The Logic Of His Anger

The Logic of His Anger

PART One: A bountiful harvest of beauties

PROLOGUE

The sentence of God on this sex of yours lives on even in our times and so it is necessary that the guilt should live on, also.  You are the one who opened the door to the Devil, you are the one who first plucked the fruit of the forbidden tree, you are the first who deserted the divine law; you are the one who persuaded him whom the Devil was not strong enough to attack.  All too easily you destroyed the image of God, man.  Because of your desert, that is, death, even the Son of God had to die.
-Tertullian, (160?-220? C.E.), The Apparel of Women

A Richly Detailed Horror Was Planned For The Ladies or Really, Life Ain’t Always Fair

Bush, Louisiana

The Midnight team was incredibly picky about their targets.  But the Hunter/Reapers had discovered to their immense frustration that the people above them in the organization were finicky too.  While none of them had met the top man or even knew for sure who he really was, it was obvious that the man was extremely powerful so no one wanted to piss him off either.  Their operations went like clockwork; always did.  They'd been doing this for so long that no one was really impressed much anymore by the exquisite beauty of the top-of-the-line girls.

Their prey had to have broad shoulders (but not too broad), a long-legged look (a lot more leg than torso) and a tiny waist.  The girls selected as the cream were almost always between 5' 5” to 5' 9” in height, slender (but not thin) to curvaceous and generally weighed between 110 and maybe 125 to 135 pounds.  This put their dress size in the 2 to 6 range with the optimal measurements around 36C-24-36.  

If the hair was short, the ears had to be small and tightly set against the skull.  The girl couldn't have thick ankles, knobby or fat knees, and when wearing heels couldn't walk with splayed feet or be either bow-legged or knock-kneed.  The boss especially liked them with small, perfectly formed feet, shapely ankles and straight, strong, shapely legs.

The world which comprised the team's universe was unknown to the vast majority of young women in the U. S.  But that was okay, for theirs was a detail job and when the team was on the prowl for only the best, any one of a million little things could easily disqualify a girl.  

The ones passed by were the lucky ones.  And they never even knew it.

Similarly, the most perfect of the unlucky ones were always oblivious to their danger from this parallel world too, right up until it was too late.  Because by then, they'd been recruited……..acquired……reaped…..taken.  The team continually searched for girls with long graceful swan-like necks, squarish jaws and high strong cheek bones.  A perfect set of lips were medium to full while the teeth must always be straight and white.  Many beautiful young women were disqualified as first class over the eyes, which had to be wide set, almond shaped and even, with thick eyelashes.  Their skin had to be clear, small-pored, even toned and not scarred, tattooed or heavily pierced.  

This just to be considered possible Tier-1, or T-1 material.  

A girl really, really didn’t want to be taken for use as a T-2.  

For obvious security reasons, the midnight hunters had never met the boss man and didn’t know any details of how or where he operated.  They were also kept separate from his other operations too, but all of the teams had heard rumors that after being taken and broken, the very best of material they recruited wound up working above ground for the owner of a club where wealthy and powerful customers paid a LOT of money to spend a single night with one of these young women.  

The best of the best were the “lucky” Tier-1’s.  T-1’s generally endured significantly less exposure to the harsher, more demanding physical necessities of a T-2’s working life; this ensured the best girls lasted longer, sometimes as long as five years before market forces dictated they be moved on as their desirability faded along with their looks and their bodies.  It seemed the owner of the club was nothing if not a good businessman deeply in tune with his market.  But even with the T-1 girls, exceptions were made if there was a plentiful supply of fresh meat.

Then there were the lesser ones.  Even the most beautiful women were graded quite harshly by his standards.  Most acquisitions graded out as the slightly less than perfect, and while still very attractive, these were considered the “chum” or “mundanes” that eventually wound up serving below ground in the cellars as the club’s T-2 girls.  The vast majority of these lesser girls were nobodies for the most part.  Almost physically perfect perhaps, but still nobodies with less than perfect bodies; they were the “meat” upon which the club’s most demanding customers fed.  It was important to remember that.  

But even an unending supply of merely satisfactory bodies could be hard to maintain when you continually needed more and more warm bodies.  This too was important to remember since the hunter teams took many times more young females of almost T-1 quality every year than they ever did of the very best.  However, the man demanded these lesser beauties in far greater numbers than he did the very best girls.  Chronologically young females with the physical ailments and hard, pinched looks of very unhappy middle-aged women ten or twenty years their senior were a perpetual “corporate” problem, and keeping the boss well-stocked below ground was a full-time job.

The teams were necessarily less discriminating with the lower caliber T-2’s, scooping up talent in odd places; bars, workout gyms, college campuses, even places like toy stores where attractive young women shopped for items to give their best friend’s children.  Often teenagers, unlike the obvious and thus more carefully researched and recruited T-1 candidates, these females were usually targets of opportunity rather than rigorous planning.  Harshly “reduced,” a euphemism for having been broken, and forced to assume the role of common sexual fodder, these T-2 beauties worked the club's sub-rooms, satisfying generally much darker desires than their more perfect sisters.  

Unfortunately for those chosen to inhabit the lower niches, the enterprise burned through about three or four times as many of the lower caliber livestock than it did the higher quality meat, just to continue offering the extended range of sexual delights the clients had come to expect.  As a direct consequence of what they suffered in the bowels of the club, these girls generally lasted no more than six to eighteen months before they were sold again.

It took time for the old man’s teams to find the best girls and to study them, to learn the histories of those finally selected prior to being seized.  When focused on a particular girl, the teams went on the hunt and homed in like a missile.  But they were also trained to be strategically careful, usually taking only one of the best beauties from any single location.  By far, most of those taken weren't married or even engaged; lacking any close relatives helped too.  Often however, this last was impractical.  And sometimes, the target was just too damned enticing to worry about details and history.  

