THE USUAL WARNINGS:

This is a work of fiction by a twisted mind.  If you
are offended by graphic descriptions of natural and/or
unnatural sexual acts, if you are underage, or if this
type of material is illegal where you are, don't read
any further.

This is a fantasy.  You will have to loosen your clench
on reality a little when you read it. This is a tale in
which physical acts and human responses are not limited
to, nor necessarily based in, reality.  Some of the
actions and responses in this story may be physically
impossible and/or physiologically improbable.

Also, as is the case with most of the stories in this
newsgroup, all the women in this story are beautiful -
gorgeous, even.  Gravity has not caused breasts to
droop nor have wrinkles creased unblemished faces.  The
men (the leading men, at least) are hung like bulls.
They can get it up and keep it up often and at will.
In this special little fantasyland, there are no STDs,
morals, or unwanted pregnancies.  Guilt is a four-
letter word.  Most important of all, neither strength
of character, courage of convictions, nor moral belief
stand a chance against even the slightest erotic
stimulus.  This can be as benign as an accidental
glimpse of a bared ankle or as stimulating as a
whipping on the genitals.

This story is intended for the salacious entertainment
of consenting adults.  Do not try to do any of the
things described in this story.  You could injure
yourself or your partner, be arrested, or shot by her
father....

For those who didn't understand the preceding
statements, GO AWAY!

If you are under 18 years of age, GO AWAY!  This story
will burn your eyeballs and fry your brain.

If material of a strong sexual nature is prohibited
where you are, GO AWAY!

By continuing to read this story, the reader accepts
all responsibility for any disgust, revulsion, jail
sentence, or pleasure that results from reading it.  If
you don't, GO AWAY!

You have been warned!

If you enjoy this story and feel the irresistible urge
to post it on a <free> site, at least give me
(NightShade) credit for it.

So, stick your tongue firmly in your cheek and enjoy
the story!     <g>

NightShade

















Petunia

Part 2 of 4

by Nightshade

September, 2002

Chapter 6

Lewis was having a bad day.  Hell, he was having a bad
life.  First that bitch had threatened him with Assault
and Battery charges unless he paid for her medical
care.  Fucking bitch!  It wasn't his fault.  Sure he
had knocked her around a little -- she liked it rough -
- they all did, but it was her fucking jaw that got
broke, not his.  The fractures on her arms where he had
dropped the barbells on her weren't that serious,
either.  Now the fucking bitch wanted fucking nurses to
fucking care for her for the next fucking three months
until the fucking casts came off.  Shit, she only had
to fucking drink through a fucking straw.  How much
fucking trouble could that be?

Yesterday the fucking bank had repossessed his Beemer,
his Baby.  He'd only missed five payments.  How was he
supposed to pay for the car when that damn bitch
demanded so much of his money?  He had to fucking pay
the bitch first, didn't they understand?  That fucking
'three strikes' law had been implemented in this
fucking state and he was already down for two A&B
strikes.  So now he was driving this fucking lame Ford
piece of shit.  Like this was going to help him get
fucking laid tonight.

Then, on the fucking top of all that, he had had to go
clear across fucking town to get his STD certification
so he could get into the club tonight.  Like fucking
Hell that clinic was discrete.  He had had to almost
fucking tear down the fucking window to get at that
fucking smirking bitch.  She wouldn't give him his card
and said he had to wait his turn.  Well, he showed her.
Fucking bitch would think twice before making him wait
again.  Just wait until she tried to drive on three
flat tires.  Fucking bitch.

Lewis popped the cap off of the vial of pills he kept
hidden under the seat of his car.  He'd managed to at
least salvage that before the fucking RePo asshole had
driven off with his Baby.  He shook two different
colored pills into the palm of his hand, then
reconsidered and shook out two more.  A double dose.
He wanted to fly tonight.

He swallowed the pills as he approached the desolate
door.  He couldn't take them too soon, or that fucking
black bastard that watched the door wouldn't let him in
the club.  No drugs, my ass.  There were always ways
around the fucking rules.

He started to sweat when no one answered the buzzer to
let him in.  That black asshole was probably off
fucking a waitress instead of doing his job watching
the door.  In another couple of minutes the shit he had
taken would kick in and his pupils would fixate, giving
away his drugged condition.

Suddenly the outside door to the club burst open and
two leather-clad men came out carrying a limp female
figure between them.  Lucky bastards.  Lewis briefly
considered following them and possibly getting their
leftovers, but almost immediately decided to go in.  He
managed to get in the first door and then the second
just before it closed.  Shit, if he'd have known it was
going to be that easy, he could have saved himself the
two grand on the STD card.  Fucking waste of money,
anyway.

The big black fucker was nowhere to be seen.  Lewis
couldn't believe his luck.  Not only was the big guy
not around, but there was a fresh piece of meat just
sitting there.  All alone.  Without a second thought,
Lewis pulled a blindfold from his back pocket.   He
slipped it over the young girl's eyes and grabbed the
leash tied to the hook over her head.  Some bastard had
thoughtfully gagged her already.

"Come on.  Your Master wants you.  I'll take you to
him," he whispered in her ear.

Urging the compliant bitch to her feet, Lewis led her
down the steps and into the dark interior of the club.
The speed was kicking in and his thoughts were racing.

As he pushed her ahead of him into the crowed and dark
labyrinth of rooms, he studied his prey.  Young and
pretty.  Fresh, too, just the way he liked them.  Nice
white skin that would show bruises for weeks, reminding
the bitch and all who saw her who the boss was.

He reached around her and opened her blouse, pulling it
back off her shoulders and hanging from her cuffed
hands behind her.  It exposed her bra-less tits to the
crowd.  Not as much flesh as he liked, but they
responded well.  He squeezed them hard, then twisted
the prominent nipples.  The stupid bitch screamed
behind her gag and dropped to her knees.  Right, as if
anyone could hear her in this crowd.  He jerked the
leash and got her back on her feet.

He turned into an empty area and looked around.
Perfect.  He led the bitch over to the hanging hook and
slipped it though her handcuffs.

"He'll be here soon.  He wanted me to get you ready for
him," he whispered in her ear.

The cunt nodded eagerly.  God, what a stupid bitch!

He kneeled down beside her and grabbed one of her bare
ankles with his hand.  There were shackles bolted to
the floor and he snapped one around her ankles.  The
other shackle was a stretch for the small girl.  The
last slave here had apparently been a male.  He didn't
have time to reset them.  When her other foot was
fastened, her legs were spread painfully wide.  Her
groaning complaints were making him hard.  But it would
take a lot more pain than that before he could get
stiff enough to give her what she wanted.  What all the
fucking bitches wanted.  Take, take, take.  That's all
they did.

"He said you were a bad little bitch.  He wanted me to
warm you up for him," he taunted her, mauling her
sensitive tits hanging down below her.

The panting girl groaned and shuddered.  Lewis was
disgusted.  She was enjoying this too much.

Lewis stepped on the pedal and raised her hands.
Higher and higher.  She was screaming into the gag now,
the pain intense.

"What, bitch, did you think your fucking Master was
really coming?" he shouted at her now.  He wanted her
to know there was no help coming.  He wanted her
terrified.  He wanted her to piss on the floor.  He
gave a really crazed laugh.  He sounded, and probably
was, demented.

It started to draw a crowd.  This jaded collection of
thrill seekers could sense something special was about
to happen, something unstaged, unplanned, maybe even
non-consensual.  There was an electricity building
around the pair in the spotlights.

Standing up behind her, he brought his heavy crop down
as hard as he could across the bitch's jutting ass.
Look at her, waving it around like that, just asking
for it.  The fucking skirt had hindered his swing and
he could barely hear the sound of the leather striking.
It was in the fucking way.  He reached down and lifted
the hem of the skirt up.

Fuck this shit.  Lewis pulled out his switchblade knife
and cut the fabric from waist to hem.  The skirt fell
to the floor, useless.  Even high on speed he
recognized a near perfect work of art.  He gazed at the
tender globes, forgetting for a moment his anger.  The
glittering blade in his hand reflected the bright spot
lights overhead, making patterns on her unblemished
ass.  Someone, someone not quite caught up in the
moment as the rest of the crowd, reached out and took
the blade from Lewis' hand.  It clattered to the floor,
forgotten for the moment.

Lewis kneeled behind the sobbing, swaying figure.  He
touched the tip of his crop first to the dripping lips
hanging swollen and exposed between her glistening
thighs, probing and poking at them.  A sadistic image
passed through his addled brain and he reversed his
grip on the crop.  The large phallic-shaped handle was
aimed right at her gaping cunt.

With the narrow shaft in his hand, Lewis whipped the
heavy handle rapidly up and down.  There wasn't much
force to it, but when he moved his arm forward, the
handle slapped loudly against the bitch's cunt.  Ten,
fifteen times it splattered in there, faster and
faster, harder and harder.  The mewling sounds from the
cunt infuriated him.  The fucking bitch was enjoying
this, too!

Another sadistic gleam and the handle was pulled back,
the slick handle grasped in his hand.  With his free
hand, he yanked her blouse up her arms and around the
chain from the ceiling, out of the way.  Moving around
her as Damon had earlier in the evening her swatted at
her now bare chest and back, landing blow after blow on
her back, her stomach and her hanging tits.

She squealed when he hit those and focused his attack
on them.  He was still too spaced out to hit really
hard, but it didn't take much force to cause real pain
there.  She was screaming constantly by now, dancing
from foot to foot as best she could.

He was finally getting hard.  He would have to remember
this for the next slut he got a hold of.

