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 4 of 4

by Nightshade

September, 2002

Chapter 16

Marcy stripped down to a tiny yellow bikini and danced
around the cowering executive.  For the past week, the
routine the two had gotten into had changed quite a
bit.  This was yet another change in their routine.

Harold's erectile problems had continued when he went
back to Marcy.  Seizing the opportunity, she had added
a few variations.  First, she had doubled the dose of
Viagra in his morning coffee.  Second, she didn't strip
down now.  Harold did.  She wore a lot of leather
things and carried a whip and a paddle, part of her
standard hooker gear.

When Harold was naked, he kneeled at her feet, licking
her boots until he was hard.  That took a long time,
sometimes, especially on the two days when she cut out
the Viagra altogether.  She loved to torment him,
cruelly punishing him for being lazy and incompetent.
And impotent.  He would cry when she said that.  When
he was finally hard and she was satisfied with the
shine on her boots, she would allow him to lick her
cunt until she came.  That also took a long time,
almost always.

It wasn't long before she had Harold gagged -- when he
was through licking her, of course -- and handcuffed as
part of the routine.  He accepted most anything she did
now.  And with the gag in his mouth, she didn't have to
listen to him complain all the time.  What a whiner!

She introduced him to cock bondage and whipped his
balls with a little flogger.  He had squealed and
fought until she pointed out just how much bigger he
was and how much longer he could stay hard.  He didn't
know, of course, that she had reintroduced the Viagra
that morning.  After that, it was an easy sell.

He hadn't liked the leather paddle she had used on his
ass or her riding him like a horse, but she just
stroked him once on his puny cock and he had actually
turned around and offered his ass to her again.  He had
become, in just a few short days, a total wuss.

Thank God, Mr. Smith had called.  Finally!  In three
days they were going to be headed for the British
fucking Virgin Islands.  BVI!  She was wearing her new
bikini to celebrate.  She only hoped Harold wouldn't
slobber all over it.  She did look hot and her big tits
were obscenely exposed by the tiny swatches.  She
didn't care.  She was going to be rid of this lump for
good!  Or if not, at least she knew how to effectively
control him.

Marcy had been toying with the germ of an idea to
double-cross Mr. Smith.  She knew the whole plan for
the insurance scam from bits and pieces she had heard.
Harold couldn't keep his mouth shut, anyway, so they
must have trusted her if they wanted her to keep him
quiet and out of circulation.  They were sure paying
enough.  She knew where the weak spot in the plan was.
Someone had to withdraw the money as soon as it was
deposited and move it to another account.  That's why
Harold was going down to the islands

She had heard of these places down in BVI, places where
you could buy and sell people.  People who could
disappear and wouldn't be missed.  An ex-boyfriend had
told her about snuff films and how they got the
'actors' for them.  When she called him last week he
had given her a name to contact when she got down
there.  With her hold over him, it wouldn't be hard to
convince Harold to be an actor, especially in a sex
film.  He would jump at the chance.

That would happen after, of course, he had withdrawn
the cash.  Marcy, with her newfound power over the
wimp, had no doubts she could get the cash transferred
to her own account.  She had already set one up in the
same bank as his was.

She saw Harold's eyes light up as he heard the news
they would be leaving soon.  The greed was almost
palpable as he, too, thought of the islands.  She
mentioned acting in a sex film and he got hard without
the Viagra.  She smiled to herself, knowing her plan
would work.  Harold was a very good licker that morning
even if he did slobber a little.  And she could get a
new suit.  She could afford it.

Mr. Smith's attitude at the table the next morning was
a radical departure from the abusive man of the last
three days.  He smiled and chatted with her, letting
her eat uncontrolled and even stroked her cheek.  She
began to relax a little but was still wary.  She always
got hurt when he was nice.

She was allowed to work unbound but naked in the
apartment and upstairs in the club.  One of the smaller
areas was having a private party tonight and the bar
needed to be stocked.  If her nakedness bothered her
she didn't show it.  The other staff, both male and
female, were wary of her because of her special
relationship with Mr. Smith.  They could see his mark,
his brand on her.

For the most part, they tried to ignore her nudity, but
for some of the men, it was awkward to walk when she
was around.  The women, dancers and waitresses, were
nice to her.  When they had a break, they chatted a bit
and Alex listened to them.  Once she chanced a few
questions.  Mostly, she kept to herself and worked
hard.  The others respected her for that.

By the early afternoon, Mr. Smith came in and got her.
He led her back down to the apartment.  There he told
her to get ready for an evening out.  He laid her
clothes out on his bed, selecting and caressing each
article of clothing as she dressed.  He had laid out
the naughty underwear, her hosiery and heels, and her
sexy dress.  She now knew what was going to happen.  In
a way, she was glad.  He had accepted her.  And she was
ready.

He helped her with her makeup and hair, fussing with it
until it was perfect.  It was perfect.  He stood behind
her, his arms wrapped around her, looking in the mirror
at their image.  They made a stunning couple.  He
smiled at her and she melted.

Almost as if he didn't want the ruin the moment, he
hesitated before picking up the clipboard with the
forms that he wanted her to sign.  But he did, and she
shook her head 'No.'  The look that flashed across his
face was murderous but it was gone in an instant.  She
could almost pretend it hadn't been there.

He took her up to his office and poured her a generous
glass of whiskey while they waited.  She was kneeling
in her familiar spot by his desk.  She tensed until she
saw both of his hands were empty.  She remembered how
he had helped Lewis with his coughing after giving him
a drink.  He hadn't gone near the cognac bottle,
either.  She had watched.

In fact, she had been checking on that fake bottle
nearly every day.  At least, every day when they let
her do cleaning or other work.  Even on those days when
Alvin had let her sleep, she had made him bring her in
here so she could check.  The syringe and the small
vial of drug were still there, untouched as far as she
could tell.  One of her jobs was to clean and stock the
bar in the office, so she had arranged the bottle so
that she could tell at a glance if it was out of place.
Just like she had arranged her dollies on her bed at
home to catch Benny snooping for her diary.  He never
did figure out how he always got caught.

The cognac bottle was turned so that when she knelt by
the desk in her usual spot, the label of that bottle
and the label of the bottle in front of it were
perfectly aligned with the seam in the mirror.  Basic
geometry; three points make a line and from here she
could sight along it.  Since you had to move the bottle
in front to get to the bottle with the syringe, the
chances of both of them being put back perfectly
aligned was unlikely.  In a hurry, or when Mr. Smith or
Alvin were in the room, all she had to do was check on
the alignment.  A quick glance and Alvin could take her
downstairs.

She took the crystal glass from him.

"You don't need to get me drunk, Sir."

"Why should I get you drunk?"

"I know what to do tonight, Sir."

"Really?  Are you going to be a slut tonight?"

"I'm not a slut, Sir."

"Then tell me, why are you going to do this?"

"For you, Sir.  Because you want me to."

"And you?  Will you enjoy it?"

"Yes, Sir.  You have trained me to enjoy it."

"I've trained you to be a slut!  And tonight I'll prove
it to you."

"Yes, Sir."

After a moments thought, she tossed back her drink, the
strong whiskey burning her throat.  She looked up at
him, grinning derisively down at her.

"May I have another, please, Sir?" she asked, holding
out her glass.

He handed her the whole bottle and laughed cruelly at
her, letting her drink five more large tumbler's full
of the conscience-numbing fluid before leading her out
to the private party.  You could barely notice the
wobble in her step.

Mr. Smith took her to a part of the club she had only
been in a couple of times before, backstage in one of
the smaller rooms.  She could hear the noise of the
party on the other side of the heavy curtain.  Mr.
Smith looked around and pulled up a stool.  He knew
just where to put it so that he would remain just at
the edge of the shadows.

Mr. Smith didn't say a word to her.  When the music
started and the curtains opened, he moved to sit on the
stool, watching her.

She danced.  She was drunk and she knew it, but she
danced.  With all her new-found skills and more, now
that her few remaining inhibitions were damped by the
alcohol.  She was beautiful.  The bright lights shining
down on her caught the brilliant colors of her hair.
As it moved with her, it looked alive, flashing and
flowing, caressing her face.

She had wound the black cord around her neck, not too
tight, but in a narrow band so that looked like she was
wearing a collar.  The silver bands at the end of the
cords were tucked in under the windings.  It wouldn't
come undone until she wanted it to.

With her hands free, she floated in the lights.  The
party-goers, sensing something special, hushed.  The
reverent silence added to the effect, letting her dance
for one man alone.  The man she wanted.

He was there in the shadows, watching her as she moved.
She reached for him and he knew.  He nodded and the
first strap of the shoulder fell, baring the top of her
breast.  Then the second fell.  Her nipples held up the
dress, even through her skimpy bra, until she shrugged
her shoulders and they gave way letting it fall to her
hips.  Only a wisp of lace covered her breasts, barely
containing them.  She unclasped the bra and it fell
away from her orbs like a nuisance.

The crowd gasped, and, the silence broken, called for
more.  Whistles and cat-calls, clapping and cheering.
She looked to the shadows and he nodded.

With a wiggle, the dress melted from her hips and the
room erupted in a cheer.  She danced around the circle
of light, teasing them, teasing the man in the shadows,
her creamy buttocks flashing, her legs sensuous,
promising and hiding the treasures between them.

She moved her arms, caressing her body, teasing it,
arousing it and exciting the men in the crowd.  But
always pleasing the man in the shadows.

The final wisp of lace was teased down her thighs and
over her calves.  After the first help over the flare
of her hips, she had managed to lower them without the
use of her hands, leaving them free to pinch and pull
her nipples, wetting her fingers in her mouth and
touching herself.  No one seemed to mind the time it
took for the panties to reach the floor.  The room was
in a constant uproar, by now.

With a shake of her head, the ends of the cord were
freed and, again without using her hands, shook and
wiggled as the cord unwound from her neck.  She caught
it as it fell free.

If the room had been in an uproar before, the noise now
escalated to a full riot as they watched her work her
body with the cord.  They knew what the significance of
the cord was.  They knew by the brand that this dancer
was one of the special ones, the owner's private stock.
They knew.  It had had been a long time.  They had
waited.  The owner had set a premium on this party,
triple the usual cover charge.

The girl was worth that and more.  They were mesmerized
by her beauty, her sensuality, the juxtaposition of raw
innocence and raw sex.  This was a once in a lifetime
event and they all knew it.

The cord sang between her legs and the girl moaned her
own arousal.  As if on its own, it bound her legs,
teasing her.  It twisted around her perfect breasts,
making a figure '8', the black cord a clear contrast to
the whiteness of her skin.  The softness of the silken
cord tantalized her, tickling her, driving her to the
edge.

The man in the shadows signaled her over.  She went,
dancing, teasing, hoping he would take her away and
ravish her.  It was what she wanted, to please him, to
make him take her and ravish her.

He bound her hands and then used a ballgag to bind her
mouth.  The crowd held its breath.  No one could use
it, but neither could she.  She could not call out for
him to stop them.  Their blood ran hotter.  She was
theirs to use.  All but her mouth.

Mr. Smith urged her back into the lights.  She knew
what she would find.  It was there, large and angry
looking.  Waiting for her, standing upright, the man's
hand holding by the base with two fingers.  It was so
large it couldn't stand up on its own.  Watching the
shadows, she straddled the supine figure.  Weaving back
and forth, teasing up and down but always lowering her
core towards the man below.

Finally she touched the glistening head and a cheer
went up from the ones not lucky enough to have been
chosen to go first.  It was beginning and she felt the
fullness of the man as she let herself sink down,
finally resting on his hips.  She had never taken her
eyes off the man in the shadows.

Another man approached her from the rear and got on his
knees.  He had been lubed and his thick cock probed and
pushed at her rear.  The man in the shadows nodded and
she relaxed.  The thick head and shaft surged into her
and she screamed into the gag.

They fucked her hard and fast, knowing she would be
available again later when they could last longer.  And
again after that, if they could get it up.  Within
minutes she came.  All the buildup and tension of the
past weeks flooded her senses.  She blacked out for a
moment, but the men pounding into her never noticed.
They didn't stop.

When she could think again, she looked anxiously at the
man in the shadows.  He was gone.  The stool was empty.
Even in the state she was in, aroused, horny and more
than a little drunk, Alex felt a pang in her stomach,
like her heart being torn out.

The twenty men at the party had never had a night like
this before and they were not inexperienced in this
sort of thing.  They had the owner's private girl, all
night long.  They discovered why his girls were so
special, in such demand and so well worth the price he
charged.  Even without the use of her hands and mouth
she had outlasted them all, and was begging for more.

The big black manager finally had to drag her away.

Alvin drove Miss Alex to her old apartment.  Mr. D had
given him specific instructions.  He had also given him
permission to fuck her, if he could stand it, he had
said.  Alvin had seethed at that comment.  He knew then
that Mr. D was finished with Miss Alex, and that meant
her time was short.  Wherever he had sent those others,
she was on her way there shortly.

