THE USUAL WARNINGS:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You have been warned!

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

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

NightShade

















Petunia

Part 3 of 4

by Nightshade

September, 2002

Chapter 11

When the cage door closed and Mr. Smith walked off
without even saying 'good night', Alex cried for a
while.  Then, mentally shaking herself, she got a grip
and forced herself to stop feeling sorry for herself.
She wondered if those other girls had cried in here
when they were left alone or after they had displeased
Mr. Smith.  Silly, of course they had.  But she
wouldn't cry over such a silly thing.  She would just
have to try harder to please Mr. Smith.  She wasn't
sure what had gone wrong tonight, but she would try
hard not to do it again.  Whatever it was.

She had some thinking to do, anyway.  Those boxes in
the storage room, the ones with the documents.  She
hadn't thought anything of them at first, but the names
on the files had haunted her and drawn her to look
through them with more care.  Each file had contracts,
releases and other legal papers as well as notarized
Powers of Attorney.  She knew what those were.  Cathy,
her best friend in high school, and she had worked in
the office of the town clerk.  Actually, her friend had
the job and got paid.  Alex just shared it with her and
took her place for a couple of months when Cathy had to
leave town for a while to have her baby.  That way she
had the job when she came back.  Alex was glad to help.

But these were the same kinds of documents they handled
there at the courthouse.  Estate stuff.  Guardianship
and Wills.  As boring as most people think these things
are, she had been fascinated by them, especially after
a big local scandal involving a race horse had been in
all the papers.  She had asked a thousand questions to
anyone who would stop by her desk to flirt with her.
At first the lawyers and judges had been amused and
given her short answers, trying to be cute.  But she
kept asking and the questions got harder and soon, one
or two of the adults had taken her seriously.  They had
spent time with her and she had learned and asked even
more questions.  If she hadn't gotten married right
after high school, she had wanted to go on to the
community college and then Law School.  But Harold had
changed all that.

Still, she knew what a lot of those papers were.  And
in the back of each file were the personal ID cards.
Driver's license, Social Security Cards.  Some had
passports and credit cards.  Thinking about it, she
wondered why Mr. Smith had them.  Didn't the girls need
them anymore?  She couldn't think of any reason she
would give up her driver's license.  It puzzled her for
a long time and she fell asleep, her first night as a
pet.

She awoke in a cold sweat.  She knew why.  If she
hadn't been shackled to the floor she probably would
have bolted out the door of the club and never looked
back.  But the list of names on the bottom of the shelf
stared at her.  The same names in the files.  They were
daring her to stay.  Challenging her to join them.  To
please him, their Master.  It was what she wanted.

As the long night passed into morning, she found she
had resolved to play the game to the end.  She knew it
could be dangerous.  She would probably end up like
them, the other names on the list.  But with her
marriage over she had nothing to look forward to from
Harold.  In the last few weeks, she had seen too much
to ever just go back to the farm.

She had seen a different side of herself now.  She
liked how she felt when she was with Mr. Smith.  She
knew she needed it, too, a strong hand that let her be
free, to be herself.  She knew she needed to feel like
she had that night again, to be so overcome with
emotions that even a brutal whipping on her pussy by a
maniac would send her into the abyss.  Most of all,
Alex knew she needed to be owned by him.  To be allowed
to call him 'Master.'

It wasn't just for those selfish reasons, though.  Alex
knew that Mr. Smith was probably going to mess with her
head, and selfish reasons weren't going to be strong
enough to keep her on course.  But they could.  She
could do it for them.  For the names on the bottom of
the shelf.  And for Petunia.

Alvin came and freed her in the morning.  His eyes
searched hers as he worked on her wrists, rubbing them
and then her arms to stimulate the circulation.  She
almost said something to him, but his brusque manner
made her hesitate.  She liked him but she didn't know
which side he was on.  He had been nice to her, but so
had Mr. Smith, for the most part.

Alex started to stand up, but he shook his head and got
her to her hands and knees.  He fastened and locked on
her collar and leash and led her to the breakfast area.
Her bowl was ready.  On the floor.

She looked up at him and gave him a wry grin.  For an
instant, he grinned back, then went deadpan.  She
started to reach for the bowl to pick it up but he
slapped her hands away and handcuffed them behind her
back.  So that's the way it was going to be.  Well, shy
hadn't had a pet pig named Petunia to have pig eating
contests with for nothing!

She ate her breakfast with gusto, her face deep in the
bowl.  She belched loudly as she sat back up, her face
a schmeer of eggs, jam and mush.  She tried licking as
much as she could, but her tongue wasn't designed for
that.

"Alex!  What do you think you are doing?"  Mr. Smith
had come in while she was finishing her breakfast.

"Belching, Sir.  And trying to clean my face, Sir."

"Don't get smart with me.  I don't want to hear
anything like that from you again."

She didn't see Alvin pleading silently to keep quiet.
She probably would have ignored him even if she had.

"Then don't feed me like a pig, Sir.  Pigs belch
because they eat from a trough.  Have you ever heard a
hog let one loose, Sir?  You can--"

"ENOUGH, bitch!  You are NOT an animal and you aren't
on your precious farm anymore.  I expect you to act
appropriately!"  Mr. Smith was out of his chair and
towering over her, his fists and teeth clenched.  Alex
had no time to react, he moved so fast.  Thundering
over her, he turned without touching her, tossed his
napkin, still tucked in his belt, on the table and
stormed out, grabbing his coffee and a piece of toast
as he left.

Alex grinned stupidly over at Alvin, who stood there
petrified, trembling at Mr. D's anger, his large eyes
two white circles in a mask of black fear.  If Mr. D
had struck at her just now, Alvin would not have
stopped him.  He couldn't have.  Not yet.

He had seen him in just such a rage, about 18 months
ago.  The girl had made a mistake, spilled his coffee
or something, then made a small joke.  Mr. D had
flipped out.  Alvin had left as Mr. D was beating her
with his fists.  He couldn't stop him and he couldn't
watch.  The girl had been helpless to defend herself,
cuffed, just like Miss Alex.  He had never seen the
girl again and Mr. D had never mentioned it.

Alex, watching as Alvin laboriously got his breathing
back under control, slowly grasped that she might have
made a serious misjudgment in sassing back to Mr. Smith
right then.  She would have to watch herself.  She was
making too many mistakes because she didn't know the
playing field or the players.  That would have to
change.

Without a word Alvin spread a damp towel on the floor
for her to wipe her face on.  She did so with relish,
refusing to be humiliated by the beastly act.  It
wasn't until he had had her crawl into the bathroom on
just her knees that he had said anything to her.  She
wasn't sure she had heard correctly, but if she had,
she was lucky Mr. Smith had stormed out instead of
beating her up.

He had made her pee and poop in front of him.  With her
arms bound behind her, she couldn't clean herself.  The
giant lifted her up, gently, and set her down on a
bidet.  While the toilet flushed and the water was
gurgling up cleansing her privates, Alvin had leaned
next to her ear, trying to reach the knobs behind her.

"Please be careful, Miss Alex.  He beat his last pet to
death for sassing him, like he was about to hit you
this morning.  Watch what you say.  To him and to me,
too.  He's listening and he's watching us," he had
whispered quickly.  At least, that's what she thought
she heard him say.  He did seem honestly frightened.
So she went along with him, for now.

Alvin had her crawl to the elevator on her knees and
took her up to the club level.  It was the first time
she had been off the apartment level since Mr. Smith
had taken her shopping.  That seemed like such a long
time ago.

Just before the doors opened onto the club level, Alvin
let her stand up and uncuffed her.  Stepping off the
elevator, Mr. Smith was waiting for them.  He was
holding her latex panties and bra.  He handed them to
her.

She still felt a little cocky, so she grinned widely at
him as she fitted the thick crotch piece in place,
making sure he saw her contented sigh as the knob
settled against her asshole.  She also fitted her
nipples into the iris clamps.  Then she presented
herself for his inspection.

Mr. Smith just rolled his eyes at her childish
enthusiasm, but he did give a grudging smile.  At even
that small sign of recognition, Alex giggled and hugged
him like a little schoolgirl.  She felt his hands
slowly go around her and give her an answering hug, if
grudgingly.  She let loose of his firm body reluctantly
as those wonderful hands pried her off of him.  On
impulse, she took one of his hands and kissed his palm
as she sank to her knees obediently by his feet.

Her head bowed, she couldn't see Damon's face.  Or the
total disbelief on Alvin's.  Damon stared down at her
for a long moment, then at his palm.  He fought to
control his breath.  None of his pets had adored him
like this one, yet he couldn't understand her.  She was
out of control, everything was out of order.  He needed
to get back into control.  This silly little farm girl
never let him get his balance.  He tried to convince
himself that what she had just done meant nothing.
Nothing.  Everything.  Fuck!

He had to get away, get back in control.  Of her and of
himself.  He couldn't understand why he was upset with
her.  All she had done was find a bug that had gone
undetected for years and innocently, ignorant of what
it was, told him about it.  All she had done was
everything he had asked of her.  And then some.  All
she had done was adore him.

He had yelled at her.  He had almost struck her in a
rage this morning.  Yes, of course that's what pets
were for, but she wasn't ready yet.  He hadn't taken
everything from her yet.  Besides, the plan wasn't in
place.  Not yet, but she was already so much more
totally devoted to him than any of the others had been.
He needed to get away from this bewitching vixen, catch
his breath.

Patting her on the head, then leaning down and kissing
her softly on the cheek he told her he would see her in
a couple of days.  Alvin would work with her, but she
was to stay in her old apartment.  He would call her
when to come back.

She beamed up at him and wished him a successful trip
and a speedy return.  She rubbed her cheek suggestively
over his crotch, letting him know wordlessly that she
would be waiting for him when he returned.  He broke
out in a sweat thinking of her soft mouth --  Stop!

She stayed where she was as Damon and Alvin walked to
the front of the club.  He gave his club manager his
list of strange instructions, but didn't tell him why.
Let the SOB figure it out on his own.  He had no doubt
that if there had been one bug planted, there were
others.  It would also be a good test of Alvin's
loyalty.  The bug from downstairs had been in his
office.  If he had been doing it, he would have
arranged a backup or a replacement by now.  He thought
about the painful effect the transmitting devices had
on Alex.  He was almost sorry for her.  Almost.

The limo was waiting to take him to the airport.  He
had been called to give an account of The Dungeon's P&L
statement to the Board.  His expenditures had been a
bit higher than normal this last quarter.  So had his
profits, but to this Board that was never a
justification to spend more than necessary.  He tried
not to think about Harold's and Marcy's accumulating
expenses that were already fucking up this quarter.  If
that insurance money didn't come in within the next 90
days or so, he was going to have to hide those costs in
the operating expenses, and he hated to do that.  It
screwed up the averages.

He wasn't going to tell the Board about the insurance
scam until the money was in his hands.  It was safer
that way.  Better for them to be surprised and pleased
when it came in, than disappointed and pissed if it
didn't.  Not that it wasn't a sure thing.  He didn't
deal with anything else.

Still, he wasn't worried about the meeting tomorrow.
He ran the top club in the syndicate and he had for
years.  He had earned a little latitude.  He wondered
how he was going to get them to spring for the added
security measures he was going to install.  He was now
convinced they were necessary, but how could he explain
his sudden about-face without admitting the security of
his own club had been breached.  Then again, the
bastards probably already knew.

He'd suspected for a long time that Alvin was reporting
to them.  He hadn't had proof that anyone was bugging
him until last night, and it was actually a sign of
their respect for him that they spied on him.  Either
that, or it was a competing club wanting to steal his
secrets.  Thank God his telephone line was scrambled
and secure.  Regardless, they'd let him squirm a
little, but he'd get the money for the security
measures.

***

"Shit, Miss Alex, what's wrong with you?" boomed the
deep voice above her.

They had been walking around the bar for three hours,
just like Mr. D had told him to.  Taking a break they
were sitting silent at the bar, sipping Cokes, when he
had said something and she had collapsed, flopping
around on the floor.  Alvin was now crouched over the
thrashing figure, concern in his voice and his posture.
He just needed to know which way to strike out and he
would try to save her from her torment.

"Quiet.  Please," she whispered.

"No, it's OK, here.  He can't hear us here," he said in
normal voice.

Alex continued to thrash around and finally managed to
put her finger over his lips.  He seemed to understand
she needed silence and slowly she was able to get
herself under control.  She crawled away from the bar
area until she was a good twenty feet away.  This
little bugger was even stronger than the one
downstairs.

Alex stripped off the latex panties to Alvin's amused
gaze.  She stuck her tongue out at him.  It wasn't as
if he hadn't seen it all before.  He'd just have to
deal with it.  The pain on her inflamed and unfulfilled
cunt was just too intense to keep them on.  She would
leave the bra on and grit her teeth while they found
this new transmitter.

