pointed to the toolbox and said, 
"I want to see _that_ up her pussy!"

    "Sure thing," Hungry said as he picked out what looked like a 
metal hand mixer, the kind with the steel wires in the outline of a 
large pear attached to a plastic handle.  He pulled the dildo out of 
her and then pressed the large end of the mixer to her pussy.  He 
gradually increased the force, until her pussy relented and admitted 
the object. 

    "Ow!  Ow!  Owww!" Monique yelled at this latest intrusion. 

    "How many times do I have to tell you to be quiet, cunt?" Hungry 
asked her again.

    Monique struggled against her restraints, thinking they were 
probably flimsy against brute strength, but they proved to be quite 
strong and securely attached. 

    Another man walked up to Hungry.  "How big can you open her 
asshole with that speculum?" he asked pointing into Hungry's tool 
chest.

    "Let's find out," Hungry replied.

    To Monique's relief, Hungry pulled the vibrator out her asshole.  
The relief was short-lived as Hungry inserted another cold metal 
object into her asshole.  She felt it go deep up her ass, deeper than 
the vibrator.

    It wasn't so bad -- at first.  Hungry started turning a knob on 
the speculum, causing its "fingers" to slowly spread apart.  She felt 
it spread her asshole open -- a little at first, then it was 
stretched until it hurt.  

    "Gaaaak!" she let out yet another scream.

    "Damn, you're a noisy trollop!"

    He continued fiddling with it and it hurt more and more.  

    " OWWWW!  OW!  OW!  OW!  GAAA!  OW!" 

    Hungry mentioned to the guy, "I've got her asshole open to about 
two inches.  How's that?"

    He answered, "I'll give you five more slave points if you can 
spread her asshole open two more inches."

    "I can probably do that."

    "EEEEYOWWWW!  OWWWW!  EEAAAGGGHHH!  OWWWW!  YEOWWW!"

    "There, how that view?"

    "Wow," the spectator said, "I never seen an asshole open so 
wide!"

    Another spectator walked up and asked, "I see some bottles of 
stuff in your toolbox.  Can you pour anything in her asshole for a 
price?" 

    "Sure thing!  Let's see.  I got liquid hand soap, Top Job 
cleaner, kitchen floor wax, bleach, ammonia, rubbing alcohol, and 
plain old water.  What do you want in there?"

    "How about the floor wax?  That's one I never seen used before?"

    "Sure thing, but first," Hungry pulled a bedpan out of his 
toolbox and slid it under the sawhorse in front of her face, "this 
will be like giving her an enema.  She's probably gonna shit from 
this."

    "Oh, please, no!  Don't do this to me," Monique begged.

    "Shut the fuck up, cunt!" Hungry yelled yet again.

    Then hungry took a funnel and the floor wax from out of his tool 
box and slid the point end of the funnel into her spread-open 
asshole.  She heard him fumble with the bottle of wax and then felt 
something icy cold fill her rectum.  A moment later, she felt a cold 
liquid drip out her asshole, and down over her pussy.  Most dripped 
from her crotch into the bedpan, and some dribbled down her legs to 
her feet and onto the floor.  Being as the bedpan was only inches 
from her upside-down nose, she immediately recognized the odor of 
kitchen floor wax.

    "I'll give you more slave points if you add something else to the 
mix."

    "Sure thing.  What do you want me to add?"

    "How about some rubbing alcohol."

    "Great Choice!  That's really going to burn."

    "Yeah!"

    "Oh God, no!" Monique thought silently as Hungry uncapped the 
bottle of rubbing alcohol and poured some into the funnel.

    The other guy was right.  Her ass felt like it was on fire when 
the alcohol flowed in. 

    "Geeyoooow!!!  Yaaaah!  YAAAAH!  GOD, IT BURNS!  OWWWWWW!  OWWWW!  
OWWWWWW!"

    "Will you shut the fuck up, hole!" Hungry yelled.

    At that, she felt a boated feeling, then felt wet flowing over 
her pussy and dribbling down her legs.  Next she saw wet shit drop 
into bedpan in front of her nose, and dribbling down her legs."

    "Well, what do you know?" Hungry said, "The floor wax and alcohol 
must have acted like an enema.  Look at the shit just pouring out her 
asshole and down her pussy!"

    "Yeah!  Cool!  It sure stinks, though!  I gotta move on." the 
other guy answered.

    "Yo!  Bro," some big black guy called out as he walked over, "how 
about that plastic spatula?"

    "Sounds good!  Which hole ya' want in it?"

