Mates free porn video

Mates

By Brewt.Blacklist

June-August 2010

Office Mates

Office

"SHE'LL SEE you now."

Georgia Tate was the biggest bitch, the hardest, most ruthless cunt in the company. Yes, I said cunt. Everyone exhaled harder through their noses when she left a room, and their headaches usually took an hour to recede. The analgesic budget was high in our sector.

Alana, though, her secretary, was something worth tolerating the prospect of having to talk with Georgia just to be in the same room with her for a little while. People inhaled sharply through their noses when she entered a room, and everyone, and I do mean everyone's pupils got bigger. I sometimes tried to tear my own eyes off of her to watch other people and sure enough, demeanor would improve around Alana; heads would tilt, and dreams would cast across faces, even if someone had just walked by Georgia. So this might work out; being by Alana before Georgia for a few minutes, and a few seconds after might just keep my blood pressure balanced out for the rest of the morning.

"Ahem."

I snapped up from my reverie to see Alana at the door motioning with her oh-my-word smoky eyes that I'd better quit daydreaming my life away and get over there, before the brimstone started pouring out of the office. She knocked on the door and creaked it open just enough to poke her head in, leaning on her right foot toes with her left foot somehow suspended in mid air, and her ass just accentuating outward slightly, begging to be seen, touched, caressed, kissed, fucked . . .

"Mrs. Tate? Larry Stephens is here."

Alana leaned back from the door, creaking it further for me to go in, with her head dipped slightly so she could upcast her eyes slightly toward me as I passed her in a way that clearly communicated the words "you're so fucked" while at the same time making it clear that it wasn't going to be with her, without moving a muscle. Damn.

"Morning – Georgia? Can we keep this short? I've got a meeting at nine."

"Sit down, Stephens. Thank you, Alana."

Wow. It was like walking into a room filled with hot molasses once the interesting girl left.

"I said sit down."

Georgia kept the extra-uncomfortable chairs in her office for her guests. The Inquisition may have had a garage sale. The message of who was in charge here echoed, no, resounded through furniture. Her chair shouted queen of all she surveyed and her desk was the altar we were to bow down in front of to pay homage to, let our blood flow toward, and sacrifice our children on.

Shit, it's quiet. Was any of that out loud?

"Your sector's quarterly review wasn't impressive, Stephens. Your numbers blow."

Here we go. "This was expected and had been re-projected twice at flash since the first of the year. A downturn is never planned, but no one should have been surprised." A pause. The pregnant kind. "And . . . .I've been out, a lot, for medical reasons."

She inhaled her next word: "Ahh, the medical reasons. Have they found anything yet?" Beware of people who sound sweet asking about you while criticizing you.

"No. No, they haven't."

"I'm so sorry about that, Larry. What were they thinking it might be again?"

She hasn't called me by my first name this year. And I have retaliated all this time by never calling her "Mrs. Tate", ever. "They've considered lots of things: an immune deficiency, lupus, diabetes, epstein barr, cancer, aids, electrolyte imbalance, you name it. All negative."

"Hmm. How much have you been out again?"

Exhale. "I was out five and a half weeks last quarter, four weeks first quarter."

"Oh, and how's Renee holding up? Is she . . . coping?"

"She's been terrific, thanks. A real trouper. I couldn't do this without her."

"Poor thing. This has just got to be robbing you blind. The medical costs."

"Yeeah, thank god for insurance. What are we talking about here, Georgia?"

"We're talking about your numbers, Stephens. Despite all the compensations for downturns, your being out, staff cuts and everything, they still suck. Hard."

"Ohhkaayy." Involuntarily, my chin lifted, my head turned to the left, and I was looking down my nose through my crappy lineless bifocals, trying to find the place she'd be in better focus. I think my lips pursed a bit.

"See, with all the compensations we set for your goals, there was almost no way you could miss. And we've been puzzling about this for the past week, until the firewall team report happened across my desk. Seems that a lot of blacklisted sites have been viewed on your floor. So after poking around a bit, I had some remote viewing software put on all the machines under your care. And I compared what I was seeing to known hours and locations of personnel. And you know what I figured out, don't you."

Any increased bloodflow I might have been feeling below my belt in the outer office evaporated. And I don't know how she could see that, but the slight upraise of the right corner of her mouth proclaimed that she knew exactly what had just happened to me. I swear, the lights dimmed, and the temperature of the molasses in the room plummeted.

"So this is what's going to happen. As of right now, this is between us. You and me. No one knows anything, and you can keep it that way, and we will both get what we want."

The moment of truth was almost here. My eyes started to squint. "And what is it you want, Georgia?"

"No, let's talk about what you want, first, Larry. You want to keep your job. I've seen your credit report; without our insurance plan that, by the way, you are raising the costs of for all the rest of us, any one of your tests would bankrupt you, never mind actually trying to fix whatever is wrong with you. So to stay alive, you have to stay employed. Well employed. Now, I'm sure a raise can be found for you, for turning your department around in the coming months, and that will keep your pretty little wife happy and obligated to keep putting up with your deficiencies in the health department. Am I . . . close?"

I forgot to inhale, and nodded.

"And to keep your life going along, I would think you would want to keep the one person who can make all this happen and continue to happen for you happy. Not just happy; deliriously fucking happy all the god damn time."

"I can see . . . how, that might be, a . . . good thing, yes."

"Excellent." She touched her phone. "Alana."

"Yes, Mrs. Tate?"

"Clear my afternoon. Mr. Stephens and I have a lunch meeting and a conference to attend. And get HR on the line for me after he leaves." Click.

My eyes widened. "No, I'm just I'm getting you out for the afternoon, too. We're going to talk about, you know, stuff. You have another meeting, don't you? Oh, you're late. Now shoo."

I don't remember getting out of the rat trap chair with fangs, swimming the molasses, or opening the door, but there I was, in the outer office, in a bit of a daze.

"She must like you."

"Hmm?" Siren's voices have an effect, you know.

"I said she must like you. She let you leave on human legs."

I looked over to my right where Alana was sitting, with a beatific smile. "Uhhh . . .? I wasn't at my best here. She beckoned me down with a deft transparent motion, and as she started to stand up, she turned sideways, and pulled me over toward her with the slightest flit of her fingers, so soft they hardly fired any neurons at all. It was electrifying.

She lived up to seductive expectations and whispered, "Be careful with her. She's a witch. And I don't mean with a 'b'."

Wasn't she wearing a bra when I went in? "A bwitch?"

She made a sound that was indeed the most sincere, genuine, gentle laugh at a crappy joke I'd ever heard. The angels would have been proud. Her eyelids drooped as she smiled the way all men want beautiful women to smile at them: like we were the happiest answer to all their prayers. "I can see why she likes you. You're funny. I'll call you later with where to go for lunch. And you are really, really late. Now shoo."

The blood had been starting to return to my loins. Until those last two words.

Elevator

"MR. STEPHENS?" 11:45, and I was waking up again, having dreamt a dream about maiden queens. God, this morning sucked.

"Mr. Stephens?" My angel came again, and blushed rosy red, and something about heart's delight. Is this poetry?

"Mr. Stephens?" I startled, and Alana was right there, in my office, leaning over my desk with 'come hither' pouring out of her like she could be watering heav'n with her tears.

My lead is always my best. "Uuhhh . . .?

"It's time to go. You know, for lunch. With . . . Mrs. Tate?"

Crap. "Yeah. Let's . . . uhhh . . .? Damn. This girl has a way of sucking language right out of me.

In the elevator, praise the lord with stringed instruments, we were alone. Wait, what the fuck?

She cuddled up to me as though the elevator was completely packed and her perfume smelled like a month's salary. Her breathing was sharp and quick on the intake, and long, slow and quiet on the exhale. By the time we'd gotten down two floors, my breathing was synched to hers. Once that was working just so, she pushed herself into me another inch-and-a-half. There's an ideal height ratio between men and women that make the woman's curves fit beautifully to the man's, and we were just right. I didn't dare move; I didn't want to move. The elevator lurched once, separating us a smidge, and she re-closed the gap. I will never want for joy, and I'll leave my bags behind, naked and white . . . .

. . . and the door opened. I glanced up, and we were only on the twelfth floor. There was a huge crowd outside, and they all crammed themselves in. The only good thing about the next 11 floors with 3 stops, only to have the door open to the forlorn who could not press themselves into the throng, was that Alana and I were now as close as lovers. I swear, I felt her delicate fingers on my ass. God, Please Don't Let That Be Hugh From Finance.

Ground floor splashed up at us, the pressure in the elevator burst into the lobby, but Alana touched my arm, holding me back. It was then, after we were again alone, that she reached around me and pushed the parking garage button, only to return behind me, put her hands around onto my stomach, and pull me slightly. I could feel her head lay up against my back, and she purred. Our chapel was shut, sweet flowers were borne in the garden of love . . . and the gates to the tomb of the parking garage was opened, and the tombstones of the cars seemed were where the flowers used to be, and it was filled with priests in black gowns walking their rounds . . .

Restaurant

THE DOOR to the limo was opening, and I could see Alana standing outside holding it. Did she drive? I don't remember getting in, riding, stopping in traffic, getting where the hell are we? I struggled to get out, only to stand and feel Alana's breasts pushing against me, and the Almighty was yet with me, and my soul grieved for what I was about to do.

"Go on in, Mr. Stephens. The reservations are in your name," she husked to me as she drained away, and I was abandoned on the steps to the restaurant that I recognized as a five star Zagat house of extreme expense. And the climb to the top was a . . . . well, at least the poetry died down. I just felt heavy.

Inside, the maitre'd looked disdainfully at me, and after taking care of three people who came in after me asked what I was doing there. I committed with the idea of reservations, and his face fell, and he started rattling something off in French that might have been an apology, it might have been a curse on my mother for bearing me. He gesticulated at the entryway, but shepherded me to the stairs instead of to the main restaurant, still prattling on in a language that made me wish he was a woman so I could at least fantasize s/he was saying sweet nothings to me. At the top of the stairs, he pointed down a long hall that had a door on the end, and nothing else. No art, no windows, just creaky floors and why would there be peeling ugly yellow paint in a place like this.

Once I reached the door, I paused, reminding myself of how I got here; actually just tried to remember how I got here, when I heard the unmistakable bark of Georgia from the other side of the door: "Stephens! Hurry up!" The door, like the floor, creaked and I stepped in.

This was nothing like Georgia's office. It was charming and plush with a table for two; the lace curtains were fairly anti-Georgia. She was pouring the second glass of wine, and offered it to me, "Please." I didn't think she knew how to pronounce that word, let alone what it meant. Nodding her head between me and the chair, she said, "Didn't want to dress up, huh." Ah, there's the Georgia I know. I believe I blushed.

Georgia, though, did dress up, to the nines. She's older than I am, maybe a decade or two or more, and I wouldn't have even considered a little black dress for her, but there was no mistaking that she could wear it and wear it well. As she turned to sit, she revealed there was no back to her dress, and there were at least 5 inches of thigh below the hem, and her waistline was one that most Hollywood starlets would pine for. The woman definitely had curves and uh, makeup? Her face showed no trace of the hard edge she displays at the office. Sure, she had a few miles on her, but they were good miles, and back in the day, she would have stopped traffic. This was such an overwhelming contrast to the idea that she would stop traffic at the office now, but for entirely different reasons. The notion of aliens ran through my head. The sexy kind you would want to do anal probes with.

"Blink, Larry."

"Huh?"

She smiled like a school girl on a date with a quarterback. Who knew?

"What would you like? The salmon tartar here is worth the trouble. Oh, don't worry. You're not buying. And?"

"I've . . . always been partial to buffalo."

"Oh, good choice, it'll be fun to see what the French chef can do with it. I'll have that, too. Rare?" I nodded.

"Let me tell you some things, Larry. I've been a happily married woman for far more of my life than I haven't been. My husband was, well, he was everything to me. I didn't just love him, I absolutely worshipped him, day and night. There was nothing I wouldn't do for him. And there still isn't."

"Georgia, I'm sorr . . .?

"Shhh. Shhh. Let me finish. After he died at the first of the year, I should have fallen apart. And I'm sure I've taken it out on the people at the office, but I had to keep going, you see, because there's something I have to do. And I want you to help me, Larry."

I totally didn't recognize the woman in front of me. Here was the most vicious cunt, yes, I still say cunt, I had ever seen, pouring her heart out and carrying on about love and respect and joy and the pains of loss and the desperation of loneliness and my god, is she crying?

There was a knock at the door, Georgia sniffled as she reached down and said "Oui, venir." Looking down her bare back, I failed to realize the waiter was waiting for me to lean back to put my lunch down. When I startled and noticed him, his eyes were rolled up to the ceiling. Two plates of buffalo steaks, rare, with, and what is all that with it? I hadn't ordered; nobody had come into the room until now.

Georgia sat back up with a black handkerchief in her hand, dabbing at her eyes. "Ah. Lunch. Merci." And the waiter closed the door behind him, without crossing the room. "Please, eat."

We ate in silence. Georgia seemed to be recovering from what little she had said to me, and I was lost in thought. I had met Ernie Tate at a couple Christmas parties in the past, and I couldn't remember quite what he looked like. Fat, skinny, short, tall, bald, hairy, clean, unkempt, all jumbled together until I gave up. As I ruminated on it, it dawned on me that those were the only times I had seen Georgia as, well, demure. Like now.

The meal should have been fabulous, it looked and cut like buffalo, and smelled like it until it left my plate. It didn't register in my mouth as food; more like paper. The wine was indistinguishable from the water.

"I really don't know ho . . .?

"There's really only one word I am interested in hearing you say, Larry, and we'll get to that in a little bit. Finish your lunch."

Bleah. I managed to get it in my mouth, and wash it down with the wine turned into water.

"What I am going to do, Larry, is to pay tribute to my husband. It is very personal, very private, and if I could do it any other way, I would. But this is the thing that matters to me. And what I want is for you to help me. And if I have to get someone else, I will destroy your life. Are you with me so far?"

I nodded.

"You see, Larry, when I found out what you were doing on the computers, and what you were spending your time looking at, I realized I could do this, and have everything work out for me. This is how I'm going to grieve, Larry, and if you participate, and participate well, I will save your life."

I was still trying to get my head around any of this.

"There are four dates that matter to me. The first is today. Something is going to happen on each of these dates, and I want your unbridled enthusiasm, your full attention, your cooperation, your absolute commitment, your trust, everything you can give me, Larry."

"What's today?"

"Too many words, Larry. Today is the anniversary of the day we met. And every year, we would re-enact what happened that day. You and I will do it today.

My eyes dried. Oh god.

"No, it's not what you're thinking. In fact, through this whole affair, there are some rules that you are going to have to abide by, and abide by them absolutely. No question: utter discretion, Larry, and relentless obedience. Can you spare a few hours of your life to keep it? Don't answer that yet."

I wasn't about to.

"There's no one whatsoever who is to know of this under any circumstances. Not your friends, not our co-workers, not your wife, not your priest at confession, not your mother, not god in heaven in your prayers at night, no one. You will take this to your grave. Now you can say the first of the right answers, Larry."

"I don't underst . . . ."

"What did I just say, Larry. Do you or do you not understand how tight I want security to be on this?"

1,2,3,4,5. "Yes."

"Good. Blink, Larry. I'm going need you to be able to see what you're doing."

I did as I was told. I blinked, and suddenly I couldn't stop.

"For god's sake, don't panic. Nothing bad is going to happen to you in any of this, as long as you play along. As I said, there are four dates that matter. The second one is in a week; it's our wedding anniversary. At the end of the month is his birthday. And the last one is at the first of the year."

A light went on. The day Ernie died. Jesus, this really was important to her.

"Are you understanding when I want this to happen, Larry?"

I nodded.

"Not enough words, Larry. As I said, I'm going to re-enact something important on each of those days, and let me get this out of the way right up front. It is not sex. You and I are not having sex in any way, shape, or form. We are not going to have vaginal sex, we are not going to have oral sex, we are not going to have anal sex. The Big Three are Right Out. No one has ever been inside me except my husband, and it will stay that way. Forever. Do you understand this, yes or no."

Shit. I was actually starting to crush on her a little. "Yes."

"It wouldn't be worth it, Larry. I think it would just destroy your pretty little wife, which is not part of what you want, now is it. No, don't answer that, I didn't ask it right, because there's only one word I want to hear from you today."

I looked down; I didn't know if I should nod or shake my head. My eyebrows should have merged.

"Look at me, Larry. It's moment of truth time. Do or die. Do I have your attention."

"Yep."

Pause.

Pause. Staring.

Pause.

Pause.

"Ernie used to torture me."

My lips were sticky, and I could feel them zip apart as my mouth uncontrollably opened. I couldn't have possibly heard that right.

"This is why I picked you, Larry. All those torture sites you were stupid enough to look at in the office makes you the ideal person for me to do this with, doesn't it."

Pause pause pause pause pause pause pause pause . . . how much time is there left today . . .

"uhhhh . . .?

"Words, Larry. I think the idea that you like to see pictures and movies of women having unspeakable atrocities performed upon them makes you very much the right man for the job. So here's the deal. You re-enact Ernie's role on the four dates mentioned, and you get to keep your life style. I'll tell what's up for the next month now, as we have lots of time to work up to next winter. Am I going too fast here, Larry?"

I shook my head.

"Cat's got your tongue, eh. Ok, I'll go slow. Today, is the anniversary of the day we met. He whipped the shit out of me, and I will expect the same from you. Next week is our wedding anniversary, and he used needles to make me into a pin cushion. At the end of the month is his birthday, and he caned me into the hospital. Now are these things you do at home? I don't think so, so you'll be getting something out of this beyond what you thought you wanted walking in here. Kinda like a bonus. You can't lose."

She stopped talking, and I had nothing worth saying yet. After a moment, she picked it back up.

"I need an answer, and I need it now. Are you in?"

Jesus. A nightmare and a dream all at once.

"Are. You. In."

I found her eyes. They had a weird cross between pleading and accusation.

"Last chance, Larry."

"Oh, yeah, baby."

"First of all, I am not your baby. Second, your counting skills still suck. Third, we are going over the rules. Again. Tell them to me."

"I, uh, er, ah . . .?

"Speaking skills are also lacking. Slow down. Take a deep breath, I'm sure this is all very exciting. Rule number one?"

"It's . . . .no sex."

"No. Why is it that men always think between their legs? The first rule, Larry, is discretion. Secrecy. Si-lence. Say it."

"Circumspection."

"Oooh, vocabulary skills, even if you can't use them in sentences during conversation. Okay, I will accept your version of 'caution' as the first rule. It fits. Good work, Larry. And number two?"

"Ssseexx–less–ness?"

"Moron. You. Ain't. Gettin'. Any. So quit trying to make it an important part of our relationship. Yes, I said relationship. What we're going to do is far more intimate than screwing. And so it's way more important that we trust each other, and the only way I can trust you is if you do what I say. O-be-di-ance. You break the rules, you're done, no quarter, no second chances. Understood?"

"Compliance. Got it."

"There's hope for you yet, Stephens. Now. What's next?"

"sssSafe-ty??"

"You're catching on. Not bad. Whose, yours or mine?"

"Uh, yours."

"That's right. Even though it may sound ludicrous to be concerned about the safety of someone you are beating to tears, that has to be pretty near the top, because the other rules are in relationship to the outside world, and each other in general before anything actually happens. Safety is right in there with the kinds of connections we are going to forge here. Anything else?"