Walking back to Alvin bare-assed she giggled at his
expression.  Maybe she ought to let him wear the
panties and see how he reacted when she shouted in the
transmitter.  That made her giggle louder and she
detected the first stinging pains on her breasts that
indicated the chip was active.

Using the same technique she had worked out yesterday
in the storeroom, she sang a nonsensical nursery rhyme
as she quartered the bar, triangulating the source of
the stimulus.  What she did was mark the floor with a
match torn from a matchbook, laid down by her toes
where she first felt the tingles.  Then she would move
away and try from a different approach.  It was simple,
once you figured it out.

Alvin sat silent, watching her with interest.  He
didn't know what she was doing, but he recognized a
triangulation search pattern when he saw one.  After
watching her mark three spots, he had already figured
out where the point of focus was.  Miss Alex marked two
more spots on the floor.  She was either new at this or
very careful.

Alex reached for a glass from the bar and carefully
placed it in the estimated center of the five points
she had marked.  Her chest throbbed with pain, but she
fought through it.  She looked puzzled.  There was
nothing there where something was supposed to be.
Underneath the bar was just empty space, not even the
big bucket of ice was there now.  She ran her hand over
the bottom of the solid wood bar.  It was smooth and
natural.  She looked at Alvin.

An enlightened smile flashed across her face as she
continued to look up, past his face, and up the hanging
shelf above the bar.  There were recessed lamps in the
bottom, one directly above the glass.  With as squeal
of triumph she hopped up on the bar and pulled the
fixture loose from the hole it was set into.  Grinning
proudly, she plucked the tiny transmitter from where it
was taped and laid it on the bar.  She replaced the
fixture and looked expectantly at Alvin.

She didn't know what to expect from him, but horror
wouldn't have been high on the list.  He just sat
there, staring at the little silicon chip.  Thankfully,
he was silent.

Making a snap decision, Alvin reached past her and
grabbed one of the bar aprons.  He quickly bundled it
around Miss Alex, covering her nakedness, though she
was still showing a lot of leg and ass.  He headed for
the door of the club and hustled her outside and down
to a small neighborhood diner a block further down past
the club.  She hadn't even known it was there.

Alvin was silent, thinking furiously.  He was trying to
recall all of the conversations he had had within fifty
feet of that light fixture.  He had swept the place
himself several times and had never found that bug.  It
was one of the few places inside the club he had
thought Mr. D couldn't hear.  The bug wasn't the latest
technology, so he had to assume that it had been there
for a long time.  It would be too easy to make the
mistake that someone had bought it cheap and recently.
The people he dealt with didn't buy cheap.  Neither did
he.

Then, the more he thought about it, the more he guessed
Mr. D didn't know about the bug, either.  Maybe, just
maybe this would save his neck.  If Mr. D thought there
was a rogue third party or even the Feds, and he could
convince him by showing him everything, just maybe he
could get out of this alive.  He eyed the girl across
the table from him.  He had a sudden hunch.

"Miss Alex, I'm sorry about grabbing you so hard."

"That's OK.  What's for lunch?  I'm starved!"

She grinned up at him.  Being an interracial couple,
and her practically naked besides, they were causing
quite a stir in the little diner.  She didn't think he
even noticed the stares of the blue collar men
surrounding them.

"Huh?  Oh."  He turned to the man behind the counter.
"Hey, Louie!  Two specials and two strawberry shakes,"
he called out.

"Comin' up," came the answer.

Being friends with Louie was apparently the key here,
as the lunch crowd grinned knowingly and turned back to
their sports pages and lotto picks, leaving the new
pair alone.

"Miss Alex," he started.

"What's the special, Alvin?"

He glared at her.  "How the Hell should I know?  I've
never been in here before."

"Well, then how do you know Louie?"

Rolling his eyes, he pointed at a spot above his heart
and waggled his finger back and forth.  Looking as the
man behind the counter and squinting, she could just
make out his nametag, which proclaimed him "Louie."

"Oh."

"May I talk now?"

"Are you going to ask me what happened yesterday and
last night with Mr. Smith and me?"

"Should I?  I'd hate to pry into anything too
personal."

"Yes."  She ignored his sarcasm.

He growled at her in exasperation and she giggled.

"Miss Alex, what happened last night?  Please tell me
the whole story.  I promise not to interrupt."  He gave
her a sweeping gesture, as if she now held the floor.
He ended by cupping his chin in his hand, the picture
of rapt attention.

She stuck her tongue out at him for being a spoilsport.
She was having fun teasing him.  Then, in a
surprisingly concise and serious manner, she summarized
the events of the previous day, only leaving out the
part about the names and the documents in the box.  He
listened intently, keeping his promise not to break in
with questions.  When she was done, he just stared at
her.

She realized they were both in the same predicament.
Could they trust the other?  She hadn't really told him
anything he wouldn't have figured out eventually.  But
she didn't know which side he was on either.  He was
probably wondering what the Hell she was up to, as
well.  Even she wasn't sure of that herself half the
time.

They were still eyeing each other speculatively when
Louie dropped the huge plates with the specials in
front of them.  It turned out the special was the most
expensive item on the menu and at full price.  It was a
private joke among the regulars.  Regardless of the
practical joke, the food was not laughing matter.  The
thick steaks were tender and cooked to perfection.  The
piles of hash browns and heaps of tender buttered corn
were also tasty.  They attacked the plates of food with
gusto.  He finished off what she couldn't eat, spearing
her meat from her plate without asking.  In
retaliation, she stole the rest of his double-thick
shake just as he was reaching for it.  He paid, and
they left.

Now knowing what to look for, they searched the rest of
the club level.  They found two more bugs planted in
the public areas, both near the satellite bars.
Whoever had placed them wanted to hear what was said at
the bars.  It didn't make sense.

On a whim, Alvin took her into a large storage area in
the back.  Two more bugs were found in some fixtures
they hadn't had a chance to throw out.  But that table
and lamp set had been the one where Mr. D always sat
and watched the crowd.  His private table.  Alvin
didn't say what it was but she saw the shiny brass
"Private" sign fastened to the edge of the table and
suspected that was what it had been.

Mr. D's new table was clean, at least as far as this
type of transmitter was concerned.  Undaunted, the pair
meticulously disassembled and inspected the entire
area.  It was Alex' tiny fingers that discovered a tiny
ultra-modern chip in the leg of the table.  She showed
it to Alvin, who just grinned.  Now he knew who was
bugging the place.  The Feds may contract out for the
research on this stuff, but they would never throw away
that kind of money on an operation like this.  Only
real money could afford gadgets this good.

She was surprised when he made her put it back exactly
where she had found it, but she did it.  They
reassembled the table and went to finish searching in
the office area.  As they walked down the hallway,
Alvin leaned over and whispered in her ear, "If you
find one in here, can you pretend there isn't one?  If
the answer is 'yes', trip on the carpet going in the
room."

Alex squealed as she tripped going into Mr. Smith's
office.  Alvin barked at her to pick up her sorry ass
and get to work.  She quartered the office, mentally
cursing him every time her tits throbbed.  She had
found three.  One in his desk lamp, one near the bar
and one in the chair Lewis had sat in the night Mr.
Smith injected him.  Whoever was listening had heard
Mr. Smith threaten Lewis, too.

Alex used a series of obnoxious delays and gestures to
let Alvin know where the bugs were.  They got pretty
good at 'yes' and 'no' by rolling their eyes.  He was
smiling at her when they were finished, but they both
knew it was now a deadly serious game they were
playing.

Chapter 12

Harold came back to his old apartment frustrated and
pissed off.  He looked around at the dump he had left
his wife in and he couldn't believe how he had managed
to survive all those months living like this.  Or how
that bitch who called herself Mrs. Wilson could call
this 'home.'  The place was a fucking disaster.  A
squalid, vermin-infested sty.

They had laughed at him today.  At Suzie's Whorehouse,
out on Route 117.  When he was living here, he'd been
going there every fucking Wednesday for almost a year
before he came home to his cold wife.  He'd never been
laughed at before.  It was humiliating.

He couldn't figure it out.  For more than a month now
he'd been putting the wood to Marcy like John Henry
drove railroad spikes.  All fucking day long, day after
day.  He felt like he had been reborn, come into his
own, his virility greater than when he had been a
pimply-faced teenager.  Then today, when he had
strutted in and slapped down his new Gold Card, he had
taken three of the most expensive whores upstairs,
booking them for two hours.  They had fucking fallen
asleep waiting for inspiration to strike him, but only
after they made sure the whole establishment had heard
of his flop.  Inadequate, they had called him and then
made him sign the charge slip, including a huge tip.

To add insult to injury, he couldn't even get a twitch
in the vertical direction for his loving wife, the cold
bitch.  It didn't even help to remember her bending
over the couch like last time, her tight little asshole
squeezing him dry as he humped her ass.  There was
nothing.  Nada.  Zip.

He had to be so fucking sweet to her tonight, too.  He
had hoped to get her in a good mood by balling her.
Then he could have gotten her to do anything.  Sweet
talk the cunts and fuck them good.  Then they'd do
anything for you.

He'd managed the sweet talk but she seemed cool,
distant somehow.  Oh, she was very polite and smiled at
him, but she seemed sad.  Probably that time of the
fucking month.  Just his luck.  There was no way was he
going to stick his dick in that smelly swamp of a
pussy, so maybe it was just as well to give his pride
and joy a well-deserved rest.

He had to get her to sign those papers.  He had
shuffled them in with a lot of health insurance forms
and general information stuff from the company.  There
wasn't a ghost of a chance she would even notice it was
there.  Marcy had marked all the places for her to sign
with an "X" and highlighted it in a neon pink color.
All she had to do was move the fucking pen with her
hand.

He watched her as she waded through the forms.  She was
fucking reading them!  What did she expect to do,
understand Corporate America?  She was from fucking
Hicksville, Minnesota, for Chrissakes!

He had to think of something else.  He had to keep
cool.  He-- they needed her cooperation for the plan to
get put into effect.  Oh, God!  She was reading the
life insurance policy and was checking the fucking
actuarial tables and projected payouts.  He was an
accountant and he had trouble with those fucking
things.  ...  Oh Shit!  ...  No, thank God!  It looked
for a second like she was going to ask a stupid ass
question.  ...  There!  One signature.  ...  Oh, for
fucking shit.  Just sign the damn things.  ..  Oh,
Christ!  Don't look back at what you've already done.
We'll be here all fucking night and this place in
giving me the creeps.  What a rat-infested shit-hole.

Alex finished signing the stack of forms and placed
them in a neat pile.  They were an interesting
assortment of nonsense, almost enough to make her want
to breeze through them without reading them.  But Daddy
had taught her to never sign anything without
understanding it.

"Should I take these to the post office and mail them
for you, Harold?" she asked.  "I think I have enough
money for stamps."

"Oh, no.  Don't bother.  I'll have Marcy drop them in
the outgoing mail when I get back.  As an executive, I
get free postage from the company.  It's one of the
special perqs."  Fucking bitch just wanted more money.
Well, now that she had signed the forms, he was done
with her.  She had gotten the last dime she was getting
from him.  She could get a job and make her own money,
like he did.

Alex heard the name 'Marcy' and her heart broke in two.
She died a little more inside herself, even though she
had known it was over between them for a long time.
She had known, since she had overheard the telephone
call.  True, Mr. Smith had not used Harold's name, but
she knew.  A woman knows.

Hearing Harold speak the name of the 'other woman' so
easily in her presence was the hardest thing she had
ever heard.  Yet she didn't cry.  They still had to
spend the night together.  He wondered if he would be
able to tell the difference in her, her increased
sensuality and her increased sexuality.  She was still
his wife and she was not only obligated, but ready and
willing to give him whatever he demanded.  She hoped
and prayed he wouldn't take her mouth, but she would
sacrifice even that for her husband if that was what he
wanted.  In her heart, she hoped he wouldn't, and she
wasn't going to offer, either.  She was saving that
for, for, well, she didn't know what to call him.

Yes she did.  She wanted to call him 'Master.'  With
all her heart and soul, that was what she wanted.  It
shook her to her core as that became so clear to her,
yet it calmed her.  Grinning wryly, she now understood
her first misunderstanding of what he said he preferred
to be called.  He had told her, from the very first
time they had met.  "Master Smith."  He had
instinctively known about her need then and had been so
patient with her.

Unbelievably, Harold didn't want sex from her.  He
didn't even undress before he went to bed.  He acted
like the sheets were dirty or that there were bugs or
rodents crawling around the apartment.  Soon enough he
was snoring and Alex was able to get back up and re-
examine those insurance papers.