    "Her cunt, I guess.  

    "You got it!"  Hungry pulled out the metal hand mixer and then 
pressed brought the plastic blade of the spatula to her cunt.  He 
held it to her hole at an angle with one of the points pressing into 
her opening, then he pressed it in.  He wiggled it as he slowly 
forced it in.

    "YEEEAAAAAOOOOOWW!"  Not only was it stretching her pussy open 
wider than it had yet to be, she could feel the blade of the spatula 
cutting her flesh like a double-edged knife as he slid it in.  
"GAAAAAAOOOWWWWW!"

    "Hey dude," some other guy called out as he approached, "I hear 
you're shoving stuff up your slave's pussy for slave points.  I want 
to see that rolling pin up her cunt."

    "Sure thing, dude!" Hungry answered.  He pulled the spatula out, 
then pressed one handle of the wooden rolling pin to her pussy.  It 
didn't hurt at first while he slid the one handle in.  But when he 
had buried the handle, he pushed he roller in with all his might.  
The flat end of the roller itself wouldn't slide in, and he leaned on 
it with both hands and putting his body weight to bear on the rolling 
pin.

    It suddenly slipped in all the way as Monique let out a 
screeching, "YAAAAAAGGGGHHHHHAAAAAAAAA!"

    "How's that, dude?" Hungry asked the spectator.

    "Way excellent!  But, hey, you're slave's, like, bleeding out her 
pussy.  Maybe you, like, pushed it too far?"

    "I don't know.  Maybe the handle pushed its way through her 
cervix into her womb."

    "Yeah, dude, it's in deep enough."

    That spectator walked away to view some other torture exhibit, 
and no one walked up immediately.

    Hungry walked away for a moment and then returned with a couple 
of other guys. 

    "This is her," Hungry said to them.  "She's kind of filthy right 
now, but I'm about to rinse her off."

    "Yeah," one guy said, "I'll do the bitch." 

    "Why not?" asked the other guy.

    "Good," Hungry replied.  "I gave you guys my room number, be 
there in about an hour."   

    Monique then noticed that Hungry was holding a hose.  She let out 
a screech as cold water started spraying all over her body.  

    "What are you doing?" she asked.

    "I got to wash the shit off you before we leave, you filthy 
bitch!"

    "It's over?" she asked him.

    "Hardly, cunt!  I'm so hard from this that it's time to take you 
upstairs for some private fun.  Huh?  What's that red washing out of 
your hair?  Hey!  Your hair changed color!"

    He leaned down and unshackled her wrists and ankles.  Then he 
picked up the leash, which was laying in a pile on the floor under 
(over?) her head, still clipped to her collar.

    She struggled to stand over the cramps she felt from being tied 
in her bent-over position for so long.  She glanced at him, then, in 
a split-second decision, bolted for the door.  Hungry stomped on her 
leash a split second later, causing the leash to go taut at her neck 
sending her sprawling on her back on the floor.

    "And just where do you think you're going, cunt?"

    "This scene is over!  I'm out of here!"  She started to stand, 
but he sat on her chest, pinning her down.

    "Oh no you ain't, bitch!  I paid for you, and you're mine for the 
weekend.  Get used to it!"

    She started flailing her arms, but he merely caught her wrists in 
his hands and held them still.

    Looking down at her face, he seemed noticed something.  "Now why 
is one eye brown and one hazel? "

    "One's a contact.  I guess one fell out."

    "Then take the other out.  And your face is a mess with your 
makeup washed off.  What kind of cheap makeup do you use, bitch?"

    He stood off her, holding her leash securely.  Monique stood and 
removed the other brown contact.  Then washed her face off with a wet 
towel that he handed her.

    "Holy shit!" he practically shouted.

    "What?" she asked.

    "You're!  You're!  You're what's-her-name!  From TV!  You're 
Monique-somebody -- that news reporter on TV!"

    "Yeah, so?"

    "Yeah, nothing.  Get my toolbox and your box of clothes, hotshot 
TV reporter.  I'm not done having fun with you." 

    Seeing his end of her leash wrapped around his wrist, she 
realized the futility of trying another mad dash -- maybe she'll get 
another opportunity a little later.  

    Monique held the Tupperware box with her clothes under her arm 
and grabbed one end of the toolbox.  She was grateful that it was on 
casters.

    Hungry Guy let Monique through the club to the elevators.  It was 
hideously difficult, being that she still has the rolling pin up her 
pussy and her asshole spread open with the speculum, and had to 
waddle all the way while carrying her box of clothes and pulling his 
heavy tool box.  He led her to the elevator, which they rode to the 
level above the entrance.  