"Rrrrespect of limits."

"That would be a concern if I had any you will be anywhere near finding, or if this works out and continues on and I let you get in such a position where a limit might be an issue, like branding, or cutting, or breathplay. So don't fret about them, but it's sweet you thought of it."

I thought, and came up dry. "I'm lost here. I don't know."

"Well, what's your favorite rule, Larry? Is it old hat already?"

"No intercourse."

"Oh, at last. This should give us things to do for a while. Let's go."

And with that, she was half way down the creaky hall before I even got out of my chair.

Limo

THE FRONT door of the restaurant was being held open for us by the maitre'd, and Georgia breezed right through like she owned the place and him and his mother, curse her for bearing him. Even though the street was empty when we were at the top of the steps, by the time we got to the curb, the limo was there waiting and Alana was holding the door open. All the vales rejoiced, and thy clothing of delight, Gave thee such a tender voice as we called by His name, bless thee, bless thee, does thou know who made thee . . . .and we were off.

I was about to ask about the bill at the restaurant when Georgia interrupted me before I had a chance to say anything. "Have you ever done this before?"

"Ride in a limo?" Come live, and be merry, and join with me, To sing the sweet chorus of

"Ha, ha, he!" came from Alana. Georgia rolled up the middle window. Damn her. I wanted to say 'cunt', but it didn't feel like I would get away with that. Yet.

"Alana's right. You are funny." She smiled like she was remembering how. "No. I meant, 'have you ever whipped a woman before'. Or a man, for that matter."

"No. Neither. Nor have I been whipped myself."

"But you've seen it. Does it make you hard?"

I should have expected that, but I didn't, so I stammered. "Uhh, uh, I . . .?

"Is 'uh' your favorite word, Larry? I've heard that more from you than any other word, and yes, I've been counting. My counting skills are fabulous. Hold still."

She turned in her seat, and why am I the only one wearing a seatbelt, and her right hand descended on to the front of my pants. I was paralyzed. Her left hand curled around the back of my head, and she drew us together, with her lips at my ears, whispering. "You are going to whip me today. Soon. That's where we are going. To whip me. Whip. Me. I want you to. I am going to be naked, and hanging by my wrists, and you are going to whip every last inch of me, and yes, all of those inches, too, and I am going to cry, and you are going to be merciless, and your arm is going to be so tired when we are done you aren't going to be able to move it so you aren't going to be able to masturbate tonight, and you're going to have to fuck your wife, and you're going to think of whipping me while you do it, and she is going to wonder why you are so passionate . . . ."

I was as hard a rock.

"That's what I thought. Good. You'll be engaged with what we're doing then."

She sat with her lips on my ear and watched me until the car stopped, and all I could think about was where her right hand was.

Highrise

THE DOOR opened, and I knew Alana could see where Georgia's hand was from the outside, but I couldn't look up at her. Georgia slid her hand across my pants and I almost came on the spot, and she unbuckled my seat belt, and started to push me out. "Out of the limo. Shoo." I stood up, almost gracefully for once. Except my erection was poking all akimbo in my pants, and I was a bit bowlegged, and moving my hips slightly did nothing to fix it. Crap. I was going to have to adjust something to keep from falling down.

Georgia's skirt rode all the way up as if the paparazzi were there, and I tried to be gentlemanly and avert my eyes as I helped her out, but, too late. Nope. No panties. No hair. No tattoos. But her pussy was engorged and red, and her thighs were not just moist; they were wet.

I finally managed to glance at Alana, to see if she saw this too, and she was looking directly at me with her chin lowered, her eyes raised, her lips mouthing the word 'pervert' in the middle of the smile of desire and admiration that at least kept me from looking away as Georgia reached into my pants and gave me the gift of walking.

My glasses needed to be pushed up my nose, but that could wait. Alana mouthed the word 'bye' with a sharp inhale that conveyed 'I want to see you later'. To see heaven in a wild flower, and hold infinity in the palm . . .

"Wrong focus, Larry." Georgia tugged my arm and drug me toward the highrise, and when I glanced back as we entered, the limo was gone.

THIS ELEVATOR ride was quite unlike the one I had enjoyed earlier today. This one was more like a briefing for a commando mission, with Georgia explaining what whips she had, how to hold them and swing my arm, and instructions to use the leather blindfold to protect her eyes so I could whip her face.

The elevator dinged, and I noticed there weren't any numbers, or buttons. We walked down a hall, similar to the one in the restaurant. Only one door, no art, no windows, creaky floor. The peeling paint might have been green once.

"I'm really expecting you to go to town on me. You can't stop until tears are on my tits. It's going to take a while; the blindfold will absorb a lot. You do know the difference between sweat and tears, don't you, Larry?"

"What, no blood?"

She smiled sweetly. "If you can make me bleed, that raise will happen this week."

As the door creaked itself open, Georgia had one last admonishment. "I'll understand if you want to undress. Just don't forget your favorite rule. Neither of us are going to have an orgasm in here today, so don't even try to make me cum."

And we were in darkness.

"Just a moment," and there was a light shining down in the middle of the room, the focus of it was sharp; my eyes hadn't adjusted, so I was having trouble seeing walls. There was a rope hanging in the middle and a small table just outside the pool of light. I couldn't see Georgia when she said, "Cab fare." Something fluttered to the floor under the rope. "Alana can't take you back, she's . . . busy. There's a number on the bill that you can call from the lobby. Just say my name, and you'll be taken home. To your loving and adoring wife." I picked up the bill: it was a hundred, and there was a number penciled between Independence Hall and 'We Trust'.

A motion and reflection caught my eye, and Georgia was standing in the light, naked, glorious, ravishing. I tucked the Franklin into my wallet. She held her wrists and elbow together in front of herself, the first submissive gesture I'd ever seen from her. Gone was the usual arrogance I expected from Georgia Tate. After I looked at her for a moment, I realized she had stopped talking; also a first. She was waiting.

I considered the table. It held leather manacles that wouldn't tear her hands off like metal; still didn't look even remotely comfortable, but then, this really wasn't going to be about comfort. I picked them up, weighed them, and figured out how to open them and close them. Straps, not locks. I turned toward her and her hands, and gently pried her wrists apart to make room for the leather. As I proceeded to close the cuffs and tighten the straps, her breathing became louder, not quite moaning. I tried to look at her face, but she was focused hard on the cuffs.

I reached up to find the rope and tried to trace it around, but it was just two strands hanging down. There wasn't enough rope to pull off the side of the room and haul her up. I was going to have to pull her up standing right by her, and tie her somehow to herself to suspend her. I looked back at the table and saw what I needed. Ankle cuffs. I could tie one end to her wrists, the other to her ankles over the beam which, if I can hold her up while knotting, should get her off the floor. As I set out to make this work out, I realized the length of the rope was specific to this idea. She'd planned for me to figure this out. I pulled the table over, and got her up on her knees on top of the table, with her wrists pulled up toward the beam. I put the cuffs on her ankles, and pulled the rope taut through the connecting chain, and tied the ends together. I then picked her up off the table and kicked it out of the way. For a moment, I considered just dropping her, but if I dislocated something, this day would be over. And hard to explain.

I eased her down, letting the tension build up on her limbs so she had time to adjust. When she swung free, she groaned. Her weight on her ankles and wrists forced her head behind her arms, her knees apart, and her tits out in front of her. At the moment, her torso was at a 45-ish degree angle, but I knew she would slip around in a bit, and would need periodic readjusting.

I returned to the table and considered what I would have to work with. There were a couple stock whips, a short bullwhip, and the leather blindfold. All of the whips were flexible, so they wouldn't cause as much damage as was needed to bring her to tears in a hurry. I took the blindfold to her and started to put it on, when she whispered her last voluntary words of the day in a way that sounded reverent. "Thank you, Mr. Stephens." I waited until she stopped swinging.

WHERE TO start.

How do you exploit the element of surprise on someone who set up the whole scenario to get hurt? By starting where she doesn't expect. I'm sure she's expecting me to start on her back, or thighs, or tits, or someplace obvious. Good thing she bought the lie about the whole having-whipped-someone thing. As quietly as I could, I picked up the lightest stock whip, and forced a commitment from her, face first. Literally.

The first stroke was as hard as I could, right across her lips. I was rewarded with a loud "Ahhh!" I reached up and pulled her head back as far as I could, and hit her throat. Two for two. That one's going to leave a mark.

Before she was finished with the second scream, I had grabbed the short bullwhip and delivered on her expectations; right across both nipples. Less than satisfactory, only a "hhuhhhgh". So I proceeded to assault her breasts, varying the pace, the strength until she start making regular grunting noises.

Then, a full golf swing between her legs. Her voice broke, and she sobbed. I said, "That's one." No reason to count; it just came out.

I considered that if Ernie had done the number on her she suggested, she may not have all the nerve endings necessary in the interesting places, tits, ass, pussy, but she was sure to have them in some of their neighboring areas. Inner thigh, stomach, neck, face, armpit. She started jerking as I struck her in no pattern she, well, I could predict, and as I expected, her hands and feet were soon both above her, leaving her sway-stomached over the floor. So I picked up the medium stock whip, and worked on just her stomach, from beneath, until she couldn't jerk up any more. I was exhausting her faster that myself, so I had miles of steam left when she began shaking and shuddering like a woman who was crying. I shifted behind her to her thighs, and once again, after she quit jerking away from the hits, she broke down to weep.

I bullwhipped between her legs a few more times, extending the sobbing, when I decided I was not causing enough damage. I reached down and picked her up to roll her over, so she was facing up instead of down. She groaned with what could have been relief; the change in the directions of the forces of her own weight elicited babbling from her. It was gratifying, but not what I had in mind. I don't think she heard me take my belt off. I moved quietly, measuring the distances and carefully taking aim. She might have heard the swoosh, but there's no way she could have been prepared for being struck by my belt buckle across the soles of her feet, as hard as I could muster. It's amazing what the right motivating factors can do to one's ability to react to pain. Again. Again. Again. Again.

She was screaming uncontrollably now, when I saw that her face was wet. Getting close. I repositioned her, and started in on her back with the buckle. Because she was facing up, her back could be attacked with roundhouses and upswings. I could see I was starting to bruise her when she started to beg. Please please please stop I give in I'll let you fuck me I'll give you the raise please stop please stop.

I didn't. Her tits had a couple drops, but were not anywhere near wet. So, I went back to the beginning. I started hitting her face with the thong end of the belt, striking her across the blindfold, around the top of her head, wrapping it around her neck. She was panicking and before she even began to stop thrashing I turned the belt around and brought it up and hit the buckle directly on her asshole. She bit her tongue with the scream. When I hit her there again, she sprayed blood everywhere.

I heard the door creak open and light came in from the hall. Close enough.

WHEN I got to the lobby, I discovered I needed to clean my glasses; the blood was what was making it hard to see the number on the bill. I called the cab company twice, because as soon as it would ring and I said 'I need a cab', we would get cut off. The third time, when the phone was picked up, I said, "Georgia Tate"; whoever was on the other end said, "right away, sir," before hanging up. Not knowing what else to do, I went outside to stand. There was a cab with an open door. I leaned down, and the cabbie waved me in. He started speaking in what may have been Arabic, rattling on and on, not giving me a chance to say anything. He only stopped when I waved the hundred Georgia had given me. He snatched it away and was off like a shot. I wondered how I was going to tell him where to go, because he never stopped talking, and didn't seem to like me trying to say anything. We drove all around, almost like we were lost, going down alleys I'd never seen, when he suddenly turned a corner and I was on my street, only a block away from home. Still, he carried on until he overshot my house by three properties, and suddenly the door clicked open and he was gesturing me out. As I stood and watched him drive off, I realized that at the end he was saying the Middle Eastern equivalent of 'shoo'.

And Georgia was right, Renee and I banged the gong slowly most of the night, but not because I was unable to masturbate. And I did think of whipping Georgia Tate.

Watercooler

THE NEXT day I stopped by Georgia's office to find reception empty. Her door was closed, and I could hear Georgia shouting and yelling in her office, but I couldn't make out what she was saying. Maybe it wasn't English. I waited for a solid ten minutes, and the volume never went down, nor was there any pause in the unintelligible verbal assault action. Bad timing is my middle name.

I tried to call, and Alana never answered; I got, of all things, voicemail. Later, I passed her in the hall by the watercooler. "Alana."

"Mmmister Stephens, isn't it?"

"Uh, yeah, hullo." Uncomfortable pause.

"Can I do something for you, sir?"

"What's going on?"

"I'm sorry, sir, but I'm late for a meeting. Can we talk later?" She turned and walked away. Something was definitely wrong here, but I couldn't quite put my finger on what.

The next, day, I felt adrift, not knowing if I did okay, is my life over, why can't I get through to them.

When I tried to contact Georgia and Alana through email, it's like they had fallen into a hole. Email receipts never returned, and I considered calling systems when finally, through interoffice mail, I got an envelope out of Georgia's office, but it was a request for facts and figures and spreadsheets. Odd that it came that way.

That afternoon I got a second request for the paperwork but when I tried to email it to them, it bounced back. I printed it all out, and carried it to her office; it seemed to be closed, so I left it in her mailbox. When I checked back at the end of the day, it had been picked up, but the office was still dark. I knocked on the neighboring offices, and they all said I had just missed her. Fooey.

Finally, at 10:00 o'clock on the morning of what should have been our next 'appointment', or rather, 'offsite conference', my phone rang and it was Georgia. She sounded like she was shouting from a hole at the bottom of the sea. "I'm sorry I can't make lunch today. Alana will pick you up at one in front of the building." And that was it.

At 12:59, I was waiting at the front of the building, and as the clock tower three blocks down struck one, a red Porsche pulled up, and the door clicked open. I looked around, and couldn't see through the tint. I bent over and tried to peer in, and finally gave up and opened the door. Sweet babe, in thy face, Holy image I can trace; Sweet babe, once like thee, Thy Maker lay, and wept for me: Alana. I couldn't get in fast enough.

Her smile was rapturous, she touched my hand, and said "Ready?" and the Porsche bolted through traffic. She never hit a red light once, darting along just like when the hero needs to get somewhere in a hurry in the movies.

"You did so good, Mr. Stephens!" Now like a mighty wind she raised to heaven the voice of song. "I've never seen her so happy!" The sun did arise, And made happy the skies; The merry bells ring, Oh welcome to Spring?

"Ok, now shoo. We're here." Where the Youth pined away with desire, And the pale virgin shrouded in snow, Arise from their graves, and aspire, Where my Sunflower wishes to go! The car opened, and she nudged me out.

We had stopped by a hill outside of town (how did we get clear out here?) that had a door. I turned to ask what, or where, or huh, but the Porsche was already fading from sight.

Dungeon

I ALMOST ran into Georgia when I turned back around; she hadn't been there before. She must have been inside, but when she reached to open the door, it creaked like all the other ones.

I felt a bit like a Hobbit, going into a hill like this. But the interior was remarkably like the highrise apartment. Ugly hall, another creaky door, dark around the edges, light in the middle, table. And a chair.

"Is that for you or me?"

"Wouldn't you like to tie me to it, keep me still, unable to avoid the pains?"

"I can see some value to that idea. Why aren't you naked?"

"Just waiting for you." And she disappeared into the dark for a moment, to return naked. She sat down.

"No, not that way. Turn around."

She looked mystified, but did as she was told. "Now lean back. Further. Further. Put your hands down on the ground behind you. And lean back more so you're on your elbows. Now stay put."

"This is hard."

"Shut up Georgia, I'm sure it is hard, but you're a tough girl. You can take it."

I tied her waist to the seat, and her feet around to the top of the back. She was leaning backward so far, she couldn't get up without help. She might be able to tip it sideways and crash it down to relieve the pressure on her arms, but it wouldn't help her get up. She gave up all her leverage and couldn't move, and was extremely uncomfortable. The strain alone would have her moaning in five minutes. Good thing I had done my homework; it helps to surf Japanese bondage sites.

I stood back up to the table, to see what she left me. There was nothing beyond a box of diabetes needles, 20 gauge. Lots of them.

I took the first one out, and carefully, gingerly scraped around the base of her nipple. Then her other one. Back to keeping her off balance, and not just with the chair. I looked down at her face, and she was so focused on what I was doing with my left hand, she didn't see my right hand coming.

I started jabbing first my right hand then my left hand into her pectoral muscles, repeatedly. She was so surprised by the first few hits that she exhaled and forgot to inhale. She couldn't breathe between the position and the sharp tips and her head started shaking. After I finally stopped at around 20 hits, she gasped as hard as she could, and screamed louder than I'd ever heard before. Maybe I was too close. My ears actually hurt; I had to lean back. She started panting and in between pants and screams she would moan and shake and quiver.

I threw the first two needles away and got two more. She looked panicked as I jabbed into the tops of her thighs. She only moaned over that, so I left them in and brought the box down to the floor. I started filling various surface areas on her body that were available, but I avoided the interesting bits, and their oh-so-sensitive neighbors.

Once I had about 3 dozen in, I paused to survey where my acupuncture victim was going to get it next. And then I did the worst thing I could think of. I pulled the first set of needles out, but slowly, and at different angles than they went in at. Her eyes begged me to look at her, but she didn't say anything yet, and I wasn't going to let that continue. After the first set were out, I started over, in the same holes, going in slow, at different angles. I'd put one in a little way, put a few more in, and go back to the first one and ground it around. Her head started shaking back and forth.

I stood up, and said "I've decided to take you up on your offer," and took my pants off. "No, I'm not going to fuck you. But I didn't want my clothes to get messy," as I took the rest of them off.

When I kneeled back down behind her, my cock was poking her in the back of her head. Her eyes didn't quite bug out of her head. "I'm not breaking a rule here, so just go with it." She looked what for her would be down, but from my angle she looked up across her nose, and I almost snickered. It was hard to tell if she was smiling or frowning, and her face parts got all dissociated from each other and looked like they were floating.

For the next round, I started in on the routine of mixing fast vs. slow in and out in her more interesting bits; her nipples and breasts, and I found if I leaned up far enough, I could reach her pussy. And all the time her head shook back and forth, it rubbed my cockhead, getting me closer and closer.

Finally when I thought it wouldn't take much more to push me over, I leaned down over her face and whispered "Georgia, open your mouth." She opened it a bit, looking around like there was something she should be seeing. "Mmmmorre, Georgia." And she did. I let her wait a moment, then I jabbed a needle into her tongue. She lurched up and screamed, and when she fell back, she thrashed and thrashed and shook, and I came. When she realized it, she started shouting "Yu Baataaurpt! Ah Haypt Yu! Ptat ih Outp! Ptat ih Outp!" I yanked myself out from under her head, and she crashed down onto her head and back, breaking the chair. Stupid glasses fell off my face, and Georgia almost rolled onto them. Still dripping, I got up, casually pulled my clothes back on as she shouted mispronounced epitaphs. As I was about to turn to go, I was inspired. I turned back, pulled my cock back out of my pants, and pissed on her, catching her in the face, the mouth, and all over the needles that were still in her. She renewed her screaming which overpowered her cursing until I went down the creaky hall to the creaky door.

AS I found the street, er, road, the Porsche was just pulling up with the door opening even before it stopped. Alana was already leaning over and said, "You are in so much trouble, mister. Get in." Before I had even finished sitting and was still getting my feet inside, she stomped on the gas and I had to catch the door before it slammed on my leg. A block and a half later I was finally settled in and had gotten the door properly closed after two attempts.