She found them very interesting and vaguely familiar as
she read through them.  If she was reading all the
paperwork correctly, what Harold was involved in was a
variation on a huge scam that a race horse owner had
pulled off back in Wisconsin.  Or nearly pulled off.
He got caught and everyone knew about it.

The only difference was that in this case, Harold was
the horse.  Back home, the guy had used a trumped up,
worthless old nag with a false, but documentable track
record.  An altered ID tattoo here, a few charred
remains in a barn fire there, and the insurance company
was paying out a couple of hundred thousand bucks for
what amounted to a pile of overcooked dog food.  Too
bad the guy couldn't tell a gelding from a stallion.

Harold's life insurance policy was too big.  That's
what made her suspicious.  That and the off-shore bank
account.  Why did they need one of those?  She thought
long and hard about telling Harold of her suspicions.
She had started to say something when she first saw the
policy stuck in among all the other crap.  But she
hadn't.  He wouldn't have listened to her, anyway.  He
was too excited about this, too involved.

She wondered how they had suckered him into doing this.
She figured they had made it seem like his idea, his
scheme.  Now, he thought that this was his big break.

Alex sighed.  She was his wife and he needed her help
to pull it off.  That made her an accomplice to it,
sort of, plus she was the named beneficiary.  She
figured that that explained the off-shore account.
They wouldn't be likely to check if he was supposed to
be dead.  All he needed to do was match the signature
card.  Still, it was a risk and he was putting them
both in danger, but if he was willing to take it, she
would support him.

She did, however, make a couple of changes to the
policy.  Minor checkboxes that wouldn't add much to the
premium, but added tons to the benefits as well as
splitting the deposit accounts into two accounts.  Just
in case someone else could get access to the account.
Like Marcy.  She doubted Harold would notice.

What kept nagging at her was Mr. Smith's involvement in
the scam.  What part did he play in all this?  That was
what she couldn't figure out.  She had already
witnessed his ruthlessness.  Alvin had warned her Mr.
Smith was involved with something to do with Harold.
But maybe Alvin was just saying that to confuse her.
He had tried to scare her by telling her Mr. Smith had
beaten a girl to death.  She didn't think he could,
but, well, maybe.  He had been very angry that day.

She was confused, pulled by her longings one way and
her gut the other.  She so wanted to believe in Mr.
Smith, wanted him to be the Master she was longing for
that it was hard for her to believe anything bad about
him.  She was even beginning to doubt he had really
killed Lewis.  Maybe he was just scaring him.  There
hadn't been any police asking questions or anything.

Alex went back to bed and didn't sleep.

Harold left at first light.  She had his coffee waiting
for him, made just like he liked it.  He had sipped it
and tossed it out, said it tasted funny.  Marcy's was
better, he had told her, smirking.

She didn't say anything to him about the scam.  Now,
she didn't care.

Alex waited for Damon's call for three days.  She
wasn't used to being idle, so she made use of her time.
She borrowed one of her nicer neighbor's sewing
machines and made some alterations in the few clothes
she had.  If she had learned anything from the past
couple of weeks, it was how to look sexy and how to
make clothes look as sexy as possible.

With quick and sure stitches and snips, she altered her
one remaining blouse, modified Harold's one silk shirt
that he had left here when he moved out and then
completely redid her Sunday dress.  The white one with
the little flowers.  When she was done, she stood in
front of the cracked mirror on the closet.  She'd
probably best not wear this to church anymore, she
giggled to herself.  She could see clear through it and
it fit a lot tighter now.  She brushed her thumbs over
her protruding nipples and watched as they stiffened to
their full height.  They were always aroused now, and
it made her feel sexy.

The slits up the side of the skirt had gone a little
higher than she had intended, but with the high
waistline the long skirt bound her thighs too much.
She could have cut the bottom off and hemmed it up, but
she rather liked the sexy effect of the slits.  When
she twirled around the material flew up and you could
see her dark hair between her thighs.  Oh, she felt
wicked.  Wonderfully wicked.

Damon came back from his meeting late and furious.  It
had not been the meeting he had been prepared for.
Someone was feeding them all the wrong information.  He
was convinced now it was Alvin, and that made the
bastard expendable.  He had just the thing, too.  He
had picked it up from an untraceable source, but it was
delicious revenge.  It was un-fucking-believable.  Give
the guy a break, help him make something of himself,
and how does he repay you?  Fucking stabs you in the
fucking back, that's how!

As soon as he had got to the resort he had sensed
something was wrong.  First, the bitch was there with
her sniveling toadies.  She never came to these boring
business meetings.  What was she doing here?

How a female had gotten on the Board in the first place
was a topic of much discussion, but Damon leaned
towards the inheritance theory.  He had heard that she
got on after her husband had died, leaving all the
blackmail evidence he had accumulated on everyone else
in her fucking little hands.  Others said she fucked
her way onto the Board, but even 50 years younger she
would still have been ugly.  Damon didn't buy that one.
The most ridiculous theory, however, held that she had
fucking outperformed every other director the company
had ever had and had earned her position on the Board.
Like that was fucking possible for a woman!

Right from the first reception she had not avoided
Damon, as she usually did when they met.  She had
several male 'secretaries' and attendants to care for
her needs and she wasn't really his type.  Too wrinkled
and ugly, though he had only expressed that opinion in
his office.  Privately to people he could trust.

Waggling her finger at him, she motioned him over to
her.  Smiling and silently cursing her and her fucking
mother who gave birth to her, he made his way
gracefully over into her sphere of influence, edging
out some of the lesser toadies.  She made him stand by
her, smiling and laughing.  The directors were
constantly judged by their grasp of social graces, and
this bitch was the one Board member you didn't say 'No'
to.  Not if you wanted to keep your job, much less your
head.

By the end of the reception, an interminable length of
three hours, she had maneuvered him so that he was
somehow kneeling at the foot of her chair.  Like a
fucking slave!  Impossible, but she had done it.
Everyone there saw him kneeling, smiling and laughing
up at her.  Sucking up.  They had to have seen him, as
she had made several general announcements from her
chair, her fucking throne, her sharp fingernail digging
into the soft tissue over his carotid artery.  The
message was clear: If he stood he would be committing
suicide.  In more ways than one.  No one but her
sycophantic secretary could see her lethal grip and
that cocksucking bastard just giggled until he peed his
pants.

His public humiliation could have been mitigated by his
success at the business meeting, but he hadn't been
there.  A junior flunky he had never heard of from
headquarters gave his report and was promoted on the
spot.  The bastard had been one of the bitch's toadies
and as a reward had gotten the new club in South Beach.
It wasn't that Damon wanted to move down there with all
that money and beautiful women, it was the principle of
the thing.

He hadn't been at the meeting because he had been tied
up at the time.  Literally.  For the first time ever.
Elizabeth fucking Farnsworth had commanded --
Commanded! -- him back to her room after the opening
reception.  For a quick little private chat.

When he got to her suite, she had roofied him.  The
date-rape drug of choice.  When he came to, he was
naked, sore and confused, with several days growth on
his face.  He couldn't move.

There was a slide show running on the hotel TV channel
complete with sounds, flashing through the pictures one
by one by one.  A hundred or so.  All of him.  Over and
over, it just kept playing.  Everyone in the resort
would see them and he was sure they would have been e-
mailed or posted on a web site as well.  He would have,
if he were in her shoes.

There were pictures of him sucking the bitch's cunt,
white semen running out of it and over his tongue and
down his chin.  Others were of him kissing her wrinkled
ass, his tongue stuck way up inside it.  One series
showed her pissing on his face, flabby thighs
straddling his head, his mouth open and a chunk of
brown shit on the tip of his nose.

Those kinds of pictures he could have lived down.  And
live with.  Given enough time.  The photos with the
faggot secretary he couldn't.  How could he explain
having an erection while sucking the guy's cock?  And
those groans of passion, obviously in his own voice,
urging the fat cock deeper into his own ass, all while
pictures of him being sodomized by the little fucker,
who, incidentally, wasn't so little, were being flashed
on the screen for all to see and hear.

He had been bound with wire hangers and left for the
cleaning crew to find.  They found him wearing a pink
lacy padded cross-dresser's bra and pantyhose with
enough lipstick and mascara to paint a small house.  He
wondered where the pictures of him dressed like this
would show up.

He had been thoroughly humiliated.  By the time he was
freed, everyone had left the resort and his chartered
jet had been sent home without him.  At least he hadn't
had to face his colleagues and see them laughing at
him.

There had been a ticket in coach class on a no-name
airline waiting for him at the desk, along with a huge
room-service tab.  He knew better than to change the
reservation or upgrade.  He would take it, take all the
shit she could throw at him.  He had seen others run
the gauntlet.  The directors were tested.  He'd never
seen a test quite like this one, but he was sure it was
a test.

There was a note waiting for him, too.  A warning.  The
bitch wanted a five million dollar increase this
quarter or the local police would get a tape that would
make them reconsider a recent suicide in his little
town.  Make it happen or else.  His blood ran cold when
he saw the amount she was demanding.

She knew everything, even to the exact amount of the
insurance scam.  And she knew about Lewis.  Only one
person could have helped her.

That person had met him just inside the club.  Alvin
had obviously been waiting for him in the small
security office by the front entrance.  He'd probably
been viewing his copy of the shit eating pictures from
the meeting.  He wondered if he had copies of the cross-
dressing session, too.

The big man took his arm, gently, but firmly and
ushered him back outside the club and down to a rundown
diner a block down the street.  The place was deserted
and it was no wonder.  It was a fucking dive.

What his club manager told him stunned him.  The place
was bugged and had been for years.  Years!  He had
thought they'd find maybe one or two hidden mikes, but
almost ten devices had been found.  He was even more
stunned when Alvin told him about the ultra-modern
devices only recently out of R&D from the spy shops.
Very trendy, very powerful and almost impossible to
detect.  He didn't mention Alex' help in the search.

Damon found he had to reconsider his previous
assessment of Alvin's loyalty.  He had expected there
to be a bug in his office and that he would tell him
about it, but that he had probably already replaced it
with two more he wouldn't tell him about.  Alvin had
had no reason to tell him of all three they found or of
the newest ones at his reserved table.  The one hidden
in the chair explained how fucking Farnsworth knew
about the little shit's fake suicide, too.

He could tell Alvin was worried about the bugs.  He
probably had some things to hide, as well.  Any good
club manager did a little business on the side.  The
question was; Who was Alvin afraid of?  The obvious
answer was the Feds.  He didn't usually like the
obvious answer, but this time he was going to go with.

The reason he did was that Damon already knew the bugs
weren't the Feds, so that meant Alvin wasn't working
for them.  Convoluted logic, but it fit.  The big guy
had his faults.  He was ethical, he had too much
integrity and couldn't stand the sight of blood.  He
was just a teensy bit dirty on the side, and even that
worried him.  Damon could live with that.  He could
work with that, too, and make it work to his advantage.
He filed that information away for future use.

He felt better than he had in days.  Much better.  He
felt even better when he got his phone messages and
heard that the life insurance policy on Harold had been
filed.  The agent had already received a favorable
reading from the company's underwriters, too.

Alex answered his call on the first ring and was in his
office with a small overnight bag within the hour.  He
had asked her if she wanted to continue her training --
he had used that word specifically -- and she had
readily agreed.  He said he wanted her to stay with him
at the club until she was ready.  He didn't say for
what or how long she would be here and she didn't ask.

He noticed she was more subdued than when he had left.
He wondered what had happened, but didn't pry.  All
that mattered to him was that it was a move in the
right direction.  He would just keep her moving rapidly
along that path.

He kept her standing in her new white blouse, sexy
short skirt and bare feet for about 30 minutes.  He
wasn't busy and she knew it.  He just wanted her to
wait.  He was pleased to see she did so without
fidgeting or complaint.  Things were coming together.
She seemed to be back under control, and right now she
was the key to his future.  He'd show that bitch
Farnsworth, then shove his humiliation down her throat.
Then he'd rip out her heart.

Alex sensed a change in Mr. Smith, too.  He had no
humor about him now, no sense of joy.  He was still
very polite, but he was cold.  It wasn't that he was
just calm, he seemed like he was dead, or something.
Her heart ached for him, and she vowed to please him as
best she could.

She looked carefully around the room.  Several things
had been changed, including the chair she had been
using for her education.  Her training.  The chair was
missing and the monitors had been moved back against
the wall.  The security cameras were active in each of
the separate screens, showing the various views of the
club.  They were empty and still, except for the ones
that captured Alvin moving about the club.  He was
using something that looked like a metal detector and
was working methodically around all the floors, walls
and ceiling of the club.  Every once in a while he
would put a small mark on a large floor plan of the
club.  He would look at it and shake his head.

She saw Mr. Smith watching her watch the screens.  He
smiled at her nice, like he meant it and it set her
heart racing.  She chided herself for reacting like a
schoolgirl then let her feelings go.  It was what she
wanted, to please him.  He was happy, and that made her
happy.