    The elevator would have been the perfect time to make her 
getaway, but she realized that her encumbrances would have made the 
attempt futile.  Plus, if successful, that would render her a naked 
woman out in the streets of Manhattan past midnight on a Friday night 
-- talk about "out of the frying pan into the fire!"

    They exited into a small hotel-like lobby decorated in an old-
English motif.  He led her past the front desk into a short corridor 
lined with numerous doors.  He led her past several doors, and then 
inserted a cardkey into a slot in the wall next to a door.  He pushed 
the door open with a click, and led her in.  

    At first, it seemed like an ordinary hotel room.  They were 
standing in a small sitting room.  She could see through an archway 
into an alcove, past the bathroom door through another door into a 
bedroom. 

    He led her into the foyer and opened a closet door opposite the 
bathroom door.  Beyond was hardly a closet, however.  It was another 
room -- a smaller version of those "dungeons" down in the club.   

    He told her to lay on her back on a low padded table.  He then  
shackled her legs, spread wide, and shackled her wrists at her side.  
There was a clip on the table that he clipped her collar to so that 
she couldn't sit up.

    He pulled the rolling pin out of her pussy.  It was all covered 
in blood, especially the inner handle that had penetrated her cervix.  
Then he pulled the speculum out of her ass.  He dropped them into a 
sink on a counter against one wall.  Then he mounted her.  

    "Now what?" she asked, even though she really didn't have to ask.

    "I'm so horny, bitch.  Right now, I just want to fuck.  Don't 
worry, babe, there'll be more fun for you before the weekend's over."

    Lucky for him, and her too, her bloody made her pussy was wet 
from her blood that he slid into her easily, as if she was hot.  

    He lowered his chest on hers, placing his full weight on her 
frame.  Then he started thrusting. 

    Her body was in so much pain, and her pussy so stretched out, 
from the torture demonstration that she hardly felt him inside her.  
To her relief, he came quickly and dismounted her immediately after.  

    Then a knock came from the door.  Hungry walked out the dungeon.  
She heard the door open and some voices.  A moment later, he returned 
with those two guys who he was talking to earlier.

    "Here she is, guys."  

    "Looks good!" one said.

    "Like I said before, twenty slave points to stick your cock into 
any of her holes."

    "Her pussy's mine," said one.

    "Then I'm in her mouth," said the other.

    The first guy walked up to the table between her legs and climbed 
up onto her.  The other guy walked up from above her head and 
straddled her face holding his swollen cock down as he lowered 
himself onto her face.  The first guy arched his back as he jammed 
his cock into her soaking pussy while the second settled onto her 
face with his cock forced down her throat under his full weight.  

    Monique felt his cock throbbing in her throat.  As if she wasn't 
gagging enough, he flooded her throat with his cum which surged back 
up into her mouth like vomit.  She was about to pass out at that 
point when he slid his ass off her face.  

    He stepped aside, his now limp cock dangling over her face to 
reveal -- that black guy from downstairs.  His cock was hard and even 
bigger than the guy who just got off.  She screamed in pain from the 
guy who was still fucking her pussy as the black guy mounted her face 
and plunged his cock into her mouth.  With his cock throbbing even 
deeper down her throat, she passed out with the vision of his black 
ass crack pressing down on her eyes.

    Then she heard a slapping noise.  A moment later, she felt her 
face being slapped on the cheeks.  Opening her eyes, she was still 
strapped on her back on that bench, and Hungry was slapping her 
cheeks with the back of his hand.  "Wake up, bitch!  The party's 
over."

    "You really mean that?  It's over?  I can leave now?"

    "What?  Hardly!"  Hungry yawned and said, "Good night, bitch.  
We'll have more fun in the morning."  Then he exited the room and 
turned off the lights.

    No night had ever dragged so slowly.  What with her being 
shackled down on her back by the wrists, ankles, and neck, she didn't 
fall to sleep easily.  Yet, exhaustion finally overtook her and she 
was startled awake too soon to the blinding light of the room as 
Hungry Guy walked in.  

    "Morning, cunt.  I trust you slept well."

    Monique didn't know what to say.  She hadn't eaten since last 
night, and she was starving.  "Master?  I'm hungry.  May I have 
something to eat please?"

    "'Master,' is it now?  That's a good little cunt.  Sure, I'll 
give you something to eat right now."

    He climbed onto the table once again, only from the head end this 
time.

