                            Surrendering Sarah
                             by Night Writer



                                Chapter 1

It was an accident. I just brushed his Harley when we pulled out of the
parking space at the mall. He must have seen it happen. I sure didn't
see him. Until it was too late.

Now he was standing in our home, tattoos and all, mad as hell. He
wanted compensation. When I opened the checkbook, he just laughed. I
was ready to call the police, when I heard the roar of bikes outside.
He just smiled.

He said they'd kill us, at night as we slept. He promised we'd suffer
first, then die slowly. They'd take their time though; he'd give us a
few days, weeks, or months to think about the details of his revenge.

When he walked toward me, I prepared myself for a lot of pain. He
stuffed a note into my shirt pocket. 

"Bring her to that address, tonight, at 10:00. Maybe we can work
something out."

He grinned at my wife. She was shaking, wide-eyed and terrified. He
turned toward the door, then stopped and looked back over his shoulder.

"Fix her up, real pretty, ok?"

When I didn't answer, he turned toward me. His face reddened. His eyes
bulged. I noticed the flesh over his jaw harden.

A thin whisper was all I could manage.

He glanced at her a second time. The menacing grin was back.

"Oh, one more thing. Shave her cunt and bring her naked."

"But, how-"

I shouldn't have protested. He took me by the throat, lifting me just
enough to stop me from breathing.

"I don't give a shit how. Just have her at my front door, shaved and
naked, understand?"

I nodded my head the best I could. He let me go and walked out the
door. The roar was deafening as they rode away.

                                 --*--

I heard the shower running at 8:00. Her hands shook violently as she
did her hair and makeup. Shaving was even harder. I offered to help.
She shook her head and did it herself. I couldn't watch.

By 9:30, she was ready. She wouldn't speak, or even look at me. I
couldn't help noticing how different she looked without pubic hair. The
slit between her legs seemed much longer, running an extra inch up the
front of her belly. It was so pink, and seemed to stand open more than
I remembered.

We drove in silence. She slid down in the front seat, trying to hide
from passing cars. It took a while for the heater to warm us. The night
air made her shiver. An occasional streetlight made her white body glow
for a second or two in the car's dark interior. Her eyes stared wildly
as she covered her breasts with both arms, trying to shelter the small,
stiff nipples from the biting cold. As we arrived, her look begged me
to rescue her. It quickly turned to one of resignation.

He left us in the cold for five minutes after we knocked. He opened the
door, stepped out and took her by the hand, grinned at me, and pulled
her inside. I waited in the car.

Fifteen minutes later, he opened the door a second time and waved me
inside. 

"Your wife sucks cock like a pro."

I studied her face. She stared at her feet. A small white pearl of cum
clung to a loose strand of hair near her right cheek.

"She's an obedient little thing. You know, I think she gets a kick out
of it."

He grabbed a handful of hair at the back of her head and pulled, 
forcing her to look at him. 

"You get your secret wish now, Sarah. We'll even let your husband 
watch."

She whimpered and tried to shake her head. He jerked harder, arching 
her neck back further. I was afraid it might snap if he pulled again.

"Please, no, don't make him watch, please!"

He studied her for a few seconds, then shot his familiar grin at me. 

"OK, it looks like she wants me all to herself. Maybe she'll let you 
watch next time, hubby. Have a seat. We won't be long."

I sat. He dragged her to the closest bedroom, left the door open, and 
ordered her to strip him. I tried not to listen, but the endless 
creaking of the bed put pictures in my head that I didn't want to see. 

Twenty minutes later it was over. She returned to me, alone and naked. 
Her belly and inner thighs were slick with his cum. 

"He said we can go," she told me, with a dazed look.

I opened the door and put my jacket around her shoulders.

"No, I have to stay naked until we get home. He wants me back tomorrow, 
at the same time. I'm supposed to drive myself."

We drove home in silence, his cum soaking onto the fabric of the seat 
as it oozed from the swollen, wet opening between her shaking thighs.



                               Chapter 2

She retreated to the bathroom an hour earlier the following night.
When I didn't hear the shower, I quietly tried the door. It was locked.

She appeared at 9:30, fished her keys from her purse, and headed for 
the front door. She paused, and turned to look at me. I tried to read 
what was in her eyes, but found I couldn't.

She had dyed her chestnut hair black, and wore a deep red shade of 
lipstick I didn't recognize. Her flat little belly heaved in and out
just above the freshly shaved cleft that now seemed more his than
mine.

She looked away, opened the door, and ran into the night, ebony hair
rebounding again and again from bare, white shoulders. I heard the car
start, then pull away. It would deliver her, naked and cold, to another
man - a man who's demands I refused to imagine.

                               --*--

By midnight, she was in our bed, beside me. Her bare arm was soft and
cool against my chest. A wet, fleshy thigh draped itself over my legs
as I lay in the darkness, unable to move or speak. She had to tell me 
everything. He wanted it that way.

"He makes me keep him hard. I take his cock out when I get there, suck
it until he's hard, and keep it that way while I'm with him. He likes 
to play with me. He pulls and twists my nipples. He licks me, um, all 
over - my neck, breasts, tummy, then between my legs. He makes me dance 
to his favorite songs, like a stripper. He invited two of his friends 
over to watch me. He made me play with myself in front of them while I
danced. He said he'd let them rape me if I didn't do as he wished. 
After they left, he carried me to his bed and had sex with me. He made 
me beg him to put his cock in me. He made me beg him to cum inside me. 
When he did, I had to thank him for filling me with his cum. He said I 
had to tell you all this, and - oh god, I'm so sorry, Honey - that his 
cock is huge, so much longer and thicker than yours, and that I told 
him I'll be his slut for as long as he wants me."

I turned my head to look at her. Her eyes were wide and uncertain, just
inches away. She seemed precariously balanced between reality and 
something even she failed to understand. She wanted comfort, sympathy,
and reassurance, while his semen dried to a thick paste between her 
thigh and mine.

"He wants me again, tomorrow. I have to go. Please, forgive me."

There was nothing to forgive. I closed my eyes and prayed for sleep to 
come quickly.

                                Chapter 3


I left work early the next day. I couldn't concentrate. Images of her 
wide mouth grasping and milking his cock, her bright eyes locked on 
his, tortured me for hours. 

At 3:30, I found the bathroom door locked again. He wanted her early 
tonight. She would have to go to him naked, this time in broad 
daylight. I could only stare as she paraded in front of me, nervously 
heading for the door.

I had loved her silky, shoulder-length hair. He had made her cut it.
The few inches that remained was swept back off her face, heavily 
gelled. She wouldn't have cut it for anyone - except him. He had taken
another piece of her, and owned her as surely as if she was bought and
paid for.

I watched her run to the car in her bare feet. I watched her fumble 
with the key as she tried to unlock the door. I watched her, naked and
exposed, desperate to give herself to him as ordered. I watched her 
drive away, her firm breasts gleaming milky-white in the late afternoon 
sun.

                                 --*--

I answered the phone at 8:00. 

"Want to know what your wife is up to, Hubby? She's on her knees in 
front of me, her pretty little mouth sucking on the head of my dick. I 
think she's beginning to enjoy this, aren't you Sarah. Of course, she 
can't answer with her mouth full, but that enthusiastic nod is all the 
answer I need. 

"You should see her work. Absolutely the best head I've ever had. She's
one hungry little bitch. Her tits are a little small for my taste, but
I love those hard little nipples. You should hear her squeal when I 
twist 'em. Whew! Really gets me hot!

"The racket in the background is my company. A few buddies are hangin' 
out here tonight. Sounds like the boys are gettin' a little rowdy. 
But, you can't blame 'em. They've never partied with a piece of ass 
like Sarah before. She's puttin' on quite a show; those delicate 
shoulders, tiny little waist, legs that go on for ever, and that cute 
little ass - c'mon Honey, put that little ass in the air for the guys. 
That's it. Damn, just like a fuckin' Barbie doll.

"Uh-oh. Looks like that's all it took to get Little Joe interested. 
Just relax, Honey. You're gonna like this. He's really not all that 
little, is he? Oh, man. She's takin' it all. How's it feel, Sarah? 
Christ, you should see her face - she's in heaven. It's ok, you can 
moan as loud as you want. Do it Sarah. Let's hear it. Can you hear 
that?
Louder Sarah, for your hubby. Yeah. Yeah, that's it. Damn, I've seen 
Joe go on like that for hours.

"She's on her hands and knees now, Sport, ass in the air, takin' 
everything Little Joe has, doggy-style. And I think she's - yep, she's 
cryin' like a baby. Tears of joy, I'd bet, wouldn't you?

"And isn't her new haircut great? Now I can watch every bit of her 
pretty little face while she blows me. And it'll take half the time to 
wash the cum out of her hair. Oh, that's right, I forgot. That's one 
benefit you won't be able to take advantage of. I figure, until the 
damage to my bike is paid, her body belongs to me. No sex, no blowjobs,
that's zip for you, Sport. But don't worry. With my easy payment plan, 
you'll have what's left of her back before you know it.

"Well, gotta go! It looks like Little Joe blew one hell of a load in 
her and I hate to be last in line. Not that I mind sloppy seconds once 
in a while, and what the hell, it's a party, right? If she's too tired 
by the time I get to her, I'll roll her over, fuck her face to face. I 
like to watch her eyes while she begs for my cock. Gets me off every 
time.

"Later, man."

The line went dead. It would be a long night.

                                  --*--

She tumbled into bed at 3:00 am. The smell of beer, cigarettes, and
sex was overpowering. She pressed against me, her fragile body damp 
with sweat and semen. She sobbed as she pulled closer, arms and 
legs wound tightly around me. Soon the sheets were cold and wet with 
the cum of a dozen men, leaking from between her legs as though she had
held every drop inside until her crying forced it from her like a 
slow, fitful river. 


                             Chapter 4


Another slow day at work. It finally passed, but not without images of
my wife and the biker replaying in my head. 

I drove home hoping he'd give her the night off. Two bikes were parked
in the driveway.

He stood facing me, just inside the door. Sarah was on her knees with 
her back to me. She encircled the head of his cock with her thumb and 
index finger. The harder she squeezed, the bigger and redder it became. 
Her other hand cradled his balls, lightly kneading one, then the other, 
exploring him with her fingertips. Her tongue worked feverishly under 
the shaft of his cock. Moving lower, she took his balls into her mouth, 
tonguing and sucking at them. 

He grabbed her by the hair, forcing her to look up at him.

"Good girl. Still hungry?"

Her lower lip trembled as she whispered, "Yes".

"I thought so. Show your husband your favorite treat, for being such an 
obedient little wife."

She sucked the swollen head of his cock into her waiting mouth, milked 
him a few times with her small hands, and began to swallow her reward 
as the hot, thick stream of semen filled her mouth.

She pulled away after milking every last drop from him, and began to 
stand. He stopped her with a strong hand on each bare shoulder, and 
pushed her back to her knees.

"Bad girl. What did we learn after getting our treat? Do I have to 
punish you?"

She looked up at him with terror in her eyes.

"No, please. I'm sorry. Please don't punish me."

"Then, what do you say, Sarah?"

"Thank you for letting me drink your cum."

"Much better. Now get up. We need a little cooperation from Hubby here
to get tonight's party going. Oh wait, you missed a spot, right - 
there."

He pointed to the corner of her mouth where a thin string of cum 
crossed over her cheek. She carefully removed it with a shaking finger,
then placed it in her mouth and sucked it clean. 

He led me to our bedroom, then sat me in a chair. Sarah returned with 
a roll duct tape and began to secure my wrists and ankles. She couldn't 
look at me. She cried as she worked. He stood behind her, a large hand 
stroking her ass, then disappearing between her legs. I looked down and
saw two thick fingers enter her. She gasped, opened her legs wider, and
finished taping me to the chair. He tore off one last piece and placed 
it over my mouth.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here?"

Little Joe stepped into the room, walked to my wife, and put a huge arm 
around her waist. His hand trailed down her belly, middle finger 
finally working its way inside her. He grinned at his friend, then at 
me. He was huge, bald, and covered with tattoos.

"Sarah, mind your manners. What do you say when you greet my friends?"

Slowly, she looked up into the face of the giant.

"May I drink your cum, please?"

He let out a sudden loud laugh.

"Man, you really have her trained right. Wish I could get my old lady 
to do that! Sure, Honey, you can have all the cum you can swallow. Here 
you go."

He unzipped his jeans and waited for her to begin. Sarah reached inside 
with one hand and pulled his cock free. Her hands went to work, rolling 
and squeezing it from root to tip. Her eyes widened as it grew into a 
massive, gnarled column of meat. Once in her mouth, its branching 
veins pulsed and throbbed, until he grunted and thrust his hips at her. 
I watched her soft throat convulse while she swallowed the streams of 
cum that jetted into her delicate mouth.

After she was sure to get every drop, she looked up and recited what 
was required of her.

"Thank you, Little Joe, for letting me drink your cum."

"Aww, ain't that sweet. She has manners, too. But I think you should 
really thank limp-dick over there in the chair. He's why you're here."

She glanced at me, then back at him, eyes pleading for mercy. 

"Please, he's my husband - I can't do this - anything else, but not 
this."

"Hey, I thought you had her trained, man. Shit! I'm not asking you, you
little cunt, I'm telling you! Thank the wimp, now!"

Six slow steps later she stood before me, her head lowered. Little Joe
devoured every inch of her with bulging, glassy eyes as his friend 
pressed against her from behind, hands on her smooth shoulders. He 
stroked her neck and played with her short, dark hair, whispering to 
her while waiting for her response. I shook so violently that the chair
rattled, inching slowly across the hardwood floor.

Her words hit me like a bullet to the chest.

"Thank you for letting me drink Little Joe's cum. . . I love taking his 
cock in my mouth. . . running my tongue over it. . .feeling it at the 
back of my throat. . .it's so much thicker and harder than yours. . .he 
floods my mouth when he cums. . . so much more than the tiny squirt you 
give me. . .thank you for giving me a real man to suck."

I was screaming from behind the duct tape before she was able to 
finish. I closed my eyes, shaking my head from side to side, trying to
erase each word, one by one, as they ripped at me from her moist, 
swollen lips.

Then, opening my eyes, I watched through a curtain of tears as he 
turned her to face him, pulled her close, and ravaged her mouth with 
his invading tongue. She seemed to hang there, limp in his arms, as 
though she no longer had the strength to resist. I tore my eyes away
when I saw her mouth open to him, her tongue wrestling with his.
She wore her defeat with frightening resignation. I wore mine with 
anger and shame.


                              Chapter 5


He held Sarah in his arms, grinding his cock into her belly, whispering
softly close to her ear. She let her head fall back, exposing her long
neck to him. He sucked sloppily, stopping now and then to feast on the
white, velvet flesh. Her sudden brief cries brought a chuckle from him
each time he marked her with a sudden bite.

Then it began - at first in the tiniest voice she could manage, then, 
each time, a little louder, until her words were unmistakable.

"Fuck me?"
"Please fuck me?"
"Please, Rock, put it in me?"
"Please fuck me?"
"Please put your cock inside me?"
"Fuck me?"
"Do it now, Rock."
"Show him, Rock."
"Show him how my belly swells with you inside me."
"Show him how you stretch me until I can't take any more."
"Please show my husband how much I love your cock."
"Show him, Rock."
"Show him."
"Please?"
"Please?"
"Please?"

She begged him over and over while he watched me struggle to escape the
chair. I knew she was coached. I knew that he gave her each and every 
word. I knew the moans and pleading were her only way of escaping a 
punishment that brought terror to her eyes. 

But she used his name. He hadn't given it to either of us, and we 
didn't dare ask. But she knew it. She used it so easily, to beg for his
cock. I fought to keep one brief seed of doubt at a distance. But it
was too late. He had planted it with a word. Rock.

He shoved her toward me until her knees met mine. Taking a fistful of
silky black hair, he bent her over me, until her hands found my
shoulders for support. Twisting her head cruelly to the side, he put
her soft lips against my ear. She knew better than to move an inch.

He circled behind her, leering at me over her shoulder. She lurched 
forward as he moved tightly against her, giving me a hint of what was
to come. 

"Do you want it, Sarah?"

She hesitated a few seconds, then began to whisper what I was to say.

"Please, Honey, tell him I'm ready. He'll punish me terribly if you 
don't do as he says. Just say what I tell you. They're only words. They
won't mean anything if you don't let them. Please, oh god, please."

I looked up to find him grinning as her lips moved softly against my
ear. I gave him what he wanted.

"She says she's ready."

The immediate laughter from Rock and little Joe was revolting.

"And what is she ready for, Sport?"

I swallowed twice and continued, using her words.

"She's ready for your big, thick cock."

"She wants *my* cock? Your precious wife is clinging to you, naked,
begging for *my* cock? Why is that, Sport?"

I couldn't say it. The words refused to come. Fuck him. No.

But she cried softly, pleading with me to tell him. I had never seen
her so terrified. Her body began to shake as she cried openly, 
repeating, "Please, I love you, please, I love you, please, I love
you," until I had to be at least as strong as she tried to be.

"Because mine doesn't satisfy her anymore."

"Oh shit, Sport. That's a terrible thing for a wife to tell her
husband. I'll bet that really hurts! Why would she say that? I'd want
to know if she was my wife. Did she tell you why?"

"She says mine doesn't fill her cunt like yours does. She needs to be
stretched inside, and mine's not big enough."

"Well, she can't blame you for being born with a tiny dick now, can 
she? Just doesn't seem right. I'm not sure I believe her. No man's dick
could be *that* tiny. I think it's only fair to see for ourselves. 
C'mon Sarah. Let's see it. You can't say things like that about your 
husband without proof. Dig that monster out of his skivvies or quit 
your bitchin'."

To my utter horror, she unfastened my pants and worked them down to my
knees. She tugged and tugged at my underwear, but I was so tightly 
bound to the chair, she couldn't get them over my hips. Finally, Rock
produced a knife from his shirt pocket, leaned over, and cut them to 
shreds. Sarah removed the pieces one by one.

Fear and embarrassment had shrunken my cock to the size of an acorn. I
had always considered it's size to be average, and Sarah had never 
complained in our five years of marriage. Rock's hung from his open 
zipper like a heavy rope. It swung like a pendulum, spilling out of his
jeans, hanging like a rubbery piece of meat between his legs. Even 
flaccid, its size shocked me. 

"Holy shit, Joe. Take a look at this! Is that really a dick? I've never
seen anything like it. In fact, it's hard to see it at all! It ain't 
right, man. C'mon Sarah. Give him a boner. Give the guy a chance. It's 
gotta get a little bigger, doesn't it?"

She knelt between my legs and pulled at it, trying to stretch it far
enough to milk it with her fingers. She pulled, rolled, and rubbed for 
ten minutes, but I was too humiliated to respond. Finally, she took me 
in her mouth and did all the things with her agile tongue that never 
failed to make me hard - without success. They laughed and joked about
our frustrating attempts, which only made things worse.

Finally, she just gave up.

"I'm so sorry, Honey. I don't know what else to do. Can't you get just
a little bit hard? I don't want them to laugh at you, but I've tried
everything I can, and nothing seems to work."

Rock yanked her to her feet.

"I hate this whining. That's as big as he's gonna get. Give it up, bend
over, and we'll finish what we started."

She leaned over me, her lips again brushing my ear. Rock moved in close
and rubbed the tip of his cock into the tight slit between her legs.

"Let's hear some chatter, bitch. Now!"

I heard her gasp as he rocked her forward. 

"Mmmm, he's putting the head of his cock inside me. I'm so wet. I want 
all of him. He's sliding it inside me. Deeper, deeper. Oh god, such a 
huge, hard cock, buried in your wife's tight cunt. I can feel his balls 
pressed against my clit. I'm so full of him. He's fucking me now, so 
hard, so deep. Can't you feel how my body moves with him, impaled on 
his giant prick? Yes, that's it. Faster. Faster. He's ready to cum in 
me, Honey. I've taken his cock so many times, I can tell. Yes. Yes. 
Yes, Rock! He's cumming inside me now, long, hot jets of cum, filling 
me, flooding your wife's pussy. Empty your balls in me, Rock. More. 
More. More. It feels so good to hold his sperm inside me, deep inside 
where you've never been. It's flowing out of me now, sticky and warm on
my legs. Sooo good. So good, Rock. So good, so good."

I listened as a familiar sound grew louder. They arrived over the next
thirty minutes, bike after bike filling our driveway. They paraded 
through the house like it belonged to them, helping themselves to our 
most private possessions. TVs, stereo, microwave oven, anything of any 
value, was stripped and hauled away. Small souvenirs collected from our
many vacations, picture albums, including one with the only memories of
our wedding, and even our clothes, were thrown into cartons and carried
off into the night.

The looting quickly became a party. Music blared from the living room
and the hiss of beer cans opening was everywhere. Rock made his 
appearance and returned to the bedroom with six members of his gang.

"Guys, these are our hosts, Sarah, and her husband, Sport. Sarah's not 
too happy with Sport tonight. What was it you said, Sarah? There never 
seems to be a cock around when you need one? So they begged me to help 
her out."

The room rang with their laughter as they pointed at my shriveled dick.

"Now, what was it you told your husband to tell me? Think hard, Sarah. 
I know that's a tall order for a bimbo like you, but it was just a 
little while ago."

"I-I-I told him I was ready for a big, thick, cock." 

Howls filled the room again. They leered at her as she hung her
head, trying not to look any of them in the eyes.

"Damn! Look at that body! She doesn't look like any wife I've ever
seen. Looks more like a Barbie doll to me! A livin', breathin', Barbie
doll. Hey, Barbie, here comes Ken!"

Ringo was a mountain of fat and sweat. She stood there, shaking, as 
she watched his enormous bulk come to a stop in front of her. The biker
grabbed her breasts and squeezed, over and over, dwarfing them with his
bear-like paws. Rock went to her side, watching with a new fascination.

"Hey, I like that, man. Barbie. . .Barbie. . .it's perfect! Hard little
body, clueless as they come, stays in any position as long as you want
- yeah, Barbie the fuck toy."

The biker mauled her breasts while Rock took her by the hair and turned
her face to meet his.

"I never liked 'Sarah'. My sister's name is Sarah. It's disrespectful. 
You like 'Barbie' better anyway, don't you?"

She nodded her head the best she could while he twisted her neck as far 
as it would go to one side.

"Speak, Barbie. I know you can do it. Try reeeal hard."

"I like 'Barbie' better than 'Sarah'."

"Good girl! Now, what's your full name?"

She looked terrified. 

"I-I don't know what to. . ."

"Christ! What an empty headed bitch! OK, we'll do this real slow, so 
even you can remember. Ready?"

She nodded quickly, afraid of what would come next.

"Baaarbiee"

"Barbie"

"Fuck. . .toy"

"Fucktoy"

"Now, all by yourself. What's your name?"

She eyed the group of bikers around her, glanced quickly at me, then 
looked immediately back at Rock.

"Barbie Fucktoy"

Rock's hands shot into the air, high-fiving the cheering mob that now
filled the room. The crowd edged toward her, backing her up against the
foot of our bed. Rock took her hand and stepped up onto the mattress, 
towing her behind him. The mob looked up at them and quieted as Rock 
held his hands in the air again, this time to get their attention.

"Hey, quiet down, you freaks! Barbie has something she wants to say. 
OK, Barbie, this may hurt that tiny little brain of yours, but try 
really, really hard to remember. Now, go ahead, you mindless little 
piece of meat, tell them what you want."

I could see the expression on her face as she looked down at me from 
where she and Rock towered over the crowd. It was an equal mix of fear,
exhaustion, and surrender. She knew what would happen after she 
answered. She had known for hours. A fragment of what was once Sarah 
broke free and retreated to a place where Barbie was born. It was an 
act of desperation, done in a heartbeat. To Sarah, it was a fair trade.

Her words were crushing.

"I'm ready for a big, thick, cock."

Cheers burst from the encroaching mob as she was lowered to the 
mattress by scores of unseen hands. Four of the bikers lifted my chair,
hoisting me to the top of the dresser for a better view.

They surrounded the bed, holding her arms and legs, while fifteen pairs
of hands explored every inch of her body. Rock snatched a sweaty 
bandana from a bystander, wrapping it around her head as a blindfold. 
Soon, fifteen erections sprouted from the circle of men closest to the 
edge of the mattress.

Rock pointed to Ringo, and waved him onto the mattress. His bulk made 
the bed sag and groan as he crawled between her slim thighs, now 
stretched wide by the surrounding mob. He worked the head of his cock 
into her gaping slit, and with one quick thrust, buried the entire 
length of it in her belly. I saw her wince in pain, and heard her 
sudden cry as the weight of his immense body drove his cock farther 
inside her.

Rock appeared at her side in seconds, his jaws flexing, eyes full of 
rage.

"Did I tell you to speak, Barbie? Did I? Huh? I don't think so. Now 
stop whining like a baby and be nice to Ringo. You'll hurt his 
feelings. And then I'll be very pissed off. Understand?"

She gave him two tiny nods, trying to keep from crying out as Ringo
plunged into her a second time. Rock stared into her face, waiting for
her make the slightest sound. Ringo pulled back, took a deep breath,
and grunted. He slammed into her a again, this time with enough force
to batter her cervix with the bulging head of his cock. The scream was
horrifying. Tears streamed down her face as she shook her head from
side to side. Rock was furious.

"Can't keep your mouth shut, can you. You stupid little slut!"

Ringo stopped to watch Rock in action. He enjoyed Rock's temper 
tantrums, and grinned at Rock as she took his abuse. Just for fun, he 
twitched his cock a few times inside her to try to make her squeal 
again. She gritted her teeth and managed to stay quiet.

"Fine. You wanna use your mouth for something? Open it. Now. Good girl.
I'll only tell you this once, so you'll have to use that empty little 
head of yours. Understand? Good. You'll keep your mouth open until I 
tell you to close it. Fuck up, and I'll cut you. Fuck up twice and I'll
make your face look like a roadmap. Got all that, Barbie? You Sure?"

She nodded again, keeping her jaw open as far as she could. Her eyes 
followed the gleaming blade of his knife as he folded it and returned 
it to his shirt pocket.

"OK guys, she's all yours. Fill'er up!"

Six bikers knelt on the mattress beside her. They crowded around 
her, rubbing their cocks over her hair and face. Her eyes darted wildly
as they smeared trails of juicy precum over her cheeks and lips. When
one of the bikers forced the bursting head of his dick into her mouth,
her tongue brushed the tip of it, then pressed against it again when 
she tried to avoid licking it a second time. He came instantly, 
spraying long streams of the sticky goo against the back of her throat.
With her mouth open and head back, she had no choice but to swallow as 
much of it as she could. One by one, all six bikers filled her open 
mouth as they masturbated over her. Six others took their place when 
they were finished, and a line began to form. A second line at the foot
of the bed took turns between her legs.

I watched for hours as they used her. After a while, no one had to 
restrain her. She gave in to them, letting them fill her mouth and 
cunt with load after load of fresh semen. It collected between her legs
in a slimy puddle, oozing from her every time a new cock slid inside 
her. Sometimes two or three of them would come in her mouth at the same
time. She would choke and gag on the sudden flood of thick paste as it 
collected in the back of her throat while trying to take every bit of 
it in large gulps. 

I lost count of how many men shot their cum into her before it was 
over. The room easily held twenty-five or thirty of them, and the line
outside seemed endless. They partied until sunup, then were gone as 
suddenly as they had arrived. They left us naked, in an empty house. 

Sarah had to free me from the chair, still perched atop the dresser.
Her pretty face was ravaged with the aftermath of the night before. A 
thick layer of cum, now partially dried, coated every inch of her face.
Even her eyelids glistened with it, leaving her eyelashes matted and 
stiff. Her short, black hair was drenched with pools of semen. I 
watched with disgust as large globs of the sticky mess left her once 
silky hair, landing with tiny splats on her bare shoulders.












                                Chapter 6

We spent the next day trying to put our life back together. Every piece 
of clothing we had was gone. I searched through stacks of cartons in 
the basement, finally finding an old T-shirt and shorts that had been 
used as cleaning rags. I looked like a vagrant, but they would have to
do. 

Sarah had nothing at all to wear, so my day would be spent shopping for 
clothes for the two of us. I scribbled some quick notes before I left 
to be sure I remembered her sizes, and what styles and colors she 
preferred.

"I have to have some tops with my new name on them, pink ones." 

I froze and stared at her. She still looked dazed and confused.

"Sarah, what do you mean? You can't be serious."

"Rock said I should be proud of my new name. He wants me to show 
everyone how much I like it. He gave me this shopping list so Barbie
can dress like a bimbo all the time. I need some T-shirts that say 
'Barbie' across the front, in big letters, so everyone knows my new 
name. Get them a size too small, so my tits make the letters stand out
more."

"Honey, there's a limit to what we can get away with. Even Rock must 
understand that. I can't let you humiliate yourself in public dressed
like that. People we know will see you. What will you tell them?"

My reasoning seemed to reach her. Her expression changed, and the Sarah
I knew began to cry.

"I don't know what I'm going to do! What will I say to our friends, or
the people at work? Rock says I have to be 'Barbie the Bimbo' twenty-
four hours a day, until he tells me I can stop. If I don't dress and 
act the way he wants, he'll hurt us, or worse. Look what his gang has 
done to our home! They left us with a few sticks of furniture and a 
cum-soaked bed. You don't know what he can be like. He's a psychopath,
and his friends are even worse!"

Her sobbing echoed through the empty house.

"We'll find a way - I'll find a way out of this. I've had enough. I'll 
go to the police. He'll sit in prison for a long time for what he's 
done. It'll be OK. I promise."

"Oh fine! Then what will we do? Move? Find new jobs? Change our names? 
They'll find us eventually, wherever we try to hide. If it's not 
Rock, it'll be one of those maniacs he hangs out with. Don't you 
understand? We have no choice! If only you hadn't run over his bike!"

Her last words cut into me like a knife.

"I didn't run over his bike! I just touched it with the bumper! It 
barely moved!"

"Well it doesn't make much difference now, does it? I'm the one who's
paying for it!"

"Oh, and I'm not? I just spent the night taped to a chair with my pants
down while fifty bikers made jokes about the size of my dick!"

"You poor bastard! That's *much* worse than being raped by fifty 
bikers, and having fifty more cum in your mouth! I feel *so* sorry
for you! Just go out and get what I'm supposed to wear so I can play 
'Barbie the Fucktoy' while you sit around and watch!"

I stormed out of the house, tears streaming down my face, and drove to 
the mall. 

When I returned, Rock's now familiar bike was back in our driveway. It
took two trips to carry the bags and packages from Victoria's Secret 
and Frederick's of Hollywood from my trunk to the front door. Rock's 
shopping list had been a long one. I had to take the T-shirts to a 
small kiosk in the middle of the mall to get the lettering applied. 
Rock's note was specific - three were to be labeled 'Barbie', three 
with 'Bimbo', and three more with 'Fucktoy', all in 4" flowery script.
It was an embarrassing day.

I heard Rock chuckling from the bedroom, and reluctantly went to check 
on Sarah. He was lying on the bed, watching Sarah and a hard-bodied 
redhead locked in a deep kiss, as the hot water from the shower created
a cloud of steam that swirled around them. They held each other 
tightly, tongues wrestling, hips grinding fiercely against each other.
She pushed Sarah's face to her breasts, holding her there until she
took the nipple in her mouth, moving her tongue over it until it 
hardened between her lips. She feasted hungrily on both breasts, 
fascinated with the pert mounds of velvety flesh.

"Sport, meet Betty. Looks like Barbie has a new best friend. I brought
Betty along to help clean her up, but once they got in the shower, 
Barbie just couldn't keep her hands off her. Did you know she liked 
redheads?"

Sarah moved lower, her tongue trailing over Betty's belly in large,
slow circles. Suddenly she stopped, looked up at her, and began to beg.

"Please, can Barbie eat your pussy? Can I lick it until you cum?"

Shaking badly, I took a step back, stumbled, and fell. Rock roared with
laughter.

"What's the matter, Sport? You think the view's better down there? Just
stay put. The show's just started!"

I sat on the floor, fearing what Betty's answer would bring.

"My little pet must be hungry. Isn't your tummy still full of cum from
last night?"

"Barbie is Rock's fucktoy. He said I'm a much better cocksucker after
last night. But Barbie needs practice eating pussy. I want to be
a good pussyeater too. I want to be good at everything for Rock.
Please let me lick your pussy. Barbie wants you to cum with her face in
your pussy."

"Hmmm. I don't know. I don't usually let empty-headed bits of fluff 
like you anywhere near my pussy. But, because Rock's my man, and I 
always keep *my* men satisfied, I'll let you eat me, on one condition -
that you make me cum. If you don't, so help me, I'll drag you out into 
the street and rape your asshole with the biggest strap-on I can find.
Well, what are you waiting for, you stupid little cunt - get started!"