The other pets Alvin had known had all done a couple of
private parties, then they had disappeared.  Word had
it that the pets were all living in luxury somewhere,
pampered and well taken care of.  Alvin suspected
something different.  White slavery, maybe.  They had
never found any bodies, so it made more sense for them
to be shipped out of the country.  That would explain
them not needing their driver's licenses.  But he had
never found a link between Mr. D and any of those
groups.  All it would take would be one, though, and
then only once in a while.

He knew Alex was being tossed out.  As far as Mr. D was
concerned, she was used up.  Alvin tended to disagree.
The exclusive private party was the first sign.  And he
had more, less selective parties scheduled in a couple
of days.  Alex was to be told to stay home and wait for
a call.  Then she would dance for everyone, taking on
all comers, a common dancer.  That would be the end,
for her.

Surprisingly, they had found her dress and underwear
folded neatly on the side of the stage.  Her expensive
stockings were ruined, one missing and one badly
laddered, but she had kept her heels on the whole
night.  The men had loved it.  He had been told not to
let her clean up, but to take her straight home,
'smelling like a slut.'  Those were the bastard's own
words.

Alvin had watched the whole evening.  He had seen her
stumble going down the hallway to the stage area.  It
was a familiar stagger to one with his experience.  Mr.
D had gotten her drunk.  But he had watched her
performance and knew that it hadn't been necessary.
This was what she had been trained for and she was
good.  For a moment during her dance, he thought she
had seen him, standing there in the back.

Alvin realized that night for the first time how much
he wanted Miss Alex.  The way she moved, the way she
danced.  She was beautiful.  Even as the men took her,
over and over, as she had drawn them out and excited
them to more and more excesses, he had wanted her.
Like he had never wanted a woman before.

It didn't matter to him that she had been used and
abused.  Sitting there next to him in his car, smelling
like an orgy, she was more woman than any he had ever
known before.

At the apartment building, Alvin walked up with her,
holding her firmly to him, like a lover.  The elevator
was broken again and she had had a long night.  This
early in the morning, they met no one on the stairs.

Inside the tiny apartment Alvin felt a pang of
homesickness.  He recognized the setting if not the
exact furniture.  Poor, but hardworking people lived
here.  Proud and honest.  It had been in another city,
but the ethnic smells of cooking, the burned out lights
in the stairwells, the clean floors in the small rooms
and the neat but worn sofa and chair.  He would bet the
TV was a black and white model.

He started to talk to her, to tell her his feelings for
her.  His heart was aching.  He wanted her to run away
from the club, but he knew she wouldn't leave yet.  She
still needed something from Mr. D and the bastard was
still trying to take something from her she wouldn't
give him.  He'd said as much, but not what it was.

Miss Alex stood frozen in the middle of the floor,
staring at something.  A floor lamp.  He started to
talk and she whirled on him, her eyes wild, not knowing
what he was going to say, but sensing from his attitude
that it was probably something he would rather others
not know about.  Something she wasn't ready to hear
from him yet.  If she did, she would have to tell him
she felt the same way.

She stopped him, her finger on his lips.  Her other
hand pointed to her ear, then the lamp.  He looked
again at the lamp.  It was out of place, designed more
for an office than a home.  Even used, it would cost
more than any other single piece of furniture in the
place.  And it scared the shit out of Alex.  She wasn't
safe.  Not even here.

As he left, he kissed her hand.  She leaned up and
kissed his cheek.  She approached, coming close to him.
He heard her whisper, "Oscar," and she held up three
fingers.  Then she cried.

She started to say, "I'm not a..." but he held up his
fingers over her lips to stop her.  They could hear any
sound in this room, even with old equipment.  He nodded
that he knew what she was going to say.

He gave her the cryptic instructions Mr. D had given
him.  She was to wait for a call.  There wasn't a
timeframe.  She said she understood.  As he closed the
door behind him, he heard the first heart wrenching sob
wrack her slender frame.  She was going to have a long
night.

Chapter 17

Alvin picked Alex up the next morning as she walked
back from the market.  It was so exciting, like in a
James Bond movie.  She was grinning like a little girl
again as she slid smoothly into the car seat, smiling
up at the handsome face of her friend.  She giggled.

Early the next morning she had heard a scratching at
the door.  It was odd, but she thought maybe one of the
neighbor's cats had the wrong apartment.  Cats weren't
allowed but almost all the tenants had either a cat or
dog.  She opened the door, but didn't see anything.
She almost missed the tiny slip of paper on the floor.
It hadn't been there earlier when she had mopped the
kitchen.

"Market. Red car."  The note was puzzling.  There was
crude diamond at the bottom, and suddenly she knew what
who it was from.  She threw on her old house dress and
her flats and hurried to the market.

The tiny Mom and Pop shop carried a lot of ethnic foods
for the changing population in the surrounding
neighborhoods and Alex had always enjoyed the simple
pleasures of the smells and the strange labels.  It
made her imagine the lives of the people in those
countries, how different they were, yet how much the
same as people were everywhere.  She wandered the isles
for a while, then, with a wave to the owner, headed
out.

The shiny red car pulled smoothly in front of her as
she was crossing the street.  The door popped open and
she slipped in.  To anyone watching, it would appear as
if she had vanished into thin air.

No one was watching.  The quiet little man who had been
her constant companion before and who had bugged her
apartment was now watching another woman.  The new one
was more of a challenge.  She was sneaky and up to
something.  She had security worthy of his skills.  He
was excited, or as excited as a non-descript quiet
little man could allow himself to become.  Finally, a
worthy adversary.

"New car?" Alex asked after they had driven for a
while.

"Rental," came the one-word reply.  Alvin was focused
on the rearview mirror, looking for a tail.  It was
unlikely, but he was taking no chances.  He rarely did.

"Oh.  Is your car in the shop?"

"Sort of.  It had a few bugs in it."

"Oh.  What kind of bugs?"

Alvin threw her a disbelieving look.  How could she not
know?  She had been the one to tell him about the ones
in the bar and then the one last night.  He held up his
hand and cupped his ear.

"Oooooh," she said understanding.  It was just like
James Bond.  She slouched down in the seat, below the
level of the window.  She saw him look and then grin at
her new seat on the floorboards.  She watched him
drive, watching backwards constantly.  They made a lot
of turns.

Alvin pulled into a deserted parking area in one of the
many parks in the city.  She had heard about the
beautiful parks in this city but had never been in one
before.  Harold hated parks.

"Miss Alex.  We need to talk."

"Can we walk, too?  I love parks.  There's no one here,
not even the joggers.  Please?"

He nodded and they got out.  Without asking him, she
took his hand in hers.  She heard him make a small
choking sound and she knew.  She had known last night.
She had seen him in the room.  He had watched her
dance.  She had seen him watching her, and knew.  She
felt it, too.

They couldn't talk about it now.  Not now.  Later.
When the voices stopped, when she was done with the
insurance thing.  When she was free from this craving,
free from her marriage.  When Mr. Smith let her go.
She had always known he would not keep her.  Last night
had confirmed that.  She felt it would be soon.  Then
she would be able to talk about this.  About love.  But
not now.

"Did you ever find out what happened to that man, the
one that attacked me?" she asked, diverting the
conversation to another area.

"Lewis?  Yeah.  He got depressed and drunk, went home
and committed suicide.  Can't say as I feel real sorry
for him."

"Did he leave a note?" she asked, her breath held in
futile hope.  She knew.

"Yeah.  Cute one, too."

"Oh God, oh God, oh God," she muttered half to herself,
half in prayer.  "'Fuck the bitch, Fuck the bank'," she
quoted.

"Yeah!  Hey, how'd you know?"

"He wrote it in Mr. Smith's office.  Just before he
killed him."

"No way.  I saw him alive, leaving with two guys."

"Vinnie and Max."

"Right.  They take a lot of drunks home."

Alex proceeded to tell him what she had observed and
overheard that night.  How Mr. Smith had gotten him to
write down those sentences, dictating them to him.  She
told about the strong drink and Lewis choking.  How the
needle had been hidden, first in the bottle of cognac
then in his palm.  She told about the pat on the back
and the injection, the twitch and the rolling eyes.

Alex explained as best she could how the paralytic
agent worked, like the drug the Amazon tribes used to
kill monkeys. Curare, or something.  Lewis couldn't
move, but Mr. Smith had known he could hear him.  She
related how he had told Lewis that they were going to
drive him home and close the garage with the car
running.  She had said Vinnie was wearing gloves.

Alvin walked beside her, silent during her story.  He
sensed there were things she wasn't telling him, but
didn't push her.  What she had told him was more than
enough for him to think about.

"Miss Alex?  The names on the list.  The one you showed
me."

"Yes.  The girls.  I hear their voices."

He turned to her, alarmed.  He wondered if she was
losing it.  If so, how much of what she had told him
about Lewis' death would hold up?

"I'm not crazy.  I don't hear them now.  Only when the
pendulum swings.  I can't help it.  I started to talk
to them to keep from going crazy.  Then, when I was
really tired, they started talking back.
Hallucinations."

He nodded.  He had experience with that.

"Do you know where he sent them?  The girls?  When he
was done with them?"

"Oh, sure."

"Where, Miss Alex?  It's very important."

"Nowhere."

"What?"

"Nowhere.  They're in the basement.  But you won't find
them.  But that's where he took them."  She hesitated,
begging him silently to understand.  "They told me,"
she said quietly.

Now he was scared.  For Miss Alex.  He had hoped to get
her out, but if what she said was true, he would never
know when Mr. D took her down to the basement.  It
would happen when he was gone, sent to his own
apartment for the night.  He was absolutely positive
about that.

"Tell me about the girl you knew, Alvin."

The big man closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"We were in high school.  Sweethearts, though with the
racial differences, we had to be careful.  But it was
love, or as close as any two hormone-addled kids can
get.  Her parents disapproved, my mama disapproved.

"Mama took me down and enlisted me in the army the day
I graduated, even though I was only 17.  I was just a
big skinny kid then, six and half feet and just over
200 pounds.  If the Army had known I was going to grow
another five inches, they might have not taken me.  You
could say I was a late bloomer.

"The day I left for boot camp was the last time I saw
Terry.  I drove by her house to say 'good-bye.'  Her
father met me at the door with a rifle.  I saw her on
the steps behind him.  She had been crying.

"They liked me in the Army.  Even though I got too big
for Special Forces, they made an exception.  I had
passed all the intelligence tests with the highest
marks they had seen."  He blushed, not wanting to brag.
"I was too late for 'Nam, but the older guys, the
officers, opened up to me.  They told me what had
happened to them in captivity, to their buddies.
You've gone through a lot of that here, Miss Alex.

"My squad's first mission was in Africa.  I can't tell
you where, but we weren't supposed to be there.  I was
the only survivor, and it took a long time for them to
get me out.  I lived in the jungle for months.  I
killed a lot of people, Miss Alex.

"When I got back home on leave, I found out what had
happened to Terry.  Her father had sent her off to a
private college.  Some ritzy girl's school back East.
Terry was the kindest, sweetest person I had ever
known.  She was still a virgin the last time I saw her,
but her father would never have believed us if we had
tried to tell him that.

"She got hooked up with some rich kid her first
semester there.  He got her hooked on cocaine first,
then some other shit.  I know she would never have
taken any dope if she knew what it was he was giving
her.  He got her drunk at a party, then held the straw
up to her nose, four other people holding her down
while she took her first snorts.  After that, it was
easier, though she still fought him.  He kept her high
for a week, day and night.  Then he fucked her.  Then
he dumped her.

"I suppose I should tell you that I learned all this
stuff using some interrogation techniques I learned in
Special Forces.  Well, they were unofficial, sort of,
but effective.  There aren't any witnesses left behind,
if it's done right.  The last thing the rich kid who
did this to her told me was that he had just done it
for kicks.  Then he laughed.

"Terry was high when the police came and arrested her.
She had shoplifted some jewelry and hocked it for a
fix.  They took her to a local precinct.  This fancy
lawyer shows up.  She thought her father had found out
and sent him, so went with him but the guy takes her
here, to this city.  She was set up.  She was out of
State and a fugitive.  The perfect victim for Mr. D.
Alone, scared and beautiful, she would have fallen
right in.  No offense, Miss Alex.

"I never found the lawyer, so I suspected a set-up.

"Her parents were devastated when she disappeared.  So
was I when I came back home on leave.  They Army had
offered me an officer's commission, but I asked for a
discharge.  They didn't like it but after they had
fucked up my mission, they couldn't really make me stay
in.  I resigned the Army, moved here and started asking
questions.

"Terry had used a credit card for a hotel here in town.
Then all traces of her disappeared.  The last clue led
to the club, The Dungeon.  One of the dancers in
another bar recognized her picture.  She'd seen her
here, with Mr. D about a year before.  That was just a
couple of months after she was arrested.  The dancer
had called her a 'Pet.'

"That was two years ago.  I got a job here.  Then,
about a year ago, when the previous manager developed a
sudden case of cement shoes, I was made the manager."

He paused.  "Uh, Miss Alex?  I have to tell you that I
have certain connections.  I can find out things.  I
can't say more than that, but believe me when I tell
you that you are in danger.  I want you to leave.
Now."