"I have you to thank for that, Alex," he said, nodding
at the screens.  "Thank you."

"Sir?"  She didn't know what he was referring to.

He seemed puzzled that she didn't know what he was
talking about.  Then it struck him.  She probably
didn't know what a bug was and had never seen one.  He
remembered her reaction to the latex training clothes.
She had thought it was a game, a contest.

"Never mind.  Are you ready to continue your training?"

"Yes, Sir!" she said eagerly.

He took a collar from his drawer, the same one she had
worn before, and fastened it around her neck.  He
attached the chrome leash.

Without a word, he tugged on it and led her out of the
office.  She followed obediently.

Chapter 13

They took the elevator down to the third level.  It was
cooler down here and she could hear the thrumming of
big machines in some of the rooms they passed.  The
doors were labeled for maintenance, furnace, HVAC, and
a huge freezer.  There were also some huge vats of
water with pumps and filters running.  They looked like
huge aquariums, as there was some sand and plants in
them.  She didn't see any fish, but she assumed the
tanks were used to keep live lobsters for the special
banquets they held upstairs.  The tanks were big enough
to swim in.

Mr. Smith turned into a room about in the middle of the
building.  There were only a couple more rooms further
down and then the hall they were in opened up into a
big space.  It was dark but she saw some equipment
scattered around the darkened space.

The darkness seemed to draw her to it, calling to her.
It was such a brief feeling, then Mr. Smith had
unlocked the door and tugged her out of the open
hallway.  She wasn't sure that she had felt it.  She
shook her head.  She didn't believe in such nonsense
and superstition.  It was just her excitement affecting
her.  And being close to Mr. Smith.

The training room was Spartan but spacious.  Two large
screens, a locked cabinet, and an apparatus made from
steel tubing, mostly.  There were some rings set into
the floor and some wires hanging from the ceiling with
hooks on them.  The sight of them made her shiver in
anticipation.  There were wires running from the
cabinet to the apparatus.

That ominous frame was what drew her attention.  It was
fashioned from tubular steel and was set firmly into
the floor.  The body of the frame was a single tube in
an 'L' shape about two feet tall and one foot long
across the base.  From the top of the 'L' shape a
centered crossbar extended about a foot to each side,
like a 'T'.  A post from the center of the base was
embedded firmly into the cement of the floor.  There
were two protrusions sticking up at different angles
from the top of the base, angled slightly towards each
other.  Alex had an ominous feeling where those were
supposed to go.

Below the base, attached to the base were two
extensions pointing forward and out.  They reminded her
of the stirrups in the OB-GYN office.  All of the parts
were adjustable, polished and gleaming in the bright
spot lights focused on it.

"How do you like the chair?" he asked.

He called it a 'chair.'  Now she knew why those knobby
things had filled her with dread.  No, not dread.
Uneasy anticipation.

"It looks uncomfortable, Sir."

"HA!" he burst out, as if that was the least of his
concerns.  When she thought about, she supposed it was.
It pleased her that he wasn't concerned with her
comfort, in a perverse way.  She wanted to experience,
to feel to the fullest whatever it was he had prepared
for her.

Unsnapping her leash, he directed her over to an open
area.  He opened the cabinet and she could see an
assortment of electrical equipment.  He pushed a button
and music flooded the room.  Music with a strong
seductive beat, music that went straight to her pussy
and tickled her.  It was the same music that she had
heard on the videos.  The videos with the girls
dancing.  Beautiful, sensuous dancing.

He watched her as she moved to the music.  Her
programming was already taking effect and she didn't
know it.  Her moves were much improved from just a
month ago.  He found it hard to believe that that
awkward housewife was the same person as the sexy vixen
moving in front of him now.

After a while he moved behind her and let her feel his
arousal.  Soon he would satisfy his lusts, but first
she had to be his and his alone.  He moved his hands to
the top button on her blouse.  It came undone.

He could feel her shudder as the cool air brushed
across the slight opening in the blouse.  He moved his
hands to the second button and her hands interrupted
his.  Turning to face him she slowly and sexily
unbuttoned the entire blouse.  Teasing him a little,
she turned away and bared one shoulder, pulling the
blouse off that one side, laughing as she looked back
over her shoulder at him.

Damon smiled at her playfulness, encouraging her.  Soon
she bared the other shoulder and turned to face him.
She was holding the blouse to her chest, but not to
hide from him.  She was teasing him with the
infuriatingly slow descent of her hands.

One hard nipple popped into sight and for a long
agonizing moment stood alone.  It was joined by its
twin eventually and the blouse fluttered to the cold
concrete.

If anything, the sensuality of her movements increased
as she danced topless.  She caressed her body without
touching it, teasing both of them with the promise of
pleasure withheld.  Her hips moved on their own accord,
the short skirt flipping up, flashing her charms at
him.

Damon looked pointedly at her skirt.  She wasn't moving
too slowly, he was becoming impatient, needing to see
her nakedness.  Her fingers fumbled from excitement as
she worked with the closing button.  She finally opened
it and slid the zipper down.

She made no pretext of teasing him this time.  She had
dreamed of this moment from the first time she had seen
the videos.  She had wanted to dance naked for him, to
arouse him, to please him.  She hadn't been conscious
of her longings, but now she knew.  This was what she
wanted.

Damon let her dance and was pleased.  He took a black
silk cord from his pocket, smooth, soft and very strong
and handed it to the writhing girl.  The four foot
length wasn't short, but wasn't overly long.  It was
the final piece of the dance.

Alex accepted the cord without breaking her movements.
The cord hung motionless, trailing on the cold floor.
Then it moved with her, to her, caressing her as if it
had a life of its own.  First it wrapped itself around
her left leg, curling slowly from the thigh down to her
ankle.  She stopped momentarily, as if surprised at its
soft embrace.  Then, in a trance, she pulled the end in
her hand upwards, letting the length of the cord rub
against her aroused center.

She repeated the move with the right leg and then
pulled it up so that it rubbed her inflamed clit.  She
was moaning and sweating now, fully aroused.  She was
aware Mr. Smith was in the room, but she was dancing
for the love of the dance now, totally immersed in the
sensuality of her body.

The cord found its way between her thighs, held by one
hand in front and another behind her body.  Back and
forth it sang, making music like a bow on a violin.
Faster and faster, grunting with the effort.

The music stopped.  She hung there, on the edge.

"Stop!"

The command came like a slap in the face.  Wild-eyed
she looked up at the man who controlled her,
manipulated her.  Her breathing ragged, her senses
dulled for everything but the fulfillment not achieved.
Aching, she turned to him, her controller, moving to
him as he directed her.

Damon took the silken cord from the trembling figure
and drew her hands behind her back.  Starting with her
wrists, he bound them tightly, winding the cord up
higher and higher on her forearms, pulling them
together until her elbows touched.  The girl groaned
but did not complain.  The pain kept her on the edge
and, as she had sought pleasure, she now embraced the
pain she was feeling.

It wasn't enough to push her over, however, though he
would have allowed it without punishing her.  This
time, at least.  He wanted her to experience as much
pleasure as possible during this phase.  In fact, he
wanted to drive her crazy with lust.  From this moment
on, his little project would never be without some sort
of insidious stimulus.  In a short time, she would be
putty in his hands.  Totally.

Damon led her over to the apparatus and backed her up
to the center bar, her legs straddling the base.  He
lifted her bound arms over the crossbar at her back and
urged her to sit down, gently pressing on her
shoulders.  She knew without looking where the knobs
were aimed and, in her present condition, was looking
forward to them invading her.  Perhaps they would
provide her with the relief she so desperately sought.

She screamed as they impaled her, front and rear.  They
weren't long but they were much thicker than Harold
was.  Unbelievably, he was still all she had to compare
anything to, although she had seen the pictures of
those beautiful men.  And she had felt the hugeness of
Mr. Smith.  Alex moved her hips back and forth, forcing
the thick knobs to touch every part of her throbbing
tissues.  She came again and then again, finally
slowing in her frantic motions.

The crossbar lay comfortably between her upper arms and
her back.  Well, almost comfortably, but Alex relished
the awkwardness of it.  It kept her sitting very
upright and Mr. Smith seemed fascinated with the
effects this position had on her breasts, making them
rise and protrude.  She had done something similar with
Cathy, her best friend from high school.  They were
vamping at a sleep-over, pretending to be sexy models
or something.  Then, she was exploring all the aspects
of her newly developed boobies, and the feelings she
had then were nothing compared with those that were
coursing though her body now.

Her legs fit naturally into the stirrups below the
chair, her knees splayed outward.  Thick leather straps
just below the knee and again around the ankle kept
them firmly in place.  The chair was actually much more
comfortable than she had imagined when she first saw
it, but then, she was hornier now than then.

Damon moved to the cabinet and pushed a button.  The
training chair was already programmed.  Four sessions
in it and she would be a mindless automaton, seeking
pleasure, pain or oblivion, at his command.  He watched
for a while then left the room as the deeply imbedded
vibrating and throbbing probes sent the first shocks
through her lower body.  In later sessions he would add
the electrodes for her nipples, navel, toes and tongue.

The shocks today would build through pleasurable levels
to painful ones, increasing in strength until she lost
consciousness.  When the chair sensed her collapse, the
program would pause automatically as she recovered,
then start in again at a lower, more tolerable level.
It would build again, forcing her to accept greater and
greater stimuli, until that line between pain and
pleasure were forever blurred in her mind.

The visual and audio cues were designed to complement
the physical feelings of vibration and electrical
shock.  He had spent thousands of dollars developing
this training machine and the programming for it.  It
had paid for itself many times over.  He used it not
just to train his pets, but practically every dancer
that came through the club spent time on it.  After
being trained, there was never any problem getting them
to do those lucrative private parties.

Lots of dancers wouldn't do the private gigs.  Word got
around.  It wasn't all uncommon at these orgies that
the dancer would be 'accidentally' snuffed in the drug-
induced debauchery, but more often they would be
permanently scarred or disfigured, but dancers were
easily replaced.

Pets were another matter.  They were not only the most
beautiful women, they fed his need for total control.
They would be pampered, coddled, used, and abused, at
his beck and call, totally subservient.  When he was
sated, tiring of them, he would share them, with only a
select few at first, then with any who could pay the
price.  It was a very high price, as his pets were
always the best of the best.  There were many who would
willingly pay the price, however, and the pets would
rush to do his bidding, begging for more.  When they
were of no more use to him than a common dancer, he
would put them down, gently and with care, with the
respect they deserved for having served him, as a good
master should.

Damon's plans for this pet were a little different,
though.  He needed her total subservience.  It was just
his perverse nature and mostly greed that make him want
to get as much out of her as he could, while he could.

Watching her in the chair, he resisted the nagging
little tug he felt at his heart as he thought of the
exuberant and free spirit she offered so willingly to
him.  He stamped out the faint nudge that said this one
was special.  That she was the one.

In a rage, Damon envisioned Elizabeth Farnsworth's
wrinkled cunt hanging over his face, her piss running
into his eyes and mouth.  He shoved any thoughts of
reprieve for the girl in the chair out of his mind.
Pets were replaceable and cheap.  He had a deadline
approaching and five million dollars to make.  It was
her fucking tough luck she was in his way.  He had to
win, whatever the cost.

Alex was lost in a sea of raging emotions.  She was
cleaning the bar in the afternoon, naked, after her
first training session.  Everything she touched, saw,
heard or smelled reminded her of a hard cock or a
steamy cunt.  She had cravings she had never felt
before.  She wanted to lick a woman and suck up her
juices.  She wanted a cock up her ass.  Not just any
cock.  A big, hard one.

She had had trouble getting out of the bathroom.
Urinating tickled her clit.  Shitting was so
pleasurable she screamed in orgasm.  The bidet made her
shudder several times over before Alvin had found her,
her genitals looking like wrinkled prunes.

She had seen the dance for the first time.  The whole
dance.  She knew what he wanted, now.  It didn't
surprise her that it was what she wanted, too.  With
her whole being, it was what she desperately wanted.

The girls in the tapes had danced.  Oh, they had
danced.  Moving, touching, flirting, their clothing
dissolving into the darkness.  They moved in a
brilliance of light, on a stage, a man on a stool in
the shadows, watching.  Not a man.  Their master.

They danced for him.  Only for him.  She could hear the
shouts, the whistles of the others, but there was only
one man for whom they danced.  The shoulders would
bare, then the beautiful breasts.  The shouting would
increase as the dress would tease its way over the
grinding hips.  Then the wisp of lace, so fragile, so
futile in its attempts to cover or protect.  Then that,
too, was ripped away and the girl stood naked.  Proud.
Excited.