"What do you mean?"

She scowled the whole way home, in total angry stony silence. As she roared off after I got out, I realized that I hadn't heard a single rhyme, not one stanza, no flowery metaphor, and the silence was almost painful.

When I got in the door, my door, Renee was waiting and threw her arms around me, kissing me like we were on our honeymoon. "Mmmmm, where were you? I missed you."

"Honey, you won't believe the day I had. Care to improve it?"

She grabbed my hand as we ran downstairs.

Bathroom

MIDWAY THROUGH the last week of the month, not having heard anything from Georgia except a couple more document requests, and not really caring, I walked into the bathroom to find Alana waiting for me.

As soon as the door closed behind me, she fell to her knees, and was shuddering.

"Oh, Mr. Stephens, I am so sorry. I'm sorry. I was unpleasant to you. I was out and out rude to you. I treated you with disrespect, and I am here to make an amend to you."

Well, this was interesting. Dead poets were all dead silent.

"Please, please forgive me, sir, it will never happen again. I could just die for what I said to you, and I need you to say it will be okay."

"I don't know . . . ."

"I . . . I . . . I'll give you something I've never given anyone. Something I don't think anyone has given you."

I let her stew, for a few seconds, anyway. "And what would that be?"

She looked up at me for the first time, with a look of relief that spoke of pulling thorns out. She scampered across the disgusting floor in her too-short skirt to the front of the urinal, turned around in front of it, and opened her mouth.

Her face lit up and she bristled as I crossed the room. As I unzipped my pants, I could just make out the poets. They strike the ear of night, Make weep the eyes of day; They make mad the roaring winds, And with tempests play.

When I finished, I was both pleased and grossed out a little to see she was frozen, and was showing me what was in her mouth before she closed it and obviously swallowed. It was like watching a woman with strawberries after a rough day. She was ecstatic. My aim wasn't so good, so she was also soaked. Her nipples poked through like the winner of a wet t-shirt contest. She rubbed her face and her silk blouse and put her fingers in her mouth with a joy I had only seen in porn you pay for, not the crap that's free on the internet. Not bad, but I remember better.

"I need you to tell Mrs. Tate something for me."

"Oh, yes, anything." Her eyes were closed and she was in reverie.

"I have a doctor's appointment tomorrow, so I won't make lunch. In fact, I'll just get myself to where I need to go."

Her eyes snapped open, and she scrambled to her feet, and wouldn't take my help.

"Uhh . . .? I was gratified to find out she knew how to pronounce that word, too. I waited.

She kept her chin down, but rolled her eyes up at me, pleading running deep.

"Where?"

"Four Seasons. Room 938. It won't be locked."

"That's not how hotel locks work anymore."

"It won't be locked." And she ran out of the room. Not smelling like a month's salary.

Hotel

AFTER LEAVING my car in the parking garage, the elevator ride to the ninth floor didn't have much resemblance to some of the more memorable elevator rides I'd had lately. When I tried the door at room 938, it was as locked as I expected it to be, but then the green light came on as if I had used a card. I opened it expecting a creak, but there was nothing. The silence was glassy.

The room was at least a suite, with an outer chamber to the bedroom. Ah. That door creaked. I left it open when I strolled in to find Georgia already naked, face down. "Are we pressed for time today?"

"Mmm Mmm." Was that a yes or a no?

I turned her over to find she was gagged. "Not a bad plan, considering we're closer to public here. Good thinking, Georgia. But I brought a few things to this session. Hope that's okay."

I dropped the duffle bag on the bed.

"Sit up, would you? This will just take a moment or two." She rolled over, and eyed me suspiciously. "I wasn't sure how to tie you in a hotel room, so I brought a better way."

I rummaged around in my bag until I found what I needed: zip ties. "This is just to help keep you from flailing around too hard, so you don't bump into furniture calling attention to us."

I zipped her arms to her sides, then pulled her calves up zipped each of them to the same leg thigh. She could open and close her thighs until I zipped them open so she couldn't close them.

I took off my clothes; my erection had a head start.

"I'm glad it's okay for us to be in the altogether, because I have a surprise for you. And, I guess, some news. You see, I don't know who got you your intel on Renee and me, but they missed a few details."

Her head turned, her eyes widened.

"Whoever told you she was a sweet demure innocent little suburban meek housewife completely missed the part that she and I like to do things together. Like rape women."

Renee walked in, gorgeous, naked, wearing a strapon, and Georgia started struggling and making noises.

"You see, I wasn't trying to hide something from my wife while I was surfing to at the office. I was trolling for victims. And then you landed in my lap. Darling?"

I pulled Georgia up so she was on her knees, and Renee could stand in front of her. Renee got in position, and pointed the dildo at Georgia's pussy. As I got behind her on the bed, I got my cock to rest on her asshole.

"Ready, honey?" Renee nodded as she held Georgia's face so she could look in her eyes when the moment came. "One, two, three, go!"

And we both plunged into Georgia, dry. Georgia screamed so loud from under her gag that she could probably be heard in the hall.

The exhilaration on Renee's face was overwhelming. God, I love doing this with her. We starting fucking Georgia deliberately out of synch, to make it harder on her. We've had a lot of practice, and I couldn't wait to have a go with Alana, too.

Eventually, no matter how hard we try to keep the fucking different, we fall into a rhythm that builds to where I'm ready to cum. And cum I will; I've been wanting to do this to Georgia Tate since I met her.

But something was going wrong. Georgia had stopped screaming and was grunting, and moving with us. My God! She was getting off on this! And then she had the audacity to make sounds that sounded like laughing. As I looked over her shoulder, I saw Renee was perplexed, too. "Take her gag out."

Renee fumbled around a bit, but finally unbuckled it, and started pulling it out. It was not just a gag, it was a dildo that was down into her throat. When it finally popped out (my lord – how long was that thing?) she gasped and caught her breath in a couple more strokes.

"Hey Larry." Pant pant fuck fuck.

I tried to look around at Georgia's face, and it was smug. I hate smug.

"Gotcha."

She plunged onto Renee's mouth kissing her hungrily, moaning hard.

And then, my heart stopped. Literally. All my muscles seized up, my jaw clamped shut, and I couldn't let go or move and it hurt. Renee seemed to be having the same problem, and Georgia was screaming full throatedly, shrill, and loud. And then we all fell over off the bed and onto the floor, and we finally separated, seizures and all.

Apartment

I FLOUNDERED on the floor, like, well, a flounder. A naked flounder. The Ghost of Ernie Tate was standing right in front of me, large as life, hell, larger. Ernie was about the size of a vending machine, but not in a fat way. Now he looked familiar; I could identify him again, and I didn't remember him looking like an all-star wrestler, but maybe when you come back from the dead, you come back bigger and better and badder, ready to take down the competition with chairs and drop kicks and body slams. And I felt like all those things had happened to me, or maybe they were still happening to me. Breathing was much more effort than I remember, even with pneumonia in some past I could remember vaguely. And moving was out of the question. I tried to say "help", but all that came out was "gluck." Not even close.

I was just starting to think to myself 'shouldn't he be more transparent', when he reached down and pulled the electrodes out of my chest. Ah, so that's what that was. A tazer. I'd heard they hurt, but there wasn't any real connection between some guy you see happen to see on TV taking the hit and laughing with all his friends and the reality of 200,000 volts knocking you into next week. I managed to wrench my eyeballs from looking at The Ghost of Ernie, no, Ernie, to where I thought I'd left Renee. By the time I could focus all that distance away, Ernie was pulling wires from her, too.

As the instinct to struggle started to kick in, I found my motion severely hampered, and it dawned on how he could immobilize me so quickly. Zip ties. Wrists, elbows, knees, ankles, no wonder I'm uncomfortable.

Georgia finally stopped screaming, and was down to panting and rasping. Ernie crossed to her, knelt down by her, and I couldn't see what he was doing, but I could make out over the ringing in my ears a little of their talk.

" . . . good slut . . .?

" . . . d bless you, master . . . k'you . . . Aaahhhh . . .?

Ernie stood up, and it became obvious he was releasing her, as she forced herself into a kneel, zip tie marks criss-crossing her body. Since I was too busy watching her, I wasn't expecting him to be looking at me.

"Hey, Larry. Watch this." Ernie reached to his belt and removed another tazer. How many does he have? Two? Three?

"Stand up, slut." Georgia ground her limbs to respond until she was upright, with her head bowed deeply, hands to her side, the lack of agreed upon cane welts made her look translucent.

"Have I ever tazed you, wife?"

"No, master."

"How do you feel about electricity?"

"I hate it, master."

"Take this. Taze yourself. Fall down, give me a thrill. Now."

Georgia looked like she'd been handed a chocolate sundae after being on a diet way too long. She steadied the gun toward herself, and fired. Her head threw back as the zap sizzled, and she landed directly on her knees, and she quivered until the zapping stopped, and she crumpled over onto side, twitching. Ernie chuckled, and knelt down and pulled the wires from her chest. Third time today. All the up and downs were starting to feel like a roller coaster.

Ernie threw a 'didja see that' leer toward me. "Don't you wish your girlfriend was hot like she."

He turned his attention back to the struggling form of Georgia, and the ringing finally let up, and I could hear them, at least through my left ear, as I still couldn't lift my head.

"Master, your worthless cunt begs a boon."

"What can I do for you, bitch?"

"Please, please please allow your whore to speak with her employee one last time. I swear he will make it worth your while."

"Done." The bastard smirked.

Georgia crawled across the room, dragging her tits across the floor toward me, until she reached my legs, stretched out side-to-side. She then slinked her body up mine, rubbing herself, her sex, her tits, and her open mouth over as much of me as she could until her face was level with mine. She was giving me butterfly kisses all over my face, and she was exhaling messages of lust by just breathing. I could feel her breasts press harder, then softer into me as she panted. My god, I felt so overwhelmed with the sheer sexuality of this simple set of motions, that my erection came back.

She whispered, "Larry, open your mouth." I was mesmerized; I couldn't help it. "Mmmmmmooorrre, Larry." My jaw fell away. This was it. I should have been terrified; I had no reason to believe it, but I knew she was about to kiss me like I had never been kissed in my life. It could cost me Renee, Ernie might kill me, and I didn't care; it was going to be worth it. Her fingers found my face, and I suddenly quit breathing. I searched for and found her eyes, and the only message I could see in them was "fuck me fuck me fuck fuck me."

Then magic happened, but it wasn't good magic. Somehow, fingers that had never left my face were suddenly pushing something into my mouth, further and further, until I could feel my gag reflex start to kick in, I bucked her off of me and rolled over and I coughed out a piece of paper.

A piece of paper.

A pink piece of paper.

Her hot breath was suddenly at my left ear, the good one (how did she know that?), flicking it gently with her tongue as she whispered "You are fucking fired, Larry." She jumped up, and kicked me in the stomach. She spoke gleefully, laughing, "You ignorant twit. Your own numbers showed that your department beat uncompensated goals by 27% – awesome, but the company books show that you've personally embezzled half a million in the last quarter, and all the records point to you. You, Larry."

She danced across the room to a cabinet, pulled a satchel, and scurried back to Ernie, falling on her knees in front of him, head bowed, holding the bag in front of her. "Master, your slave's employee wishes you to have this."

"No wait, what . . .? came out as "Fluhh, buth, marnnth?"

How the hell does she do this? Before I could even start another word, she was right on top of me, slapping me in the face hard, really hard. "Shut the fuck up, Larry!" With her knee knocking the wind out of me, I curled up, fighting off retching. She crawled across in 2 motions (that should have taken her 6 steps), again in position, head bowed, "Please master, accept this humble gift from my stupid ignorant MOUTHY (she snapped back at me) employee, oh, forgiveness, master, former employee. He is so sincere that you have it, he will prove it to you, by offering you his wife as well."

She rolled her head toward me, with the Sneer of Satan's Sister on her face. "To have, see."

I tried to get out "Aack. hughnnaack. huh. hiuh no noo noo" and then she teleported across the room again, kicking me, hitting me, biting me, like a wild animal, beating me, grabbing my head and pounding it onto the floor, screaming shouting, "Yes you do! Yes you do! Yes you do!"

The fight went out of me, the room spun, and I lay there, struggling to breathe and still desperately trying just to see. By the time I could get a moan out, the witch was dressed.

Ernie reached into the satchel and pulled something out that he let flutter from the top of the room where he was to bottom where I was. "Cab fare. Thanks, Lar."

And they were gone. I didn't see or hear them leave, and I panicked at the silence. I had no idea where Renee was. Moving was again impossible, so I just lay there, the roar of my own gasps echoed out of the now bare room. Wasn't there furniture here? The last thing I almost remember was that my face was being covered with a damp cloth, and it smelled terrible, and then the damn poetry set in. Farewell . . . happy grove . . . silent the feet of angels . . . .blessing, and joy . . . sleeping bosom . . .

. . . LIGHT ROSE from the chambers of the east, feet were appearing upon the room, and o holy virgin in purest white, it was Alana, looking like I had just come back from the dead, thank god. Where the hell was I?

"Good morning, beautiful." I looked around me on the bed; yes, I was the only one she could have been addressing. And yes, I was tied to it.

"Uhh . . .? Again with the eloquence.

She slid slithered toward me like a porn star. "Sshhh, don't you worry about a thing, baby," wrapping herself around me. "I'm going to take the best care of you and keep you so happy, you won't want to ever . . . There is, though, and I'm so sorry, honey, something we just can't do. Well, okay, three things. You understand, don't you?" She cooed and purred and fired every nerve ending I had. "You'll be completely healthy by, well, you know when."

The enchantments of feeling her body dissolved, and she was standing by the bed, beaming at me. "But some of us still have to work. I'm gonna shoo now, but I'll be back before you know it. There's porn if you want it. Don't go anywhere, darling." And she was gone.

There's no such things as witches. Then calendars and agreements rained down on my mind. Oh, fuck.

House Mates

Work

"SHE'LL BE just a minute."

God, I hate this girl. What trench she got drug out of is beyond me. I suppose some people might think she's pretty; I don't. I've never seen anyone else, ever, constantly have a bad hair day. She can't dress for shit, her voice is of the nails-on-the-chalkboard school of vocal projection, her accent overwhelms what she says, and what she says is somewhere between moronic and imbecilic. I don't know how she gets from point A to point B with her limbs always going all akimbo every time she pinballs across a room. If she could get some poor schlupp interested in her, she'd have to be astonishing in bed to get past the first date, and somehow I don't think that's possible with her. As a slut, she would be nothing less than disgusting. Her only saving grace is that maybe, just maybe, she'll misbehave and Georgia will give her to me.

The door clicked open, and as always, Georgia was sticking herself to the man she always comes out of her office with when I come by. "She'll be no trouble. Oh, and here's Renee. Speak of the devil."

Her boss has yet to even glance at me. At least, he doesn't waste any time glancing at Alana either, the bitch. He strides out of the office and all three of us women, well, two women and that?thing, are momentarily agape and pining at where he was. He can leave a room like nobody else.

"Come in, Renee."

I feel my head shake ever so slightly as I try to come back to the living and turn to enter Georgia Tate's office-cum-chapel. Turning the correct direction so that I don't have look at Alana. Bitch.

The door silently falls shut behind me; I feel the cool relief of separation from Alana (bitch) waft over me from behind. I follow Georgia toward her desk and watch her sit. Now this woman can wear a dress better than anybody I've ever known. Mrs. Georgia Tate has the most comfortable furniture I've ever sat in, and her office is the most warm, the most inviting place in all of Dallis & McKnight. The chair welcomes me like a lover, and I feel myself relaxing into it and wishing I was naked.

"And how is your beloved?"

"The same, I'm afraid. Still sick as a dog, and they have no idea as to what's going on."

"Oh, you poor thing. I really feel for you."

"Thank you. That means so much to me." And it does. As I smile, I catch her doing the same. And I'm sure it means the same to her as it does to me.

"I've got something for you." Georgia gestures toward the back of her office. There's a woman there, facing the corner with long dark hair.

"What's her name?" As if it mattered.

"Deborah. Mr. Dallis informs me that a Tim . . . Timothy? something or other, has gotten tired of her. She's slightly less than cooperative, and we were hoping you'd like a crack at her. Deborah, mon ange, please turn around now."

She was young and pretty and slender except for her breasts, which were not slender. She was wearing a sweater and skirt and she stood quietly, expressionlessly. Supermodel material.

"I'm sure you can do something with this, yes? The everyday requirements, don't mar her, eliminate her limits, get her past her arrogance and haughtiness."

"Why isn't she kneeling?"

"Why, I don't know. Deborah?"

Deborah's head was at least already bowed, and she sank. An obviously practiced move. When her knees reached the floor, the slight impact rippled up her skirt and through her sweater. No bra.

"Any special requests?"

"The mainstream domination whipping fantasy: hang her by her wrists, bullwhips, front, back, top, bottom, let her scream her head off, get her to promise anything, you know, the usual. Do miss her face, though."

"How long do I get her?"

"Until she's done, ma mimette."

"THANKS FOR coming in, Mrs. Stephens." Alana's eyes sparkled. I looked around for a closet to penny her into. Her nose was still pointed to whatever she had on her desk, and will hopefully suck her into it, slowly. That expression is not going to work on me, you bitch.

God. Bitch is too nice a word for you, you Cunt.

"Sure, any time, Seeya." I started to shuffle Deborah out.

"Oh, Renee, wait." I looked back to see Georgia standing at the door of her office. "You forgot this." She held up the vial.

My left shoulder collapsed a little, and my head rolled in the same direction. "Oh, ma belle, thank you. What would I do without you?"

"Of course, ma moiti?. Are you still using that spritzer?"

"Yyeeeaaah. I am." My own eyes dropped, and had to change direction to avoid looking at the room-cunt behind the desk. Wouldn't the food service or housekeeping industries be better suited for you?

"Well, please don't. Measure it with piping. The spritzer has too much variability, and if there's every-so-slightly too much, they'll find it."

"Yes, you're right. I'll be careful. Thanks again." With one eye, I winked at Georgia. With the other, I threw daggers at Alana (Cunt).

I took Deborah by the hand. "C'mon. We got shit to do."

Caf?

THE SLUTTY waitress had just left our cappuccinos.

"Can you believe her?"

Silence. Then more silence.

"Okaaayyy . . . Let's try this. A blonde (and I pointed to our waitress), a brunette (I indicated my guest – at least she looked up at me) and a redhead (me) are running from the cops. They hide on a potato farm. They crawl into some potato bags. The first cop pokes the bag with the brunette in it. She says, "Meow." The cop confirms that it is just a cat. The second cop pokes the bag with the redhead in it. She says, "Woof." The cop says that it is just a dog. The third cop pokes the bag with the blonde in it. She says in her sweetest voice, 'Potato'."

I at least expected the groan of 'why are you telling me this'. Not even a twitch on her face.

"Do you know why you're here?"

Zilch. Null. Stoic.

"Am I boring you, mon ami? I asked you a question. Do you need me to repeat it?"

At last. A slight shake of the head. She looked a bit in shock.

"And?"

"I'm here to be p.p..p . . . punished." Barely a whisper.

I matched her volume, but didn't whisper. "That's right. And why do you need that?"

More staring at the table.

"Excuse me, ma poup?e. Is this hard? Answer me."