In these cases, a single young woman who disappeared was often considered a runaway and the local police quickly became frustrated or lost interest, especially if they were already busy with other crimes and the trail appeared cold or difficult or seemed to cross state boundaries.  But when the disappeared had close family, the snatch team was forced to go further, generally setting up multiple false trails which led away from the victim's actual destination.  Bus or airline ticket stubs, fake gas and credit card purchases, nothing was too small or unimportant to leave out as part of an "H n' G"; a Hansel and Gretel trail which led directly away from the abducted’s true destination.  


This particular grab however, was unusual in that it was a two-fer; the coincidence of at least one, possibly two almost perfect physical specimens alone together was just too damn inviting to ignore.  Already, an uninformed doppelganger of one girl was unwittingly laying trails of confusion for the police, trails which headed both north toward New York City and east to Florida.  

As usual, it had taken weeks to find the right place with the right kind of woman.  One member of the four man Midnight team had one week ago bugged the inside of the tiny beauty parlor in small-town Bush, located in Eastern Louisiana.  Then, even more time was spent learning the target’s schedules and habits, tracking down any family members and getting photos, obtaining relative’s addresses and phone numbers; all of the things which might later be used as leverage against the abducted.  

The original plan had been to take the beautician when she was alone.  But three days before the pickup, they heard a spoiled young bitch make an appointment for over the beautician's normal lunch time.  Intrigued, they checked out the arrogant client and her extraordinary looks had leapt at them.  After a little more investigation, their single pick-up had suddenly doubled in value.  This was going to raise holy hell in this town when it went down.  So they needed to take the more time, time needed to get the necessary background on her.  But finally everything was ready.  It was a hunter’s moon and a predator’s luck; a day of sharp surprise for one had turned into a day of fierce fulfillment for two.  


The man waited until lunch time and then walked in.  

The man was tall, well-built and had a full head of thick hair.  His ice-blue eyes made him look mean, while what most people thought was a hang-dog face made him look mournful.  Sort of like a homicidal basset hound.  The only beautician in the shop smiled at him and gestured towards a vacant chair, assuming he wanted a haircut.  The tall twenty-one year-old woman wore only a short, shapeless pink smock over denim shorts and a blouse, and low heeled, backless sandals in a conscious effort to reduce the effect of her five foot, nine inch frame.  

Ursula was an extremely beautiful young woman, with long thick, straight hair and a lush, wonderfully developed body.  Her long shapely legs were beautifully toned, yet remarkably shapely and tanned a golden, honey-toned light brown.  She had a 23” wasp-like waist that was emphasized by a full, natural bosom and 36” hips; hips about which she despaired of every reducing.  

But she was smart too, one of those rare people who was pretty much liked by everyone, able to converse with just about anyone over just about anything.  With an endearing personality and wonderful smile, Ursula was a person whom everyone immediately liked.  

At the same time, she was a survivor too.  Nobody's fool, to Ursula a survivor was someone who was talented at anticipating possible problems and planning a response.  She felt she was resilient, but Ursula had found that resilient people were often mistaken by others who were not so good at surviving life's adversity as being "pessimists."  Of course, when the inevitable happened, and the ready-or-not-here-I-come types landed in trouble, who did they always run to for help to dig out of the mess they'd failed to anticipate?  Why her, of course.

But that was okay too.  Automatically identifying with the underdog, she was a young woman who had always stood up for what she believed.  Practical and responsible, she was an expressive young woman with an expansive personality, always caring and modest.  At the same time, because Ursula also unconsciously craved security, she responded well to authority, always expecting the best from those she met.  


He Definitely Liked What He Saw or She Was The Real Thing

The man liked what little he knew of her and in a strange way regretted what she'd soon be facing because of him.  But he was a professional and never allowed his feelings to interfere with business.  She was about to find out that when things went bump in the night, sometimes monsters really did exist.

His gaze unobtrusively wandered to Ursula's lone client.  The looks of the young woman slouched in the chair while she concentrated on her phone stood in huge contradiction to her demeanor.  He was well aware that the gorgeous nineteen year old brunette had just come in to have her short hair streaked; but the girl was pouting like an immature child because Ursula was running a little bit late.  But when she saw he was male, she flashed him that brilliantly seductive smile she had, the one which had destroyed so many of the young men in this tiny town.  It didn't matter how old he might be, she was a young woman that needed to know she could own any man she wanted.  

Dana hadn't opened a book in years and was an obvious fashionista; immaculately made-up with what the man knew were expensive Japanese cosmetics.  The money vibe came off her like a shimmering curtain of heat—the Dolce and Gabbana sleeveless top tucked into immaculate white Marc Jacobs cuffed short shorts, the Roberto Cavalli shades.  There were $800 three-inch Guiseppe Zanotti gold snakeskin cork wedges on her shapely feet and bare legs that glowed with a healthy summer's tan were stretched out in front; the bright red polish on her toenails was the main source of color in the chair.  Her long legs were fabulously shapely, but her calves almost pushed the limits  of feminine muscular beauty, especially when in heels.  

At 5' 3”, she was really not of acceptable height, but her smoking hot body, clear complexion, beautiful even features and short hair combined to ensure that adult men everywhere stumbled around like teenage boys going out of their way to give her any help she might want.  This one didn’t turn heads, she caused whiplash.  

Not a deep thinker, Dana was narcissistically happy with her life; her main goals were to have fun, keep her options open and avoid both boredom and the negativity of the losers she could identify with unfailing clarity.  But mainly, she liked to be at the forefront of fashion, and to her, part of this meant making sure she had the firmest body around.  She worked out a lot and was extremely vain about her looks.  

In all the things Dana really wanted, she had been singularly successful.  She knew a lot of people thought she was spoiled, but Dana truly could have cared less about these losers since she truly enjoyed the sensory delights the world had offered her so far.  She was one of the special ones….she knew she was special.  She'd known this for as long as she could remember.  

The trouble vibe came off her in waves like a tsunami.


Dana’s father had two weaknesses.  He owned the local canning company and his family were treated like rural royalty around the town.  He'd grown up dirt poor and rather than appreciating his luck in life, he enjoyed lording it over the people with whom he'd grown up.  He never missed an opportunity to throw an over the top, tasteless party on Saturday night and then make an ostentatious trip to church the next morning.  He and his mother sat in the prominent front pew for which he'd paid serious money and nodded sanctimoniously to the others in attendance.  He loved his life and what money could bring.