The girls would dance in their hosiery and their heels,
the only thing left from their apparel would be a black
cord.  Her cord.  She knew it was the same one.  She
could sense it, feel their sensuality flooding through
her as it bound her arms.  She watched as they let the
cord touch them, caress them, binding it around their
breasts, spanking the ends teasingly on their throbbing
nipples.  Then winding it around their bodies, twining
it in their hair, teasing the master, begging him,
seducing him.  The cord would wrap around their necks,
sensuously sliding, tightening, frightening in its
grip, willing to give even this to their master, their
very breath, then slowly relaxing, shuddering in climax
the cord would sink, lower and lower, touching the
private area, the master's garden.

At a sign from the master, the dancer would move to the
shadows, swaying, pleading for his touch.  The hands
would move, touching, caressing, reassuring the girl.
The cord would once again wind around her body, this
time at the control of the master.  Binding her wrists
behind the back, elbows touching.  It was what he
wanted.  His soft lips on her nipples, possessing her
soul, then urging her back to the stage.

Looking back at the master, the dancer would dance once
more, seeking his permission.  She needed release and
on the floor was a pillar of flesh, an erection, a tool
for her to use.  For her master.  Lower her hips would
sway, lower and lower, balancing on her high heels
until she would scream, impaling herself completely on
the phallic organ.  Looking always at the man in the
shadows.  Seeking to do his pleasure.

Another man, then another would join her on stage,
filling her cunt, fulfilling her needs as she looked at
the man in the shadows.  She was pleasing him, dancing
for him, fucking for him.  Man after man, in her cunt,
in her ass, in her mouth.  Alex was jealous of the
dancers who could take a man between their breasts,
tittie fucking them.  She felt inadequate, somehow,
incomplete.

When the dance was done, the master would be gone.  The
shadows dark, the stool empty.  The lights faded and
the dancers slept in a pool of fluids, sated.

Over and over the videos had run that day.  Over and
over the probes had driven her slowly insane, filling
her with strange desires and cravings.

It was hard work cleaning the bar.  When she didn't do
it right, Mr. Smith or Alvin would lean her over a
table and whip her.  Never in the same place, so she
never knew where she would be whipped.  The lashes
across her bare feet hurt as she limped back to the
bar.  Mr. Smith had done those.  Strange, the lashes
from Alvin didn't hurt as much.  But he was very eager
to punish her until finally Mr. Smith was able to
leave, knowing Alvin would do a good job whipping her.

Alvin breathed a deep sigh of relief when Mr. D finally
left.  Miss Alex was in bad shape, dazed and totally
pliable.  Those blows the bastard had landed on her
feet hadn't fazed her loyalty to him one bit, but they
would hurt for days.

He knew the program she was going through and had
participated in it before with others, dancers mostly.
Never at this level, and never with one of Mr. D's
pets, but since the business meeting, Mr. D had been
different with him.  Friendly, almost, and that scared
the shit out of him.  That man was an explosively
dangerous mix of psychotic and intelligence.  But
keeping close to him meant keeping close to Alex and
right now, he was all the friends she had.

Alex presented herself to Alvin, the bar sparkling.  He
inspected it carefully.  He would punish her for any
infraction.  He had to, if he wanted to keep Mr. D from
doing it.  Finding none, he leaned her against the bar
and whipped the backs of her thighs anyway, as
instructed.  Not surprisingly, she accepted the beating
and didn't complain.

He knew Mr. D was in his office.  "Go down and clean
the apartment."

"The whole floor, Mr. Alvin?" she asked him innocently.

Something in her question struck her as not quite so
innocent.

"Of course, Miss Alex."

The look she flashed at him for the barest of instances
made him wonder what she was doing, but if was
obviously the answer she had wanted.  He hoped she
wouldn't get them both killed.

Alex went downstairs and immediately got out the
sweeper and the feather duster.  The apartment was
still pretty clean from the last time she was down
here.  Mr. D came down once and slapped her tits,
making her ears ring.  She was beginning to like the
pain when he gave it to her and she didn't mind.

Then Alvin came down and would give her more
reasonable, if unwarranted punishments.  Keeping an eye
on the clock, she timed his visits.  As soon as he had
left for the third time, she made a bee line for the
storage room.

It hadn't changed since she had been in here with Mr.
Smith.  Going directly to the boxes she rifled through
them and pulled one item from each of them.  It only
took her two minutes and another two to secrete the
items where she can get them.

Alvin came back down and she was sitting on a chair
playing with her pussy, fingering herself towards what
appeared to be a tremendous climax.  That is, until he
saw her eyes watching him.  She was acting.

He stormed over to her, and taking his lead from the
nod on her head threw her against the buffet table
against the wall.  He saw her hand snake out and grab
something behind the center piece, but only because he
was watching for it.  Playing his part, he beat her
severely, until she fell to the ground, grabbing his
feet and kissing them, begging for mercy.

Her last words, as she collapsed were "Why?  Tell me
why?"  She wasn't acting.

Mr. D met him as he came off the elevator.  With a nod,
he simply said, "Good work."  As he had suspected, he
had been watching, or at least listening.  He stood
there as the doors closed, watching Mr. D.  He was
afraid to move.  Whatever it was Miss Alex had shoved
inside his instep on his shoe was slipping out.

Bending down and retying his shoe, he palmed the stack
of plastic cards in his big hands and went to the front
door.  He called down to the apartment and told Mr. D
he was going home, and what time did he want him in the
morning?  Getting an early hour, he said 'Good Night'
and left.

Damon nudged the faintly striped figure on the floor
with his foot.  He had watched every encounter between
the two and was pleased.  The black man was almost as
ruthless as he, but the marks would fade in a few
hours.  Very skillful, almost as good as himself.

He was satisfied that Alvin could take over this part
of the training, the constant breaking down of self-
esteem and infliction of pain for no reason.  She would
learn to accept it, expect it, crave it.  But with
Alvin here, that would mean he would have his
afternoons free for the next three days to do his own
investigations on the source of those damn bugs.  Well,
not the source.  But who was listening.  And who had
planted them.  With Alvin cleared, he was fresh out of
suspects.

Leaving Alex on the floor, he remembered something he
had meant to do earlier.  Since she was going to have
free rein of the club and the apartment for the next
few days he would need to lock that storage room.  He
took a key out of his pocket and went to the room at
the end of the hall.  On an impulse he opened the door
and peeked inside.

Everything was as it should be.  He shook his head.  He
really shouldn't keep that stuff.  Oh, he was probably
safe, as the pets had never been reported as missing or
shown up dead.  It was in here that he kept the
memories of them.  These were the mementos of their
time together, as a boy with a dog might keep a
treasured photo of the two together at the beach.  Or
the nametag on the collar.  Well, he had his videos and
his pictures.  And in here, in the boxes he had their
papers, their identities that they had surrendered to
him.  That he had taken from them.  They were his now.
No one knew those names but him.  He was the only one
who cared about them.  Those were his pets, his, in
those boxes.

He stepped back out and locked the room.  He pocketed
the key.

Chapter 14

Alex soon realized that Mr. Smith had not been idle
while she was working in the bar upstairs.  It was, if
she had been able to admit it, quite clever.
Diabolically clever.  It was, she decided, driving her
insane.  Sweetly and pleasurably insane.

She watched the big armature stop at the end of its
long arc, then slowly gather speed.  Gritting her teeth
to keep from screaming again, Alex watched the pendulum
sweep towards her crotch, then begin to rise just as it
was about to touch her at the bottom of the arc and
lift away, slowly decelerating.

Alex had woken from the beating she had forced Alvin to
give her to the dripping of cold water on her heated
and inflamed skin.  Mr. Smith was standing above her
holding an ice cube.  The melting icy drips were
creating small shock waves within her, striking with as
much effect as the crop had earlier.

Immediately she had rolled over on her knees, head to
the ground and groveled, begging, pleading for mercy.
He had laughed at her pleading and nudged a bowl at
her.  It was slop, but she was starving.  She placed
her hands behind her back and bowed to the bowl.  As
daintily and lady-like as she could, she ate the
contents.  It was watery and weak.  Near starvation was
one of the keys to a successful brainwashing.  He held
life and death in his hands, not just pain and
pleasure.

She tried to crawl, but collapsed.  Weeping from her
inadequacies, she used her arms to crawl into his
bedroom.  He had pushed her a little too hard the first
day, anxious to break her and she wasn't done yet.  He
waited for her by the cage door, patient but heartless
while she used the bathroom and crawled to his feet.

He helped her put on the latex panties and the latex
bra.  She watched as he had unplugged them from the
charging unit next to his bed.  She was to make sure
they were charging when she wasn't wearing them, he
told her.

Then he let her lie down and he shackled her to the
sleeping mat.  Looking up at him and then past him, she
saw something out of an Edger Allen Poe story.  Only no
big blade.  Just a pendulum.

At the moment, she was wishing it was a blade.
Something to put her out of the torture.  Mr. Smith had
taped one of the sensors to the end of the armature.
As it swung towards her, the shocks and vibrations in
her cunt, ass and tits would strengthen.  As it moved
away, they would weaken and then stop.  Then start
again.  And again.  And again.  With her last sane
thought, she looked to the bottom of the shelf and
promised them that she would help them.

She wasn't sure if she slept, but morning came.
Finally.  Mr. Smith released her and let her use the
bathroom.  Then he took her into the kitchen and, while
he ate a breakfast of bacon and eggs, toast and coffee,
she sipped the water that was in her bowl.  She didn't
complain.

Finishing his meal he tossed her a crumb of toast.  She
snatched in mid-air and kissed his hand.  He seemed
pleased with himself and she cried from happiness that
he was pleased.  Her emotions were totally skewed, as
intended.

Again, they took the elevator to the third level and
went to the room.  Alex heard the voices coming from
the dark space again.  They were stronger this time.
She shook her head.  She was going crazy.

She danced for him.  He made her dress first, then take
the clothes off.  She didn't mind.  She saw his eyes
looking at her.  He wanted her.  She wanted him to want
her and moved as lewdly and wantonly as she could.  She
caught the teasing little smiles he gave her and she
floated in ecstasy.

He bound her again with her black cord.  She rubbed her
breasts on his chest and he stopped to appreciate their
firmness.  She mewled and purred to him.  Gently he
lowered her into the chair.  The probes that invaded
her were larger today, thicker and longer and filled
her uncomfortably.

Mr. Smith retrieved a small stainless steel bowl and a
towel from the cabinet.  He laid the towel over her
leg.  In a small jar, he whisked a frothy foam with a
stiff brush.  He took an ivory handled razor from his
pocket.  It was an expensive tool, extremely sharp,
just like Daddy's straight razor.

Daddy had had a strop hanging out on the back porch.
Alex would love to watch him caress the gleaming blade
up and down the thick leather strap, the hiss of the
blade the only sound in the cool morning air.  With a
foamy grin at his favorite daughter, he would start the
process of scraping the follicles from his face.

Just like Mr. Smith was scraping her bare.  She fought
against her climax hard, trying to remain still as the
razor caressed her mound, cleaning, baring her.  She
screamed, the tensions and feelings culminating in an
orgasm approaching the best ever.  Drained, she watched
him finish, skillfully cleaning her, leaving only a
narrow wedge of pubic hair, just a former hint of her
womanhood.  She hadn't been a hairy woman down there,
but now she felt salacious, free and delightfully
wicked.

When Mr. Smith lowered his head to her privates, she
squealed her joy, over and over.  Cunt-licking was
every bit as wonderful as she had imagined.  Again and
again he brought her up to and over the edge of sanity,
pushing her harder and harder into the fathomless abyss
of mindless pleasure.  He was deliberately cruel in his
manipulation of her, teasing when she needed to be
fulfilled and she craved more stimulation and then
tonguing her relentlessly as she fought for her breath.
Finally, she relinquished her body to him and was swept
away into oblivion.

Sensing her complete surrender to his tongue, Damon's
eyes coldly assessed the convulsing figure.  She was
easier to control now, easier than he had expected,
given her earlier surprising strength and resilience.
No matter, she would still get the full training, if
somewhat accelerated.  He still had to try to make some
profit from this investment, and, if all went according
to plan, she would have a rather short profitable
period.  And he needed to slake his desires, too.  His
needs were building.

Just before he turned on the chair for the day's
programming, he attached electrodes to her clitoris and
her nipples.  He pushed the button and dimmed the
lights.  She would be alone with her nightmares for the
next four hours.

Alex fought to keep sane.  She was tired and the
experience of being shaved had thrilled her beyond
anything she had imagined.  And he had touched her.  It
was the first sexual touch her had given her.  Her
heart was singing while her body craved for more and
more and was demanding, insistent.  She fought the
darkness for a few minutes.  She had to remember.