"Yes." Empty churches are louder than she is.

"And why is this so hard?"

"I . . . I don't think . . . ."

" . . . that you should be punished? That you didn't do anything wrong?"

Head shaking, eyes widening.

"I don't know what you did or didn't do. All I know is that you are a haughty arrogant bitch who needs to grow up and be more gracious. And I'm going to make that happen in a hurry."

Long pause. Her chin drooped and she tried to throw me the same look Alana did, but Deborah did it better. Probably does everything better. "Whatever." I felt all my buttons get pushed simultaneously.

"Do you think I can't get your attention?" I pulled my lighter out of my purse.

"I can't smoke here, and I know, everyone says I should quit, but I can still light this lighter, and make something very hot. Like this fork." I proceeded to burn the finish off the crappy fork at this crappy caf?. It changed color.

I held it in front of her face, swaying it back and forth. "Do you think this would hurt if I put it someplace it wouldn't show?"

"Yes." Apathetic little whore.

"If you make the slightest sound, I'll send you back to Georgia. And tell her I can't do anything with you. Do you know what happens then?"

Deborah shook her head. She's at least got that move down.

"Georgia will find you a new job, at a torture brothel in Bangkok, where the life expectancy of a pretty American girl is about a month, and every waking moment of it will be spent screaming your lungs out. Do you believe me?"

Deborah's eyes turned anime-huge. God, I love doing this.

"Your choice, right here, right now, ma bichette, is to sit there and let me burn you with this, or I make a call, and you'll be in the air within the hour to the last weeks of your pathetic little whorish existence. Are you ready to give all this up yet?" She finally blinked, and shook her head. Again. Hell, I've lost count. "Hold still, be quiet. You know where I want to put this, don't you."

She made about 8 short quick panicky inhales before I took the fork out from between her legs, and she panted through her nose. I don't think I drew blood, but then, I wasn't about to put my head under the table to find out. Maybe she'll show me on the ride home.

"You did that well. You have a lot of self-control, and I admire that. Now. Back to where we started. Why are you here? And don't be a smart alec, be respectful."

"I'm here to be punished. For being a bitch and a whore."

"Well, we're all bitches and whores here, mon ch?ri. Did you get a load of our waitress? Ach, the things I want to do to Satan's Mistress. Try again. True confessions time. Good for the soul."

She meditated a moment before finally faking an undoing, hoping that would save her. "I played the whore at Mr. Dallis's offices, and was an arrogant bitch. I tried to blackmail him, and he caught me stealing, and is blackmailing me to do whatever he thinks of today, every day. He's punishing me for all this, and whatever other hatred he has for women in general."

"Well, that was a bunch of stuff. Do you have a lot of money?"

"Yes. No, he took it all back. I've got nothing."

Liar. "Do you deserve to be punished?"

"We all deserve to be punished. Sin is everywhere."

"You were better being arrogant. Contrite doesn't fit you. Yet."

Her eyes narrowed, and I found I still had a button left. "I'm sure you can hurt me, maybe even break me. But you'll never break me."

"Oh, there's a song in there, isn't there, mon lapin. Check, please!"

WE STOPPED at a couple places on the way home, and at least Deborah knew enough to not try to escape. I tried to make her pay at the drug store and the hardware store, but her card did come back declined. No money, my ass.

Home

"HONEY? ARE you home?"

Nope, not yet. Good.

After taking the bag off of Deborah's head, which was intensely gratifying putting on, at least for me, I lead her into the basement. "You'll be staying here with us a while. Take off your clothes, ma mie." I turned away, unpacking shopping bags. When I turned back, everything was the same. I'm not sure there was even oxygen consumption.

"Are you needing something, ma puce? An invitation, a reference, a bill of sale? I said, take off your clothes."

She looked in my eyes, and reflected oblivion. It was like talking to the wall. So I stepped over, and struck her. Hard, across the cheek.

She bent over to my left, and then proceeded to slowly get down on her knees, her head finally hanging. So I hit her again, this time with the heel of my hand, supported by my forearm, and got her to the floor. All the way down. Her response was . . . nonexistent. She displayed the animated qualities of a porcelain doll. It was all I could do not to kick her.

"I can see what she was saying, about 'slightly uncooperative'."

I stepped back to the table, and opened the cabinets, looking for necessary items: manacles, scissors, hooks. I had really gone out of my way to embarrass her at the hardware store. At least, the guy who helped us enjoyed it. I'd've enjoyed it more if it had an impact on her. As I pulled the rope we had just bought out of the sack, I turned so she could see what I was doing.

Except she didn't look up. Fine. If she doesn't want to play along, she will at least participate once she's off the floor.

I ran the rope through the pulley in the ceiling, tied the hook to one end, and wound the other onto the winch in the wall. I knelt down beside her, and put her hands into the manacles.

Blank.

I finished hooking her up, and started to winch her up off the floor. Once her feet actually left earth, I stood in front of her, and held her by her hips and shook her. "Anything to say?"

She sighed. "Have fun."

Boy, were those ever the right words. To get me pissed off. I pulled her back and let her swing. She moaned slightly as the forces changed directions while she moved back and forth across the room.

I started to cut her clothes off her.

"Well. Those were expensive." That didn't make them hard to cut. Quite the contrary. Expensive clothes always flutter so nicely.

I decided I wasn't going to waste any more time trying to get this turnip to talk; instead, I'd see about getting her to bleed.

I pulled the good strap out of its case from behind her, and didn't bother with a warning. After the 4th shotgun-shot of the attack, I asked her. "Ever been whipped before, ma miel?" She did manage a slight shake of her head in between inhales; ah, progress. "Well, you still haven't been. We're gettin' there."

As she spun in her suspension, I managed to strap her thighs, her ass, her back, her tits, her stomach. She had several wide red marks. The edges might bruise; it was too early to tell.

But she was only breathing a little harder; not the desired effect at all.

I spent the rest of the afternoon hitting her with everything I could find. Cane, whip, tawse, rope, crop, bat, cat, quirt, ruler, garden hose. Jesus. This girl might actually be dead, except for the slightly labored breathing.

LARRY WAS late coming in the door, and he seemed to have been out of breath a bit.

"At the gym?"

"Naw, just in a hurry to get home."

"I have a new toy for us."

"Is she pretty?"

"Staggeringly. Wanna fuck her senseless?"

"Really? You need to ask?"

After we had zip-tied her arms and legs open, we double-teamed her until we couldn't stand any more.

"You know, babe, I can understand them maybe not liking this at first, but that was just weird. It's almost like she was just watching us, even when you used the spiked dildo."

"Don't worry, I'll fix her. I promise."

I just didn't know how. I did go to all the trouble to let her down; although, dislocating her shoulders might get her attention.

Basement

"I HAVEN'T been at a loss like this for a long time."

"Yep, tried that."

"Hit her with practically everything in the house. Didn't try a spatula, but if a bullwhip made no impression on her, I had no faith in cooking utensils."

"It's almost like she's trying on a vow of silence for size. Any nuns in her family?"

"No. Nope. No, I'm not giving up this soon. I have a reputation to maintain."

"Sure. I'll keep trying. I'll let you know. Thanks, Georgia."

Holy poop on a stick. It almost isn't worth trying to talk to Georgia on the phone, having to go through that cunt Alana like that. And I mean it. Cunt. Cuntcuntcuntcuntcuntcuntcuntcunt.

WALKING INTO the basement, Deborah hadn't moved from where I put her last night.

"I need to go to the bathroom."

"I'm sure you do. Go ahead."

"You're . . . going to punish me for that."

"I'm going to punish you anyway. The only difference is whether or not it's going to smell worse."

She considered for a moment. "I'll wait."

"Suit yourself. Get up. I'll help you here. Stand up."

I cut the zip-ties on her legs, leaving her arms praying behind her back, and helped her get her to her feet. Good cop bad cop never works in here, especially since I had to play both parts anyway.

I lit a cigarette and watched her for a while; she just stood there. A fucking mannequin. A mannequin for fucking. A cold wet fish. Not unlike so many marriages I've heard of. I'm at least trying to kill my husband. As sloowly as I can tolerate. Killing him with bad cooking would just take too damn long. I'm amazed at how much Georgia knows about poisons, the old ones like woman's bane, hemlock, nightshade, and the plan to slightly misbalance the poison with the antidote to gradually sicken him to death with snake venoms and hallucinogens is shear brilliance. He'll be in the ground by the first of the year, and they'll never figure it out. I would fuck that woman silly if she'd let me.

"I'm going to get some coffee, maybe a croissant. Need anything?"

"Yes, please."

"Too bad, mon tr?sor." I blew smoke in her face. She didn't even cough. Apparently, it's old hat to her.

As I was starting up the stairs, I stole a glance back at her I don't think she caught.

And then she did it. She slipped the tell. The one slight damning act that told me everything about her, and just how I was going to break her.

This whore isn't Delilah. She's Samson.

I BOUNCED back down the stairs with my coffee, because I just can't hide some things. "Gotcha" is right at the top of the list.

Let's see, I'll have to re-zip tie her legs, I've got to figure out something for the harness, do I want to gag her? Naah, not yet. Maybe a chair. Tie her to the chair while I set up the rest.

"Sit down here, mon cher. That's a girl. Bring your feet up."

I'd zip-tied her ankles to her thighs, and then zipped the zip tie to the chair. "Wonderful. You rest; I'll be back in a moment." She could knock it over if she tried really hard, but she's not going anywhere. I finished tying together a makeshift harness out of several hooks and small pieces of cord, then realized I was going to have to get a brush. I ran back up stairs.

This will be so girly. I haven't done anything like this since slumber parties.

OK, SO maybe a little good cop to start, just to amuse myself, if nothing else.

"You are so pretty. Princess pretty. I cannot figure out how you can keep your hair looking so amazing, even down here, even after all the shit we've done to you." I started brushing her hair, and despite her perfect posture, she stiffened.

I started separating her hair into strands, and began braiding it, weaving the hooks into it. At some point, she detected the change in weight, and started shuddering.

"Beautiful. Just beautiful. It's almost like a magic spell, your hair is . . .? Ah. Finished. I pulled the ceiling rope from the pulley down, and tied it into the hair harness. Walking over to the wall, I said, "Anything you want to say?"

"Wh . . . what are y-y-you doing?"

"Finding my way into your soul." I started cranking her up until she was taut. Her breathing became erratic and stressed, speckled with gasps.

I came back and cut the ties to the chair. It still supported her weight, but just barely.

"Oh, g-ggod, what d-do you w-w-wwant?"

"First, Second and Third today, I want to hear you scream." I cranked her up a couple inches, and she moaned and struggled as little as her ties would allow, which was enough to knock the chair over. I stood in front of her as she slowly rotated, and when she got back around to facing me, I smiled at her.

She screamed.

"Now That . . . .That is beautiful."

Suddenly, the whips meant something to her, and I was back in my element. First thing she learned was how to have an orgasm from being an ashtray. Woowoowoowoowoo, as my man Curly would say.

I HEARD the car pull up when we were resting a bit. I had to find a second chair, and she was wheezing like a runner. A losing runner. Sore from head to toe. I kissed her quick and chaste, and called out as I ran upstairs. "Don't go anywhere!"

I just kill me sometimes.

When Larry came through the door, I threw my arms around him, kissing him like we were on our honeymoon.

"Mmmmm, where were you? I missed you."

"Honey, you won't believe the day I had. Care to improve it?"

"Fuck, yes!" I grabbed his hand as we ran downstairs.

After we got Deborah back in the air, no less noisy than she'd been all day, I found what I was looking for in the cabinet.

I lit it in front of her. Larry turned off most of the lights, for dramatic effect.

"You are going to do anything and everything we say, no matter what. You are going to commit yourself fully, immediately."

"GOD NO NO NO NO DON'T PLEASE DOOOOOONNNNNNTTT NOOOOO!"

I brought the torch over, waved it a bit, and her pubic hair was on fire. She voided herself, and she practically popped her eyes out of their sockets.

"NO ARRGH NO YES YES YES! YES! I'LL DO WHAT YOU WANT! PLEASE PLEEEASSSEEE! AAARRRAAAHHGHH!"

Her public hair finished burning off without incident, without scaring. She'd been sweating enough to keep anything else from burning.

She was panicking hard as we lowered her in the darkened basement. She was the only thing making any sound at all.

"OH, GOD, YES, PLEASE, ANYTHING, ANYTHING I'LL DO IT I'LL DO IT YES YES YES!"

I whispered because it would be scarier. "If you don't do something we want, first time, every time, there is more hair you can lose."

When she finally quit crying a half hour later, I insisted she lick up the mess she made. Her compliance was inspirational. Larry was bored until she got that over with. Too damn bad. Girl talk takes precedence.

As it turned out, Deborah really was the little prostitute she said she was. Once we got her started, we were having trouble finding things she wouldn't do, much to my worthless husband's enjoyment. His cock made the rounds on her; she had the gift of tongues and she made the rounds on both him and me. Before we went to bed, I managed to get both of my hands inside her while Larry got both of his in, too. Now that was awesome.

LATER, after we had fucked like on our honeymoon, Larry told me what he and Georgia had been up to. Panic is something I am good at hiding.

Phonebooth

OF COURSE it was dark, of course it was raining. I was trying to remember that damn chicken joke. The phone was still ringing on the other end. Something about, let's see, bells, feasts, arms, ring, ring, ring.

"Hello?"

I had to shout. "Oh, my god, Georgia, it's Renee. I swear, I didn't know what was going on, please, you have to believe me."

Suns, seas, old men, it's on the tip of my tongue.

"It's all right, Renee, really."

"I mean it, Georgia, I will kill him tonight."

"No, don't do that. I'm using him, and I need him."

Rain pattering down. Thunder rumbling. Francis, uh, beachcomber? No, that's not right.

"I . . . .may have given him some extra." Dramatic thunderclap.

"For god's sake, Renee. Shit. Shit." The rain sheets increased, like you'd expect in a bad production of Hamlet. Or . . . Macbeth?

"Don't panic. Go pump him full of coffee, and make sure he's mostly okay before you take him to the doctors tomorrow. We'll have to change the formula again."

"I'm sorry, Georgia. I'm all alone out here, and you're pulling curves on me."

"It's going to be fine, Renee. Don't argue, do whatever he wants. It will all work out in the end. Now go take care of your husband." No sooner had the line went dead, but the storm stopped. Instantly, like a switch was thrown.

I was half way back to the house when the lightbulbs appeared above my head.

Why the Chicken Crossed the Road, by Ernest Hemingway. "To die. Alone. In the dark. In the rain."

I don't know why that stupid joke cracks me up, but it does every time. Except tonight. Fuck. I'm pretty sure Deborah is going to need me to take this out on her.

Clinic

LARRY DIDN'T wake up the next morning in time for work. He was groggy and dull and slow-witted as usual, only now he wouldn't stay awake. Two pots of coffee in him later (to offset the hemlock), I finally got him poured into the car and over to the doctors. The nurses there all look to me like they're in the middle of their sexual peak, and anything with a cock is much more interesting than anything without one. The usual battery of tests came up as dry as usual, thank god, and I got him home and back to bed to let him sleep it all off. He'd be back at work in a couple days, but mostly asleep until then, so I could do pretty much what I want. I went to see Georgia.

Praise god, praise allah, praise buddah, Alana wasn't in the front office. It still smelled like her, yuck, but at least I could knock on Georgia's door myself without having to throw up a little in the back of my mouth. She is such a lesson that not everything in nature has a function. Hell, there's even a good place for lesbian cows.

Shit, I forgot the porno I promised myself I would hide around her desk if I got this chance. Note to self: find some bestiality porn for Alana. Isn't there a magazine of that shit I could subscribe her to and have delivered here? From like, Denmark? Or, wait, who was that gal who turned out to be a fat guy? Cec..Cel..Kooky Celeste? no wait: Kinky Celine. The girl with the horses. That'd be good?

"Renee! How good you came by! How's Larry?"

"Out cold for today and probably tomorrow." Ahhh. A nudism-inducing perch. I think I played with the buttons on my blouse. "I am so sorry, Georgia."

"No trouble, ma coco. Here. New formula. This'll take a week or so for him to start showing any symptoms, if, and I repeat if, you don't lose patience and overdose him again."

"It won't happen, I swear. But . . . what is it you two are up to?"

"Oh, it's just a personal little game I'm playing. While I still can with him. It's kinda fun!"

"Whatever you want, mon c?ur."

"And how is your little pet assignment coming along?"

"It is wondrous. You know what tipped her hand? I watched her for just a split second when she thought I wasn't looking, and she gave a wry little smile, and flipped her hair. Even though it wasn't in her way at all. Maybe I need cameras in the basement."

"She flipped her head? Like this?" My left shoe fell off.

"Vanity. Thy. Name. Is. Woman. It was revelatory. It wasn't her body, her face, her sex, none of that was where her pride was. It was in her fucking hair. Gorgeous stuff, sure, wish mine did more of the tricks I've seen hers do, but as soon as that became the focus of the torture, her whole identity melted away, and I've been remolding her ever since. She's going to be one of my better accomplishments."

"On par with, let's see, what was her name again? That teacher?"

"No, she's still the crown jewel. I hear she's a piss-slave somewhere out west now. Pity." I started playing with the top of my slacks.

"Well, just let me know when you think she's good to go, and I'll have her picked up. I'm sure the boss will appreciate it. Apparently, he owes Tim's crowd something. Can't wait to figure out what!"

"You bet. 'Nother week or so."

"Oh, and Renee?"

"Yes, ma mignon?"

"I think she's still got some money somewhere. See if you can get it."

I KNEW it! Little bitch has been holding out on me! We'll see about that.

Shit. Didn't get out of that office fast enough. I could smell Alana coming around the corner, damn her and damn her mother for bearing her.

I held my breath, wondering how long it would take Larry to fill a hundred condoms I could pour into her purse.

"Oh, Hi, Mrs. Stephens. Did you get to see Georgia?"

"Yes, thanks." Still holding. And I couldn't help it: Snow White has been thrown out of Fairyland. She was caught sitting on Pinocchio's face shouting, "Lie you little sod, lie!!"

"And I heard about Mr. Stephens. I do hope he's all right."

"That means so much. Thank you." Fuck. I'm running out of air. A brother and sister are in bed together. The brother turns to his sister and says, "Wow, you are almost as good as mom!" The sister replies, "Yeah, that's what dad said."

"I've really got to shoo, Alana. Maybe we can talk later." My eyes were watering. Maybe the PMS contender here would think I'm crying about shitface. Happiness would be seeing your picture on a milk carton.

"Oh, of course. Best to yours."

The doors of the elevator were half way closed before I felt it was safe to breathe again. I'm sure she saw me smile as I remembered the old joke: What's green and brown, has 15 balls and if it falls out of a tree and hits you, it will kill you?

A pool table.

Why is there never a good pool table tree around when you need one?

THAT NIGHT, I found the other part of Deborah's vanity. I had her suspended by her tits and was threatening to cut them off and let her fall when she offered me money. Lots of money. And the next day, my now-good little girl, ma fifille, delivered it. It'll be showtime soon, when I can get her to swallow piss, especially her own, without barfing. And lick it up if she does without being asked. I wondered if the neighbor's dog was available. We could take some pictures for Alana.

Suite

WE EACH had a bag in the lobby. Larry brought a rape kit.