The other weakness was his lovely daughter.  His controlling ways had driven her mother away sixteen years ago, never to be heard of again and Dana was his pride.  He reinforced these feelings by continually reminding his daughter that she could be anything she wanted to be, that it was up to her to achieve and be successful.  This continuous message of entitlement had led Dana to give nothing of herself and expect everything from others.....deference and service from those less fortunate, gratitude and sacrifice from others that almost bordered on self-abasement......these things continually reinforced Dana's feelings of her worth.  As awful as she could be at times, her father never seemed to see the cruelty and shallowness with which she often treated others around her.


No one knew yet, but Dana had finally decided that it was time to leave the small-town dump in which she'd been born.  New Orleans wasn't big enough after Katrina and she didn't want to stay in the south.  New York maybe.  Or Boston.  Maybe even Chicago.  Definitely not LA, she didn't want California.  At least not yet.  With what she got from her father every month, she could afford to travel and after all, she was young and wanted to explore life, experiencing everything that could make her laugh.  

While she had a second-class mind, it was combined with a wicked sense of humor she exercised mostly at the expense of others.  She wanted “stuff” and she wanted it now, enjoying variety and novelty in her relentless pursuit of fashion and new highs.  Her appetites were strong, and when combined with low impulse control, Dana often found herself acting before she had thought it through.  This could have caused her problems, but Dana’s father had always been there to smooth things out.

She knew that one day she'd settle down with the perfect man.  He would be handsome, wealthy, and perhaps a little older than he should be.  But he'd treat her like she deserved to be treated.  She'd work a little at some boring job, probably taking care of her husband's money and the charities that they supported.  But she wasn't accepting that boring life yet, not now....she didn't HAVE to and besides, she was just having too much fun.  Anyway, she didn't yet feel compelled to give her all to some boring company or board of directors when she'd already realized that her time was not only worth more than she'd ever be paid, but was actually worth more than money.  


The man in the beauty shop was good at reading people and had learned over his time with the team that he was almost always right.  He thought that even though the young girl didn't physically resemble Paris Hilton, she still seemed to have that same kind of spoiled, empty-headed look; an aura which somehow radiated pure grade-A, 100 percent entitlement.  As a hunter, he hated what the well-known moneyed heiress represented---the surface deep venality and the absolute lack of purpose.  He'd always known that the Hilton heir's life had been made in a microwave, not a crock-pot.....nothing about her was made to last.  

But because this new girl had showed up on their radar at the last minute, so to speak, the team had not completed their normal investigation.  Limited research indicated the young woman in the chair was rarely discrete in her still-forming appetites and had a well-earned, distinctly slutty reputation she'd been perfecting since she was fifteen....but only with the boys and young men that temporarily interested her.  Sitting in the beauty chair with perfect makeup and nails, the small and smug, yet still exquisite brunette seemed to perfectly epitomize the empty-headed, vacuous Paris Hilton promise of every playboy centerfold published over the last twenty years.  


The blonde beautician seemed a likable enough girl and people around these parts would surely miss her when she was gone.  But from what they'd been able to learn about the slut lounging in the chair, he knew she lacked the self-awareness which might have inspired any real empathy or sympathy from any friends upon her disappearance.  Only her father would miss her and while he might be a problem, they had ways to address that.  

The strange man looked dispassionately from behind his dark sunglasses at the girl slouched in the chair.  She was a part-time smoker too, but that would stop.  It would be tough for her, being indoctrinated by brutal Eastern European men (indoctrination sounded sooo much better than torture) AND being trained as an involuntary whore while suffering nicotine withdrawal, but the rules of the mysteriously unknown high boss had been made very clear by his immediate underlings.  It seemed that while the boss himself smoked, he didn't allow his women to.  Certainly this rich young bitch would get no sympathy from him; he'd gladly watch her being broken, even help, and he’d feel no regrets at all.  

Enough contemplation, it was time.  He flashed his fake badge at the tall, blonde, brown-eyed beauty consultant and her customer.  The man was a naturally gifted actor and actually enjoyed this part of the job.  After identifying himself as a police detective, in a tense, urgent voice he ordered them to vacate the premises through the rear door.  Two men, he informed them, were in the process of robbing the convenience store three shops down and police were quietly evacuating the surrounding area, getting bystanders to safety before any shooting started.  

Not giving Ursula and Dana any time to think.....like about the fact that he was already wearing thin latex gloves.....he ordered the confused beautician to put up the “Closed” sign and lock the front door.  She obeyed immediately and waited for his next command.  The scared girls were ordered to gather their personal belongings, and after he had unobtrusively picked up the listening device the team had planted earlier, he then hustled both young women out the back door and away from the direction of the convenience store.  Ignoring their questions, he kept them moving in front of him, herding them like geese along the back of the twenty-five year-old single story strip mall towards the unremarkable white utility van that was parked alone with its back facing them.


How Many’s Enough or Pushing Your Luck The Old Fashioned Way

There were no cameras in the back to record what happened next.  Just as the two girls approached the rear of the van, both back doors opened quickly and a second man with a gun in his hand jumped down in front of them.  The only sound to be heard was that of the beautician's soft gasp of surprise and her low heeled sandals as she spun in the hard-packed gravel to look at their police protector.......but he had a small smile of victory on his face and his own gun in his right hand as he wagged his left index finger in front of his lips to indicate his demand for total silence.  

This was so out of the blue, so totally unexpected, that even Ursula was taken by surprise.  With the two armed men in total control of the situation, it took only a matter of seconds for the young girls to be herded into the back of the van.  The doors slammed shut and silence reigned again.  The van rocked slightly on its springs for less than a minute before the scene returned to stillness once more.  

Suddenly, the van’s back door opened once more and the bogus policeman jumped out again.  As he did, four others could be seen.  Two were team members while the two young women could also be seen, bound and gagged, wearing only their bras and panties as they leaned against the right side of the van.  