He stopped behind her and fumbled with the lacings on
his leathers.  Fucking things cost enough, you'd think
they'd make them easier to get out of in a hurry.
Finally getting them pulled down and one leg free, he
moved up behind the bitch, his respectable erection
brushing her striped ass.

Just before he fucked the cunt's ass, he wanted to give
her something to remember him by, something to think
about while he plowed into that fuckable ass.  Grabbing
his crop once more, he took an underhanded swipe at the
defenseless girl standing in front of him.  The crop
slashed upward, the flat leather tip splatting loudly
against her navel.  The braided leather stalk laid
itself perfectly between the girl's labia, smashing
against her extended clitoris and leaving perfect
impressions of the woven pattern in the swollen mucus
tissues.

Shocked out of her lethargy by the extreme pain, Alex
reared up as far as she could without dislocating her
shoulders.  The pain coursed through her, blazing away
the cobwebs of arousal that had been accumulating all
evening.  Accumulating for the past two weeks.  For her
entire life.  It was like a bolt of lightning burning
everything away, searing in its intensity.  Then came
the thunder, and Alex was suddenly very confused.  And
frightened.

She screamed, the noise increasing in pitch until it
went beyond the capability of the human ear.  She began
convulsing violently in her bondage, inadequate volumes
of air whistling into her lungs through her nose.  The
rubber ball wedged in her mouth prevented her from
biting her tongue as a result of the tremendous blow to
her genitals.  Alex fought the urge to vomit, then
realized she was just dizzy.  Very dizzy and very
relaxed.

Just before she passed out she heard a surprised yell
and a crash, like something heavy falling over.  Then
there was lot of shouting, but she didn't care anymore.

***

Harold thought he had died and gone to heaven.  This
new company was paying him a shitload of money to do
nothing.  No fucking shit!  No meetings, no memos, no
reports, no fucking sales calls, no lame-ass traveling.
Seriously!  Abso-fucking-lutely nothing.  He did
nothing all fucking day long.  Except fuck his big-
titted secretary, Marcy.  God, did that girl love to
fuck!  And suck, and fuck again.  A certifiable
nymphomaniac.

Every morning at 9:00 sharp he would get to work.
Marcy would meet him at the door to his office with his
coffee.  As she closed the door behind her, he would
hear it lock.  Within minutes she would be naked and
dancing around while he finished his coffee, watching
her.  Then she would suck him until he was hard,
something his bitch wife had never done.  Following
that they would fuck.  All day.  Over and over.  She
even let him do her in the ass, something else Miss
Icecube had never let him do.  Until he forced her.

By five o'clock they would drag their clothes on and
wobble out to the parking lot.  She never let him touch
her outside of the office, barely acknowledging his
existence when they parted.  Except once.

She had invited him to a party once just after he had
started the new job.  Sort of a way for him to get to
know some people.  He thought it was odd that she was
acting cool towards him at the party after having
invited him and all.  He was beginning to think about
leaving when he started up a conversation with this
guy.  He was a fast-talking insurance salesman, and
Harold let the guy know in no uncertain terms that he
didn't need any more fucking insurance.  The guy had
laughed, slapped Harold on the back and thanked him for
speaking so plainly.  It was refreshing, he said, to be
able to hang out with someone who didn't want something
from him.  He was really tired of making all those
fucking rich assholes even richer.  Harold liked him
right away.

The conversation went on from there and by the end of
the evening and a fifth or two of Jack Daniels, they
had hatched 'The Plan.'  Nobody could know about it.
It was ingenious, brilliant, if Harold did say so
himself.  The insurance salesman had been stupefied at
Harold's brilliance as the plan had developed.  It was
as if they were two minds totally in concert with one
another.  Of course, being Harold's plan and with him
now being an executive, Harold had insisted that he get
the lion's share.  It took some arguing, but the guy
finally agreed on an 80/20 split.  After all, it was
only fair.

They had met a couple of more times in the following
week, each time starting sober but not ending that way,
to hammer out the details.  They had finally agreed
that there needed to be a third party between them so
that no one would be able to discover a connection
between them other than the huge insurance policy.  A
cut-out, the guy called it.  The cut-out needed to have
some bucks, too.

The insurance policy would be explainable because the
insurance guy sold a lot of policies to the executives
in Harold's company.  The next day, they arranged for
one of Harold's colleagues to casually introduce them
over a beer in a trendy Yuppie bar.  Marcy, who knew
them both, could act as an intermediary for any
communications that needed to go back and forth.

That left the third party, the cut-out.  This was going
to take a lot of cash to bankroll, what with the huge
initial premium and then the living expenses on the
island and so on.  The third guy had to have some ready
cash.  Harold could put up a lot of it for the premium,
but he was tapped out after that.

Harold was at a loss, despairing.  His beautiful plan
could die before it was even born.  He didn't know
anybody with that kind of dough.  Fortunately, the
insurance guy knew a lot of guys with money.  He had
one in particular in mind.

Tonight they had called him, this guy named Smith.  He
was a tough bastard, but Harold had held firm and had
gotten every single thing he wanted.

The plan was simple.  Harold, due to his new executive-
level position, would obviously want to secure his
family's future with an insurance policy.  A lot of
guys did and the insurance company would eat this up.
Even better, because Harold was older and his family
was young and expected to grow soon (Harold and the
insurance guy had a good laugh at that one), the policy
was rather large.  Five million large.  More than
enough to take care of the survivors for life.

The plan called for Harold to continue in his job as if
nothing had changed.  Then, when everything was ready,
on one of his trips back to his lovely wife, he would
disappear.  Mr. Smith had a plane and a condo in the
British Virgin Islands.  Harold would be met on the
road near a private airstrip, spirited to Miami-Dade
Airport, board a yacht and sail to the islands.

Mr. Smith said he had a friend in the morgue.  He said
it wouldn't be difficult to get a hold of a body
matching Harold's body.  When it showed up the plan
would go into effect immediately.  Harold's
identification, car and charred remains would be found
along a deserted stretch of road, the sad result of a
happily married man anxious to get home to a loving
wife.  It would appear as if he had pushed too hard and
fallen asleep at the wheel.  Sad, sad, sad.  All the
while, Harold would be living it up in the islands.
Marcy had even hinted she would give anything to go
with him to help pass the time.

Of course, there were a couple of things Harold had to
do first to finish setting up the plan.  The primary
one being to get his wife, his beneficiary, to sign the
application for the life insurance policy without her
getting suspicious.  Harold wasn't worried.  He could
get her to do anything, he boasted.  He also needed her
to sign some signature cards that would open up an
offshore bank account where the insurance company would
deposit the money from the settlement.  With his own
name, he would be a second, silent signatory on the
account and would empty it out as soon as the insurance
company put the money in.  The BVI bank wouldn't check
the death certificates in the US.  It was absolutely
foolproof!

So, as soon as the insurance company had reviewed and
approved the policy, the clock would start ticking on
the plan.  Then all they needed was a body.  And Alex'
signature.

Harold was smug on the way home that night.  Finally,
all those years of being passed over, getting the shit
jobs, doing all the hard work.  Finally, it was going
to pay off.

He had thought about this from every conceivable angle.
He couldn't lose.

Chapter 7

Alvin didn't panic.  Miss Alex couldn't have
disappeared into thin air.  She had either been taken
outside or was still inside the club.  He immediately
barred the door, then stepped into the tiny security
office and rewound the surveillance tapes for the past
10 minutes.  He only ran the one for the door and that
at high speed.

As he suspected, only one exit was made during the time
he was away from the door.  The two homosexual Doms
were escorting their sub out the door.  Fucking
assholes had refused to tie down her legs while they
branded her.  They were intending to brand their names,
Bruce and Martin, up one side of her pussy and down the
other.  On the third letter, she had reconsidered and
kicked Martin into the hot coals.  Bruce, going over to
help his lover, fucking stood on the hot coals and
burned his feet through his fucking expensive boots.
Alvin shook his head remembering the look of surprised
indignity on the asshole's face when he felt the heat
through his expensive kickass boots.

The three of them together could hold each other up,
barely, and had rushed out of the club.  Just as he was
about to fast forward again, Alvin saw a blur on the
screen.  Someone had entered as they were leaving.  He
wouldn't have thought much of it but it placed the
person at the right time and in the right place.  With
a cold knot twisting in his stomach, Alvin slowed the
tape down and replayed it.  He almost got sick when he
saw it was that little shit, Lewis.

Lewis was on Alvin's black list.  He couldn't prove
anything, but a couple of months ago they had found a
waitress badly beaten, raped and tortured.  Broken
bones, teeth knocked out and bleeding vaginally and
anally from a brutal sexual assault.  She was also
bleeding from being whipped within an inch of her life.
One eye was useless, the lens dislocated from a direct
hit with the tip of a crop.  The only reason it didn't
explode from the impact was that she was wearing a
blindfold.

Alvin had asked several of the people in the club if
they had seen anything that night.  Obviously, the
private parties like this one frowned on tapes of what
went on inside the club and regardless of his
recommendation, Mr. D made him turn off the cameras.
The little shit wouldn't have got in at all if Mr. D
had sprung for the triple door security checkpoint.  He
had demonstrated to the boss just how easy someone
could get in unchecked with just two doors.  Just like
now.  But he had demurred.

The BDSM Club members reluctantly agreed to security
tapes of the outside entrance, but the tapes and
cameras had been off during the party that night, like
they were tonight.  In his investigation, Alvin had
narrowed it down to a couple of unlikely possibles and
one very probable culprit.  Lewis.  The guy had had the
opportunity and was a mean little shit.  Loco.  Crazy.
Nuts.