He was excited as we rose in the elevator. I sucked his cock, and somehow, we didn't get caught. He didn't cum, but it got him riled up.

This was part of what he and Georgia had been working on, and I didn't quite understand why she wanted me to let him rape her, but I wasn't in much of a position to contradict her, either. She had a way about her that makes one want to do things her way, even if cliffs were involved.

In the outer room of the hotel suite, he had me strip and don a strapon. He was going to go on in first, and I was going to come in and "surprise" her. I came in a couple minutes later with the duffle bag filled with Deborah's money.

I'll admit, she looked surprised. Especially when we both penetrated her front and back simultaneously. But it didn't take long for the actions Deborah and Larry and I had been practicing to get Georgia's motor obviously running. She was sopping, and moaning and laughing through her gag. Larry seemed confused by this, and had me take it out. For me, the idea that I was getting to fulfill one of my darkest fantasies with a woman I deeply admired and respected made my strapon start to slip out of me, for the swamp I was becoming. I wish I could be evil like this every day. Oh, wait. I can.

Georgia's gag was hard to get out. It was cool, and went all the way down into the middle of her neck. This may be something I want Deborah to try.

I missed what she said to Larry, and suddenly she was kissing me; I dropped the gag, and I melted.

Then I fried.

GEORGIA'S HUSBAND, Ernie Tate, was leaning over me, taking wires out of my chest. Tazer. I mispronounced most of what I was trying to say to him: "Oh, Ernie, you can do that to me all day. Want me to lick your ass?" came out more like "FLplupf aauernaa mmmebbblfgh gloooorrwps."

God, I love electricity.

Ernie seemed to be playing games with Georgia and Larry, and he made her shock herself, making me wish he'd do that to me. Making me wish he and Georgia would finally take me away from all this. I managed to get up and get dressed in the other room, only to come back in to see Georgia beating the snot out of Larry.

If wishes were fishes. This was swell. Maybe today is the day.

"C'mon, cunt. You too, pussy," said Ernie. We grabbed all the stuff, and we were gone.

Lobby

THE RIDE down in the elevator was spectacular. Georgia and I made out like teenagers, and I managed to cum before we got to the ground floor. Ernie leered. I had to battle my way vertical again. Panting, I reached into my purse and got a cigarette and lit up as we walked out.

And there was that cunt Alana. I shot past her as quick as I could. She ruined coming down from a perfectly good orgasm. Does her period never end? Eeww!

I was well into the lobby when the desk clerk started calling after me. "Miss! Miss! You can't do that here! Miss!"

Screw 'em.

On the third drag, the structure turned sideways, and suddenly my shoulder hurt. The last thing I remember was seeing Georgia leaning down and stroking my face. "Adieu, ma crotte."

Ward

"SHE'S COMING around."

Uggh.

"Take it easy on her, she had a close call. I mean it."

"Mrs. Stephens."

My mouth was dry. Sticky. Like when I'd fall asleep with my mouth open when I wore braces. Bleah.

"Mrs. Stephens."

I could stand to take a shit. Where was Alana when I needed her?

"Mrs. Stephens."

My eyes popped open, and I wished they hadn't.

"I'm glad to see you're all right, there, Mrs. Stephens. We were worried."

The thing that was leaning over couldn't have been human. He stood up, and flashed a badge. Crap. Five-Oh.

"Do you think you could talk a little? I can wait, if you want."

Oh, merciful heaven, no. If talking to this, this, this thing would send him away, I'd deliver a commencement address. "Uhhh, suurrre." I tried to get the room to wobble a little less by sitting up a bit. It didn't help.

"Do you know where you are?"

I shook my head.

"St. Raphael's. You fell at the Four Seasons, and I have to admit, you've aroused my curiosity."

Pant pant pant. "Really?" pant pant.

"Why, yes. Do you know where your husband is?"

"Larry? No. He isn't here? Hospital? Ohhhh . . . .what happened? Do you need the number?"

"Oh, well, that's just it, Mrs. Stephens. We can't seem to find him. Any ideas?"

"He'sss mmmmissing?"

"It gets my attention that your husband can't be found right now, and the reason you fell down at the hotel was in your purse. Seems you'd been poisoned."

"I don't understand."

"There was a broken vial of Hyoscine, commonly known as, let's see, where's my note, uh?sorry. Ah. Nightshade. A vial of nightshade in your purse. It soaked your cigarettes, and when you started smoking in the lobby, which you shouldn't do, by the way, there may be a ticket for you on that, you managed to inhale enough to put you down."

I rubbed my eyes in an effort to close them, to keep from having to see this remarkably ugly man.

"Why would there be a vial of nightshade in your purse, Mrs. Stephens?"

"I . . . I'm a . . . botany student. I often have a vial of something in my purse I'm studying." Thank god for small truths. Damn, that gown was itchy.

"Ah ha. Well. I guess that explains it all, now doesn't it. But, until your husband rematerializes, Mrs. Stephens, don't leave town."

He was no less ugly from the back as he walked away from the bed.

"At least, you got family here. Good for you. Be seein' ya."

Auto

"AS SOON as you're ready, ma'am, we'll take you down. They're waiting."

I got dressed. The orderly re-appeared with the traditional wheelchair. When we reached the lobby, a young man appeared. "Ah, your brother."

Except I don't have a brother.

"Thanks, can I take her on out? Thanks!"

I'd certainly never seen this dweeb before, Jesus, he's huge, but I wasn't in a position to make a scene; no strength for arguments or explanations. When he got me to the car, he opened the front door to a really old red Porsche, and helped me in. I hesitated, so he pushed me in the rest of the way.

From the back seat I heard, "C'mon. We got shit to do." The door was already locked, and I looked back. Oh, holy fuck.

AS WE pulled away, Deborah said, "Renee Stephens, this is Timothy. Timothy, Renee." Jesus, what a nerd. And her hair looked great. Fabulous, actually.

"I hope you don't mind, sugar, but I told Timothy you'd take care of him for taking time out from his busy day to get us around."

"I'm sure you did."

"Yeah, I did. Blow him."

"Yeah, right. Or what."

"Or maybe, let's see, would I shoot you with his small caliber weapon that doesn't do very much damage so I could get to shoot you lots and lots before we have to take you back where we just got you?"

She showed me the gun. This bitch was as serious as a heart attack, which I found myself wishing for.

"Now, I gave you a perfectly good reason to keep me from plugging you; his name is, uh, Timothy, and he's sitting to your left. Blow him."

Apparently, I didn't move fast enough.

"Timothy, roll down her window. I'm going to see if I can shoot through her left tit, and get the bullet to go through her right tit, and on out the window."

"Okay, okay, okay, I'm doing it." I undid my seat belt, and started to lean over to him.

"At fucking last. Move your seat back, Timothy, so she has room to work. That's good."

I started undoing his pants, and finally got his cock free. Jesus fucking christ. Did he just come from the gym?

"I really want to see you commit here, sweetness. 'Cause when I'm blowing him later, I want him to say you were better. Got me?"

"Mmmm Hhmmm." Ngyk ngyk ngyk.

"Atta girl. Hey Timothy, have I blown you before?"

"Oh, god, yeah."

"Don't crash us, Timothy. Was I any good?"

"Ach, oh, oh, you were amazing."

"Of course I was. All blow jobs are amazing. Whatever you do, bunny cakes, don't bite him. If he crashes us, his airbag would probably break every bone in your neck and head. I'll be fine back here, so don't worry about me. You just take care of Timothy."

Ngyk ngyk ngggyk. hhhhh. hhhh. ngyk ngyk ngyk ngyk.

"You're really raising the temperature back here, lamb chop, so, I'm going to go ahead and take my clothes off now. Timothy? Baby?"

"Hhhhuuuuh, yeaaahhhh?"

"I meant it. I'm going to blow you later, after we drop her off, and I have every faith that she's going to be better'n me, so you'll just have to fuck me in the ass to make up for it. I've turned over a new leaf, Timothy. No more holding back. We'll play all weekend long. Anything you want. Anything."

"Oooooh, yeah, yeahmmmhhhh yeahyeahyeahyeah!"

Nnnnn nnnnggg ngggg gngggg.

"Oh, yeah, Babe. Hold it Hold it. Don't swallow it. Hold it all in your mouth. Come back here with me. Just crawl over the seat. C'mere. I wanna see."

I managed to clamber over the seat and sit next to Deborah, the new cunt in my life. I wondered if she was related to Alana.

"Open your mouth, Renee. Mmmmooorrre. God, that's beautiful. Are you okay to get us to the airport Timothy? Hmm? Good."

Airport?

Suddenly she sprayed something in my mouth, and held me and her hand over my mouth, and she pinched my nose shut.

"Swallow it. Swallow it. Do it, and I'll let you breathe. Do it now."

I struggled until I did it. The car's interior started spinning. Bad enough to have jockstrap sperm, but what was that awful taste?

And I said so to her. "Whaaat iiiis thaaaaat?"

"Airport? Oh, it's a big building with airplanes in it." Pause. "Hey Timothy! I made a joke! Have you ever known me to make a joke?"

"No, never."

"I tell you, I'm a changed woman, and it's all because of this person right here." Pause. "No, I know what you mean. It's wolvesbane. Just enough to put you to sleep. I didn't think you'd want to be awake for the god-long boring flight. I hear the inflight movie is Tora Tora Tora. The only good thing in it is that scene where Olivier was walking down that hall."

"Hey, I liked that film."

"Shut up, Timmy. This is girl talk."

Flight? What flight? Where the fuck are we going?

"First of all, I don't want you to worry about that cop. Whatever he might have said about staying in town just won't matter. I got that under control. He's so cute; I'm thinking he might be the one for me, you know? And when he talks, oh, it just gives me a wettie. He's all mine, you can't have him."

Oh, I might have to lie down . . .

"You just go right ahead and do that, sweetie. Second, you know your friend Alana? I wish I had a friend like her. Do you think she might like girls? 'Cause if she does, I'm gonna fuck her silly."

Uuuhhhhhh . . . .

"Don't know, eh? That's okay, I'll find out. You should know that when I told her about what happened to you, the first thing she thought of was your well being, and how much stress and strain you've been under. And all those horrible things you'd say about her? Duh, pet names! I'm so jealous."

Jesus, this lap is the most comfortable place I've ever put my head . . .

"Awww, that's sweet. Alana, you know her, suggested you might just need a vacation. Some place exotic. And she had it all worked out before we were even off the phone. She's arranging my next vacation, that's for sure. She's better than any travel agent I've ever seen."

. . . so warm, so inviting . . .

"Third, I want you to know that you're finally getting to go to that place we've talked about so much. You remember. Thailand."

. . . I wish I were naked . . . .

" . . . And soon, you will be . . .?

Room Mates

Job

"ARE YOU ready to see her?"

My lover give me the look across the webcam, sending a shiver down my spine and back up through my pussy, toward my breasts, where it radiates back up around the back of my neck, over the top of my head, and I can feel my pupils dilate. "Go. Let's get this started." I nod, adjust the Prada, and turn off the computer.

I enter the office. "Georgia."

Georgia Tate looks up, and is as confused as ever. "What is it, Alana?"

"We need to talk." The room closes, and the windows change into stained glass. I take a seat in the pew.

"ERNIE IS dead."

"What?" Confounded.

"Well, no, not really. But he is about to be declared that way. Want him back?"

Quiet.

"I don't understand."

"We want his insurance money. How much is it?"

"Who's 'we'?"

"Me, and my organization. How much?"

"A?a million."

"Oh, that's not enough. You need to double that."

"I don't have it."

"No, but there's ways you can get it. You can steal it from the company. And, we have a new side-business for you."

"What are you trying to get me to do?"

"Nothing you're not willing to do for your husband."

A vacuum fills the room.

"This can't possibly work."

"Of course it will. We're going to find a patsy or two for you to pawn things off on to, and you'll give us the money, Ernie returns safe and sound, and we'll leave you alone. Simple. Easy. Everybody gets what they want."

"This is a bit much. How can you do this to me?" Surrender.

"Certainly it's a lot, but you don't think it's hard to do this, do you? You are in business, aren't you? Oh, and I've moving in with you."

"What?" Demoralized.

"There's some things that we're going to have to make sure happen just right, and the only way is if I'm right there with you."

AND RIGHT on cue, there's a knock on the door. I jumped up and let the cop in. Egad, not this guy.

"Excuse me. Is Mrs . . . .Ernie Tate in?"

Georgia stands up. I glare at her.

"Ma'am, I am so sorry to have to be the one to tell you. There's been an accident. I'm afraid your husband didn't survive."

Georgia's mouth started to open, and I shook my head. She collapsed into the Cathedra Romana, and became a relic herself. I crossed the room at put my arm around her.

"Thank you for coming, officer. I'll work out the details about what happens next for her."

"You have my condolences, ma'am." And then he left, thank god.

I whispered in her ear and kissed her. "You're a good girl, Georgia. You did that just right."

Then she broke down and wept. Ruination. Ahhh.

Resort

"WELL, THAT'S just not enough, Georgia."

"Oh, god, please, you've gotten what you want, just let him go, please."

"But there's so much more you can do for me, G, we're just getting started."

She looked at me until she realized she had no hopes left. "You know I'll do anything."

"I do know that, Mrs. T, and we're going to catch a flight this afternoon. Meet some people." Vainglorious.

It never ceases to amaze me how easy it is to get something pushed through the travel budgets in corporations, if they think there's some money to be gotten from it. Not to mention that now, Georgia gets to grieve abroad. So to speak. A sorta working paid vacation. Even if it doesn't pan out for Dallis & McKnight.

That afternoon, Georgia and I were on our way to Bangkok, and for the next 20 hours, I told her what was going to happen. After telling her for the fourth time, she stopped saying 'no', and started nodding her head, never bringing it back up again. She missed the movies, some damn war movie and a crappy romantic comedy, and I believed she either started fasting or a hunger strike between crying jags and sleeping.

WE WERE met at Suvarnabhumi Airport, and the breakfast at the Old Dutch Cafe was tempting enough that Georgia broke whatever vows she made for herself on the plane. After that, we left for the abomination that Eleanor Abbot never dreamed of when she was recovering from polio. The game company that bought her invention has issues with this place, too, but even though they were able to get that website taken down, they lacked the resources needed to change the name on the sign from CandyLand.

CandyLand is the bottom of the barrel, the worst of the worst of all the brothels in Bangkok. Which is why it is allowed: anything, and I do mean anything, can be had there, for not just a price, but for the right price. Straight sex is just given away, as the appetizer. The main course is the atrocities men perform on women and usually get arrested for. The kinds of things Daddy used to do to Mommy that back in the day, she would have smiled about it and cried and said it was alright, honey, don't you worry about it. The fact that it wasn't even noon didn't stop there being a show on the stage, the likes of which I'm sure Georgia had never seen before. I wasn't convinced she was breathing, let alone thirsty.

When the naked waitress came by with my mimosa, she took Georgia by the hand. I nodded at her, and they rather elegantly left the room. I knew I had a few hours to kill before the first reports would be ready, so I went shopping. CentralWorld Shopping Center is always sure to have something I can afford, and afford it I did. If it only had mini-golf.

When I got back late afternoon, one of the trainers pulled me aside before I could even get a table. "We have a slight problem; we're not sure she's ready for the stage."

"What could possibly be wrong?" Exasperated.

"You said you wanted to see her break down on stage tonight. We haven't found anything she hasn't done. Whips, needles, canes, all seem to be old hat to her."

So I told him what to do, and to get her ready. Now. I finally got a table, and ordered some dinner to be brought in. The cook in this dive didn't know the difference between a baking pan and a wok and his own mother's asshole, fuck her there with something large for bearing him.

IN ABOUT an hour, Georgia was led to the stage naked. Something would have to be done about her pubic hair, but other than that, her body was a pleasant surprise. She'd kept herself up rather well, considering her years. They strapped her into a rickety wooden frame that had seen better days, and had obviously been repaired countless times; three of the boards looked brand new. She was secured onto all fours, legs spread wide, hands up and behind her in a prayer position, with her head held up and facing the audience, but below her ass. She began to look worried when the audience got quiet and could see what was going on behind her.

He had been well trained, and wasted no time in plunging himself into her, before she even realized it was a Mastif.

She broke instantly. She cried. She begged. She pleaded. And she couldn't move.

But she could squirm and creak the frame and would have dislocated things to get away, and the dog scratched her back with his front paws, and barked joyously as he fucked the daylights out of her. The audience went wild.

Once the dog was done, they began caning her. The tears were pouring down her face before the first stroke even finished bouncing off her ass; she didn't know that was coming either. Knowing what I did about Georgia, I proved I was right, and it didn't take long for her to be shouting out an orgasm. Still crying, but for a different reason.

The second dog, a Great Dane, was led in and paraded before her. The same act she put on for the second one was at least as entertaining as the first, just with more screaming. This time they needled her tits and pussy as she was getting it put to her by the hound of her own personal hell until she gave in to the orgasm she couldn't resist. She came before the dog did, and then she just muttered gibberish until he was through with her.

By the fifth one, she was cumming from just the dog-fucking.

Before they let her up, she'd done pretty much the entire kennel, each dog smaller than the one before. It had been discovered that if the dog gets bigger during the dogrape, the subject has opportunity to steel herself for the next one, leaving a trace of dignity for her to latch onto. But if the dog gets smaller, the deeper the humiliation of the subject becomes (because it gets easier instead of harder, especially when sprinkled with dirty orgasms), until pretty much all sense of honor is eradicated, usually forever, along with inducing a sense of submission that is practically unrivaled. This would be emphasized even harder when she would be made to perform anally and then orally for the dogs the second night. Every time her grace seemed to hit rock bottom, a smaller dog would be brought in, and she would crumple a little more. Not to mention the extended debasement of being taken to the floor to be had by anyone and everyone who wanted her after she had been so entertaining on stage. She was very popular, much to the bargirls' delight or chagrin, depending on how long they'd been at it.

The next day, I had time to screw a monk to get an invisible tattoo started, one done with oil instead of ink, that we finished up on the following day. I hear they're magically luck-o-fuck-o-de-licious.

By the third night, she was in so much demand on the floor, she never got to the stage. She was quite the little cock-witch; I was blown away with how well she could service the older men, especially the ones who hadn't gotten it up this year. She shoulda been a pro.

WE STOPPED in Honolulu on our way back. I ordered up a massage and a manicure for her to our room. I made gentle love to her the whole night (literally, not one of those empty-promise-nights men are so famous for) and by the time breakfast was delivered to our room, she was mine. I let her shave me, and had her show me how she could shave herself.

Gotta love the Stockholm Syndrome.

I began thinking I should get her a cute little lap dog she could blow on a daily basis when we got back, just to remind her. Maybe a Papillion or a Chow.

Post

"I WANT you to call this woman in."

"Why?"

"Excuse me?" Irked.

She shook her head. "Under what pretense? Renee Stephens and I have met only at Christmas parties. What excuse can I give her?"

"Why, you're going to solve her problem. See, she's enormously unhappy, in case you didn't notice at the last holiday festivity, and you're going to help her kill her husband."

"I don't understand."

"Because his sector stands to make more money than God the next couple quarters, but we're going to need to show a loss. If he's sickening unto death, he won't be there, so you can cook the books; the company won't trace things too hard, and if they do, his corpse'll be available to take the fall."

"This is devious."

"Why, thank you! Besides, she's going to have to do something for you to get your help." Contented.