Sarah buried her face between the redhead's legs, her tongue racing 
over her swollen labia and clit. Betty's eyes widened as her head fell 
back, her hands now stroking my wife's hair. 

"Oh my God! Ohhhhh! Sweet Jesus! Rock, you really think she needs
practice??? Mmmmm, pet, you have a tongue with a mind of its own."

Rock couldn't resist one of his sick jokes.

"It has to be natural talent, Babe. She's too much of a twit to have 
much of a mind anywhere else!"

It was sickening. Sarah licked and slurped at the redhead's cunt like
she was possessed. The shower rained down on her as she worked, 
plastering her short hair against her head like a drowned rat. Betty 
fell back against the warm tile, now thrusting and grinding against 
Sarah's face. She pulled Sarah's head into her, holding her by the 
hair, until finally she came, thrashing and bucking against her 
battered face.

Rock broke into frantic applause.

"C'mon Sport. Give her a little credit! She finally found something 
she's good at! Give her a hand, now!"

I sat and clapped as Betty pulled Sarah to her feet, holding her 
obscenely in a long, wet kiss. Betty used the only towel to dry 
off, then threw it back into the wet shower. She took Sarah by 
the hand and brought her to us, dazed and soaking wet.

"Rock, I don't think she deserves the name 'Barbie'."

Sarah shot a terrified look at her.

"I think she should wear this for now."

She held up the tiny pink T-shirt that read 'Bimbo' across the front,
then handed it to Sarah. Sarah pulled it over her head without question
and stretched it over her damp breasts. The thin cotton revealed every
detail of her nipples and clung to her belly like a second skin. Her 
firm B-cup breasts strained at the fabric, obscenely emphasizing the 
degrading nickname.

Rock liked what he saw, but was curious.

"Why not 'Barbie', Babe?"

"Look at her tits! Those aren't Barbie tits, *these* are Barbie tits!

She held a perfect C-cup breast in each hand and thrust them at us,
grinning proudly.

"You're right again, Babe. I guess she is too small to be a 'Barbie'."

Sarah stared at Betty's tits with envy, now afraid of disappointing 
Rock, and losing her new name. Her lower lip trembled, and her eyes 
began to tear.

"You know what we have to do, don't you, Betty?"

She grinned back at Rock and nodded.

"Barbie, how would you like a new set of tits, just like Betty's?"

I jumped to my feet, heart pounding like a jackhammer.

"You can't do this! This has gone far enough!"

I took a step toward him, and met his fist with my face. My skull rang
like a bell, and my nose spurted blood everywhere. I didn't even see 
the punch coming. The pain was excruciating.

He just stood over me for a while, shaking his hand lightly.

"Sorry Sport, but you gotta learn to behave yourself. Now Barbie, how 
would you like a pair of tits like Betty's? You'd look at lot more like
a real Barbie. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

She was still staring at Betty's breasts. She nodded slowly, then
looked back at Rock like a small, frightened animal.

"But, how, I mean, how would you make them bigger?"

"Now, how do bimbos usually make their tits bigger? You really are a
clueless little bitch, aren't you!"

"You mean, make me have surgery? Please, Rock, I'll do anything at all
for you, I mean anything, but don't make me do this. I hate hospitals.
I've always thought women with implants were. . ."

"What? Bimbos? Barbie bimbos?"

"I guess so, something like that."

"Don't worry, we know a great doctor, the same one who did Betty's. It
looked to me like you thought hers were good enough to eat a little 
while ago! You'll look great!"

Betty circled her, as though she was inspecting a piece of meat. She
stopped in front of Sarah, playing with her breasts through the thin
T-shirt.

"Hmmm. What do you think, Rock? Let's make 'em really huge. No use
doin' it half-assed. She'd be a real cum magnet with a pair of double
Ds!"

Sarah broke away from her and ran to Rock. She fell to her knees,
unzipped his jeans, and slipped her hand inside. 

"Please, Rock, don't do this to me! I'll be a freak! My breasts will be
ruined! I'll suck you, Rock. I'll suck your big cock night and day, as
often as you want. You and your friends can fuck me, too, in front of
my husband if you want. I'll be your fucktoy. I won't even struggle or
fight. I can be very sexy, Rock. You'll see. You can have me any way
you like, and I'll make you believe I want more. I'll make my husband
believe it too. He's jealous because you have such a big, thick cock.
I can make him even more jealous, Rock, if that's what you want. Just
please, pleeease, don't turn me into a freak!!"

She freed his erection and milked it slowly with both hands. Then, 
turning him to give me a better view, she sealed her lips around the
pulsing, rubbery head, all the while keeping her eyes on me. She ran 
her tongue along the soft underside of the big cock filling her mouth.
Drool oozed from around her mouth and dripped onto her breasts, 
darkening the bright pink material stretched over her hard nipples.

He let her finish. She moaned loudly as he shot stream after stream of
thick, salty cum into her waiting mouth. I watched in horror as her 
fingers dug deeper into his ass, her throat welcoming every drop of his
slimy seed. 

Afterward she cleaned him. Her tongue traced every contour of his cock,
leaving it shining with her saliva, her eyes locked on mine as she 
licked and slurped. This wasn't my wife; it was someone, no, something
else. 

Rock grabbed her hair and pulled her to her feet. He eyed her breasts,
still trapped behind the drool and cum-soaked 'Bimbo' on the skin-tight
T-shirt.

"Don't worry your empty little head, Barbie. I think a nice large C-cup
is just the ticket. I never was a tit man. More than a handful is a 
waste anyway. Betty, get her some pants. We have an appointment with 
the doctor."

Betty retrieved a tiny, white pair of shorts from one of the shopping
bags. She offered them to Sarah with a lecherous grin.

"Here you go, Honey. Wrap your pussy in these and lets get going!"

Sarah squeezed into them, but was barely able to stretch them over her 
hips. They left most of her firm ass exposed. The thin material 
instantly slipped into the slit between her legs, molding and 
separating her meaty labia for all to enjoy. She might as well have 
been naked.

They dragged her kicking and screaming from the house. My guts 
churned as I heard her promise Rock more sickening acts of perversion 
than I could have imagined. Then, in an instant, she was gone, 
sandwiched between them on Rock's bike.

I don't remember much about the hour that followed, or the salesman 
that took my money without question. I sat in the basement, stared at
the package for a long time, and finally unwrapped it. It was 
surprisingly light in my hand. I saw Rock's face, the way it looked the
first time he entered our lives, even then grinning like he owned us. 
Then, I imagined that grin fading, as I pulled the trigger of the empty
9mm over and over and over.












                                Chapter 7

A week passed without a word from Rock or Sarah. On Sunday I opened the 
door to find one of Rock's friends holding a small package. He thrust 
it toward me, hitting me in the chest with end of the cardboard box. I 
reached for it and took a step backward, expecting him push by me, or 
to at least tell me where Sarah was, or when she would be back. He just 
stood there and grinned, finally breaking into uncontrollable laughter 
before climbing on his bike and riding away.

Inside, I opened the box to find a letter. It was written by Sarah,
probably with Rock's help, and was stained with streaks of sweat and
beer.


     Dear Husband,
     
     I'm writing to let you know that I've spent the week
     with Rock and his friends, and that I'm doing my best
     to please them. My new tits are perfect, a very full
     c-cup, thanks to Rock and Betty. Rock told me I've
     learned to suck cock so well, and have swallowed so
     much biker cum, that he'd keep his promise not to
     make me a freak with double-d tits. I'm really proud
     of them; now I look just like a Barbie. Even Betty
     agrees. I want you to thank them for my new tits. I 
     have - over and over again. They're so firm and round,
     and bounce just a little when I walk or suck cock.
     They're wonderful - so much better than my old little
     titties. Now I can be a real Barbie and make Rock
     so proud of me.
     
     Last night Rock threw a celebration party for me and
     my new tits. He really is so good to me. He invited
     three more biker clubs to a cookout, and I was the
     guest of honor. The guys ate steaks and drank beer
     while I danced for them. They all loved my new tits
     too. When I got tired and sweaty from dancing, they
     sprayed me with beer from head to toe to cool me off.
     After a while, they even let me drink some; in fact,
     they wouldn't take no for an answer. I guess I drank
     a lot, because I don't remember too much after that.
     Later, Rock let me lie down on a nice soft blanket by
     the fire. He told me how proud he was, and how
     beautiful my face looked, covered with layers and
     layers of beer and cum. I couldn't take my eyes off
     his; it felt so wonderful to please him.
     
     Then, his cock was inside me, stretching me, filling
     me with its own praise. After a while, I couldn't help
     myself. His words, his cock, his strong body sliding
     over my wet belly and thighs; it was just too much,
     and I wanted to please him so badly, to be the Barbie
     he wanted me to be.
     
     Finally, it happened. I'm so sorry Darling, but I lost
     all control. I became Rock's fucktoy, moaning, screaming,
     and thrashing while he buried his fat prick in me until
     he came too, filling me with stream after stream of his
     hot cum.
     
     I'll be home this evening to show you my new Barbie
     tits. I'm sure you'll love them as much as I do. The
     tape is a present from Rock. He knew you would want to
     see my party. I'm so sorry you couldn't be there, but
     Rock said that he wanted me to taste everyone's cum,
     and we all know that you wouldn't even be able to get
     hard, much less cum in my mouth. Rock says your limp
     little dick is wasted on me, and now that I've had
     biker cock, you'll never satisfy me again. It hurts
     when he tells me things like that. I want so much
     for your cock to be big and hard like his. I want
     you to fuck me and make me cum like Rock can. You
     never used to have trouble getting hard. I'm worried
     that you don't find me attractive anymore. Maybe
     when you see my new Barbie tits you'll like my body
     again, and will be able to stay hard long enough to
     make me cum. Rock says I'm a clueless little bitch
     when I say things like this, but I still have some
     hope for you.
     
     Rock wants you to watch the tape before I get home
     so you can see what a good girl I was at my party.
     Please do as he says so he doesn't get angry. He
     promises he can make both of us so much more miserable
     if we don't obey him. I don't want to see you hurt,
     and he's capable of almost anything, as you know.

     I have to go now. Betty's waiting to clean me up so
     I can come home to you. We've showered together every
     day this week. She loves to tie my wrists to the
     showerhead and play with me while the hot water washes
     over us. My nipples get so hard when she sucks on them.
     She slides her vibrator into my pussy, then my ass. I
     never knew that could feel so good. I can't cum for her
     yet like I did with Rock, but I'm really trying hard to
     please her. After the hot water is gone, she unties me
     and lets me lick her pussy until she cums. She says
     watching me on my knees, shivering under the cold
     water while I eat her is my best Barbie trick yet. 


                               Love,

                               Barbie



Had she become the fucktoy Rock had promised to make her, or was Rock 
telling her what to write? I couldn't accept that she had become Barbie
in such a short time. Her letter hinted that she was still Sarah, or 
at least a part of her was, but I still couldn't be sure, even after 
the third read.

The tape was four hours of endless agony. Each scene led to yet another 
that was almost too disgusting to watch. The four hours must have been 
only part of a much longer party, and God knows what the tape didn't 
show. But, Rock would have been sure to include the worst of the worst, 
knowing I would have to watch my wife offer her soft, innocent body to 
more men than most women would have in a lifetime.

It was dark, so dark that the only visible features were those within
twenty feet of the huge bonfire. Sarah stood in front of the raging 
fire, her ankle held by a ten-foot chain anchored to a nearby 
tree trunk. She looked frightened and a little dazed as she waited 
nervously in her tiny, pink "Fucktoy" T-shirt and matching panties. 
Music blared from somewhere in the background, and an unseen crowd of 
bikers began to chant, "Dance, dance, dance!" She did as she was told, 
and I was shocked at the way she thrust her hips suggestively while 
running her hands up and down over her swaying body.

In just minutes the chanting turned to, "Strip, strip, strip!" Without 
the slightest hesitation she pulled the T-shirt up over her head and 
threw it into the crowd. Her new breasts jutted from her chest, two 
hard, round mounds that seemed to defy gravity. Rock hadn't made her a 
double-d cup, but the swollen bubbles of flesh looked far from natural 
on her tall, slim frame. Rock and Betty had succeeded in making her the 
closest thing to a living Barbie that I had ever seen.

She lowered the panties over her hips, letting them slide down her long 
thighs to the ground. She stepped out of them and tossed them into the 
crowd to a sudden burst of cheers and applause. She approached the 
crowd, dancing the best that she could until the chain stopped her. Her 
hands were everywhere - squeezing and twisting her hardened nipples, 
running seductively down over her belly, and finally trailing between 
her legs where two fingers disappeared into the long, narrow slit that 
glistened in the red light of the flames behind her.

Her dancing slowed as she masturbated for the bikers, one hand still 
caressing her new breasts. The crowd was in a frenzy by the time Rock 
appeared beside her. They hushed as he raised both hands to quiet 
them. He turned to Sarah and waited. She stopped and returned a look of 
sober uncertainty. Rock grinned and waited, until his patience grew 
thin.

"Well? What do you say to greet a biker, Barbie? Come on, you cum-
hungry little slut, use that empty head for something other than a
sperm bucket!"

I could see the humiliation in her eyes as she finally understood.

"Please Rock, may I drink your cum?"

"What? Just my cum? That's not very polite, Barbie. What about your 
guests?"

She turned her head slowly, taking in the surrounding mass of over one 
hundred men, now more hungry for Barbie than steak. Her lower lip 
trembled, and she had to try twice to get the words out.

"P-Please let me drink everyone's cum."

The crowd went wild with cheers while the men closest to her fought to 
get to her waiting mouth, their bobbing erections closing in on 
her in a tight circle. I saw her take an immense penis in her mouth 
just before she disappeared behind a wall of eager volunteers and the 
scene faded to black.

The next scene was horrifying. The fire had died a bit, but Sarah was 
still chained in front of it, now alone on her knees, sobbing quietly. 
Her face was almost unrecognizable under the thick layer of semen. Her 
shoulders, breasts, and belly were slick and sticky, and globs of cum 
fell from her hair and chin, adding to a small puddle that formed 
slowly on the trampled earth before her. How long had it been? How
many bikers had masturbated into her mouth and face? One hundred or 
more? Impossible. I just couldn't believe it.

Rock appeared next to her and helped her to her feet. He wiped the cum 
from her eyes with both hands, then, grinning, placed his sticky 
fingers on her lips until she sucked them clean.

"Time to dance for your guests again, Barbie. They're getting bored, 
and my parties are never boring."

She stared wildly at him, barely able to stand on her own. 

"Please Rock, I don't think I can. I want to, but I'm so tired. I feel 
like I'm going to be sick. I've never swallowed this much cum before. 
Please don't make me dance again. Please Rock. I just can't."

"You whining little bitch! This is your party! And you don't even 
appreciate it! You really are a stupid bimbo, aren't you? AREN'T YOU?"

The muscles of his face twitched with rage as she cowered and cried.

"Yes Rock, I'm a stupid bimbo! Please don't hurt me! I'm a slut, an 
empty-headed cum-drinking slut. I'm sorry, I'm sooo sorry Rock. I'll do 
it. I'll do it for you, Rock. I'll dance for them. You'll see. I'll 
dance and play with myself and let them do anything they want to me. 
I'll - I'll. . ."

"Now that's my Barbie! We'll clean you off, and you'll be just like new 
again, ok?"

Sarah nodded her head, relieved and shaking.

"C'mon all you freaks! Barbie needs a shower!"

The unruly mob appeared at once out of the darkness, again closing in 
around her. Fifty cans popped at once, as jets of cold beer hit her 
from every angle. She shrieked and covered her face with both hands as 
the freezing spray soaked her, all the while trying to dance for Rock.
He stood there and clapped as the last of the beer dripped from her 
body.

"Nice try Barbie! Now you get to learn a new trick. It's called a 
bottle dance. Now concentrate real hard, Barbie. Here's what you do."

The scene faded again, then returned. The fire burned brighter, its 
flames climbing high into the night sky. Sarah squatted in front of it, 
her naked back welcoming the heat. Rock walked to her, opened a fresh 
Bud long-neck, and set it on the ground under her. Slowly, carefully, 
she lowered herself over the bottle and sank down over the length of 
it, taking the slim neck inside her. Oohs and ahhs escaped the 
captivated crowd as she squatted naked in front of them, impaled on the 
cold glass. She stared straight ahead as if in a trance, then began 
pumping the bottle with short, furious strokes. Soon a thick foam 
poured from her, flowing over her slender hands in a sudden gush. She 
continued to shake the bottle until half the beer had escaped inside 
her, then removed it, brought it to her mouth, and chugged the rest.

By the third bottle, I was shaking violently, barely able to watch the 
degrading spectacle. Sarah was expressionless, her eyes locked 
somewhere in the distance, as another small piece of her was taken, 
used, and discarded. The scene faded after the sixth bottle.

Seconds later, Betty was beside her watching with fascinated amusement. 
Sarah was surrounded by more empty bottles than I could count. No 
longer able to squat over the bottles, she sat in the dirt with legs 
spread, clumsily trying to stuff one more long-neck into her reddened 
slit. Betty reached down and took the bottle from her, now laughing out 
loud.

"Why Barbie, you little slut. I think you're drunk! What would your 
husband say if he saw you like this, trying to fuck beer bottles in the 
the dirt like a sow in heat?"

Sarah lowered her head in shame as beer continued to trickle from her 
swollen pussy onto the ground between her legs. She lost her balance, 
fell to one side, caught her fall with an outstretched arm, and pushed 
herself upright again, now looking up at Betty with tears in her eyes.

"I'm s-s-sorry, Betty. I d-don't feel so good. I-I'm just sooo dizzy. I 
can't -  "

"'I can't, I can't, I can't.' Is that all you know how to say, slut? 
You're dizzy all right. You're dizzy enough to be Barbie's retarded 
sister! How dare you get drunk and ruin Rock's party! You're the 
entertainment, for Christ sake!"

"I'm s-sorry Betty. I'm d-doing the b-best I can. . .but -"

"Quit your blubbering, slut. You'll just have to do something extra now 
to make Rock's party a success. He gets furious when someone fucks up a 
good party. Do you hear me, slut? Answer me!"

"I hear you, Betty. I'll do whatever you want me to. P-please don't 
tell Rock I ruined his party. I'll do anything. . ."

"You're damn right you will."

Betty retrieved the end of the chain from a nearby tree, then moved the 
other end from Sarah's ankle to a thick leather dog collar that she
secured tightly around her neck. She gave the chain a few hard tugs,
then pulled Sarah to her feet.

"Since you seem to like wallowing in the dirt like an animal, you'll be 
my pet cunt for the rest of the evening. Tonight you're a cunt on a 
leash, nothing more. You'll follow me on your hands and knees wherever
I go, do whatever I say, without any whining. Do you understand, 
Cunt?"

"Y-yes Betty. I'll try to be a good cunt for you. I promise."

"Quiet, Cunt! Unless I tell you to speak, a nod of that empty head is 
how you answer. Understand?"

Sarah nodded quickly, trying to focus on her instructions through a 
drunken haze.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Get down in the dirt where you 
belong!"

Sarah fell to her knees, choking and gagging when the chain pulled her 
collar tight. Betty chuckled, then let her have enough chain to crawl 
on her hands and knees. Sarah looked up, waiting for her first 
instructions.

"Don't look at me, Cunt! You're only a cunt, remember? Cunts don't have 
faces. Keep your head down, and don't embarrass the guests! 
Understand?"

Sarah lowered her head and nodded, not daring to look away from the 
beer-soaked mud beneath her.

Betty circled her a few times, inspecting her new pet.

"Oh my, Cunt. It looks like you're in heat! Your pussy's so red and 
juicy! Are you in heat, Cunt?"

Sarah nodded enthusiastically, remembering to keep her face lowered.

"Well, my little pet. If you behave, maybe we can find a nice big 
cock for you tonight. Would you like that, Cunt?"

Sarah nodded again as she felt the thick leather collar dig into the 
soft skin beneath it.

"I'll bet you would, you little tramp. But you have to let all those 
big cocks know that you're ready for them. Since you're a poor dumb 
animal, I'll have to teach you how. Listen carefully, Cunt.

"When you're not crawling along in the dirt, I mean each and every time 
we stop to visit a guest, you'll arch your back, spread your legs, and 
hold that wet, ripe pussy in the air, just like an animal in heat 
should. Now, let me see you try it."

And then, like a bitch in heat, Sarah thrust her ass in the air and 
spread her knees as far as she could. Her swollen labia protruded 
obscenely, still moist with beer. Betty had reduced her to less than an 
animal. She was a cunt, and only a cunt. It was a disgusting sight.

"Good, Cunt. Very good! Now for the most important part. Make that 
hungry little pussy move. Open and close it, again and again. C'mon, 
Cunt! Use the same muscles that you use to milk Rock's prick. Tighten 
them, then relax. Let all those big hard cocks out there see what it 
can do to them! That's it! Excellent! Good Cunt!"

Her pussy unfolded, then tightened, over and over, showing its wet, 
pink depths for a few seconds, then hiding them again with plump, 
freshly shaved flesh. How could I have let it come to this? Would Sarah 
ever be the same? Somehow, I had to stop this, before we were both 
changed forever.

The camera followed them as they wandered through the crowd, stopping 
occasionally to film Sarah silently beg for the nearest cock with her 
small, round ass in the air. Few of the bikers could resist. They rode 
her like an animal, humping her as she struggled to stay still and 
quiet. As the word spread, a line formed. Betty stood at the head of 
it, telling each waiting biker how cock-hungry her new pet was, and
that the harder they fucked her, the better she liked it. One of the 
men slammed into her brutally, pushing her face into dirt before 
exploding violently inside her. 

As the last biker buried his cock inside her, Betty knelt beside her,
lifting Sarah's face to look into her eyes.

"Moan a little for me, my pet. Let him know how good his cock feels 
inside you. Moan like you moan for your husband, then moan louder, like 
you moan for a real man."

She began softly, with the familiar little noises I knew all too well. 
Betty moved closer, placing her mouth over Sarah's, stabbing at her 
with her tongue. She kissed her hard and deeply, muffling Sarah's quiet 
moans. Then came the sounds I had never heard before, deep long, 
throaty moans that were more like an animal's than my wife's. They grew 
louder and louder as Betty sucked at Sarah's mouth, and the biker 
plunged into her from behind. Her fragile body rocked back and forth as 
they invaded her from both ends, until the last of the bikers emptied 
his cum into her and left. The scene faded as Betty led her 
away at the end of her leash into the darkness.

The final scene was the worst. The party had become quiet bits of 
conversation here and there by those still sober enough to stay awake. 
The fire had died to a wide circle of glowing embers, releasing a 
column of gray ash and smoke into the night sky. Silhouetted by the red 
glow, Sarah mounted him, guiding the head of his cock between her legs.
She lowered herself on it slowly, until the full length of it was 
buried inside her. Her eyes were locked on his, and the faint light 
showed just enough detail to make out Rock's sickening grin. She began 
to rise and fall on his rigid meat, impaling her slim body with the 
thick shaft of warm flesh that stretched and filled her in ways I never
could. She moved faster, panting and drooling as she fucked him. 
Small little cries that I recognized from our own lovemaking escaped 
her, evenly spaced between gasping breaths. Rock urged her on, 
whispering to her as his gaze paralyzed her. Sarah's words stabbed at 
me from the darkness.

"Oh, Rock...it feels so good...so big and hard inside me...Barbie loves 
your cock...Barbie wants you to cum inside her...Barbie wants you to 
make her cum too...oh God, you're so huge...sooo good, Rock...so 
fucking good...fuck me, Rock...fuck me harder...I'm your 
fucktoy...harder, Rock...please, harder...oh God, you're making me cum, 
Rock...I'm cumming now, Rock. . . "

In a second he was on top of her, pumping and grinding his cock inside 
her heaving belly. Her fingers dug into his ass as she tried to pull 
more of him inside. He grunted sharply as the first jet of semen 
entered her. Sarah moaned one last time, a long, low, guttural tone, 
the sound she had only made looking into my eyes. The scene faded 
slowly as she thrashed and cried, cumming wildly at the end of Rock's
plunging prick.














                               Chapter 8

By eleven o'clock I had given up hope. Then, ten minutes later, the 
doorbell rang. It was Sarah, or what was left of the Sarah I knew. She
stood there in the doorway as if she was unsure whether she had the 
right house. She finally managed a warm smile, and I realized she was 
waiting for me to invite her inside. I was stunned by her new look. The
pink "Barbie" T-shirt had been trimmed to show her long, slim waist, 
leaving just enough material to make sure the now distorted lettering 
was intact. Her new breasts strained against the thin cotton, 
stretching it so tightly that the bottom curve of each hard ball of 
flesh peeked from beneath it. White stretch-pants covered her like a 
second skin from waist to ankles. Her hips swayed as she struggled to
keep her balance, poised precariously on the hot pink six-inch 
heels. As she stepped through the door, I noticed the seam down the 
front of her pants had been partially split, just enough to allow her 
plump labia to escape when her legs were not pressed tightly together.

Once inside, her smile widened. She walked slowly toward me, greeting 
me with a tight hug. Her lips brushed my ear, her breath hot and sweet
on my neck. She was an inch taller than I in her six-inch heels, 
and the solid flesh of her new breasts felt alien against my chest. Her
hand found the fly of my slacks, and easily worked its way inside, 
milking and rolling my cock with surprising skill. She nibbled my ear, 
while a voice I didn't know oozed from her lips like warm honey.

"Mmmm. That's it. Get it hard for me. I'm sooo hot for it. My pussy's 
so wet. I need you inside me, to fuck me, to make me cum. Ooohhh, yes.
I need a cock in me. Please put your cock in me. Please put your cock 
in Barbie. Barbie will make you cum too. Barbie will be your fucktoy.
Barbie will suck you, drink your cum -  "

I broke free and shoved her away. She fell backwards, falling on her 
ass with her legs in the air, her wet slit glaring at me from between
the pink high heels.

"Stop it! Stop it, Sarah! This has to stop! Can't you see how you're 
acting? You're not Barbie! You're Sarah, my wife! Don't let them do 
this to you! You're home now - you're safe! You don't have to play 
Barbie now! Just be Sarah. Please, please, just be Sarah, my wife. Oh
Christ, what have I done? What have I let them do to you?"

She sat there on the floor watching as I went from rage, to 
helplessness, to utter despair. My hands shook violently, still 
suspended in the air from the sudden push I gave her. She stared at me
with the pathetic look of a confused animal. The tiny pink top had 
released both breasts, now mounted ludicrously on her chest like two 
fleshy grapefruits. 

Her flat belly began to shake. A single tear rolled down her cheek, 
landing in the deep valley between her breasts. She cried harder, 
finally becoming hysterical. I knelt beside her, cradled her head in my
arms, and cried with her. Soon a part of Sarah came back to me, 
defeated and humiliated.

"I'm so sorry, so sorry, Honey. I don't know what happened to me. I was
so exhausted, so drunk, so tired of fighting them - I can't believe I 
did those things. And - oh, God - how could I have let another man make
me cum? How can you ever forgive me? Now you'll never want me again! 
I'm filthy - a filthy slut - just a filthy, filthy slut. . .  "

She ranted on for a while, then quickly collapsed into a deep sleep. 
After carrying her upstairs to bed, I tried to undress her, but the 
clothes clung so tightly to her limp body, that I gave up and tucked 
her in as she was. She never stirred. 

Later that night I found myself back in the basement with a bottle of
my favorite scotch, pouring glass after glass of courage to end this 
nightmare once and for all. 


                                  -*-


I let her sleep the next morning, calling her boss as usual to let him
know Sarah was still under the weather, but would return soon. I didn't
have the same luxury. I owned my own company, and had missed too many 
days over the past week. 

At work, the hours dragged on, until I finally called Sarah at noon. 
She answered in a groggy voice, but sounded more and more like the 
Sarah I knew. I told her I'd be home early and to get some rest. She 
said she'd try. She sounded so small and fragile I felt guilty for 
leaving her alone.

She seemed brighter that evening, more alert and centered than I'd seen
her in a week. She had dinner ready when I stepped through the door, 
and spoke calmly while we ate.

"Rock's leaving town tomorrow. He and his friends are riding to the 
west coast for a while. I don't think he'll bother us again. He said 
we've paid our debt to him. We'll be ok now."

I looked across the table, studying her to make sure she was serious.

"He said that? He said that we're even? He's leaving town?"

"Well, yes. He said that after he had sex with me, and made me, um, 
cum, that there was nothing else left to take from us - and that I 
should name the baby after him. Don't worry, I'm not pregnant! It was 
just his way of leaving us with a final insult. So typical of the slimy
bastard. Anyway, he's gone. Will you be ok?"

"Me? How about you??"

"I don't know. I think we have a lot of things to try to forget. If 
you'll try, I'll try too. We'll take it a day at a time - maybe an hour
at a time, for a while. I still love you. Try to remember that."

She sat there in her white cotton blouse like she had so many other 
nights, trying to be strong for me, trying to reassure me after all she
had been through. But tonight that blouse was fuller, the middle two 
buttons straining to contain the bulging mounds of flesh inside. Some 
things would be harder to forget than others.

After dinner I relaxed under the hot spray of a much-needed shower 
while Sarah called a co-worker to prepare for her return to the office 
the next day. Although a hundred horrors still raced through my mind, 
the relief I felt was exhilarating, and seeing Sarah padding about the 
empty house in a pair of my old slippers, her bright eyes now offering 
hope and forgiveness, brought a new optimism for our recovery and 
future together.

She was still on the phone when I dried off, so I wrapped myself in my 
thick, new robe and decided to catch up on some reading until she 
finished. As I sat on the edge of the bed, a sudden thunk startled me. 
I looked down to see my loaded 9-mm on the floor. I had hidden it under
the mattress the day before, and had forgotten it was there. It was odd
how unfamiliar and menacing it looked lying there, after having spent 
so many intimate hours with it plotting the route to our freedom. I 
pushed it back between the mattress and box springs, planning to 
dispose of it when Sarah wasn't around. No need to scare her.

"Honey, could you come here for a minute?"

I smiled to myself as I left the bedroom, certain that she needed help
with the VCR, or some other gizmo that was my specialty.

Betty and her friends stood just inside the front door. Sarah was 
naked, facing them with her back to me. She knelt between a petite 
blonde's legs, her face buried in her crotch, feverishly licking and 
slurping as the others looked on with approval. Sarah's hands clutched
the girl's thighs as her assault escalated. I could hear the wet, 
sucking sounds from where I stood across the room. Betty grinned and 
winked at me, amused by my surprised look.

"Sport! Nice to see you again! The girls and I just dropped by to see 
if Sarah can go with us tonight. We're celebrating our last night in 
town, a kind of "girls night out". I'm sure you won't mind, will you?
This is my friend Shayla, and her friend Stacey. Oh, sorry, it looks 
like Stacey and Sarah are busy at the moment, getting acquainted and 
all."

Shayla stood to her right. She was six feet six inches of lean, black 
muscle that looked like she meant business. Her long, black leather 
coat opened in the front to reveal a black thong and black leather 
halter that barely contained her huge breasts. A small, gold charm 
dangled from a gold ring that pierced her navel. Cornrows lined her 
perfectly rounded skull, and tangles of black braids woven with multi-
colored beads parted over her shoulders, clattering like tumbling dice
when she turned to sneer at me. She held an elaborately braided leash 
ending at a short loop of chain that was Stacey's collar. She was the 
image of a proud, African princess - with an attitude.

Betty produced a plastic garment bag and offered it to me as Shayla 
watched Sarah with a critical eye.

"We even brought her something nice to wear tonight. I think she 
deserves a better wardrobe than those tacky T-shirts you bought for 
her. She'll look much nicer in this."

I took the heavy bag and stood there in my robe, still in shock.

"Well, sport! The least you can do is help the girl get ready! If you 
can't fuck her, maybe you can dress her. While you're at it, give her a
shower and wash her hair. We want to look hot tonight - all of us!"

Shayla gave Stacey's leash a nasty yank, reeling her in next to her. 
Stacey glanced at Sarah, then allowed a pent-up giggle to escape. 
Shayla exploded, shrieking at Stacey, inches from her face.

"Insolent little bitch! I will not tolerate simple-minded outbursts 
from the likes of you! Explain yourself, Pet, or you'll be very, very 
sorry!"

Stacey couldn't suppress another giggle before continuing.

"It's her! It's her, Mistress!"

Shayla studied Sarah for a few seconds, then returned her attention to 
Stacey.

"Who - is - 'HER'?? Tell me! Now!"

"I'm sorry, Mistress. It's Sarah Breckenridge. I know her from work. 
She's an accountant there. I'm one of her secretaries. It's just that, 
that, well, she's a real bitch. She thinks she's better than all of us.
I just wasn't sure it was her at first. I'm sorry for laughing without 
permission. Please forgive me?"