Quickly determining that Miss Alex was still in the
building, Alvin set out to find her.  He systematically
scanned through the public areas nearest the door,
examining and eliminating every female regardless of
clothing, hair, skin or build.  She wasn't in the
public areas close to the door.

Next on his list were the closest less-public areas.
He barged into the women's restroom, then the men's,
checking every stall and every trash can for evidence.
Hair dye, discarded clothing, large chunks of beautiful
reddish hair.  He found nothing.

He went back to the starting point, the front door.  He
was beginning to get a bad feeling about this.  Too
much time was passing.  Mr. D was off the phone now and
was walking towards him.  He had just looked to see
that Miss Alex missing and saw the look on Alvin's
face.  To his credit, the cold bastard had blanched
white as a sheet when he saw she wasn't where she
should have been.

Just then, there was a noise from out in the club.  Why
it caught his ear, he didn't know, but he knew it was
Miss Alex.

Alvin was flying through the crowd, knocking people
over, hurdling the Subs crawling on hands and knees.
He reached the room with the hanging hook and saw her,
Miss Alex.  She had been strung up tighter than he
would have believed possible, her feet shackled tightly
to the floor.

Alvin lowered his shoulder and put his whole being into
getting into that room.  A crowd had gathered around.
The macabre always attracted a crowd.  The unsuspecting
spectators gave with a groan.  One huge black hand
swept low off the ground and came thundering up,
catching the shit with the flat palm on his chest.  The
fucker lifted off the ground, sailed over the ducking
onlookers and crashed solidly into the wall, his
erection a fading memory.  He didn't seem to be into
pain nearly as much when it was his own.  The crowd,
not wanting to be witnesses, dissolved into the
anonymous hubbub of the party.

Alvin hit the emergency release and the strain came off
Miss Alex' screaming muscles.  Her legs were too widely
spread to allow her to sink down and she just hunched
there, moaning softly behind the gag.  Alvin fumbled
with the shackles, then finally just ripped them from
their anchors.  Miss Alex collapsed into his arms and
he was cradling her protectively when Mr. D finally
made his way into the room, pushing past the dispersing
spectators.

Two legs were flopping in spastic panic over against
the wall.  One leg was bare and hairy, the other had a
pair of cheap leather leggings around the ankle.  The
rest of the body was deep in the shadows of the room

Damon saw the big man holding Alex, one hand covering
her lower nudity in a manner so chaste, he almost
laughed.  Covering her but not touching.  The look in
his bouncer's eyes told him not to try to take her from
him.  It wasn't romantic.  It had been his job to watch
out for her and right now it looked like the man had
fucked up royally.  That wasn't like him at all.  Damon
decided to wait and hear what he had to say.  Then he
would kill him.  Or someone.  Someone was going to pay,
that much he knew.

Alvin motioned with his head at the legs on the floor.
The man's dick was glistening, droplets of fluid
refracting the harsh spotlights even from the side of
the room.  Damon went cold.  Someone had touched Alex,
his Pet.  Effortlessly, he began the process of picking
up the struggling man.  Finally upright, the light in
the room revealed a hopped up prick he had seen a few
times before.  Bad news.  No one liked the little
fucker.  He smelled, too, and Damon looked down at what
he was standing in.

While the little shit got his pants on and laced up,
Damon used a piece of discarded cloth on the floor to
wipe up the puddle of urine the guy had been laying in.
It took him a minute to comprehend that it was the
shithead who had pissed himself, not Alex.  Somehow
that made him feel better.  Not much, but a little.

A firm grasp on his arm propelled the man out the door,
down the hallway, and into his office.  A forceful hand
in the chest had flattened the jerk into a chair in the
center of the room.

"Stay there!"  There was no misunderstanding the order,
high on drugs or not.

Damon went next door.  He suspected Alvin had already
taken Alex in there.  Knocking twice, he waited.  Alvin
opened the door and stepped outside.

"She's alive and appears to be in one piece.  The guy
in your office is named Lewis something or other.  Give
me a couple minutes and I'll come in and give you a
report."  Seeing the look on Damon's face, he added, "A
full report."  He knew Damon would want to know who,
what, why and how this had happened.  He also knew his
boss wouldn't like the report.

The bouncer slipped back into the dimly lit room.
Damon turned and went slowly back to his office.  He
had known Alvin for several years and the man had never
lied to him once.  There was no reason to believe he
would start now.  If anything, Damon and he had had
some heated disagreements about the security
arrangements for the club, the manager always arguing
for better security for the customers.  But it was
expensive.  They had discussed this very thing
happening.  Even after the incident with the waitress,
Damon hadn't relented.

Now it was personal and close to home.  He had an
uneasy feeling he wasn't going to like the full report
Alvin had promised him, especially as Alvin hadn't
seemed worried.  Damon knew the manager was getting
constant updates over his wireless.  No doubt he had
made several inquiries about the little shit in his
office.  Alvin didn't usually hesitate to state what he
felt was the truth and to name names.  Even when the
name was his own or Damon's.  Odd, he reflected, it was
that very trait of integrity that made the bastard so
fucking indispensable.

What he couldn't let Alvin know was that the first
thing that had gone through his mind was not about Alex
being OK, but that if anything happened to her now, the
whole scheme of the newly hatched insurance scam he was
building around her would be fucked up.  A delay was
almost as bad.  The bitch Marcy could only put up with
that prick Wilson for so long.  It was going to cost a
bundle to keep her on the team, and, after talking to
that asswipe of a husband on the phone for nearly an
hour, he couldn't really blame her.  What a jerk.  Cute
trick, though, putting Viagra in his morning coffee.

Alvin slipped into the room and held his finger up to
his lip, signaling for silence.  Two glittering points
of light across the room followed his every move.  Alex
had regained consciousness while lying in his arms on
the walk down the hall.  She had not tried to cry out
or struggle against his huge hands holding her.  He had
noticed the change in her breathing and sensed more
than anything that she was awake.  Looking down he had
seen her clear green eyes gazing calmly up at him.  She
had seemed more ashamed and confused than frightened
and Alvin suspected he knew the cause.  The same bright
eyes were watching him now from the cot on the far side
of the room.

He stood silently by the door of the room, holding it
open just a crack, listening to the faint footsteps
outside.  They were so faint he had to will himself to
hear them, going towards the main office.  Then the
office door opened and they could see Damon enter his
office through the one-way mirror.  His boss headed for
the well-equipped bar in his office.  Good move.  Give
yourself time to think.

Alvin flipped up a switch on the wall underneath the
mirror.  She noticed he had flipped it the wrong way,
up instead of down, where the 'On' marking was.  The
clink of ice tumbling into a crystal glass filled the
room.  Alex looked at him with a bemused smile.

"I swapped out the switch."  He shrugged, grinning
mischievously, then grew serious.  "Miss Alex, I have
to examine you.  I'll be as gentle as I can, but it may
be uncomfortable."  He had already removed the
handcuffs and the ballgag.  She had removed the
tattered remains of her blouse herself.  All she was
wearing was the collar and the leash.  It was locked on
and Damon had the key.

Alex lay back on the cot when he pressed her down.  She
looked up at him without fear as he began to examine
her body, looking for bruises, swellings and sudden
pains which might indicate internal bleeding or other
soft tissue damage.

Gently he spread her legs.  "Did he penetrate you, Miss
Alex?"

"No.  I don't think so."

"Here?"  He touched her swollen labia.  The fluids
still seeping from her were thick and sticky, much like
semen would be.  He smelled his finger.  It wasn't male
and now he was sure what had happened.

"I don't know.  Maybe."  She turned her head to the
side, biting her lip.

"I'm sorry, Miss Alex."  He moved his finger down.
"How about here?"

"No, I don't think so.  I don't remember," she said and
stifled a sob.

"It's OK to cry, Miss Alex.  It wasn't your fault."

"I know.  But I don't have any clothes to wear.  He cut
my skirt.  And I...  I..."  She didn't say anything
more.  She just sat there hugging herself.

Alvin never ceased to be amazed by the tiny details the
human mind would grasp onto in a crisis.  Silly little
minutia that would later seem odd, but he knew that
those were the things that helped people hold onto
their sanity.  He shrugged off his vest and draped it
over her shoulders.  She looked like she could
disappear under it, but she was covered.

"I have to go out for a minute, Miss Alex.  I'll be
right back."

"OK."  She called out as he reached the door, "Can they
hear us, too?"

He grinned back at her, his gold tooth flashing, "That
wouldn't be any fun now, would it, Miss Alex?"

Her light laugh followed him into the hallway.

He stepped into the office without knocking.  He
delivered his report to Damon, knowing Miss Alex could
hear him.  "About twenty minutes after you left Miss
Alex in the holding area, I got a call from the marking
area.  The brass holder with the hot coals (The one I
told you not to use.  Soldering irons work just as
well.) had been kicked over by two imbeciles doing an
arts and crafts project on a runaway with what turns
out to have been a fake ID.  She was probably underage.

"The bartender reacted quickly and properly, (trained
by myself for just this situation) contacting me first,
then quietly clearing the room of everyone not involved
or injured.  By the time I got there most of the coals
had been neutralized with the water cannon (which I had
brought in since we had to turn off the sprinklers to
use the fucking coals) and the three main parties
treated.  They were getting ready to leave as I got
there (leaving Miss Alex alone and unprotected as it is
your own fucking rule that puts the club first and
everything else second).

"I helped treat a couple of the injured bystanders,
calmed one or two persons, then came back.  My total
time off station was no more than seven minutes.

"I immediately noticed Miss Alex was missing.  As you
were still on the phone I had to assume someone else
had taken her from the holding area.  I barred the exit
and reviewed the security tapes.  The only persons
exiting the building were the three individuals from
the marking room.  On their leaving, however, both
doors were open at the same time, (just like I fucking
showed you) allowing Lewis, here, to enter without
being checked.