"I can't, Alvin.  I can't explain it but I just can't.
I need something from him, Mr. Smith.  It's, it's like
there's a hole inside of me."

"Give it up, Miss Alex.  Please."

She just shook her head, squeezing his hand tightly.

"I guess we both have a few secrets left, huh?" he said
after a while.

Nodding, she wondered if he knew that she knew how he
felt about her.  If that was one of his secrets.  She
wondered if he knew she felt the same way about him.
Looking at his worried face, she thought he did.

***

Marcy and Harold checked into a fancy hotel in the city
where he had lived with Alex.  No way was he going to
go and stay in that slum again.  Besides, with Marcy
here, Alex wouldn't understand.  Things were different
now.  He had to move on with his life.  He was on his
way to the top.

He had to meet the insurance guy at this exclusive club
down in the warehouse district to sign the final
policy.  He didn't need his wife's signature this time.
Everything had been approved, the insurance company
just needed proof that the policy had been delivered.
The last piece in the plan, then they were off to the
islands.

The location of the club told him it would be an
exciting place, exclusive and discriminating.  A little
over the line.  In fact, the guy had told him not to
bring Marcy down here.  This was going to be a man's
night out.  Harold agreed.  Marcy was getting a little
demanding lately.

Marcy was soaking in the tub when he left.
Surprisingly she had made no effort to stop him.  She
said she was going to soak and then order room service.
She'd see him later.  Or tomorrow before the plane left
for Miami.  They already had the tickets in false
names.

The club was fancy.  A little kinkier than Harold was
used to, but the patrons were obviously well heeled.
He recognized a State Senator from a nearby state
sitting three tables down.  There were several other
well-dressed men in expensive suits at the other
tables.

The insurance guy must have known somebody, because
they were sitting at the owner's table.  The 'Private'
placard gleamed in the dim lighting.  Harold knew he
had it made.  He could feel it.  The drinks were
flowing, the food was great.  'On the house' the
waitress had said.  Only the best scotch, too.  Their
table was ten feet from the stage with a clear view.
No one was in front of them.

He'd developed a taste for scotch.  Marcy had been
teaching him about how rich people lived.  She said
that that way, he wouldn't stick out when he had his
money.  She had said 'their money,' but he knew she was
just excited about the trip.  It was his money.

The insurance guy had him sign the receipt for the
policy, then said he'd send it in for him.  The actual
policy would be delivered to his apartment in the next
week or so.  He knew Harold wouldn't want the receipt
to get lost tonight, with all the celebrating and all.

Two friends of the insurance guy joined them.  He must
have been expecting them.  Vinnie and Max, they
introduced themselves.  They apologized for being late.
They had just delivered a package downstairs and said
it had taken a little longer than they expected to put
everything away.  They all laughed and Harold joined
in.  He was really one of the guys, now.

There was some sexy music starting up and the room got
dark.  The floor show was about to begin and they had
the best seats in the house.  The insurance guy had
hinted that this was going to be a special show, not
one you would normally see, at least in the US.  Very
sexy, very private.

The show was amazing.  These three gorgeous young girls
put on a lesbian act that couldn't have been faked.
They went at each other for a good half hour.  Then,
when there wasn't a limp dick in the place, they went
to one of the tables and pulled this guy up on stage.
When they got him up there they proceeded to suck him
off.  One of the girls stayed with him and the other
two went back into the audience.  Another guy was taken
up on stage and they dropped his pants and two of them
sucked on him.  Then the last girl went out and got a
guy from the crowd, who by now were hooting and
hollering.

Soon all there of the girls were busy sucking on these
guys' pricks.  When one guy finished they just pointed,
and wiggled their finger, calling up another lucky
bastard.  It looked like they were going to take on all
the patrons with their mouths.  Even the State Senator
had a go at it.  Several of the men around the room
went two or three times.  Harold wanted to go up, too,
but with Vinnie on one side and Max on the other he
couldn't get out.  They didn't seem to want to go.
That's when they started kidding him.

"You married, Harold?" Vinnie asked him.

"Yeah, the ol' ball and chain," he replied, holding up
his ring finger with the band.

"So, you must get this all the time, huh?" he nodded at
the stage.

"Oh, it's not that special," he'd said.  How did they
get on this?  He was too drunk to lie about it.
"Besides, my ol' lady is so frigid, we don't need a
cooler in the house," he joked.

"You mean she never sucked the weenie for you?" asked
Max.

"That's not her thing.  She just doesn't like shex."
He was starting to slur his words.  He felt great,
though.

"'S that so?  I know a guy that can get a girl to do
anything.  In fact, he's the owner of this club.  I
seen him do it with a movie star once.  Five minutes
and the bitch was putty.  She took on a big dog up on
the stage," put in the insurance guy.

"You're shitting all over the table, man," said Vinnie.
"I'll bet he couldn't get ol' Harold's wife to put out.
Waddya say, Harold?"

"Nope.  She's tighter than a rushty - hic - bolt on a
Peruvian shteamer."  He didn't know what that meant
exactly, but he'd heard that line before.

"This guy could do it.  $50 bucks says she's sucking
his cock in 5 minutes."

"You're on," laughed Vinnie.  "I'll take that bet.
Here's my $50, on the table.  Harold, you in?"

The drinks had done there job.  "Damn straigh'.  Easy-
ess 50 bucksh I made tonigh'," Harold laughed loudly,
digging in his pocket for his wallet.

"So give her a call! Get her down here!"

"Wha'? Now?"

"Sure.  Here.  You can use my cell phone," the
insurance guy said.  "Just press the button.  The
number's already dialed."  Then, as an afterthought,
"Oh, and tell her to wear something nice, too.  When
you're done, I'll call a cab and have her picked up in,
say, oh, twenty minutes.  'S that good?"

Harold didn't see the set-up heading at him like a Mac
Truck.  He pressed the 'Send' button.

"Hey, Alex.  It'sh me, Harold, your hushband.  ...  Uh,
yeah, jus' a li'l bit.  Jus' a few with the boysh.
Lishen, I need you to meet me down at this here club.
The Dungeon.  What? ..."

He listened to the whispered instructions from the
insurance guy

"... Oh, yeah, I'm shupposhed to tell you, wear that
nishe dressh.  You know the one, wi' the li'l flowersh.
A taxshi will be pickin' you up in tw-twenty minu's.
Oh, and jus' go meet this guy in the club offish.  ...
No, that'sh it.  Shee you, babe."

For the next half hour, Harold was put on a ration of
hot coffee.  Orders.  Mr. Smith wanted him as sober as
possible.  Harold didn't notice.  They were all
drinking coffee, joking and laughing.  He was one of
the boys He watched the floorshow with hungry eyes
until they all got up to use the john.  It was just
about time.  He knew he couldn't lose this bet.

Chapter 18

Alex stared at the phone.  It was only about the fifth
call that had ever been received on this phone in the
eleven or so months they had lived here, other than the
ones from the credit card companies who always called
at dinner time.  There was no question in her mind that
this was the call she was supposed to be waiting for.
It had come sooner than she expected, but not soon
enough, either.  She wanted a resolution to her
internal conflict.  She needed to have only one man,
not two.  She needed a master.  Harold had made his
choice.  So had she.

Alex dressed in the white dress she had altered.
Harold had sounded pretty drunk on the phone.  She
wondered if he would even notice the changes she had
made to it.  Probably not.  He hardly noticed anything
when he was sober, but he would need to be nearly blind
not to.

A pair of hose and some make up had arrived by
messenger.  No note.  Just those items.  Alex could
take the hint.  She applied what little make up she
needed, but heavy where Mr. Smith liked it.  Around the
eyes and around her mouth.  Her green eyes were
flashing in the mirror.  The lipstick color was new.
It was brighter than she had worn for the photos.  The
makeup man had explained to her that a shade this
bright would draw attention to her lips.  He'd said
that in her case, with her beautiful mouth and lips,
that wasn't necessarily a bad thing.  The only
downside, he' said, was that the observer would miss
the rest of her gorgeous face.  He had said the nicest
things to her.

She felt foolish pulling on her virginal white gloves
and the little pill box hat.  A look in the mirror
confirmed her feeling.  A hooker going to church.
That's what it looked like.  She laughed, and it felt
good to her.  She had laughed yesterday, too, with
Alvin.

She was waiting outside the apartment building when the
taxi pulled up and it was early.  The cabbie knew
exactly where to go and wouldn't take any money.  He
also couldn't keep his eyes on the road.  They were
glued to the mirror.  To her face.  Her lips.

She entered her code at the front door and walked into
the now-familiar club.  In her regular street clothes,
the bartender, who had worked with her only three days
ago when she was naked, didn't recognize her.  Alvin
did and he gave her a little hug.  He had been told to
keep her here, at the front for a few more minutes.  As
they were speaking, she thought she saw Harold with
three guys.  They were going into the men's room.  But
it couldn't have been Harold.  She knew two of the
others.  Vinnie and Max.  They were real losers that
hung around here and did things for Mr. Smith.  No way
would Harold get mixed up with those two.

Even seeing them together with Harold, Alex' alarm
bells didn't go off.  She was too intent on seeing Mr.
Smith.  It had been two days and she was, well, horny.

Alex waved to the lady from the photo session, the
beautiful lady that had posed with her.  The lady
seemed surprised to see her, but came over and chatted.
Alex mentioned she was supposed to see Mr. Smith in a
few minutes.  Would she have time for a drink later?
Alex really wanted to thank her for the other day.  She
had been so, well, kind to her.  And stuff.

The lady just smiled and said that she'd wait for a
while.  She had some girls working here tonight and
needed to take care of them.  But if she was still here
when Mr. Smith was finished with her, they'd have that
drink.  She was a nice lady.

Alvin pulled her inside the small security office, away
from the crowd, away from the floorshow.  Alex had
already seen what those girls were doing on stage.  She
thought it was cute that Alvin was trying to protect
her.  They stood in silence, side by side.  She
wondered if Alvin had a hard on every night, like now.

They didn't see the four men walk down the hallway to
the room just past the club office.  The one with the
one-way mirror.  They didn't see the trim figure of the
pretty lady that followed them into the room.  Vinnie,
Max and Harold were so intent on the one-way mirror,
they didn't even notice her.  The insurance guy thought
she was part of the Mr. Smith's plan.  Vinnie reached
forward and flipped the toggle switch under the mirror
down to the 'On' position.

Damon saw the tell-tale go on and called the front
security kiosk.  Alex was waiting.  He told Alvin to
send her down.

Damon's first thought as she walked into his office was
that she was the perfect picture of an innocent slut.
It was the gloves and hat.  No.  It was her.  It's what
she was.  It stirred him and he was glad.  When she was
kneeling in front of him, he wanted to be so hard that
he wanted it to spring out at her.

"Hello.  You must be Mrs. Wilson.  I'm Mr. Smith.
Harold has told me so much about you."

If anything, he was counting on her quick mind at the
moment.  She had demonstrated that she was quick enough
in the past.  She didn't fail him.

Coming forward, she extended her hand.  "Hello.  It's a
pleasure to meet you, Mr. Smith."  She copied his
inflection and used the 'master' pronunciation.  He
grinned at her and winked with the eye the hidden
observers couldn't see.  She had noticed the telltale
light was on when she came in.  She knew this was for
show.

"So Harold was telling me a bit about you two.  I'm
afraid he was a little drunk at the time, and he said
some things that were perhaps a bit indiscrete."

"Oh, my.  I hope that didn't cause you any discomfort."

She was looking right at his crotch.  She had noticed
the swelling and was licking her lips.  Damon wondered
how much they had told her on the telephone.  Or how
much she had guessed.

"No, no.  Nothing I can't handle.  But there was some
talk of a bet, a silly man's thing.  It's nothing
really..."  He let it hang, hoping she would continue
to pick up on his cues.

"Oh, a bet?  Those aren't silly.  That's serious.  It's
a matter of honor.  Is that why you wanted to see me?
Is there anything I can do to help?"

God!  She was perfect!

"Well, as a matter of fact there is.  I don't mean to
be crude, but Harold bet that you had the softest lips
in the city."

She smiled brightly at him.  "Oh, he was being silly.
Would you like a kiss to prove it?"

"Well, I would like you to prove it, but not with a
kiss."

"Then how, Mr. Smith?  The only other way I know about
is like this."

With that, Alex knelt in front of Mr. Smith and put her
hands to his belt.  He didn't stop her this time and
she smiled up at him.  It was a joke on Harold, and she
didn't feel guilty at all.  His zipper followed and
Alex lowered his pants down past his knees to his
ankles.  His shorts followed.

"Oh, Mr. Smith.  It's so beautiful.  May I kiss it?"

"But of course, Mrs. Wilson.  Tell me, do you do this
often?"

"Oh, no.  Never."

"Do you know how?"

"Well, I've seen pictures and I've heard stories, but
I'm not real sure.  Would you teach me, Sir?"

Looking down at those twinkling green eyes, Damon
almost changed his mind about his plans for her.
Almost.  She'd pissed him off by not signing the
ownership papers.  No one had done that before.  He
still had to get that taken care of.