Shayla and Betty exchanged surprised stares, then broke into roaring 
laughter. Shayla took Stacey's face in her hands and kissed her hard on
the mouth. She seemed to melt in Shayla's hands, pressing her slim, 
white body against yards of hard, brown flesh.

Shayla hugged her as she grinned at Betty over Stacey's shoulder.

"You're forgiven, Pet. Not only are you forgiven, I'll see to it that 
you have a night to remember - for a long, long time."

Her grin widened as Sarah and I trailed off into the bedroom with her 
new clothes.

As we approached the bathroom I heard Sarah muttering to herself in
front of me.

"Shit! Shit! Shit!"

I stopped and turned her to face me. Her eyes were red and glassy, her
face pale and drawn. She still looked exhausted.

"I'm so sorry, Hon. I wish there was something I could do. Who would 
have guessed that she'd come back for one last night? But it's one 
night, then they're gone for good."

"One night! Don't you understand? I have to go back to work tomorrow! 
It was going to be hard enough explaining my hair and tits, but now I 
have to deal with her! Stacey's the worst gossip in the entire firm. We
didn't get along to start with. The little slacker is always looking 
for ways to get out of doing her job. She'll make my life a living 
hell!"

"Ok, so quit. Don't even go back. You're great at your job. I'll bet 
you can find another one in a week. We'll work it out."

"Work it out? Work it out? That's easy for you to say! I've spent nine 
years clawing my way to the top. Do you have any idea how rare that is 
for a woman in this city? I'll be a partner any day now. And you expect
me to just walk away, start over? I'll tell you what, 'Sport'. Why 
don't you just give up your business and start over? Think you can work
that out?"

She was nearly hysterical, crying and screaming at me at the top of her
voice. Shayla appeared behind us, scowling and clearing her throat.

"I'll tell you what, Sport. If you don't shut her up and get her in the
shower, neither one of you will be able to start over. Allow me to be 
crystal clear. I'm already late for what began as a chance to spend 
some quality time with my friends. I'm a very impatient person. You're
wasting my precious time with your pathetic whining. Get her ready, 
now, before I lose what little control I have left. You have thirty 
minutes. After that, I drag her naked into the street whether she's 
ready or not. Understand?"

She stood there waiting, ebony muscles flexing behind black leather. A
chill ran through me when I realized she planned to watch every minute
of Sarah's grooming.

I adjusted the shower the way Sarah liked it, and helped her in. She 
picked up the soap and began lather it over her arms and shoulders. 
Shayla shouted orders from the doorway.

"Give the soap to him, Sarah! It's his job to clean you. And Sport, get
that robe off, get in there with her, and get started! NOW!"

I dropped the robe on the floor and climbed in beside her. Shayla's 
eyes devoured us as I pulled the shower curtain closed. She was there
in two long strides. The curtain exploded outward as she jerked it 
free, finally tearing the aluminum rod from the wall above us.

"Don't get cute, Sport! Get busy!!"

I moved the soapy wash cloth over Sarah's body, taking humiliating 
instructions from the black amazon. It was the first time I had touched
her new breasts, and I was shocked at how tight and hard they were as I
covered them with a foamy coating of soap. She told me how to wash 
between Sarah's legs, first parting her smooth labia with one hand, 
then rubbing her clit in small, slow circles with the soapy cloth. 
Sarah scowled at me the entire time. The sharp fingers of steamy
water washed tear after tear from her face as Shayla enjoyed every
second of her misery.

I lathered her hair with shampoo, rinsed it, and started over, per 
Shayla's instructions. The familiar handfuls of chestnut brown were now
two-inch strands of jet-black fluff with cinnamon roots. 

I finally led her from the shower, drying her from head to toe as 
Shayla watch every move. She came a few steps closer, fingering and 
parting Sarah's hair.

"Hmmm. This won't do. Not at all. You need something that screams, 'I'm
Barbie, and I'm the fuck of your dreams!'"

She searched through the bottom of the garment bag for a few seconds, 
and retrieved a small plastic bottle.

"This should do the trick. I'll see to it myself."

Twenty minutes later Sarah's ermine hair was a blinding platinum 
blonde. Shayla was proud of her work. She circled Sarah repeatedly, 
running her hands through Sarah's shocking white mane. 

"Now that's Barbie hair! You should wear it longer, though. Men love 
the feel of long, soft hair on their cocks. Why do you wear it so 
short?"

"Rock said it would be easier to wash the cum out of it. He likes it 
this way."

Sarah's tone was defensive, and surprised Shayla.

"Well, Rock's leaving tomorrow, and I don't give a shit how long it 
takes you to get the spunk out of your hair, so you'll wear it longer
from now on, understand?"

"Yes, I understand."

Shayla handed me the plastic garment bag and ordered me to get Sarah 
dressed quickly. Its contents both confused and appalled me. I emptied
the unfamiliar items onto the bed and began to sort them according to 
size. Sarah stood helplessly beside me, too embarrassed to offer any 
assistance. Shayla came to the rescue with her usual blatant 
instructions. I cringed when Sarah modeled the results for us.

The white spandex shorts barely covered her ass, and clung to the inner
folds of her pussy like wet tissue paper. A black fishnet crop-top 
exaggerated the fullness of her new breasts, exposing the long lines of
her narrow waist. White lace gloves ran from fingertips to elbows, and
fluffy white anklets topped her hot pink, six-inch heels. A brief, 
pink, pvc motorcycle jacket and matching pink cap completed the 
outrageous outfit. She couldn't have looked more like a hooker if she
had carried a sign that read "Fuck me!".

Just as they ushered Sarah out the door to the waiting limo, Rock 
arrived. He had been drinking all day, and didn't hesitate to grab 
Sarah, giving her a long, wet kiss. Betty waved him off, telling him it
was "girls night", and that he'd have to catch up with them later, if 
he could find them. Never one to turn down a challenge, he revved his 
bike and started off after them. At the end of the driveway he stopped,
looked back, and motioned me over.

"C'mon Sport! Hop on! Let's go, before we lose them!"

I straddled the jarring machine in my bathrobe, trying to hold on and 
keep the robe closed while he sped after the black limo. We followed it
for thirty minutes, finally stopping in the middle of a cluster of 
warehouses near the waterfront. 

The girls got out and walked fearlessly along the dark street, passing
one dingy, yawning entrance after another, until, rounding a corner 
into a narrow alley, a flickering neon sign glowed ominously in the 
thickening fog. A single figure cast a long shadow on the damp 
concrete. He wore a tuxedo, and seemed oblivious to the rain that had 
just begun to fall. The sign over his head read, "Leather & Lace". He 
stood in front of a heavy steel door, guarding it with his well-muscled
bulk. The girls approached to within twenty feet of the brute, then 
stopped, chattering quietly among themselves. Rock and I jogged to 
catch up to them. We arrived just as they sent Sarah over to him, 
looking every bit the well-oiled sex machine. She strutted like a 
whore, her hips swaying invitingly as the bouncer watched her with a 
contemptuous grin. Everyone waited in hushed anticipation for her to 
reach him. Shayla passed a tiny camcorder to Stacey, who giggled 
quietly while she taped Sarah's every move. The next words we heard 
were Barbie's.

"Hi. I'm Barbie."

He looked her over, eyes stopping on the fishnet top, where her nipples
had worked through the coarse netting.

"I'll bet you are," he laughed. "What can I do for you, Barbie?"

"My friends and I are looking for a party. Can we go in?"

"Well, Barbie, this is a private club. Are you a member?"

She pouted a few seconds, then shook her head.

"I didn't think so. Sorry, if you're not a member, I can't let you in.
Of course, sometimes if a young lady is very nice to me, I can be 
persuaded to make an exception. Can you be very nice to me, Barbie?"

Her eyes widened and she nodded enthusiastically. Then, without another
word, she dropped to her knees in front of him. Opening his fly, 
she searched inside his pants until she pulled his cock free. She
licked the underside of it in one long stroke, starting at his balls,
then continued up to the tip where she eagerly sucked a sticky droplet 
of precum into her mouth. He held her head in both hands, tilting it up
to look into her face.

"Beg, Barbie. Show me how grateful you can be - if you want in, that 
is."

Her voice changed pitch, becoming almost childlike. She whined and 
pleaded like a little girl. His cock grew hard and thick as she ran her
delicate fingers over the length of it, stopping at the base to trace 
lightly over his balls. Stacey's hands shook as she struggled to keep 
the camcorder still, doing her best to capture every word and gesture.

"Please let me suck your cock. It's sooo big and thick. So juicy and 
tasty. Barbie loves cock. I get so wet when my mouth is fucked by a 
huge cock like yours. I'll drink your cum, too. I won't spill a drop, I
promise. Can Barbie suck you now, pleeeease?"

She didn't wait for his answer. Her mouth was full of him seconds after
she ran out of words, sucking and slurping the hard meaty shaft while 
she pumped him with both hands. He came with a long moan, pounding her 
throat with his cock while his strong hands grasped her by short 
strands of platinum hair. She choked when he hit the back of her 
throat, allowing trickles of semen to leak from both corners of her 
mouth. The camcorder whirred as Stacey zoomed in for her closeup.

The bouncer waited until she cleaned him, then helped her to her feet.

"That was ok, Barbie. I've had better, but you get extra points for the
slutty outfit. Tell you what. Sweeten the pot a little and I'll get you
and your friends inside. What do you say to, oh, $200, each?"

"Um, well, I don't have that much cash on me."

She dug into the tiny pink purse, sifting through its contents.

"I-I have this credit card. Will that do?"

He plucked it from her hand, chuckling at her predicament.

"This will do just fine, cutie. Get your friends and let's go inside."

She turned and waved to us with a lacy white glove. Betty was beside 
her before the bouncer opened the door.

"Barbie, aren't you going to thank the nice man?"

He faced her and waited.

"Thank-you for letting me suck your cock. You're cum was delicious."

He looked at Betty, grinned, and raised his eyebrows.

"I don't know where you found her, but they're gonna have a ball with 
her tonight. Follow me, everybody."

Once inside, "Leather & Lace" was worse than I imagined. A live heavy-
metal band assaulted us with the earsplitting whine of guitars from an
elevated stage across the cavernous room. We entered at the balcony 
level where the bouncer swiped our credit card to pay his inflated 
cover charge. As he handed it back to Sarah, I saw his hand cupped 
against her crotch, kneading her pussy through the paper-thin spandex. 
She merely smiled back at him, traced her finger over the front of his 
jeans a few times, and thanked him again. 

Betty led us down the steep stairs to the floor level. The dim interior
was shoulder-to-shoulder with women, all partially dressed, or 
undressed, in the most bizarre collection of costumes I had ever seen 
or imagined. Slashing beams of intense light cut through the darkness 
from above, interrupted only by the intermittent blasts of blinding 
white strobes.

A skinny blonde wearing only a leather collar and black thong 
recognized Shayla and stopped her at the bottom of the stairs. Shayla 
grabbed her collar, pulled her face close, and kissed her brutally.
Betty led us through the crowd, leaving a preoccupied Shayla and her 
friend by the stairs while Stacey stood near them and pouted.

It took us nearly ten minutes to work our way to the bar at the 
opposite end of the room. The stainless steel surface ran the entire 
width of the club, lined with thirsty customers taking advantage of the
wait by pawing and fondling each other as though no one watched or 
cared. Betty and Rock pushed to the front of the line, waving 
frantically at the bartender. Sarah and I were alone for the first time
tonight. I moved a step nearer to her and discreetly took her hand. It 
seemed to startle her. She glanced over at Betty, then looked back at 
me and gently squeezed my hand. After another quick glance at the bar, 
her lips were next to my ear, her words quiet and desperate.

"Help me. Please do something. I'm scared."

For a second, I was plotting again, determined to play her hero, sure 
that I could save her. There must be a way. If only -

Then her tongue was deep in my ear, swirling and sucking, drenching me
with her saliva. I turned with a start to see her grinning at me 
obscenely, licking her bright pink lips, her hand now gripping mine
with all her strength.

"What's the matter, Sport? Don't you like women anymore? Afraid your 
dick won't get hard again? Or is it just me? Don't like my new look? 
Well, what's the matter? Cat got your tongue?"

Her voice went from pleading to mocking, then suddenly to frustration 
and anger.

"Damn you, damn you, damn you! What's wrong with you! Are you going to
be a pussy all your life? Look at me! Every man that sees me wants to 
fuck me! All you can do is stand there with your limp dick and watch! 
Why don't you want me? Why, why, why???"

I was stunned. She shoved me repeatedly as she ranted, then unleashed a
flurry of punches, hitting my chest with her small fists. Betty and 
Rock returned carrying our drinks, just in time to witness her 
outburst. Betty took her by the shoulders from behind and pulled her 
away from me.

"What the fuck is going on, Barbie? We've been here all of twenty 
minutes and already you've managed to make a scene! I knew you didn't
have much of a brain, but now I'm wondering whether you have any at 
all!"

Sarah slipped back into her Barbie voice, this time with frightening 
ease.

"He was being mean to me, Betty. He's not nice like the other men - not
nice at all!"

Rock grabbed my robe and pulled me away from them, leading me toward
the bar.

"C'mon Sport. Lets get you out of here before you get in any more 
trouble."

He found two empty stools near the middle of the bar, sat me on one of
them, and handed me a drink.

"It's scotch, Sport - your poison, according to Barbie, right?"

I nodded and took the glass, downing it in two swallows. Rock made sure
it stayed full. The bar tab was added to our bill, now charged to the 
credit card Sarah had given the bouncer. It would be an expensive 
night.

While Betty was showing off Sarah to her friends, Rock pointed to a 
small cage the size of several telephone booths, suspended at the edge 
of the balcony, overlooking the club. A nearly naked young girl gyrated
inside, rocking and grinding her hips to the music. She wore a tiny 
crop-top, identical to Sarah's, and nothing else. After the third 
double, I couldn't take my eyes off her. She leaned back against the 
bars at the rear of the cage, thrusting her hips at us as though she 
was fucking an invisible partner. Her body was slick with sweat and she
panted and groaned like an animal in heat. It was a chilling sight.

Between his usual lewd remarks, Rock leaned closer and opened his hand.

"Here you go, Sport. These will help you make it through the night. 
You'll thank me later."

"What are they?" I asked, eyeing the two purple capsules.

"You don't want to know, Sport. Just shut up and take them. NOW."

I washed them down with a slug of scotch, hoping I could handle 
whatever he had given me. 

"Rock! Lover! I have't seen you in ages!"

A girl in her early twenties ran from behind the bar, jumped into 
Rock's lap, and kissed him for what seemed like an eternity. Her long,
wavy black hair shimmered over her bare back as she squirmed against
him. Two perfect brown legs led to a pair of tiny cutoffs, now unable
to cover most of her firm, round ass. As she pulled away from him, both
breasts nearly escaped the tiny black halter. She looked over at me and
giggled.

"Who's your friend, and is that a bratwurst under his robe, or is he 
just glad to see me?"

"That's Sport. Sport, this is Kathy. And it looks like he's really glad
to see you, babe."

They both laughed and pointed at my lap where, to my embarrassment, my 
erection had slipped through the opening of the robe. Now I had a 
pretty good idea of what the pills were for. I pulled the robe together
to cover myself, but Kathy stopped me and opened it again. She moved in
beside me, rubbing her breasts against my face while running her nails 
slowly up and down the length of my cock. My erection hardened and 
throbbed almost painfully as she played with me. A few of the women on 
either side of us had now gathered around to watch. I was never so 
humiliated, but my penis seemed to have a mind of its own. 

She teased me by stroking it slowly, then circling the head with her 
fingertips, gently pulling and tugging at it until it spasmed and 
jerked wildly. Then she stopped, and women around us joked about what a
slut I was for allowing them to play with me in public. Finally, after 
half an hour of torture, she let the other women take turns with me, 
joking with them about who would be the first to make me cum. The drugs
did their work, and by the time a menacing looking bull-dyke had her 
turn, I lost control, spraying semen everywhere. They congratulated the
winner, applauding her skill and my performance. Kathy was ready 
nearby, collecting every drop of cum in a small glass, displaying it 
proudly on the bar.

Rock kept the drinks coming, and after a few more doubles, pointed to 
the second cage, which until now had been empty. I watched as Betty 
helped Sarah inside. A small spotlight drew everyone's attention to the
balcony where Sarah surveyed the crowd from twenty feet overhead. Betty
had taken the white shorts and pink jacket, leaving her only the flimsy
net top, pink high-heels, white gloves, and shocking pink motorcycle 
cap.

Betty barked at her from outside the cage, and she began to dance, 
slowly at first, then mimicking the other dancer as Betty ordered her 
to follow the other girl's seductive grinding and thrusting. Betty 
urged her on, becoming more threatening when Sarah hesitated to rub her
cunt up and down over one of the thin chrome bars closest to the 
audience. She relented quickly, burying the vertical rod between her 
reddened labia, then sliding up and down over it as she panted and 
moaned in feigned ecstasy. 

Rock stared and cheered, I drank, and Sarah danced - for hours. A new 
dancer entered the other cage every half-hour, but Betty forced Sarah 
to continue without a break. She was exhausted, her slim body slick 
with sweat as her dancing slowed, now an exercise in futility. 

The crowd parted in front of us, revealing a six-foot circle of blue 
light. At its center was a gleaming steel column topped with a small, 
blinking light. Shayla stood behind it, with Stacey at her side. She 
turned to look at Sarah, now barely able to stay on her feet. Shayla 
shot me an evil grin, extended her well-muscled arm, and pressed the 
blinking button. A deafening clap of recorded thunder shook the club, 
and strobes everywhere shot volleys of blinding light in all 
directions. Sarah's eyes widened. She lurched to the back of the 
cage as the electric current surged from the floor through the cleverly
concealed steel rods in her pink heels. Her slim calves and thighs
hardened and twitched as the voltage shot through her. Its dying tingle
spread upward, between her legs, coaxing her labia and clit to swell
and stiffen. She looked stunned for a few seconds, then danced faster.
Her eyes were wild with panic as the rules of the new game became clear
to her.

Shayla toyed with Sarah for an hour. The crowd cheered and laughed each
time Shayla's finger hovered over the button, making Sarah dance faster
with every last bit of energy she could muster. When her dancing 
slowed, Shayla hit the button again, holding it a few seconds longer. 
Sarah began to cry out as the shocks became more sustained. The muscles
of her thighs bulged with rigid ropes of flesh under the smooth, white 
skin, and her hips bucked and spasmed in continual rhythmic thrusts. 
When Shayla released the button, Betty was there, shouting 
instructions, ordering her to match the other dancer's frenzied moves.

Even with the shocks, Sarah was eventually too tired to do much more 
than shuffle from foot to foot. When Shayla pushed the button, Sarah 
would jerk and twitch until the shock subsided, but her aching muscles
and shattered nerves prevented much of a response at all. 

I watched from my seat at the bar in a drugged and alcoholic stupor. At
times I wasn't sure whether it was a dream or reality. My erection had 
persisted for hours, and I had lost count of how many strange women, 
all lesbians, had teased me until I spurted another stream of semen 
into Kathy's bar-glass. 

Then Shayla came for me. She stood before me like a powerful, mythic 
goddess, her smooth, chocolate skin rippling as she reached for me. I
found a part of me strangely attracted to her intimidating physical 
appearance and proud, forceful air. The other larger part of me was 
scared to death at what might follow.

She led me to the center of the club and peeled the robe off my 
shoulders. My cock wobbled in front of me, still harder than I had ever
seen it. Hundreds of women stared at my nearly naked body, making 
obscene comments about my raging hard-on. 'Humiliated' or 'degraded' 
didn't come close to what I felt, even in my drugged state. Sarah 
stared down at me from her cage. Even through her defeat and 
exhaustion, I sensed her anger and disbelief.

Shayla took my hand and held my palm in the air, an inch above the 
button. Sarah's eyes widened, then shaking her head, she begged me with
every once of breath that remained.

"Nooo! Please, please, nooooo!"

At Shayla's signal, Stacey knelt beside me, taking my cock in her hand.
She played with it like a new toy, amusing herself by exploring each 
vein and ridge with her sharp nails. My legs began to shudder as I 
tried with everything I had not to give in to her touch. Sarah was 
shaking so badly that the cage rattled, while tears streamed from her 
drawn face to the floor below.

Shayla held my shoulders from behind, whispering my instructions as 
Stacey stroked my balls, then traced wandering patterns up and down the
underside of my cock with the tip of her finger. I had reached a line I
couldn't cross, under any circumstances. I wouldn't do it. When I told 
her, she replied in an instant, hissing her threat at me.

"You WILL do it! If you don't, I'll turn up the juice and fry the 
little cunt myself!" 

As her last word hit me, Stacey pumped my cock with both hands, 
catching me by surprise. I came with a muffled groan, watching the cum 
spurt into Stacey's hands. My palm fell against the button, holding it 
until the crushing orgasm subsided. Sarah thrashed against the bars of 
the cage, unable to escape the endless, burning shock. She cried out to
me, begging me to stop. Her piercing screams grew louder with 
nightmarish intensity as I lost myself in Stacey's skillful victory 
over me. Hidden in the waves of satisfying release, under the guilt and
shame for being the cause of Sarah's pain, buried so deeply that to 
find it would mean our destruction, I wanted to push that button. I 
wanted to see her suffer for the self-doubt she nurtured in me. How 
sick had I become? It was Rock's doing. Soon it would be my turn to 
undo it.

Afterward, Sarah lay panting on the cage floor. I could just make out 
her bewildered eyes peering over the edge, terrified of another shock.
Stacey wiped my cock clean, coating her fingers with an even layer of 
sticky semen. She turned and held her hands up for Sarah to see.

"He's mine now, bitch! All mine!"

Sarah's eyes closed and her body went suddenly limp. The crowd cheered,
chanting, "Sta - cey! Sta - cey! Sta - cey!". Stacey turned slowly in 
the blue circle of light, cum-coated hands in the air, relishing the 
crowd's praise, and her victory over her long-time rival.

An hour passed, Betty revived Sarah, and Rock saw to it that my glass 
was always full of scotch. Betty, Sarah, Shayla, and Stacey joined us 
at the bar at 4:00 AM for last call. Sarah was conscious, but seemed to
be in shock. A blank stare was all she could manage when anyone spoke 
to her. She didn't recognize me at all.

Kathy stepped up onto the bar to get the crowd's attention.

"Last call, everybody! But before you go, we owe Barbie one on the 
house for entertaining us tonight. Come on up, Barbie!"

Stacey led her to the edge of the bar, climbing up first, then pulling
Sarah up over the leather padding. The three of them towered over the 
restless sea of women. Sarah stared straight ahead.

"Here's to Barbie and her best friend, Stacey! Drink up, girl!"

She handed the all-too-familiar glass to Stacey. It was now almost 
half-full of cum, with contributions from the bouncer, and anyone who 
happened by the dark warehouses that evening. Stacey held the glass to
Sarah's lips and spoke to her so that everyone could hear.

"Drink, Barbie. It's good. You love cum. It's so thick and salty. It's
your favorite drink, remember? Mmmmmm. Nice and warm, like it's fresh 
out of a big, thick cock."

My stomach churned while I watched Sarah guzzle the slimy mass of semen
as though it was the finest brandy. She smiled sheepishly as the crowd 
applauded, then slowly and deliberately licked the last bit of it from 
her hot-pink lips. Her eyes stopped on me as she scanned the crowd. The
sheepish smile widened, changing to something much more sinister. I 
soon realized she was staring at my cock, still rigid from a second 
dose of Rock's drugs. But it was Barbie who looked down at me from the
bar; it was a hard cock she wanted, any hard cock, and nothing more.

By the time we left Leather & Lace, the rain had slowed to a fine, even
mist. The flickering, blue sign above the door was dark, and the 
bouncer was nowhere to be found. Hours of rain made the long walk back 
to where we had parked seem less ominous. The standing water gave the 
illusion of having washed away the grime and neglect of the decaying 
buildings, and the reflections of occasional signs and streetlights in
the glistening streets seemed to brighten our way.

Soon the black limo was in sight, flanked by the gleaming chrome of 
Rock's bike. Sarah barely kept pace with the rest of us as the fatigue
of hours of dancing made walking in the six-inch heels more difficult 
than ever. Then, as one of her pink spiked heels sank into a patch of 
soft earth, she lurched to one side and disappeared from sight with a 
brief, shrill cry. Everyone stopped, peering over the edge of the road 
into a shallow drainage ditch. Sarah fought desperately as she tried to
get a footing in the wet grass. She nearly escaped the four-foot 
ditch when her left shoe buckled and she fell to the bottom, this time 
sliding a few feet deeper, then falling further into a newly excavated 
pit bordered by two barricades with flashing yellow lights. The six-
foot deep trench held two inches of water from the recent rain, and 
Sarah landed face-down in the muck at the bottom. She tried again and 
again to get up, but her aching arms and legs had only enough strength 
to pull her a few inches above the mud, before falling again face-first
while everyone howled with laughter.

Betty hopped into the ditch, still laughing so hard she couldn't speak.
Every time Sarah tried to pull herself out of the muddy hole, Betty 
placed a booted foot between her shoulder blades, pushing her back into
the mud with a splash. Finally, she rested the sole of her boot on the 
back of Sarah's head, shoving her face into the muddy water and holding
it there. Sarah's arms and legs thrashed wildly as she fought for air.

Rock and Stacey were in tears, now joined by a small group of passing 
dock-workers arriving for the early morning shift. Steaming cups of 
black coffee passed from hand to hand as the men pointed into the pit 
and joked about the way Sarah's nearly naked body twisted and splashed
under Betty's boot.

After having her fun, Betty towed Sarah from the pit. Betty had 
retrieved her shoes, and handed them to Sarah with a grin. Sarah choked
and wheezed as she bent to put them on, giving the workers a show they 
wouldn't soon forget. Rock strolled over to her, tilting her chin up to
him as he looked into her face, now crusty with drying mud.

"Barbie, Barbie, Barbie. You won't find any big cocks down there in 
that mud-hole. Poor Barbie. The only cock you've seen all night has 
been Sport's, and it looks like he's saving that for Stacey. I'll bet
your little pussy has been soaked for hours just waiting for the next
man to shove his meat into you. After all, a real Barbie doesn't feel
like a woman without a fresh load of cum inside her, does she?"

By this time, a much larger group of workers had gathered and stared 
quietly, not believing the scene that played out in front of them. 
Sarah ignored them while she whined and begged.

"I want to be your Barbie, Rock. Please fuck me. Put your big, thick 
cock in me. Fill my pussy with your cum. I need your cock so badly, 
Rock. Please, please make me cum again. Show him how I like it, Rock.
Show him how a real man fucks me. Please, Rock? Pleeease?"

Rock looked over at me and shook his head slowly.

"Man, did you hear that? If my woman talked about me that way, I don't
know what I'd do! How do you put up with this little bimbo, Sport?"

Rock and the other men chuckled as I stood there in my robe, watching
my wife beg him to fuck her. I was frozen in place, paralyzed with 
anger and humiliation. 

Rock looked back at Sarah. She was already fingering her nipples, 
pulling and twisting them into hard, pink buttons. He watched her for a
while, then gave her his answer.

"You know, Barbie, it's been a long night and I'm pretty wasted. I 
think I'll take a rain-check. But I'm sure you can count on this fine 
group of gentlemen to give you what you want. What do you say, guys?"

A low murmur ran through the crowd, followed by the cheers of one 
volunteer after another. Sarah looked stunned.

"No, Rock. Please. I want you! There are so many of them! They might 
hurt Barbie! I want you to fuck me, not them! Don't give me to them, 
Rock! Please don't! I want you - you, Rock!"

Rock's smile vanished and his stare turned icy.

"Stop whining, you little cunt. You're being rude! Go over there, 
give them a good look at your new tits, and tell them what you need. 
Now!"

She turned and started toward them without a word, pulling the brief 
top over her head on the way. Her slim body trembled as she walked. She
stared at the ground, biting her lower lip, as a single large tear 
raced down her cheek.

They circled her like a pack of jackals waiting for the first to 
pounce. She shook off her disappointment and fear in an instant, held 
her head high, thrust her breasts toward them, and allowed Barbie to 
take over. Barbie smiled obscenely, cupping her breasts with both hands
as she teased them with her best Barbie Bimbo voice.

"Hi, guys. I'm Barbie, and I'm ready for a big, thick cock."

A few of the closest men pawed her breasts just before the rest closed 
in and dragged her to the ground. She disappeared into the growing herd
of animals as each brawny thug fought for his share before the others 
consumed her. Stacey kept the camera going as Rock and Betty doubled 
over in hysterics. They were killing her, and Rock was enjoying it. His
deep laugh assaulted me like a relentless pile-driver. And, there was 
that grin - that disgusting grin that had haunted me for much too long. 

Deep in the oversized pocket of my robe, my hand closed around its 
familiar cool, solid contours. Now driven by desperation, fueled with 
the booze and drugs Rock had forced on me himself, I drew the 9-mm, 
pointed it at Rock, and fired.

The impact of the bullet sent him spinning. He fell to the ground, 
clutching his right arm and cursing as the sleeve of his shirt turned 
wet with crimson. Betty screamed and ran to him, frantically trying to 
stop the bleeding. I aimed again carefully, this time placing the sight
dead center on his chest. A sudden warmth rushed over me as I felt the 
pressure of the trigger against my finger for the second time.

The gun jolted upward, but there was no sound. A strong, black arm 
circled my neck. The gun was in Shayla's other hand, now forcing the 
barrel tightly against my ear. Her arm tightened around my neck, 
lifting me until I couldn't breathe.

Rock was furious. He shoved Betty away and started toward me, wincing 
as he clamped his hand over the wound.

"He shot me! The mother-fucker shot me! You think this is bad, you 
fucking wimp? I've taken bullets in places that make this look like a 
scratch!"

He wrenched the gun out of Shayla's hand and jammed the barrel against 
my mouth.

"Suck it, wimp - unless you want me to slide this little beauty up 
Barbie's cunt and pump her full of the last load she'll ever remember."

I opened my mouth. It had an odd metallic taste mixed with the residue 
of burnt powder. He forced the pistol deeper. Searing pain raced 
through my jaw as the nose of the barrel broke a jagged chip from of 
one of my front teeth.

"You fucked up, Sport - big time. You couldn't wait one more night, 
could you? You had to be a hero. I was ready to walk away, to let you 
and the wife go back to your pathetic little lives. I even broke her in
a little for you, not to mention the new tits. You're out of your 
league, Sport - a pussy in a man's world. No wonder she came like a 
whore when I fucked her."

He nodded at Shayla to release me. Keeping two inches of the 9-mm 
buried in my mouth, he backed me to the edge of the ditch. In the 
distance, Sarah and the mob were silent as they watched Rock take his
revenge. Sarah, now Barbie, was expressionless, her eyes staring 
vacantly into the curtain of rain between us that washed the remaining
mud from her exquisite body. 

"I'm gonna enjoy this. Bye, Sport." 

I felt the gun move in my mouth just before the explosion of pain and 
light filled my head. Then, as in a dream, I was falling, away from the
sounds around me, away from Sarah's unfamiliar eyes, away from Rock's 
hideous grin - to a place deeper and darker than Rock could ever have
taken me.














                               Chapter 9

She shuddered at the image in the full-length mirror.  The outfit would 
have been unremarkable, if she had been Stacey.  But, Stacey was a size 
smaller and at least a head shorter.  The pink silk blouse hugged her 
breasts and waist, molding her nipples like a second skin.  Stacey's
black spandex skirt covered only a few inches of thigh and molded 
Sarah's ass into ripe, twin globes.  The absence of pantyhose made her 
feel practically naked. 

"Ummm, you look delicious today, Barbie."

Stacey's face appeared beside hers in the mirror.  They could have 
passed for sisters.  Stacey wore a matching outfit, but on her shorter, 
b-cup figure, it would attract much less attention on Sarah's first day 
back at the office. 

"I know we're going to be best friends from now on, aren't we, Barbie?"

Her hands cupped Sarah's breasts, quickly finding her nipples, rolling 
the hardening buttons between her slender fingers.

"Please Stacey, I - I - can't do this.  I don't understand.  We don't 
even like each other.  Rock may have made me promise to stay with you 
for a while, but we could never be friends.  We're - just, too 
different."

Stacey's eyes brightened as she pulled harder at Sarah's nipples.

"Betcha I can prove you wrong, Barbie.  I think you're more like me 
than you care to admit.  Anyway, just be a good girl at work today.  If 
you're a little slow the first day back, I'll be close by to remind you 
of all the little things I've taught you.  And, of course, there are 
those nasty consequences for Barbies who forget to do what they're 
told.  After all, I'm sure you haven't forgotten last night already - "

"Stacey, please, you have to tell me, is he ok?  I can't seem to 
remember - he looked so, so - "

"So pathetic?  So weak?  So helpless?  Why should you care?  When's the 
last time his cock was hard for you?  When has he shown even the 
slightest hint of concern while you fucked and sucked your way through 
endless gangs of bikers?  He doesn't care about you, Barbie.  He 
probably never has."