Both were frantically looking at their disappearing freedom, desperately hoping that someone had seen their kidnapping.  But the van’s door closed on them with finality as the man walked around to the right front door and leaned in the open window to talk to his team mates.  The three other members of the hunter team whispered fiercely, trying to argue him out of it, but the setup to him seemed too good to waste.  He disappeared around the end of the building and they reluctantly waited even as they cursed him under their breath.


Hit With Just A Touch Of The Existential Flu or This Is How One’s Life Ends

Years later she still thought about that night in the summer which preceded her kidnapping, for that night the moon had waxed full in Scorpio.  It was the sign of her birth and although the bible didn't allow her to believe in Astrology, it had seemed as if by the hand of God that its incandescence had split her little town into dark and light.  And the light had lit the path of the devil's minions straight to her.  

She later learned that it was a hunter’s moon too.

Linda hadn't been superstitious then, trying hard to keep her beliefs unchanged in the face of a terrible new life which reeked with so much secular hostility.  But thanks to the tender mercies of the old man who now kept her captive, she had become so after having so many.........extreme life experiences under his tutelage.  She truly believed that if his dogs of terror and abduction hadn't lost their way, she might never have been found, and peace and love and labor might have blessed all her remaining days.


When Linda had first awakened that morning, she'd just known for some odd reason that it would be a good day.  She was a beautiful young woman with a fierce, dedicated look about her blue eyes that put off many of the insipid young men her age and thick, long hair that seemed to change color from light brown to almost honey-gold depending upon the light.  With decent makeup and reasonable clothes, she could have made an excellent living on the modeling circuit.  As it was, she had a fairly poor dress sense, which reduced her from simply stunning to just damn good looking.  

She stood in the shower and rinsed the soap suds away.  Her body today was far better today, tighter and stronger, than it had been when she had been in high school and played highly competitive volleyball five days a week.  She knew this was a combination of working out four days a week, absolutely avoiding all junk food and good genes that she’d inherited from her parents, so she felt little pride in it.  Linda brought her right arm up and smiled at the definition in her biceps.  Then she ran a hand along her rock-hard right thigh and traced a finger along the vertical line which separated the hamstring from the quadriceps.  

Linda then slid her hands around her waist and tried to stick her belly out as much as her frame would allow.  A soft smile covered Linda’s face as she tried to imagine herself pregnant.  A good friend was due in four months and Linda wondered what it was like.  She smiled again and grabbed a towel as she stepped out of the shower.  

After short prayer, Linda had a quick bite to eat and then started getting ready for work.  She was young and had little to cover, so her makeup was quick and light.  A touch of foundation, a bit of eye shadow, liner, some very light lipstick.  She pulled on her nude toe panty hose, then dressed in her best outfit, the same outfit she'd worn three days ago; a cream silk blouse, pleated maroon skirt which ended two inches above her knees and a light maroon washed-silk jacket.  Her toe nails were painted bright red and she slid her feet into three-inch maroon pumps that matched her skirt.  The last thing she did was put in her contacts and then dribble in a few drops from a small plastic bottle to handle any eye irritation.  She closed her eyes for a couple of seconds and then she was ready to go.

Linda knew that pride and vanity were terrible sins in the eyes of the Lord, but she liked the way she looked this morning nonetheless---especially her eyes.  After dressing, she crossed her tiny apartment to the full-length mirror on the closed bedroom door and struck a pose.  Shifting her weight to one heel, she pivoted and admired her reflection.  She tried to avoid the sin of pride, but had to acknowledge a secret pleasure – the man who had told her she had the legs of a world class dancer was right, her legs looked great.  In fact, she just liked the way everything seemed to go together so nicely this morning.  She wore little jewelry except for some dangling hoop earrings, but while putting on her makeup, Linda had emphasized her cornflower blue eyes just a little bit more than normal.  She thought her eyes were her best feature, but most men seemed to strongly disagree.  

She hated what she read in most men's eyes.

She'd spent a month in Central America during each of the last two summers working with the poor on a church mission.  The hot summers had been a sweaty, uncomfortable trial because her beautiful, clear white skin had never really tanned.  Despite the desire for deep brown tan each summer, she eventually learned to like the soft alabaster tone of her skin.

The worst part for Linda was that despite her strength of character, she was also painfully shy and really didn't care for the kind of coarse admiration her looks often brought.  She had been raised in a sheltered environment by very protective, devoutly religious parents.  No smoking, drugs or alcohol, no sex out of marriage, and a nine o’clock curfew.  Conservative in dress and thought, she knew body piercings and tattoos were just vulgar; something she would never consider for herself.  Instead of going out to parties, she enjoyed curling up with a good book by herself.  There was little that she considered truly tempting in this town, but it was always best to avoid temptation when one could.

She was a religious girl, but hadn't yet found the right young man with whom to settle down.  When he came along, Linda knew he would be a little older, yet looking for a just and believing woman like her.  She longed to find him; longed to find the man who would love her and cherish her, yet still be confident enough in his beliefs to exercise his natural authority in their marriage based on his age and experience.  He would be a father-like figure who would guide their little family in all things; one in whom she could have the utmost confidence.

She'd been raised an Episcopalian and in the last few years, when other kids her age had been getting as far away from the church as they could, she'd gotten closer and closer.  She’d come to understand that the structure of Western morality was underpinned by the axiom of divinity.  And when that axiom was knocked out by the conflict between science and religion, then the whole system became unstable, questionable.  And if there was no God, then anything was permitted—doing whatever felt good or whatever a person could get away with.  

She'd often thought that if she'd been raised Catholic, God forbid, she'd have wanted to become a nun.  But her family, her religion and her country were locked in an iron triangle which defined her young life.  In many ways, it was religion that kept her sane.  When times had been bad, when she and her parents were arguing, it was always God to whom she turned for solace.  

But at the same time, she wasn't overt in her beliefs or a fundamentalist screamer either.  Deeply religious, Linda was full of contradictions, traits that drove her friend’s nuts.  Her faith made her seem kind, but passive, as if she viewed life as something to be accepted rather than challenged.  A young woman who probably would have been confident, even strong-willed if raised in a less conventional home, any attempts at “acting out” had quickly been throttled by her father.  Yet at the same, all who knew Linda agreed that somewhere deep inside her, there existed a core of iron.