"Sure, I don't mind.  See that drop of clear fluid.
Lick that with the tip of your tongue."

"Ummm.  That tastes good.  Is there more?"

With a laugh, Damon began instructing this novice
fellatrix in the joys of cock-sucking.  He groaned as
she applied herself with great enthusiasm, only needing
to be warned once to watch her teeth.  Soon her head
was bobbing, taking more and more of him into her
mouth.

He felt her gag as his fat cock reached the back of her
throat, but she was prepared for this.  She had watch
the videos and seen those impossibly long cocks slide
all the way down the girls' throats, completely
swallowed by the girls.  Deep-throating, the audio had
called it.  She had felt him in her body and knew he
was large.  As large as the plastic dildos the pretty
lady had used on her if not bigger.  For the last two
days, she had practiced with a sausage she had gotten
from the market.  Her cheeks had burned when she had
gone though the checkout line with just the sausage in
her basket.  She knew that everyone would guess what
she wanted it for.

Staring at the wonderfully hard cock in front of her,
Alex was a little afraid she had not gotten a big
enough sausage to practice with.  She would try to
swallow this monster, but it would be a stretch.

When it hit the back of her throat, he had pushed a
little.  She hadn't been ready for that.  The sausage
hadn't been as anxious as Mr. Smith.  It felt like he
was trying to jump down her throat all at once.  That
was what made her gag.

"Am I supposed to swallow the whole thing, Sir?" she
asked, taking the glistening cock out of her mouth.

"Yes, if you can.  All good girls swallow the whole
thing."

"OK, Sir.  I'll try," she said and dove back down on
him, this time relaxing her throat muscles and
swallowing as the head plowed past her constricting
epiglottis.   She buried her nose in his pubic hair.
Then she hummed.

Damon felt the vibrations of her vocal cords and the
sensation surprised him.  His cock swelled and his jism
burst deep into her throat.  Feeling him cum, she
slowly backed off, keeping just the head of his prick
in his mouth.  She sucked him dry, swallowing it all.
She wanted to be a good girl.  He was amazed.  For a
first time blow job, that had been one of the best he
had ever had.

When he had softened he pulled himself from her mouth.
Her red lipstick smeared its length and had come off on
her white gloves as she lovingly caressed the slowly
deflating organ.  It was an erotic sight.  She kept
sucking him until he pulled out.  She wanted more.

"Did I do good, Sir?" she asked, looking up at him with
an impish grin.  She was proud of herself.

"That was very good, Mrs. Wilson.  Perhaps you'd care
to do it again sometime?"

"Oh yes, Sir!  Now?"

He laughed, peeling her hands away from his groin.
This had gone much better than he had hoped.  Much
better.  He could just imagine the little bastard in
the other room.  Probably going out of his fucking
mind.  Well, now to put him out of his misery.

She remained kneeling as he pulled up his pants,
whispering "Thank you, Sir" as their heads were
together.  It had been a wonderful game to her and she
felt elated.  She helped him buckle his belt, leaning
forward as she finished and kissing the leather that
had strangled her earlier in the week.  He shook his
head, stiffening again at her willing subservience.

"If you can stay for a minute, Mrs. Wilson, I have some
business to attend to.  Do you mind?"

"Oh, no, Sir.  I'll stay right here."  She moved to
kneel in her spot beside his big desk.

Damon busied himself at the bar for moment, handing her
a drink as he left the office.

Harold had smirked when Alex had walked into the office
nest door.  What a fucking prude.  A good looking
prude, he corrected himself.  There was something
different about the dress.  It looked, well, sexier,
somehow.  Or was it the way she walked.  She looked,
well, sexier than he remembered.  But she was wearing
her silly little hat and those stupid gloves.  Who did
she think she was, the Virgin Mary?  She sure as fuck
acted like it.

Vinnie and Max had been ready when Harold had jumped
out of his chair when Alex had knelt in front of Mr.
Smith and started to undo his pants.  Or, at least, he
tried to jump up.  The insurance guy had his hands just
above Harold's shoulders, too.  He didn't have a
chance.  They tied his arms to the arms of the chair he
was sitting in.  In a touch of irony, it was the same
chair Alex had first been bound into when she had come
to the club searching for a way to save her marriage.

The two men on each side of the enraged husband used
wide nylon bands that wouldn't leave any marks to bind
his arms.  They did his legs, too.  Too many of these
guys kicked like girls.

Harold had accepted the ties, eventually.  It had been
a bet, after all.  He shouldn't be a sore loser.  But
that Mr. Smith!  That fucker was deformed!  Huge!  No
one could be that big.  He had started yelling through
the mirror when she had licked the tip of that huge
schlong with her tongue.  He was going to fucking lose.
That couldn't be his wife.  It was an actress, a
double.  This was all a joke.  He tried to make them
understand.  That wasn't Alex in there deep-throating
that guy.  It couldn't be.

The three men had laughed with him.  Or laughed at him.
He wasn't so sure.  It sounded sort of cruel.  Alex, if
that was Alex, was carrying the joke way too far.  She
couldn't have taken him that far down her throat.  It
was an optical illusion, it had to be.  The mirror was
a trick mirror.

The guys weren't laughing any more.  They were as
fascinated by the sight in front of them as he was.  It
wasn't fake.  They weren't faking it.  Oh, God.  Alex.
That could have been him, taking her mouth.  It should
have been.  That cunt Marcy couldn't hold a fucking
candle to that beautiful woman in the other room.  That
was his wife, damn it.

Harold heard the man's groan and saw his wife gulp and
swallow the copious ejaculate.  She kept his prick in
her mouth far longer than necessary.  Come on.  Stop
already!  It was just a fucking little bet.  Get off
your knees!  Get up, go home.  I'll be there as soon as
I check out of the hotel.  I'm coming, darling...

Damon strolled into the next room.  He felt rather
proud of himself.  He saw the red-faced balding paunchy
man.  That had to be Harold.  Then he saw the Dom
standing in the corner, clapping sardonically.  He was
surprised to see her, but it gave him a thrill, too, to
have been seen to be so masterful, especially by his
next pet.  It would make it all the more sweet when she
was on her knees.  Oh, life was good.

"Hello, Harold.  I'm Mr. Smith.  That's OK, don't get
up.  I won't keep you long.  I just stopped in to thank
you for handing me your wife on a silver platter.  I
couldn't have asked for a better parting gift."

Harold sputtered but was speechless.

"I wanted to thank you for participating in our little
insurance scam, too, Harold.  Without you, I have to
say it wouldn't have been possible.  And since you were
such an integral part of the plan, I wanted to share
with you just how it's going to go from here."

Damon walked over to the man strapped in the chair.
For a second it looked as if he was going to put his
hand on the man's shoulder in a comradely gesture.
Then at the last minute, his hand darted towards the
man's neck and the syringe was emptied into his neck.
It happened so fast that three of the observers never
saw it happen.  The Dom did.  She had seen his cupped
hand when he had come in the door.  The same way she
cupped hers to hide a needle.  She had lots of
practice.

Harold gave a sudden twitch and his eyes rolled up into
his head.  Slowly they rolled back down, unfocused, but
still seeing.  Damon knelt in front of him and started
undoing the straps that bound him.  The three men were
surprised when Harold didn't try to get up.

"I'm going to tell you your future, you little piece of
shit.  You're going to sit here and watch while I go
back in that room and fuck your wife.  Then she's going
to suck me hard again and I'm going to fuck her again.
In the ass.  Just for you, asshole.  When that's done,
you're going to go get ready for your trip to the
islands.  Vinnie and Max here are going to take you
downstairs and put on your swimming trunks.  Then
they're going to put you in a big tank of salt water.

"You're going to drown, Harold, in the basement.  But
don't worry.  We're going to take you to the islands.
We still have to collect on the insurance, now, don't
we?

"Oh, you were so fucking smart.  You had it all figured
out.  You thought you couldn't lose, didn't you.  Well,
you little fuck, you lose."

On his way out, the Dom caught his arm.  "You want some
help in there with the little bitch?"

Damon eyed her.  "You'd like that, wouldn't you?  Are
you after her cunt or my cock?"

"A little of both, I guess," she teased him.  "But I'd
settle for your cock."

"Stick around, then.  You can stay and watch if you
like, but it won't be anything fancy.  I imagine you
want to see to your girls.  Thanks, by the way, for
letting us use them.  I didn't know lesbians were such
good cock suckers.  How'd you do it?"

"Oh, I have my secrets, too," she said, drawing a sharp
fingernail down the side of his face.  "I'll see you
later.  I promise."

She grinned.  Unless that bitch kneeling in the other
room was totally out of it, the perfume she had just
scented him with would cause her some serious doubts.
Guys had no clue when it came to aromatic warfare.
This dick was no different.  She settled in to watch
for a while.  She was impressed.  Now she really wanted
the girl.

Alex was kneeling in the other room.  She had been
euphoric, basking in Mr. Smith's praise.  It had been a
fun game.  A little cruel, maybe, but Harold already
had another woman.  Marcy.  She hoped they would be
happy together.  It was the way she was.

She had sipped a little of the strong drink Mr. Smith
had given her, but it wasn't what she needed.  She
liked the salty, manly taste of him in her mouth and
the flavor of the whiskey burned that out.  She reached
up to put in on his desk and nearly spilled it.

The bottle.  It had been moved.  It had been aligned
when she came in.  Oh,God.  Harold!  With a sickening
knot in her stomach, she knelt and clutched her arms
around her body.  She didn't know for sure, but she
knew.  She knew.  It had been Vinnie and Max with him
before.  Vinnie and Max had taken care of Lewis.  Oh,
God!

This wasn't a game anymore.  She didn't want to play.
She was going to be sick.  She grabbed her arms,
pinching herself.  Get a hold of yourself!  You knew it
was dangerous.  So did Harold.  From the time you saw
the size of the policy.  Harold's a big boy.  He can
take care of himself.  He knew the risks.

And she didn't really know for sure that Mr. Smith had
the needle.  Maybe he had just bumped the bottle.  Of
course Harold was alive.  He had to be.  He couldn't
pick up the money if he wasn't.  They still needed him,
and she had protected him by changing the accounts.
That was it.  He was OK, laughing in the next room.

Alex talked her way through her panic.  It was too late
now, anyway.  And she still needed something from Mr.
Smith.  Now more than ever.  She had willingly started
to severe her ties with Harold.  Maybe a divorce wasn't
impossible.  Her family would understand.  Daddy would.

The scent of that woman struck her as Mr. Smith walked
into the room.  She looked behind him for her, hope in
her heart.  She wouldn't have minded her being here.
She wasn't behind him, but she had been in that other
room.  Watching her.  With Harold.  More to the point,
she had been in there with Mr. Smith.

"Come, pet.  Dance for me."

The music started and as if drawn into its seductive
beat Alex danced.  She tossed her parochial little hat
and her catechism gloves across the room.  She was done
with that part of her life.  Gone.  It was gone
forever.  She could never go back to her church.  She
would be a tainted woman when the divorce was final.

Her silky dress was off in a hurry.  There was an
urgency, a desperation to this dance.  Alex wanted to
get naked and get fucked.  Now.

Mr. Smith threw her the black cord when her bra and
panties were gone.  She looped it around her neck and
handed him the ends.  Then lowering herself to her
knees, she began stripping him of his clothes.  He let
her remove her clothes then turned her around and tied
her arms behind her back.

He lifted her onto the large desk and set her on her
knees.  Then he got on the table himself and lay back.
In a flash she was poised over his loins, capturing the
tip of his cock in the mouth of her vagina and impaling
herself on his hardness.  She forgot to ask permission
and he didn't correct her.  Her need was infectious.

Alex screamed and began sobbing, the sexual release
immediate and continuous.  She thrust her body up and
down his length, now working for his pleasure.  She
screamed as he slapped her tits as they bounced up and
down with her efforts.  He was not gentle and she egged
him on.  More, she demanded of him.  More, harder.

He came inside her and she wept.  She had pleased him.

Mr. Smith urged her off of him.  Suck, he said.  Clean
me and suck.

Alex complied eagerly.  He would give her more!  Her
tongue laved over his semi-hard organ.  She sucked his
testicles into her mouth and cleaned them.  He gave no
response to her efforts.  It wasn't until she chased a
trickle of her fluids down the crack of his ass and
licked his asshole that he showed further signs of
life.  Seeing that twitch, Alex buried her face in his
ass, urging his knees up and out so she could get in
and lick.  Finally, when it was almost hard, Alex took
it once more into her mouth and down her throat.  Then
she hummed.

She hummed the song she had hummed when Petunia died.
The one she hummed when she was looking for the bugs in
the storage room.  It was a nursery rhyme.  She didn't
remember the words.  Just the tune her Daddy had
hummed, over and over to her at night.

Mr. Smith pulled her off of him when he was finally
hard.  The humming had worked again.  He positioned her
on her knees and pressed her head against the desk.
With only her spit for lubrication, he stood on the
floor behind her and rammed his hard cock up her
asshole.  She screamed, in pain now, the pleasure
burned from her mind.  That hadn't happened before.
Now she could tell the difference.  Now it just plain
hurt.