"I searched the club, starting with the public areas
nearest the door.  There was no sign of Miss Alex.  I
then searched the restrooms, looking for evidence of
any altering of her appearance.  I didn't find any.

"I was going to head down into the club when I heard a
noise that sounded odd, out of place.  You know what
happened next."

Alvin took a deep breath.  There was a lot he could
have said, wanted to say, but parenthetically, he just
added it to his report in his mind.  They could assess
the blame later.  It wouldn't be his.

He continued, "I have checked Miss Alex.  She is still
out, probably sleeping as a result of the excitement of
the party and then the brutality of the attack on her.
She was not penetrated vaginally or anally, but she was
badly beaten and with even less skill."  Holding up
Lewis' crop, he said, "I imagine that he used this.
It's certainly cheap enough."  He tossed the crop to
Damon.

Damon's face was death.  He continued.  "There is
evidence of a severe whipping and at least two serious
blows landed, one across the buttocks which broke the
skin, the other a vicious cut to the genital area.  Her
breasts were a favorite target of Lewis and she will
have marks on them for several days if not longer.  The
blow to her genitals will mean Miss Alex will be unable
to walk for a week and will be sore for another week.
There is no evidence of internal injuries or of
permanent injuries or marking, but a visit to a clinic
would probably tell you better if anything occult was
damaged.  Finally, there is no DNA evidence of
penetration or of the attack and I could find no
witnesses who would admit to being at the party
tonight, much less be willing to testify."

As he said this last his eyes met Damon's.  No DNA
evidence and no witnesses meant that they couldn't
report this to the authorities and hope for any
satisfaction.  Alex had been blindfolded and couldn't
identify her attacker.  A good lawyer would make the
case that Lewis was the Good Samaritan and was in the
process of saving the poor girl when he was set upon by
Alvin and Damon.  No, if this was going to be handled,
it would be done quietly without the authorities.

Damon suddenly realized that Alvin knew what he was
doing.  He was delivering this schmuck, for whatever
reason, to Damon gift wrapped for execution.  Alvin had
never, ever involved himself in the dirty side of the
business before.  He was a good club manager, excellent
even, but he drew the line at getting his hands bloody.
He probably knew what happened around the club, any
good manager does, but always before he had given
himself an out, an excuse to be away when the dirty
deed was done.

He usually made sure it was Damon's decision to punish
or forgive and then to adjudicate any judgments,
usually terminally.  This time it was different.
Alvin, by specifically telling Damon there was no
physical evidence against this bastard, had just signed
Lewis' death warrant.  He smiled to himself.  There was
hope for the black SOB yet!

It didn't surprise him when Alvin bowed himself out of
the room and indicated he would be in the next room
with Alex.  Damon's eyes flicked towards the tiny
telltale he had had concealed in the ceiling.  The
indicator light was off.  Good, they wouldn't hear what
he was saying.

Chapter 8

"I can walk, Alvin.  Why did you say I couldn't?  I'm a
little sore, but I'm fine, really!"

Alvin came over and sat beside the girl.  He was silent
for a long while, then picked up her hand in his giant
paw.  He held it as if it were a piece of fragile glass
that would shatter if held too tightly.

"I've seen a lot of bad shit working for Mr. D, Miss
Alex.  I don't think you belong here.  I just wanted to
give you a couple of weeks to think about what happened
tonight before he could pressure you any more."

"I'm not afraid of him, Alvin," she said quietly.

"I am.  He's a bad man, Miss Alex.  You should be
afraid of him, too."

"Well, I don't love him, if you're worried about that."
She wasn't defensive, but wondered what made her say
that to him.

The big man guffawed.  "He doesn't and won't ever love
you, either, Miss Alex.  Make no mistake.  Mr. D is
only out for Mr. D."

Alex was silent.  "But Alvin, I--, I liked what
happened tonight.  I was excited when that man took me.
He said he was taking me to Mr. Smith.  He called him
my 'master' and I was so thrilled.  I--, I knew it
wasn't right but it felt so good.  Then he tied me down
and said I had been bad and that I was going to be
punished."

She looked up at him.  "I was so excited, Alvin.  I had
never felt so alive.  Then he hit me.  A lot.  And cut
off my skirt.  That's when I knew Mr. Smith wasn't
coming.  That's when I got scared, but I was too
excited by then and then he hit me down there and I...
I..."

"I know, Miss Alex.  You think you're a pervert or
crazy right now.  Some crazy fucker takes a whip to
your privates and you have the best fucking orgasm of
your life.  You're confused."

Alex buried her face in his broad chest.  He knew.  She
was confused, but Alvin knew.  It was going to be OK.
He put his hand up to stroke her hair instinctively.

"How could you tell?  Does everyone else know?  Am I a
pervert?"

"I don't know how I know, Miss Alex.  Something about
your scream, maybe.  And I was holding you right after,
no one else knows.  I could tell you weren't scared
anymore.  You just seemed happy."  He hesitated.
"You're not a pervert.  Believe me.  You sang to me,
too," he said softly.

"You heard that?"  Alex blushed.  She had sensed it was
Alvin carrying her after she was released and that she
was safe.  From out of nowhere - no, from out of her
heart she had sung a song just for him.  She was gagged
and handcuffed, but safe and relaxed in his strong
arms.  It just seemed right.  It just came out,
somehow.  There were no words, just soul to soul.  And
he had heard it.

"Miss Alex, please be careful.  Think about what you're
getting into here.  I know it's exciting.  But use the
time to think."

He paused for a moment, considering something.  Then he
continued.  "I can't tell you how I know, but something
is going on with your husband, some big scam or
something.  That's what the phone call was about
tonight.  Mr. D wouldn't have left you if it wasn't
important, and the only thing that is important to him
is money.  Lots of money.  I don't know what or how
your husband is involved yet, but I'll let you know as
soon as I can."

"Oh, Harold is always trying to get into some scam or
another," Alex giggled.  "He's harmless."

"Maybe, but Mr. D isn't.  Just be careful."  He got up.
"I have to go check on the club.  Think about taking a
couple of weeks off, Miss Alex."

Alex watched the big man leave, her face thoughtful.
Maybe she would take his advice and give herself a
chance to cool down.  But it had been so exciting
tonight and there was so much more she had to learn
still.  It was too tempting.

***

Damon had had two drinks while waiting for the little
shit to stop crying.  God, he hated wimps.  The sobbing
slowly abated and finally he could get some answers.
The big man stuck his head in the door on his way by.
He was going back to check on the party.  That meant at
least that Alex was resting quietly, if not
comfortably.

"So, Lewis, you've had a rough day, no?" he started
gently.

"FUCKING BITCH, THE FUCKING BITCH!  I should have
FUCKING killed her..."

Damon started toward the cowering fool in a murderous
rage.  Then he stopped, visibly controlling himself.
Too many people had seen the little shit hauled in
here.

"...while I had the FUCKING chance.  But no!  The BITCH
called the FUCKING cops and now I've got all those
FUCKING medical bills."

Oh-ho!  A gift.  A bloody gift.

"And the fucking bank.  My baby.  They took my baby and
I have to drive a fucking ass Ford.  My baby.  They
took my baby."

The shit was fading fast and starting to babble, but
with a little luck, well maybe...

"Lewis, I know it's hard for you right now.  You've had
a tough night, you're angry, you're confused, you're
upset and everything is going wrong.  Am I right?  Of
course I am."  He had placed a sympathetic hand on the
quaking shoulder and was patting him gently.  He had to
act quickly.  The bastard was going to fall over soon.

"You know what I like to do to feel better, Lewis?  I
like to write all my problems down.  Then I burn the
paper, and 'Poof', the problems are gone.  Like magic!"

The dip wad was stoned enough to actually buy that line
of psycho-crap.  He was nodding and sniffling, the snot
glistening as it streamed down into his mouth.  Damon
took out a stack of paper copier paper, removing the
top sheet.  The one with his fingerprints on it.

"Tell you what, why don't you try it.  Why don't you
write 'Fuck the bitch' on the paper?" he said.  "Here,
use my pen."  He handed him an everyday BIC pen.  It
would be untraceable.

He watched while the fucker wrote it out.  It was
laborious, but it was in his handwriting.

"Now, how about 'Fuck the bank'?  They took your car,
right?"

Lewis dutifully wrote it out.  Then looked up,
expectantly.  This nice man was going to help him.
Maybe he could get his car back for him.  He looked
like he was rich enough.

"Any other problems, Lewis?  Your job?  Your family?
Kids?"

Lewis shook his head 'No' to each suggestion.

"Well, then, son, let's have a drink to celebrate the
end of all your problems."

Damon went over to the bar and fixed another glass of
scotch.  With his back turned to the young man, he
reached to the back of the bar and lifted off the top
of a bottle of Cognac.  The bottle looked full and
sealed, but with the top off you could see it was
hollow.  It was a hidey-hole of some sort.

With practiced easy, Damon took out a small glass
syringe and a vial of clear liquid.  He pulled out the
plunger, inserted the needle into the rubber stopper,
injected air into the bottle and withdrew some of the
fluid.  The vial was back in the fake bottle and the
bottle closed.  The whole sequence had taken less than
5 seconds.

Damon held the syringe behind his back as he walked
towards the trembling man, cupping it in his hand.  He
handed him the glass, picked up his own and said,
"Cheers."

The crystal glasses clinked together and Lewis gulped
the strong single-malt scotch whiskey.  He choked.  He
wasn't used to such a smoky or strong flavor.  He
preferred those colored drinks with fruit in them.  He
coughed as a little of the burning fluid went into his
lungs.

