## Archive-name: ordeal_f

"Are you sleeping, Amanda?" From the upper bunk came young Christie's small voice.

"No. What is it, Christie?"

Christie rolled in bed. The chains on her neck, wrists and ankles jingled like strings of little bells in the still of the night.

"I want to ask you something, Amanda. Remember this afternoon when Richy told us we were chosen for a game tomorrow? That Lousiana Roulette thing? I saw Nicole crying after that, but she didn't want to tell me anything. Can you tell me what it is all about?"

"It's a game that they play every Sunday before the guests leave the resort," Amanda tried to make it sound as casual as possible. "Sort of like Russian Roulette, you know. Nicole's sister Cindy was killed in the game last Sunday, and that's why she was crying."

"Really?" the chains jingled again on the upper bunk. "Does one of the girls get killed every time?"

"Yes..."

"But how? I mean, how does the game work? What do we have to do?"

"Nothing," Amanda said with a sigh. "There's nothing we CAN do. What happens is that they choose fifteen girls every weekend for the game, like the fifteen of us today. Tomorrow before the game we'll be spared of all other duties, so we can do whatever we want. When the time comes, they'll take us to the game room and tie us up along that rack in the middle of the room. Then they'll fix electric wires to our breasts. When the guy on the control penal presses a button, we'll all get an electric shock, but only one pair of the wires will be deadly. So they make wagers on who will get hit. Those blood-thirsty bastards!"

"Then what?"

"Then nothing. If you don't get hit, you just come back here and hope they won't choose you next time. If you do, they'll throw your body in the alligator pit, and that's it."

"My God! That's horrible!"

"Of course it is. But believe me, it's a thousand times more horrible when they throw girls alive into the alligator pit to entertain the guest."

There was a brief silence in the small cell. Then Christie spoke again, almost whispering: "Amanda?"

"Yes?"

"I'm scared..." With that, Christie broke into tears. "Don't be, Christie," Amanda realized she had said too much to the sensitive teenager. She got up from bed and found Christie curled up into a ball under the thin blanket. Trails of tear reflected the dim moonlight on her pale face.

Amanda stretched out her shackled hands to wipe the tears off the younger girl's cheeks. "Don't be scared, Christie," she repeated. "There's only one chance in fifteen that you'll be the one who gets hit. See, I've done it many times the last two years, and I'm still here. Besides, if you don't get hit, then there's nothing to worry about; and if you do get hit, there's no use worrying. Right?"

Christie pushed her face into Amanda's warm palms and quietly sobbed for a few moments. Then she wiped her face with a stack of Cleenex and took a deep breath. "You are right, Amanda," she whispered. "I feel a lot better now. Thank you!"

"Sure thing, Christie. Now you sleep well, OK?" "OK."

"Good night."

"Good night, Amanda."

The time came right after lunch the next day. The noisy game room became rather quiet when the fifteen hapless slavegirls were marched through the crowd of about a hundred well-dressed, middle-aged men. Over the past week these men had used and abused the blooming young bodies of the slavegirls in every imaginable way to satisfy their wildest sexual fantasies. And true to the famed sex resort's age-old tradition, the management staff had never found any of their wanton demands too sinful, too bizarre or too cruel to meet. Yet the procession of fifteen gorgeous beauties, naked except for the chains on their necks, still commanded the men's attention.

Although apparently frightened, the girls walked gracefully, like a team of models on a fashion show. They were not restrained aside from the chains that linked them into a coffle by the necks, but each of the girls crossed her wrists behind the small of her back, demonstrating the results of the strict training that the resort was famous for.

The procession stopped in the center of the large room, along the waist-high wooden rack that formed a half circle around the small stage. Glancing around at the all-too familiar scene, Amanda's eyes fell on Christie's bare back just in front of her, which was trembling slightly but noticeably.

The uniformed security guards escorting the coffle started to separate the girls from each other and drag them to the rack. When two of the guards grabbed Christie by the arms, the teenager suddenly lost control. Struggling in the tight grip of the guards, she turned her tear-stained face towards Amanda.