Then her body betrayed her once more.  The rhythmic
filling and emptying of her body, even in that cavity
stimulated the basic core of her brain.  Endorphins
flooded her blood stream and she became aroused,
despite the pain.  But not because of it, this time.

Mr. Smith lasted a long time before coming in her ass.
He used his bare hands to strangle her to help him cum,
leaving deep bruises in her neck.  Alex came, too, at
the end.  She cried when he pulled out.

She cleaned him and he untied her.  He put the black
cord in her special drawer in the desk.  Her old cast
iron bra and granny panties were still in there.  It
seemed such a long time ago when she had surrendered
them to him.  So long ago.

She knelt, waiting because he had told her to wait.
Someone would come.  She hoped it was Alvin.

Vinnie and Max carried Harold downstairs to the third
basement.  Once there, the paralyzed man was stripped
and dressed in his own swimwear.  They laid him in a
large tubular frame that could be hoisted up and over
the big tank of water.  The frame had a lid that could
be closed, trapping whoever was in it.  The frame was
still wet, but Harold hardly noticed.

The two goons hoisted him up and over the large
saltwater tank.  He was lowered in, without visible
protest.  The only sign of life he gave were the
bubbles that were his last breath.  On his next breath,
Harold inhaled sea water.

For all intents and purposes, Harold had just drowned
in the ocean.

Vinnie and Max waited the half hour the boss had said
to wait.  Then they hauled the dead man back out of the
tank.  Splashing in the water that pooled on the floor,
the two lifted the lid of the frame and heaved the
deadweight into a sitting position.  Max held his arms
out while Vinnie fitted and fastened a bright orange
life vest on him.  The words "SS Big Break - Miami, FL"
were stenciled in fresh black ink on the fabric of the
new jacket.

Dragging him by his armpits and his ankles, the two men
butt-bounced Harold over to the huge walk-in freezer.
Max got the corpse in a fireman's carry and staggered
under the deadweight into the depths of the huge
freezer.  Vinnie took a meat hook and slipped it
through the loop in the back panel of the life
preserver.  Max eased down, out from under Harold,
letting the meat hook take the weight of the man.

The two looked at their handiwork.  They were
satisfied.  The body was lying like it would if it were
face down in the water.  Not straight up and down, but
with the torso at a slight angle, the arms and legs
dangling straight down.  Any postmortem lividity
studies would show he had died in this position.

They closed the freezer door, leaving Harold swaying
gently in frigid repose next to a smaller, big-titted
bikini clad figure.  She had put up a good fight, but
Marcy was going to the Islands with Harold after all.

Chapter 19

"Ooooh, lover, that was good.  I didn't think you'd
have anything left after servicing your little bitch."

They were lying in Damon's bed, still panting from the
exertions of their latest combative coupling.

"You just bring it out in me, I guess."

"So, where do you keep her?  I can't see you letting
something that needy out in the world.  She'd fuck
every pair of pants between here and there and still
want more."

"Yeah, she is a demanding little cunt.  Kind of like
someone else I know,"  he joked

The Dom gave a low laugh.  "Flattery will get you
anything you want.  So, where is she?"

Damon nodded with his head at a door she had assumed
was a closet.

"Really?  Is she in there?"

"Yes.  At least, she should be.  I told my manager to
put her down for the night."

"Oooh, goody.  Can I see?"

Damon looked at her.  "Why? You want some cunt?  Don't
you get enough with all those girls you have?"

"No, silly.  I just want to see how you keep her so hot
and pliable.  I just want to steal your trade secrets.
You are the best, you know."

He didn't catch the sarcasm.  She knew he wouldn't.
After a good fuck, a man's ego didn't let him think.
He had fulfilled his God-ordained task of procreating.
And just like God on the seventh day, the fuckers shut
down and rested.  Just like a man...

"In that case, OK.  But no touching and keep quiet.
I'm still working on her."

The beautiful, if bedraggled lady stepped gracefully
out of the bed, using her nudity as a weapon.  She knew
she excited him.  All was fair in this war and love had
no part of it.  She opened the door to Alex cage and
the girl's plaintive wailing filled the bedroom.  Her
cries vacillated, quiet to loud, quiet to loud, in
coordination with a large swinging pendulum.  The lady
saw the girl was nearly insane with frustration.  A
cruel smile of satisfaction crossed her lips.  It was
amazingly simple yet diabolical in its effectiveness.
A true slut-making machine.

She recognized the latex clothing.  Her girls each had
their own, too.  But the swinging arm, now, that was
genius.  Sheer genius.

Silently she shut the door.  If it all worked out like
she planned, she would get this little bitch for her
own.  Oh, God, what she could do with her.  Such
devotion.  Such loyalty.  Such a fucking waste on this
prick.  He didn't even know how to break her.

And the idea was planted and grew.  It was brilliant.

"I can't believe there would be anything more you could
possibly get from her after observing her performance
today," she started, making the opening gambit.

"The bitch is stubborn."

"Oh, come on.  She's dying to serve you.  It couldn't
be that hard."

"You have no idea."

Damon was opening up to this lady.  His guard was down.
She was easy to talk to.  He had never had someone he
could talk about his work with, someone who understood.

"Anything I could do to help?" she asked carefully.
This was the make or break point.

"I don't know.  I can't get her to commit, sort of."

Yes!  She was in!  Two moves and Checkmate!

"I'll bet you I can get her to commit to it, whatever
it is, in three days.  If I win, I get you for a week,
in my parlor."

"Ha!  Sure, after I softened her up for you!"

"Are you making any progress?"

"Well, no."

"So?  How about it?"

"And if I win?  I get you for a week?"

She didn't even hesitate.  "Deal.  Shake?"

"Done.  So.  What's your brilliant plan?  What do I
do?"

The beautiful woman leaned back in his soft bed and
grinned.  Game, Set and Fucking Match.  God, he was
going to look cute on his knees sucking her cunt.

"Nothing."

"Huh?  Nothing?"

She sighed, like a trainer realizing they had a really
stupid dog to work with.  "Yes.  Nothing.  I'd suggest
you turn off that ingenious machine, too.  And then,
you ignore her."

"Ignore her?"

"Yes.  Give her the 'silent treatment.'  Be there, but
don't be there.  Let her see you, but as far as she can
tell, to you she doesn't exist."

"It'll never work."

"Then you'll have me in your sexy clutches for a week.
And you'll only have lost three days.  Sounds like a
good deal to me."

"You're pretty sure of yourself."

"Let's just say I know women.  I know that woman."  She
grinned, "At least, I sure the Hell hope I do."  She
paused.  "As long as we're in this together, you mind
telling me what it is she won't give up?"

He looked chagrinned.  "A divorce," he said finally.

"You're shitting me.  You married that little cunt?"

"No, not me.  You met him earlier.  Harold."

"Oh.  I see.  It could be hard to get a divorce from a
dead man.  Hmmm.  That may take a bit longer than I
estimated."

Damon looked at her, his interest piqued.  He had
swallowed the hook and she had just set it.  Hard.

"You want out?  Too rich for you?"

"No way, lover.  Come over here."

Giggling as her newest victim attacked her with renewed
vigor, the Dom salivated over her plans.  This Mr.
Smith liked to use drugs to his advantage.  She had
seen that at the photo session and again earlier
tonight.  He had one drug, apparently, that he liked to
use with a very lethal effect.  She didn't recognize it
by its effects, but was very good.  He was very good at
using it, too, and covering up the bodies.  She had
never suspected him of it and the police had obviously
never connected him to anything.  She had never had
much use for actually killing people, but it never hurt
to have it in her arsenal.

What Damon had forgotten about was her arsenal, her
medical bag of tricks.  Her newest little
pharmaceutical helper was a Central Nervous System
(CNS) drug that had failed spectacularly in the
clinical trials.  It had been intended to help severely
depressed individuals by making them more open to
suggestions, allowing therapists to alter their
thinking patterns.  If anything, it was too successful.
The patients were so open to suggestion that their
entire moral code could be influenced.  A normally
harmless person could be made to do the most
reprehensible things imaginable without the slightest
remorse or guilt.  And all with only one dose.

Obviously the military was interested in guilt-free
killing machines and had tried to hijack the project,
but the company and the FDA had thought better of it
and shut it down.  She, of course, had a very good
contact in the lab.  All the samples that were supposed
to have been destroyed had ended up in her vault.  Her
first three subjects, normal heterosexual college
freshmen two weeks ago, had put on an outstanding
performance tonight at his club as lesbian nymphomaniac
cock suckers.  They still attended college, but they
served totally at her whim and without question.

As would this prick and his 'pet.'

Damon got out of bed and opened Alex' cage after their
latest mating.  He stopped the pendulum and she opened
her eyes, glazed and unseeing.  Staring down at the
delirious girl, he wondered if she knew what was going
to happen to her.  In three days, he would have his 5
million dollars or he would have that bitch in his bed
under his control.  Either way, he couldn't lose.

He didn't even notice he was using the same words he
had used earlier with Harold.

The next two days were pure torture for Alex.  Alvin
would get her up, feed her and walk her through her
day.  She was now a considered just a regular worker at
the club.  She cleaned the bars and waited tables.

She didn't dance.  She had to tolerate the none-to-
subtle pinches and advances of the club patrons.  She
did so stoically.  While on the outside she was calm,
inside she was a tightening coil.

She hadn't quite figured it out the first day.  She
told herself that Mr. Smith was just busy.  He had a
lot of important things to do.

Then she got her first paycheck.  Alvin had handed it
to her along with passing out all the other employees
their checks.  At first she had been excited, even
jumping up and down.  Then she saw the amount and asked
Alvin why it was so much.  He said Mr. Smith had told
him to tell her that he had given her the earnings for
her dance.  Suddenly, Alex got sick to her stomach and
had to rush to the bathroom.  She threw up and was sick
all over again when she thought about it.

Pale and wan, she came back and gave the check back to
Alvin.

"Please, Alvin.  Could you hold this for me?  I--  I
don't..."

"I know, Miss Alex.  You're not a whore.  You did that
for him, not the money.  It was a bad thing for him to
do."

"But, why, Alvin?"

"I don't know, Miss Alex.  I don't know anymore."

Mr. Smith made frequent forays into the club, more than
usual, stopping and chatting with Alvin and the other
employees.  But never Alex.  It was as if Alex didn't
exist.  He would see her and walk right by her.  By the
end of the first day she was in tears.

The second day was worse.  She spoke to him, and he
walked away.  Alex was an emotional wreck.

Each morning and evening Alvin would hand her the
clipboard with the forms.  Each morning and evening she
would shake her head and the tears would fall.

On the third morning Alvin handed her the clipboard.
Tears falling down her cheeks, she took it from him.
Alvin moaned, as if in pain.  She didn't hear him.

Alex took the clipboard into the dining area of the
apartment.  She laid it carefully by his hand and then,
on top of the forms, she laid her wedding band.

"I'll sign them, Sir.  I'll go out today and file for a
divorce from Harold.  I need your advice, Sir.  I- I
don't know any lawyers.  Could you help me?  I could
use the money from the- the check to pay for it, Sir."

Damon stared down at the clipboard in disbelief.  The
fucking Dom bitch had been right!  He'd won!  Five
Million Dollars!  Yes!  Eat that, Elizabeth fucking
Farnsworth!

"Pet," he said, "Don't worry about anything.  A good
master takes care of all of those little details, like
lawyers and money.  Tell you what.  Let's have a
signing party tonight to celebrate.  That will give me
time to get all the other papers drawn up and you can
sign them all at once.  How does that sound?"

"Wonderful, Sir.  But, Sir?"

"Yes, my Pet?"

"May I call you 'Master' now?"

He thought for a minute, toying with her.  It had been
a delicious fight, especially since he had won.

"Yes, Pet.  I think that would be a good idea."

"Oh, Thank you, Master!" she sobbed, kneeling to his
feet and kissing them.  "Thank you!"

As Alvin was no longer necessary to his plan, he waved
him away after giving him instructions for a small,
quiet celebration in the bar tonight.  Employees only,
then they could have the night off.  He and his new pet
would be having their own celebration.  Alvin had a bad
feeling about the whole thing.

For a celebration, it went well, even if the guest of
honor was a bit subdued.  Alex was not bound or naked,
but she was collared and leashed.  She stayed by her
Master's side all night long.  Her Master was in a
wonderful mood.  She had signed the papers, all of
them, without glancing at a single one.  They were
sitting in an envelope in his outbasket, addressed,
notarized and with the proper postage.  It was all
over.

Then they had gone to the party.  He was the center of
attention and the life of the party.  He was witty,
smiling and everybody's best friend.  It was a
wonderful celebration.

Through it all, Damon was seething.  How could he have
been so fucking blind?  Right under his fucking nose.
Right there, all the time.  Shit!

He had left Pet kneeling in the office for just a brief
moment.  He had to make a call.  He probably could have
done it from the office with her there, but better safe
than sorry.  He stepped to the next room and dialed the
four digit number for Vinnie.