Along with being shy she was also far too passive, some would even go so far as to say indecisive, to suit most of the young women that knew her.  Because of her bashfulness, people had taken advantage her whole life.....but only up to a point, for even God didn't want his chosen to be doormats.  It had just been easier to just let people push her along.  Men mostly.  Sometimes they had the best intentions, like her father.  Sometimes, she could just sense that their intentions weren’t so good.  

She'd gotten used to this discomfort, never allowing herself to feel exploited.  Rather she just learned to avoid those who let her down and she used her religion instead to make it through the difficult times.  But the choice to let them determine the course she took was hers.  She had no one to blame but herself, and so, she was trying to change this part of her character, teaching herself to make a point of expressing what she felt at least once a day.  But most importantly, Linda knew that only she could truly understand herself.  She was confident that she would soon have complete control over her shyness and she found both courage and comfort in that truth.  

Linda was living at home when she first had started working.  For the first time she had money of her own and she had wanted to buy a used foreign SUV, her first car.  But her father had wanted her to buy a smaller, American model.  She'd told him exactly how she felt, since honesty was next to godliness, but it didn't do any good.  In addition to his being her father, she was a good Christian, and as a Christian woman, he'd hit her with a one-two whammy; the male was the head of the household no matter what his role and a child had to respect the wishes of the parent.  

They argued, of course, and Linda had finally relented, of course, after counting to ten several times.  But it had brought home the fact that she was grown up and should be on her own.  So Linda was living in a small bachelorette's flat now.  Only 700 square feet, but it was all her own.

In the meantime, she'd learned to downplay her beauty even more.  Honestly, some men just didn't know when no meant no.  She didn't have perfect vision, so one of her most recent tricks was to gather her hair at the back of her neck and wear unattractive eye glasses with thick black rims, glasses which emphasized the plain clothes she often wore.  But not today.  Today she felt good, like she was doing what the Lord wanted her to be doing.

The co-workers of the third target had just begun a leisurely lunch on the other side of town when he walked into the small insurance office.  The room was old; the ceiling a patterned plaster, the floor white tile blocks with cracks that ran like meandering rivers, walls covered in paper with repeating pictures of airplanes.  

As expected, she’d been left alone to manage the shop while the others were gone.  The long honey-brown hair which framed flawless pale skin and wide set blue eyes.  The lips that were fluted like a champagne glass; full and thick with a plumpness which made a man just want to kiss her.  He studied it all once more.  Her face wasn't perfect, the nose just a hair too long, the lips a little too full...but that just added character.  But my God, the way it all came together......  

He’d followed her into her church yesterday, just wanted to see what she was all about.  From where he had stood, he could just see her in front of the side altar, lighting a votive candle with a long stick.  The flame had sputtered and then held steady as the glass glowed red.  Bowing her head, she knelt and clasped her hands in front of her.  

He’d wanted to go further into the building, but sensed that it would be an intrusion.  It even felt wrong just watching this young girl in prayer, but for a moment he was mesmerized by the scene.  By the serenity which hovered above the chaos that was about to visit her life.  By the beauty of her body arched over, deep in prayer.  By the halo effect of the sunlight glinting around her head, echoing the Virgin’s halo in the painting that hung behind her in the alcove.  Then the feeling was gone, and he knew that she would eventually be one of the perfect ones in her new life.  

He walked away before she saw him watching her.


She looked up at him and smiled, “May I help you?”  Her lightly tanned skin dimpled, her white teeth gleamed and a quality of warmth came into the room as if a small sun had risen from beneath her desk.  He found himself returning her smile, the odd feeling from yesterday nothing but a memory.

Young, pretty, unblemished…naïve.  She looked delicious, completely ripe.  As much as he tried to remain a passive observer, this one definitely was a keeper.  The man just wanted to run his hand over every firm inch of this one’s body.  She was at that age where her flawless white skin was stretched to the maximum, where it couldn't be any firmer, when you really could bounce a dime off her belly.  He briefly stared at her chest, noting the way the top stretched across her breasts.  It was all he could do to not reach over and feel her breasts.  She had such nice ones too; high and proud.  A swimmer or dancer; a gymnast perhaps.  Muscles hard enough to bounce ball bearings off them.  She was definitely T-1 material.  

The acoustics in the shop had an odd quality which left an echo.  After identifying himself as a police detective, in an edgy, anxious voice he asked, “Where is everyone?”

Startled, she pulled her head back as she replied, “Everyone’s out to lunch.  I’m just holding the fort down for another half hour.”  

Using the same voice, he ordered her to vacate the premises, using the same story he had with the first two girls.

As he looked at the baffled teenager, he was more convinced than ever that this was another T-1 prospect.  And if not, then she would labor in the subterranean cells until her body was worn out.  

Following the plan and not giving Linda any time to think, he ordered the confused receptionist to put up the closed sign, lock the front door and grab her purse.  He then hustled the shy young woman out the back door and with an urgent hand on her arm led her towards supposed safety and away from the made-up impending violence at the convenience store.  Raised in the church to be obedient, she kept silent as she was herded by the acknowledged symbol of authority towards the single utility van parked in back.  


Linda reached the back of the van just as he brought his gun up and laid it against the side of her head close enough for her to smell its blue metal breath.  Like the other two, she didn't argue with a gun pointed at her head.  He wrapped his other arm around her chest, pinning her unresisting arms against her sides, squeezing her between his body and the side of the van.  

He felt the softness of her body against his and caught a trace of her rich, dark scent.  For a second, something about it, an unexpected familiarity, distracted him.  His breathing became labored and his mind wandered.  He shook his head.  To hell with that.  He stuck his gun against her temple again.

"Listen carefully," he hissed into her ear.  "You'll be dead unless you do exactly as I say."  She nodded in fear and shock just as the back door of the van opened.  Unresisting, the girl was hustled inside the van immediately.  The man inside kicked her legs out from under her as soon as she was in.  When her knees struck the floor of the van, the inside man stamped his left foot against her shoulder blades, pushing the teenager down on her face and pinning her to the floor.  She let out an involuntary grunt as the air was forced from her lungs.   