Stacey's words triggered a procession of mental images.  They returned 
slowly, painfully, in sequence, like the turning of pages in a worn 
book read by flickering candlelight -

...his erection as it jutted, pink and hard from the open robe...

...the short, powerful jets of his semen, frozen in flashes of harsh
   strobelight as the women brought him to orgasm, again and again...

...the terrible pain as Stacey coaxed the cum from him one last time,
   his open palm smashed against the switch that sent the current
   surging through Sarah's convulsing thighs...

...the embarrassed helplessness on his face when Shayla took his gun 
   away effortlessly, easily lifting his nearly naked body with one
   arm, a haughty predator taking her prey before offering it to her
   young...

...the way Sport had frantically sucked on Rock's gun, his cheeks
   hollowed out, head pumping up and down, terrified that Rock would
   shoot him, willing to give his gun a blow job to live...

...the gun's muzzle torn from his mouth at the last second - the sudden
   vicious blow to his head, blood spurting into the falling rain as
   the steel butt sliced through hair and scalp...

...his drenched, pale body falling lifelessly backward into the
   darkness of the yawning pit.

At the same time, Stacey's relentless words, pushing and prodding
Sarah to relive the worst of that night and to accept and gloat over 
Sport's impotence and defeat, drove her on.

She closed her eyes, no longer able to look at the reflection of what 
she was becoming, but the flashes of recollection only became clearer. 
With the memories, Sarah found that she had reluctantly accepted her 
betrayal.  Then Stacey's lips were on hers, pressing softly, until 
Sarah yielded to her invading kiss.  She felt Stacey's hand brush her 
inner thigh, then settle along the smooth slit between her legs.  
Distorted images assaulted her, now in random order - a frail white 
body, barely visible at the bottom of a dark, murky pit; thick jets of 
cum in slow motion, pumping endlessly from a grotesquely misshapen 
penis; a sea of mocking faces, captured second by second in flash after 
flash of brilliant white light; his face, caught half-way between 
grimace and grin, his cock buried in Stacey's ass; her own nude body, 
hips thrust forward, nipples burning, as she surrendered to the flow of 
current that rose from calf to thigh, then finally into her wet, 
open hole, warming, then boiling the juices that flowed from her. 

She shuddered slightly, hesitated, then collapsed, moaning and 
whimpering into Stacey's embrace. 

"That wasn't so bad, was it, Barbie?  I told you we have a lot in 
common."

Stacey's cutesy smile did not reach her eyes.


                                     -*-


The drive to work was a long one for Sarah.  Stacey lectured her as she 
drove the red Escort through the usual early morning rush.  Sarah sat 
in the passenger seat, afraid to look out the window for fear that 
someone she knew might see them together. She tugged constantly at the 
tiny skirt, finding it nearly impossible to keep it below the 
transparent, white panties that Stacey had given her to wear. 

"First, a few Barbie basics. Let's start with something simple, like 
how to walk.  No slouching, and stop walking like a man.  Hold your 
head up, shoulders back; stick those new tits out like you're proud of 
them.  Remember, the first parts of you to enter a room are your 
nipples.  When you walk, cross those legs a bit; put one foot directly 
in front of the other so your hips sway like, well, like the office 
bimbo.  I've seen Hank watch your ass every time you leave his office - 
now leave him with something he'll remember.  And by the way, you're 
much too aloof when he hands you a compliment.  I want you to smile and 
look into his eyes - and every man's eyes for that matter - like he's 
the most fascinating creature you've ever met."

"But Stacey, Hank's an arrogant lech.  He's my only competition for
partner.  He'll think I'm coming on to him!"

"Oh come on Barbie, it won't hurt you to be nice to the guy.  In fact, 
I insist.  You do want to know what's happened to that loser husband of 
yours, don't you?  And I don't imagine leaving a copy of your little 
video from last night on Mr. Burgess' desk would help your career at 
all.  Get my point?"

Last night's distant memories resurfaced and, once again, startled 
Sarah with their sudden clarity.  Until now, she had forgotten the
glimpses of Stacey with video camera in hand, capturing her slutty
performance, and the threat of exposure stunned Sarah.  All composure
lost, Sarah decided to humor Stacey, whatever it took, for the time 
being.

"Now Barbie, when you talk to a man, don't look him in the face for 
more than five seconds without glancing down at his cock.  They love 
that.  Play with your hair a bit.  Lick your lips.  If I don't see Hank 
with a hard-on before the day is over, the video goes to Mr. Burgess.  
I don't care how you do it, but you better find a way by 5:00. 
Understand?"

"But he'll expect me to - "

"To fuck him?  Sure he will.  But you won't.  You have to learn how to 
be Cock-Tease Barbie first.  And you have a lot to learn, so absolutely 
no sex.  Now, who are you today?"

"I'm Cock-Tease Barbie."

"And who's cock are you going to tease all day today?"

"I'm going to tease Hank's big cock and give him an erection all day."

Stacey started to giggle.

"Barbie, you can be such an airhead.  Bimbos like you give guys hard-
ons, not an erections.  Now try again."

"I'm going to tease Hank's big cock," Sarah repeated nearly in tears,
"and give him a hard-on all day."

Stacey nodded at Sarah's "improvement."  Sarah's sigh of relief made 
Stacey chuckle as she parked the car as far away from the building as 
possible.  Sarah understood all too well.  She would have to walk the 
hundred yards with Stacey by her side.  Everyone would see them 
together.  They would see her new clothes and her new look and her new 
walk.  She would have to be Barbie for the rest of the day.

Stacey stopped her as she began to open the car door.

"Wait Barbie.  I have a welcome-back present for you.  It's in the 
glove-box."

Sarah opened the plastic panel and retrieved the present, wrapped in 
pink paper with a small silver bow.

"Open it, Barbie.  Welcome back!"

Reluctantly she peeled back the wrapping to find six boxes of assorted 
condoms.  She cringed as they fell into her lap, then looked at Stacey 
with a puzzled expression.  She had promised, no sex.

Stacey grinned, then laughed out loud at the look on Sarah's face.

"They're a fashion accessory, Barbie.  Part of the Cock-Tease Barbie
set.  Put them in your purse.  Aren't they pretty?"

"Yes, they're very pretty.  I'll put them in my purse now."

Stacey helped her tear the multi-colored strips into single packets, 
then watched as Sarah stuffed the tiny purse with them. 

"Ok Barbie, ready for your first day back?"

"Yes Stacey, I guess so."

"Oh, one more thing before we go in.  How about a kiss for your new 
girlfriend?"

Stacy placed her hand behind Sarah's neck and pulled her close.  The 
lot was teeming with people.  Sarah recognized many of them as they 
passed the car, now heading for her building, her floor.  She resisted 
at first, then gave up and welcomed Stacey's tongue into her mouth.  
She spread her legs without thinking as Stacey's hand trailed over her 
exposed thighs, then up over the plump, fleshy lips of her cunt.  She 
closed her eyes and let a quiet moan escape as Stacey found the stiff, 
slippery nub and rolled it between her thumb and finger.

Then, just as Sarah's hips began to rock, her flat belly tightening 
with each thrust, Stacey leaned on the steering wheel, sounding a long 
blast from the car's horn.  Sarah tried to pull away, but Stacey held 
her by the neck, forcing her tongue deeper into her mouth.  Out of the 
corner of her eye, Sarah noticed a group of passing women stop and 
stare, hands covering their mouths; then shaking their heads with 
disgust, they continued on toward the office building.  One of the 
women glanced back over her shoulder just as Stacey pulled Sarah on top 
of her, holding her by the hair as she sucked at her open mouth.  Sarah 
struggled, now horrified, as she saw Mr. Burgess' executive secretary 
turn away to rejoin her co-workers.


                                  -*-


The morning was a total loss.  Sorting through the pile of work that 
had accumulated while she was gone was bad enough, but Stacey made 
things worse with her constant visits.  When she wasn't sitting on 
Sarah's desk chatting, she flitted in and out of the office, leaving 
another carefully printed note with each pass.  Each small, yellow, 
adhesive-backed slip of paper contained a short request or errand that 
Sarah was required to complete before the day's end.  By noon there 
were a half-dozen clinging to her desktop, with only her lunch hour to 
see to them all.

She sat behind her desk all morning, trying her best not to be seen in 
the tiny skirt.  Hank's interest in her new look was inevitable.  His 
eyes seemed riveted on the shameless display of nipples under the 
snug blouse.  Stacey watched her constantly, making sure her eyes 
dropped to his crotch as she appeared to welcome his crude compliments.
Stacey prompted her from a safe distance, stroking her hair, wetting 
her lips, always there to remind Sarah that Hank's hard-on was her 
first priority.  It was embarrassing at first, but became easier as she 
learned the routine.  Inside, a burgeoning Barbie was even excited by 
it. He obviously wanted her, and his attention filled an emptiness she 
had forgotten existed.  Had she ever realized the empty spot had 
existed?  Did other women feel this way too?  Or was Stacey right?

Hank stopped by her office again at noon and offered to take her to 
lunch.  She nervously declined, using Stacey's errands as an excuse. 

"C'mon Sarah.  I'll give you a lift.  Stacey said you two rode together 
today, so you don't have a car anyway.  I'll be happy to do it."

Stacey appeared in the doorway, smiling and nodding, waving good-bye
with the video cassette she was holding.  Helpless, Sarah twirled a
short strand of platinum hair, looked longingly at Hank's crotch and
accepted with her best "I can't wait to suck your cock" smile.


                                   -*-


Stacey's errands took hours to complete.  It wasn't that Hank's car 
wasn't comfortable; it fit Hank perfectly.  The late model Lincoln 
floated over bumps and potholes without acknowledging them, leaning and 
swaying as it lumbered around turns that Sarah's BMW would have eagerly 
challenged at twice the speed.  Inside, Sarah found more than enough 
room to stretch her bare legs, allowing the tiny skirt to ride up just 
enough to show Hank a glimpse of the thin white panties and the contour
of the long, deep slit beneath them.

At each stop, Hank strolled beside her, grinning, as a constant parade
of men eyed him with envy.  Often, he would drop back a few steps just 
to watch Sarah walk.  She did her best to follow Stacey's instructions.  
Was Stacey following her?  Checking to see if Barbie did as she was 
told?  Crossing her long legs as her hips swayed suggestively, Sarah 
noticed the oncoming men's looks too, and after a while found that 
exaggerating the motion got her even longer stares.  She tossed one 
thigh over the other, hips bobbing, soon not caring that the tiny skirt 
gathered at the very top of her bare thighs.  She was both bewildered 
and humiliated that some dark part of her psyche enjoyed the gawking 
attention.

Stacey's list was an odd mix of mundane and mortifying tasks.  A trip 
to the dry-cleaners to collect Stacey's clothes was followed by a visit 
to an exclusive shoe store across town.  She was to purchase three 
pairs of the highest heels she could find, in black, white, and of 
course, pink.  The young college student that waited on her spent 
almost thirty minutes with his face a few feet from her tiny panties.  
Her skirt was nearly waist-high as she sat in the low chair.  She 
allowed him to slide her feet into pair after pair of outrageous shoes 
until he found a perfect fit.  She caught him staring more than once, 
and after the third or fourth time hoped the dampness between her legs 
had not yet stained the thin material stretched over her gaping slit.  
By the time he was finished, the boy had a raging erection.  He looked 
up at her with a knowing smile, and she gasped suddenly when he stroked 
the back of her calf.  A quick glance at Hank told her he was not at 
all amused.

They spent another thirty minutes finding each carefully described item 
on Stacey's grocery list, then another fifteen minutes in the checkout 
line.  The clerk at the adjacent liquor store was wide-eyed as Sarah 
unloaded a cart full of bottles onto the counter by the register.  
Stacey's list had included enough liquor to open her own bar.  
Hank watched without a word as she checked the list again and paid the 
$1000 total with her credit card.  A handful of condoms fell from her 
purse as she presented the card.  She smiled coyly at the clerk and 
left them behind.

"Um, having a party, Sarah?" Hank asked with a grin.

She licked her pink lips, stroked her hair, glanced down at his cock, 
and asked him to help her to the car with the booze.  She made sure to 
brush by him as he held the door for her.  As her breasts moved lightly 
across his shirt she moved her hips forward, just grazing the front of 
his pants.  He was hard as a rock.

It was almost 2:30 when they found time for lunch.  Hank sweated and 
leered at her as he inhaled a huge sandwich and drank his second beer.  
Sarah ordered per Stacey's instructions - a small salad and three 
Manhattans.  She rarely drank, and by the time they finished it was all 
she could do to stay on her feet.

The last stop required a drive to the south side of the city.  Once 
there, Hank parked the car and followed her into one of the many sex 
shops crowded side-by-side along the narrow street.  He stared in 
wonder at the assortment of bondage paraphernalia displayed on shelf 
after shelf.  He followed Sarah, his mouth agape as he passed under a 
canopy of leather harnesses and restraints that hung ominously from the 
ceiling. 

Sarah approached the clerk and tried to read Stacey's list, but the 
alcohol had her mind reeling.  She gave up and handed the list to the 
old man, remembering to smile and stare at his crotch as she asked for 
his help.  They waited at the counter as he shuffled about the cramped 
shop filling several well-worn grocery bags with merchandise.  Sarah 
felt some relief as she noticed that much of it was obviously not 
intended for her.  Hank winced as he watched the bags filled with 
unfamiliar but frightening items - "cock rings", "ball-stretchers", 
"butt plugs", and an varied array of leather goods made to bind and 
torture male genitalia in ways he could have never imagined.  Sarah 
smiled at Hank, lowered her eyes to his cock, licked her lips, and even 
ran her hand lightly over her right breast beneath the pink silk, but 
to her chagrin, his erection was gone.

It was after 4:00 when they returned to work.  Hank helped her carry 
the bags and cartons to her office, then quickly retreated to try to 
recover what was left of the afternoon.  Stacey had watched them get 
off the elevator.  She stood with two of the other secretaries, all of 
them giggling as Stacey whispered to them.  She appeared in Sarah's 
doorway seconds after Hank's hasty exit.

"Where have you two been, Barbie?  Mr. Burgess has been looking for you 
all afternoon - something about some figures he needs by the end of the 
day.  I hope you had a good time.  Did you get all my stuff?"

Sarah stared at her, boiling beneath a fragile exterior.

"Yes, Stacey.  I found everything," she answered icily.

"Well, I didn't see Hank wearing a big hard cock when he left your 
office.  Were you nice to him, Barbie?"

"Yes, Stacey.  I was very nice to him.  And for the record, he had an 
erection, I mean ... a hard-on, almost all afternoon. It seems he was a 
little squeamish after our last stop.  But of course, you knew that, 
right?"

"Now Barbie, don't blame me if you couldn't get him hard.  You didn't 
have much luck with your husband either, did you?  I don't think you're 
trying.  Be creative.  Be sexy.  Be Barbie.  You have less than an 
hour.  See ya!"

What could she do?  Work was out of the question.  The drinks from her 
late lunch made it impossible to concentrate.  Anger and fear 
overwhelmed her as she sat behind the desk that hid her bare, trembling 
thighs.  A large tear formed at the corner of each eye, threatening to 
combine with a second, then spill over her cheeks, carrying dark 
streaks of eyeliner with them.  Then, she knew what she had to do. 
Barbie knew.

She worked the sheer panties over her hips and let them slide down her 
legs, leaving them on the carpet under her desk.  At 4:45 she was 
leaning against Hank's open door, leering at him, asking for his help.  
By 4:50 he was standing in her office again, watching her from behind 
as she tried to lift one of the cartons of liquor from the floor to her 
desk.  The skirt rose over her ass as she bent at the waist, giving 
Hank an inviting view of her pouting cunt.  Just as Betty had trained 
her, Sarah began to work her cunt open and closed, inviting her 
penetration.  She froze for a few seconds, then looked back at him and 
grinned.  Hank stepped up behind her quickly, his hand cupped between 
her spread legs.  She could feel a finger worm its way into her, 
stroking and rubbing the length of her watery slit.  She studied his 
reflection in the mirrored wall that faced them.  She was still 
repelled by his familiar smirk, the red, puffy cheeks, and drooping 
eyelids.  So why did it feel so good?  Why did she want him to slide 
two fingers, then three, or finally his entire hand inside her?  She 
arched her back, opening her cunt to him, wanting not only his hard-on, 
but a thick, long cock that could fill her to her limit, a cock that 
could stretch her painfully, pound relentlessly into her until the hot 
cum flowed from her like a fountain.

Just as Hank pulled his cock through the open zipper of his slacks, 
Stacey burst through the door with her usual exuberance.

"Hi, guys!  What's up?  Whooops, it looks like Hank's up!  Sorry big 
guy, but we've gotta go!  C'mon Barbie, you two can play tomorrow."


                               -*-


Sarah was shaking, trying to keep her legs together in the small 
Escort.  Stacey gently stroked her thighs with her long nails.  

"Are you still horny, Barbie?"

Sarah groaned.  She couldn't believe the display she had made of 
herself ... and with Hank of all people.  He would tell all of his 
sexist bastard friends at work.  She wanted to finger herself, plunge 
her hand right into her cunt and bring herself off.  But Stacey had 
said No Sex. 

"Yes, Stacey, I'm still horny."

"Who's horny?  And let's hear some details."

Sarah burned beet-red.

"Cock-Tease Barbie is horny.  She spent all day teasing Hank's cock.  
Hank had his finger in her hot pussy.  Barbie wanted him to fuck her 
hard but Barbie is not allowed to have sex with Hank, just tease his 
cock."

"That's right.  You're just a cock-tease for now.  Later, when you're 
so horny that all you can think about all day is big cocks, when you 
stare at guys cocks all the time and look up at their eyes every minute 
or so, when you wiggle your ass because you want some guy to bend you 
over a desk and fuck you, maybe then we can start on a new Barbie game.  
Meanwhile, you just work on your lessons."

Sarah sat sullenly.

"Now pay attention because this is going to be hard for an airhead like 
you to understand," Stacey taunted.  "You see, the reason you love to 
tease cock is because guys' cocks get so hard.  And you love to stare 
at guys' hard cocks because then you can see who has the biggest cock.  
See, you don't want to fuck a guy with a dinky cock.  You want a really 
big one, a cock that rips your cunt up bad.  Only really big cocks can 
make you cum, so you need to keep getting guys' cocks hard until you 
find one big enough to fuck you."

Slowly, Stacey's hidden message dawned on Sarah.  Stacey wanted her to 
make a display of herself with every guy at work until she found the 
one with the biggest cock.  In the meantime, Stacey planned to keep her 
on sexual edge, increasingly frustrated and begging for release.

Sarah remembered the first cock that had made such a lasting impression 
on her, a cock bigger and thicker than any she had ever seen.  Rigid, 
powerful, throbbing with an intricate network of branching veins, its 
image, disembodied, looming enticingly in her mind's eye, refused to 
leave her.  She could almost feel the head of it prying her open, 
stretching and filling her in a way she had never known.  What was it 
Rock had said to her when she had surrendered to him, lost in an orgasm 
so intense she would have sacrificed everything for a few more seconds 
of it?  

"You've always been a fucktoy, Sarah, always hungry for a bigger cock, 
never really satisfied with a puny one. I can see it in your eyes.  
Let yourself cum, Sarah. It's what you want. It's what you've always 
wanted."

She could still see his eyes, dancing with flickering orange highlights 
from the fire behind them. They faded, now replaced with a familiar 
set of eyes - eyes filled with pain and weakness, pleading with her to 
reject the warm, thick shaft that filled her, to abandon that which 
gave her more pleasure than she could ever have imagined. She shivered
as Stacey's nails traveled up along her inner thigh. It was the first 
time she felt pity as she gazed into her husband's eyes.


                                -*-


In the weeks that followed, Sarah found each day more frustrating than 
the last. Stacey never left her alone for more than a few minutes at a 
time. The lunch-hour errands Stacey required of her became a daily 
ritual, and since Stacey always drove them to work, she had to ask one 
man after another at the office for transportation.  

The outfits Stacey chose for her became more outrageous each day, so 
she usually had no trouble attracting a different "date" for every 
lunchtime outing. There was always a opportunity to prance and wiggle 
in front of them, and if that didn't work, a few extra buttons undone 
on an already revealing blouse, or the promising offering of her shaved 
pussy as she bent to recover a dropped condom from her purse always 
made them hard.  

Almost without realizing it, she became fascinated with the variety of 
cock sizes and shapes. She marveled at how some of the largest men's 
pants barely bulged at all, while a few slender, quiet types she would 
have never looked at twice were excitingly impressive. She began to 
collect business cards from each of them, scribbling a guess at the 
size of his hard-on on the back of it when she returned. She arranged 
the cards in neat rows on her desktop, sorted from biggest cock to 
smallest.  Each afternoon when she returned, she re-sorted them based 
on another observation, or when she added a new card. She could never 
quite decide who was the biggest. Even when she thought she knew, she 
daydreamed about finding the next cock, one that would be a little 
longer, or just slightly thicker.  

She became the office joke, "a real bimbo" as more than a few of the 
women muttered when Sarah pranced through the office. Worse yet, there 
never seemed to any time for work. The long lunches, the three-
Manhattan-buzz afterward, and her growing obsession with finding a 
bigger cock kept her mind occupied the entire day.

Then, just when she thought things couldn't get worse, and her days 
became frighteningly routine, Stacey would find a new and sadistically 
clever way to humiliate her. The nights were often worse than her 
days. Stacey toyed with her, kept her on edge for hours while they 
watched X-rated videos of guys with enormous cocks. One horrible trick 
that Stacy loved drove Sarah crazy. Stacey would slowly work a long 
slim dildo into Sarah's aching cunt, and then do nothing at all with 
it. Stacy would play with her nipples and clit, but that hard rod in 
her cunt was there to torment her. Just when Sarah was nearing a 
tremendous orgasm, Stacy would pull the fake cock out and leave Sarah 
hanging.

Three weeks after Sarah's return to work, Stacey was waiting in her 
office when she stumbled in after what now was a four-drink-minimum 
lunch. By afternoon, Sarah routinely was in a haze of drunken lust and 
frustration. Stacey closed the door, grinning at Sarah's unsteady gait 
as she made her way to her desk, wobbling in the hot-pink thigh-high 
boots. 

"Have a nice lunch, Barbie?  I see you got my groceries."

"Yes, Stacey," she answered, while juggling the overfilled bags.

"Who was it this time?  Was his cock big enough?"

"It was Stu, and yes, he has a huge cock."

"You mean st-st-st-stuttering Stu?  From the mailroom?  Barbie, you're 
such a slut."

"You shouldn't make fun of him.  He was nice to me.  Much nicer than 
Hank."

"Well of course.  Hank hates you, now that he's figured out that you 
never intended to fuck him.  So, does Stu go to the top of the list?"

"Stu doesn't have business cards.  But he's. . . "

"No, I guess a mailroom clerk wouldn't."

Stacey smirked as Sarah tore a page from a small notepad, folded it 
until it was the size of a business card, quickly wrote a few lines, 
and placed it above the first row of cards on her desk.

Stacey walked behind the desk and opened the blinds covering the wall 
of windows. She looked out over the construction site adjacent to 
their building. The steel framework was already higher than their 
floor, and a swarm of workers in hardhats were busy erecting interior 
walls for the new offices.  

"Oh look, Barbie!  Look at all those big, strong, sweaty guys!  All 
those cocks...I wonder how big they are?  Let's find out. Wave to 
them, Barbie."

Sarah rose and turned toward the window. Stacey was right. It was a 
steamy August day, and the young workers bodies gleamed with a shiny 
layer of sweat. Their bare chests and thin, lean waists would have 
provided hours of eye-candy for any woman, but Sarah was more 
interested in what they carried between their legs. Her gaze lingered 
on the tightly stretched denim just below each shallow navel. She was 
barely conscious of her right hand, now waving furiously at the window.

It didn't take long for a row of the men to assemble along the nearest 
beam, waving and whistling back across the fifty feet that separated 
the buildings. Sarah's pulse quickened as she waved and smiled back at 
them. Unconsciously, she was bouncing on tiptoe in her platform heeled
boots, setting her tits ajiggle.

"Strip Barbie. It's the only way you'll be able to tell which one has 
the biggest cock."

Stacey stood just out of sight, to one side of the windows. She 
fiddled with the radio, finally tuning it to a local pop station.  
Sarah knew immediately what she was to do, and started to sway in time 
to the music. She ran her hands over the pink latex micro-dress, 
rubbing her breasts with both hands, then stretched her arms in the air 
over her head. The slick material worked its way up over her hips, 
exposing her hairless cunt as she gyrated and thrust it at the 
cheering men.  

"The desk, Barbie. They can't see you're pussy. Get up on your desk."

Sarah glanced at Stacey and sighed. Then, as she climbed onto the
large oak desk, a change came over her. She stood there looking down 
at the growing crowd of construction workers. She didn't see faces, 
only the hard, tanned torsos and the outlines of more swollen cocks 
than she could count. A quick tug on the large gold ring opened the 
zipper that ran the length of the tiny dress. A wiggle and a shrug, 
and she was naked, except for the flashy, pink plastic thigh-high 
boots. The men let out a howl that could be heard for blocks. Her 
dancing became wilder. She used every suggestive gesture she could 
remember, then made up a few of her own. Her moves became a frenzied 
blur. She squeezed her tits, pulled and twisted her nipples, grinned 
and drooled as she witnessed the men's responses. Finally, now no 
longer in control of her own urges, she brought both hands between her 
legs, plunging two fingers inside her while holding her cunt open with 
the other hand. She wanted, needed, the biggest cock of the bunch.  
But which one?  Who was the biggest?  There were so many. Frantically, 
her eyes roved the crowd.

Stacey brought her back to reality with an unexpected tug on her right 
boot. She held a huge cucumber, one item on the long list of produce 
purchased as instructed during Sarah's lunch outing.  

"Show them what you really want, Barbie."

Sarah stared in horror, backing away and shaking her head.

"No, Stacey. Please, no. I can't . . . don't make me, please . . ."

Stacey just grinned, offering the massive object to her until she gave 
up and accepted it.  

"Hold it up so they can see it, Barbie."

She raised all ten inches of it in the air, waving it for the men to 
see. The crowd was larger now, and exploded with cheers. She saw 
smaller groups of men here and there fighting for the use of a few sets 
of binoculars.

After more of Stacey's threats, Sarah put the end of the cuke between 
her legs and began to push. It felt gigantic - even bigger than she had 
imagined.  The three-inch diameter stretched her painfully 
at first, but after coating a few inches of it with her juices, she was 
slowly able to bury nearly eight inches of it inside her grasping 
vagina. She watched the men watching her, imagining the hard presence 
inside her sprouting from one of the sweaty, naked torsos that cheered 
her on. Her breathing became quicker and deeper as she worked. It 
felt so good, so big. Her finger stroked her clit, now slippery and 
engorged to it's full size. Stacey recognized her frequent 
sideways glances as desperate pleas for permission to finish it, to 
cum in front of her audience.

"You want to cum, don't you, Barbie?"

Sarah couldn't bring herself to say it, but her eyes gave Stacey her 
answer.

"Well, you've been a good Barbie today; if you tell me what you really
want, I let you go ahead."

"I want ... I mean, Cock-Tease Barbie wants to cum in front of all 
these guys so that she'll know who has the totally biggest cock, and 
Barbie can go ask to fuck him."

Stacy nodded.  

"Go ahead, show all the guys just what you want - if their cocks are 
big enough, that is."

Sarah dropped to her knees on the spacious desk. With a quick sweep of 
her arm she cleared the top of it, sending pens, paperclips, and stacks 
of unfinished paperwork flying. Then after rolling onto her back, 
pink-booted legs in the air, she found her hungry little clit and went 
to work.

The men with binoculars had the best view. Her cunt faced them, 
stuffed with the giant cucumber. One hand held it in place, twisting 
and pumping it in short rapid strokes, while the fingers of her other 
hand danced over her clit like an angry insect. Her legs formed a 
large V in the air above her, framing her hard breasts and nipples as 
they too pointed at the ceiling, bouncing just a little as her hips 
twisted and jerked.  

She no longer cared that she was naked on her desk at work, 
masturbating for a crowd of strange men. When she closed her eyes, the 
best and biggest of them was inside her, his immense cock filling her, 
possessing her, as surely as a sturdy lance had skewered her, pinning 
her to the cold, hard oak. Was it one man or more than one? Many?  
The face in her mind kept changing. Only the cock remained the same - 
huge and totally filling.

There was no warning. She came suddenly and violently. Her loud moan 
filled the room as one long exhalation of satisfaction. Minutes later, 
curtains drawn, Stacey tried to calm Sarah down and pull her back 
together. Sarah continued to clutch both hands against her cunt, 
forcing her fantasy cock deeper, mumbling incoherently. Stacey stroked 
her hair, planting small kisses over her face, waiting, waiting, until 
Sarah's words fell softly and breathlessly on her waiting ear. 

"No . . . you can't have it . . . I found him . . . it's mine . . . I 
won't let you take it . . . mine . . . all mine . . . all mine . . . "

This time, Stacey's smile lit up her entire face.
















                              Chapter 10

It was the kind of Sunday that Sarah and her husband would have enjoyed 
together not long ago.  Now she lay on the large quilt beside 
Stacey, propped up on her elbows, watching the parade of joggers on 
this warm fall afternoon.  Just beyond, the lake sparkled in the mid-
day sun.  An endless procession of lean, tan bodies circled the small 
lake, crowding the narrow path that that ran its circumference, 
disappearing into the wooded park at the far end, only to reappear in 
the distance across the restless water.

A few blades of long, fine grass yielding to a short gust of fall 
air teased her ankle near the edge of the quilt.  Startled, she 
brushed at it, as if to send a fly or some similar pest on its way.  
Now distracted from her daydreams, she turned her attention to Stacey, 
lying on her stomach next to her.  The sky-blue bikini hid little of 
her slim figure, glowing alabaster-white in the afternoon sun.  Turning 
toward her, she gently touched Stacey's cheek with the back of her 
hand, then ran it down her neck to her shoulder where her open palm 
came to rest.  It was now more habit than obedience.  Stacey had 
required it of her weeks ago; the brief but intimate gesture was to 
precede each and every conversation. Whenever they spoke, Sarah kept in 
touch with Stacey's body until they were done.

Stacey's pixie face was turned toward her.  She stirred under Sarah's 
touch, a wide, warm smile growing beneath closed eyes. 

"Mmmm.  Nice."

She reached out, eyes still shut, easily finding Sarah's bare leg. 
Still purring as though half-asleep, she explored the warmth of 
Sarah's inner thigh.  Sarah shuddered, glancing along the path a few 
yards from them as Stacey's fingers lifted the thin nylon and slid 
inside the tiny white jogging shorts.  Her hand tightened on Stacey's 
shoulder as she felt a finger enter her, then trace slow circles 
through the juices pooling between her legs.

Stacey's eyes were open now, peering up at her with teasing curiosity.

"You're sooo wet, Barbie.  Did I catch you filling that empty little 
head with cock fantasies again?"

As usual, Sarah was distracted by the passing joggers.  Half-listening
to Stacey, her eyes were locked on an approaching boy, about sixteen 
she guessed, with an enormous erection that bobbed and wobbled as he 
trotted past them.  He looked down at them and smiled, then winked.  
Sarah was sure she was his target.  She waved back, wiggling her 
fingers and flashing her best Barbie smile.

Flushed, Sarah looked away at the boy departing.

"I think I'll go for a run, Stace.  OK?"

"Behave yourself, Barbie.  No hanky-panky, and don't be too long - I'm 
starting to burn."

Stacey watched her prance along the water, now getting stares from 
everyone she passed.  She had insisted that Sarah slit each leg of her 
tiny shorts to the waistband.  In the bright sunlight her translucent 
tube-top revealed the twin dark circles of her stiffened nipples.  
Stacey found her pink visor in the clearance section of a local toy 
store; it bore a cartoon likeness of the ever-popular doll's pouting 
face just above the Barbie logo, glittering in flowery script that 
could well have been the signature of Barbie herself, assuming Barbie 
could write.  

Stacey closed her eyes, again smiling with satisfaction.  The past 
weeks had been particularly rewarding.  Sarah had worked her way 
through all the men at the office except for Burgess himself.  Each had 
taken his turn escorting her on daily lunch breaks, drooling at the 
chance to succeed where the others had failed.  Those able to sustain 
the most impressive erections were treated to a few heart-pounding 
moments when Sarah would expose her shaved cunt to them, teasing them 
with the promise of burying their "big, thick cocks" in her hungry 
hole.  One by one, they all failed.  Sarah rejected them because Stacey 
demanded it.  Barbie rejected them because even the biggest cocks 
weren't big enough.  