"Hello, Vinnie?  Yeah, it's me.  All the papers are
signed.  ...  Yeah, it's great news.  Listen, I want
you to get those two out of here tonight, OK.  ...
Right.  Get them ready.  I'll get everybody out of here
early.  ...  Yeah, him, too.  ...  You got the boats,
right.  ...  Right, the 'Big Break.'  ...  Yeah,
Vinnie, I got the joke.  Cute.  Was that your idea?
...  Funny.  A good one.  OK, you get them ready and
I'll let you know when it's clear up here.  Better safe
than sorry.  It'll take what, about four days to get
there?  ...  Yeah.  Well, Bon Voyage."

He hung up.  Then he remembered he probably needed to
remind them to put the bodies in plastic bags and pack
them with dry ice.  Those idiots would probably just
let them thaw out in the back of the van.  Eight hours
in this heat to Miami and there would be a big stink,
in more ways than one.  After the five-day cruise to
the islands, the entire plan would be fucked it they
were rancid.

He picked up the handset and was puzzled.  He heard
Vinnie talking.  But the light for the line wasn't lit.
Something was very fishy.

"Hey, Maxie!" he heard him yell, "It looks like Mama's
going to get her $5 Million bucks.  Oh, happy shit!
Wait until I tell her."

Damon heard the familiar sounds of a cell phone
dialing.  He hadn't known Vinnie carried one.  He had
never given the number to him.

"Hello?  Mrs. Farnsworth, please.  It's Vincent."

There was a delay.  Damon was ice cold.  Everything was
falling into place.

"Hello, Mama? ..."

That was all Damon had to hear.  He sank down in the
chair and held his head in his hands.  He didn't see
his new pet through the one-way mirror as she fixed him
a drink at the bar.  He wouldn't have thought anything
of it, anyway.  Then she straightened out the bottles,
fumbling with a couple of them.  She was just being
domestic.

It had all been too simple, so easy, when you thought
about it.  He remembered the rumors now.  No one put
any credence to them because there wasn't any proof.
The bastard kid was never with her at any functions.
No one could find it.

He had heard Elizabeth Farnsworth had had a kid before
she married her husband.  Named Vincent something or
other.  Pirolli.  Vincent Pirolli.  But no one had
heard of him since.

He didn't call himself that now, and the bitch had
managed to slip him in right under his nose.  Vinnie
had obviously been bugging the club since the first
day.  What was that, three-four years ago?  That was
about right.  The phone in this office was obviously
one of his listening posts.  Neat trick.  Dial an
extension while a room is empty, or even when someone
is there.  Let it ring or be answered, it didn't
matter.  The connection would stay active, the handset
acting like a microphone.  It would be totally
untraceable, as there were no bugs to detect.

He made a decision.  He still had those gifts he had
been planning on giving to Alvin.  That was, of course,
before he had found out that Alvin was in the clear.
Damn, that would have been a terrible mistake.  But
they were perfect for this occasion.  Perfect and
appropriate.  A risk, but justified.

Steeling himself, he had gone into the office,
collected his pet and gone to the party.  No one
suspected he was acting a part.  Which wasn't unusual,
if he had thought about it.  He was always acting a
part.

Alvin had primed the staff to leave early.  After a
rousing cheer and several well wishers kissing the
bride, so to speak, the small gathering dispersed.
When the three of them were left, Alvin was shocked
when Mr. D hugged him, in a manly way, of course.  Of
all the nefarious deeds he had witnessed or heard of,
that short physical contact disturbed him the most.
Something had happened to completely clear him in Mr.
D's mind.  Either that, or Alvin was a dead man and
just didn't know it yet.  He wasn't sure he liked
either choice.

He also didn't like it when Mr. D sent him home, too.
He was specifically not to use his room downstairs.
Mr. D was clearing the building.  If Vinnie and Max
left, he would know that Alex was in trouble.  He could
only hope he could get into the building in time.

He had an uneasy feeling about tonight.  Too much was
coming together.  People could get hurt in the
stampede.  He hurt for Alex, too.  She looked beaten,
defeated.  Oh, she was radiant and glowing, but her
eyes were empty of their fire.  She had what she
wanted.  He could tell.  Every time she said 'Master'
he could hear the enjoyment in her voice.  She relished
it, savored it.  But it was a hollow victory.  She had
had to give up too much.  He had taken everything.

From the office where he had taken her after the party,
Mr. Smith sent Alex back into the club to get her black
cord and she was to then meet him downstairs in the
apartment.  He had an errand to run but would be right
back.  She hadn't been bound with it tonight, but
unquestioningly she had searched in the club for the
cord.  She knew it hadn't been there.  Finally, she
found it where they had left it.  It was in her special
drawer in his desk.  It had been in his office all
along.

Mr. Smith wasn't there when she had come back into the
office to look in the drawer.  She was just about to
leave when, out of habit, she checked the alignment of
the bottles.  It had been moved again!  As she was
alone, she checked the contents of the cognac bottle.
An icy hand gripped her heart.  The syringe was gone
and the vial was empty.  Before the party, the syringe
had been there and there was some fluid in the vial.

With growing dread, she made her way down to the
apartment.  She didn't have to look to know, but she
checked anyway.  She found the syringe in the drawer of
the nightstand.  It had been open a crack.  He hadn't
even bothered to close the drawer all the way or to
cover the syringe with something to hide it from view.

Alex laid the black cord carefully on the bed.  He had
never taken her sexually without her being bound.  She
had one chance tonight.  If Master could be convinced
he had completely won, there was a chance, a slight
chance he would be magnanimous.  He might make a
mistake.  Probably not, at this stage, but she could
only try.  Otherwise, she was dead.  As dead as
Petunia.  She had no doubts that he didn't need her
anymore.  You didn't keep pets you didn't need.

Chapter 20

Damon left the apartment and took the elevator down to
the third level.  As he suspected, the fucking dolts
hadn't packed the bodies in ice.  They were sitting on
the cart, ready to be hauled up to the service entrance
when everyone was gone.  Vinnie's smug expression was
almost enough to make him want to bash his face in.
But not yet.  They had to get the bodies to the
Islands.

"Hey, guys!  Looks like you're all set, right!" he said
with obvious delight.

"Yeah.  For a little guy, he weighs a ton, ya' know,"
said Max.  Vinnie just smirked at him.

"Say, Max, how long will it take you to get to the
Marina?"

He looked up at Vinnie.  "Oh, dunno.  Maybe 8-9 hours.
Don't want to speed or nothin'."

"Yeah, that's good thinking, Max.  So, have you
arranged to pick up some ice on the road?"

"Ice?  What for?"

"Oh, come on, Max.  Quit joking with me.  It's over a
hundred in the back of the van and it will be even
hotter in Miami.  You're not going to load them into
the yacht in broad daylight, are you?"

"Uh, no, boss."  His eyes were flicking over at Vinnie,
who was no longer smirking.  Vinnie was supposed to be
the brains.  It was a major screw up, the kind of
detail Mama would have expected him to think of.
Especially when he took over this club from this
faggot.

"We'll get some ice from the freezer, Mr. D," said
Vinnie.  "I was planning on getting that out at the
last minute, so it wouldn't melt.  And, oh yeah, we'll
put it in plastic bags, so it won't melt all over,
too."  With that 'save' his smugness returned.  He
could do this job as good as that phony bastard.

"Well, look.  I'm sorry you two had to miss the
celebration upstairs.  To make up for it, I saved two
bottles of the best champagne for you.  Besides," he
kicked at the largest lump on the cart, "it's his
Anniversary next week, just about the time you get down
there.  It would be a shame not to toast to his good
health, right?"  He gave a big laugh, as if this was a
great joke.

"Gee, that's nice of you boss.  Thanks."  Max took
possession of the bottles.

"Remember guys, work first, play later.  This is the
good stuff.  You'll probably never have any better.
So, get them in the water, arrange for them to be
found, then party to your heart's content.  And drink
one for me, too, will you?  I really owe you guys for
your help with this project.  When you get back, I
think it's time we talked about moving you up in the
organization after this.  Finish this, then we'll
talk."

"Hey, boss?  Any chance we'll get a piece of the new
girl when we get back?  She's a hot one, she is."

"Well, Max, you know I don't like loose ends.  But I'll
tell you what.  If she's still around when you get
back, I'll arrange for you to have her for a while.
How about that?  I can't promise and I'm not sure how
things are going to work out with her, but you're on,
OK?"

"Gee, thanks, boss.  You're da best!"

"You, too, Max.  Vinnie.  Drive safe."

He managed not to ball up his fists as he turned away
from them.  It was always the weakest links that fucked
up a perfect plan.  All the idiots had to do was drive
to Miami, wait until nightfall, load the bodies on the
yacht and sink the sucker where it could be found.  It
was all arranged.  They couldn't fail.  They couldn't.
Harold's body had to be found and in next week.  It
would take a while for the insurance to do an
investigation and then payout the money.  And time was
running out.  He had to have the money in his hands in
the next 21 days to make in on the books for this
quarter.

He had all the signatures he needed from the stubborn
little cunt to empty the account.  Powers of Attorney.
What a wonderfully legal way to steal.  Now all they
had to do was find Harold's body a long ways away from
here.

Damon was feeling slightly better when he got back to
the apartment.  His new pet was waiting for him, naked
and kneeling beside his bed.  Fresh sheets, freshly
showered, her hair in the thick woven braid he favored.
She smelled of musk, a sensual scent she didn't usually
wear.  He liked it.  It smelled familiar.

He called her into the bathroom and she scrubbed his
body while he showered, thoroughly and with a
refreshing delight.  She explored him, touching him,
calling him 'Master' over and over as would a child
with a new toy.  She dried him tenderly, his arousal
evident as he led her to the bedroom.  She seemed
nervous, a bride on her honeymoon.

Damon picked up the black cord.  It was a symbol of his
dominance, his mastery over his pets.  He fondled the
cool silk, remembering the many different pets that had
been bound by this cord.  It had been passed from pet
to pet, a link between them.  It was a legacy.

"Master?" his new pet asked, breaking his reverie.

"Yes, Pet?"  She kneeling, shivering.

"Master.  I would ask your forgiveness.  You were
right.  I belong to you.  It was wrong of me to make
you wait.  Please forgive me, Master."

"Not to worry, my pet.  All is forgiven."

"Oh, thank you, Master.  I would love to make it up to
you, if I may.  And I have a request."

"And what makes you think I would grant it?"

"Because you are a wise Master.  If you don't wish to,
I will never ask again.  But it would mean so much to
me.  To us, Master."

This was intriguing.  He had always been attracted to
her little mind.  It was her sexiest feature.  It kept
things exciting.

"So what is your request?"

"Master, always before when you have given me the
pleasure of your body, you have bound me.  I would like
to give you, just once, I would like to give you myself
as a complete woman.  I know I am your pet and
unworthy.  But this night, on this special occasion,
let me give you my whole being, my all."

He considered her request, weighing the silken cord in
his hands.  It would be a novelty to have a free pet.
He had had to be so wary with that Dom last night.  She
wouldn't let his hands near her throat.  And with her
hands free he hardly could let himself go either, but
it had been nice.

There was no rush tonight.  The needle could wait.  Now
that those two idiots had finally taken the cart up the
elevator, the building would be empty until tomorrow
night.  He had given instructions.

He coiled the cord in his hands and set it on the
nightstand.  Later.  He would put it on her later.

He was not disappointed with his choice.  His pet
exceeded his expectations, which were very high indeed.
She gave of herself completely, teasing him, exciting
him over and over.  The passion was mutual and
frequent.

The long night passed by, cry after exalting cry
filling the silence of the darkened building.  Time and
again his pet urged him to a new hardness he didn't
think he could manage.  Still she urged him on,
demanding, giving herself to his pleasure.

No, it hadn't been a mistake.  It was a memory he would
always cherish.

When he could give her no more, his pet slipped from
his side.  He heard the water running into the bath,
her silvery voice humming a child-like melody.  Then
she was urging him up again, but to his feet this time.
It was as if she couldn't get enough of his body, she
was touching and caressing him constantly.  It was her
only chance to do so and he indulged her.  He was a
good Master, after all.

He eased into the steaming water.  It felt so good, so
relaxing.  Her hands were on his chest, her lips on his
face.  Like a good pet, she was kneeling beside him,
outside the tub.  Her hands found his masculinity and
softly caressed him.  It was not to arouse him, but to
worship his superiority.

He drifted off under her calming touch.  His eyes
slowly closing.  Just for a minute.  Then he would
finish his important project.  It had been delicious,
thrilling.  She had been more of a challenge than he
had thought.  His greatest achievement.  Turning a
chance encounter into five million dollars.  This was a
just reward for his hard work, this delightful little
pet.  Too bad about her.

Mr. Smith hardly felt the prick of the needle in his
neck, but he knew what had happened in the next
instant.  He struggled to get out of the tub, but the
drug's effect was fast acting.  Her aim had been true
and the needle had found a blood vessel leading
directly to his heart.  Ten beats, fifteen at the most
and his arms collapsed.  Then his legs buckled under
him as his body shuddered, his brain having lost
control of all of his voluntary muscles.  Only the
smooth muscles, like those of his heart and diaphragm
still functioned.