Damon stepped behind him, slapping him on the back to
help him.  To the casual observer, you would not have
seen the syringe palmed in his hand that plunged into
Lewis' neck.  With the pounding on his back, even Lewis
didn't notice the tiny pinprick.

Suddenly Lewis stopped choking and gave a funny little
twitch, his arms and legs fluttering briefly.  His eyes
rolled up into the top of his head and then slowly
drifted back down, glazed and unfocused.  He sort of
slumped down in the chair, like he was asleep.  The
empty glass thumped on the thick carpet, unbroken.

Damon dropped to one knee in front of the unnaturally
still man.  He slapped him once, hard.  The man didn't
react or flinch.  The man's breathing was very, very
slow and shallow.  A sadistic grin spread slowly across
Damon's face.

"Listen, you little piece of shit.  That bitch you beat
up tonight was mine and you touched her.  Nobody
touches my Pet until I'm ready to let them.  I know you
can hear me, so let me tell you what is going to
happen.  You're going to leave the party tonight very
drunk and very depressed.  Some friends are going to
take you home.  Then you're going to sit in your garage
with the motor running, and you're going to die.
Nobody fucks with me, asshole."  He said all of this so
quietly, than he wasn't sure if the man had heard.  But
he was sure he had.  He would know he was dying until
the last breath and be helpless to stop it.

But caution had made him say it quietly, almost in the
guy's ear.  A statement like that could get him put
away.  But he was so fucking mad.  Anyway, only the
best microphones would have been able to pick him up
speaking at that volume.  And those mikes weren't in
this room.  This room should be clear.

Damon went to the telephone and dialed a four-digit
extension.  An internal call.

"Hello, Vinnie?  ...  Yeah, it's me.  I need you and
Max to do a job for me.  ...  Yes, now, dammit.  ...
Well, tell him to wipe his ass and get up here.  Now!"

He slammed down the phone.  Surprisingly, within a
couple of minutes two burly men rushed into the room,
the larger of the two doing the 'wedgie-walk' and
buckling his belt.  The smaller one, Vinnie, was
putting on a pair of rubber gloves.  He would be
driving Lewis' car home.

The note Lewis had written was now held between two
other sheets of paper.  Lewis' prints would be the only
fingerprints on it.  Using a gloved hand Vinnie fished
the car keys out of Lewis' pocket and the two men
escorted the unresisting man out of the office.  Mr. D
had given them their instructions as they were hoisting
the guy up between them.  They would make sure that
several party goers would see him leaving alive.  Very
drunk, very sad, but alive.  That was all that
mattered.

When they had gone, Damon sat at his desk.  He was
furious.  That dip shit had cost him several thousands
of dollars.  He was going to be delayed at least
another two weeks before that fucker Wilson could get
Alex to sign the papers.  He couldn't let him near her
until she was healed and back to normal.  Fuck, Fuck,
Fuck!

The hooker, Marcy, was going to cost him a bundle more,
too.  She had already been making noises about bailing
out.  Maybe she should join Harold in the islands.  The
CFO of that company would need to be paid off for
another month or two to keep the vacant office
available.  He was getting a good cut so that shouldn't
be a problem, but sooner or later someone was going to
realize that Harold and Marcy weren't in that office
auditing the books.  Or that they weren't real
employees, either.

It could be done, though.  Marcy was the key.  He had
to get her cooperation.  He looked at his Rolodex and
dialed a number.

"Hello, Marcy?  ...  Yes, it's me, Mr. Smith. ...
Fine, just fine.  Say, we had a little problem here
tonight--  ...  No, everything is still on, it's just
going to be a little delayed.  ...  Oh, about two
weeks, maybe a little more.  ... No, Marcy, I know he's
got a little prick--  ...   I understand--  ...  I
understand--  ...  Listen, Marcy, I really need your
help with this.  ...  I know--  ...  I know--  ...
Just name your price, whatever it takes.  ...Ouch!  You
sure know how to make a guy dig deep.  ...  No, no,
it's a deal, if that's what you want.  I tell you what.
I'll even pay for your time to go with him to the
Condo.  ....  Yes, the same rate for more three months
lying in the sun on the islands.  Just keep him quiet.
...  Yes, I'll get you some more Viagra.  ...  Listen,
Marcy, I have to go.  I owe you for this.  Big time.
...  Yeah, me, too.  Say 'Hi' to your Mom for me.  ...
You, too. ... Right.  Bye, now."

He hung up the phone.  "Fucking Bitch!"

Alex had a bad feeling.  Oh, she had thought everything
was going to be fine until she saw the needle.  It
wasn't that she was squeamish, but it had suddenly
brought back unbidden a vague, unhappy memory.

Mr. Smith had been helping the man work out his
problems.  Alex had never heard of therapy like that,
but if it worked for Mr. Smith, why not give it a try,
no?  She had thought the needle was a sedative for the
man.  He was obviously distraught and upset.  Mr.
Smith's sympathy for the man that had attacked her was
touching.

She had caught the quick injection with the palmed
needle.  That's what triggered the memory.  Mr. Smith
did it just like Daddy had done, only Daddy did it on
the cows and pigs.  Just before they were slaughtered
and bled out.  The animals gave that funny little
twitch, too, just like Lewis had.

But it was the man's eyes that brought all those bad
memories flooding back, as clearly as if they had
happened yesterday.  She had been five years old.
Bright, happy, smart as a whip.  Two years earlier,
just three and barely able to get around the farm by
herself, she had been helping Daddy in the barn.  She
had heard a plaintive squeal from an empty stall and,
investigating, had come out lugging a very large
piglet.  Well, large for a three year old.  The piglet
had been abandoned by the mother, being the runt of a
very large litter.  Alex had promptly adopted the runt
and named her Petunia.  Pet for short.

Pet and Alex had been inseparable for the next two
years and both had grown.  Pet a lot more than Alex.
When Pet got too big to sleep in Alex' bed, Alex slept
in Pet's new pen.  In the summer, anyway.  But Pet was
a piglet and they grow into hogs and then into great
big hogs.  Soon Pet was inadvertently destructive.  She
couldn't help it.  One time that Alex' family still
laughed about was when her older brother, Benny, was
teasing her and Alex had started screaming.  They were
in the family room at the time.  Pet, frantic to help
her owner, came running straight for the pair.
Unfortunately, there wasn't a door or window in that
wall.  Until then.  Daddy had had to put in a door to
fill the hole.  A double wide French door.

After coming through the wall, Pet had buried her snout
in Benny's crotch, his family jewels in her mouth, and
she was holding him up, pinned against the wall, his
feet dangling off the ground.  She held him there until
Alex was able to sooth her and she lowered him and let
him go.

Benny never bothered her much after that.  But that was
the beginning of the end for Pet.  Soon after that Alex
was bribed with goldfish, turtles, a dog and a cat, but
she always preferred Pet.

When school started Daddy had suggested putting Pet in
with the other hogs.  She was bigger than all of the
rest of them now.  Alex had been proud when her Petunia
had taken first prize at the county fair.  Her runt was
now the best of all.  She felt guilty leaving her
friend, but she was in first grade now, and there was
so much to learn and new friends and everything.

Each day when Alex would get off the school bus and
walk by the big pig pen, Pet would squeal and make that
funny sound she made whenever she saw Alex.  Alex would
stop and rub her snout, but she had her good school
clothes on and couldn't roll around with her like they
used to.  On Saturdays, because she was a big girl now,
she had other chores and couldn't spend much time with
her old friend.  Daddy mentioned one night that Pet had
started to lose weight.

It happened late in the Fall.  She remembered because
it was cold outside but not freezing, and the leaves
were so pretty on the tree outside her bedroom window.
It was dark out, too early even for Daddy to be up.
Something was wrong with Pet.  It was just a feeling,
but to a five-year-old, such a certainty can be
terrifying.  She had gotten dressed and slipped out of
the house to check on Pet.

Petunia hadn't been in her private stall.  The door was
wide open.  Alex knew she had closed it last night,
just after she had kissed Pet good night.  Daddy had
let Pet eat all her favorite foods and as much of them
as she wanted, too.  Benny had mumbled something about
a 'last meal' but Mommy had shushed him real quick.
Alex was just glad Daddy had finally let Pet back into
her private stall.  Maybe he'd even forgiven her for
making the new door in the side of the house.

The light was on in another part of the barn and Alex
had moved toward the glow.  Daddy would be really mad
if someone left on the lights and wasted electricity.
That cost money.  She was just about to turn them off,
when she had heard Daddy talking.  He was using his
soothing voice, the one he used when he slaughtered the
cows.  He didn't like to scare them.  Daddy was always
so nice.

From the shadows, Alex watched her father prepare the
needle.  She had seen him use it before.  He always hid
the needle in the palm of his big hands so the animals
wouldn't see it and get scared.  He didn't like to hurt
them.

Daddy moved away from the table and, still talking
soothingly, knelt down on his knee.  Alex moved closer
to see around the big workbench that held all of the
medicines and the knives and saws for skinning and
butchering.  She saw Daddy's hand dart down and heard a
familiar squeal.

"PETUNIA!" she had screamed, but it was too late.  Too
late.

Pet had shuddered, her body twitching.  Then her legs
had collapsed and she had crashed to the ground.  Daddy
had shouted at her and grabbed her just before Pet had
collapsed.  If Alex had been any closer, she would have
been crushed under her pet.  Alex watched Pet's eyes,
always so expressive, so alive as they disappeared,
then rolled back down.  They didn't look right anymore,
like Petunia wasn't in there.  Slowly she moved to
where Pet could see her, cradling her bristly head in
her child's arms.