It wasn't long before all of them despised her.  Prolonged frustration 
followed by wounded egos, all in full view of their peers and 
subordinates, made her repeated rejections especially humiliating.  

When they no longer spoke to Sarah, they began to take out their anger 
on the nearest female.  Secretaries, co-workers, clients - none of the 
women escaped the wrath of Barbie's handiwork.  

And of course, the women hated her as well.  They had a headstart.  
Their aversion to Sarah began the first day Barbie entered the office.

Watching the men fawn over her like school-boys in heat didn't help, 
and now further abuse from those same vengeful "bags of testosterone" 
had the women fuming.  Soon they turned on each other.  Petty 
disagreements escalated to heated shouting matches followed by periods 
of sulking while each plotted her own special revenge.  The office was 
in turmoil.  Stacey stood in the midst of it, feigning a shared dismay
at Sarah's disgraceful conduct, savoring each minute of the chaos she 
had so successfully orchestrated.  

Even Stu had abandoned her.  On their second outing, no longer able to 
resist the magnificent arch of meat straining at the front of his 
slacks, she placed a hand in his lap as he drove.  His cock seemed to 
go on forever.  It throbbed in her hand as she milked the entire 
length of it, searching for the tip, guessing its length and girth.  
God, it was sooo entirely huge!  She had to have it.  Sarah was  
dripping wet.  But he had stopped her when she went for his zipper, 
desperate to free her long awaited trophy.  "P-p-please d-d-don't, 
Sarah," he had managed with a worried glance.  "I'm m-m-married - m-m-y 
wife - I just c-c-can't."  Sarah was stunned.  Stacey made things worse 
when Sarah confided in her later that day.  

"I don't understand, Stacey.  Why didn't he want me?  Any of the others 
would have jumped at the chance, married or not."

"Barbie, you poor stupid little thing.  Don't you get it?  What do I 
have to do to make you understand?  Repeat after me, 'Gee, I guess I'm
too dumb to get it.'  Then, ask me to explain it to you.  

"Gee, Stacey, ...uhmm, I guess I'm ...like, so dumb," Sarah stammered,  
"I mean, too dumb.  Could you ... you know, tell me why Stu didn't let
me suck his big cock?"

"I'll say this really slow so that even you can understand.  Guys with 
really big cocks only want to fuck the best Barbies, the drop-dead 
gorgeous ones."

Pulling her in front of the mirrored wall next to her desk, Stacey 
continued to explain while Sarah looked hesitantly at her reflection.

"Big-cocked guys only fuck Barbies with massive, hard tits and nipples.
They only put their cocks inside Barbies with tiny waists and long, 
thin Barbie thighs with that little space between them that screams 
'Fuck me till I cum!'  Just look at yourself.  You're just not a Big-
Cock-Barbie.  You're more Hank's type."

Sarah stared into the mirror at what she had become.  The hot pink 
leotard fit her like a glove from neck to ankles.  She pulled her 
shoulders back, forcing the short, white bolero jacket open as her 
breasts thrust forward against it. Even wearing the heavy, white, 
platform boots, she saw no daylight between her slim thighs.  And she 
had always wished that her waist was a little longer, a bit more 
slender.  

So she dieted - and exercised - half-heartedly at first, then 
religiously.  Stacey was ecstatic each time Sarah asked to go to the 
gym, or grunted her way through another exercise set on the apartment 
floor.  When she picked at a salad each night instead of sharing 
Stacey's deluxe pizza or Chinese take-out, Stacey made a big fuss. 
Sarah lingered over the details of how she might look in the full-
length mirror after one more day of salads and aerobics.  She spent 
hours imagining each new line and curve, each subtle improvement that 
may lead her to a cock worthy of her attention.  'Pretty soon, those 
guys with really big cocks will want me.  I'll be so hot that the 
biggest cocks will fight over me.'  For Sarah, believing that had 
not only become a religion for her, it was salvation. 

But Stacey's favorite pastime was watching Sarah before bed as she 
posed in front of the mirror.  Naked, on tiptoe, she cupped her breasts 
with both hands, trying unsuccessfully to make them appear larger and 
harder than the night before.  Then, still stretching, up on the balls 
of her feet, heels together, she would carefully place a hand between 
her legs, checking for a space wide enough to allow a single, narrow 
finger to bridge the widening gap.  Best of all was watching Sarah's 
disappointment return, the increasing dissatisfaction with her body, 
her developing fantasies of the body she might have that would be 
irresistible, that definitely would command every cock in sight.

Still, even after her best efforts, Sarah remained an outcast at work.  
Now her only lunchtime companions were the young construction workers 
outside her office window. Following up on her desk-top dancing  
sessions, Sarah would mince and wiggle across the street.  She never 
grew tired of sampling them, eagerly climbing aboard one rusty pick-up 
truck after another, obsessed with finding a new cock bigger than the 
last.  None of them objected to her hand in his lap, or to her skillful 
attempts in her quest to bring his cock to its fullest glory.  She 
rewarded those with the biggest cocks by masturbating them as they 
drove. She was fascinated with the way a cock seemed to surge a bit in 
size just before eruption.  Without realizing it, Sarah had come to 
love the moment a big, fat cock spewed its thick contents at her.  Not 
sure whether a hand-job counted as the sex Stacey had forbidden, never 
touching her own steaming cunt, Sarah took no chances, consuming the 
evidence of her research with enthusiastic licks and slurps.  

Today, for the first time, Stacey saw Sarah's obsession spill over into 
the weekend.  In the past, a day away from the office chased Barbie 
back into the shadows.  Even the slightest retreat allowed the familiar 
hint of regret and humiliation to show in Sarah's eyes, and Stacey 
would have to resort to an especially embarrassing punishment.  
Last Sunday she had Sarah loosen the string of her bikini top as she 
finished the last half of her final lap.  Stacey had laughed 
hysterically as the top fluttered to the ground, Sarah's bare breasts 
bouncing, legs pumping madly while she fought to make it back to the 
safety of her towel.  Sarah could feel the burning stares of the other 
runners, but Stacey was quick to remind her that only the men with the 
smallest dicks looked for more than a second or two.  Retrieving her 
top was worse.  Stacey had her go after it when the path was the most 
crowded.  A few of the men stared, but she couldn't avoid the women's 
vicious insults of "stupid slut" and "blonde bimbo".

But today was a milestone.  Sarah's eyes darted from crotch to crotch, 
sizing each thinly concealed prick, making mental notes of which was 
the biggest and thickest.  She flirted with many of them, and was 
rewarded with a few unmistakable hard-ons that poked embarrassingly at 
the front of their jogging shorts.  

Stacey watched with amusement as Sarah made the turn that headed her 
back to their blanket.  The pink sneakers cycled up and down as the 
practiced prance carried her slowly on her way.  Soon she collapsed 
next to Stacey, breathing hard, but smiling brightly.  Stacey grinned 
back in wonder, her eyes drifting lower, away from Sarah's face.  
Beaming with pride and exhilaration, she decided not to even mention 
the thin string of semen that arced shimmering and thread-like over 
Sarah's right shoulder.  

                                   -*-

"Pleeeeease?  Oh, please, please, please?"

Sarah held Stacey lightly by the shoulders, then moved both hands up to 
cup her face, stroking her neck along the way.  Stacey stood a foot 
away, bracing herself against Sarah's whining.  She despised the 
grating sound, even if it did come from a Barbie.

Word came on Monday morning that the firm's potential new client would 
arrive later in the week for final negotiations.  Success would mean a 
promotion to partner for the employee able to demonstrate an image 
aggressive and creative enough to close the deal.  

Sarah continued to beg and whine, hopeful that Stacey would let her 
dress for the occasion.  She met the conservative Japanese executives 
on their last visit and had charmed them with her no-nonsense air and 
easy smile.  She cringed at the thought of having to greet them dressed 
in flaming pink spandex.  Was a navy business suit too much to ask, for 
just two days?

Suddenly, eyes glittering, Stacey gave in.

"Oh, alright, Barbie - if it means that much to you.  But it won't 
matter.  Clothes may make the man, but they won't give a Barbie Bimbo 
the sense to come in out of the rain."

"Oh, thank-you, thank-you, thank-you, Stace!"

Sarah took her in her arms, bouncing up and down on tiptoe, continuing 
to thank her like a small child allowed to stay up past her bedtime.  
Stacey rolled her eyes, now thankful she had closed the door to Sarah's 
office.

                                  -*-

Sarah felt like her old self again.  She strutted through the office, 
smug as ever in the sleek Liz Claiborne suit, now confident she could 
recover any ground lost over the past month and reclaim her career.
The morning passed too quickly as she reviewed the lengthy contract, 
but by noon she was buoyed by increasing optimism.  The image in her 
office mirror was a welcome one for a change.  The suit fit as though 
it was made for her - the jacket square shouldered, narrowing to a long 
slim waist, the dark skirt flirting with a few inches of thigh above 
well-sculpted lines of knee and calf.  But the picture wasn't perfect.  
Stacey had insisted on the six-inch heels, although she did allow a 
matching color.  Her platinum hair lay flat and shining along her face, 
now curled under as it followed the line of her jaw.  The jacket bulged 
at the front, her new breasts tight against the tailored silk blouse.  
Stacey was right.  Barbie was still underneath somewhere, straining to 
get out.  Her only hope was that the bit of Barbie that showed might 
appeal to the men, giving her an advantage.

"They'll see right through it.  You know that, don't you?"

Sarah turned from her reflection, meeting Stacey's stare with an angry 
one of her own.

"You can dress the Barbie up in fancy clothes, but you can't disguise 
an empty head.  Do you really think they'll listen to you for more than 
a few seconds?  Every time you open your mouth, all they'll be thinking 
about is how fuckable you are.  But I'll have to admit I agree with 
them.  You're so cute, trying to dress like a respectable business 
woman..."

Stacey crossed the room and put both arms around her waist.  She 
brought her face to within an inch of Sarah's, gazing deeply into her 
eyes, then looked down at the rigid mounds now crushed against her own 
modest breasts.  Sarah eyed the open door warily, but knew better than 
to object to Stacey's advances at a time when she needed to stay on her 
good side.  Her hand found Sarah's breast and palmed it, feeling the 
rising nipple through blouse and bra.  Her voice was a raspy whisper.

"Mmmm.  I could just slip this off you and suck on these for hours.  
Bet I could make you cum.  Don't you think I could make you cum just by 
sucking on your tits?"

"Please, Stacey.  Not today, not now."

"But why not, my little fucktoy?  Don't you want to play with me?  
Don't you love me anymore?  I could make you lose the blouse for your 
precious meeting - let you show the nice men more titty than you 
planned.  This jacket wouldn't hide much."

Stacey plucked at the buttons.  She opened one, then another, and 
finally a third, slowly parting the fabric to expose the inner third of 
both firm spheres.  

In the outer office two women stood and chatted directly in Sarah's 
line of sight.  Both noticed her at nearly the same time, and sneered 
with disgust at Stacey's body, now pressed tightly against hers.

"I-I love you, Stace.  But they're watching us!  Please, any other 
day, Stacey, just not today?  I'll make it up to you.  OK?"

Exasperated, Stacey dropped her arms with an exaggerated sigh.

"Oh, alright Barbie.  Go to your silly little meeting.  But first, 
could you do me a really, really big favor?"

Stacey held the yellow square of paper at arm's length.  The edge stuck 
to her outstretched finger, the list of finely written items barely 
legible from three feet away.

Sarah felt her world caving in about her.  As hard as she tried, as
desperately as she struggled for what little control Stacey had not
yet seized, a tear began to grow at the corner of her eye.

"Pleeease.  The meeting's in an hour!  I'll never get back in time!  
You promised!  You can't do this to me!"

"Come on, Barbie.  It's just a few simple things from that gourmet shop 
we love so much.  I wanted to fix you a nice dinner tonight.  You're 
not going to be ungrateful, are you?  You'll have plenty of time if you 
leave now.  Be a good Barbie.  Bye-bye!"

By 12:05 Sarah was making her way as fast as she could in the six-inch 
heels to the nearby construction site.  She knew better than to ask any 
of the men in the office for a ride these days, and besides, they were 
all busy preparing for the meeting.  

They didn't recognize her at first.  Pink was her color.  But that 
didn't stop them from staring slack-jawed at the slim young woman 
approaching them.  She marched quickly across the makeshift ramps of 
wood as if she knew her way, calf muscles flexing beneath six inches of 
exposed ivory thigh.  Then, when she came close enough to count the 
sparkling beads of sweat racing into waists of their jeans, pooling, 
she knew, in the spaces made between swollen cocks and straining 
zippers, she heard her name passed from one man to another. 

There was little time to waste.  She wiggled her tits, bounced up and 
down on her toes, and waved her best Barbie wave.  

"Hey, guys!  Like, can anybody give me a ride?  Pleeease?"

A tap on the shoulder startled her.  She turned awkwardly, almost 
falling off the plywood into the deeply rutted mud.  Jared stood there 
grinning, hands on his hips, watching her as the plywood shifted 
beneath her heels.  By now he was her favorite.  For a week she sat 
beside him in his Jeep, smitten by his gray eyes, crooked smile, and 
perpetually hard, monstrous cock.  He was mysteriously quiet from the 
start, deep she thought.  He hadn't flinched the first time she stroked 
him through his jeans.  Then, later, when she routinely freed the log 
of warm flesh from his pants, he would keep his eyes on the road and 
grin while she caressed the mushroom-shaped head with her fingertips.  
It was only after he sensed her pleading eyes on him that he came, 
covering her hands with a surging river, thick and white.  Try as she 
might, she never seemed able to make him cum until he was ready, after 
he saw her beg.  

Two younger boys hung back, a yard behind on either side.  Bared to the 
tops of their faded cutoffs, they gawked and elbowed each other, 
peering from behind Jared's sturdy frame.  

"Oh Jared, I'm sooo glad to see you!  I'm really, really late and I 
need a ride downtown to that gourmet shop, you remember the one.  Can 
you take me, now, pleeease?"

The two boys chuckled at her choice of words, and edged closer.  Jared 
smiled his crooked smile and took her hand, helping Sarah off the 
plywood toward a parking lot at the back of the site.  He held 
her hand firmly as they walked, even after they reached the fine gravel 
where the footing was better.  She felt comfortable, protected, just as 
she had with her husband when they first met.  She tried to remember 
when those feelings had left her, but it hadn't happened in an instant, 
or even a day or a week.  She felt safe in the warmth of Jared's large, 
callused hand, and, clinging to those few seductive minutes, put her 
shoulder against his bare arm, never once lowering her eyes to his 
crotch.

The white van sat at the back of the lot, parked well away from the row 
of resting dumptrucks and dozers, their job now nearly done.  Jared 
stopped next to the faded blue lettering on the side door.

"Mine's in the garage today.  We'll have to take the van.  Mind if the 
boys tag along?"

He unlatched the door, leaning hard against it, sliding it open with a 
sudden shove.  Before she could answer, she was pushed inside followed 
by Jared and the boys.  The door slammed shut taking daylight with it.  
The van was filled with mover's quilts and plastic tarps, now more 
visible as her eyes grew accustomed to the dim interior.  The 
sweltering heat robbed her of her breath as she struggled, now tangled 
in the heavy padding.  She was finally on her knees.  Then came the 
sudden burning over her scalp as strong hands grasped her hair, 
snapping her head backward with a vicious yank.  

Jared crouched between her and the windshield.  He was a dark 
silhouette now, without gray eyes or crooked smile.  She felt his 
powerful hands at the sides of her face, then a rough thumb traveling 
over it, finally forcing it's way into her mouth.  His friends held her 
from behind, one by the hair, the other wrapping her wrists tightly 
with a strip of cloth.

"What's the matter, Barbie?  Not in a party mood?  You probably thought 
I'd be satisfied to let you play with my cock for as long as you like, 
then wiggle your ass on over to the next guy when you get bored.  I've 
seen your type before.  The respectable business woman decides she 
needs a few jollies, so she goes slumming - thinks it's so cool to go 
after some real cock for a change instead of that needle-dicked preppie 
crowd she cuddles up to while she's on the clock.  Only you don't fuck 
us, do you Barbie?  You save the pussy for your lawyers and CEOs.  What 
do you think about when they're humping away on that fine little body? 
The money?  Does the money make you cum?  Do you see green when you 
close your eyes and grit your teeth, waiting to slide out from under 
those pasty momma's boys after they whack off inside you?  Well, bitch, 
do you?"

"Please, please, Jared.  You're scaring me.  It's not like that, not at 
all!  I want to, I want to so much.  You don't know how much I've 
wanted you.  But I can't.  I can't explain right now, but I just 
can't!"

"I think you can.  I think it's time you lived out your little fantasy, 
Barbie.  I think it's time you get what you've wanted all along."

His prick was even larger than she remembered, now just inches from her 
face.  He pushed the slick tip against her lips. She welcomed the musky
flavor, sealing her mouth firmly around the shaft as it edged 
forward.  Now she wanted nothing more than to show him how hungry she 
was for him, to devour him with the skills learned from taking hundreds 
of cocks in her mouth.  But her best efforts were useless.  The boys 
held her tightly from behind while Jared clamped her head between his 
huge hands.  She was helpless, unable to move or show her willingness
to give in to him.  He stabbed roughly at her open mouth, never
stopping or allowing her to rest.  She lashed at the head with her
tongue, then worked it along the heavy ridge on the underside, 
drooling long strings of saliva down her chin, onto the silk blouse.  
All feeling drained from her hands as the tightly cinched cloth slowed 
the flow of blood at her wrists.  Her knees burned as the rocking 
motion ground them into the floor of the van.  And she was wet, wetter 
than she had ever been - dripping, sopping between her legs.  If only 
she - someone - could touch her there, put a finger inside her, just 
enough to trigger her release.  Then, with no warning, he came, filling 
her mouth and throat with jets of thick, white cum.  In an instant, her 
own orgasm shook her like a jolt of current, holding her in a brief 
seizure, then racking her with loud moans of relief.  Jared pumped his 
cock deeper into her, forcing the semen she couldn't swallow out of the 
corners of her mouth, down her chin, and onto the shoulders and front
of her tailored suit.

For the next half-hour she gave in to them.  Hands tied, limp and 
willing, she would have tolerated any perversion for a taste of the sex 
forbidden by Stacey for so long.  The two boys took turns at her 
upturned ass as they bent her over a stack of padding.  She heard the 
skirt rip as it bunched about her waist, then the sudden coolness as 
her panties were pulled over the tops of her thighs.  It burned at 
first, but eventually even their brutality made her wet. She watched 
Jared as they sodomized her.  He milked his now flaccid cock, still 
nearly as large as when it filled her mouth.  Slowly, his erection 
returned, almost as if she had willed it back to its jutting, rigid 
state. 

The boys finished quickly, each of them filling her bowels with a load 
of sticky spunk. It leaked from her slowly as they turned her onto her 
back, cooling as it settled in small puddles over the dark skirt.  
Jared appeared between her legs.  Her gaze was fixed on his renewed 
erection as he hovered over her.  It was so huge, so potent, so 
beautiful.  The boys held her ankles, spreading her legs until she 
cried out in pain.  Then, Jared was inside her.  He filled her 
suddenly, in a single, swift thrust.  She gasped, tilting her hips into 
him instinctively.  She struggled to free her hands, still bound behind 
her back.  She wanted to stroke his chest, run her hands along his 
strong arms, explore the rows sharp ridges that crossed his belly.  She 
begged him to free her, promising him anything and everything if he 
would only allow her to show him how much she wanted him.

Instead, Jared's hand closed around her throat as the boys gripped her 
legs, spreading them painfully until her struggling ceased.  Jared's 
grip tightened until she could no longer speak or moan.  Yet, the 
pressure around her neck was strangely exciting.  It made her small and 
helpless in his firm grasp - impaled on his raging prick, her very 
breath controlled by a single powerful hand.  She was a mere 
receptacle, weak and willing, controlled by the lust-driven cravings of 
a savage animal.  

Jared squeezed tighter.  Breath became more difficult for her as his 
came faster and deeper.  Splotches of black danced before her eyes and 
darkness approached from all sides.  Everything she was was between her 
legs now, wet, throbbing, sucking, frantic for just the right touch 
that would bring boiling throes of relief to her fragile body.  She could 
sense it a long way off, building like a tsunami, now closer, closer...

Suddenly, a maddening emptiness between her legs, then a dizzy rush as 
she was lifted by the back of the neck to face the huge head of the 
monster.  It stung her eyes like hot rain, boiling out of his cock, 
running over her like molten lava, finally slowing to rest in the 
creases and valleys of her new suit.  He laughed as he sprayed his cum 
over her, and she burned as her cunt twitched and flowed, searching for 
relief that was not to come.  

They tossed her onto the gravel beside the van, never once looking back 
as they returned to work.  Sarah tried to stand.  Small, jagged stones 
bit into her knees when she fell.  On the third try she was able to 
walk.  She staggered back across the gravel lot and the maze of planks 
leading to her meeting, stopping only long enough to focus on her watch 
through the broken crystal.  She had ten minutes.

















                                Chapter 11

It was sooo weird, like she was looking through a tunnel. And it was 
taking way too long. She hadn't been that far from work but she always 
seemed turned in the wrong direction. She tried to walk faster but her 
six-inch heels made that really hard. People were staring at her, just 
openly staring. God, she must be like so dirty and everything. What had 
happened to her? Was she in an accident? Sarah paused to study her 
reflection in a store window. She was having trouble remembering where 
she had been. If she hadn't been able to see her office building, she 
wouldn't know exactly where she was. Her clothes were filthy, her skirt 
split up the rear to the waist. Big holes had been torn in her 
stockings. Thick globs of cum still splattered her face and ran 
sluggishly down over her breasts. Oh God, how had she ever gotten this 
way? Something nagged at her, something she didn't want to think about. 
She had a big meeting today. Sarah looked at her broken watch. It said 
she was two hours late. That's just crazy; she'd never be late for a 
big meeting like that. After all, she was wearing her best suit. 'I 
can't go to the meeting looking like this. I'll sneak in through the 
delivery entrance and clean up first. They'll never see me and I'll 
look as good as new.'

She made her way across the parking lot. Hiding behind vans and larger 
cars, she slipped in unnoticed. No one was on duty at the delivery 
door. Swiping her pass card, she slipped in and quickly used the rear 
fire escape to get to her office. Where was Stacy? She could help! 'I 
don't know what to do. I can't wear these clothes.' Sarah pawed 
aimlessly through the pile of brightly colored spandex, hoping to find 
something suitable. Suddenly, she brightened and began to pluck bits 
and pieces from the pile.

Stacey was worried; perhaps, she had pushed too hard. After work 
yesterday, it had seemed such a cool idea to stop and talk with the 
construction guys across the street. All she had wanted to do was see 
how Sarah was going over, how her lunchtime shows were being received. 
Instead, she found out how angry they were, how much they wanted to put 
"Barbie" (she couldn't believe they called her that too) in her place. 
Stacey suggested that they show her what a good time really was. She 
wanted it anyway. Show her what they had. Stacey suspected something 
had gone wrong, very wrong. Sarah should have been back more than an 
hour ago. The meeting room had called three times to find out why she 
wasn't there. The briefing book with handouts was on the table. There 
just was no Sarah to go. Stacey looked out the window. Where could she 
be? Did she finally go to the police? Stacey hurried down the hallway. 
Passing Sarah's office, something caught her eye. She stopped and went 
in. As quickly as she could, she turned and quietly closed the door.

"What do you think," a giggling Sarah asked. 'Oh my God, she's 
snapped.' On the floor, stained and tattered, the business suit lay 
balled-up and crumpled. Sarah was posing, hands on hips. She had found 
the suit Stacey had brought to work, a suit tailored to humiliate her 
after the meeting. Pink of course, with a little satin jacket over a 
mid-calf, spandex tube skirt. Patterned white stockings, platform 
ankled boots with seven-inch heels, a see-through white lace blouse 
with huge ruffles at wrist and neck, made worse by too much make-up, 
perfume, and jewelry. 

"Aren't I like the most totally fantastic Barbie in the whole world?"

She was out of her mind, Stacey thought. They raped her. She could see 
smears of dirt and traces of what had to be cum in Sarah's hair. 
Standing back a moment, thinking it through, she saw what had happened. 
After the attack, when her suit was ruined and she realized she 
couldn't make the meeting, she, Sarah, couldn't take it, so Barbie had 
taken over. Barbie would go to the meeting and everyone would like her 
and Sarah wouldn't be a failure. It was madness, but Stacey couldn't 
see any other explanation.

She made a couple of exchanges in Barbie's briefing folder and sent her 
on her way. Frantically, she scampered for the telephone and started to 
make calls. Oblivious to Stacey's growing panic, giggling Barbie left 
and made her way to the meeting, hips swinging in the high heels, 
mincing in her skin-tight skirt. Along the way, the secretaries stopped 
and stared. 'Screw them. They're just jealous. They wish they looked as 
hot as I do.' Sticking her tongue out at one mean, shriveled-up old 
bitch, Barbie took a lollipop from her candy jar and put it in her 
mouth. It tasted so good; she had no idea that she liked lollipops so 
much. The door to the meeting room was open so she just walked in, 
twirling her lolly, sucking away, hollowing her cheeks as she did.

Everyone stopped talking when she walked in. It was sooo cool. They 
must be totally turned on by how great she looked. Some of the other 
women from the office were there but they were just some stupid little 
jealous bitches, and screw them too. All of the guys were just staring 
at her, even the old farts. Stu was turning red; he was so cute. It was 
like totally a shame that he was married. Maybe, with just a little 
more time alone with him, she could get him to do her anyway. She had 
to be lots better looking than whatever hag he was married to.

Hank was reviewing sales numbers for Region 2. That was boring, she 
decided. The presentation was for the Japanese affiliates. Now, they 
looked like lots of fun. They were smiling and nodding. They wanted to 
see her, to meet her, to listen to her presentation that was going to 
be sooo radically better than Hopeless Hank's droning drivel.

Mr. Burgess was old but he was cute too, in a "daddy dear" sort of way.
He sat at the far end of the table, folded hands resting on his copy of 
Hank's report. They were large, strong hands for a man his age, much 
like her memory of her father's when she was very young. She stared at 
them, until they became her daddy's hands. She recognized the same 
thick fingers and wide palms - powerful hands that carved a miniature 
zoo of her favorite animals from shapeless scraps of oak with the 
small, red-handled pocket-knife - warm, comforting hands that made her 
feel safe and protected when she was sick, or when a nightmare sent her 
padding down the hall to his bedside in the middle of the night. No 
one's hands had ever touched her in the same way, and for the first 
time she knew that empty space for what it was.

But now he was scowling, like her father used to do after she had her 
first period and her tits began to grow. Then, it was always the same: 
never have any fun, curfews and chaperones at the dances, all day at 
church, getting those droning lectures about how she had to meet a 
higher standard. He was a minister and with her mother dead, people 
were watching. Sarah had to work harder, stand taller, be better, 
someone to look up to, not a girlie for the boys to ogle. 'Boring old 
Sarah. I don't want to be her. I want to have fun. Oooh, those Japanese 
men want to have fun too.'

Barbie pranced over to them, her big breasts bouncing, all smiles and 
flirty eyes. One of them had his hand on her ass. She wiggled to give 
him a better feel. They were saying things she didn't understand. It 
was in like Japanese and she didn't speak that. So what, it didn't 
matter. They definitely liked her a lot. And they'd love her 
presentation ... 'oh my god, I have to do the presentation.'

She opened her folder and began to offer handouts. They were snatching 
them from her. Barbie never got to even see them. She should have 
brought lots more. She never knew she was so popular. Mr. Burgess was 
whispering furiously to someone. What was he so mad about? Barbie made 
her way to the end of the table and started.

"Hi," she burbled gaily, "my name is Barbie." Suddenly, Burgess was on 
his feet. So were Hank and Stu and all the other guys and even the 
women, applauding. They were cheering and laughing and applauding. 
Then, the Japanese were doing the same thing. Everyone was applauding 
and laughing. She didn't know why but she was laughing and applauding 
too. Which made the women laugh even more. Two of them came up to her 
and suggested she go outside for pictures. Okay, that sounded like fun. 
They told her to wave goodbye, it would be so rude if she didn't, so 
she did and everyone waved back, especially those nice Japanese men. 
She liked them. When they got outside, Burgess came out, his face red 
with rage.

"Sarah, you're fired. I've never been so disappointed in anyone. I 
don't know what's happened to you. You used to be someone I could look 
up to for the future, but now ..." 

Sarah had trouble focusing. What had he said, she was fired? 

"Now get her out of here."

'Look up to me? More like look up my skirt.' That's what they all
really wanted, what those guys across the street wanted. They wanted
to watch her show off and then do things to her, nasty things, and
they felt so good. The women grabbed her. Get your hands off me, she
wanted to say, but only a long nasal whine came out. Roughly, they
dragged her to the front door. When she tried to resist, some of
the secretaries helped. Where was Stacey? She'd explain, she'd help
Sarah ... Barbie, she wouldn't let them fire her.

"So Hank, what do we do?"

Hank's stock had suddenly risen with his suggestion that they trick the 
Japanese into thinking that Sarah had been a model done up like Barbie 
as a gag. The problem was there were still the Region 3 numbers to 
present.

"I'm not sure, Mr. Burgess, but let me try something."

Spotting Stacey starting to follow Sarah towards the front door, he 
called her back. Hesitating at first, she finally came to where Hank 
and Burgess were in conference.

"Stacey, how well do you know the Region 3 numbers," Hank asked. "Very 
well, I put them together," she replied.

"If the company paid, do you think you could find a sharp business suit 
and make the presentation right after lunch?"

Stacey swallowed. She wanted to say "yes," and Mistress Shayla should 
be willing to let her. "Okay," she nodded, "but with one condition; I 
need to make sure that Sarah gets home safe. I called someone to pick 
her up." Both men nodded and then Burgess came close.

"Stacey, this is very big. Come through for us, you get Sarah's job."

This wasn't hard. Take her husband, take her job, take her life... 
Stacey assured Burgess she could handle it. Time to ship Barbie off to 
camp.

Barbie was in the lobby, crying and struggling. She wasn't going to go, 
Stacey was coming for her. Stacey stepped in and took Sarah under the 
arm. Forcefully, she steered the sobbing woman to the door.

"Where are we going, Stacey?" Sarah begged. Stacey ignored her until 
they were in the parking lot. A dark van was pulling in at the opposite 
end.

"I'm going back to do your presentation, Barbie," she taunted. "They 
all thought you were too stupid to do it. After all, look at what you 
were handing out." Sarah looked at the paper that Stacey handed her. It 
was the handout from her presentation, the one with the graphics on 
revenue growth. But it was different. On this one, the rising slope for 
1st quarter revenue was her bustline and the fourth quarter was her 
tight rear. It was even called the "Barbie Barometer". No wonder they 
all were laughing at her. The van was parked, the side door opened and 
Stacey pushed her in.

"You're too dumb, too ugly to deserve a good job. You're just 
Cockteasing Barbie, not a Cockpleasing Barbie, a BigCockPleasing Barbie 
at that. You're just Loser Barbie."

Sarah froze, not able to grasp Stacey's sudden turn against her. Then 
without warning, the fragile thread severed that connected Barbie to 
the only remaining life she had, Sarah lashed out at Stacey, arms 
flailing wildly in a desperate fit of rage.

"You bitch! You fucking bitch! I thought you were my friend! I'll kill 
you, you little cunt! I'll - "

Just as Sarah readied herself to leap from the open door, her long, 
pink nails poised to tear into Stacey's smirking face, she lurched 
backwards into the van. Shayla crouched behind her, her strong fingers 
buried in Sarah's hair. When Sarah struggled harder, Shayla gave her 
head a vicious yank, arching her neck painfully until she went limp, 
still panting and hissing through clenched teeth.

Stacey slammed the door shut, and turned away. Sarah could hear her 
laughing. They all were laughing at her; everyone was.

Shayla's amused smile appeared over Sarah's upturned face. Her full red 
lips parted slightly, guiding a hot, sweet column of breath over 
Sarah's heavily made-up features. Sarah fought the pain, moaning with 
disgust while Shayla toyed with her.

"Now, my little slice of fuck-meat. Want to tell me what's wrong?"

"My job! That little bitch made me lose my job! My career, my life, 
it's ruined! Everything I've worked for, everything I've earned, is 
gone! I'll get her! I'll get all of you! Fuck you, fuck you all! 

Shayla let her shattered victim babble on as she skillfully slipped the 
fine needle beneath the tender skin at the side of her neck. Sarah felt 
the wasp-like bite, followed by the numbness that began in her fingers
and toes and spread across her belly and chest. As darkness engulfed her 
from all sides, a final shudder racked her body. Something told her 
that things were going to get very much worse than they ever had been.


