He could live for hours before his lungs filled with
fluid and he drowned in his own plasma.  Long, terror
filled hours with the blood coursing through his brain,
keeping him alive, letting him wonder what had gone
wrong.

Slowly his eyes rolled back down and Alex turned his
head so he could see her.  She wasn't crying, neither
was she jubilant.  The pet had turned on her master.
She looked at him and caressed his face softly.  He was
confused.  What had gone wrong?  How had she known?"

"Master, I have done a terrible thing.  I know you can
hear me and I don't want you to die wondering what went
wrong.  I owe you that much.

"I knew you weren't who you said you were.  I suppose I
had always known it, but by then, all I wanted was to
call you 'Master.'  I knew for sure you were not Mr.
Smith the night of the party, the night I was attacked.
So much happened that night.  I tried to ignore it, but
tonight I couldn't any longer.

"I saw you sign your name on some contracts.  You made
me wait by your desk.  You didn't sign it 'Mr. Smith'
or even 'George.'  You signed it 'Damon Arquette.'
That's your name.  That's why you let Alvin call you
'Mr. D.'

"That same night, I saw you kill that man, the one who
took me into the club and beat me.  You killed him,
just like Daddy killed Petunia.  I saw him write the
suicide note when you were pretending to help him.  I
watched you get the needle from its hiding place and
hold it just like Daddy did.  I saw you put the needle
in his neck and watched him twitch like Petunia.  I
heard you telling him how he was going to die.  I saw
the look in your eyes as you watched his terror.  It
excited you.

"Finally that night, I heard your call to Marcy.  It
wasn't until later I found out she was Harold's lover.
It was then, though that I realized you were planning
something big that had to do with me.  Alvin had told
you I would be out for two weeks.  You told Marcy there
would be a two-week delay in your plans.

"Then later, you sent me home to be there when Harold
came home.  He thought I wouldn't read all those forms,
but I know about insurance policies.  And insurance
scams.  Your plan was coming together.  Harold, big
dope that he was, was your race horse.  And the race
horse always died.

"I understood the genius of your plan when I saw my
paycheck two days ago.  It was drawn on the club's
account in an off shore bank.  The same bank you had
arranged for Harold and me to have a joint account.
The account where the money was to be deposited in the
event of a payout.  Did you ever find out that I
changed the deposit instructions?  Only 10% of the
payout would go into that account.

"I wonder, too, what happened to Harold.  He called me
from the club.  He was drunk.  I thought you were
playing a game, teasing him.  He had hurt me and I
wanted to hurt him, too.  I wanted to please you more,
so I went along with your game.  It was exciting.
Until I saw the bottle with the needle had been moved.

"You were so good with accidents.  Like Lewis' suicide.
I hope Harold's death will be an accident.  Did you
know I changed the insurance payout on that, too?
Accidental death pays double.  Ten million dollars.
Tax free.

"I would have been a very rich widow.  I would have
given it all to you, willingly, gladly.  But you had to
take it from me, like my marriage.  You had to have it
your way.

"I know about pets.  I know about your pets.  Pets are
put down when they're used up, when you're through with
them.  Like Petunia.  After Daddy butchered her, he put
her ear tag up on the wall of the butcher shop.  Just
like you put the belly button rings on your wall
downstairs.  I didn't understand it at first.  The
rings weren't broken.  They had been cut off.  All the
pets were dead downstairs, butchered.  When you were
through with them, you ground them up and washed them
away.

"You were through with me.  I knew.  You already had
your eye on the next one, a challenge.  I smelled her
in your room.  She put her scent on you after she
watched us in the office, the night I gave you my last
virginity.  She wanted me to know.  I found her perfume
and used it tonight.

"I saw that the syringe was missing tonight when I
looked for the silk cord.  That's when I knew for
certain.

"I would have given you everything, Master, even my
life.  All I ever wanted was a Master, to be allowed to
call you 'Master.'  I would have given it, but you
wanted to take it...

"I couldn't let you take my life from me.  Not that.
It's all I have left."

Alex stood slowly.  She had begun crying as she talked
and her tears were running down her cheeks to fall to
her chest, then dripping from her nipples onto the
floor.  She turned to the cabinet where he kept his
razor.  The one like Daddy used.  Using a towel she
picked it up.

Folding his unresisting fingers around the handle of
the sharp instrument, she turned his hand to the other
and drew the blade cleanly down along the inside of his
forearm, careful not to cut crosswise, across his
wrists.  If the tendons in his wrists were cut, it
wouldn't look like a suicide.  You can't hold a razor
with fingers that have had their tendons cut.

The sharp blade sliced deep, cutting through throbbing
artery buried there.  She carefully folded the razor
into the bleeding hand and repeated the careful, but
deep cut down the other forearm.  She let the limp hand
and the razor drop into the warm water.

The water turned pink, then crimson, then deep red as
the life flowed from her Master.  She sat with him,
cradling his bristly head in her arms, humming a
wordless tune.  She sat with him until the lights went
out of his eyes.

She would have been surprised by his last cogent
thought.

"Who the Hell is Petunia?"

Prologue

Alvin found her locked in her cage very early the next
morning.  He had waited outside the club and had seen
Vinnie and Max haul up two large plastic coolers and
load them in the van.  He had opened the coolers while
the two idiots had put the cart away.  He didn't
recognize either body, but suspected, from her
description, that the man was Harold.

He had followed the van until it reached Highway 95 and
turned south.  He followed it for a while, but when the
pulled into a gas station and filled up the tank and
bought two large coffees each, he figured they were in
for a long haul.  Miami or the Keys, he guessed.

He had turned around and gone back to the club.  The
new security system had a timelock on it, and Mr. D had
shut everyone out until tomorrow afternoon.  He had put
in a secret backdoor into the system, but it still took
him a couple of hours to get through it without setting
off one alarm or another.

After the blood spattered scene Alvin had found in the
bathroom he had searched for her frantically, not
knowing what he would find.  He was about to search the
third basement when he took a quick look into her room,
her cage, she called it.

Miss Alex was in her bed, shackled, tear stained, but
sleeping peacefully.  She smelled of sex, but that
didn't worry him nearly as much as the blood on the
soles of her feet.  A drop or two had fallen on the
bathroom floor and she had not seen it as she stepped
in it.  It put her at the scene of the crime.

Alvin shook her gently.  He didn't let her loose.  Not
yet.  Her eyes were haunted as she looked up at him.
She didn't have to tell him she was still hearing the
voices.  He asked her what had happened and she told
him everything, including how she sliced his wrists.

After that, she was hazy.  She thought she had tried to
clean up the bathroom, but was careful not to use the
towels.  Only paper she could flush.  She had scrubbed
her hands and arms with bleach.  She remembered putting
the syringe away upstairs.  She told him where the
hiding place was.  She remembered seeing the envelope
with the forms she had signed.  She had shredded it in
the big office shredder.  Then she opened her fist.
She had her wedding ring tightly clasped in it.  Damon
had thrown it in the trash.  She found it in there and
picked it up.  She asked him to keep it for her.  Keep
it safe.

Alvin went upstairs first.  He found the syringe and
wiped it clean.  It was OK for her fingerprints to be
on the bottles.  It had been her job to keep them neat
and clean.  He was amazed she had been able to clean up
as much as she had done.  There was very little
evidence to counter the suicide theory.  But what there
was, if it was found, would hang her.

Alex looked up at the towering black figure above her.
He had gloves on and was holding Master's little whip.
He'd only used it on her once.  Last night on her back.
She had begged him for more and more and he had become
aroused.  It had been the last erection she had been
able to draw from him.  Alvin was telling her about the
blood on her feet.  She understood.  She closed her
eyes and tried not to scream as the whip bit into the
tender soles of her feet, cutting and breaking the
skin.  They waited together for the blood to congeal,
her blood covering all traces of his.  It would never
be found.  They hoped.

An hour later, the local 911 emergency service got a
call for an apparent suicide.  The whip was left in the
door to Alex' cage.  It propped the door open a crack
and she could be heard moaning and weeping, still
shackled to the floor.  Alvin wanted them to find her
as soon as possible.

Vinnie and Max arrived on schedule in Miami.  After Mr.
Smith's gentle tongue-lashing, Vinnie was doing
everything by the book.  He still couldn't believe the
cocksucker didn't know what was going on.  But until
Mama put him out of his misery, he would keep his nose
clean and follow orders.

The bodies were kept on ice during the day and loaded
onto the decrepit yacht that night.  The "Big Break"
had had many names in its life.  The latest and last
name was part of a small scheme of the owner of the
marina.  He had taken this old tub as a trade-in and it
had been sitting for years.  He had too much tied up in
it to tow out and sink it, but he couldn't sell it
either.  No one wanted it.

Then Mr. Smith and his friends had called.  They had
been recommended by a certain, well, let's just call
him a good fellow he knew from the old neighborhood.
Yes, he had a boat he could rent them.  No, he didn't
mind if it didn't come back.  He would insure it.  No
problem.

Two people, an old guy in his fifties and a big titted
broad that looked like a hooker, came by and took the
rental forms.  She had on a hot bikini.  Yellow.  With
a body like that, he had no idea what the guy's face
looked like.  Or the broad's.  She could have been a
blonde.  Or maybe a brunette.  He wasn't sure.  But the
melons on that babe, Wowie!

The rental forms came back in the mail a week later,
signed by Harold Wilson, with the full deposit.

Per instructions, he had stripped the boat of all
valuables, changed the name of the boat to what the
dumb guy asked for and sent two new life jackets to a
PO Box up north.  They were the newest equipment on the
boat by decades.  He renewed and increased the
insurance, as befitted a rental property.  As
instructed, he had fitted a tow line to the bow.  Then
he cashed his hefty check and waited.

He was not there when two men loaded the bodies in two
large coolers and packed in dry ice, onto the leaking
boat.  He was not there when the two men hooked up the
towing line to a powerful yacht and motored out of the
private marina without running lights later that night,
setting out almost due south after they cleared the
harbor and were far enough out to avoid any casual
observers.  They were in for a hard five days of
sailing towing that leaking wreck.  He was not there
five days later when the men took axes to the hull of
the Big Break after running the craft up on a reef in
the dark just off Road Town, the capital of the British
Virgin Islands.

The incessant surf quickly tore the weakened boat to
bits.  The bodies, by now thawed and quickly reaching
water temperature, floated face down until noon the
next day, when the rescue helicopter spotted their
bright orange life vests in the sparkling water.  The
partially eaten bodies of the couple were taken to the
morgue for identification and autopsy.

Vinnie and Max stayed within sight of the morgue until
the helicopter came back and unloaded the two bloated
bodies.  Vinnie put the high powered binoculars back in
the holder next to the captain's chair and patted Max'
head as he worked diligently on his knees in front of
him, sucking his cock for the third time today.  Today
was Vinnie's day.  Tomorrow he would suck off Max.
Unless they could get women, which they both preferred,
it was how they passed the time.  As it had been since
boarding school, when they had been two lonely boys,
ostracized for being Italian.  It hadn't occurred to
them it might have been because the were just stupid.

Interrupting his devoted friend, he handed him a glass
of the exquisite champagne Mr. Smith had given them.
As requested, the two hoisted a glass to the first
anniversary of the dead man.  Cheers, sucker!  Then
they had one for the success of the plan.  Then they
just drank.  The wine was excellent.

Three hours later Vinnie rushed to the head, only to
find it was already occupied by Max.  His urgency so
great, he didn't wait to yell at the rude man.  He
could tell by the smell that Max had a problem.  It
sounded terrible, too.

Vinnie dropped his shorts and hung his ass over the
port side rail.  Shit flew for several yards as he
explosively defecated into the pristine waters of the
deep blue ocean.  The dark brown fecal matter continued
to spew from him, forced out by painful contractions
and compressed gasses.  The flowing excrement turned a
reddish brown and then a bright red.  The ocean beneath
him turned a pale pink and the scent of that much fresh
blood in the water attracted every sea-going carnivore
in hundreds of miles.

A gentle wave from a distant passing boat broke
Vinnie's precarious balance and he fell backwards into
the churning water.  He had lost so much blood he was
too weak to scream for help or to try to fend off the
ravenous beasts that attacked him.  Max wouldn't have
heard him anyway.  He was already dead.

Damon would have been pleased to know his revenge had
been successful.  It had been a gamble, giving them the
champagne.  But they were soldiers, they would follow
orders.  Mama needed the money and Vincent needed to
get if for her.  Still, it has been a gamble.  Had they
opened the wine too soon, the fast acting poison would
have ruined everything.  Still, he would have been
pleased to know he had won.

Alex was taken for treatment to a secure medical
facility while her feet healed.  Two weeks later she
was quietly transferred to a secure psychiatric
facility for observation.  She was hearing voices and
wasn't sleeping well.  Her legal case was still pending
and she was the only suspect in a questionable death of
a prominent local businessman.  It was just a
precaution.