"Amanda!" her lips opened and closed several times as if trying to say something, but no words came out.

"Take it easy, Christie!" Amanda answered in a hushed voice. "Remember what I told you last night? Just relax. You'll be OK!"

Preparation for the game proceeded with clockwork precision. The girls were forced to their knees with their backs against the evenly spaced posts in the rack, all facing the audience. Their arms were stretched out to their sides and tied tightly to the top rail in the rack. Then their ankles were crossed and bound together behind the posts, leaving them in the vulnerable position of a crucifix.

The manager of the resort appeared in his white tuxedo. He walked straight towards Amanda and Christie in the middle of the half-circle, and waved his fist in their faces.

"Don't even hope that I didn't see you talking just now," he roared. "I want both of you in the Correction Room after the game-- if you get to walk out of here alive, that is."

He jumped over the rack and hopped onto the stage. "Gentlemen," he announced over the microphone, "it's time to place you wagers!"

As bundles of cash began flocking to the cashier's station, the guards brought out the dreaded black wires. Attached to the ends of the wires were long, shiny brass needles, some of which still had blood stains faintly visible from their previous use.

A number of girls cried out when the guards pierced the needles deeply into their nipples. A petite blonde started praying under her breath, and soon a few more girls joined in, including Christie.

"Now that the ladies are in position," the manager's voice came from the massive speakers on stage, "you have ten more seconds to change your bets, gentlemen. Here goes--ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one, ready--go!"

In an instant, all fifteen girls screamed out in one voice. Their helplessly bound bodies jerking and quaking beyond control, the girls shook their breasts frantically as if in a desperate attempt to free them of the monstrous needles and wires.

Then as abruptly as it descended, the electric current left the tortured girls, taking their last bit of strength away with it. The screams subsided into terrified sobs and whimpers as they leaned wearily against the rack, panting and gasping for air, their naked skin soaked in cold sweat.

All but Christie, whose slender limbs and torso was still caught in wave after wave of violent jerking. Her back arched forward as if pulled by an invisible hand, and her neck bent sharply backward, causing the back of her head to bang on the wooden rails continually. Every muscle in her chest and shoulders twitched under the assault of strong electric current, and the old whip marks across the gentle slopes of her breasts danced like a bunch of dark red snakes. Her lips were parted widely, but her throat was no longer able to produce any audible sound.

It lasted no more than thirty seconds, although Amanda and the other girls could have sworn that it was hours. When a red light started flashing over Christie's head and the men started clapping and cheering, the young teenager's lifeless form collapsed on the rack and sagged motionlessly. Her head hanged still over her chest, and her silk-smooth dark hair poured down to veil her badly abused breasts.

"We are a winner!" the manager exclaimed in exaggerated excitement. "The winning number is five! Number Five! Gentlemen, if you have a ticket Number Five, please come forwards to claim your prizes!"

Almost all of the surviving girls burst into tears when the guards released them from the rack. Some of them had to be carried away by the guards. In the backdrop of all this commotion, Amanda impressed a lot of the guests with her calmness. Many pairs of eyes were fixed on the tall and willowy brunette as she calmly stood up once her wrists and ankles were freed, calmly wiped her sweaty body with a tower that a guard handed her, and calmly walked through the crowd towards the exit.

Richy met the exhausted girls in the hallway. As the keeper of the slave stable, it was his job to put the girls back in their shackles and chains, even those who were still too weak to walk on their own.

He gave Amanda a light hug and pinched her on the buttock. "So you pulled through again, babe! You are really something, you know that? You know how many times you have beaten old Death in this game? At least fifty, I'd say."

"Maybe," Amanda turned her back towards him and offered him her crossed wrists. "I don't know. I don't remember."

"You are one super-lucky girl, babe," Richy said as he snapped the handcuffs on her wrists and ran a small chain towards her ankles. "But I feel sorry for your little roommate, though. That poor thing! She only got here last Monday."

"Actually, she had no idea how lucky she was," Amanda murmured. "Do you have a cigarette?"

Last modified (12/24/96 16:11:10) by Eli-the-Bearded.

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