    "Oh God, no!  Not that!  Please!" she thought as he crawled down 
her body.  In an instant, his cock was hovering directly over her 
mouth.  

    "Open up, bitch!  Your breakfast is waiting."

    Monique clamped her jaw closed as tightly as she could.  

    "So that's how it's going to be, huh, bitch?"

    He got off her and walked over to his tool chest where she left 
it by the door.  He returned with a metal wire object.  He pinched 
her jaw open and inserted the wire frame in her mouth and then 
wrapped a strap form one side of her mouth around the back of her 
head to the other side.  The jaw spreader held her mouth open wide 
and she could hardly make a sound.

    Again, he mounted her from above.  His cock hovered over her open 
mouth for an instant before he plunged it down her throat. 

    He pounded her mouth and jaw with his rock-hard cock as she 
gasped for breath between thrusts.  She felt him start to quiver and 
knew he was about to cum.  An instant later, he jammed it down her 
throat with the force of the full weight of his body as he started to 
cum and cum.   

    Monique started to buck, herself, as she gagged with his cock 
deep down her throat.  Her lungs started to scream for breath soon 
after and, yet, he was still shooting his wad down her throat.

    "Yeah, take it, bitch!  Take my load!  Take my whole load!"  

    Monique, of course, couldn't answer.  Between gagging and her 
lungs screaming for air, she was in agony.  

    She started to feel faint as her bucking slowly subsided.

    "Yeah, die bitch!  Take your last breath as I fill your corpse 
with my cum!" 

    "No!  Please!" she begged in silence.  "I don't want to die!  Oh, 
please, God!  No!"

    Then, a moment before she was sure everything was about to go 
black, he slid his cock from her mouth and she let out an explosive 
breath.  

    He stood there by the table laughing as she gasped, catching her 
breath.

    He removed the jaw spreader, and as she immediately yelled, "Are 
you crazy?  You almost killed me, you fucking bastard!"

    "Oh, so now we went from 'master' to 'bastard,' eh?  I guess 
we'll need a special punishment for that outburst, you worthless 
cunt."  

    Hungry Guy walked over to his toolbox and brought over some more 
implements.  One was a metal spike on a plastic handle with an 
electric cord dangling from it.  

    "What's that, some kind of tattooing gun?"

    "Hmmm, good idea, bitch.  Thanks for the suggestion.  But this is 
just an ordinary soldering iron.  I like to sign my work, you know."

    The worst fear of all just struck Monique in the pit of her 
stomach as he brought the hot point to her face.

    "No!  Please!  Not my face!  My career depends on my face!  
Please!  I'm begging you!  Anything!  But just don't touch my face!  
Please!  Oh, please!"

    "Anything?"

    "Yes, anything!  Burn my pussy before you burn my face!  Please!"

    Hungry returned the soldering iron to his toolbox and returned 
with an electric mixer.  He snapped the two beaters into it and 
plugged it in.  He turned it on and off briefly, letting its electric 
buzz full the room for a moment. 

    He lowered the beater between her legs, and she felt the cold 
metal beaters slip into her, still bloody, pussy.

    "Here we go!  In a minute, your pussy's going to be raw 
hamburger!" he chuckled. 

    "Oh, God," the begged silently, "please don't let this hurt as 
much as I think it will."

    Just then, a knock came from the door in the outer room.

    "Who's there?" hungry yelled.

    "Room service," came a muffled voice that Monique recognized all 
too well.

    "Damn," Hungry Guy muttered as he left Monique with the silent 
beater still inserted in her pussy.  

    She heard Hungry open the door and say, "I didn't order room...  
What the hell?"  

    The next thing, she heard a scuffle and a fight from the other 
room.  She heard several punches land home, followed by a thud on the 
floor.  She knew who won the fight without having to ask.

    "Honey!  I'm in here!  Get me out!"

    A big guy in full hockey regalia came strutting into the dungeon.  
"Monique, dear, what mess did you get yourself into now?"

    "Just get me out, okay?  How did you find me, anyway?"  

    "I got home in the middle of the night and you weren't home.  I 
called the newsroom but no one was there, so Max answered the phone.  
To quote Max, he said, 'Mo-Mo-Monique went to do a story-story on 
Edge Play-Play.'  So here I am."

    "Well, get me off this thing!"

    Her boyfriend removed his hockey gloves and mask, then unshackled 
her.  She stood off the table, got her clothes out of the box, and 
got dressed.

    She walked, hand in hand with her boyfriend, out of the club 
hotel, armed with plenty of information for a headline expose. 

    - END -

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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