Original Post Date: 3 Jun 2002

                         Disclaimer

This is piece of fiction.  Any imagined resemblance to
people living or deceased is either the result of dementia
on the reader's part or that the reader is, in fact, a
character of this story.   It is assumed that readers of
this story have the permission of the state, mom, dad, and
pastor and are able to tell the difference between real and
make-believe.  Furthermore, the writer is fully aware that
he is bound for hell, but welcomes both praise or/and well
thought out, humourous insults on his writing skill.  Note:
he already knows he cannot spell 'warth shet'.

The events and descriptions of this story are the sole
property of Kenny N Gamera and should not be recorded,
reposted, or profited from in anyway without express
written permission of the person hiding behind that pen
name. Reposting and free archiving will be tolerated given
the writer's name and address remains attached.  Archiving
by Deja.Com and ASSTR/ASSM is assumed and encouraged.

Thank You and Good Day,
Kenny N Gamera
turtlemeat69@hotmail.com

ftp://ftp.asstr.org/pub/Authors/Gamera
ftp://ftp.asstr.org/pub/Authors/Gamera/Beggars_Can't_Be

Authour's Note: This story takes place the same night as
the events in "Beggars Can't Be... Part Nine: Revenge of
the Slightly Chunky Roommate."  While it is not part of the
narrative, it is a story I felt needed to be told, if for
no other reason, because I wanted to tell it.  It was
written in one sitting as what I call a 'story written in
Hotmail.'  I apologize if it is not as polished as it could
be.

Thank You again,
the same guy as above

      Officer Sherry vs the Slightly Chunky Roommate
                     (A Beggars Story)
                            by
                      Kenny N Gamera

She hung suspended from the ceiling, her body roughly
parallel to the floor.  Her well-muscled legs were tied
shut at the ankles and mid-calf in addition to mid-thigh.
To each of these bindings another rope ran to the ceiling
hooks.  Her arms were tied behind her back, at the wrists
and elbows.  Her elbows almost touched.  This forced her
back to arch toward the ceiling.

   All she could see was the ceiling, but the darkness of
the room gave her no detail.  The uniform white appeared to
be a patchy gray in the flicker of the candle.  She longed
to explore the room, but a rope harness prevented much
movement.  She wondered where they were at and what they
were doing, but she couldn't look for them.

   She heard them, however.  The shuffling of rough heeled
boot or the dragging of a chair leg against the hard wood
floor on the converted house.  Sometimes, one would clear
his throat.  Or she could hear a page turn.  It always came
from someplace different.  Maybe, he was against the wall
or else he was close, standing next to her looking at her
naked body.

   She shuttered at the thought.

   She wanted to cry; she wanted to beg; she wanted to
plead, but the gag in her mouth prevented a word or sound
from escaping.  She closed her eyes and prayed to the
Goddess to forgive her and protect her from the wrath,
which she had brought on herself.  And she listen for the
men in her room, who were the wrath made flesh.

   The bed squeaked as if someone were sitting down upon
it.  Or standing up from it, she realized as she listened
to the thunk of boot heels marching towards her.  She felt
herself shake as they drew nearer and nearer.  They stopped
right next to her, just to her side, but outside her range
of vision.  She swallowed against the gag.  Tears began to
run from her eyes.

   "She's a nice little piece, ain't she?"

   His voice was loud and rough, big and deep.  She tried
to imagine the man such a voice would belong to, and having
imagined it, she tried to forget.  She closed her eyes.
Her lips quivered around the gag.

   "Damsel always had the best taste in pussy," came
another voice, also that of a very tough man, from across
the room.  A page turned from the same direction.

   "Yep, kinda makes you wish you was a dyke," said the
voice next to her.  She could hear the longing in it.

   Another page turned from across the room.

   It was silent again, but she could feel the man standing
next to her.  Straining she could almost feel his
breathing.  She wanted to scream, to shout at him, to
somehow chase him away from where he stood next to her and
stared at her body like it was...

   Goddess, she prayed, please don't let him take me.
Please, send the Mistress back to protect me.

   If the Goddess listened, she answered with a negative.
She felt his rough and callused fingers touch her breast.
It was gentle, but still unwelcome.  Her body broke into
uncontrolled spasms at the touch.  Her mind wondered
helpless at the whereabouts of her Mistress.

   "Master Roach, I do not recall granting you permission
to touch my slave."

   At the sound of the Mistress's voice, the hand retreated
from her breast, but only slowly and with one last squeeze.
She almost sobbed in relief except for the gag.  The soft
sound of shoe against wood grew louder as She approached.