Daddy had said a very bad word, the first and only time
Alex had heard him use the 'S' word.  He had looped the
short chain around Pet's hind feet.  Using a block and
tackle, Daddy had hoisted the unmoving hog up, until
Pet was dangling over the big drain in the floor.  He
didn't say anything to Alex, but didn't make her move
away, even when he cut the large blood vessels in the
hanging hog's neck.  The warm tangy blood flowed over
Alex' arm and dripped down into the darkness of the
drain, making tiny splashing noises far below.

Alex had seen a pig bled out before and had even been
allowed to help.  Everybody helped on a farm.  But
before, it hadn't been her Pet hanging there.  That
made it different somehow.  Alex stayed by her
cherished childhood friend until the light went out of
her eyes.

Daddy had explained before that it didn't hurt the
animals, that the stuff in the needle made them not
feel anything and not able to move and jump around, but
that it let their hearts keep beating so all the blood
could be pumped out and the meat would taste better.
You can't sell tainted meat and you can't eat it
yourself.

After watching Pet, Alex had known better, that Daddy
was wrong this time.  The animals could feel things.
She had watched Pet's eyes.  She knew Pet had felt
everything that had happened to her from the loss of
the use of her legs, the chain around her feet, the
rush of blood to her head as she hung upside down to
the sharp knife slashing her throat.  She knew Pet
could even feel the warm blood dripping off her snout,
draining the life from her with each belabored beat of
her heart.  Alex knew.  She had seen her eyes.

She had never cried for Pet, not then and not in the
weeks that followed.  Alex was raised on a farm.  She
understood that Petunia was a pig, and pigs get
slaughtered.  She understood she was a just a pet and
when you don't need them anymore or they're used up,
they get flushed down the toilet like Benny's goldfish
or buried in the backyard like Bowser and Meow.

It had been a long time since Alex had thought about
the death of her childhood pet and she found herself
crying uncontrollably on the cot.  Damon saw her
weeping when he looked in on her a little later and
quickly backed out of the room, misunderstanding her
tears completely.

Hearing the door close, Alex stumbled over to the one-
way mirror and flipped the jimmied switch back to the
'Off' position.  She didn't know why she was protecting
Alvin.  Maybe it was because she knew she was going to
need a friend, and he was nice to her.  But she wasn't
sure of him.  He seemed to be as tricky as Mr. Smith,
because he had replaced that switch and didn't want Mr.
Smith to know.

Alvin had not only replaced the switch, but he had
replaced the microphone as well.  Alex, unfortunately,
had heard every word Mr. Smith had said in there.

Chapter 9

Alex took Alvin's advice and spent the week in bed.
Thinking.  And being pampered.  It was funny to watch
Mr. Smith.  Sure, he could do some things really well,
and he wasn't afraid to try to do anything.  But it was
obvious he had never taken care of a sick or injured
person before.  He was a disaster.  It was hard not to
laugh, because he was trying so hard, but finally,
after he had fallen into the bathtub while trying to
lift her out, she couldn't help herself.  It was hard
to call him 'Sir' and laugh hysterically at the same
time but she had tried, and then got the hiccups.

He finally saw the humor and started to chuckle, too.
For a moment, she had thought he was going to be mad at
her, but she guessed he was so pleased to hear her
feeling better that he decided against it.  After that,
however, he had Alvin take care of her.

Since she supposedly couldn't walk, she had moved in
downstairs below the club.  She didn't even know the
basement was there, but Alvin said there were still two
more floors below this one.  Vinnie and Max lived on
the next one down and Alvin had a room down there when
he wanted it.  Mr. Smith had his personal apartment
here and there were a couple of other rooms for
'guests' Alvin said.  The rooms were all very
sumptuous.  There were a lot of closed doors in the
hallway and, since she couldn't get around, she just
had to wonder what was behind them.

She got used to seeing Alvin everyday.  As opposed to
Mr. Smith, Alvin had had some training taking care of
sick people.  She didn't feel like she'd just come
through a car wash when Alvin bathed her.  Oh, yes, she
was pampered and she made him do everything for her.
After all, it was his idea, no?  Between Alvin and Mr.
Smith, they would have held her spoon and fork for her
at meals if she would have let them.

She got a perverse thrill of having those big strong
black hands bathing her, kneading her muscles, patting
her dry and the powdering her.  She stayed naked almost
the whole time and, after a while, it felt good,
normal.  She teased him with little jokes at first, but
he had warned her off with his eyes.  He was afraid of
something.  Still, it had been his idea, so he could
just put up with it.  She noticed that he never touched
her in any way that was inappropriate, even when
cleaning her privates.  He was almost clinical.

Finally the day came when she could get out of bed.
And not a day too soon for her.  She was going stir-
crazy.  In the bathroom that day, while he was filling
the bathtub for her, Alvin had quietly warned her to
move slow and hunched over sort of, to look like she
was in pain.  After watching her the first day, he said
she was a pretty good actress, just don't expect an
Oscar anytime soon.  He had made a joke!

Mr. Smith was thrilled to see her up and about.  He
questioned Alvin closely about what activities she
could engage in.  With a straight face he had suggested
that walking, shopping and light housework were fine,
but she probably shouldn't see Harold for another
couple of days.  Alex thought that that was just a
polite way of telling Mr. Smith that he couldn't have
sex with her.  She kicked Alvin under the table.  She
was getting very horny.  Even Harold was beginning to
appeal to her again.

Mr. Smith let her borrow a T-shirt and they found a
pair of running shorts somewhere that weren't too big.
The neck of the shirt came almost down to her naval and
if she wasn't careful, one or both of her titties would
pop out for anyone to see.  Mr. Smith gave her a quick
inspection and nodded.  Then he took her shopping.

Alex came back from shopping subdued and thoughtful.
It had been an experience like she hadn't dreamed
possible.  She had been thoroughly seduced by this
man's charm, his style, his commanding presence and his
authority.  She had come back with a selection of
clothes she would never have purchased on her own, yet
each garment was perfect.

Mr. Smith had taken her in his private limo to the most
expensive boutiques in the city.  Some were private, by
appointment only and they were always treated as if
they were special customers.  Everyone knew Mr. Smith.
She had tried on tiny wisps of lace, sheer silk
stockings that clasped her thigh, all right in front of
him.  He enjoyed looking at her and she enjoyed him
looking.  It was a tease for both of them.

High heeled shoes, higher than anything she had ever
seen were placed on her feet.  She walked back and
forth, a bit unsteady at first, but she had strong
ankles and soon she was doing much better.  Then he
made her walk just wearing her new panties and her
thigh-high hosiery and then come and stand in front of
him.  He had run his hands down the back of her legs
and back up over her ass cheeks, showing her in the
mirror how it made her ass stick out and how it defined
the muscles in her legs.  Together they had watched his
hands in the mirror as he caressed her legs and ass
intimately for several moments.  She had shivered and
had to bite her lip to keep quiet.

That was early on in the day and he kept touching her
often after that, always telling her how beautiful and
sexy she was.  And she was.  She could see it herself
in the mirrors that surrounded her as she tried on the
beautiful clothes and lingerie.  She was turned on,
too, throbbing with unfulfilled needs.

Mr. Smith had made all the choices for her.  Two pair
of high heeled shoes, one pair black and one red.  She
had two new blouses to replace the one that was torn
and a new pleated skirt.  It didn't really replace her
other one, as this one was so short she couldn't bend
over without showing her butt.  But Mr. Smith liked it,
and secretly, so did she.  With her new underwear that
was barely there, she felt naked walking out of the
store.

But the best part was the dress.  It was light and it
fit her so perfectly, like a glove.  The bright green
material was so thin she could only wear her new skimpy
sexy thong panties under it.  Even those showed a
little bit of a line.  She was supposed to wear the
silk stockings that snugged her thigh so tightly, too.
She didn't dare sit down in the dress that day as she
was so wet she would have left a stain on the delicate
fabric.

She recognized the dress and the other clothes from the
videos.  They were the same kind as the girls wore in
the videos.  Beautiful, sexy clothes that slid with
your body as it swayed.  This dress made her feel like
dancing.  A sexy dance, a dance that would inflame her
lover, one that would make him take her and ravage her.
Alex could imagine herself dancing in this dress and
making Mr. Smith want her.  She knew he would want her
then.

She had cried when he gave her the necklace.  It was a
simple gold chain with a pendent that hung down between
her breasts, tickling them with her every breath.  The
pendent was a pair of gold handcuffs.  It was in the
last store, one of the private boutiques.  Harold had
never given her jewelry, except the wedding band she
always wore.  They had kissed when Mr. Smith put it
around her neck.

Then he had captured both her hands in one of his
behind her back.  He took his tie off and tied them
there, keeping them there the whole way home, only
releasing them to re-tie his tie as they arrived back
at the club.  She had knelt on the floor of the car on
the ride back, resting her head in his lap while he had
stoked her hair.  She had worn it loose that day.

Alvin carried in the packages from the limo when they
returned and took them to one of the rooms on Mr.
Smith's floor.  Into Mr. Smith's bedroom!  Alex hadn't
been forbidden to snoop during her recovery, but
somehow she knew she was being watched.  It was just a
feeling.  As a result, she didn't know what any of the
rooms were except the room she stayed in and the next
one where Mr. Smith slept.  Alvin had taken all her new
clothes in there.  She was torn between hope and fear.