Josephine (Joey) Murphy, M.D was admitted to the room
in which Alex was being held.  The eminent psychiatrist
was an expert in traumatized women.  She had helped
hundreds of battered women rebuild their lives.  The
medical staff that had been observing their new patient
were disturbed and concerned about her.  Dr. Murphy had
offered to consult.  They accepted.

The doctor scanned the room.  It was sterile and bare,
like every other room in every other psych ward she'd
been on.  Alex was strapped into the bed.  Her hair was
brushed and clean.  Had it been visible, she would have
seen that the hole in her cute little naval was
healing.  Body jewelry was not allowed in the prison.
It had been a shame to cut it off, but there was no
choice.  She had been inordinately attached to it,
emotion-wise.

The cool grey eyes smiled down at her.  Alex met them
calmly.  She did not seem to be irrational at all.
Still, the doctor was intrigued by the facts in this
case.

"Hello, Alex.  How are you feeling today?"

The patient grinned back.  "Wow.  That's a switch.
Everyone else asks; 'How are 'we' feeling today?'  I
never know how to answer that."

The doctor laughed.  It was a low, generous sound.

"Somehow, I don't think you belong in here."

"In the loony bin or in prison?"

"Neither."

"Thanks.  Be sure to tell the warden."

The doctor was silent for a while as she did a basic
physical exam, her smiling eyes constantly moving back
to look at Alex' face.  She lifted her eyelids, poked
and probed gently, noting certain physical signs.  She
went back and checked her chart, then smiled sadly.

"Is the father Damon?"

Alex nodded.

"Did you love him?"

"I wanted to.  But, no, I didn't."

They looked at each other, the doctor weighing her next
question carefully.

"Do you want to keep it?"

Alex hesitated.  It was wrong.  "

"No.  I'd always be afraid he'd turn out like his
father."

"Would you like me to arrange it?"

Silently, Alex assented.  There were no tears

"Alex, I'd like you to come and see me when you get
out.  Maybe stay a for while.  It would do you good."

Alex looked down and shook her head.

"Why not, Alex?"

"I have a Master," she said quietly.

"He's dead, Alex."

The girl looked up the doctor.

"Not to me," she said simply.

The doctor took one of the fragile hands in hers,
holding it lightly.

"Oh, how I wish you had found me first, before him.  We
would have been so good together."

Alex squeezed the strong hand tightly.  "I know, Ma'am.
I wish I had found you first, too."

With a parting squeeze, the doctor stood and walked to
the door.  Alex watched the beautiful Dom leave,
knowing she would never see her again.  Her scent
lingered for a long time.

Alex slept peacefully for the first time that night.
She was free.  The voices were finally gone.

A week later, Alex had a minor procedure in the OB-GYN
clinic of the prison.  Shortly after that she was moved
to the general population.  Surprisingly, both the
inmates and the guards left her alone and her mind
slowly healed.

The Board met and discussed a growing problem within
the Syndicate.  They met without the knowledge of one
very powerful member.  A decision was reached and it
was unanimous, based mainly on the recent terrible loss
of one of their top directors, who had tragically been
driven to suicide by a vengeful woman.  Mrs. Elizabeth
Farnsworth was invited to a garden party a week later.
Sadly, she was laid to rest the next day in a lovely
ceremony attended by only the Board and their closest
associates.  She died two days later when the oxygen
finally ran out of the large coffin the Board had
special ordered for this occasion.  She screamed until
the end.

Alex stepped from the courtroom a free woman.  During
the brief questioning, the prosecutor hadn't asked her
if she had killed Damon Arquette and she hadn't
volunteered.  A secret witness for the defense had
cleared her.  There had been a government agent in deep
cover who had witnessed the events that had occurred in
the months prior to Mr. Arquette's death.  That
testimony corroborated the evidence.

She had not even been considered a suspect in her
husband's death.  He had been found dead with his
secretary.  The time of death was a little fuzzy, but
regardless, she had been in custody at the time he was
motoring down to the Islands.

When she was finally released from custody, the
property clerk handed her the small envelope with her
personal effects.  Attached to the envelope were a
couple of other claim tickets that took forever to find
in the disorderly mess of the property room.  Alex
walked out with a large canvas bag and an envelope from
a coroner in the British Virgin Islands.

She opened the envelope first and read, "We regret to
inform you that your husband, Mr. Harold Wilson, was
found dead in the waters off the Road Town.  The cause
of death was found to be accidental drowning. ..."  The
rest of the papers were the official death certificate
and a copy of the autopsy report.  It hardly registered
to her.

She stepped out into the bright sunshine and stood on
the steps of the courthouse.  She had been confined for
three months before she had been cleared.  The state
apologized for the inconvenience and she agreed not to
press charges.  In fact, she thanked the prison staff
for their kindness and for the care she had received,
both in the hospital and in the lock up facility.  They
had been stunned by her attitude.

She saw the familiar figure sitting on the steps, about
mid-way down.  Slowly, and with not a little fear, she
made her way slowly down to stand beside her friend.
Alvin had come to see her released.  It pleased her.

"Hello, Alvin.  I'm surprised to see you here.  And
pleased."

"Hello, Miss Alex.  When I checked, they said you'd be
out today.  I've been waiting."

"Oh.  Well, thank you."  There was an awkward silence.
"Tell me, what have you been doing lately?  Since the
club closed, and all."

Alvin looked at his big hands and sighed.  "I've been
meaning to talk with you about that Miss Alex.  I'm
sorry now I didn't tell you the whole truth before."

"That's OK, Alvin.  I wasn't exactly completely honest
with you, either."

He grinned.  "I know.  But I just resigned my job, so I
can say more now.  I was working for the government,
sort of.  It was complicated.  I had a job at the club
already, they just sort of recruited me.  I was handing
them enough information as it was without their help.
They didn't know how to handle me, really.  I guess
they checked me out, liked my record and signed me up.
It's easier to hand out money to an employee than a
snitch.  Still, it was all very unofficial, of course."

"Oh.  So you're unofficially unemployed--  Oh, God!
Alvin!

He looked at her with an amused grin.

"You just figure it out?"

"Oh, Alvin.  Thank you.  You were the witness!  But
how?  ...  Why?  ...You knew what happened.  I told
you.  Why didn't you tell them?"

He looked down at his feet.  "I figured it was self-
defense, Miss Alex, only there was no way a jury would
see it that way.  I just saved the tax payers some
money, that's all."

"But you lost your job!"

"I wasn't fired.  I resigned.  After I knew the truth
about Lewis' death, I couldn't stay on.  I killed him,
just as sure as Mr. D did.  I was responsible for too
many deaths, very nearly your own, too."

"What I did was my decision."

"It took guts, even if you won't admit it."

"I was being selfish, Alvin.  You could have gotten
hurt, too."

"Yeah, I know."

They were silent.  It was hard, remembering.
Eventually he took her hand and they started walking
down the steps.  There was a big park across the
street.

"What's in the bag?"

"I don't know.  I'm afraid to look."

"You want me to look for you?"

She handed him the bag.  He unzipped it and rummaged
through it.  Inside it were her collar and leash, some
clothes and shoes and some other things.  He closed the
bag.

"It's the past, Miss Alex.  Just the past.  Let it be."

She nodded.  He tossed the bag into the nearest trash
bin.  She didn't look back.  It was over.

Alvin stopped under a tree and made her face him.  He
took his hand from his pocket and laid it over both of
hers.  When he removed it, she held the black cord.  He
had found it on the nightstand and taken it.  She
stared at it, then up at him, her eyes misting.

"I know this is part of the past, Miss Alex.  But it's
part of you, too.  I watched you.  You need this.  You
need a master, someone strong.  But I figure you need
more.  You know that now, too.  You need to be loved,
Miss Alex.  And when you find the right man -- or woman
-- you give them the rope.  They'll know what to do."

A single tear fell from her eye, then she slipped the
silken cord into her pocket.

"So what are you going to do now, Miss Alex?"  They
were walking aimlessly.  The park was empty.

She showed him the Death Certificate and told him there
was an insurance policy.  She didn't say for how much,
only that there was about a million dollars in a
British Virgin Island account.  He whistled at the
amount.

"I'm free, Alvin.  I thought I'd go somewhere warm and
open a club.  Would you care to join me?"

It was a hard question to ask.  If he said 'no'...

"I'd love to work with you, Miss Alex.  But not in a
club.  That's not the place for you.  Me, either."

"Oh," she whispered.  He had said 'no.'

Slowly she turned away and walked into the park.  She
had no idea where she was going.  But where ever it
was, it would be alone.

He let her get to the edge of the clearing.

"I know about Petunia."  He said it softly.

She stopped walking, but didn't turn around.

"I know about your pet, Petunia, Miss Alex."

She turned.

"What?  How did you find out?"

"I spent some time with your family.  They're really
nice folks."

"What?  When?"

"Well, I had to hide somewhere, didn't I?  I just
figured I'd hide out with them."

The thought of this huge mountain of a man, black as a
moonless night, 'hiding' in her little lily-white town
struck her as funny.  She started to giggle, then
laugh.

"You?  Hide there?  The most color we ever get back
home is a sunburn.  How did you pull it off?"

"I worked as laborer for your Dad.  It felt good to
work hard.  It felt right, too.  And I loved your
Mama's cooking, especially her pies.  The peaches were
in season while I was there.  The pies were fresh and
creamy with flakey cinnamon crusts--"

"Stop, you're making me homesick!"

"And your Dad is a lucky man.  Especially on Sunday
afternoons--"

"Ooooh, you're terrible!"  She punched him in the arm.

"Daddy talked to you about Petunia?" she asked when he
had stopped laughing.

"I slept in the barn.  I saw a stall with the name
'Petunia' on it.  It reminded me of a name I saw
somewhere else.  I told you Dad told him how important
it was.  I'd told him up front who I was, that I'd
known you while I was undercover at the club.  I think
he guessed a lot more than I told him.  He's pretty
smart.

"I told him someone named Petunia saved your life, kept
you same.  I asked him if it was the same Petunia.
He's a proud man, your Dad, but he cried.  Then he told
me about your pet.  He showed me the Blue Ribbon from
the fair, the stall and the window, too.  They still
laugh about it.  Then he showed me the butcher shop,
because I asked him to.  He still has her ear tag on
the wall.

"They miss you.  I think they would like to see you
sometime.  Your Dad, he misses you, most of all of
them."

"Oh."  Tears fell silently as her heart was torn in
small pieces.  She couldn't talk because of the lump in
her throat.  Alvin kept telling her the news from home.

"Benny says 'Hi.'  I met his bride-to-be.  She's nice.
She said you know her.  Said she was your best friend
in high school.  Cathy something.  Turns out, ol'
Benny's the father of her first son."

Alex snorted.  "I wondered why she named him Franklin."

Alvin laughed.  "You folks sure got a strange sense of
humor.  A pig named Petunia, Benjamin Franklin."  He
looked at her.  "That's why you laughed at my tooth,
isn't it?  The first time we met.  My diamond in my
gold tooth."

Alex nodded.

"Anyway, looks like it's just going to be one big happy
family.  From the looks of her, the wedding will need
to be pretty soon."

"Oh, I'm so happy."

Alvin paused.  He looked nervous.

"I bought us a house there.  The farm next to your
family's was for sale."

"Oh, the Jenkins' place?"

"No.  Ben and Cathy bought that place.  I picked up the
Anderson's, on the other side.  Old man Anderson had a
stroke.  Billy doesn't want to run the dairy.  I had a
little bit of cash squirreled away. It seemed--"

"Wait a minute," she interrupted.  "US?"

He grinned and plowed ahead.  "Yeah.  I thought you and
I could move back there..."

"You and I?" she repeated, not trusting to hope, not
just yet.

"...for a bit while we plan our future."

"Our future?"  It kind of squeaked out of her.  Her
eyes were leaking.

"Sure!  Maybe we could enroll you in the local college
and I could work the three farms with your Dad and
Benny."

"We?"  She was lightheaded.

"Then, of course, you could go to law school and I
could retire.  I'm an old man, you know.  You'd have to
support me."

He looked down at her.  She was crying.

"How you like the sound of that, Miss Alex?"

Alex reached into her pocket.  With both hands, she put
the black cord back into his.

"I do," she said, simply.

He looked down at the cord.

"Huh?  I do?" he repeated slowly.  Suddenly the light
went on.  The big man blushed and turned suddenly shy.

"Yeah, I guess I do, too, Miss Alex."

Both of them wearing stupid grins, they walked out of
the park to where he had left his car.  He had packed
everything he owned in the back.  He had been hopeful
she would be returning with him.  Returning home.

He had shipped her things from her old apartment back
to her family, including a stack of mail.  There wasn't
much else to take with them.  They had each other, they
were in love.  They didn't need anything else.

On the way to the car she took his hand and compared it
to her small one.  An impish smile crossed her face.

Looking up at him shyly she asked "Alvin, are you this
big all over?"

Smiling mischievously, his diamond caught the afternoon
light and filled her eyes with rainbows.

"Oh yes, Miss Alex. Oh, yes."

***

The End

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

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

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at:

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