"And that would be?"

"She's going to torture women into submission to send off to Thailand. You're going to show her how."

"Oh, dear, god."

AS I suspected, Renee Stephens was completely smitten. The important thing is to make sure she never gets into Georgia's pants. That'll fuck things up beyond my ability to fix.

The first couple meetings were getting-to-know-you's, and when Georgia observed how unhappy Renee seemed to be, Renee fell apart, that was easy, and confessed how trapped she felt in a marriage she no longer loved, how she felt obligated to her schmuck for being sick, all kinds of girlie stuff. When Georgia suggested she could solve Renee's problems with a little chemistry, Renee fell to her knees and wept the real tears of gratitude. Maybe having me there watching her breakdown was what made her hate me so much.

When Georgia said she wanted something in return, the "anything" from Renee made it obvious that if she was going to go to all the lengths needed to kill her husband, what I wanted Georgia to want would seem like a trivial stay-cation. The world went mad that day, and good went bad that day, and the great romancer got her answer, Thank you, Mr. Porter.

The next week, I had set up the kidnapping of Maggie, a schoolteacher, and her delivery to Renee. Georgia had sent contractors in to Renee and Larry's house to fix up their basement; soundproofing, a few concealable rings in the walls and floors, the ignorable basics of a good dungeon, if you didn't know that was what you were looking at.

Sending Georgia in to show Renee how to do it, to break Maggie, was the first real solo flight I had trusted her with since coming back from Bangkok. I consoled myself with some new Gucci that Georgia wouldn't mind me putting on her cards. Frankly, I was terrified.

As it turned out, I didn't need to be. Not that it was the Gucci that scared me.

"SO. HOW was your day?" Pompous.

Georgia was naked, on her knees and between my legs, trying to entertain me. "It . . . went . . . great . . . thanks . . . ."

At least she hadn't stopped licking, but I knew she was going to have to be a little less distracted to tell me everything. So I pulled her up to the couch by her hair, and let her get settled before I snuggled in like we were watching a movie together. "And?" Superlicious.

"The short course is that I told Renee how to torture Maggie the way you said and she did it and now Maggie will do pretty much anything."

"Personally, I find it interesting that we all have something that, if done to us enough, changes our personality. It happens in marriage all the time; it just takes longer there." Superior.

"It actually was almost easy. Just how does one spot a secret urine fetish?"

"Trade secret, sweetie. Tell me more." I started stroking and pinching her nipples. She liked it when I did that.

"Well, it ran pretty much the way you scripted it. Renee had been drinking tea all day, and she got Maggie to do it, too, not having had anything to drink to since the day before yesterday. Maggie was so grateful, she stopped swearing at Renee pretty much completely by the time she got through her third glass. They talked and giggled like schoolgirls, with Renee petting her and playing with her tits and pussy the whole time. Like you're doing to me. Mmmm."

"Go on." I tip-toed my fingers down her stomach to find the clean spot she had taken to keeping that way for me, and it was wet. I found something else to do down there.

"Having her tied up was probably a good prerequisite, so that when Renee produced the catheter an hour later, and Maggie had nnowhere to go anyway, her need to pee was so strong along with her own, ahh, arousal, she actually tried to help. They plaayyed catheter games for a while, with R-Reneeeee emptying and refilling Maggie's bladder with water, then Maggie's ownnn pee, annd finally Renee's p-p-pee, and Mmmmaggie crying and cumming and begging for more, oh, god, more, huh, huh, huh, and how can they make it dirrrrrtierrrrr? it was, it was overwhelming to seeeee the transfoooormationn. Ohhh?ohh?was I like that?"

One. "Yes, yes you were." Two. "And it was beautiful." Three. "Tell me about the whipping." Four, and we had to re-arrange ourselves a bit to make it five.

"Ahhh, oh, goddd?.Renee couldn't whip her enough by the time she got to it. Hhhh hhhh hhhh. Mmmmaaaaaggie was constantly lost in her own sensations; the whipping just egged herrr onnnn. She even started assssssking to be sshhit on. Renee prommmised her that tomorrow. Oh, please, please, please?may I . . ."

"Good. Tell Renee to go wild and be outlandish. We need to know what's left of her earlier restraint." I pulled my hand out of her, and Georgia caved in. "And when did Larry come home?"

Georgia gasped, and had the wild look of a woman who would sell her mother, her sister, and her daughter to get what she wanted. I've seen it before. I had to hold her hands. It took a moment for her to realize nothing else was going to happen until she finished her story, so she panted a bit, and managed to wheeze the next bits out. "A-A-About an hour after I left. Hhh. Renee called me later to say that he was sshhocked, thenuhhh surprised, hhhh, and then did what all guys would do." Panting less now. "He fell in line, and started raping Maggie like it was alright. Renee said Maggie had her first orgasm with a man in 3 years."

"See? Fixing up girls, and now we're saving a marriage while we're killing it. Him. And Georgia?"

"Yes, mistress?" 'Please' covered her face, and struggle filled her hands.

"Under no circumstances is Larry to find out about you and Renee, or me and you. He needs to be as clueless as he really is." Funereal.

"Yes, ma'am." Her head fell, and she shuddered, but from loss, not fulfillment.

"Maybe take your cute little pooch over and have Maggie start drinking dog piss, too. When you get the chance." I paused. "Have you done what you were supposed to?"

"I-I haven't sucked him off yet today." Defeat.

"Well. You have chores, now, don't you. Get that done, come to bed, and lick me to sleep. And keep your hands off yourself." I did not let her cum that night. Or the next.

BY THE end of the week, I called Thailand to pick up Maggie. She was no trouble, and offered to perform for the men who took her. Guess what they did. And that was how our little venture started. Most took 2-3 weeks to process; Maggie was amazing at 4 days. I was getting more and more impressed with Renee by the week.

With Maggie, it was piss.

With Eleanor, it was thistles and strangling.

With Marjorie, with was verbal abuse and good old fashioned pain.

And so many others. It was wonderful.

Later on, I found out that Georgia had a weakness: electricity. The funny part was that she just volunteered it out of the air one night. Well, okay, the sixth night she'd been teased relentlessly without getting to finish. I began to think I could get her to beg for that, too.

Saltmines

"CALL LARRY Stephens in." Weighty.

Georgia looked a bit annoyed. And desperate. Which I liked. "And what am I going to tell him? That his wife is trying to kill him?"

"No, you're going to seduce him the way I told you to. Which is just a distraction to get at his books, to get the money from his sector."

She looked resigned, and her shoulders fell.

"C'mon, you know you like this. Getting into him, getting him to do things for you. It's what you do every day anyway. Now you're doing it for me. For Ernie."

LATER, AFTER Larry left as puddling pudding in her and my hands, and Georgia's second guest of the day had left, I stormed into her office. "What was he doing here?"

"Who?"

"Oh, don't play stupid with me, G." I glared at her. "Dallis. Why was your boss, Satan Dallis here?"

"Exactly what you saw. He brought that, that Deborah chick in to have Renee break her. Some kind of favor he owed someone named Timothy."

"I am really wanting to hear how you can explain how he knows what we're doing." Cross.

"I c-can't. He just showed up and spoke like it was part of the general business plan. That's literally what happened."

"And: I find it fishy that he shows up with her when Renee happens to be in the building. There's something you are not telling me." Wary.

"I swear, I've never breathed a word about what we're doing except when you've told me to. The way you told me to." She looked like she was actually not covering something up. "Should I have told him 'no'?"

Well, she had me there. I might need some advice on this. I'll make a call later.

"Get your purse. You're going to have to convince me you love your husband as much as you say you do." Agitated.

We went down to the garage after closing the office, and ordered up a limousine. I took her to the restaurant, and barely got back in time to pick up Larry Stephens for his first real blackmail encounter with Georgia.

I'd've rather taken him back, but I had a date with the Technology Department. I needed cameras. This day was busier than I liked, and not going the way I wanted. And Georgia just got to wait for me to take her home, so I could take it all out on her. And I was sure she'd want me to do just that.

Soiree

I KNOW, I should have slept with these guys sooner, but I just didn't have time. And frankly, it did buy me some more time in my life that I didn't have to remember what I had to do for them. Bleah. It's a good thing I have a strong stomach. The whole ass-to-mouth craze in internet porn is okay to know about, fun to watch a few times, and fine to do once with a loved one, but dear god, the whole department? At once? Thank god I could at least take off the Scabel.

THAT NIGHT, I found something else Georgia wouldn't do. And sure, it's gross, and tastes horrible, and no, I wouldn't do it myself, but still, it's the idea that she should be willing to do anything for me for Ernie's sake. There a principle in there somewhere.

So I arranged to send her back to Bangkok for a refresher, and to maybe pick me up a new dress. Holland and Sherry Vicu?a would do nicely. She succumbed to going on her own after a little encouragement from her new electric wands. Her escorts that she didn't know about reported that she got there just fine, and they enjoyed the shows she did immensely. She almost lost her voice on stage. It was an all-electric weekend for Georgia; she could barely whisper out a report when she got back and gave me my new gray dress.

Then, for Ernie's sake, she did what I wanted. Slowly, slowly, she closed her mouth and held herself still; swallowing only as much as she could cry at once, as if she was forcing what was there out her eyes, until her mouth was finally empty.

There. Was that so hard?

AFTER I got the cameras up and running, I had almost no time left for anything. Not even shopping.

I had to keep track of everything that happened in Georgia's office, Larry's office, Larry and Renee's basement and bedroom, everywhere else, my god, it was mostly so dull I could just scream. Watching Larry put it to his little wife and their new little victim Deborah could hardly keep me awake. But there were a few consolations. I just love Georgia's little red Porschie, I wonder if she'll let me keep it?

What am I saying: Of course she will.

Inn

I HAD to do that horrible thing with Larry that I wanted Georgia to do. He was getting too suspicious about what Georgia was doing to his books, and my little ransom-blackmail-extortion-embezzlement-kidnapping-enslavement-murder scheme was going to have to end, damnit. Everybody is going to have to be in the same place at the same time for this to work. At the hotel where the last exchange was supposed to be, I ran into Renee. Literally. I'm pretty sure I didn't hit her that hard, but she fell down a couple steps later.

Georgia and Ernie gave me the money I had guessed Deborah might have had hidden somewhere, and I sent them on their way.

I went upstairs to collect Larry Stephens, loose end. The paramedics were taking Renee away, so I couldn't do anything about that yet. I took him back to Georgia's and put him to bed. Things are almost out of control, and I hate that. Too much improvising to keep me happy.

Time to go catch up with my boyfriend. I heard sounds coming from the other room: Georgia's lap dog was raising a fuss.

Sanctuary

WHEN I came out of the bedroom, Ernie had already gotten Georgia tied up, and was using her as a punching bag. I'm not sure, but I think he was hitting her hard enough to break some ribs; her breathing had developed a rasp. She looked ecstatic, babbling and cooing what could have been French love poetry.

I couldn't stand for that, so I crossed the room, kicked the dog, and reached up to my lover and kissed him like Georgia never could.

The gift of speech left Georgia, this time completely.

We destroyed her.

Georgia despaired, disintegrated, dissolved, decomposed. It was awesome. I tried to not look catty or smug, but I just couldn't help myself. "Couldn'tcha see that comin', ya ol' whore?" Gloat. "I'm gonna make a call. You soften her up a bit more for her trip."

As I watched Ernie's wife get hit, it was obvious that all it did now was hurt; whatever enjoyment she had gleaned throughout her life from being touched, even like this, was as dead as she wished she could now be. Where was a good heart attack when one needs one?

I took a few swings at her, too, for old time's sake. It was fun. I finally had to stay his hand to keep him from beating her to death. There were other ways to hurt her that would actually hurt more anyway. Among other things, I blew Ernie, which he made a definite show of enjoying, and spat his cum into her mouth. She didn't fight it. I wanted Ernie to fuck me in the ass so I could shit his cum into her mouth, but we were running out of time.

Georgia had a flight to catch.

Dump

AFTER ERNIE left for the airport with his catatonic little wife in tow, I was looking for my keys to my little red Porschie, because I had to go get Deborah, yet another loose end.

There was a knock on the door, and I wished I had a gun.

Maybe if I just stand still long enough whoever it was would give up. Then the key entered the lock.

In came Deborah with some huge-ass geek. Who had a gun, damnit.

"Hey, you're the secretary, aren't you. What was your name? Hmm?" She almost seemed glad to see me.

"Uh, Alana." Recreant.

"Well, Uh, Alana, we're looking for Georgia. Is she here?"

"Uuhh . . . nnooo."

"Uuhh . . . that's just too bad. Shoot her." Oh shit.

"We don't need to shoot her. We know where Georgia is."

"Uh, mmaayybee I want you to shoot her anyway." Then to me: "What's in here?"

Pause. "Nnothing." Damn.

"Do you know what lying is, uh, Alana? And that you're no damn good at it?"

She creaked the door open. "Willya look at that?" Deborah turned with a smirk and wide puppy dog eyes. Then to the dork: "Who could that be? Oh, that's Larry Stephens!"

She inhaled her next word: "Ahhh, Renee's husband! Lemmee in there!" And Deborah slammed the door shut.

The dweeb took out a pair of handcuffs and secured me, not that I could be much trouble at this point. I was really out of my element with this whole surprise-thing. Stupid control-freak upbringing. After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, we heard the unmistakable sound one totally expects from a bedroom with a naked man tied to a bed and a stunning young woman with multi-hundred dollar hair. A couple minutes later Deborah crashed into the room, slightly tousled.

"She needs to be gagged, you dip. Hey, uh, Alana, you got any gags around here?"

Before I can even tell her 'no', she found the cabinet with Georgia's toys.

"Wow. Even I'm impressed. What's your favorite color, Uhh-lana? Hope it's reeedd!"

Not that I had anything to say anyway, but it would have been more comfortable without the biggest ball gag Georgia had.

The nerd drug Larry out of the bedroom by his hair, and found the rape kit that no home should be without with all the zip ties.

Together they were remarkably fast in zipping us both up while leaving our legs free for the walking down to the garage we were about to do. Larry's gag was the black one, the manly black one.

"Oh, this'll never do. Hang on." Deborah disappeared into the kitchen, returning with heavy duty kitchen shears. The kind to cut bones with.

"These keys were in the kitchen. Did you lose them?" She then proceeded to make Kirie of my Loro Piana cashmere dress, the one I liked. "Much better. Let's go."

Once we were on the elevator, Deborah started playing with Larry's cock. The man had no self-control or restraint, and was nearly teenager-easy to get hard again. She toyed with it all the way down. The boorish kid with the gun sighed a lot; apparently, he's seen this before, apparently lots.

In the garage, the keyfob found my little red Porschie.

"We'll take her car. Ooh, a 356B with lots of new toys inside; this is magnificent. You two get to ride together."

The trunk was opened, and we are forced in. It was a tight fit, and the only way it could close was if we were in the missionary position; I'm not kidding.

Guess what Larry did.

Buggy

WE DROVE for what may have been 45 minutes, then parked in what was no doubt the sun. We heard the doors open, and Deborah's heels clack away.

It was unreasonably hot in the trunk, but that didn't stop Larry from cumming several times into me. Calculating the number of times he came, three, with it taking longer each time, I figure we were in the trunk an hour and a half before the car doors opened and closed, and we started off again.

Larry didn't succeed again, but that didn't stop him from trying. When the bumps forced us apart, Larry managed to wriggle his way back in. We finally stopped, and the trunk opened.

"Oh, man, I didn't have to fake a rape to the cops as Alana at all. Look, he's fucking doing it. I s'pose it might have been a bit of a chore to get her to swear out the warrant for him, though, huh." Actually, I'da gone along with that. It was a much better idea than what I was letting Renee do to him.

"Oh, let the poor boy finish, wouldja?"

And he finally did; the fourth, er, fifth time was no less icky than the first. They untangled us from each other, but the angles were all wrong, and I had no way to get out before the trunk slammed again and I could hear them talking.

"Ok, safe and secure against this pole. No street cameras here, check. Warrant, I.D., naked, check."

"Bye, Larry. Have fun in prison."

NOT HAVING Larry there to take half of the hits of the bumps of the road meant that I got them all, going up and down, and it was wearing me out fast.

The next time we stopped, I was surprised to hear Deborah talking to me though the back seat of the car.

"Alana? Uh, are you okay back there? Guess it doesn't matter now, huh. You won't mind if I keep the car, will you? Oop, they're back," and she inhaled her next word: "we'll talk later."

I heard Deborah teasing Renee and what might have been Renee giving a blow job, I'm assuming in the front with the buffoon. That much I liked.

Airport

I HEARD the snapping sound that I recognized as gunfire just after we we stopped.

The trunk popped, and I got hauled out by goons. Ernie was lying on the ground, all akimbo. Oh. The airport.

I managed to hear a little as I got carried past Dallis. Apparently, the whole Dallis family was here.

" . . . so Aunt Maggie's back . . .?

" . . . don't think she'll teach anymore . . .?

" . . . Daddy, I think I want to get my hair colored. What if I were a blond . . .?

" . . . like you as a brunette, Sis . . .?

I got wrangled on to the plane, a small private jet. And the gang was all here, and we were all naked. My gag got taken out by one goon, and I got strapped in by the other. I moved my jaw around in what would have been funny ways if I were watching. All three of us eventually made eye contact, and the blame was obvious to all. Well, at least to them. I don't play that game.

Renee finally asked, "ssss . . . bbb..gwwherre . . . goink . . . ." She sounded stoned as hell.

The attractive old woman blubbered, "Bb-b-b-ang-k-kokk-k . . .?

Morons. It'll be nice to see Mom; she wasn't there the last time I got home with Georgia.

Ship Mates

Cabin

"OF COURSE I'll have dinner with you. Come on."

This was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Just lying there on the promenade deck in her bathing suit and sunglasses drove me to distraction until I would either have to go talk to her or jump overboard. Thank god, I chose the former. And thank god she didn't just laugh, as I had been taught all my life to expect from creatures like this. And thank god she was by the edge of the pool, so I could keep my erection under water and not scotch the deal.

She stood, and I realized I was about to cause a scene. I casually tried to adjust myself as I climbed out of the pool, which never works; the old women to the left sneered nothing like the old men to the right sneered, and I hung my head and tried to scurry past to grab a towel.

Georgia took my hand gently, like a lover, and escorted me away from the deck that had the pool on it into a hall. It was long, and when we finally reached her door, as it creaked open, she reached up and kissed me with a sense of 'come hither', the likes I had never seen before, not even in the movies.

She drug me in, and reached down, and pulled my swimsuit down in one motion before I had even finished stepping in. By the time the door closed, she was on her knees with her lips sucking on my pubic hair, the hard way. Yes, I meant to say it that way.

I tried to reach down and pull her up, and she struggled and threw her arms around me, and pulled herself onto me even harder.

I had just been in the pool, but only now did I feel wet. As she engulfed me over and over, trying to hold me up, the room started spinning, and I knew I was going to fall on her any moment when suddenly my cock was free, and in the air, releasing what hadn't come out for so long, I had forgotten the effects. So I fulfilled my own privately held prophecy, and couldn't keep myself from falling on her. I was afraid I was about to hurt her, but I also couldn't keep from it.

She seemed to direct herself under me, in slow motion, so that I indeed landed on her; my right knee I'm sure plunged into her stomach, and as I tried to catch myself, I ended up hitting her with both hands, on the side of her head with my right, and on her breast with my left. Then we found the floor, and once gravity stopped playing its games on us, we stilled.