   The rough voice next to her spoke, "I apologize,
Mistress Damsel.  I overstepped my invitation with your
property, but I could not resist a touch.  She is lovely."

   The voice of the Mistress came from next to her.  "You
are forgiven, Master Roach, but you should learn from
Master Slash.  He is much more patient."

   "It is true, but I do have much to learn still about
patience."  The voice seemed softer, but returned to its
rougher nature quickly, "As you see, your property is
unharmed."

   "Thank you, gentle Masters.  Shall I escort you out? I
still need to correct this slave and I wish to be alone
with it."

   Chairs scraped and boot heels pounded.  Soon the room
was silent.  In time, through this silence, she heard the
door across the apartment open and close.  She listened for
her returning Mistress, but heard nothing.  She hung there
for minutes that seemed like hours except for the count of
her heartbeats.

   "Jenny is with Ken, kimberly."

   She jumped at the sound of the Mistress's voice.  The
Mistress must have been right next to her ear from the
sound of the whisper.  Behind the softness of it, Kim could
feel the anger.

   "He looks like shit, kimberly.  Pure shit, kimberly."

   Relief turned to fear at the sound of the Mistress's
voice.

   "But he doesn't look as much like shit as you do to me
right now, kimberly."  The Mistress had pulled away and
spoke normally.  "You should know better than to do what
you did to anyone."

   She heard the Mistress move around her.  She felt a tug
at the ropes tied to the bindings of her thighs.  The
upperward of the rope gave way with a suddenness.  She
could see the rope hang slack from the ceiling.  The rope
to her calve binding came slack.  She felt the hand of the
Mistress take hold of her beneath her legs.  The rope
holding her ankles went slack as well.

   The Mistress gently lowered her legs and her body
rotated in space, so that she dangled perpendicular to the
floor in her harness.  The Mistress walked around from
behind her, and stood before with legs spread and arms held
behind her.  She still wore her uniform, but without her
badge or her sidearm.

   "kimberly.  Do you know what this is?"

   The Mistress brought her hand from behind her back.  In
it was a large brass coin, a Canadian dollar coin, a gift
from a past love.  She wanted to nod her head, but it was
still held motionless by her harness.  The gag prevented
her from speaking.

   "It is your mercy coin.  Your safeword for when you are
gagged."  The Mistress turned and walked to the bureau
behind her.  She placed it on the top in sight of the
slave.  The Mistress returned and again took her place.
"You must learn a lesion tonight, kimberly.  If it means
the end of my ownership, so be it.

   "But tonight, kimberly, you will have no safeword."

   The Mistress bent down, using her knees and holding her
torso erect.  She came up with a cane in one hand.  She
brought it down with a smack against the open palm of her
free hand.  A second time, she smacked her palm.  A third
time.

   The Mistress shot her arm out.  A measured blow hit the
slave across the upper arm about two inches from where a
short sleeve would end.  The cane came back behind the
Mistress and then flew to the leg on the opposite side of
the slave's body.  It struck a meaty portion of her thigh.

   Quickly, without warning without time to prepare, the
blows were sent against her body.  The slave's body swung
in her harness with each hit, her body a pendulum on the
ropes holding her to the ceiling.

   Her heart started pounding, she wanted to cry out.  Her
safeword repeated itself in her thoughts.  The blows came,
however, as a relentless battering against her body.  Then,
they just stopped.

   She opened the eyes that she was not aware that she had
closed.  The Mistress stood before her without the cane.
She opened a switchblade knife as the slave watched with
wide eyes.  The Mistress wrapped an arm around the slave
and reached behind her.  She felt the rhythm of the knife
cutting into the rope that held her aloft.  It gave way.

   Her Mistress held her up and softly lowered her to the
floor.  She cut the ropes that held her legs and arms
together.  She released the slave, who stood wobbly on her
legs.

   "kimberly, I want you to think about what just happened.
I want you to think very hard about it and what was going
through Kenny's head tonight."  The Mistress stepped away.
"Leave the harness on while you sleep.  I will be in
Jenny's bed.  Don't bother me.  We will talk in the
morning."

   The Mistress walked to the door as the slave began to
rub at where the ropes had bit into her skin.  The slave
walked to the full-length mirror on her closet the bruising
seemed less than normal, the pain much slighter than she
was used to after a session.  Her heart still beat from the
memory of the fear, though.

   The Mistress cleared her voice.  The slave turned to the
door where the woman stood.

   "One last thing.  Someday, ask Kenny about The Scar,
kimberly."

   The Mistress walked away.