All the while Alvin took care of her, he was very
careful with what he said to her, being very polite and
respectful.  She returned his cautious behavior, with a
few notable exceptions, not saying anything about their
conversation of that night of the party.  In fact,
until Alvin gave her a questioning look with a raised
eyebrow on the way in from the car, looking at all the
packages and back at her, and then having Mr. Smith
tell him to put them away in his room, he hadn't made
one reference to that night.

Alex gave him a smug look in return to his questioning
look and pranced into the club ahead of him, swishing
her cute butt in the tiny skirt.  She knew she looked
hot.  Of course, it would have been better if she
hadn't caught the heel of one of her new shoes on the
threshold and nearly had a catastrophic pratfall.

Alvin was laughing silently as he helped her regain her
balance.  So much for being sophisticated.

When Alex came in for breakfast two days later, there
was a package where her plate usually was.  It was
wrapped with a fancy covering and a huge bow.  Since
they had returned from shopping, she had not seen
Alvin.  She missed him.

"For me, Sir?" she squealed.  It was like being a
little girl again.

"Of course!  Alvin said you could do some light
housework, so I got you some work clothes."

"Oh, Sir," she faux pouted, "You spoiled the surprise."

He just grinned like the cat that ate the canary.
"Just open the damn box, Alex," he said, still
grinning.

Opening up the box was a simple affair.  The top came
right off.  When the two layers of tissue were opened,
he saw the puzzlement on her face, and then her eyes
went wide.

Alvin had let him know not to have intercourse with
her, but that didn't mean he couldn't fuck with her
mind.  What was in the box would keep her stirred up
quite nicely until he could get her back in front of
the screens.  He had been going slowly with training
this new pet and now he had had to chafe for two weeks
because of that fucking creep.  He had expected to be
fucking Alex by now and having her well under control.
His need was building and time was running out.  He
didn't like delays.

He watched Alex pick up the shiny garments.  One of the
boutiques did specialty latex garments.  Since they had
her measurements, he had had a bra and panty set
specially made.  As she would soon find out, they were
very special.

She had already noticed the thick and heavy crotch and
the extra weight in the ends of the bra cups.  The
inner surfaces of both were knobby where they would do
the most good.  There was one larger knob that would
nestle up and tease her cute little anus.

Her eyes wide, she slipped off the terrycloth robe she
had worn in from her shower.  As usual, she was naked
underneath.  Damon felt a stirring that he just barely
managed to get under control.  This innocent child was
getting to him.

Slowly she stepped into the latex panties and pulled
them up her shapely legs.  Higher and higher they
climbed.  He realized with a jolt that she had turned
slightly to show her wiggling ass to best effect.  She
was enjoying teasing him.  The thick crotch piece
fitted between her legs and she tugged the sides firmly
up on her hips, seating the knurled surface tightly
against her own sensitive tissues.

The bra came next and it was tight by design.  The
shape of the cups forced her breasts up and together,
and mashed her constantly erect nipples against the
thickened ends.  She moved around experimentally and
grinned at him.

"Oh, Thank You, Sir!"

He thought she was going to run over and jump on his
lap, an act he wouldn't have minded at all.  She
restrained herself, but remained bouncing on the balls
of her feet.

"Come here," he said pointing to a spot in front of his
chair.

She came over to him, clasping her hands behind her
back, her head bowed.  She was shaking with excitement.

He took his hand and ran it between her legs, stopping
to move the anal knob around until the sweat broke out
on her upper lip.

"Is it in the right place, Alex?"

"If you mean, is it sticking up my butt, then Yes,
Sir."

"Are you being smart with me?"

She hesitated.  Then, in a more serious tone, "No, Sir.
Just very appreciative.  Thank you very much, Sir."

"We'll see just how appreciative you are tonight," he
said ominously.

Raising his hand to her breasts, he ran his fingers
firmly over the tightly held globes.  There was hardly
any movement between her natural firmness and the tight
latex binding them.  Taking his thumb and forefinger of
each hand, he grasp the edges of the thicken ends of
the cups and squeezed.  A hole, like a pupil in an
iris, opened in the center of the thickening.  He
manipulated the openings around until he captured first
one, then the other of her constrained nipples.
Satisfied, he released his grasp on the clamps and they
tightened gently on the sensitive buds.

Alex' eyes flew open at that new sensation and her
knees buckled.

"OH!  Sir!  My...  They...  Thank You, Sir!"

He grinned at the aroused girl.  He wondered how she
would make it through the day if that was all it took
to push her over the edge.  He decided to give her a
demonstration of just how special this suit was.

"Alex?  Walk over to that table and get me the orange
juice, please."

She headed for the juice bar with a happy smile and a
sexy wiggle in her latex cover hips.  She never made
it.  With a groan and a gasp she slid to the floor, an
orgasmic pile of flesh.

"Oh, my!  Did I forget to mention the electrodes and
vibrators?" he said teasingly when she could finally
open her eyes and look up at him with a semblance of
coherence.  "I'm sorry.  I should have said something.
Anyway, there are tiny sensors scattered all around
this floor.  They activate the suit when you are close
to them, like that one did.  I want you to find them
all and tell me tonight at dinner.  If you don't find
them all, then I will have to punish you."

He grinned down at her with a mischievous grin.  He was
enjoying this.

"Since you're going to be in all the rooms on this
floor anyway, you might as well dust and vacuum while
you're at it.  You should be able to find everything
you need if you look."

He paused.  "And Alex?  Don't leave this floor.  If
there is an emergency, Alvin will come and get you.
Otherwise, stay here."  It was an order and a threat.
It made her tingle and shiver at the same time.

He leaned down and kissed her sweaty forehead.  "I'll
see you tonight, Pet.  Oh, and one more thing.  Put
your hair into that braid like I showed you.  I like it
like that."

Bit by bit, he was taking control.

Chapter 10

It took Alex a short time to find the vacuum sweeper
and the feather duster.  She figured she'd get that out
of the way first, then search for the sensors, then do
her hair.  It seemed a simple enough plan.

By her third shattering orgasm, Alex was having severe
doubts as to the simplicity of her plan.  Sure, she had
found the utility closet but after that, it was a blur.
As soon as she started sweeping, the rubbery suit had
started to vibrate and shock her.  Tiny little shocks
that swept though her and numbed her reasoning powers.
Soon it was all she could do to drag the machine
around.  After her third climax left her gasping on the
floor, it dawned on her.  Mr. Smith had put one of the
sensors in the handle of the vacuum sweeper.

Armed with this theory, she rushed to the kitchen to
find something to take apart the handle.  She found the
junk drawer and extracted a 6-in-one tool.  Every
kitchen should have one!  She wasn't daunted by the
task of taking the appliance apart.  If she could fix a
tractor, she could disassemble a puny sweeper.

She lowered the handle of the sweeper so that it lay
flat on the floor.  Then, lying on the floor herself
and extending her lower body away from the handle she
pulled it toward her.  She found she could reach the
screws without activating the panties, although her
boobies were getting a workout.  But she could live
with it.

Carefully extracting the plastic switch from the
handle, she saw a small transistor taped to the switch.
She assumed it was feeding off the power cord and that
way it could be so small, yet so powerful.  She
loosened the tape and experimentally moved the tiny
chip towards her waist.  At about three feet the
electrodes and vibrators in the panties kicked in.  Oh,
well.  So much for needing a power cord.

Because she was expecting it this time, the shock and
vibrations were less effective.  Make no mistake, they
were still a thrill, but now she knew what to look for
and what the range of that little sucker was.  Now it
was a game and she was back in control.  Mr. Smith
would be so proud of her.

Methodically Alex swept the living quarters and the
other rooms on that floor, just like Mr. Smith has
asked.  Every inch of it.  She found 25 of the little
transmitters, though one of them had been really
tricky.  Satisfied she had them all, she was positive
Mr. Smith would be very pleased with her.

She finished vacuuming and dusting the apartment.  Then
she showered and braided her hair like he liked.  It
was hard, as she wasn't used to doing it that way but
after a couple of tries, the thick braid lay perfectly
down the nape of her neck.

As she knelt in the dining room awaiting his return,
Alex had time to reflect on what she had seen today.
In one of the rooms next to Mr. Smith's, the one on the
other side from the room she had been using the last
two weeks, she had found her new clothes carefully
folded or hung.  Because of that, she paid particular
attention to room.

The first thing she noticed was that it was small,
being more the size of a large closet.  Or a cage.  She
tried to push that thought from her mind, but it was
there, and kept coming back, nagging her.  It felt like
a cage.

The door opened into Mr. Smith's room.  There was no
knob on the inside of the door and the lock was on the
outside.  Fortunately Alex had seen that just before
the door shut behind her and she was able to jam the
tool she was carrying into the crack and stop it.  She
briefly considered hiding the tool in the small room
for later, just in case, but quickly decided against
it.  It might make things worse, rather than better if
Mr. Smith found it.  And he could be watching her even
now.  She hadn't seen any cameras, but she really
didn't know what to look for, either.

There were two shelves on which were folded her new
panties and bras and the hosiery.  A short pole held
the dress, the blouses and the tiny skirt hanging
neatly on plastic hangers.  There were three pairs of
shoes on the floor.  Two were her new spike heels that
made her legs look so sexy.  The third was a new pair
of running shoes in her size that he must have gotten
later.

Most of the rest of the room was taken up by the bed.
More correctly, it was a sleeping pad.  A thin, cloth
covered mat just longer than she was tall and flat on
the floor.  It was only about three feet wide.  At each
corner was a shackle set into the floor, two for her
wrists, two for her ankles.  She would have very little
movement when she was locked in them, but, trying it
out, it didn't seem that uncomfortable.  She would have
to get used to sleeping on her back.