Today there were photos.  She didn't recognize all of
them, but some of the models now had names.  From the
photos on the driver's licenses she had taken from the
storage area.  It was now locked, but she had been in
time.  She had studied the small plastic cards in
secret, memorizing the names.  She recognized all of
them.  Now, as they flashed on the screens, happy, gay
and beautiful, she talked to them.

She heard their voices, dubbed over the photos that
showed them being whipped or fucked with dildos by a
big leather-clad woman, begging for more and more.  She
knew how they felt.  They just wanted to please their
master.

Alex wondered if he was their master yet, when the
pictures were taken.  They didn't use that word, or at
least not all of them.  Maybe some of them held out,
maybe some--- Ahhh!

The electrodes on her clit and nipples, sensing her
lack of a proper  and full response to the other
stimuli, got her attention back.  The machine, designed
to break any and all resistance, whipsawed the bound
girl between agony and ecstasy for the rest of the
morning.  It was easier not to fight the machine and
Alex surrendered to the demands made of her body and
spasmed her way to oblivion.

Mr. D took her up to the bar when she was done and left
Alvin in charge of his project, saying he would be back
by 5:00.  Alvin knew the routine.  But he broke it.  As
soon as the door closed he curled Miss Alex around his
feet in the small security room and told her to sleep.
She was out before he stood up.

He had seen the devastating results of the same type of
methods of brainwashing that had been used on veterans
captured in 'Nam.  He had been luckier.  In Africa,
they just killed you, eventually.

Miss Alex was experiencing sleep deprivation coupled
with starvation, beatings, loss of identity and
humiliation.  He knew about that machine in the
basement and had no doubt it was many more times more
effective at 're-educating' when the victim was totally
helpless to resist any suggestion or demand.  He was
worried about this innocent little farm girl at his
feet.

Alvin had gone home last night and spread out the worn
and expired driver's licenses on his kitchen table.  He
had known three of them in his time at the club.
Another he had known in another life.  A knife went
through his heart.  Again.  He thought he was over her
by now.  It had been almost ten years.  Ten years
since...

Miss Alex had given these to him.  Why?  She had
risked, had begged for a severe beating to pass them to
him unobserved.  Why?  That was the question she had
asked.  Why?  Why?

He was asleep when it hit him.  Why, indeed?  Why did
Mr. D have them and not the girls?  Why, unless they
didn't need them anymore?

What the Hell had Miss Alex found?

Alex woke up screaming, in another part of the bar, a
glass of juice next to her on the floor.  Alvin was
standing above her, bellowing at her to clean up that
juice.  The whip that had woken her slashed down once
more, landing solidly on the floor by her hand.  He
missed her completely.  Throwing him a quick smile, she
gulped down the juice.  She could taste the raw eggs
mixed in it.  Not her favorite, but it was nourishing
and full of proteins and vitamins.

Alvin beat her soundly after she had finished the
drink, making her body look as if she had been thrashed
regularly all afternoon long.  She even rolled over on
her back to let him have easy access to the front of
her naked body.  She held her hands by her side,
defenseless.  Their eyes met and his hand with the whip
faltered.  She willed him to continue with her eyes.
They both knew the risks he had taken by letting her
sleep and feeding her.  He didn't look away as he
lashed her repeatedly.

She glanced down at his crotch as he stood.
Interesting, she thought to herself.  He enjoys it, but
not this way.  His consternation touched her and she
realized she had made the right decision.  The other
pets would be safe with him.

That night after the watery gruel, the pendulum swung
and Alex screamed until she was hoarse.  She looked at
the shelf of names and they laughed at her courage.

Damon opened the soundproofed door to his pet's room to
a nicely deranged cunt.  He didn't like to hear them
screaming, so he even took the risk of not bugging this
tiny room.  There was little he would learn in here
anyway that he didn't already know.

Today she would start the next phase.  He would begin
to ask her to sign the papers giving him control over
her.  Up until now all of his pets but one had given
him ownership by the end of the third day.  The pet
that had hesitated had come screaming to him on the
fourth.  He had made her pay dearly for that delay.

After a breakfast of water and another tossed scrap of
toast, Damon led Alex back downstairs.

It was a repeat of the prior day.  She dressed, she
danced, she stripped.  He bound her and tied her to her
chair.

"Pet, you know I want to this to be special between us.
I want to make this relationship permanent, to keep
forever what we have."

"Sir, I'd like that, too, but I'm married.  I can't
give myself to you until I am free from my marriage
vows, Sir."

"Don't be ridiculous, Pet.  No one takes those vows
seriously anymore.  And I'm not asking you to marry me.
Not yet, anyway," he added.  Some cunts needed the
carrot, some the stick.  He tossed out a carrot.

"But, Sir, if I don't take my marriage vows seriously,
how will you ever trust me to take my commitment to you
seriously?"

"Pet, I don't want to be your husband.  I want to be
your Master."

"M- master?"

"Yes.  You'd like that, wouldn't you?  To call me
'Master'?"

"Oh, yes, Sir!  With all my heart, Sir!"

"Then sign the papers, Pet.  Then you could call me
'Master'."

Alex looked at the top page.  They were the same
documents as the ones in the boxes.  She wouldn't just
be giving up her freedom.  He was taking, demanding her
whole life, even her name.  She wept bitterly and Damon
knew he would have to work on her more, to soften her
up.  Oh, well, it had been worth a shot.

As if forgiving her her intransigence, Damon leaned
toward the bound figure and kissed her forehead softly.
He dried her tears with his fingers and whispered in
her ear.

"That's OK, Pet.  Maybe later."

He walked over to the cabinet and took out a small
leather packet.  He always enjoyed this part.  He had
always considered this the beginning.  From here on,
there was no backing out.  Smiling contentedly, he went
back to the waiting girl.

He laid the leather packet on her thigh and unrolled it
slowly.  He could sense the dread as the gleaming
needles, hooks, blades and pliers were gradually
revealed.  He took a sharp blade and drew it softly
across her breasts.  Even that light touch left a
bright red line in its wake, occasionally spotted with
a droplet of blood.  He licked the droplets and kissed
Alex on the mouth.  She eagerly accepted his tongue,
tasting the sharpness of her own blood.  She sucked
hungrily for more and he broke away, laughing
cynically.

He took out a large needle and she whimpered in
excitement.  She had no fear.  She didn't trust this
man, but she had given him control over her.  It was an
odd disconnect when she had time to think about it, but
she was finding she was less able to focus lately.  It
seemed that her senses were being assaulted constantly,
even in her dreams, or was she dreaming now?  She was
becoming less sure, able only to give into to the
constant demands of her body.  For pleasure, for pain,
for anything this man would take from her.

Damon traced the needle over the smooth surfaces of her
breasts.  They weren't as large as he preferred, and,
if he had intended to keep this one for long, would
have had her fixed already.  Tittie fucking was such a
selfish release.  He almost preferred it to real
fucking.  But still, her tits were amazing in their
firmness and perfection.  The point of the needle
rested against the nipple and he pushed gently.

A low sound escaped from the girl.  Damon let loose of
the needle and it hung there, pointing cockeyed at the
ceiling, wavering with each breath she took.  Another
needle joined the first, just slightly inserted through
the first layers of skin.  He didn't want to do deep
tissue damage.  At least, not yet.

When one breast looked like a porcupine, he started on
the other.  The girl's eyes were glazed, but never
wavering from watching each and every move he made.
She didn't protest once.

With the last needle, a curved one used for stitching
wounds, he lowered his aim.  Placing the sharp tip
against the dainty flap of skin, he force the needle
through and left it protruding, an obscenely gleaming
crescent on a field of human flesh.  The pain from the
penetration brought a mournful wail from the girl, but
no protest.

Slowly and painfully he removed the needle, and while
the wound was still fresh, he inserted a small
stainless steel loop.  The soldering iron had been
preheating and it was a simple and practiced task to
seal the loop permanently with silver solder.  The
smell of singed flesh filled his nostrils and he
shifted his huge erection to a more comfortable
position.  The girl had climaxed from the pain and
passed out.  Good.  Right on schedule.  The belly-
button ring was his first mark of ownership.

The girl still needed to be wooed, so he lowered his
head to her cunt and licked gently until she regained
consciousness.  Had he left her alone, she would have
fallen into a deep sleep, something he couldn't afford
at this point.  But she responded to the salacious
demands of her body and, within the confines of her
bondage, frantically urged her hips forward as much as
she could to meet his wonderful tongue.

Today he teased her, bringing her to the edge, then
twisting and wiggling one of the needles.  At first the
pain broke the flow of the feelings of pleasure from
his tongue, but after a while they combined.  The
feelings were different, but complimentary in her mind.
Both were from him, the man she wanted to please, the
man she had to please.

She was screaming, begging for release, for more as he
attached the electrodes.  Today she got them all.
Toes, nipples, clit, and tongue.  He liked the one for
the tongue.  When it was stimulated, the airways
clamped shut, making it impossible for her to breathe.
He would control her very breathing from now on.  She
was almost his.  He could feel it.

Before he left, he gave her one more chance to sign.
She refused, politely, firmly, sadly.  Fuck her.  He
pushed the button.  She would not enjoy the session
today.  Today she would learn what real control was.

Alvin gave her a glass of juice with several eggs when
she first came up that afternoon and again when she
woke up several hours later.  He didn't whip her today.
Mr. D had given him instructions not to mark her at
all.  Verbal abuse only.

Alvin said several things after Mr. D had left, but
under his breath and none directed at the soundly
sleeping girl at his feet.  He was worried about her.
Her look today had been furtive.  The sparkle was
leaving her eyes.

He had made some careful inquiries about the missing
girls.  He was waiting for word back.  He wished at
times he could just go into a police station and get
their attention.  But he couldn't.  So he had to work
carefully, through a 'friend of a friend' and wait
while these things went through the back channels.  He
hoped Alex would last.  She had one more day to go.

Damon was persistent the next day, cajoling her,
bullying and demanding that she sign.  She refused.  He
shouted angrily at her and refused to let her call him
'Master'.  It was only right, she was just a slut.

She danced for him, putting her whole being into
pleasing him, but he refused to be mollified.  Her
energy at an end, she collapsed naked on the floor at
the end of her dance.  She had nothing left to give
him.

Alex awoke to a new sensation.  Her shoulders were on
fire, her head hanging forward on her chest.  She
jerked up her head to see a girl in the screens.
Hanging spread-eagled from the ceiling hooks, her feet
bound by ropes tied to the rings on the floor, her feet
off the floor.  The girl's body was taut as a
bowstring.

Alex saw Mr. Smith on the screen moving behind the
girl, then in front, just as he came into her own
vision.  He was holding a glowing rod with a wooden
handle.  Alex had seen them on the farm, only bigger.
Branding irons.

Without another word, Mr. Smith knelt in front of her
and pressed the incandescent brand into her flesh, just
above and to the right of her vaginal slit.  The pain
was so intense, so brutal she screamed, the pitch
rising as the pain lingered, burning.  Then the pain
changed and she struggled, her brain refusing to accept
how her body was reaction to that horrible, glorious
pain.  Copious fluids flowed from her center, her
breasts swelled and ached, her nipples were painfully
hard.  Her cunt flowered, blossoming with the influx of
blood.  Her clitoris snapped to attention with an
almost audible sound.

Alex was in agony.  She was aroused as never before in
her life.  From the pain.  She was ashamed.  She was
ashamed because she knew she loved it and would seek
this out, regardless of the consequences.

The man she called Mr. Smith, the man she longed to
call 'Master' didn't realize it, but he made his first
critical error in judgment in the process of totally
subjugating Mrs. Alisson Wilson.  He didn't ask her to
sign over her life after the branding.  He was too
angry with the stubborn bitch.

Mr. Smith whipped her lightly as she watched the girl
in the videos get whipped.  Her body was so sensitive
that even the light blows he gave her felt like
lightning bolts.  She didn't notice that her skin was
not marked or that Mr. Smith was using a suede strap,
the soft leather caressing and slapping her skin more
than cutting and biting.  She developed a lovely rosy
hue as the blood rushed to the stimulated surfaces.
Alex climaxed once early on and never seemed to stop
after that.

It took her a while to realize that the girl in the
video was her.

Damon fitted the electrodes and probes from the chair
to the hanging girl.  She was still babbling,
incoherent.  Angry, he jabbed the button without trying
a final time to get her to sign.  It was his second
error in judgment.

He sent Alvin down to clean her up and left for the
day.  He came back late that night and checked on his
recalcitrant Pet before going to bed.  She was
screaming nonsense as the pendulum swung back and
forth, as if she were conversing with someone.
Satisfied she wouldn't get any sleep, he shut the sound-
proofed door and went to bed.  Tomorrow or the next
day, signed or not, he had to take her.  He couldn't
wait any longer.