"Slowly put your arms out by your sides, palm up."  Linda did as she was told.

"Thank you.  Now lay completely still."  She still had not noticed the first two girls already tied to the wall of the now slowly moving truck.

The man shifted his position, sliding his foot down her back and over her rump, bringing it to rest on the floor between her upper thighs.  Then he bent his left knee until it came to rest on the base of her spine.  His right foot was flat on the ground and all his weight was bearing down on her lower back.  Linda whimpered in pain.  

He unzipped one of the thigh-pockets on his cargo pants and took out a thin strip of plastic that was looped into a figure eight.  The loops were secured by tiny locking boxes through which the plastic strips passed.  

"Put your hands at the small of your back."

He placed a plastic loop over each hand and then pulled the loose ends until the plastic was tight around each wrist.  

"Roll over on your back."

He waited while Linda obeyed.  There was a momentary flash of both fear and what looked like pure rage in her eyes.  He could see it when her eyes turned arctic blue, in the clenching of her jaws, the pursing of her lips.  She looked away and took in a single, short harsh breath through her nostrils.  It was then that she saw the other two girls.  

When she met his gaze again, her face was suddenly blank, as if somehow she knew there was more to come.  Suddenly, the man who had been in her office gripped her jaw line and pressed hard, forcing her mouth open.  A professional gag was roughly inserted and suddenly, she had lost the opportunity to make another sound.  

When the man began to unbutton Linda's blouse, she jerked herself away from his hands and quickly began oompf-oompfing her anger and denial at what was happening.  Yelling from the back of her throat, the sound was made into an odd coughing whine by the aperture of her mouth plug.  He began to lose patience.  Just as he began to think about hitting her, she relented, apparently resigned to what she thought to be her fate.  He listened as her muffled sounds tapered off into a long sighing sound, then used his knife to cut the fabric in order to remove her top.  

Finally, he smiled to himself as she raised her chin in defiance while he removed what she’d said was her favorite skirt.  It’d be a little while before they moved these ladies on and at least this way he could take his time looking at this beautiful girl’s nudity.  

Control Top?  Unquestionably; although she didn't need it.  L'eggs?  Or No Nonsense? No Nonsense, he was all but certain of it.  A conservative young woman, she wore industrial gauge underpants combined with a bra which had all the sex appeal of day-old bread.  Her fine knees fell open, but by no more than a foot because she was also bound at the ankles now.  He folded her clothes and laid them on top of the other two girl’s things.  

Suddenly, it was over and the team had been successful once again.


Linda quickly found herself being shuffled backward until she was leaning against the wall of the van, her legs flat on the floor in front of her.  They were taking all of them somewhere else, somewhere private, isolated.  When she realized this, her guts clenched into an icy knot and she felt faint, as if she were falling from a great height.  

The word abducted flashed into her mind and her mind blanked, just checked out.  Linda tried to think of something she could do, some means of escape, but all that happened was certain words kept going over and over again in her frozen mind, abducted….kidnapped…..seized…..hostage…..  

Besides, the thought suddenly intruded, it was too late.  And it was.  All she could do now was sit in the van, almost naked, and wait.  Her heart was thudding, her whole body was suddenly damp with sweat; all she could do, all they could do, was wait until they’d reached their destination and whatever fate awaited all three of them there.


As always, it had taken only seconds for the new victim to be hustled into the back of the van.  The doors slammed shut with finality.  The sound brought a sense of relief to all of the kidnappers and a feeling of doom to the three young women.  The van slowly departed the rear of the strip mall, leaving behind only a howling pit of despair when the three disappearances were eventually discovered.  No evidence had been left behind.  No traffic or ATM camera footage was available for the police to use, no late night witnesses or serendipitous parking tickets, no strangers seen acting oddly or out of character.  

Nothing had been left behind for the authorities.  

The three girls had vanished without a trace and those members of the team whose mind worked this way could almost see the headlines; they would be as predictable as the sun rising in the east.  These men smiled a tiny smile as the pressure of the operation throttled back a little.  The pressure wouldn’t go away until each of these beauties was on the road.  

The men carefully checked all the victim's bonds and then sat back in a slightly more relaxed manner, shooting for just a few minutes time out.  In a sense, everyone in the van knew they were acting out roles which required that each remain within certain predefined boundaries; the captive females were required as the necessary victims and the hunters as predators, genetically predisposed to always pursue their intended prey.  In the same way, everyone in the van, both male and female, knew the girls could never free themselves but the charade still had to be played out.  

The human cargo was quickly transferred to a specially prepared suburban waiting almost twenty miles away.  Before the transfer, the young women were each first hit with a 230,000 volt shock.  Each girl’s body arched for a moment and then lay still with only minor quivers running through them.  It was a new tool; the man holding the stun gun looked at it and smiled in appreciation.  The gun was ranked highest in the industry, ranked as giving out intolerable pain after which it just fucking scrambled your nerve like eggs at an omelet brunch.  A second moved around on his knees, giving each unresisting girl a shot which would knock them out for over an hour.  

The young women had not been completely stripped at first because the act itself tended to bring out total-effort struggles on their part.  With them stunned and drugged that was no longer a concern.  All remaining clothing was now removed from each of the young captives, after which she was rolled onto her stomach and an air gun used to inject an incredibly small RFID chip deep in the upper left quadrant of the left buttock.  

The now enslaved females were thus tagged with the latest in Radio Frequency Identification chips, small wafers enclosed in a glass bead the size of a very small spot of water.  The old man’s organization had spent a lot of money increasing security around his compound and these tags allowed twenty-four-hour a day monitoring of every one of his whores while they were onsite.  Plus, security was greatly increased once the girls had been “chipped,” since the mini-processors they now carried worked like key cards, allowing individual doors to be coded to open or remain locked in the presence of each chip.  