What caused her to reflect as she knelt waiting for Mr.
Smith to come home was what she had seen while laying
down.  From the corner of her eye, she saw something
that seemed out of place.  Unless you were lying on the
mat on your back and twisted your head back and up, you
wouldn't see it.  Certainly no one standing or kneeling
would see it.

Alex scooted over and looked at the bottom of the
lowest shelf, about nine inches off the floor.  There
were a list of names and dates.  All women's names.
Gouged with fingernails in the soft pinewood of the
shelf.  The oldest were dark, tinged with dirt and
dust, darkened by the oils left by fingers as they
traced over the impressions in the wood.  As Alex'
fingers were.  It was automatic.  She touched each name
lightly, trying to bond with the ones who had stayed
here before her.  Alex had no doubt she would be
staying here.

The dates were in rough columns and there were at most
two dates by each name.  Two names only had one date in
the first column.  The first column was titled "owned."
The second was headed by the cryptic "1st dan."  The
last date entered had been over a year and a half ago.

Alex had lain there reading the names, memorizing them.
The ones with only one date tantalized her.  The first
was almost eight years ago.  The last one with a single
date was the last one on the list.  She wondered what
had happed to those two women.

It finally occurred to her as she waited for Mr. Smith
that the girls who had come before had felt the need to
hide the list.  Why did they need to hide their names?
From whom?  She was no closer to an answer when he came
home.  A shiver ran up her spine.  Home.  This felt
like home now.

Alex looked up at him smiling.  He seemed surprised to
see her kneeling there, calm and clean, hair perfect,
the apartment spotless.  No, not surprised.
Disappointed.  Confused.  Even a bit flustered.

He was even more flabbergasted to see, carefully lined
up at his place at the table, a neat row of tiny
transistors stuck to a piece of tape laying face
upwards.  Unbelievable.

"Well, Alex.  I see you have had an interesting day.
Your hair looks lovely."

"Thank you, Sir.  Uh, it was fun, Sir.  I enjoyed it a
lot, Sir."

You weren't supposed to fucking enjoy it, you stupid
bitch.  You were supposed to be a quivering mass of
throbbing cunt by now.  "Really?  So.  How many of the
sensors did you find?"

"Twenty-five, Sir.  They're all there on the table.
Sir."

Damon froze.  It couldn't be.

"How many?" he asked carefully.

"Twenty-five, Sir."

"Please count them again, Alex."

"Yes, Sir.  But, Sir?"

"Yes?"

"I, uh, it would be really helpful if you didn't talk
while I was counting.  If you could, Sir?  Please?"

"Just go count them, Alex.  Now!"  He didn't know if
she was being insolent or what, but he was getting
pissed.

"Yes, Sir."  She got up off her knees and move
cautiously to the table.  She was carefully moving her
finger over one after another, silently counting.  When
she was done, she stood up to move away from the table.

Damon had walked up beside her.  "Well, how many?"

A look of terror crossed over the girl's face as she
heard his voice and she sank to the plush carpet and
started flopping around.  Pain was etched across her
face.

"Sshhh, Sir.  Please," she whispered to him as he
kneeled over her, alarm showing on his face.

Not liking to be commanded by a Sub to be quiet, he at
least had the sense to be silent.  Alex rolled over on
her stomach and slithered in visible agony away from
the table.  When she was about fifteen feet away, she
quit shaking and relaxed, relief written in her eyes.

"Twenty-five, Sir.  I counted them.  Was that all of
them, Sir?  Are you going to punish me?"  She sounded
hopeful.  He wasn't sure if she was hoping for a
punishment or not, but right now that wasn't his main
concern.

Right now he was wondering where the Hell the extra
transmitter had come from.

Turning away from Alex he moved to the table.  He
counted them himself.  Twenty-five.  Shit!  He looked
at them again.  They were so damn small.  Wait!  That
one.  There was a tiny red band on it, so thin he
almost missed it.  He picked it off the tape and went
back over to the girl.

"This one, Alex, where did you find this one?"

As he neared the girl, her eyes widened, then slammed
shut.  Still holding the transmitter, he knelt down
beside her.  Alex screamed and fainted, but the shaking
of her body continued, the electrodes buried in the
latex panties and bra still firing and stimulating her
insensate tissues.

Kicking himself, Damon tossed the transistor back on
the table.  Lifting up the unconscious girl he took to
the room she had been using for the last few weeks.
The one with a bed.  He had no doubt she had found her
new room.  Two of the transmitters had been in there so
he knew she had had a chance to look at it well.  He
was a little surprised she hadn't been trapped inside.
Maybe the door wasn't swinging shut fast enough.  He'd
have to check.

He got a damp cloth from the bathroom and stroked it
over her forehead.  She had been watching him for
several moments before he saw her eyes were open.

She smiled up at him.  "That feels nice, Sir.  Thank
you."

He gazed down at the calm girl.  He had a feeling he
may have misjudged her.  But that was for later.  Right
now he had to find out where the extra transmitter had
come from.

"Alex, I am very proud of you.  You found all the
sensors I had hidden."

She was beaming up at him.  "Thank you, Sir.  That last
one, that was a mean trick you played on me, Sir."

"Which one was that, Alex?"

"You know, the one that only transmits when you talk,
Sir."

"Oh," he said easily.  His blood, however, ran cold.  A
voice-activated burst transmitter.  Almost impossible
to detect in an electronic sweep.  He was starting to
sweat.

"Uh, remind me where I hid that one.  Was it hard to
find?"

"You bet, Sir.  Would you like me to show you, Sir?  I
found it in the storage closet where you keep all the
old furniture and stuff.  Come on, Sir."

She grabbed his hand and started down the hall to the
storage room.  It was huge, and there were a few things
in here he hoped she hadn't seen or looked through too
closely.  But if there had been a bug in here, then
where else might they have been planted?

Damon grinned as he noticed she gave a very wide berth
to the table with the transistors.  He grinned wider as
he realized the reason for it; she was still wearing
the latex suit.  Maybe there was still hope.

Alex pulled open the door to the storage room and stood
aside for him to enter after flicking on the light
switch.  She was proud of her afternoon's work, even if
she hadn't completely finished.  A couple of more days
and the room would be completely organized.  But
already it was spotless.

Damon stopped, stunned.  He turned slowly to the girl,
his face a mask of anger.

"What have you done, you silly twit?"

"Sir?"

"What were you doing in here?"

"Sir?  You... you said to clean and dust all the rooms
on this floor, Sir.  It was filthy in here.  I cleaned
it up.  I can move the furniture back like it was if
you like, Sir.  I was just trying to make it neat and
organized, Sir.  For you, Sir...."  The girl's hopes of
pleasing him dashed, she was nearly in tears.

He stood, speechless.  How could she be so stupid?
Nobody cleaned up a storage room.  But, on the other
hand, she had found the bug.  And the boxes with the
documents, those were untouched.  He was safe.  She
didn't know anything, and if she did, it wouldn't
matter in a couple of weeks.  Keep in control.
Control, control.

"So Alex," he continued, getting a grip on his panic,
"Where did you find the sensor?  You've moved
everything around and I've forgotten where it was."

Beaming once again, Alex moved over to a tall floor
lamp.  It had been in his office in the club for
several years.  Until just recently, in fact, when he
went with the more modern halogen lamps.  Alex was
skillfully disassembling the lamp and pointing, showing
him where the transmitter had been.  He felt sick.

He took the girl and led her back into the dining area.
She held back as she neared the table.

"Please, Sir?"

He looked at her dumbly, then realized she didn't want
to get within range.  "That one is stronger, isn't it?"

"Oh, yes, Sir, and it hurts when it's real close."

"Hurts?"

"Yes, Sir.  Like big shocks, only tiny.  But lots of
them.  It's a lot stronger than the others and it only
makes the shocks, not the vibrations.  I'm sorry if
that's not clear, Sir."

"No, no.  I'll take it back and talk to the
manufacturer."  He pulled her closer.  She came
reluctantly.

He started to say something and she blanched.  He
withdrew to a safe distance with her.

"Why didn't you just take those clothes off?" he asked
her, exasperated.

"May I, Sir?" she answered, the bra already up over her
head, the nipples extracting from the iris clamps with
a slight sucking sound.  The latex panties followed
immediately.  She picked them up and folded them
neatly.

"Thank you, Sir.  I enjoyed it, mostly.  Sir."  She
beamed up at him, like a small puppy awaiting her pat
on the head.

He gave her a warm smile he didn't feel like parting
with and, with a pat on the ass, told her to fix a
light supper for them.  He watched as she fucking
skipped into the kitchen, her domestic instincts taking
over and keeping her fully occupied.  Simple cunt.  He
had other problems to worry about now.

After a light dinner he took her into the small room
next to his bedroom.  The room where he kept his pets.
He put a hand on her shoulder and pushed down slightly.
Alex dropped to her knees readily and looked up
hopefully.  She was moving her hands towards his belt
and zipper when he realized what she was expecting to
happen.  What she was willing and eager to give him.
Her last virginity.

It wasn't time.  Not yet.  And he didn't want her to
give it.  He wanted to take it.  On his terms.  Soon.

"Soon, Alex.  Soon," he echoed his thoughts.  He leaned
down and urged her to her back on the sleeping mat.  He
fastened one wrist, then the other in the shackles by
her head.  Her ankles followed.

Large tears welled up in her eyes.  "Have I displeased
you, Sir?"

He looked down at the confused girl.  He walked away
without answering her question.

He didn't know the answer.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

I hope you enjoyed it....    <g>

All my published works are archived and can be
read or downloaded free.  The archive is located
at:

http://www.asstr.org/files/Authors/NightShade


Comments to:  i_m_nightshade@hotmail.com