                               Chapter 12

The subject was within program limits and approaching her next 
scheduled peak.  In the control room, the thin elderly man watched her 
for a moment and turned away to make adjustments at the instrument 
panel to his left. He sighed as his eyes returned to the sleek curves 
of succulent flesh laid out before him, remembering a time before his 
own flesh bore the ravages of a life's obsession.  His work was all he 
had now, but at times it seemed like only yesterday when things were 
much different...

                                   -*-

Behaviour reconstruction's greatest protection is that no one believes 
that it exists.  It does, of course, or at least since the conclusion 
of Site 27's work in 1983.  Instead, there were all sorts of fictions 
and rumors and deluded theories, usually masquerading as science or bad 
religion.  Much of the most wishful thinking emerged in sexually-
oriented stories, always causing someone virtuous and presumably 
virginal to fall into sin.  The truth was very different, and much 
darker.  With the collapse of Germany, Army intelligence officers 
learned of a secret program to control the populace in the face of the 
Allied advance.  Their initial work had been useful and its staff was 
transferred to a remote location in Montana.  Soviet defectors brought 
news that the Russians had learned too of the program and of America's 
interest, prompting them to launch their own.  By 1980, senior KGB 
staffers projected that their country would fail in the near future and 
sought to buy their way out. Soviet space and missile technology had no 
value and the U.S. was well aware of the ongoing bio-weapons program.  
The only asset that they had to sell was the Gorky Institute's mind 
control program, its working papers, study results and selected doctors 
and technicians. 

The Russians had taken their lead in 1950 from Pavlov's work to create 
their institute.  Repeated stimulus and response would program desired 
behavior.  Still, there were problems that suggested the approach was 
limited.  Pavlovian training presumed that all stimuli that the subject 
had were controlled by a higher power.  If the stimuli merely changed, 
the response could not be predicted or controlled.   While endless 
labor, terrorism and isolation could serve as mega-stimuli to bridge 
this issue somewhat, inevitably results showed significant erosion in 
subject control.   By 1963, the field seemed stalled and destined to be 
of little more use than a lab to test prison population control 
techniques. 

He had been on track to a major appointment at Harvard Medical School 
Neuropsychology when they came to him.  Two men, quietly dressed, 
stopped him as he was about to get in his car.  They had federal 
identification and got in the car with him.  He was invited to join a 
highly secret project delving into certain aspects of neuropsychology 
based upon his recently published papers.  He would have to relocate.  
Compensation was very high and there were additional bonuses and 
benefits of joining that could not be discussed under the circumstance 
of where they were.  He had retained the presence of mind to ask what 
would happen if he refused.  They said that they would kill him.  That 
had been nearly 30 years ago, and he no longer regretted the decision.

In 1983, they had solved the problem at Site 27, and he had been there. 
The mistake was to aim too low.  Prior mind control techniques focused 
almost entirely on the reptile brain.  If repetition creates habit and 
habit directs and molds behaviors like sexual attraction, eating and 
sleep and aggression patterns, training must rely almost entirely on 
repetition.  This was true enough but failed to go far enough.  Site 27 
realized that Pavlovian technique served only to paralyze lower level 
habit operations and higher level congnition.  Unless there was very 
substantial reconstruction of higher level thought processes, the 
subject would either backslide or fracture into schizophrenia.  Neither 
state was useful.  From 1965 when the first Soviet leaks emerged until 
1983 when the breakthrough was achieved, Site 27 labored to create a 
mechanism that would permit consistent and effective behavioral 
reconstruction whose results were predictable. 

He had been the first to see the value of computer architecture as the 
correct analogy for program design.  Almost entirely, humans, as do
computers, intake data by optical scan.  Audio and tactical inputs are 
relatively negligible.  If lower level responses could be tuned to 
certain states and higher level functions suspended, a subject would 
find themselves in a constantly refreshed forced instructional setting 
in which higher level functions (thoughts, fantasies, dreams) would be 
driven by lower, now entirely-controlled habits.

The dream-state was the key.  Freud had used it as a purely analytical 
tool, a one-way connection from the subject's mind to the scientist's 
ear. In the years that followed, Freud's ideas were challenged, then 
criticized as outdated and misogynistic.  Modern social scientists saw 
dreams as a housekeeping tool, freeing the mind from clutter assimilated 
during waking hours.  He saw it for all it might be, a two-way 
conduit, receiving as well as transmitting enigmatic fragments that 
could reconstruct the architecture of the subject's persona.  The goal
was to first open the conduit, then decipher the language of dreams
well enough to speak it.  Real-time interaction with the subject's
subconscious followed, allowing preconstructed sequences to be edited
into a mix of naturally occurring and induced dream scenarios.  The
technique was elegantly subtle and frighteningly powerful.  After years
of perseverance, he had constructed the Rosetta stone of "dream-speak",
enabling him to converse in dream language as easily as present day
archaeologists read the once enigmatic hieroglyphs at Karnak and
Abydos.

There had been a range of experiments to confirm the result.  Could 
pictures of male genitals excite a reconstructed heterosexual male?  
How about a heterosexual female, or homosexuals?  Could stealing be a 
reconstructed trait in a subject testing high for integrity?  Or 
alcoholism, drugs?  Could they train housewives to want to watch 
violent entertainment?  Or men to watch to watch soap operas?  He had 
successfully concluded the experimental phase when he trained a female 
conservative Christian, former missionary and elementary teacher to 
perform sexually in front of cameras - and like it.  The change had 
been so complete and final that the overwhelming consensus was that 
there was nothing left to be done. 

Personnel had been reassigned, operations and facilities closed, 
support withdrawn.  He was offered a chance to transfer to other 
projects but always declined.  He would see through the closure, the 
accurate storage of results, the film of experiments, and maintain 
tracking of subjects.  It was a dead end but it suited him.  He stopped 
responding to colleague inquiries, and more than once left a mostly 
empty bottle of scotch in a desk drawer.  He allowed deadlines to 
elapse and wrote ill-thought and subtly angry notes of explanation to 
his superiors.  They scheduled a "routine" review a week away but he 
had been working steadily so there was no need to rush.  He had long 
ago removed copies of all the critical information and stored it safely 
away.  He placed the corpse in his car, a plastics charge in its lap.  
He almost had underestimated the blast force but was able to step 
behind a wall.  Carefully, he made his way back through the burning 
rubble to find portions of shattered mandible and skull.  He reached 
into his mouth and withdrew bridgework that, anticipating just such a 
day as this, he had done.  Between the heat of the explosive and the 
chemical contamination he had induced in the car's interior, there 
would be no DNA testing.  All they would have would be the crown that 
matched his dental records.  The finest mind in behavior reconstruction 
in the world disappeared into the dark in a well-used 1985 Buick 
Skylark, traveling just over the limit like anyone else might. 

                                   -*-

A voice drifted in. Sarah slowly became aware of her surroundings. She 
recognized it all too well - the precise, calculated cadence laced with 
a light accent.  Her vision was still blurred, but if she strained, 
could just make out the small, bald head perched atop a green gown.

"I understand what's required, but I could make her so much more. 
Imagine, physical perfection as a bonus.  I could - "

Shayla towered over the old man. The smile he shot back at her was more
like a sneer. Perfect rows of tiny white teeth gleamed from behind
paper-thin lips that twitched and widened, but never opened more than
a sliver. 

"I'm all too familiar with your ideas of physical perfection, Finch.  
We don't want a freak."

How dare she.  In his day he could have ended her, wiped out her 
position as a junior agent.  His brief note to any one of her superiors 
would have removed her from the face of the planet.  Perhaps he had 
made a mistake when he chose to mentor her. He took her tone of late 
much as a parent endures a spoiled child.  Back then, Shayla had only 
hints of his true work, but his name and reputation inside the agency 
would have targeted him for the attentions of any young agent convinced 
she was worthy of a future far brighter than her peers.  And Shayla 
never missed her target.  He pulled strings to have her reassigned.  He 
opened his files to her, years of work that only he understood.  
Perhaps it was weakness, but he swelled with pride as she took to his 
work with a passion.

Shayla was intelligent, fiercely ambitious, and a natural beauty. He 
had been alone all of his life and she was more than he could 
understand or analyze.  For a month he puzzled over her familiar light 
touches during casual conversation, the maddening way she crossed her 
long, chocolate legs, and the suggestive phrasing cloaked in the most 
innocent of questions.  Later, it became routine for them to work late, 
order take-out, and put the day's labors behind them.  Much later, when 
she rode his cock, her dark, firm body pinning him to the office floor, 
her motives no longer mattered to him. If he had been the master of 
mens' minds, he was no longer the complete master of his own. 

But change is inevitable.  And the day came when the world changed in 
ways Finch never imagined. The Russians imploded and the Cold War 
ended.  Funding evaporated. No one wanted to admit ownership for his 
research. The entire work was redlined before the Agency budget went to 
Congress.  At first, he was merely bitter about the loss of resources.  
As the project closed, he was reduced to a caretaker of his brilliant 
career, a lifetime of work made obsolete.  As time passed, his 
bitterness became rage, sending him on a much darker path.  When the 
opportunity to jump ship was presented to him, he accepted without 
hesitation.  The compensation was lavish, but he would have taken much 
less than the unchanging figure the DOD discreetly deposited in his 
account each month.  His new employer's unsavory origins didn't cause 
him a moment's pause; in fact, his thirst for revenge made the offer 
all the more appealing.  

He had taken Shayla with him.  In fact, she insisted.  Soon her 
ambition and good looks brought her to the attention of those higher up 
in the organization.  She was given a field position, managing a small 
group of reports to be selected at her discretion.

Rock was a rare find, almost by accident, during a late-night visit to 
a crowded leather bar on the west coast.  He hit on her mercilessly, 
but all she saw was a clever, powerful male, a born leader.
By the end of the night they had struck a deal, and for much 
less than her budget allowed.  His band of bikers was a lucky bonus, 
perfect for distancing herself from the dirty work she deemed beneath 
her.

She found Stacey on the street, homeless, hungry, staying afloat on 
whatever drug she managed to trade for her services.  Shayla 
was moved by something in those sky-blue eyes, and she was seldom wrong 
about first impressions.  She took the girl in, cleaned her up, and 
began her education.  Stacey proved to be a quick study.  The streets 
had made her a survivor; her talent for deception and innocent fa‡ade 
made for a dangerous combination to anyone who crossed her path.  Only 
Shayla was immune to her girlish charm.  Within days she began to 
nurture the submissive lurking just below the surface of Stacey's tough 
exterior.  Within weeks, sleep came only after Stacey buried her face 
between Shayla's legs, eagerly exploring her dark sex with an agile 
tongue.  After, Stacey slept soundly at her feet, curled into a 
contented ball like a smiling fetus.

Finch.  The years had not been kind to their relationship.  The anger 
that devoured him wrinkled his skin and erased the color from his hair.
She found it difficult to ignore his physical decline, and his tortured
brooding and short temper did little to help. Fleeting pangs of 
sentiment, pity, and at times desire made being close to him 
uncomfortable, and she regretted the loss of control, the words that 
she knew had both hurt and angered him. 

"So, it's come to this!  Are you so fond of giving orders that you've 
forgotten how you've come to give them?  Or has it become customary to 
dismiss old friendships when it's convenient for your career?"

His red-faced protest fell silent in an instant. Shayla's hands rose 
to the front of his light green gown, her fingers gently caressing the 
collar and seams over the old man's narrow shoulders. She had taken a 
step toward him, and her wide smile exposed teeth much larger and 
whiter than his own. She warmed as she felt his wiry frame tremble at 
her touch.  Such a small, fragile man. How perplexing that such thin, 
quivering fingers could become the tools of an artist behind needle and
knife.

Ice-blue eyes peered up at her, like they had on so many other visits. 
His trembling never failed to excite her. How she wanted to pass her 
hands under the gown, to press her fingers into his pale skin, to 
stroke him as she knew he would allow, down, down, until she held the 
short rope of flesh, encircling the withered sac with invading digits, 
probing the meager, firm fruit inside. Her thighs flexed and clenched 
tightly for a moment. Such delicious pain, twisting and crushing his 
vulnerable offerings, sending fire and defeat through the sensitive 
nerves, until they were as dead as his dreary soul.

But, they had work to do...

The sharp bite of the iv needle startled Sarah, clearing her head. The 
dull presence invading her arm seemed a sickening warning of what was 
to come. They spoke as though she was still unconscious, ignoring her 
widened eyes, now filled with increasing terror.

"Such exquisite flesh. So much potential."

Finch drew the fingertips of his left hand over her breast, stopping at 
the nipple. Grasping and rolling it firmly between thumb and finger, 
his menacing eyes envisioned what she might become. Sarah inhaled 
suddenly as a single digit trailed over her ribs and across her shaking 
abdomen. He lingered there, probing deeply into her soft skin with both 
hands, committing everything to memory - from the firm but yielding 
surfaces beneath it to the unyielding boundaries of her narrow pelvis. 
He watched carefully for the slightest twitch of her eyes, or the 
sudden rise of her pouting breasts, all telltale signs of a bit of skin 
where nerves rose close to the surface, or, where deeper clusters of 
ganglions sent stabs of breath-robbing pain throughout her body. He 
went back to each of these spots again and again, testing for a 
stronger response a fraction of an inch this way or that, his smile 
widening as Sarah gasped and struggled against the restraints that held 
her naked and spread-eagled on the steel table.

Shayla towered over her, now facing Finch at the opposite side of the 
table. She seemed fascinated with Sarah's terror. Leaning close, she
traced the lines of Sarah's face with an outstretched finger, gloved
in warm, black leather. 

Finch's hands continued down over her thighs, stroking and kneading 
them as his breath came faster, his eyes glittering with the reflection 
of them, a perfect white V that resisted his touch. 

Sarah froze in terror when his long fingers arrived spider-like between 
her legs. Spreading her outer labia, he tugged and pinched the inner 
lips before inserting two fingers inside her. Now she felt his probing 
from within, the constant pressure as his fingertips dug into the walls 
of her vagina, finally arriving at her cervix, where the pain stiffened 
her slim body with spasms of agony.

Shayla glanced at the plastic iv bag that delivered a steady drip of 
hazy, viscous liquid to the needle taped to Sarah's arm.

"What's in the bag? I told you I want her to suffer."

Finch said nothing, keeping his eyes on Sarah's as he dilated the firm 
tissues of her cervix with the tip of his index finger. Her mouth was 
stretched wide in a silent scream. A minute passed before he withdrew 
his hand and looked up.

"Look at her. Have you ever seen such pain in a subject's eyes? The 
drug amplifies the nervous system's sensitivity tenfold. The pain is 
unimaginable."

"I don't hear her screaming. They always scream."

"Ahh, and you always complain, no? So, a bit of this, a bit of that, 
and her vocal chords are paralyzed. No screaming - I thought you would 
be pleased."

It wasn't the first time Shayla had underestimated Finch's attempts to 
please her. Even so, she shuddered inside as she imagined Sarah's 
agony, precisely applied, without the ability to scream or even 
release a defeated moan. 

"Finch, my darling little man, you never fail to amaze me."

"Or, excite you, my dear?"

"Or to excite me...," she whispered, her dark eyes drilling through 
him as he paused, hands trembling over Sarah's nakedness. Shifting her
gaze from Finch to Sarah, she smiled and took a single, deep breath.

"Let me see you work."

The small round tray held a circle of tiny syringes, much like a plate
of hors d'oeuvres waiting to be sampled. He plucked one at random from
the sterile surface and applied a practiced push on the plunger,
allowing a tiny fountain to jet from the tip. Sarah's wrists strained
at the leather cuffs as he brought the needle close to her face.

Sarah's head burst into fiery agony as the needle sank into the moist
flesh along her upper lip. Then, with precision of a delicate machine,
Finch injected the full volume as he maneuvered the tip deeper.
She had only a few seconds of relief before his hand returned with a
second syringe, this time digging into her lower lip, again stiffening 
her body against the restraints.

Finch paused to watch her as the third syringe hovered over the nipple
of her right breast. Sarah shook her head violently, mouthing words no
one could hear. He glanced up at Shayla. She was smiling.

Sarah's body went rigid when he slid the needle under the edge of the 
nipple. Now her eyes were closed, her jaw clenched. He watched the pink
bud expand to a hard button, then the full circumference of areola
beneath it rise slightly above the mound of white breast.

After filling her left nipple with a fourth syringe, he stopped to 
inspect his work. His contented smile was interrupted by a pair of 
large black hands, now cradling his head with long, wandering fingers.
Shayla bent over the table, her intoxicating dark eyes inches from
his own. 

"Sometimes I forget what a wonderfully talented man you are."

Her words were almost a whisper. Finch's eyes dropped to her breasts.
They moved ever so slightly, the generous black nipples pouting at him
from between rows of undone buttons. It was rare to see her out of 
leather these days, and even rarer to see her in a dress, even if it 
was a dress that hugged every curve of her muscular frame. She covered 
Finch's small mouth with hers, assaulting him with her tongue while 
holding his head tightly with both hands. Sarah looked up in horror as 
he mauled Shayla's breasts with thin, trembling fingers. She could feel 
his long, slim cock pressed against her belly as Shayla pulled him over 
her across the table. He rocked against her, caving in her stomach as 
his prick, now exposed and wet, twitched and pulsed over Sarah's bare 
skin.

Finch's body shuddered briefly, then was still. Sarah felt the cool 
remains of his orgasm, slippery and wet, spread across her belly. He
regained his composure as quickly as he had lost it and stood again
beside the table, eyes still on Shayla.

She was tracing circles in the pool of thick semen with a gloved 
finger. Then, capturing a portion of it as it rose to coat the rounded 
tip of supple leather, she delivered it to Sarah's open mouth, past 
lips too sore to resist the invasion. Shayla continued with a haunting 
smile, until only a slick trace of the old man's cum remained, drying 
like a second skin on Sarah's flat stomach. She gagged and choked as 
the salty mass reached the back of her throat, but in time managed to 
rid her mouth of the vile taste, gulping the mixture of semen and 
saliva long after Shayla fed her the last drop.

Shayla's face was closer now, her large brown eyes peering into 
Sarah's.  Her breath was hot on Sarah's face, her smile terrifying.

"Mmmm. You're shaking, my dear.  Don't you know this is for your own 
good?  Don't you appreciate the efforts we've taken to help you?  Your 
looks are all you have now.  Don't you want to be beautiful?"

Sarah shook her head franticly from side to side, her lips forming 
words where none would come - 'no, no, no, no, no'.

"Now, now, we're nearly done.  Unfortunately, this last bit is the 
worst. I'm afraid it will be horribly painful."

Before Sarah had time to react, Finch drove the needle into the soft, 
sensitive tissue of her inner labia, filling it with practiced 
precision.  The muscles from her shoulders to her toes tightened into 
steel bands. Her back arched in a single prolonged spasm, lifting her 
body off the table.  Then, a second injection at the same site, 
followed by a third and forth, until the entrance to her cunt was 
frozen in an wide yawn, held open by engorged, fluted ridges of flesh.

Sarah lay panting and exhausted, her mind now focused only on the pain 
- when it would come, and when it would stop.  Trickles of sweat ran 
between her breasts and over her belly. Her thighs were shiny and wet, 
her drenched hair cold and sticky between her head and the steel table.

Shayla's lips brushed her ear as she spoke in a low whisper.

"Sooo delicious, showing off for the good doctor, all tits and pussy.
It's what you are now - tits and pussy.  No career, no husband, no
friends, no responsibilities - just two hard tits to be fondled and
a warm, juicy hole between your legs."

Sarah glanced at the mirror overhead.  She closed her eyes and 
tried to think.  'A name - my name - if I can just remember - '
Names sifted into the shattered remains of her memory - Barbie, Stacey, 
Shayla - but which one? 

She gasped as Finch tugged at her clit, rolling it between thumb and 
forefinger.  Shayla's voice returned, her breath now closer, hotter 
against Sarah's ear.

"Everyone will want you.  Men with long, thick cocks will stand in line 
to stuff your pouting little cunt.  Women will drool at the sight of 
you, longing to suck those hard nipples.  Boys will see you and cum on 
their sheets at night dreaming of you.  And girls will do anything to 
be like you.  You'd like that, wouldn't you?  To be beautiful, 
desirable, so satisfied, so content.  It's so close - just one more 
terrible step - but a step you're eager to take, so eager - so..."

Finch drove the needle into her clitoris and squeezed the plunger.  His 
erection returned as he watched the sensitive nub grow thicker, then 
longer as he guided the needle deeper.  

In an instant, she was blinded by the sudden stab of agony.  Every 
nerve in her body seemed to react at once.  An explosion of images and 
memories overwhelmed her in random order, some vaguely familiar, others 
appallingly real.  And then all the pain faded as cold emptiness 
swallowed her, until the only thing in her world was the comfort of the 
darkness and the words that floated nearby.

"...drool at the sight of you...do anything to be like you...so 
eager...so beautiful...so satisfied..."

                                     -*-

She woke to flashes of brilliant color, to patterns of lines and 
circles that shifted and pulsed in cadence to a throbbing hum so deep 
that it seemed to come from inside her.  Once she opened her eyes it 
was impossible to close them.  The flickering kaleidoscope drew her in; 
the longer she looked, the more she needed to follow the evolution of 
one shape into the next.  And the pain was gone.  It made the pain go 
away.  And she was so warm, so satisfied, so tired and empty.

Finch forced himself to look away from her nude body, now unrestrained 
on the padded chair.  Her breasts rose and fell seductively with each 
deep, even breath.  The visor covered her face from forehead to 
just below the bridge of her nose, revealing the slight flare of her 
nostrils as she inhaled the cool air of the darkened lab.  Most of the 
room's light came from the row of monitors lining the wall behind a 
long desk where Finch sat peering into a much larger screen.  Endless 
lines of code marched across it, scrolling from top to bottom, but 
Finch's eyes were glued to the upper right corner where inch-high red 
numerals marked Sarah's progress.  

Shayla watched from the foot of the chair.  Finch recognized the 
sadistic smile and concentrated stare as she enjoyed the view from 
between the reclining subject's legs.  He watched her exhilaration as 
she attached the necessary instruments - the tiny electrodes glued to 
Sarah's flat belly, one above each ovary, and finally the thick, 
plastic double-phallus, inserted simultaneously into rectum and vagina, 
held in place by a vacuum drawn through the flexible base-plate.

Whirling streams of dazzling light slowed and dimmed to muted shades 
that dissolved into recognizable shapes and features.  Sarah watched, 
mesmerized, as a pretty housewife dressed in apron and high-heels knelt 
by the door, gave her small daughter a warm hug, then ushered her along 
to a waiting school bus. It left Sarah with a warm, full feeling in her 
belly, a feeling Sarah's own mother might have given her, if only her 
weakened heart hadn't taken her from Sarah so early in life.  She saw a 
the large hand of a tall, dark man push open the door and hurry through 
it.  He ignored the pretty wife, but glanced back for a second and 
scowled before disappearing.  His look chilled Sarah and her stomach 
went queasy, just like when her daddy used to give her "a good talking-
to". 

The scene faded.  Sarah stared helplessly as the same housewife knelt 
in front of a young delivery boy.  Her tongue slid from between parted 
lips in slow motion, gently licking the tip of his monstrous cock.  A 
rush of warmth and excitement washed over Sarah as she watched her take 
the pulsing head of the boy's cock in her mouth.  Something stirred 
inside her.  It felt so good - so warm and thick and filling.  

Then came familiar scenes - Sarah, dressed for success, strutting 
through the halls of her old office - Sport, working on the books at 
night, never missing a chance to inch a hand under her dress when she 
came close enough - the two of them embracing, kissing like newlyweds, 
for no special reason, day or night.

And with them came the pain.  At first a twisting sickness in her 
belly, it grew, gnawing and icy at her very core - so cold, stabbing at 
her from inside.  She wanted to look away, to put the scenes out of her 
mind, anything to make the nausea and pain stop.  She must be dreaming.  
If she could only wake up, the nightmare would end and everything would 
be right again.  But she couldn't wake up, and the images played on.

Shayla paced in circles around the chair, watching Sarah's squirming 
body with delight.  She stopped and leaned close to her face, studying 
the repeated grimaces and frowns, each fleeting expression sadistic 
gratification for Shayla's hard work and twisted desires. 

The pain worsened as the visor revealed the familiar softly-lit 
bedroom.  They were making love, with Sport on top of her in his usual 
position.  He stroked her face as he moved slowly, almost cautiously, 
in and out of her.  Then came the short, repeated pecks over her neck 
and lips, almost kisses, more habit than passion.  His weight pressed 
down on her, trapping her on her back with legs spread.  Each breath 
required more effort than the last.  A suffocating claustrophobia 
seized her, tightening its grip until terror and panic forced her to 
cry out, begging to be rescued.  With one last brutal thrust he 
stiffened and moaned.  She could feel his cum jetting, splashing inside 
her, searing bursts of fire and acid that ate away at her cunt, robbing 
her of its delicious sensations forever.  His poison crept deeper into 
her belly, feasting on tender flesh, devouring her from the inside out 
with relentless agony.

Relief came suddenly when the visor faded to black.  Tiny specks of 
light formed in the darkness, slowly growing brighter, until she stared 
into a field of thousands of stars gliding past her.  They began to 
dance and rotate, lazily at first, then at a dizzying pace, finally 
smearing into twisting streams of changing color.  She went limp 
against the padding of the chair, her breathing now soft and even.

Finch watched the monitor intently as the counter reset.  The 
instructions halted for a moment, the screen cleared, then began to 
fill with new characters, one line at a time.

[Sub*p.22_Sarah]
Rtr mod 3b.11.9y
Ld mod 3b.11.9y
Ini mod 3b.11.9y (tim:3,sr:norm,dp:max)
Inj*

Cal vaga1q {0,9,2}
Cal anaa2q {0,6,1}
Cal stim[3F22C] ld[1,2,3,4]
Cal intmix[min**00,max**?9]v/r set

Wait

Wait

Rtr mod 4a.01.0x
Ld mod 4a.01.0x
Sync[3b.11.9y][4a.01.0x]
Ini [v,a,s,i] lnkcpl m/p
Ini mod 4a.01.0x (tim:*,sr:push,dp:max)
Inj*

Sarah focused on the new scene that formed inside the visor.  Her view 
was from the back seat of a moving car.  Looking up and forward, she 
could see the pretty housewife and the dark man silhouetted in the 
bright light streaming through the windshield.  He drove, she sat 
silently beside him, watching the passing scenery.  She could smell the 
musty cloth that covered the seats, worn and frayed along the edge 
where she liked to sit.  It was hot.  So hot.  The car windows provided 
the only relief from the mid-day heat, tossing her long blonde hair in 
the gushes of wind that came at her unevenly from the left and right.

Then in the distance, a siren wailed.  It grew louder, until finally 
she turned to see the red flashing light gaining on them from behind.  
Their car slowed and pulled to the side of the road.  The dark man was 
angry.  The pretty housewife put a hand on his arm to settle him, but 
he shrugged it off, raising his voice and glaring at her.

Sarah watched the policeman from the rear window.  He climbed off the 
biggest, shiniest motorcycle she had ever seen and marched toward the 
car.  She couldn't take her eyes off him - the black leather jacket 
wrapped around shoulders three feet wide, the stiff black boots that 
crushed the gravel under them with each heavy step, and the wide belt 
that circled his slim waist.  A holstered gun hung at his right side, a 
long, thick night-stick at his left, swaying hypnotically as he 
approached.

She tried to listen as the policeman and the dark man talked, then 
began to argue.  The policeman's face was close now, his large 
sunglasses reflecting the sudden fear in the dark man's eyes.  His wide 
grin made her heart race with both fear and excitement.  His voice 
seemed to melt the knot in her stomach and warm the insides of her bare 
thighs.  Ignoring the dark man for a second, the policeman studied the 
pretty housewife from face to calf.

"You've fixed her up real pretty."

The pretty housewife glanced at him, allowing a thin smile to escape.

The dark man yelled at the policeman and opened the door to get out.  
The policeman put a large hand on his slim arm and pulled him from the 
car, easily turning him and pinning him to the fender.

"You fucked up, man - big time. You couldn't keep your mouth shut, 
could you?  You had to be a hero.  I was ready to walk away, to let you
and the wife go back to your pathetic little lives. I'm gonna enjoy 
this."

He walked the dark man to the front of the car, snapped the handcuffs 
over both thin wrists, and bent him over the hood.  Sarah's heart 
pounded faster as she stared through the windshield.  

His pants were around his ankles now.  Passing cars slowed, their 
passengers laughing at the dark man's sagging buttocks and skinny 
thighs exposed in broad daylight.  His eyes stared back through the 
windshield, wide with terror.  Sarah began to moan at the instant the 
policeman placed the end of the night-stick against the dark man's ass 
and slowly pushed an inch of it inside.  The dark man was crying now, 
begging the policeman to stop, begging the pretty housewife for help.  
Another inch disappeared inside him, then another.  Cars continued to 
slow and gawk, now blowing their horns and cheering through open 
windows.  The dark man became hysterical, crying and screaming for help 
as the policeman began to pump the weapon in and out, going deeper with 
each thrust.  Sarah's cunt clutched and sucked at the thing between her 
legs.  It felt so good, probing and pulsing with energy and warmth. 

The policeman leaned into the car window next to the pretty housewife.  
She just stared into his dark glasses as he began to unbutton her 
dress.  He pulled her bra down, revealing the two firm mounds of breast 
topped with large, stiffening nipples.  The dark man watched through 
the windshield as the policeman pulled and squeezed until the pretty 
housewife's nipples were purple and distended.  He began to cry again 
when she moaned softly, her eyes unable to hide the lust that 
overpowered her. 

The policeman was in the driver's seat now, unbuttoning the front of 
the pretty housewife's dress until she sat beside him in bra and 
panties.  His large hands moved over her stomach and thighs, rough 
calluses against satin skin.  She whimpered when a strong finger wormed 
beneath the white elastic, traveled the length of her moistening slit, 
and finally found the swollen nub that made tears come to her eyes.  

"I knew you'd be easy.  I could see it in your eyes.  How long have you 
waited for it, a real man's cock?  Say it.  He's waiting."

The pretty housewife glanced through the windshield at the dark man, 
then back into the policeman's dark glasses, now inches from her face.

"I'm yours."

The visor blinked.  A second of black, the low rumble of distant 
thunder, then back again.  The dark man was on his back, stretched over 
the hood, arms pulled wide by invisible restraints, his small erect 
penis visible as it pointed upward toward the darkening sky. A light 
rain began to fall, mixing with his tears as he continued to sob and 
mutter incoherently.  A large black bird fluttered down from the sky, 
landing on his heaving belly.  Its size was twice that of the largest 
of birds, with claws and beak the color of polished steel. Another 
followed, then a third.  They eyed his erection as if it was unfamiliar 
prey, then together, as if on cue, devoured it with shining, slashing 
beaks.  Dozens of birds arrived as a silver-gray cloud, then dozens 
more, each finding a perch on his naked body, all feasting in a black, 
seething frenzy, until his sobs were drowned out by sound of rustling 
feathers and clicking beaks.  

The roof and doors of the car melted away until there was nothing but 
the musty seat under her and the crawling cloud of black feathers, 
expanding as far as she could see.  As it closed in around her, the 
black faded to gray, then brightened to a brilliant white.  The seat 
melted away as well, and she floated there, suspended in a sea of 
white doves, floating, soaring, carrying her with them, caressing her 
thighs and breasts with a thousand velvet wings.  Warm juices pooled, 
then flowed from between her legs.  Never had she been held poised at 
the brink of orgasm for such a long time. She closed her eyes, 
breathing deeply, losing herself in time, reveling in the ecstasy. 

When her eyes opened again, the scene had changed.  The pretty 
housewife pushed a vacuum cleaner back and forth over a spotless, white 
carpet.  There were no walls, no furniture, only brilliant light 
surrounding her.  She was naked, except for bright red high heels and a 
wide red choker.  She hummed softly as the vacuum traveled silently 
over the carpet.  

The policeman appeared behind her, his black boots and jacket a stark 
contrast to the blinding white light.  She turned as if she could feel 
his eyes on her, then walked to him, stopping when her swollen nipples 
touched black leather.  She looked up at him, expressionless, her 
delicate features forming a perfect profile, her voice a coarse 
whisper.

"Fuck me."

The scene exploded in white, then returned as a spacious Victorian 
bedroom.  At its center stood a canopy bed draped in yards of white 
lace and satin.  The pretty housewife rested peacefully, arms extended, 
legs spread, almost floating over the down-stuffed spread.  She was 
still naked, the red shoes now gone, her creamy skin supple and relaxed 
beneath the crimson velvet bands that circled her wrists and ankles.  
A white marble dressing table stood against the opposite wall, just a 
few paces from the foot of the bed.  A small hand-mirror and hair 
brush, both of glistening silver, lay on its cool, glassy surface.  
Next to the table, an oval full-length mirror surrounded by an 
intricately sculpted silver border hung eerily in mid-air.  