Bandages were placed over each injection site and adult diapers added.  After a moment’s thought, the leader said, “Double bag 'em.”  With that, a second layer of diapers was added.  The injection site would be a little obvious as it scabbed over, but the girls would have a lot bigger things to worry about in the next few days than what looked like a small insect bite on their ass.  None of the previous women they'd taken had ever twigged to the injection and he had no reason to expect these future whores to be any different.  

Two of the girls had long hair; this was twisted into quick ponytails and then secured with rubber bands, allowing it to cascade onto the floor like a horse's mane.  The girls were next stacked on their backs head to foot in a shallow, air-conditioned sound-proofed box that had been built into the frame of the back of the big utility vehicle.  Thick, crude leather belts were strapped around each narrow waist.  Leather bands were also placed around the neck, ankles and wrists.  Rings on each of the bands were then tightly locked to rings in the floor by small metal carabiners.  There was no slack here and no way any of the girls could move while bound this way.

Conductive jelly was next rubbed onto skin to prevent burns, then alligator clips on the end of thin electrical leads were plugged into outlets built into the sides of the women's constrictive prison.  These leads were then clipped to ears, toes and nipples, Achilles tendons and labia.  This arrangement allowed varying amounts of electrical current to be run through the bodies of the victims at unexpected moments.  Fifty thousand volts at extremely low amperage ensured each short shock was painful, but not dangerous.  The girls were valuable chattel now, owned by the organization.  

Once they had awakened, the idea was to use quick shots of pain to take away the mercy of sleep or unconsciousness. They would keep them awake for the many hours the trip took, thinking only about their predicament.  As a final touch, high-quality stereo headphones were placed over each girl's ears and loud music played, the same awful Indie Landfill garbage, over and over again.  The idea was to ensure that any remaining meager sounds from the outside world had been blanked.  Personally, every member of the Midnight team would rather kill themselves than listen to that screeching garbage.  

Exhausted and hungry females were much easier to break than were the well-rested and recently fed.  


It was always pay time when the hunters snagged a T-1.  The man for whom they worked paid $75,000 for a T-1.  Split equally four ways, each harvester would take home almost $55,000 for this afternoon’s work.  But if the girls graded out as T-2’s, they would each only earn $30,000.  More than one of the team vowed to track down and rent any of them which graded out as a T-2 and then he’d beat her ass to a pulp.  

He wasn’t worried though.  The pretend policeman looked down at the three girls and knew they’d hit the jackpot this time.  A lot of times though, you just could never tell ahead of time.  No matter how much work a guy put into harvesting one of these beauties, there simply were some things that they just couldn’t know ahead of time.  

Take a young woman with the looks of someone like say, Emily Ratajkowski.  Dressed, she looked like a million bucks.  But naked?  Beautiful face and great legs, but her tits just naturally sagged too much.  On the other hand, a Victoria’s Secret model like Alessandra Ambrosio had a strikingly pretty face, but she was flat as a board and both her legs and feet were fucking awful.  The sad fact was that it would have been a struggle to get a twenty-year old Ratajkowski or Ambrosio accepted even as a T-2.  The old man was so picky that even a young, skinny-assed Angelina Jolie wouldn’t have been acceptable.  

Middle seats were lifted back into place and rear seats re-installed once more.  The Suburban had once more re-assumed a camouflage which allowed it to fit back into the mundane world into which it swam........until the next prey had been identified.  

As soon as they had been taken, the girl's cellphones were turned off, batteries removed and then placed a small Ziploc bag.  After being steam-cleaned twice inside and outside, the rental van was returned to Covington but now with the original license plates, at which time the deposit was re-claimed using the original fake ID.  

The girl's cellphones were taken by one of the team members to the nearest truck stop where the batteries were re-inserted, wiped of all fingerprints and the phones hidden in inconspicuous spots under semi-truck trailers that were heading north to Boston and Chicago, and east down to Key West.  The phones would leave a misleading GPS trail for only as long as the batteries lasted.  

After splitting into separate vehicles, the two remaining members of the team then turned the unremarkable suburban north to Monticello, Arkansas on a roundabout route to south-central Texas.  

The team always used rural state roads and never exceeded the speed limit nor did anything which might draw attention to them.  They always paid cash when they ate at fast food joints, using McDonald's (instead of Starbucks) even for coffee.  The more state lines they crossed when returning from one of their recruiting trips, the more confusing it was to the different local and state authorities.  

The girl's clothes, purses, shoes were also bagged and eventually discarded at various fast food and convenience store dumpsters along the 500-mile journey.


Ursula regained consciousness suddenly.  One moment it seemed she'd been out, gone, and then it was as though someone had pressed her reboot button.  There was this awful screeching and clanging sound in hers, so loud that she literally could not think.  Her mouth was terribly dry and her tongue seemed to cling to the roof of her mouth.  She tried to swallow, but there was nothing to swallow, not even saliva.  The darkness was absolute.  She had a terrible headache which the sound was continually making worse and Ursula wondered if she might have gone blind because of it.  But maybe she was dreaming…..it didn’t feel like a dream though.

Ursula blinked and tried to swallow again, and for a moment she wondered once more if maybe this was only a nightmare.  She’d had that kind of awful dream from time to time, like when she bent her scissors or snagged the hair of a Hollywood star, or she burned some poor girl’s hair so badly with a perm that the victim needed a transplant.  But this time, as she came around, the images in her mind only grew more confusing.  

She thought her eyes were working.  There was total blackness, but it seemed as if everything was blurry, clouded.  Ursula had absolutely no recollection of how she had gotten home; of how she had gotten in bed with the shades drawn.  She inhaled deeply through her nose and smelled a musty odor.  Unfamiliar.  Sharp and sour and sweaty.  

Was she at home in bed?  It didn’t smell like her home.  Had she crashed at someone else’s place?  Not Taylor’s, she didn’t think.  Her apartment smelled differently.  But where else could she be?  She had no memory of…anything, really.  

God, she was sore all over.  Was she in the hospital or something?  Had she maybe been in an accident, gotten hurt?  The icepick of awful sounds was driving deeper and deeper into her brain and the pain now approached being indescribable.  Ursula found herself rocking back and forth a little—a very little in fact—as her body unconsciously attempted to ameliorate the painful sounds.  She could barely move.  She was a little sore, it felt like must have been bounced around quite a bit while she was out.  