I could barely breathe, and I could hear her panting, "You can do that to me again."

After the room re-oriented itself to upright, I could lift my head. She was flitting her fingertips all over me. Barely touching my face, my chest, wherever she could reach. It was electrifying.

"Did I hurt you?"

"Oh, god yes. Thank you. I needed that. In fact, as I said, I could stand some more of that." And she slithered out from under me as if I wasn't there. She stood and took off her swimsuit. She was a goddess. She was somehow across the room without moving. Granted it was small, and maybe I was still a little woozy, but I didn't think I was that disconnected. Suddenly, she was back. She nudged me to sitting up, and knelt down. In both hands, like an offering, she held what I thought had to be a belt, but it was too short. Oh. One of those.

"Do you know what to do with one of these?"

I couldn't take my eyes away from hers, and I'm sure she didn't move, but suddenly the stiff leather was in my hand, like magic.

She stood, and bent over the little chair at the little desk, and threw a look that can only be described as happiness over her left shoulder.

"Have at me, Mr. Tate."

SHE SQUIRMED at dinner. And even though she was trying hard to make her discomfort not apparent, the waiter eventually asked if everything was alright.

"Yes, dinner was fabulous. The lobster bisque was the best I have ever had." Truth was, I hated soup. Bleah.

"I meant with Madame."

I looked at Georgia, and her eyes dropped, and her lips curled slightly up.

"She's had a rough afternoon. A bit more of a workout than she's used to." Pause. "In the gym."

"Ah. Very good, sir. If there's anything we can do to help, do let us know." And he left.

"You could have told him. It would have been alright."

"Maybe I didn't want to share you."

She swallowed. "Really?"

"I've never done anything like this before."

"What, have dinner with a woman?"

I laughed, even if only slightly. "No. I meant, I've never beaten a woman before."

"I couldn't tell . . .? Her voice trailed off, and she was obviously dreaming.

"Old hat to you, huh."

"Oh, let's not talk about me. Let's talk about what you can do to me next. Do you smoke?"

"No."

"Damn. There goes that idea. Have you ever been blown in a restaurant before?"

"I've not had the fortune."

"Let's fix that, shall we?" And she sank underneath the table cloth.

"Jesus! What . . . ."

"Shh shh. You just sit there and look normal. And let me see what kind of trouble I can get us into."

And she, er, I managed to finish before the waiter came back with desert. His timing was way too good for me not to be suspicious, though. After he left, I noticed Georgia had sperm in her hair, and it was obvious.

It was also obvious she knew it, because half way through our cherries jubilee, she ran her hand through it, looked at it, then rubbed her hands together, and rubbed both of them back through her hair, like with was fashionable. She cooed.

When we got back to her room, we did some of the things we had talked about. And more of them the next day. She couldn't leave her room for another two days after that, at least, not without getting me arrested, for all the marks.

Bowsprit

"I ONLY want one promise from you."

"Oh?" We were in her stateroom, naked, cuddling. She had just fucked me out of my mind, and she was holding my cock, almost reverently.

"Yes. One thing. Can you do one thing for me to keep me?"

"You mean I get to keep you? You're making it sound hard."

She laughed softly. "Well, in a way, it has to do with just that."

My eyebrows knitted.

"See, I've been raped. And because of that, there's one thing I have an aversion to."

"And now you're scaring me a bit."

"Shh shh. Let me finish this, it's important, and this is really difficult for me."

She looked up at me, and I nodded. She looked back down at my cock, which miraculously, was starting to stir. The toying with it helped.

"When I saw you across the pool the other day, I fell. You were so cute trying to hide your erection. I knew then and there that I could fall in love with you. Which is why this is important, because I have."

I reached my hand down to the side of her face.

"I will let you do anything and everything you want to me, ever. And you can put this . . .? and she wiggled my cock . . . "anywhere and everywhere you want, any time you want for as long as you want. Just one thing . . .?

Here it comes.

" . . . Please don't let whatever comes out of it do so," pause "?inside of ?me."

I drew a quick sharp breath. Not what I was expecting at all. And I realized that, so far, I hadn't cum inside her.

"Oh god, please, you can cum on me, you can piss on me all you want. You can do anything else, and I do mean anything, that strikes your fancy. Yes, I meant to say it that way. Just . . . don't . . . finish . . . .inside me." She was gasping.

After a moment of silence, she slumped. "I'm . . . I'm sorry. I'll go." She started to sit up. It apparently slipped her mind that this was her room. I put my hand on her.

"Georgia. Georgia . . . Georgia!"

She looked back at me, totally stricken.

"I can live with that. Will you marry me?"

She melted, and we were joyously quiet for a long time.

"YOU . . . YOU understand what that means, don't you?"

"Hmm?"

"No children."

"Oh, yeah."

"I mean, I have to tell you, I hate the little buggers anyway. If all of them dropped into a big hole and disappeared, I think the world would be a lot better off. Yes, I see the flaw in that, but nonetheless, that's what I want. Er, don't want. You understand."

"Are you expecting me to push mine into that hole?"

"You have kids?"

"Well, one that I know of."

"You didn't tell me you are . . . were? married before. Huh?"

"I wasn't. I fucked a girl, she got pregnant. End of story. Yes, I know where they are. No, I'm not involving them in us."

"I won't demand the life of your child. I promise."

"Not gonna be a problem. I've had the snip anyway."

She smiled. "So have I."

AFTER DINNER that night, back in my room this time. "And when would you like to get married, ma'am?"

"Whenever you want, sir. Mmmmaster."

"Hold still. Haah hahh hahhhhh uuggghaghhaghh." I had just pulled out of her pussy, and splashed her face. In a few seconds, I had recovered enough to stand up. "Straighten your dress out. How 'bout right now?"

She reached up to wipe her face, but I stopped her hand. "Leave it. Let's go find the captain." She looked up at me and inhaled hard as the biggest grin I'd ever seen on her crossed her face.

Georgia turned with a demure smile from everyone we passed all the way to the front of the boat. A crowd followed us, curious as to what the captain was going to be doing. After we turned to face the back of the boat, half the audience gasped, then left. Georgia looked angelic, blushing hard a deep red, almost like a sunburn, contrasting with the semen that was dripping off her face onto her dress.

The captain seemed to be unfazed by this. He was French, so maybe he'd seen it all before. Georgia had to translate for me, and prompted me through it all.

When the time came to kiss her, I was careful to not push anything into her mouth she didn't want. She kissed me like she hadn't been kissed in years, hungrily. The audience that was left had dwindled down to just a few, and they cheered.

That night, our wedding night, I knew I was going to have to impress her. After begging to the ship pharmacy that I was a diabetic and needed needles, I managed to get at least a small handful of them.

And I impressed her.

Infirmary

GEORGIA LIVED on the other side of the country; there was no question but that I was going to move to be with her. I arrived there in a few days, not having much of anything to get rid of.

When I got there with two suitcases and a guitar, the doorman looked at me like I was a vagrant, and Georgia actually had to come down before he would let me in. We made out all the way up in the elevator.

Her apartment was modest, tidy, almost stark. Except for the bookcases. Apparently, my new wife liked to read.

I hadn't even gotten my bags put down before she had thrown herself around me, kissing me like a man who'd been in prison for too long. Unsurprisingly, I dropped them.

"Mmmmm, I missed you. Why aren't we naked?" And then we were.

"I think this should be the first rule. When we're here, we're like this. And this . . . Ohhhh . . . ." She was flooding and suddenly my cock was wet. We tumbled down onto my bags, and we didn't care. Except I didn't pull out in time.

"OH GOD! Oh god! No! Oh god!" Georgia rolled off me curled in a ball, moaning, in obvious agony.

"What? I don't . . . I'm sorry . . . Georgia! What did . . .?

"Fuck, you have to do something, right now!"

I reached for her and she flinched away. Don't touch her. Got it.

"Ok, yes, sure, what do you want?" I was hyperventilating.

"Hit me."

"What?"

"Hit! ME!" I slapped her lightly across the face.

"NO! You mother fucking bastard HIT! ME! HIT ME DO IT HITMEHITME!!!!"

I clocked pretty good this time.

"MORE! Again!"

I put my left forearm down on her chest, my legs down on top of hers, and stretched her out on the floor, and let her have it. Right in the diaphragm, knocking the wind out of her.

"OOFFF! Yes! ANOTHER!!"

I hit her right breast, and a bruise came up immediately.

"AHH AHH AHHH Yes! Yes! Hhh Hhhh. Go to the bedhhhhroom and get the cane! Run! Aahhhh!"

I had no time to argue, no time to think, where the hell is the bedroom, not this door, shit, bathroom, you're kidding, all the way down that hall, creak, bed, dresser, window, umbrella stand, umbrella stand? Cane. Which one. Crap.

I heard her shouting "hurry up!" and snatched them all, dropping and sorting on the way back. Finally a cane. A white cane.

She wasn't there.

"ERNIE!"

Ah, dining room. She was laying out bent over the table, face down, panting.

"Thank god. Now. Hit me, pant pant, Ernie, please, pant, hit me."

I hesitated.

"DON'T THINK! DO!"

So I did. Six of the best.

"MORE." She was breathing hard. "More."

"No." She bolted up, and looked at me with a look that wasn't anger, it wasn't confusion, it wasn't pleading, it wasn't accusation, it was, it was, it was like nothing I had ever seen on anyone ever before. I had no idea what I was seeing.

"We need to talk."

She collapsed onto the floor, all the way down. She was prone, akimbo, and she may have been crying. I couldn't see her face.

"Okay. What was all that."

She was shaking and shuddering as she pulled herself up. Oh yes. Definitely crying.

"Oh. Oh god." Tears streaming. "I'm a mess, Ernie. You came inside me. And I'm such a fucked up fuckup, you should go."

"No. You need to tell me." And I let her sit and finish crying and compose herself. It took a while. And I waited.

"I . . . I've never . . . I . . .? She finally looked up at me; I smiled a small smile, the one that says 'it's okay' and nodded slightly.

"I . . . I told you I was raped."

"Yes."

"It . . . w-wasn't . . . one guy. It was sixty."

"My god."

"I was a virgin. I was the reward for winning the homecoming game. I . . . I didn't volunteer."

"Honey . . . I'm sorry."

"You weren't there, silly. Hhhh. They made me . . . swallow everything. They fucked me everywhere, and they made me shit the cum out of my ass and dig it out of my pussy, and I had to lick it all up no matter where it was, and swallow it all.

"And I wasn't enough for them. So they started fucking each other, the whole football team, and they would shit the cum out of each other's mouths and asses for me to swallow, too. And oh, god, sixty horny teenage boys AND THEIR COACHES can piss a lot. I can't tell you how many times I threw up. If what I threw up had come out of someone's cock, it went right back into me. They made me. They made me take it all in."

"This went on for four days straight. I didn't sleep for four days. Only I didn't know it was only four days. It felt like I was fucking and getting fucked forever."

I kept silent.

"My own coping defenses started kicking in at the end of the first day, and I started cumming. It took just one day to break me. But it wasn't the sperm that made me cum. It was the hitting. When I wouldn't do what they wanted, they would hit me, and belt me, and beat me until they could force my mouth open to put something else in me. When it hurt, I could retreat."

"I've spent more time in therapy that everybody else I know combined. The cops didn't care, the bastards won."

She stopped to breathe. I remembered I needed to.

"I am insanely happy to fuck you all you want. But that's . . . that's why you can't cum in me. I'm sorry. I know I'm damaged goods. The one thing I need to not happen is the one thing I know men want more than anything. I'll understand if you want to go." And she lowered herself back on to the floor, and started crying again.

She didn't flinch away when I put my hand on her. "Georgia . . . I . . . I didn't know. I'm sorry. I didn't understand what it would do." I thought for a minute. "I think the Kama Sutra talks about fucking without cumming, or controlling the man's emissions, or tantra, or something like that. Do you have a copy?"

The candy store opened in her eyes.

A PLEASANT young man came out of her room before they let me in, and he stopped me. He looked up at me. "You know, love makes the weirdest shit happen." He shook his head as he walked away.

I walked into her room. She looked worse than I expected. "Who was your friend?"

"Cop. Nice guy. Asked me if I wanted to press charges. I told him how I felt."

"And how is that?"

"Well, you're here, aren't you? And not cooling your heels in the county clink like Officer Nice Guy wanted. So that should be a good start."

Interestingly, several years later, I was working as a paramedic, and got called out to the cop's house. Managed to save him, and tried hard to save his wife, but couldn't. It really messed him up, and he felt he owed me a favor then. But not right now.

"Hmmm. Might raise sufficient suspicions that you are battered enough to try to not make it worse."

"Ooooo, you think you can do that?" She tried to sneak across the bed, but the IV and monitoring cables kept her from getting very far. "You know, make it worse? Maybe dislocate something?"

"Why do we do this, Georgia?"

"I don't see that we're doing much of anything at the moment."

"Maybe not this instant, but you're working back up to it, aren't you?"

"You know, you could probably go ahead and kill me here, and if you pushed the button soon enough, there's a good chance they could rush in, and bring me back, and save me. Then we could do it again."

"Is that what you want?"

"Ohh, tempting. But I wouldn't want you to get in trouble; at least, not enough trouble that someone would try to take you away from me. I wouldn't like that."

There was a break in the conversation, that I took as an opportunity to redivert things back to what I wanted to talk about. "Answer my question, honey."

She took a breath, and then another.

"Okay. I don't want to die. This, here, this is a small price to pay for being happy."

"Hospitals make you happy?"

Ah. she smiled. "No. Hate them, actually. But I loved what you did that got me here. And yes, I want you to do that again. And again. I don't think I could ever get tired of that."

I didn't answer her, because even then, I knew that somehow, someday I would get tired of it and want something else. Something I knew I couldn't have.

"And I think we do this because we need it. We both need it."

She had me there. At least for now.

"And I need you because I love you. And I know you love me. I can feel it, every time you kiss me, every time you hold me or fuck me, and especially every time you hit me."

I reached down and took her hand.

"And Ernie?" The angels shone in her face.

"Yeeesss?"

"This might have to become a new family tradition, this caning me into the hospital. Whose birthday is it again?"

Roost

GEORGIA READ voraciously, and I played my guitar enough that I at least wasn't embarrassingly bad.

If anyone had observed our lifestyle, they would probably call us Bohemians. Not that we ever had anybody over. The Nudity-Fuckity Rule Number One was one we were a bit jealous about. We had no interest in sharing each other with anyone else. I suppose in some circles that's called fidelity.

WE NEVER really cared about our jobs, so we didn't keep them for very long.

Let's see, I've been a chauffeur, a cab driver, an ambulance driver, a pizza delivery guy, janitor at a porn shop (great benefits at that one), table slinger for a banquet hall at a convention center, classified ad clerk (hated that one), welder, mechanic, more things than I care to remember.

She's been a school teacher, a librarian (don't know why she quit that one), a drama coach, she worked at that same paper at the same time I did as a compositor, numerous store clerkings, waitress, and her most recent job was as an editor at a book publishing company. That one paid enough that she finally bought a car – our first one. It was a junky red antique sports thingy that could barely start. I had to work on it a lot.

Whenever one of us would get a new job, a celebratory fuck was the order of the day.

But inevitably, one of us would lose a job, or quit, and we'd get to play one of our favorite games.

"Rough day at the office, honey?"

"Yeah, I lost my fucking job again. Son of a bitch fired me," or, "I quit on the son of a bitch." Whatever.

"Ohhhh, poor baby. Wanna take it out on me?" Or "Want me to take it out on you?"

Invariably, I would.

SO IT went. This went on for far longer than either of us had any right to consider proper. We still both had to work because the damn ends kept needing to be met, but we didn't care. We were alive, and we had enough to eat and drink and fuck and occasionally had a hospital bill to contend with, and we were happy.

Space

I SHOULD have known better than to throw the door open. "What the Hell are you doing here??"

"Considering how much nicer that is than the last thing you said to me, I'm going to take that as an invitation to come in." And she strolled right past me, like she owned the joint.

"Get the Fuck OUT of here!!"

Before I could even move, she was suddenly one inch from my face. "Make me."

I was too stunned to move.

"As usual." She turned back in to the room. "Nice place. What do you got to drink around here? It's hot out there."

"I mean, it, Crys. Leave now."

"Ah, are you gonna hit me? Hmm? Am I standing a good distance from you to get a full and proper backswing?" I took the swing. I missed.

"Moron. You never could get a finger onto me that I didn't want you to."

After I recovered from stumbling from the first swing, I took a second. Strike two.

"Whee! This is fun. Do it again. C'mon."

Before I could finish getting myself back up, she was on me like glue, kissing me. "Mmmmm, I missed you." I spat at her. Missed that, too. "And I still love you, too. Even if you can't accept it, you idiot." She pulled away, and crossed the room.

I was panting and out of breath. I can't be getting too old for this yet. "What are you doing here, Crys?"

"Well, I was in town, and thought I'd come by to see you, bro."

"No, how did you find me?"

"Sweetie!"

Shit. The door was still open. I was in no way prepared for who came through the doorway.

"You remember our daughter, don't you, my dear sweet brother?"

I suddenly felt like I wanted to sit down. It was my wife's secretary. We'd met at the Dallis and McKnight Christmas party last year.

"Oh, do sit down before you fall down. We need to talk."

I crashed into a chair that I never remembered feeling this uncomfortable before.

"Isn't she beautiful? Come here, darling, and give your mother a kiss."

Alana slithered toward my sister like a porn star, and wrapped herself around my fucking cunt of a sister, yes, I said cunt, and kissed her in such a way that I felt like I owed them money for such a spectacle. Thank god I'm not a republican. She then started playing with my sister's clothes, trying to get into them.

"What is it you want, Crys?"

"It's not what I want that matters, it's what Alana wants that matters. See, she's got some harebrained scheme that she just won't stop talking about, so I decided; she's got some growing up to do, and some shit to learn, and you are going to help her."

"I don't think so."

"Some crazy-ass idea about making some money. Now I know that money doesn't mean crap to you, but it does to her, and you are going to do everything in your power to make her deliriously fucking happy all the god damn time."

"Or what."

Pause.

"Baby, stop playing with Mommie's nipples and look at Daddy. I want you to see this."

Pause. Alana looked up at me. Crys moved toward me, stopping about a foot from me.

"Or I'll tell Mom and Dad, curse them both to fucking hell for bearing us, exactly?where?you?are."

Shit.

Alana inhaled the next sound in the room. "Ahhh . . .?

Shit.

"And whatever little paintoy games you're playing with that slut of a tramp you call a wife, you and I both know just how pale those are compared to what they'll do to her. Not to mention you. You know, it completely broke their hearts to have you not go into the family business. And then to disappear like that with that, that trollop."

I felt my blood pressure go up. Skyrocket, actually.

"Alana, say hello to your father. Earl, Eddie . . . no wait. Ernie. Is that right? That's what you're calling yourself these days? Short for 'Ernest'? God, that is so fucking funny. Does she know?"

"Uhhh . . . ." Alana had found her way to my pants and had them open. The only way I even knew was that I looked down just as she was getting my cock in her mouth. I certainly didn't feel anything.

"Gerry, Ginny . . . what's her name again?

"G . . . Georgia." Now I felt something.