Alex heard the door shut through the tiny fraction of
her mind that was still grasping reality.  She hadn't
heard it open, or she would have told the voices to be
quiet.  They had started calling her last night.  She
was one of them now, she had the ring.  And now she had
his mark.  She belonged with them now.

Alex argued with the voices, she was married.  She
still had her wedding ring.  She had committed herself
to another man.

The voices laughed at her.  What man?  That worthless
failure?  He couldn't even satisfy you.  If he was such
a good man, where are your children?  He left you for
another woman.  Marcy.  Why waste yourself on him any
longer?  Give in to the Master.  Let him own you.  You
can join us, belong.

On and on they would argue as the pendulum swung, the
constant shocks to her erogenous zones now almost
unfelt.  Almost.  She couldn't sleep with them, nor
could she think.  But she could talk to the voices.

This afternoon, to placate them, she had insisted that
Alvin leave her alone in her cage for an hour.  She had
asked for a knife, or even a fork, but he had refused
her, concern in his face and voice.  She laughed madly
at him.  What did he think she was going to do, kill
herself?

But he had left her alone and she had carved in the
soft pine with her fingernail.  She had left her mark.
She wasn't owned nor had she had her first dance so she
left the first and second dates blank.  Drawing her
finger over the names, she forced herself to envision
their faces, the awful pictures from the small plastic
cards and the beautiful and sexy models in the pictures
and videos.  She cried for them.  They had been silent,
for once.  She was joining them, bit by bit.

Alvin had let her sleep for almost eight hours and had
given her three drinks of juice and eggs.  Even with
his help she was beginning to look thin.  Her
cheekbones were coming into high profile and her
breasts seemed over large compared to her sunken
stomach.  He told her he wouldn't be able to see her
tomorrow.  It wouldn't be allowed.  He didn't know when
he would see her again.  He sounded more afraid than
sad.

The sleep was a help but not enough to fully restore
her grasp of reality.  It had only taken three sweeps
of the pendulum before she heard the voices in her
head.  They had still been talking to each other when
Mr. Smith had looked in on her.

Chapter 15

The next day, the fifth of her training, marked a
change.  The first thing she noticed was that he let
her walk.  On her feet.  And shower and get clean with
warm water.  He even helped dry her off.  She cried.
Everything made her cry now, if it didn't make her cum.

She stared at the food on her plate.  She was sitting
at the table with Mr. Smith.  She kept her hands in her
lap until he said she could take a bite.  He allowed
her to use the fork.  She chewed the savory food
slowly, relishing the texture against her tongue.  It
was the first solid food she had had in four days.  She
cried as she swallowed and thanked him.

He allowed her to eat the entire meal.  If she had
taken one bite without permission, it would have been
the last.  He didn't say that, but somehow, she knew.

Instead of turning off into the training room, Mr.
Smith took her to the large room at the end of the
hallway.  The one where the voices were.

There were lights on today and people bustling around,
setting up things and moving big lights.  She was naked
and didn't notice.

Mr. Smith led her to a chair, a real one, and had her
sit.  She felt awkward, not being bound.  She looked at
him for reassurance and he smiled at her.  His smile
felt cold on her skin, but at least he wasn't angry
with her.  She would try to please him today.  Maybe he
would forgive her for not signing, but she couldn't.
She was married.  She stole a glance at the cheap
narrow band Harold had given her.  It was almost a
year.  It was a part of her, yet it wasn't.  But it was
a symbol of her commitment to Harold, whether he kept
his or not.

She didn't judge Harold harshly anymore.  How could
she?  Look at her, a married woman, sitting here naked
and without shame.  Lusting for another man, willing to
give him everything he asked for.  Everything but what
she didn't have.

She was pampered that morning.  Washed and oiled with
glistening oils, her hair was washed and set.  The lady
trimmed it a little, just like in a beauty salon.  Then
the man came and worked on her face, adding a
foundation and then some color.  He used eye shadows
that made her eyes stand out.  All the time he was
explaining what he was doing, showing her how.

Alex watched the transformation of the pretty girl in
the mirror into a sexy siren.  Her green eyes and red
hair were stunning.  When the make-up man was done he
stood looking at her for a long moment.  He looked
almost sad.

Mr. Smith was pleased with her, she could tell.  She
saw him staring at her, as if he had never seen her
before.  She smiled at him as sexily as she could and
he licked his lips.  She laughed and stopped suddenly.
It had been so long she couldn't remember when she had
last laughed.  When had she stopped?

Then the man with the cameras took over.  Mr. Smith was
in charge, but she followed the directions of the
photographer.  All the time, in her mind, she was
posing for Mr. Smith.

They started out with tiny swimsuits.  By now Alex knew
the routine.  Start with it on, then it comes off, as
sexily as possible.  The camera man showed her the
first proof.  There was a reflecting screen that had
different backgrounds.  The pictures looked like she
was at the ocean.  She was posing, just like the others
had done for Mr. Smith.  She posed in three different
suits before she stumbled.  She felt dizzy, tired.

Mr. Smith gave her a pill and a glass of water.  She
didn't know what it was.  She looked at him and he told
her to take it.  It was safe, he said, just some speed.
Alex didn't know what speed he wanted her to go.  The
water tasted good.

In a couple of minutes, Alex felt better.  Not good,
but better.  Like she was nervous and antsy.  She
couldn't stay still.  The kitchen she stood in looked
funny with just the counter.  They made her put food on
her body.  Then she was in shower, then a bathtub with
bubbles and a long narrow bar of soap.

The lingerie that she posed in next deteriorated from
an elegant, if transparent gown, to ludicrously obscene
pieces of lace that had no practical purpose but to
expose and excite.  They rolled in a bed for her to lie
on and she was naughty for Mr. Smith and for the
camera.

It was about this time that Alex noticed that there
seemed to be a change in the people in the room.  Most
of the gaffers set up the lights in a fixed position
and left.  The makeup man that had been giving her
touch ups all morning long left her with a soft kiss on
the cheek and a large bag of cosmetics for her to use.
She thanked him.  He looked so sad when he left.

Soon it was just Alex, Mr. Smith and a new
photographer.  He wasn't as nice as the first one and
was touching her privates and making her do things she
didn't like.  Mr. Smith saw him and didn't stop him, so
she let him, even sticking things inside of her anus
and opening herself up when he told her, holding her
pussy open so he could take pictures.  Mr. Smith looked
like he was waiting for someone.  He kept glancing at
his watch and walking up and down.

Alex had never before seen the woman who finally came
in, but she knew who she was.  She was beautiful.  Tall
and elegant, perfectly made up and covered from head to
toe in black leather.  She looked so sexy.

Without a word from Mr. Smith, the woman took over the
photo shoot.  The costumes Alex modeled now were made
of leather, latex and chrome.  She was corseted and the
woman put her knee in Alex' back and pulled it tighter
than she had thought possible.  Then the nipple clamps
were put on and Alex didn't think much more.  Between
the pain, the pills and the constant arousal, she was
lost to her feelings.

A month ago this would have seemed strange, to be so
free, wanton and wicked with a total stranger, but now,
it felt right.  Mr. Smith was there, and it was all
right.  Alex watched him the whole time, watching his
eyes, wanting to please him.

He watched this part of the photo session much more
intensely and Alex was thrilled.  She did everything
she could to please him, looking to him constantly for
reassurance.  She did things she had only recently been
dreaming of.  Even then, she only knew of these wicked
things because he had shown her pictures and videos of
the other girls doing them.  Now she was doing them to
please him.

She was bound and laid on a low table.  The woman
licked her and Alex climbed for the sky.  But she
stopped too soon.  Mr. Smith was telling the woman
something.  'Not to come' was what she heard.  But the
lady was already here.  How could she not come if she
were already here?

The pretty lady had smiled at Mr. Smith and showed him
a small vial from her black bag.  A doctor's bag.  The
vial was different than Mr. Smith's, bigger.  She
injected Alex with something in her cunt and around her
ass and then under her nipples.  In about five minutes,
they felt like her mouth did when she went to the
dentist.  Like they were dead.

When the lady straddled her face, Alex knew what to do.
She had never done it before, but she licked and sucked
the woman with gusto.  The pill Mr. Smith had given her
helped keep her going.  She knew she was exceedingly
tired.  She could feel it in her bones, but the pill
helped her.  She pleasured the woman and the woman had
kissed her.  She had sucked Alex' tongue in to her
mouth, then explored Alex' mouth with her own.  Alex
liked that.

They kissed a lot after that, passionately, wantonly.
The photographer kept taking pictures from every angle.
The lights were hot, they were sweating, slippery.  It
was sexy and the two women giggled and laughed, sharing
little secrets only women can share.

Alex was almost drawn to the woman, feeling she was
being torn between this strong woman and Mr. Smith.  It
was wrong, her mind told her.  She wanted Mr. Smith,
but the woman was so soft and comforting.  She
understood Alex' needs.  She wasn't demanding.  Alex
had never kissed a woman before and found it thrilling.
It was different, softer.  The woman pushed her further
and further until Alex was left gasping for air.

The toys were next.  At least, that's what the woman
called them.  She was almost naked now and so was Alex.
They strapped Alex over a bar that pushed her butt way
up in the air.

Alex didn't scream when the lady rammed a huge plastic
dildo into her pussy.  She could barely feel it because
of the numbness.  She did feel the fullness of it
pressing against her diaphragm but the usual feelings
the nerves sent to her brain were blocked.  She felt
cheated.  Her body knew it was getting fucked and the
juices were flowing, the tensions building.
Unfortunately for Alex, her brain was sitting this one
out and refused to allow her to climax.  It was very
frustrating.

That frustration grew as the afternoon wore on.  The
beautiful woman had used a huge strap on dildo and had
fucked her for what seemed like hours, then had
switched to her ass.  They had finished the session by
the woman putting her whole hand up inside Alex' pussy
and pumping in and out.  She did that for a long time.
They had been excited at those shots.  They called it
'fisting.'

The numbing from the shots hadn't worn off yet.  Mr.
Smith was impressed and told her they were getting some
great shots, that she was doing great.  She was
thrilled that she had pleased him.  Alex thanked him
and pleaded for release.  Not from the bondage.  From
the sexual tensions.  He held up the clipboard with the
papers.  She cried.  The Dom saw that exchange and
looked thoughtful.

She began to get hopeful towards the end.  The numbness
left her nipples first and the millions of tiny
prickles that preceded full sensation almost set her
off.  The beautiful woman, having used the drug before,
was watching for this and left Alex hanging on the
edge.  Now that her brain was back and willing, the
woman toyed with Alex, teasing and tormenting her
relentlessly but never letting her go over the edge.

At the end Alex was strung up on a portable frame
spread-eagled.  She was naked, sweating, her new makeup
a wreck, her hair in straggly clumps.  Her breathing
was ragged and in her mind the thin sliver of reality
she had remaining was fading.  She was screaming
hysterically at them.  The woman and Mr. Smith,
standing there together, too close together.  The
photographer was gone.

The woman was holding a belt with two huge vibrators.
They plugged into the wall.  Mr. Smith said he was
planning on leaving her all night wearing it.  The
woman said not yet, it would set her off, ruin the
whole effect.  Mr. Smith agreed.  They waited.  He
touched the woman on her breasts, right in front of
Alex.  The woman let him and snuggled her butt into Mr.
Smith's erection.

They got tired of waiting for Alex to cool off and left
her hanging there, forgetting to put in the vibrators.
Alex screamed at them for a long time, then the urgency
passed.  The effects of the pill finally wore off, too.
Without stimulation, Alex slept.

She dreamed for the first time in many nights.  It was
them.  All of them.  And Petunia.  Why was Petunia
here?  In her dream, Alex was awake, but was hanging
just as she actually was, like they had left her.  Or
was she really dreaming?

She looked around.  Without the bright lights on, she
could see into the other half of the room.  The studio
was only on the left side.  The voices were coming from
the right side of the room.  Alex wanted to walk over
to them and pull them back.  They were in danger but
they didn't know it.  They were calling her to join
them.

Then she saw Petunia, as she had last seen her.
Hanging by her legs, head down, her blood flowing into
a large square drain on the floor.  Like the one in the
floor on the right side of the room.  The big dark
drain there under the block and tackle hanging from the
ceiling.

Alex called out for her Daddy.  She was back in the
barn at home.  Daddy would save her.  Her voice echoed
back at her.  There weren't echoes in the barn.  She
knew.  She had tried over and over as a child but had
never found an echo in there.

It looked like the barn.  Over there was the butcher
shop.  There was the big drain that had that funny
acrid smell of old blood that tickled her nose.  There
was the big grinder for the sausages.  And the neat row
of the silvery little ear tags that Daddy cut out of
the slaughtered animals ears to identify them, eight of
them, all lined up, but the rings were too small,
somehow.