The policeman appeared at the foot of the bed, still in full uniform.  
The pretty housewife raised her head to look at him, then sliding her 
hands along smooth, white thighs, clutched her knees, pulling her legs 
up to open herself to him.  His cock spilled from the fly of his pants, 
hanging like a thick length of rope.  It thickened and grew longer, 
inch after inch, until the tip reached the quivering slit between her 
legs.  It was impossibly large, the diameter greater than his massive 
fist, the length still increasing as it pushed her lips aside and 
entered her, steadily forcing its way deeper into her cunt.  Her belly 
swelled as the monstrous organ filled her, burrowing deeper each 
second.  Slowly, almost reverently, she let her head fall back and 
opened her mouth in a wide yawn.  The fleshy bulb paused for a second, 
then, forcing her jaw wider still, emerged glistening and pulsing 
before her eyes.  Taking her hands from her knees, she cradled the 
warm, purple head, spreading flow of slick pre-cum over the enormous 
glans, then returning to the gaping eye for more.  Her legs circled the 
thick base, her hands the engorged head, while her slim body writhed 
and twisted, deliciously impaled on the throbbing skewer.  

A steady fountain of pearly-white semen erupted from the yawning 
fissure, flowing over the pretty housewife's hands onto her face and 
shoulders.  It continued down over her body as though seeking out the 
smallest crevices, until it coated her like a second skin, glossy and 
moist under the intense light.  After clinging to the edge of orgasm 
for what seemed like hours, Sarah cried out as it finally washed over 
her.  It seemed to lift her into the air, piercing her body through 
every pore, invading and seizing her tender flesh with an intensity no 
mortal lover could hope to offer.  This was what she needed, what she 
had waited for, for such a long time.  If only it would last this 
time...she would be a good girl, an obedient girl, a beautiful 
girl...if only it would last...forever.

Then she was in a different place, with no memory of how her soul 
seemed such a small price to pay for the satisfaction only a machine 
could bring, only moments ago.  She sat at the marble dressing table in 
the same white bedroom, slowly running the silver brush through strands 
of luxuriant blonde hair.  She studied her reflection in the glittering 
hand-mirror. 'Is that me?  My thick blonde hair?  My full red lips?  My 
perfect nipples?'

"You are everyone's desire, Dear."

The pretty housewife stood beside her, still naked, still radiant with 
the policeman's semen, now a glowing halo that followed each graceful 
movement.  Her smile was irresistible, so warm, comforting, and 
familiar.  Sarah rose and went to her, falling into her as the pretty 
housewife held her with strong, slender arms.  Her words came softly, 
lovingly, filling a space left empty far too long.

"I love you, Dear.  So many others are waiting to love you too. Men 
with long, thick cocks will stand in line to stuff your pouting little 
cunt.  Women will drool at the sight of you, longing to suck those hard 
nipples.  Boys will see you and cum on their sheets at night dreaming 
of you.  And girls will do anything to be like you - like me - like 
us."

Their bodies pressed closer, hard nipples on hard nipples, rippling 
belly against rippling belly, until they became one, merging as 
effortlessly as the ether of spirits passes through earthly flesh.  
Sarah stood alone before the oval mirror.  The image reflected back at 
her was perfection, flesh that no one could resist, lust that consumed 
all defenses.  She could have any man, anyone, and would openly be his 
slave for the chance to find the rapture that promised to save her.  

The mirror's silver border turned crimson, flowing restlessly, 
expectantly.  It's silvery surface rippled, changing from brittle glass 
to flowing mercury.  The voice from behind it was as compelling as
it was familiar.

"You've always been a fucktoy, Sarah, always hungry for a bigger cock, 
never really satisfied with a puny one.  We can see it in your eyes.  
Come to us, Sarah.  We have what you're looking for, what you 
need...what you've always needed."

Her feet moved, one after the other, until she stood an inch from the 
shimmering surface.  She could feel their hands on her breasts, cold 
fingers teasing her nipples until they stiffened, sending promises of 
what lie beyond the mirror to the their target, now wet and swollen 
between her ivory thighs.  Another step and she was falling, first 
through the cold boundary between her world and theirs, then into the 
darkness that rolled her into a ball and swallowed her, taking 
everything from her, and giving nothing in return.

                                 -*-

Shayla and Finch watched as two large men eased Sarah into the padded 
cage that was to be her home for the long journey.  She slept soundly, 
her breathing shallow but steady.  They secured her wrists to leather 
cuffs at each side, her ankles to identical restraints on the top of 
the enclosure.  Shayla could feel the sudden warmth between her legs 
and the wet coolness that followed.  Sarah lay on her back, naked, 
knees against her chest, ankles firmly anchored to the cage lid.  The 
position displayed Sarah's exposed genitals at the end of the cage, 
lodged firmly against a smaller trapdoor.  

Finch paced back and forth, his eyebrows knitted with concern.

"We should wait another day, do more tests.  There is a small risk... "

Shayla nodded to one of the men and waved them along as they lifted the 
cage and walked it toward to steel door.

"The real risk is that our client will delay the transfer of 
payment if we're late.  You know who I answer to.  I won't end up in 
one of those cages just because you want to dick around with your 
statistics for another day.  We'll deliver her on time, take our pat on 
the back, and move on.  Where she's going, who's going to care what 
she's like a year from now, assuming she makes it that long."

They watched the door swing shut, the electric locks buzzing as the 
steel cylinders snapped into place.  Finch stared for a few seconds 
after the bolts engaged.

'If only I could have had her for just one more day.'

Shayla looked back at the chair, then through the wide glass window 
where a bare steel table stood surrounded by trays of empty syringes. 
Her hand came to rest at the front of her dress, two long fingers 
pressing lightly into the nagging heat between her legs.  For the first 
time in many years, their thoughts were exactly the same.
















   
                              Chapter 13



Cold.  Hunger.  Fear.  He had learned to accept two of the three, but 
the cold just seemed to get worse.  Shivering in the dark, Sport sifted 
through the events of the past two months, trying to make sense of it 
all, how everything went wrong, and what he might have done to make it 
right again. Many of his memories were clear, all too clear, but he was 
unable to assemble them into a rational sequence.  Out of context, 
fleeting moments of opportunity from the past only served to frighten 
him, and he retreated from each one, trembling at the likely 
consequences.

It had been cold that day too, when two burly officers dragged him from 
the muck at the bottom of the ditch.  The docks looked so different.  
Daylight had painted over flashing neon and shiny, wet streets with 
drab grays and browns, and burned away the fog that crept and breathed 
about their feet the night before, licking at Sarah's bare thighs with 
a hundred ghostly tongues. 

Bright.  Too bright.

A muddied hand shielded his eyes from the morning light.  Squinting 
through narrow spaces between his fingers, he cringed as face after 
face stared back at him.  Most pointed and snickered, until the growing 
laughter drowned out the cackle of seagulls that circled overhead like 
slow, gray-white vultures.  

A few faces turned away quickly with lips pursed, shaking their heads 
with disgust.  He shuddered as he lowered his eyes over splotches of 
mud, now drying to a thin crust on his skin.  He was naked - worse than 
naked.  He could feel the weight of his erection bounce and pull at him 
as they ushered him to the patrol car.  How?  Why?  The throbbing in 
his head made concentrating difficult.  

Loud.  Too loud.

The policemen were asking him too many questions.  He didn't know what 
they wanted or how to make them stop.  They were pushing him, pulling 
his hand away from his eyes, fastening his wrists together behind his 
back with something cold and hard.  

Once at the station, he tried to explain it all to them.  His head 
ached; he couldn't think straight.  The words came out all wrong and 
the policemen just laughed at his story.  Why wouldn't they listen? Why 
couldn't they understand?  They kept asking the wrong questions.

"So, your wife is having an affair with this biker?"

"How long has she been seeing him?"

"Do you know her lover?"

"Did you plan to kill them both last night?"

"How much did you have to drink?"

No, no, no!  Why couldn't he make them understand?  The metal chair was 
so cold, and they just kept laughing at him, naked, still hard from the 
drugs Rock forced him to take the night before.  A few female officers 
drifted in, anxious to get a look. They snickered as they eyed his 
throbbing erection.  He kept asking for some clothes, anything to cover 
his cock, to keep him warm.  How could they let him sit there naked, 
exposed to anyone passing by the row of windows looking out into the 
busy hallway?  

"Please, help me - some clothes, please - I'm cold - so cold..."

Finally they gave up, threw a blanket over him, and led him to a 
holding cell.  He sat and shivered for hours, dazed and helpless, head 
still bleeding from where the butt of the gun slammed into him.  He 
wished the explosion in his head had been a charging slug of lead, 
tumbling through soft gray-matter.  He had expected that, accepted it, 
finally welcoming the escape from the torture he had grown powerless to 
prevent.  What else did Rock want from them?  He had taken his wife, 
first by force, then willingly, gloating as Sarah begged for the 
biker's huge cock.  Then this - how weak he must have looked to Sarah 
that night, so helpless - he had his chance, he had the gun, only to 
have all hope wrestled away by Shayla's strong arm about his neck, the 
warm metal barrel in his mouth as Rock mocked him, Sarah looking on as 
he sucked the end of the gun at Rock's command - but if it wasn't over, 
what next?...Oh God, what next...
 
"Let's go, Sport.  Your wife's here to take you home."

The words seemed to clear his head, and he stared at the officer, still 
a bit wild-eyed.  Thank God - Sarah was ok - they let her go - they 
could go home now - be together again - try to forget - 

As they rounded the corner and approached the front desk, he recognized 
her voice, a soft mewing mixed with the little-girl whine.  

"He's such a dear, the poor thing.  So understanding, considering what 
he puts himself through.  Oh, Sweetheart, there you are!  I'm so glad 
they found you!  I was worried sick!  Are you ok?"

Stacey ran to him, seizing him with a tight hug.

"No!  No!  No!!!  She's not my wife - she's one of them - get away from 
me - where's Sarah - what have you done with her?"

Stacey watched with her best disappointed look as he backed away 
babbling, refusing to leave with her.

"He gets like this sometimes.  As I was telling you, it's been so 
difficult for him.  He's been impotent for so long.  When he's sober, 
he's agreed to let me go to my friend for my physical needs if I'll 
stay married to him.  It works for a while, until it gets the best of 
him.  Every so often he snaps, goes out and takes God-knows what 
combination of drugs, anything to get him hard.  The sad part is that 
he gets so wrecked, he never comes home to me when he could satisfy me.  
He gets obsessed with finding my friend and me together, and the drugs 
and alcohol send him into the night, driven by a crazed fantasy that 
I'm cruising the city, sleeping with every man I can find.  Of course,
nothing could be further from the truth, officers."

Stacey's wide-eyed stare traveled from one policeman to the next, her
wet lips opened just enough to glisten with anything but innocence.
The policemen stared back, paralyzed by her girlish innuendo.

"Jeeezus..."

"Poor bastard..."

"Well, um, Ma'am, if we could just see some identification, we'll 
release him."

Stacey opened her tiny white purse and presented Sarah's driver's 
license, her picture now neatly covered by Stacey's, blue eyes
gazing coyly from the upper left corner.

When Sport objected a second time, a large blue uniform moved against
him from behind, a wide firm hand heavy on his shoulder.

"Listen buddy, you have a beautiful wife who cares enough about you to 
be here for you.  If I were you, I'd calm down, go home, and sleep it 
off.  Unless of course, you'd like to be our guest for a while..."

Stacey led the way through the double glass doors, her brief cotton 
dress bouncing just enough to show a glimpse of sheer white panties 
from behind.  The roar of the policemen's laughter followed them all 
the way to the curb where Stacey's red Escort waited.  It started on 
the third try, and before pulling into traffic she glanced down where 
the blanket parted, revealing his now-shrunken stub of a penis. He 
caught her looking and tried to cover himself as she shook her head, 
grinning.

"Don't worry Sport.  They say that size isn't everything, right?  
But I'm afraid right about now Sarah couldn't possibly agree."



                                      ***



Stacey dropped him in front of his house.  Sport was as relieved as he 
was surprised that their destination wasn't more sinister.  He slumped 
beside her in the cramped passenger seat, waiting for the worst.  But 
Stacey just sat and fidgeted, tapping the steering wheel lightly to an 
unheard beat that rolled endlessly through her pretty blonde head.

She gave him a minute or two.  She loved indecision in men.  It made 
her feel powerful, in control, and generally reaffirmed her contempt 
for the crude, useless creatures.  After that, they just pissed her 
off.

"If you're waiting to grow a dick, do it on your own time, Sport.  Some 
of us have a life."

He gathered the blanket around him, taking a few seconds to glance up 
and down the block.  His next-door neighbor eyed the car with quick, 
suspicious glances.

"Christ, do I have to spell it out?  GET OUT, you pathetic fuck!"

Sport kicked open the door and fled across his yard, the small blanket 
trailing behind as he ran for the safety of the house.  He could feel 
the warm sun on his skin and the breeze, unexpectedly cool, as it 
rushed between his legs.  He glanced to the side just long enough to 
see Janey, now still and straight as a statue, follow his progress 
through the ankle-high grass.

He never liked Janey.  He liked her even less after she divorced Fred, 
her henpecked husband, and took everything he had, including their 
spacious two-story home.  Now she had money, *and* the body of a woman 
half her age.

It hadn't taken long for Sarah and Sport to learn to avoid 
Janey's attempts to socialize.  Fred would sit quietly, a shell of a 
man, while Janey went on for hours with stories about how inept Fred 
was at this or that, and how their new gardener ogled her when she 
sunbathed in her new bikini, or how her young doctor spent just a bit 
more time than was absolutely necessary examining her breasts.  Then 
came the slow wink, directed at Sarah, as if Fred didn't notice, as she 
touched Sarah's hand, expecting a knowing wink in return.  But Sarah's 
obvious embarrassment didn't faze Janey.  When Sarah declined to 
respond positively to her crude anecdotes, Janey would counter with, 
"Aww, c'mon, Honey, us girls have to stick together, don't we?"

Sarah told him Janey was too insensitive and "flamboyant" to be 
anything more than a pest of a neighbor.  Sport pictured her staked 
across a mound of fire ants while he poured honey over her silicone-
stuffed tits.  More than once, he imagined her screams as vicious, 
frantic swarms of tiny red predators consumed her naked, writhing body.

Then, suddenly, he was falling, somersaulting head over heels in the 
long, soft grass.  He landed sprawled on his back, naked, the blanket 
gone. Caught in a sudden gust of wind, it folded and flapped against 
itself twice, fluttered in an updraft, and finally came to rest at 
Janey's feet.

He looked up to see her eyes wander over his pale body, then settle 
where his dick hung lifelessly between his outstretched legs. It was 
her grin, that sly, crooked grin, that made his head start to throb 
again - pounding, pounding - long after he reached the front door and 
bolted it behind him.



                                 ***



"Hi, Mr. B.  You look beat.  Tough weekend?"

Shannon, his receptionist/secretary beamed her usual wide smile from 
behind her desk.  

"Uh, yeah, kind of, Shannon.  I may be coming down with something, 
maybe a bad cold. I'll be fine."

'Ah, to be twenty-two again,' he mused.  She wore the white sweater 
today, the one with the deep neckline that clung to her like it 
was custom-knitted with every curve in mind.  Shannon was the all-
American girl - tall, blonde and tan, with the eternal enthusiasm of a 
cheerleader.  He was mildly surprised when Sarah had hired her.  She 
wasn't the type a wife would ordinarily trust around her husband.  
After one week he had a new appreciation for Sarah's judge of 
character.  Shannon was never late, handled customers with the utmost 
tact, and showed a flair for numbers and record-keeping.  She kept her 
private life private, and except for the tastefully flattering clothes, 
never made her presence a temptation for him, or any of the other 
employees.  She was the perfect assistant, and provided a daily helping 
of safe, innocent eye-candy to boot.

"Oh, Mr. B., you have a visitor.  She's waiting in your office.  She's 
hot, Mr.B.  Your taste in customers is improving," she teased.

He smiled, trying not to stare at her cleavage, shook his head, and 
went inside.

Shayla was in his chair. She leaned back casually as if she owned the 
office, her long chocolate legs stretching for what seemed like yards 
in front of her.  The brief navy skirt revealed all but six inches of 
muscular thigh, while the matching jacket narrowed at her long 
waist, emphasizing full breasts that rose firm and round into the open 
space above the top button. 

"Well, it's about time Sport.  How do you stay in business if you don't 
arrive early every day to watch the help?"

He froze in the doorway, his feet now lead, his heart a racing time-
bomb.  

"Close the door, Sport.  We have your future to discuss, and Sarah's of 
course."

He sat across from her, in the chair his customers took while listening 
to his terms and prices.  Shayla just smiled, uncrossed and crossed her 
legs, and smiled wider when she caught him glancing up her skirt. 

"Let me explain how our little business meeting will go, Sport.  I do 
the talking, and you shut up and listen.  When I finish, and ask for 
questions, you may speak, but not before.  Follow my instructions, and 
you and your precious Sarah may be together again soon.  Open your 
mouth when you shouldn't, or make trouble of any kind, and, well, 
believe me, there are horrors that neither of you could possibly 
imagine.

"I'm your new business partner."

Sport straightened in his chair, his reflexes raising him a few inches 
off the seat, then nearly bringing him to his feet before Shayla's 
words stopped him.

"Uh-uh-uhhh, Sport.  

She picked up the receiver of his phone, holding it in mid-air on its 
way to her ear.

"Should I make a call?  I could have your darling wife's boob-job 
undone rather hastily.  The doctor is busy these days, but I'm sure 
Rock would love to give it a try.  He's always so eager to play doctor.  
It might get a bit messy though, not to mention what her little titties 
might look like, if she survives. 

Sport collapsed back into the chair, shaking helplessly with fear and 
rage.

"Relax Sport.  It won't be so bad.  Just do as I say.  You may even 
thank me someday.

"Now, I've looked over your books and inventory, and, well, I see 
potential here.  You custom design and manufacture medical appliances 
and equipment - everything from artificial limbs to wheelchairs and 
hospital beds.  Some very clever stuff, too.  And your mail-order 
business is impressive, to say the least.  I think I can be a big help 
here.  Of course, we'll have to trim the inventory some - and I have 
some interesting plans for your machine shop.  

"We'll share your office for the time being.  I like this desk, and the 
chair's nice and comfy, too.  Set up one of those small tray-tables 
where you're sitting.  I'll be doing most of the work anyway, and I 
want to keep an eye on you.  Now I'd like a tour of our building.  Time 
to meet the help."

Sport led her through his office, cringing inside each time he 
introduced Shayla as his new business partner.  The looks of surprise 
and shock on his employees' faces made it even harder.  Later, Shayla 
did her best to win over the men in the shop, then the shipping 
department.  Her suggestive innuendoes and light touches had most of 
them eating out of her hand after only minutes.  Sport saw her making 
mental notes of the few that were disgusted by her behavior, but most 
just stared at her legs and breasts.  

Lunch had arrived by the time they retired to his office.  Shayla had 
ordered the food from a nearby deli.  Sport stared at his small salad 
while Shayla pulled small white boxes of Chinese takeout from a large 
paper bag.

"I'm putting you on a diet, Sport.  I hope you like salads.  From now 
on, I'll be providing all your meals.  And no cheating, or that sweet 
little wife of yours will end up in pieces."

Shayla sat and watched as he picked at the small mound of lettuce 
lightly coated with watery, bland dressing.  She grinned with 
satisfaction, then began to feast, the odor of General's Chicken 
filling the small room.

Sport spent the rest of the day sitting across the room doing 
absolutely nothing as Shayla raided his computer.  She stretched her 
legs often, opening them just enough to make sure he couldn't miss her 
firm, plump labia framed by the longest, smoothest inner thighs he had 
ever seen. As the hours passed, he began to fidget.  The hard chair 
became more uncomfortable.  His hands began to tremble.  By the end of 
the day, increasing nervousness had him jumping at the slightest noise. 

"Sport!" shouted Shayla.

The sudden command nearly shook him out of his chair.

"What are you looking at, Sport?  Answer me!"

She had caught him staring between her open legs, and he stammered 
nervously, afraid of what would come next.

"So, you like my pussy, Sport?  The least you could do is ask to look 
at it.  I might even give you permission."

He just sat there, heart pounding, dreading what was to come.

"Well, go on.  Let me hear you ask, Sport.  Quickly!  I'm easily 
insulted!"

He gulped, licked his parched lips, and slowly got the words out.

"M-may I please look at your pussy?"

She shook her head as she answered, her voice laced with convincing 
disgust.

"It's no wonder Sarah was so eager for a real man.  You beg for what 
other men so easily take.  Come over here."

Sport rose shakily to his feet.  His eyes stayed glued to Shayla's.

"I said get over here, now!"

He crossed the space between them in three rapid steps, stopping at the 
edge of her desk.  She had spread her legs wider, hiking the brief 
skirt about her hips.  He struggled to keep from looking through the 
glass desktop at her magnificent thighs and the parted, shaved lips 
nestled between them.

"Take it out, Sport."

He stared blankly, his heart pounding.

"Your dick, Sport, your dick.  Take it out.  Let me see it."

His hand shook as he lowered the zipper of his slacks and fished the 
limp worm of flesh from its hiding place.  Shayla reached forward and 
gently grasped the head between thumb and fingers, rolling and tugging 
as she watched his reaction.  She lowered her other hand to her crotch, 
first spreading the plump lips with two fingers, then inserting a third 
inside.  Slowly, deliberately, she penetrated herself, with each stroke 
withdrawing just enough to display the glistening juices that coated 
the single long digit.  She smiled as his erection grew.

"You'd love some of this, wouldn't you, Sport?  Your dick says you'd 
sacrifice your precious little Sarah for it.  How do you think she'd 
feel?  You're obviously as easy as she is.  But still, betrayal can be 
the most difficult of life's surprises to accept.  Would she hate you 
for it?  Could she ever erase the pain delivered in an instant, like a 
sudden knife through the heart?" 

His cock responded to her touch, growing longer and harder with each 
careful trace of her long, pearly nails.  He hated himself for the 
betrayal, but found her touch impossible to resist.  His knees shook.  
His trembling hands grasped the edge of the desk.  As he stared at her 
cunt through the glass, he could feel his belt being undone, the slow 
inching of his slacks over his hips, and finally, her invading hands 
around his sac, pulling all of his sex into the cool office air.

"So, the answer to your question Sport, is, yes, you can look at my 
pussy.  Get a good look.  Memorize every detail.  Imagine how tight and 
hot it might feel around your insignificant little prick, and then cum 
in my hand, knowing that Sarah would welcome the same from any man."

He wouldn't.  He couldn't.  He closed his eyes as Shayla's hands milked 
him.  Sarah's face stared back at him in the darkness, black hair 
flowing over delicate, bare shoulders.  Shayla's voice purred in the 
background.

"You're nothing to her now, Sport.  She's had a hundred men better than 
you."

He felt the urgency build in his testicles, then spread slowly through 
his belly and cock.  Sarah's face was replaced with disturbing images - 
her legs wrapped tightly around a biker in their own bedroom, her 
thighs shuddering as her naked body jerked and spasmed in a cage 
suspended over a cheering crowd, and finally, silhouetted by a dying 
bonfire, her small body eagerly rising and falling on Rock's massive 
cock, willingly flaunting her own betrayal...

     "Oh, Rock...it feels so good...so big and hard inside me...
      oh God, you're so huge...sooo good, Rock...so fucking good...
      fuck me, Rock...fuck me harder...you're making me cum, Rock...
      I'm cumming now, Rock. . . "

Shayla's hand tightened around his balls, drawing him closer, forcing 
him to lean forward over the desk.  She circled the head of his cock 
with her fingertip, scraping away the expanding droplet of sticky fluid 
as her nail grazed the sensitive opening.  

"Let her go, Sport.  If she feels anything for you at all, it's 
contempt, or worse, pity.  She's starving for everything you're not.
Cum for me, Sport.  Show me I'm right.  Forget the little slut.  It's 
what she wants.  It's what you want.  Trust me..."

He felt the long, tortured moan rise from deep in his chest, then burst 
from his lips as though it was another man's voice. 

"Nooooo, oh God, nooooo..."

His hips rocked forward.  He could feel the semen surging on its way 
from his belly to where Shayla's fingers stroked his penis, now hard 
and urgent in her exquisite hand.  Behind his clenched eyelids, Sarah's 
face stared back in disbelief. A large tear formed at the corner of her 
eye, then raced over her cheek as a second formed behind it.

Shayla smiled as he delivered the spoonful of cum in her hand, arriving 
in three small spurts.  Three.  She counted them.  Such a small 
offering.  Yet, to Sport, it was much more.  It was his defeat, and the 
betrayal of his love for Sarah, a love that connected them like a 
fraying thread.

He tried to pull away from the edge of the desk, but Shayla snugged the 
fingers of her left hand around his sac, countering with just enough 
resistance to keep him close.  After milking the last drops of semen 
from his cock, she opened her right hand, raising it to offer him a 
better view.

"I see now why you never had children, Sport.  Just look at this tiny 
little puddle of cum.  You do everything in such a small way, don't 
you."

Sport glanced down at the semen she had won from him, now barely 
wetting her open palm.

"What should we do with this, Sport?  Any ideas?"

He knew what was coming, and let his revulsion show as he looked into 
her eyes.

"Mmmm, yes, I thought about that, Sport, but it would be so degrading,
don't you think?  I mean, the homoerotic implications alone are enough 
to send most real men screaming from the room.  On the other hand, it 
could be a valuable learning experience.  Wouldn't you like to know 
what it's like to be on the receiving end for a change?  You may even 
learn to like the taste of it.  Isn't that what men fantasize about - 
that we'll grow savor the taste of your cum so much that we can't get 
enough of it?"

His body shook violently and uncontrollably.  Nausea rose from deep in 
his gut as her hand tightened around his testicles, drawing him closer 
over the desk.  His face was inches from her outstretched hand, close 
enough to see the moist crevices between her fingers, and to smell the 
faint odor of his semen that spread slowly over her palm.

"I sense you're not open to my offer of self-enlightenment, Sport.  I 
should have known.  What were the words that Sarah used to describe 
your sexual prowess to Rock? 'Tediously domestic', I believe.  Although 
'tame', 'dull', and 'unimaginative' also come to mind.  She does tend 
to babble on while she's riding a sturdy cock.  So, consider this your 
first assignment from your new boss. Lick, Sport.  I'll tell you when
to stop."

As his employees' cars filed past the office window at the end 
of their work day, Sport licked, then continued to feast on each of 
Shayla's long, brown fingers, sucking one after another into his mouth 
as she buried her hand between her legs.  Her body stiffened for a 
second as a sudden, quiet sigh escaped her, then relaxed as her full 
lips tightened into a wide smile. The smile became a snicker, then a laugh that 
shook her muscular body from wide shoulders to shapely calves, a laugh that 
echoed painfully through Sport's throbbing head.

Too loud.  Too loud.














                                     Chapter 14


Sport's drive home wasn't much better than the rest of his day. After 
missing his exit, he nearly ran another car off the highway trying to 
catch the next one. His hands shook, and he had trouble focusing on 
the traffic ahead. Assuming hunger was the culprit, he stopped to grab 
a burger and a shake as he doubled back to his neighborhood. Shayla 
had warned him not cheat on his new diet, but hell, how would the bitch 
ever know? Two blocks from his house, he spotted the red and blue 
flashing lights of a police cruiser in his mirror. The officer eyed 
him with suspicion as Sport stammered and fumbled with his wallet, then 
wrote a ticket for $350. 

"Watch your speed, Bud. There are kids in this neighborhood - I 
clocked you at 58. You were probably going faster."

He sat for a while after the policeman pulled away, trying to calm 
himself, now thinking only about the hunger that gnawed at him and the 
aroma of the double burger escaping from the paper bag on the seat 
beside him. But the drugs Shayla added to his lunch-time salad still 
coursed through his system. She had access to a cornucopia of 
pharmaceuticals, many developed and used during her partnership with 
Finch. Sport's salad dressing contained a cocktail of a powerful, 
long-lasting amphetamine and a dash of designer hormone which 
powerfully enhanced libido and erection in males. The third 
ingredient was Shayla's proudest achievement - SSRA. A distorted 
analogue of the SSRIs used to treat depression, her "selective 
serotonin reuptake accelerator" gradually eroded the subject's will and 
self-esteem while slowly smothering him with hopeless depression.
As much as he was tempted to devour the filling fast food then and 
there, the nervousness and fear that nagged at him overpowered his 
hunger, and he headed for the safety of home, away from any more 
trouble that may come his way.

Once home, he entered the darkened house through the garage and headed 
for the kitchen. He fumbled for the light switch, then found it, 
squinting as the overhead fluorescents filled the room with blazing 
white.

"Oh good, I see you've brought my dinner."

Janey sat at the kitchen table. She took a long drag on her cigarette, 
smiled her crooked smile, reaching for the paper bag clenched tightly in 
Sport's shaking hand. She leaned back in the chair as if she owned it, 
legs crossed, dress hiked far enough above the knee to show plenty of 
perfect thigh. The gaudy floral pattern did little to hide two hard 
mounds of breast which clung to her slim torso like ripe, oversized 
grapefruits. Sport couldn't help thinking she was the consummate 
poster-girl for cosmetic surgery.

"I met a friend of yours today. Sounds like you're in deep shit to me.
Anyway, I know about your diet. So, if you hand over the food, maybe I 
won't go running to Shayla just yet."

Sport stood motionless, feet glued to the floor. He had never 
considered Shayla would go this far. And Janey, of all people. All 
hope seemed to drain from him, just as the color drained from his face. 
The room started to spin. He was moving forward, flashes of her wicked 
smile and bare thighs filling his field of vision, until he was only a 
few feet away. He released the paper sack immediately when she pulled 
it from his hand, apprehension now replacing hunger. Janey brought him 
the familiar salad from the refrigerator and ordered him to sit. It 
was a much larger serving than Shayla had provided at lunch, but after 
picking through the contents of the deep bowl, he found little but 
shredded lettuce swimming in a pool of thick, translucent dressing. It 
tasted of garlic and a tantalizing mix of spices, and strangely seemed 
to soothe his hunger a little more with each spoonful - so he ate 
quickly, scraping every last drop from the bottom of the bowl.

"I always suspected you were cheating on Sarah. You men are all alike. 
Every time she made an excuse to avoid a dinner invitation, I knew you 
were really behind it, trying to keep us apart. And don't even try 
to deny it. I saw you with that little blonde slut the other day when 
she dropped you out front. You could have at least put some clothes 
on.

"I'm not surprised that Sarah left you. She should have done it a 
long time ago. A girl like Sarah could have any man she wants. 
Shayla told me how hurt she was, and how she pleaded with Shayla to 
teach you a lesson. But, hell, I'm not complaining. Things couldn't 
have worked out better for me. Punishing you will be almost as 
satisfying as punishing my ex." 

His nerves frayed to the breaking point from the drugs and Shayla's 
day-long abuse, Sport shoved the empty bowl across the table and glared 
at her.

"You don't know Sarah! You don't know anything about us! Sarah didn't 
like you any more than I do - in fact, we did everything we could to 
avoid your mind-numbing tirades and trashy friends! Oh, and about Shayla - 
you *really* don't know Shayla. She's not your friend. You have no 
idea what she is, or what you've stumbled into!"

Even as his anger rose to a rolling boil, he couldn't look away from 
her creamy thighs as she uncrossed and crossed them again. And worse, 
his erection had returned, cramped and urgent, straining behind the fly 
of his slacks. He jumped from the chair and took a step toward her, 
hoping that some physical action might shake him from the effect she 
had on him. 

"Now get the fuck out of our house, you tacky bitch!"

Janey smiled at him. She reached out with a single digit and traced a 
firm straight line over his pants along outline of his swollen cock.

"Ohh, you're so cute when you're angry! But I think you like me a lot 
more than you let on, honey."

Her tits seemed to grow behind the flowered dress. They were so full 
and round. Perfect - with pouting nipples that hardened before his eyes, 
as if to tease him, to make sure he saw that only a flimsy layer of 
material stood between her flesh and his shaking hands. 

Then, escaping from an instant of lust and indecision, he grabbed her 
wrist, jerked her from the chair, and dragged her kicking and screaming 
to the door. 

"You son of bitch! You gonna hit me, big man? Slap me around a 
little? That's what you men do when do don't get your way, isn't it. 
Go ahead, hit me, you prick! Maybe you beat Sarah, but-"

He shoved her hard through the open door. She tripped and landed on her 
ass, the reds and oranges of her dress gathered about her slim waist, 
smooth inner thighs splayed wide in the light that spilled through the 
kitchen doorway. Sport feasted on the sight between them, a narrow 
space almost covered by transparent red panties, plump cunt-lips moist 
with juices that seeped from the parted slit between them.