"Yes, that's it, Georgia. God, there's a peach joke in there somewhere that I just can't put my hand to. Does she know about Alana? No, of course not. How could she, when you didn't."

I had nothing to say, except a silent prayer to god in his merciful heaven to strike me down with lightning right god damn now. And take Crys, too, while you're at it, lord. Alana, though, seemed to be acting like she had something to do. I had no interest in giving her what a woman on her knees usually goes out of their way to convince a man that they want, even if they have to lie to do it. I wasn't convinced Alana was lying through her actions.

"You keep out little angel here chipper, and I'll check in with her every day by webcam. And, uh, Ernie? If I even think she's slightly less than enthusiastic about how you are doing in her reports, I'll be on the phone to Mom and Dad before she even finishes whatever sentence is less than glowing. Got it?"

Crystal the Cunt got up and headed out the still-open door, and doubled back. She reached down and pulled Alana up from her task, and gave her another pay-per-view kiss. "I'll talk to you soon, lovergirl. Take good care of Daddy. Bye. Bye, ha, Ernie, ha . . .? and Satan's Wife laughed all the way out the door, closing it.

Alana returned to the blowjob that I had no interest in. She didn't let that stop her, or even slow her down.

Shit. "So what is it you think you want?"

She looked up, beatific. "Oh, Daddy. First thing, I want you to die."

Den

"YOUR MOTHER was right. Harebrained."

"Mmmmm, no, it's fucking brilliant. No one will ever catch on, no one will ever figure it out. Too many twice removed's. Don't you watch TV? Ngyk ngyk ngyk."

"I don't see one . . . do you?"

"Hhhhaaa, I haven't had time to look around yet. Busy. Ngyk. Ngyk. Ngyyyhhhhhaaachhvhhh. Let's see. Why isn't this working. Oh. I know."

"You don't think it could be because I don't want you to do this, do you?"

"Nope, can't be that. All blowjobs are special, magical, wonderful. Especially the first one between a daughter and her father. Spread your legs more."

I didn't, so she pushed them apart and up for me. For some reason, motivation to resist her was lacking on my part.

"C'mon, Ernie, go with the flow. This is going to seal our little deal." And with that, she got her finger into my ass. I knew what she was trying to do, and I knew it would work. "Besides, I know Granma and Granpa's number, too. I could just call them right up front, if you'd rather."

My erection lost strength.

"Oh, no, I didn't mean to scare you! MMMNgyk ngyk ngyk ngyyyhhhgk"

Fuck.

Ngyk ngyk ngyk ngyk ngyk.

Fuck. Little witch knows how to do this. And she started to win. And she knew it, and she smiled around me.

Ngyk ngyk ngyk ngykhhhhhh hhhh hhhh "Oh, god, I love doing this, Mmmmmm . . .? Ngyk ngyk ngyk ngyk ngyk.

I'm not going to be able to stop this. At least, the plan is so cockeyed, it has no chance of working.

Ngyk ngyk ngyk ngyhhhh hhhh "Ohhh, yeah, yeah, yeah yeahmmmmmm mmmmm mmmmm." She pulled off me, and worked her hand, and her other fingers rubbed me on my prostrate in just the right way, and I came. And I saw, for the first time in I can't remember how long, my cum leave my cock and enter another living human being's mouth. And she sucked it in. And she swallowed. And she sucked some more. And she swallowed some more.

It wasn't an act. She loved it. A lot.

As much as I didn't want to, I loved it, too, at least a little. Fuck.

"I PICKED the policy out myself for her to sign. Are you ready to make your little painslut wiffey-poo a woman of leisure?"

"In a minute."

I had some anger issues to work out, so I raped my daughter first. Not that she minded. Another place I haven't had an orgasm in without pulling out first since time in memoriam.

After I got to where I could breathe normally again, I made the call, and set up a meeting with a dirty cop who owed me and some guy at the morgue named Tim, whose price to fake a death turned out to be ten grand. That figure didn't even faze Alana, who knew a guy who'd put down ten thousand dollars immediately for a vintage Martin D28 Dreadnought, that I'm not very good on.

Besides, once she'd made that connection, I realized that there was another place on her I could save myself from the sins of onanism in.

"Oh, Daddy! God, yes!"

Chamber

"YOU CAN still fly, can't you, Ernie?"

"Yeah, so?"

"Well, I want you to go over to this address, pick up a woman named Maggie, and take her to the airport."

"Yeah, sure, fine."

"And then I want you to fly her to Bangkok."

I looked up. Alana was on top. Her mother was right, she was beautiful. Especially when getting fucked. Er, fucking. Some women are their most beautiful when they are standing across the room in a cocktail dress, some of them are at their best when breast feeding a baby. Georgia's best was when she was crying and screaming.

"No." That stopped her.

"Your mom and dad aren't going to be there. They're in Japan this week, looking for a retirement home. So you can slip in, deliver Maggie to your sister my mother your wife – your real wife – and get back here before anybody knows any different. Easy." She started moving again.

"I'd feel better about helping you if you'd let me hit you. Just a little."

"Mmmmm you can't leave any marks. What would Georgia say? Wait, I know."

She got off me, and as usual, I couldn't do anything. She'd gotten good at keeping me sufficiently tied to the bed in her apartment to be no trouble.

"Now what are you doing?"

"Hold still. Oh, wait, you have to. Ha ha. Here, taste."

She'd been rubbing what I assumed to be lube on my cock. I didn't want to, but she wasn't afraid to hurt me in ways I cared about to get me to cooperate. I licked her finger like it was going to taste bad, but it didn't. Actually, it was pretty good.

"Strawberries?"

"MmmHmmm. My favorite. Oh. Uhhh, Oh god, yesssss . . . ." And I was back in her ass, for the second time today. She'd been working me up pretty hard, and it wasn't going to take long. "Look at me, Daddy. I need to know."

Despite all the years of discipline, I couldn't help myself, and my eyes scrunched shut. I felt the cool of the room on my cock, and then it was warm again, only I was being tickled lightly on my stomach. I opened my eyes, and looked down to see Alana smiling around my cock, her hair cascading all over the place, and happily enjoying the small pressures my spurting was causing against the roof of her mouth. I was lost.

She sidewindered her way up me and kissed me like I had never been kissed before. And even though I knew what had happened, and how this all worked, and that I was making a misconnection, I couldn't stop the association from being formed.

My daughter's ass tasted like strawberries.

ONCE WE were in the air, I set the autopilot and got back into the cabin of the jet. Goons were there, having what just had to be fun with Maggie. She seemed to love it.

"Fellas, I'm not trying to wreck a party here, but this is important."

I took out my cock, and pulled Maggie's mouth onto it, and let loose. I had been drinking tea all day. And my little girl lived up to yet another promise. The guys didn't seem to mind at all.

I got to do other things with the other girls I flew back home.

I couldn't understand why I needed the heavy gloves with Eleanor, but once the goons opened the flowerbox with the stinging nettles in it, I was amazed at how loudly she could scream, and then stop, and then scream some more, and never utter a harsh word or recrimination against us. I discounted the whole fact that she couldn't hardly breathe through the garrote; her face kept the truths up.

Marjorie reminded me so much of Georgia, it was hard to not get carried away with her. The goons finally had to pull me off her, which didn't endear me to them one bit. I bought some time with her at CandyLand, the family business that Mom and Dad had finally retired from that I was taking them all to, but I didn't get to finish my unfinished business there either. Stupid sister seemed to think I was going to kill her.

Penthouse

ALANA WAS very clear. There were some things I just couldn't say to Georgia. And she was also very right.

Georgia was going to get the last of the monies for this Ralph-Cramden-worthy scheme at a hotel, and I was going to be there to make sure things didn't go wrong. And that was supposed to be it.

But when I saw that bastard Larry and his little twit bitch-wife fucking my precious love, I came unhinged. And I would have beaten both of them to death if Georgia hadn't intervened. Which I still don't understand. But she diverted my attention to her and her needs, and I just had to give her what she wanted. It had been so long. I had tazed the Stephens, and had a spare. She wanted it, and she wanted it bad. How could I resist?

On our way down in the elevator, Georgia let the bitch-wife Renee have her way with her. If the well-armed goons hadn't been there, I'da thrown her through the glass onto the atrium floor, even if it would have been hard. Especially if it would have been hard. We met up with Alana in the lobby, and Renee vanished, thank god. Alana instructed the goons to take us back to Georgia's and my place (home!) and wait for her. She shot me a glance that in no uncertain terms reminded me: Shut up now, Daddy.

ONCE THERE, the goons strung my wife up and were taking turns hitting her while I got to watch. The phone rang, and Goon Number One answered. He said, yes, sure, no, yes ma'am, right away ma'am, handed me the phone, and bolted out the door.

"Daddy, I'm sorry. I didn't mean for them to beat up Georgia. Really."

"I'm sure."

"I meant for you to do it. Get started." Click.

I don't know how Goon Number Two knew what she said, but he pulled me over, stood me in front of Georgia, and drew my hand back at shoulder level, curled my fingers down into my hand, and stepped back. When I tried to drop my hand, he shoved me hard, and repositioned me again.

I looked at Georgia's sweet face, she smiled and dipped her head to her left as she nodded. Then we all held our breath.

I don't think I broke her jaw. Her head did snap back, though, and the goon applauded.

I HEARD Alana and the other goon come in, but paid no attention to what they were doing. Goon Number One reappeared, and now I had three people in the room egging me on to savagely attack my wife. I was so conflicted; yes, this is what I would have been doing to her today anyway if absolutely none of this had happened; no, I just wanted to hold my wife, I've missed her so.

And then Alana made her entrance. She crossed the room like a gazelle, and wrapped herself around me like glue, kissing me the way no daughter should ever kiss her father.

The tension holding Georgia went out of her. Her face fell. Hell, everything would have fallen if she hadn't been suspended. So I fell for her.

Alana attacked me. Or rather, she attacked my pants. The goons had to hold me down, because the last thing I wanted was to have Georgia see what Alana was about to do. I cried. I begged. I pleaded. I said 'no' a lot.

But she'd had a lot of practice, and she managed to get the hateful emission out of me anyway, and then she destroyed me.

She spat it, my it, my s-s-sperm intto m-m-my wifffe's m-m-mouth.

The fight went out of me. Georgia accepted it, and swallowed it, and . . . nothing.

My god. My daughter had killed my wife.

SHE TRIED to get me to hit Georgia some more, but I couldn't raise my hands. So she had the goons do it for me.

Tarmac

THE GOONS packed us off and we drove until we got to the airport. I tried to hold Georgia's hand, but she didn't hold it back. They stood us up outside the car and we waited. We waited a long time in silence until the plane landed and pulled up in front of us, and I wondered who was flying. The goons took Georgia on to the plane along with lots of bags, and before they came back for me, the limo was pulling up. A man stepped out that I recognized as Georgia's boss.

"Ernie," Dallis said. I had never bothered to learn his first name. "Aren't you supposed to be dead?"

"Uhh, yeah . . . about that . . . ."

"No, no. I understand. Really. And it's just insurance money, so it's really alright. I mean it. But that's just between us guys. If anybody, and I do mean anybody, thinks you are alive, and I know about it, I gotta come after ya. Got it?"

"Yeah."

The goons were trundling someone toward us, apparently from off the plane.

"Ah. There she is."

Maggie. Ohmigod. Maggie . . . Dallis.

"Over here!"

Maggie was still waking up. "Er . . . Hi Ernie!"

"Now just how is it she knows who you are, Ernie?"

Just then, Georgia's crappy sports car sputtered up. Goons carried more bags from the limo to the plane.

"Ah. The kids. Don't go anywhere, Ernie."

Tim, from the morgue, and a beautiful girl got out of the car. The goons reached in and pulled out Renee, Larry's twat wife from the elevator. She got carted off to the plane.

"Aunt Maggie!"

The happy family reunion took place and was over in seconds. "Are you both okay?" The kids nodded vigorously. "Good. Son, shoot this bastard."

And Tim turned and fired. More times than I cared to count. Needless to say, I fell. I then proceeded to lose track of lots of things, like where I was, what month it was, and why didn't gunshots hurt more, because I was expecting something much more severe, and . . .

SOME TIME later, I was sure I was being slapped. Not anything aggressive, more like a wake-up pat. The gift of breathing returned, and a lot of things seemed to finally hurt.

"I'm pretty convinced this means you're gonna owe me." I managed to ratchet my eyes open, and a dirty cop I knew, that was once young and nice looking, was standing up, and laughing. "Yup. Gonna be big time owin' here."

Stage

"HI, DADDY."

I looked up to see Alana, refilling my drink. Somehow, I wasn't surprised.

"Hi." I tried to act non-chalant, at least, as non-chalant as one could act here at CandyLand, where it all started and went to hell. On a stick. "You're looking good."

"You, too. I am, though, surprised to see you here. Been a while."

"Yeah, well, when all you have to do is get in great shape, a coupla eentsy weentsy bullets don't mean as much as they used to."

"Well, I'm glad. You here to see Mom, or the Bitch?"

I smiled slightly. I'm here to see my wife."

"Yeah, well, that's what I asked: Mom, or the Bitch?"

I shook my head. "Georgia."

"She'll be on soon. She. Is. Awesome. A tough old bird. Unlike Renee."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, Renee can dish it out, but boy, can she ever not take it. She has a waiting list of people who are dying to abuse her." Alana winked. "She screams sooo goood."

"I'll bet she does." It was hard not to gloat on that one. Took the edge off the next thing I knew I was going to have say. "How is your Mom doing?" I tried not to grit my teeth asking that.

"Oh she's fine. I'm just covering for her while she has a smoke. Or a fuck. I can't remember which she said she was going to do."

"Ah. Can I still get a table?"

"Sure. You staying long?" Alana snapped her fingers, and a naked woman came over. Might have been Eleanor.

"Dinner and a show."

"Well, don't eat the food here. It's still crap on a stick."

"Order me something in that's good, then, willya?" I stood to be escorted to my table down front by the naked hostess.

"Sure thing, Daddy. Love you."

"Thanks."

After the food that wasn't dog got delivered, the lights dimmed.

A LARGE contraption got moved onto the stage. It looked something like a mechanical bull, with lots of armatures, and several large screen TVs attached.

Georgia strolled onto the stage, naked, poised, gorgeous, ravishing. The TV monitors came on, showing the contraption from several different angles.

My wife straddled the main body, and leaned over to strap her legs down tight to it. Two rods were visible on one of the TVs, pointed toward her loins; their objectives obvious.

She donned a collar, slipped on a harness around her back, and fed the ends of several canvas straps into slots that seemed to grab and start to tighten her down. She managed to get her hands into a pair of mittens before she was prone; her hands were then winched up behind her back. Her head was held up to face the audience, and an armature came up from underneath her with a rod aiming toward her mouth.

The three rods had enormous dildos on their ends; the one at her mouth was as long as her forearm.

The machine hummed and the dildoed rods moved toward her entrances; she opened her mouth, and other two touched the parts of her I considered holy.

The music started up, nice and slow, and the rods all started to move in time to it, nice and slow. Georgia wiggled what little she could to adjust herself to allow all three rods their ways into her.

The lighting on the stage was like a rock concert, and the music built until the audience was applauding, and the dildos were obviously inside her everywhere. All in glorious plasmavision.

The music crashed, and the direction of the dildos changed. The audience cheered.

The music started getting faster and faster, and the motions of the rods increased with it. The dildoed rod at her mouth moved slower than the other two; it was invading her much further. Well into her esophagus.

I watched Georgia get fucked out of her mind. My own breathing was racing in time with the music, it got faster and faster until it was a big finish climax in the music and the device seemed to have topped out. The applause was non-stop.

And suddenly, it was all silent. The music stopped, the machine stopped, the lights dimmed and the entire audience was groaning loudly. The stage was almost dark when the unbelievable happened.

The lights all came up on stage, the music exploded at twice the tempo it did before, and the fucking machine restated at twice as fast as it did before, too.

The audience went insane, and no one could hear Georgia wailing. The mouth rod was now moving as fast as the other two; it was a miracle it didn't rip her head off.

In a few moments, after the shouting started to die down, the music and Robo-Fuck built to yet another climax, and this time, when the silence hit, the only sound that could be heard was Georgia moaning loudly and crying out around the dildo in her mouth, which was all the way down. A full forearm length of cock sword-swallowed whole.

Armatures started moving around on the machine, and the music started up with a low hum that failed to mask the sounds of the mechanisms, building to yet another smaller peak with lights dimming. The audience buzzed.

In the silence, Georgia gasped and panted. And then it hit.

The new parts started striking her. It was a whipping machine, and it was merciless. Parts of the contraption had moved out of the way so that her breasts could be whipped from the sides; she had whips going down from the top of her back, her legs from the tops of her thighs to her feet were being assailed, her stomach, her ass around the dildos, even the top of her head. And it wasn't the light little gentle tapping and stroking that lovers who are trying this crazy idea on for size do so they don't actually hurt each other. It was brutal. Real Torquemada Inquisition-level stuff.

The timing of the hits were out of synch so that she was always being hit somewhere, and being hit hard. The machine shook itself as it attacked her, and nothing could stop her from expressing just how much she was being hurt. The horror in the room was palpable.

When Georgia got to where she was howling almost non-stop, the music kicked in, tempo 2, and the fucking started up where it left off. The whipping was now synched in time to the music, too. Everything got faster and faster, with the whip strikes articulating afterbeats, the lights flashed, and something started to rise up from behind everything and tower over the top. It was a clear cylinder that had a white bubbling liquid in it. Lasers shot around, and everything headed for what, oh, dear, god, just had to be the end. The Big Finish. Please.

Georgia was screaming, the audience was screaming, I was screaming, and there seemed to be nowhere left to go, the music climaxed and ended just as the cylinder tipped down, and what looked like a gallon of steaming sperm poured out all at once, covering Georgia, splashing everywhere. Georgia passed out, and the lights faded.

I fell back in my chair; I couldn't get what the rest of the room was doing to register.

"MR. TATE?" Of all the things I have done to my wife over the years, I could never imagine doing anything like that to her.

"Ernie?" I was drowning. I was out of my league here. Is there an exit?

"Daddy?" I finally heard the voice, and it was Alana. She was sitting next to me, holding my hand.

"Uhhh . . . ." I had nothing to say.

"She wants to see you." She had to shout. Damn, it was loud in here.

My head fell, but I stood up. She held my hand gently, like a lover, and we wove out way through an all-naked bedlam to the back into a tight hallway that had one door at the end.

"She's waiting for you." Alana reached up and kissed me gently on the cheek, the way a daughter should kiss her father, and nudged me toward the door. When I got to it, I looked back as I knocked. She was gone.

"Come in."

I took a breath and held it, then creaked the door open.

Georgia was standing naked with her back turned to me. She was covered in wax. That's what was poured onto her on stage. Two very young Thai girls were picking it off her gently, and the bits fluttered to the floor. Yes, they were naked, too. Her skin, where it was visible, was mottled and red. I could make out some whip marks.

Turning stiffly, she said, "That will do, girls. Now shoo." She glided across the room to me as the girls vanished. She reached up and put her hand on my face, dipped her head off the side, and smiled the smile I saw on some ship so long ago.

"I have a new job."

She put her other arm around me.

"Wanna move in with me?"

I fell to my knees, buried my head into the one place on earth I knew to be sacred, and melted. We were joyously quiet for a long time.