Over there were the coiled hoses for cleaning the floor
and flushing all the ground up guts, hooves and other
useless parts down the drain.  The sharp knives were
hanging in order on the wall, not on a big bench like
Daddy's.  The knives were for skinning and the saws
were to cut through the thick bones.  Gleaming and
sharp.  But not old, like Daddy's.  These were new.  Of
course.  This was a dream.  Petunia was here.  Petunia
was dead.  And the girls.  All his pets and Petunia.
Calling her.  Come join them.

In spite of the discomfort, Alex slept.  And dreamed.
In the quiet of the third basement, no one heard her
pitiful wailing for the dead girls.  And Petunia.

The cold water blasting at her from a high pressure
hose woke Alex the next morning.  Damon was pissed that
she had slept.  He had been too needy and had allowed
that fucking lesbian Dom to seduced him.  In
retrospect, though, it had been a good pairing of
almost equals.  It had been a dangerous but exhausting
dance they had done, and it had taken longer than he
had planned.  They had dallied and dallied again.  He
had forgotten the girl.

The damage wasn't too severe.  She woke nicely, and the
look of terror that had crossed her face brought a
twitch of life to his cock.  It was about time she
showed some fear.  He had dragged her over to the other
side of the room and positioned her above the drain.
That was after he had slapped her several times trying
to wake her.  He wasn't surprised she was dead to the
world.  Four days of constant stimulation without sleep
will do that to you.

When that had failed he had spied the hoses.  No sense
making a mess, so he moved the frame she was bound to
over here and turned the hose on her.  She had come to
with a start, looked down, and voided herself from
terror.  Good thing she was already over the drain, he
congratulated himself.  He hated to clean up shit.

Mr. Smith released her.  Her terror abated and he led
her, dripping and stinking up to the apartment and let
her shower.  She was beginning to feel almost human
again.  The only problem was that she was still
hypersensitive.  Everything aroused her.  She decided
she needed to be fucked.

When she went through to her cage to get dressed, she
noticed his room smelled like sex.  The sheets were
messed up and there were some leather garments that
weren't his size.  She remembered the beautiful woman
from yesterday.  She was happy for Mr. Smith.  She
hoped the woman had pleased him.  Alex automatically
changed his sheets and cleaned up the room.  She folded
the leather vest and chaps neatly and put them in a
paper bag.  Going into the dining area, she set them by
his plate without a word, without a glance.

He was watching her to see if she was jealous.  It
would be interesting to see if she was.  He could use
it.  He was disappointed.  Her eyes looked at him as
they always had.  Clear and open, willing to give,
wanting to please.  Not judging him at all.

He had had her dress in her skimpy skirt, her blouse
and high heels.  He told her to go back and put on some
make up, like the man had showed her yesterday.  She
had to go back three times before she had it right.
First it wasn't enough, next it was too much and the
last time, he was just being ornery.  She could tell.

They went upstairs to the club.  Except for Alvin, it
was empty.  Mr. Smith turned on the music, the music
the others had danced to.  She knew what he wanted.
She wanted it, too.

It was her best dance yet.  He was pleased.  He was
aroused.  Even in the shadows she could see him, see
the swelling that indicated his arousal.  From the dark
corner of the club she saw a glint of gold.  Alvin was
watching her dance, the first time, from a corner where
Mr. Smith couldn't see him.  It made her feel safe,
knowing he was there.

She danced over to his stool and he bound her.  She was
ready, needy.  Hot.  She pleaded with him to take her,
use her.

Damon looked down at the shivering bitch.  One more
chance, then it was gloves off.  He held out the
clipboard with the forms for her to sign.  She begged
for understanding with her eyes.  She had explained to
him, to the voices.  She couldn't give him what wasn't
hers to give.

He was displeased.  But she was there, begging for it
and he had waited patiently.  He pushed her down onto
her knees.  She went willingly, bending her head
towards his groin, anxious to take him as she had
received no other man.  Damon slapped her and she went
down, ass high in the air, wanting him.  She lay there,
waiting, whimpering, begging.

He dropped his pants, his need suddenly impelling.
Without warning he thrust into her sopping cunt.  The
fisting yesterday had convinced him he needn't worry
about her accommodating him, not that he would have.
He held her head pinned to the floor while he pulled
the belt from his pants.  It was good quality leather,
smooth and supple.  He looped it, holding both ends in
one hand.  With the other hand, he grabbed a handful of
her red hair.  He yanked her head up roughly and
slipped the belt around her neck.

Slowly he withdrew from her depths, watching as the
folds of her pink flesh clasped at him, trying to keep
him inside of her.  With the same slow speed he moved
back into her, pushing in to the maximum depth, nudging
against her hard cervix.  Her body eagerly accepted
him.

Damon was glad now he had spent the time with the Dom
last night.  The urgency was gone and he would last a
long time.  He wondered idly, as he fucked slowly in
and out of the bitch under him, what it would take to
break the Dom?  She would make a challenging pet.  How
could he get her on his machine?  What lure could he
use?

Slipping his hand down he tightened the belt around her
neck.  He wasn't close yet.  He wanted to give her a
thrill.  He heard the rasping of her breath as her
airway was closed, then there was only silence.
Regardless of the training, when threatened, instinct
takes over.  It was what thrilled him, watching the
poor bitches fighting their own instincts for survival.

As expected, his new pet fought for air.  With her
hands tied behind her and him pinning her down with his
weight, she couldn't do much but buck up and down  As
she fought for her life, her cunt muscles tightened and
shuddered so pleasingly on his hard cock.  He could
feel the fight, the need, the hunger for air.  He was
in control.  He felt the familiar rush, the thrill of
this one moment, like none other.

He held the belt tight until she stopped struggling,
then waited a beat more.  Then, releasing the pressure
of his hand on the back of her neck he let her breathe.
In a great gasp, the bitch filled her starved lungs,
gulping for several moments.

Damon saw Alvin standing by the stage.  He looked at
his new friend and grinned.

"The slut gives a good ride," he said.  "I felt her cum
when I strangled her.  The little slut.  She loves
this."

The black man just stood there.  He was an enigma.  Why
was he watching?

Damon pulled out of her cunt and the pet moaned,
begging for more.  She had thanked him when she could
talk again, when she had air.  What a fucking slut!

He knew she had been in a constant state of orgasm from
the first thrust.  He had felt it.  He placed his tool
against her tight sphincter and pressed in.  There was
only a slight hesitation and then she relaxed, allowing
him easy entry.  She really was a slut.  He told her
she was.

He pumped faster now, his own need building.  The belt
tightened around her neck again.  It would stay there
this time until he came.  His pet bucked and thrashed,
fighting for air.  It was so good.  She quit fighting
but her ass was still clenching at him, pulling him.

He exploded into her.  As he came down from his
wondrous release, he slowly let the belt loosen.  The
pet lay still under him.  He looked up at Alvin and
shrugged his shoulders, a heavy lethargy settling over
him.  No great loss, really.  But what a rush!

With a sudden gasp, the cyanotic girl started to
breathe.  Oh, well, just as well she was still alive.
He'd have had to forge the signatures and that wasn't
an easy thing to do.  They tended to check those things
very carefully for a five million dollar payout,
especially on a sudden death so soon after the policy
went into force.  They wouldn't like it at all.

He got off the gasping figure.  He didn't notice the
big black man, wound as tight as a coiled spring, relax
slightly or see him slip the deadly blade that was
hidden in his huge fist back into his pocket.

"Here.  You want a piece?  On the house.  The slut
likes it and likes it rough.  Just not her mouth.
Clean her up and put her away when you're done," he
tossed off carelessly, got dressed and left the club.
He had an idea how to get the Dom into his clutches.

It was early evening when Alvin finally lay her gently
down in her small room.  She had clung to him on the
stage after he had freed her, still needy.  She would
have given herself to him willingly, if he had wanted.
But he didn't take her.  He wanted her, and he let her
know that he did.

She had needed that reassurance right then, and it
would have been hard to lie, anyway.  She had her head
in his lap and she would nuzzle him, bleating softly,
cooing against his thickening member.  But this wasn't
the way he wanted her.  He let her sleep, holding her,
crying with her until she fell asleep.  She was still
catching up from the deprivation and stress of the last
four days, gaining strength, but she was still
susceptible to Mr. D' manipulations of her.

Alvin what it was she was holding onto so tightly that
let her survive this long.  He couldn't imagine going
through all of this and still being able to refuse to
sign those damn papers.  As she had cried herself to
sleep, she had repeated one thing over and over.  He
had trouble catching the soft sounds as she mumbled
into his chest.  The words were almost a mantra, said
over and over.  Finally, just as she was nodding off,
he heard what it was.

She was repeating three words to herself as she rocked
back and forth, "Not a slut, not a slut."

She woke as he laid her down on the low sleeping mat.
Her hands were still free.  With a lurch she grabbed
his neck and pulled him down.  He was off balance and
landed, with an effort, beside her and just managed not
to crush her beneath him.  Giggling, she made him roll
over onto his back.

He thought she would get on top of him and initiate
sex, but she didn't.  If she had, he wouldn't have
stopped her.  She turned her head toward him and
motioned with her eyes.  It took him a couple of times
before he understood.  Turning his head away from her,
he looked up.  All he could see was the bottom of the
shelf above his head and some writing.  A list.  Some
carpenters had used this little plank for some notes or
something.  Probably a lunch order or a football pool.
When they needed a piece of scrap for the shelf, they
had used the good surface on top, leaving the
scribbling underneath.  It was done all the time.

He looked back at her and frowned, questioning her.
What was there?  She again motioned with her eyes.  He
looked again.  There was nothing in that direction but
the shelf.  As he was looking back at her, a name from
the past jumped at him.

He gave a strangled cry.  It scared her as he started
shaking suddenly, sobbing.  In a complete reversal of
their roles to this point, she was now the one giving
comfort to him, holding his bald head in her arms as
the bitterness and frustration of all those years
poured out.  They were rocking together, crying, their
tears mingling on the floor.

It was a struggle, but he got himself under control.
All these years.  He had known in his gut it was here.
The trail had run cold, but he had stuck it out.
Against all evidence and no evidence, he knew she had
been here.  And now, finally, here was the proof.  She
had been here, in this room.  He had seen her driver's
license, but had not understood.  The memory of their
tender love flooded over him again.  He felt like he
had just been kicked in the nuts.  He rolled in pain,
then groaned and knelt over the teary-eyed girl.

He leaned over her to shackle her down for the night.
As his ear was over her face she whispered to him.

"Think I'd get an Oscar, now?"

He looked quickly at her face.  Her eyes were clear,
focused.  She was looking up at him steadily and
sanely.  They both knew she would soon be lost for the
night when he started the pendulum.  But right now, she
was here with him, in control, if only for the moment.

He nodded at her, grinning.  He held up his fingers.
Two.  She laughed.

Closing the door on her, he said a prayer for the brave
little girl.  One thing puzzled him.  The list of
names.  He knew the name of the last pet Mr. D had
here.  He had seen her name on the list.  But not on
the bottom.  He had expected to see Miss Alex' name
there at the bottom, but it wasn't.  The last name was
just a single name.  A flower.  Petunia.

The next two days were repeats.  Mr. Smith would have
her dance.  He would ask her to sign the papers and she
would refuse, as politely as she could, knowing it
would anger him.  He would then verbally and sexually
abuse her, strangling her with his thick belt.  She
never failed to cum when he did that to her.  She never
failed to cum when he did anything to her, anymore.
She began to question if she was a slut.  She never
failed to thank him when he got dressed and left the
club.  He didn't hear her.  His plans for the Dom were
coming together.  And in a couple of days he would
start the last phase of the plan for Harold and Marcy.
The sooner the better, too.  They were costing him a
bundle.

By the end of the third day, she saw Alvin's worried
face looking down on her.  He didn't know what the
program was Mr. Smith had her on now.  She wasn't aware
of it, but none of the other pets had gone through what
she had been put through the last three days.  Those
pets had been cherished, pampered women, had the finest
of everything.  Beautiful, sexy, obedient.  None had
been abused like Alex was being abused.  And it was
abuse.  He had no doubts about that.

She was tired but managed to grasp his thumb and give
him a reassuring squeeze.  He smiled at her, knowing
what it took from her to think of him.  But it was a
worried smile she saw.

She was frightened at first when he didn't start the
pendulum.  But soon, the fright gave way to a restless
sleep.  The voices were still arguing with her, but
tonight they weren't as loud.  After a fitful start,
she fell into the first peaceful sleep she had had in a
long time.

In the back of her mind was the nagging worry that
whatever Mr. Smith had planned for tomorrow must be
very bad, if he was being so nice now.  But tomorrow
was later.  Right now, she could sleep.

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

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

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

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


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