"You'll be sorry! Just wait, you'll be - "

Sport slammed the door, freeing himself from the maddening voice and 
the flesh his body struggled to resist.



                               ***



Sport was at work thirty minutes early the next morning. He slept 
little the previous night, waking every hour from a restless sleep. 
Half way to work, he slipped off the freeway, gorged himself with a 
fast food breakfast, then continued on, remembering that Shayla 
expected him there early each day to greet her when she arrived. 

She was already in his office when he arrived, sitting back in his chair with 
her long legs propped up on the desk. Her dark skirt was even shorter 
than the day before, and she made no attempt to hide the dark, plump 
labia on display inches above the hem.

"Relax, Sport. You're not late. And for the last time, I'm warning 
you to ask politely before staring at my pussy."

He tore his eyes away and looked her in the face. She waited for his 
answer. He knew too well what she expected form him.

"P-please Shayla, m-may I look at your pussy?"

A familiar voice came from behind him.

"Take a good look, Sport. If you don't wise up, it may be the last 
cunt you'll ever see."

The words spun him around. Rock stood behind him, with a scowl that 
promised trouble. He moved closer, stopping a foot from Sport's face. 
Then there was that grin again, much like the first time Rock had 
peered into his car window.

Sport didn't see the blow that doubled him over. It caved in his 
stomach, then took his breath away. The pain came within seconds, 
followed by the violent vomiting that spewed his breakfast across the 
office floor. The second punch came before he had a chance to recover. 
The force of it knocked him to the floor. Gasping for breath, he 
rolled into a ball, trying to protect himself from another blow. 

"A friend of ours said you weren't very nice to her last night. She 
said you were rude. She said you assaulted her. That really pisses me 
off."

The toe of Rock's boot landed squarely between Sport's legs. The force 
of it sent pain racing through his body. He rolled onto his back 
moaning, hands clutched over his balls. 

Sport watched Rock's heavy boots step closer, then gasped as Rock took 
him by the hair, pulling his face closer.

"It's so easy, dude. Just do what the ladies tell you to do. How hard 
can that be, even for someone like you? Now, tell me you'll behave. 
Let's hear it, Sport, or the next time I'll cut your nuts off."

Fear and nausea overwhelming him, he nodded two quick nods.

"I said tell me, you pussy. Let's hear it!"

"I-I'll behave. I'll behave, I promise," he croaked.

Rock looked down at him with disgust.

"Fuckin' wimp. I still oughta kick the shit out of you."

Shayla appeared beside him, placing a firm hand on Rock's bulging 
forearm.

"Let's wait and see if he's learned anything today," Shayla cooed. 
"He's such a pathetic little thing. I doubt he'll give us any more 
trouble. If he does, I'll let you finish him off, any way you like."

Shayla smiled down at Sport. He could see up her skirt again as she 
stood over him. Her slit stood open, it's red center now shiny and 
wet.

"Agreed Sport?"

The pain caused his voice to waver.

"O-OK, S-Shayla."

When Rock let go of his hair, his head dropped back onto the floor with 
a crack. Rock wore a nasty smirk as he headed for the door.

"Stupid fuck. I'll be back. You can count on it."

Shayla helped him to his feet. She drew him close to her, holding him 
in her arms while he sobbed against the exposed valley between her firm 
breasts. 

"Shhh, now, now, you'll be alright. Just do things my way from now on, 
and you won't have to suffer. Be a good boy and I'll see that Rock 
never hurts you again. I promise. OK?"

Sport nodded, his face still buried in Shayla's chest.

She clutched his shoulders and moved him away, holding him at arm's 
length.

"You must be starved."

Shayla glanced at the mess on the floor. 

"From now on, please stick to your diet. Had Rock known about it, he 
might have seriously hurt you. Promise?"

Sport looked up at her with eyes full of tears and defeat, and nodded.

"Good boy. Now, let's get you some breakfast."



                                ***



In the days and weeks that followed, Sport watched helplessly as Shayla 
took the reins of his business. His employees watched just as helplessly 
as she ingratiated herself to some, and fired the rest. Those who remained 
were easy prey for her wiles. They stared at her achingly gorgeous body 
and face as she made swift daily changes to their routine, never 
questioning, never objecting to the next order as it slipped from her 
wide, full lips. 

Sport continued to show up for work, on time, at first terrified to 
disobey Shayla, then, after a while, arrived blank and sullen, taking 
his chair in the corner each day as she smiled cruelly at him, demanding 
that he tell her every detail of the night before. And as much as Shayla 
owned his days, Janey now owned his nights. She was there every night 
when he stepped in the door, readying his special dinner of drug-laced 
salad, as condescending and insulting as ever. As the drugs did their 
work, Sport's mind lost all defense against her rants. As hard as he 
tried to filter her lies from the unending barrage of sarcastic banter, 
a few would always slip through, finding some small niche in his brain 
that would nurse them into planted truths and memories of Sarah and 
their past life together. 

In time, Sport began to accept an undeserved guilt for losing Sarah. He 
worshiped her as an icon of physical perfection, but was eventually 
persuaded by Shayla and Janey that he was unworthy of her attention or love. 
As he slept, his drug-laced dreams were of a Sarah who ignored 
him, a golden goddess who could pick and choose cocks of more 
deserving men to satisfy her. She was the ultimate essence of raw, feminine 
sexuality, sacred and desirable, but impossibly, and rightfully, out of his 
reach. 

Existing on a diet of drug-laced salads and protein drinks, Sport's weight 
plummeted from 190 pounds to 140 as the weeks dragged on. The rumor 
among his employees was that he had cancer, but no one dared to ask. 
When his clothes began to sag on his rail-thin frame, Shayla came to the 
rescue.

"I have a present for you, Sport," she told him one day as he headed for 
his corner chair. He stopped and turned to her, eyeing the large white bag 
on her desk. Shayla shook her head and sighed. 

"Well, open it, Sport. I run a business here - I don't have all day."

He went to her desk and slid the contents onto glass desktop. Just below, 
his eyes were drawn to her firm, slim legs, stretched to their amazing full 
length, the smooth chocolate skin beckoning him to touch her. Shayla caught 
him looking, and spread her hands over the glass, blocking his view. 

"There'll be time for that later, Sport. Do you think I want you to touch me 
this early in the morning? Ugh - it's enough to make me lose my breakfast. 
Pay attention, Sport! Concentrate! Your present, remember? Honestly, I don't 
know how you were ever able to run this business."

He unfolded the items and held them up, one by one, before her. At first he 
didn't understand - a few pair of red spandex bicycle shorts, some T-shirts in 
a variety of pink and purple pastels, and a pair of white tennis shoes with 
pink eyelets. 

"Well, do you like them?" Shayla asked, grinning slyly. 

"I-I don't know - are they - you want me to wear this?"

"Of course, Sport! Why else would I waste my hard-earned money on you?"

"B-but, I can't wear these - I mean, I can't be seen in these - people would 
think - "

"What, Sport? That you're a sissy? That you're not a man? They'd be right, 
wouldn't they? Your own wife thinks so. Sarah never saw you as a real man. She 
told you that, more than once, remember?"

Sport struggled with past memories, trying to sort out the real from the 
imagined. In his mind, Sarah's face, the face he used to know, framed by soft, 
dark hair, was replaced in an instant by Barbie's big blonde hair and pouty red 
lips. And then the lips were moving, the words sultry and wanton. "Ummm, I want 
you Rock, I want a real man, a real man who can put his big hard cock inside 
me. Not like him! He was never a man! He could never make me cum like you do! 
Never! Never!" She was pointing at Sport, shouting at him, accusing him of the 
very thing Shayla had told him. In the end, he no longer knew what Sarah had 
said, but the words seemed so familiar, and came back to him so easily. He had 
probably just forgotten them. 

"Well, Sport, what are you waiting for? Try them on! Let's get a good look at 
the new you!"

"B-but, here? At work? What will everyone - "

"I run this company now, not you. No one cares, Sport. Not anymore. No one will 
even notice."

Sport knew she was right, but the truth still hit him like a sledge hammer. He 
didn't even know most of the employees anymore. Shayla had hired new workers to 
replace anyone who thought about objecting to the changes she brought. She 
hired a new engineer to replace Sport's life-long friend, and he couldn't lift 
a finger to stop her. She called him Spike, and he quickly went about changing 
the product line from hospital beds and wheelchairs to sex paraphernalia of 
every size and shape. She had tripled the company's income in a month while 
Sport sat drugged in his corner, fidgeting nervously with a constant erection, 
staring up her skirt. It was what he lived for now - to watch her, to touch 
her, to please her. And in return, she would take care of him, protect him from 
Rock. And that was all that mattered.

Sport undressed in front of Shayla, his sense of modesty erased long ago by her 
skillful manipulations. When he reached for a pair of the spandex shorts, 
Shayla stopped him. 

"You can't wear briefs under spandex, Sport! I hate panty lines. It's why I 
never wear them myself. You wouldn't want to look up my skirt and see panties 
instead of my bare pussy, would you, Sport?"

Sport got the message and stripped off his underwear. He reached for the shorts 
again, and again Shayla stopped him. She couldn't help but stare. His body had 
become wire-thin and soft, almost boyish in appearance. In contrast, his ever-
present erection jutted forward, as hard and urgent as a sixteen-year-old's. It 
was a strange sight, she thought, this boy-man she had created. How bizarre he 
looked - such weak, androgynous, impotent flesh flaunting the rigid, pulsing 
organ that seemed oddly out of place, so wasted on such a pathetic excuse of a 
man. Her creation brought her pleasure, and she smiled at him.

"Turn around for me, slowly. I want to look at you." 

Sport did as she said, hoping that if he pleased her, she might reward him. As 
he continued to turn for her, she watched, still amused by the outlandish 
sight. 

"Is your little prick always hard?" she asked him casually as he stopped to 
face her.

"Yes - I don't know why, but it is," he answered.

Shayla smiled wider. "I think it's because you can't stop thinking about me. 
Isn't that right? Do you want to fuck me with your little prick? Come on, you 
can tell me. I won't bite." 

Sport tried to process her question, but his mind short-circuited. Would 
agreeing bring Rock's boot to his groin? Would declining be taken as an insult 
to Shayla? She had become his protector, the one safe place in his life where 
he could go for both comfort and the touch of a woman's flesh, however limited 
it might be. Could he dare hope for sex with her? 

"I-I want to, but I shouldn't," he finally muttered, looking down at his bare 
feet. 

"And why shouldn't you?" Shayla asked, smiling as she guided their conversation 
to it's usual end.

"Because you probably want men like Rock, not like me. You wouldn't enjoy it."

"And why do you think that, Sport?"

"Because women want that, women want - "

"Women, Sport? What women? Be specific. How do you know what women want? Tell 
me, Sport. How do you know?"

Sport shivered as he stood naked in the air-conditioned office. Shayla kept it 
cold, especially in the summer. But he shivered just as much from what he saw 
as he looked down over his pale, emaciated body, the outrageous erection ever-
present, but the flesh so soft and afraid. The images again flooded his mind, 
and he told her what she wanted to hear, what he now accepted as the truth. 

"Sarah wanted him. She wanted him instead of me. I know because she left me for 
men like that. I couldn't be that for her - I never can be. So I can't be that 
for you, either." 

Shayla smiled again and stretched her legs under the glass desk, letting her 
skirt ride high enough to tease him with a glimpse of her naked slit. She 
marveled at how simple it had been to break him, to convert this once proud 
husband of a beautiful woman into a weak, fearful shell of a man. She wondered 
how far he would go for her, to what depths of perversion he might descend for 
her. The possibilities made her wet as her mind raced with twisted flashes of 
depravity. If only there was time. 

"Get dressed, Sport. You're insight is right on target, as usual. And, the 
sight of you naked isn't exactly stirring my appetite for sex, with a man, that 
is. I want to take a tour of the shop this morning, and you can come along, to 
take notes."

Sport shivered again as he thought of having to face the employees in the 
clothes Shayla had brought him. He dressed slowly, pulling the tight red 
spandex shorts up over his bobbing erection, then stretching a small pink T-
shirt over his head and shoulders, tugging at it until it covered his thin 
chest and belly like a second skin. After lacing and tying the white tennis 
shoes, he stood up and faced her, afraid to think of the sight she must be 
enjoying. Shayla got up and went to him, this time circling him with slow, 
enticing steps, her hips swaying maddeningly beneath the tiny skirt. She 
stopped in front of him, looking down at the obvious outline of his erection 
under the spandex. Then looking up, directly into his eyes, she traced a path 
over his cock with a single finger, her finely-manicured nail grazing the 
underside of it, then moving slowly over the head until she felt the spandex 
grow moist with a droplet of the fluid she coaxed from him. 

"Now, you really don't want to fuck me, do you Sport?" she whispered, still 
circling her nail over the tip of his cock, spreading the pre-cum into an ever-
widening spot on the front of his shorts. He was shaking, trying to contain the 
orgasm that threatened to explode from deep within his gut. His eyes were 
locked on hers, his body nearly out of control, but still, the fear of Rock's 
boot paralyzed him. 

"P-please, no, I don't, I mean, I know you don't want me to - I know you 
want..."

Shayla suddenly burst into laughter, then carefully wiped her finger clean on 
the front of Sport's T-shirt. Turning back to her desk, she picked up a large 
clipboard and handed it to him. "Come on, Sport. Let's see what our people are 
up to this morning. I'm sure you're eager to give them a good look at the new 
you!"

Shayla led him around the shop, using all her wiles to ensure her new employees 
stayed compliant and loyal. Her smile melted every man she spoke to, and her 
mesmerizing voice had even the women eating out of her hands. Sport used the 
clipboard to try to hide his erection, but everyone's eyes were drawn to his 
new outfit, and as Shayla ordered him to take notes while they gave her their 
comments and suggestions, howls of laughter rose from the back of the shop. For 
her grand finale, Shayla called everyone together for one of her pep-talks, 
took the clipboard from Sport, and let everyone have a good long look. She 
ignored the sniggering and whispers as she talked, glancing at Sports' erection 
now and then to make sure her audience got the message. 

Whatever Sport had become, there was no question that Shayla was the boss, both 
theirs and his. But there were plenty of questions about Sport's sanity, as 
well as his apparent betrayal of Sarah. The few that still knew him either 
pitied him or wrote him off. Only Shannon continued to treat him with her 
familiar brand of acceptance and respect, smiling her gorgeous smile at him 
every morning, checking on him throughout the day, and always remembering to 
give him a cheery goodbye at closing. In time, she became his only anchor to 
reality, and to the past. In a world gone mad, Shannon's presence was the only 
thing that hadn't gone mad with it. She was the one and only bright spot in day 
after day of increasing hopelessness and depression.

As the drugs Shayla fed him did their work, Sport withdrew from their world 
into one where Shayla was the only safe refuge from the encroaching depression 
and fear. And those nights when Sarah came to him in his dreams, a strange 
pleasure filled him as he put her hand in Rock's, then watched as the rugged 
biker took her, using her perfect body the way she deserved, as only a real man 
could.














                                               Chapter 15



In Sport's world, the weeks that followed seemed like years. Ever increasing 
dosages of Shayla's drugs made his body twitch constantly and deepened his 
depression. Mindlessly submitting to Shayla at work all day followed by 
servicing Janey at night became his life. Sleep came to him in restless fits of 
unconsciousness, always plagued by nightmares of Sarah and Rock together with 
Shayla's commanding voice laughing in the background. He had even lost the 
ability to orgasm, thanks to the drugs, but that still didn't stop Janey from 
torturing him by fingering his erection as she verbally humiliated him. "What a 
shame," she'd tell him over and over as she stroked him. "Such a hard dick 
attached to such a useless excuse of a man." But by that time, Sport knew no 
humiliation. Janey's words settled in through layers of fatigue as an accepted 
truth. In fact, the final surrender was calming to Sport - once he let his 
resistance drift away, his frayed nerves nagged at him a little less, and a 
little less anxiety was a considerable level of relief. What remained was the 
relentless sexual frustration accompanied by an erection that constantly 
throbbed for relief, an itch that could never be scratched as long as Shayla's 
drugs saturated his frail body. 

It was a Monday morning like most other Mondays, except that his weekend with 
Janey had been particularly unpleasant. She had invited her friends over, two 
women in impeccable white tennis outfits who also wore predictably cruel 
smiles. Sport tried not to stare at their athletic figures, at the long, 
suntanned legs bared beneath short white pleated skirts. When they caught him 
looking, they giggled uncontrollably, pointing to his erection that bulged 
obscenely beneath his spandex shorts. Janey had ordered him to strip, and one 
of the women wanted to see him dance. Sport felt his erection bob in all 
directions as he tried his best, but he was no dancer, and his amateurish 
hopping and wiggling made the women laugh until tears streaked over their 
faces. Afterward, they each stroked and pulled at his cock in a contest to see 
who could make him cum. Janey stood by and gloated with the secret knowledge 
that it was a competition that could never be won. It was a new low, even in 
Sport's world. 

When he arrived at the office, he noticed Shannon wasn't there to greet him. 
Her unexpected absence was suddenly more than a passing curiosity. Although her 
fresh-faced smile and cheery, "Hi, Mr. B!" always lifted his spirits a bit as 
he passed by on his way to Shayla's office, he had never realized how it was 
the nudge that got him through Shayla's door each morning, and through the rest 
of day. He paused a second, felt the emptiness close in around him a bit more 
than most days, then went to Shayla's door and opened it. 

"Well, it's about time, pussy-boy. Come in and join the party." 

Rock stood a few feet in front of him, hands on his hips, grinning as though he 
was savoring in advance some obscene joke that Sport had yet to comprehend. As 
he stepped aside, Sport stared in horror at the scene before him. Behind 
Shayla's desk stood a gleaming chrome framework of steel and leather, an 
elaborate scaffold designed to accommodate the human form in an endless variety 
of positions. The body contained within it was one of bronzed perfection, the 
firm young thighs held in place by padded leather bands, the flat quivering 
belly stretched taught as the structure seemed to breathe in subtle movements 
that mimicked a living entity. Tiny sensors and motors guided agile appendages 
that clasped her arms and legs, moving in a bizarre dance that seemed only 
partly voluntary, a perverse ballet of flesh and machine. Shayla stood between 
her legs, staring at the flexible snake of silicone that weaved and probed 
within the light patch of golden pubic hair now wet with arousal. Shayla rested 
her hand on her belly, smiling at the immediate response, a returned loving 
gaze from within the machine. Slowly, the gaze moved to Sport, but changed from 
adoration to derision. As Shannon's blue eyes met his, her full lips curled 
into a warped smile that betrayed everything she had been to him. 

Shayla looked up at Sport and smiled a kinder smile. "Sport, you look like 
you've seen a ghost," she said. Her tone was almost genuine; enough so to reach 
the part of Sport that relied on her for security in times of doubt and 
confusion. "Oh my, you didn't think she saw you as anything but a weak and 
pathetic creature, did you? Really Sport, if you imagined she considered you 
anything slightly more than that, maybe you need more training." 

Shannon closed her eyes and moaned as the machine lifted her hips up into the 
jittering probe between her thighs. Shayla moved her hand upward over the 
fluttering stomach, finally cupping a large full breast in her palm. "Now 
Shannon, my Sweet, who do you live to please? Who makes your little cunt drip? 
Tell us, my Sweet. Tell us." But the only reply was a more drawn-out moan from 
the young girl, a confession of surrender to her master, but not one of her 
master's identity. 

Sport watched in stunned disbelief as Shannon tensed her stomach and tilted her 
hips forward and up, straining to suck the thin, agile phallus inside her. As 
though sensing her intent, the machine exaggerated her movements, guiding her 
hips upward in a quick, almost violent succession of thrusts while the rubbery 
probe teased her with a series of shallow penetrations calculated to excite, 
but not to satisfy. Beads of sweat formed over her breasts and belly, finally 
wetting the leather pads that supported her. She seemed to be a living part of 
the machine, her damp, smooth skin so like the slick, shiny leather - her lean, 
tanned arms and legs the warm blood and nerves that gave life to the slender 
steel rods and purring motors. 

Shayla stood beside her, gently scraping the long, manicured nail of her index 
finger over Shannon's turgid nipple. "You mustn't be shy, my Sweet. Tell me 
what you want." Shayla's voice was velvety and soothing, more of a purr than a 
command. "Do you want someone to finish you? Do you want to cum, my Sweet?" 

"Yesssss...," Shannon hissed, her eyes still closed, concentrating, as though 
she might try to trigger her orgasm by sheer will alone. 

"Who do you want, my Sweet? Who makes you cum harder than anyone ever has? Who 
do you live to please?"

Shannon's eyes drifted open, then scanned the room slowly.

"Him," she answered, almost in a whisper. "I want him."

A familiar, sick revulsion settled in Sport's gut as he watched the scene 
before him. Shannon's eyes were fixed on Rock, her full lips moist and parted. 
Her body, her face, her words - all had become a betrayal to Sport. The 
innocence and empathy Sport had come to love in her was gone, replaced by 
twisted sexual obsession for the same grinning biker who had so easily taken 
Sarah from him, the very same animal that had spawned Sarah's unquenchable 
addiction for satisfaction from "bigger", "better" men. "She's not Sarah," a 
distant, feeble voice within him warned. "She's not Sarah". But the  fragile, 
unraveling thread to reality was a droplet of reason in an ocean of delusion 
and defeat. It was overwhelmed and silenced in an instant.

Shannon babbled wildly as Rock approached her. Tears flowed down her cheeks as 
she whimpered and thrashed against the machine. Rock moved between her 
outstretched legs, lowered his jeans, and leaned over her, balancing his weight 
on the polished chrome supports. 

Shannon was crying openly, begging him to enter her, begging him to use her, 
begging for things Sport had never imagined coming from her perfect, pink lips. 
As the head of his cock inched inside her, two slippery, spaghetti-like 
appendages caressed her lower belly, then  slid maddeningly lower, nestling 
along each side of her swollen clitoris where they writhed like miniature 
snakes. As Rock forced his cock into her, the life-like machine-tentacles read 
her response to their touch and refined their dance, coaxing and lifting the 
pink bud of flesh until the two slithering fingers held the rubbery meat of her 
clit in a swirling, throbbing embrace. 

Shannon came within seconds. Her arms and legs shuddered within the confines of 
the machine as her climax approached. The sudden onset of spasms that rippled 
through her body overwhelmed the machine's ability to interpret them and 
respond, wrenching her lithe arms and legs in a rapid succession of halting, 
random excursions that delivered brief twinges of pain to straining tendons and 
ligaments within her fragile body.  The confused tendrils that encircled her 
clitoris collided and retreated, slashing and stabbing between moments of their 
maddening feather touch. 

Sport watched with an odd mix of desire and disgust. Shannon's tanned body 
convulsed in orgasm before his eyes. Exquisitely toned muscles flexed and 
stretched beneath the velvet golden skin of her legs and belly. Silken hair 
covered much of her face, revealing only her full, wide mouth. Her moist lips 
were parted, but far from the way he remembered them when she greeted him at 
work each day. Now she had become this unimaginable sexual creature of 
tantalizing flesh and gleaming steel, lost in a bizarre, frenzied dance of lust 
that she craved but could no longer control. 

Rock stood over her wearing an amused grin as the machine-girl thrashed and 
moaned. Her sex swallowed him so perfectly while in the embrace of the machine 
that he simply stood between her legs and let her do all the work. Her hips 
were guided forward and upward in a precise arc, measured and refined to the 
shape and size of his rigid cock. When he saw her wince in pain as the machine 
tried to amplify her orgasm, his grin widened, and he fought the urge to come 
in her on the spot.

It was only after her orgasm subsided that Rock began his slow, even strokes, 
merely grinning down at her as she lay recovering in the still-pulsating 
network of rods and beams. When she didn't respond, he began to batter her with 
his cock, shaking the machine as he plowed into her limp, twitching body. 

"How 'bout that, you little bitch? That what you want? All of it at once, like 
- THAT! Aw fuck yeah, I'm gonna do you till you're raw, bitch. How d'ya like it 
NOW - like THAT! C'mon you little pig, squeal for it! Beg for it! THAT's how 
you like it, right?" 

Rock pounded her with his hips, his cock pistoning into her with sudden violent 
thrusts. Shannon lay in the machine, unmoving, her head fallen to one side as 
she stared blankly into space. Her body was now like a marionette with half the 
strings severed. Nervous reflexes from Rock's assault were amplified by the 
machine, causing her body to move in a combination of erratic random jerks and 
unpredictable spasms. 

Sport looked on helplessly as Rock's body tensed, his pace slowed, and his 
groan filled the office. Seconds seemed like minutes to Sport, minutes like 
hours. Finally, Rock pulled his cock from the broken doll of a girl strapped to 
the machine before him. Shannon lay quivering within the machine, dazed and 
barely breathing. Sport's hatred of Rock began to boil within him, just as his 
sympathy for Shannon became overwhelming. Then, when a wide, satisfied smile 
grew across Shannon's face, he began to sob uncontrollably. 

Rock wheeled to face Sport. In seconds, his look of disbelief turned to one of 
disgust. Seething with anger, Rock headed straight for Sport, his jaw set, his 
fist clenched into a tight ball of muscle and bone. Sport stepped backward, his 
face a picture of pure horror.  Just as Sport's eyes met Shayla's in a last-
minute plea for help, Rock's fist slammed into his stomach with a sickening 
thud. He fell to his knees, eyes bulging, his stomach a cauldron of nausea that 
threatened to erupt at any second. 

"Awww, look at that," Rock said, his all-to-familiar sneer locked on Sport. 
"Gonna be her hero, big guy? Think she would ever want a wimp like you? Tell ya 
what - I'll fight you for her - well, what's left of her. You gotta remember 
how I ruined your sweet little wife the first time I fucked her, right? This 
one's no different. She's the same kind of whore, all fresh and pretty on the 
outside..." Rock reached out and grabbed a fist-full of Sport's hair, his wild-
eyed stare inches from Sport's face. "...all stupid, cock-hungry cunt on the 
inside. I thought I taught you that once. Now I gotta show your sorry ass all 
over again."

Sport's stomach caved inward as Rock's second blow knocked him to the floor. He 
began to vomit as his head hit the floor with a sharp crack. Sick and 
disoriented, his head pounding with a dull, distant pain, Sport remained 
conscious of only one thing - his hatred of Rock, amplified by the biker's 
revolting laughter that rang through the room. Slowly, using every once of 
energy he could rally, Sport pushed himself to his knees. He struggled to keep 
his balance, his body shaking violently, his hands clenched into fists at his 
side. He glared up at Rock, up at the laughing giant who had destroyed his 
life. 

"S-she never l-loved y-you," Sport uttered haltingly as he strained to stay 
upright on his knees. "S-she never..."

Rock's boot carried all the power his massive leg could deliver. When it landed 
between Sport's legs, he collapsed backward onto the floor, groaning, then 
whimpering, tears of defeat streaming over his face. Now Sport's world was one 
of pain and loss, nothing else. Minutes ago a spark of resistance had still 
existed, a tiny flame that had become his only remaining connection to Sarah, 
the Sarah that he knew, Sarah, his wife. As dim as it had become, it was still 
there, almost unreachable, but there just the same. As skilled and relentless 
as Shayla's attempts to extinguish it had become, they merely pushed it farther 
into the distance. Lying there in his own vomit, in his own well of certain 
destruction, Sport felt it vanish as suddenly as if Rock had snuffed the flame 
between his thumb and finger. At that instant, he began to sob. 

Rock stood over him, his laughter turned to a disgusted smirk. 

"Faggot's no fun anymore. He just lays there. I say, kill him." 

Shayla's footsteps came closer, the click, click, click of her black stilettos 
a familiar, welcome sound to Sport. 

"Sorry, but it's not our call. I've found another plaything for you. See if she 
has a boyfriend. We can use some fresh meat."

Shayla's voice was now cold and calculating, no longer the refuge that Sport 
knew so well. Click, click, click - she was coming closer, so close to him now. 
Sport opened his eyes in time to see her kneeling beside him. Her blouse opened 
to reveal large, chocolate breasts as she leaned over him. So perfect, he 
thought. He had never been allowed to touch them. He saw the syringe in her 
hand, bright and glittering under the fluorescent lights of his former office. 

"Ugh...he stinks," she complained as she lowered the syringe to the side of his 
neck. "I think he shit himself."

She looked into his eyes briefly, then looked away.

"Disgusting..." she whispered. Shayla stabbed the needle into his neck, pushed 
the plunger to the bottom of the barrel, and Sport's world went black.



                                  ***



The old warehouse was deserted at 2:00 AM. On the loading dock, shallow puddles 
reflected stray light from a single bulb mounted on a rusting sheet metal wall. 
Rain fell in a light mist, coating concrete and steel in a fever sweat of 
things sick and dying. Two burly men stood just inside the wide roll-up door. 
They stared impatiently into the foggy night. 

"Gotta wonder where these sick fucks send this stuff," the fatter of the two 
men said, as though he might be talking to himself. His stained t-shirt barely 
covered the mound of gut that hung over the top of his jeans. 

"None of yer damn business," the second man answered. "Like always, I take the 
money and git the hell outta here. If you ain't up to it, go ahead and leave - 
I'll take your share." He looked over at his accomplice and grinned. 

"Fuck you," the fatter man answered, and went back to staring into the night.

Outside, at the edge of the dock, two large wire cages sat in the chilly rain. 
As usual, each cage held a naked, unconscious body, one male, one female. Both 
were placed inside crouching on hands and knees, their ankles and wrists tied 
to the wire, although the cages were too small to allow much if any movement. 
They appeared to be sleeping, their heads resting on the thick leather pads 
beneath them, their breathing slow and shallow. 

"Did you get a good look at her?" the fatter man asked. "Mm, mm, mm, she's 
really somethin'." 

"Yeah, yeah," the second man growled. "Whatta you gonna do, ask her for a 
date?" 

"Heh, well, maybe you like the other one better."

"Right. Fuck you."

Sport shivered, partially rousing from his drug-induced sleep. His legs and 
back ached, his vision blurred. He was cold and wet, and the plastic ties 
holding his arms and legs to the wire cage cut into his flesh painfully. 
Somewhere in the distance someone was talking - who? It was so cold. So wet and 
clammy. Where was he? 

His vision began to clear, only to fade to a blur again within seconds. In, 
then out. Clear, then a blur. Eventually, when he could see for longer periods, 
Sarah's cage became recognizable.  She was naked, on her knees, but it was 
unmistakably her. Sarah's pale skin glowed in the darkness, her slim legs 
folded under her, her supple torso and full breasts an angelic vision to Sport. 
He could see her closed eyes and inviting mouth through parted strands of 
golden hair that spilled over her face and creamy bare shoulders. If her eyes 
would open, she would be looking right at him. But she slept, peacefully, 
beautifully - a rare, delicious treasure, caged and trussed as though she would 
be sold like meat, by the pound. Then, just as the vision took form, he blacked 
out again, losing her to Shayla's drugs. 

Sport woke a second time to sounds and movement much closer to his cage. The 
door to Sarah's cage stood open. A very large man leaned over it, panting and 
thrusting, his cock buried between Sarah's legs. Sport watched helplessly, as 
if dreaming. Unconscious, trapped within the confines of her cage, Sarah showed 
no sign that she objected to the violation. In fact, as the fat man's flabby 
gut hammered the cage, Sarah seemed to raise her ass to accept him, arching her 
back a little like an animal in heat. Sarah's mouth opened slightly, then 
formed a wide, satisfied smile across her angelic face. Sport closed his eyes, 
and again, as another of his dreams became a nightmare, he prayed for his 
escape. His prayer was answered as the drugs brought sleep once again. 

It was 3:00 AM when approaching lights in the distance signaled the men to 
ready the cargo. The rear door of the brown step-van was three feet below the 
dock, which meant the cages had to be lowered over the edge, then lifted into 
the truck. The two burly men accomplished it easily, each pausing to stare into 
Sarah's cage as they hoisted it into the back of the van. The driver handed 
them envelopes thick with cash, and the truck disappeared into the fog. 

"What the hell were you up to while I was takin' a shit?"

The fatter man grinned. "Just askin' her for a date, like you said."

"And what do you think they'll do when your "date" is delivered with cum 
leaking out of her?"

"Hell, I dunno - maybe they won't notice."

"Well, I noticed. Christ man, she was soaked."

The two men walked quietly back through the warehouse, then across a railroad 
siding to their cars. Neither knew who "they" were, or what trouble the fatter 
man might have created. But for the time being, the weight of the money in 
their pockets was comfort enough. 

When they reached their cars, the fatter man glanced over his shoulder. 

"What the fuck. She was probably just some stupid slut anyway."

The other man closed his car door without answering.

"Right. Probably just some stupid slut," he muttered to himself as he drove hastily 
into the night. 










Previous chapters of Surrendering Sarah, along with other works by Night Writer 
can be found at http://www.asstr.org/~Night_Writer/