She took another deep breath and consciously calmed the rising sense of frustration.  Ursula just wanted to roll over and put a pillow over her head, but she couldn’t raise her head and her wrists felt like they’d been pinned to the floor.  She fluttered her fingers once, feeling her hips against her palms.  She tried to move them then again and couldn't.  It was only after that second attempt that reality suddenly crashed through everything and Ursula realized why.  Her wrists and ankles were firmly secured to something.  

Shock drove away much of the cloudiness in her mind and lessened a little the impact of the music.  Even though still a bit woozy, as she recovered her senses Ursula frantically realized that she was bound helplessly in a black space of some kind and as the floor shuddered momentarily under her hips, it felt like it was moving too.  Where was she?  In a car trunk or a wooden box?  An awful thrill of terror ran down her spine, maybe a coffin?  

Was she alone?  Where were her friends?  Suddenly, Ursula realized that she could feel another body tightly wedged against hers, that she’d actually been feeling it all along but had not realized.  Was this one of them?  Was it someone from the beauty shop?  

As she tried to control her breathing, she realized that the loud noise in her ears was actually some kind of awful Indie music.  The music was so loud that it was exceedingly difficult to concentrate on even one thing at a time.  Ursula tried to raise her knees to gently torque her body over on her side, but even though her ankles wouldn’t move, they still hit something.  Something hard.  Startled, she tried to raise her head in a reflex action….nothing.  That meant there was some kind of a roof over her head even though she couldn’t see it or touch it with her forehead.

Even before her sluggish brain was able to make sense of it all, a rush of dread crawled all over her mind, leaving her numb and ice-cold.  Animal instincts now screamed in her mind, she was in a box!  A box with the ceiling no more than about three inches above her face.  

Not normally claustrophobic, Ursula began breathing faster.  Short, panicked gasps that accompanied her racing heartbeat.  She shuddered once with dread and extreme fear.  And then again.  The awful shuddering just wouldn’t stop.  Suddenly drenched with sweat, Ursula now gasped for air, but it felt like she could not get more than a few inches into the very top of her lungs.  

Totally out of control now, she began to fight her bonds.  And as she began her struggle, Ursula panted continually faster and faster.  She couldn’t move, couldn’t change positions.  The air!  There wasn’t enough air to breathe!  This could not be real.  She had to be in some kind of a nightmare.  The worst nightmare she’d ever had.  Trapped in a box; like a coffin.  

Suddenly, it felt like the already limited supply of air had been cut in half again.  No, she screamed though the driving beat of her headphones.  No…no…no…  There was a slowly creeping light-headed feeling which accompanied the sudden hardness in her stomach and the overall coldness in her body, a feeling that told her she might soon pass into a blissful unconsciousness.  

Suddenly, an awful current of electricity shot through her body, ranging from the back of her left ankle to her right nipple.  She howled in shock and pain, feeling the vibrations of the scream in her skull, but unable to hear herself because of the volume of the music in the earphones.  As her body continued to react without control to the terrible pain, she heard nothing over the loud sounds in her ears, but sensed the body next to her arching in sympathetic agony to hers.  

In a faraway part of her mind, Ursula somehow knew she had discovered at least one of the other girls she had been with at the end.  

Like the dark trip she was on, the pain seemed both infinite and boundless.  She could neither guess how long the first shock lasted or any of those which followed.  Ursula could not guess how long she lay in the darkness.  And any estimates were worse than useless because her heightened emotional state had totally distorted her sense of duration and time…. All she knew was that it seemed to take forever.  

And the sudden flashes of pain seemed to never end.  


The House of Red Lights

A woman has no control over herself.  
-Martin Luther (Letter to several Nuns, 6 Aug,. 1524)

Another Piece of This Story or Everything Has To Begin Somewhere

Langford, Florida

Langford was a relatively small town located about sixty miles north of Gainesville, Florida; the last census had showed a population of a little over 100,000.  The city had been small, quiet and a pleasant place in which to live---up to a few years ago.  Over the last five years though, the police had watched the inner city evolve from a quiet unassuming area with a relatively tight knit feeling of community to an area that was plagued by problems that were the scourge of the bigger cities.  

The old-time Italian mob had used Langford because it was close enough to their Gainesville outpost to be convenient, yet far enough away that you could isolate yourself from the “business”.  Much to the disgust of the older mob in Florida, poorly organized gang activity had become a growing element in Langford over the past few years.  You just didn't, the old-timers muttered to each other, shit in your own house.  But they were old farts now, and no one listened to them anymore.

The economic downturn was still killing this part of Florida, and in recent months gang-related crime had risen to such critical levels that the police had established a task force to deal with the problems.  Politician’s fucking answers to everything—start a task force.  But it had been too little, too late.  In fact, the last few months had been hell for the Langford police.  A sixteen year-old illegal Hispanic kid had been speeding on the outer ring road and for no good reason he’d tried to outrun the police.  By the time everything was finished, the boy was dead.  It had been the end of one of the mildest winters in years and half-hearted rioting had engulfed much of the city.  

The police chief thanked god the kid had been Mexican and not black.  While a few were protesting what they saw as true injustice, most of the rioters were gangbangers and hangers-on just taking advantage of the situation.  If the kid had been black, the fucking Black Lives Matter assholes would’ve been swarming the place.  That’d would’ve brought on Antifa and every other branch of the SJW mob including CAIR and .the Castrated Transgenders for Che or whatever the fuck queers were called now days.    

Regardless of motives, a lot of valuable property had been burned or gutted.  Some parts of the city had cooled down immediately, but others had continued to simmer for months afterwards.  Eventually, the citizens of Langford had demanded that the Mayor and the police do something about lawlessness and the gang violence inside their city.  While they were very aware that they were located near Gainesville, everyone also knew the problems of the bigger city---the drugs and the prostitution, the car thefts and home break-ins and the gang wars desperately prayed that these big-city blights were not coming their way.  

In his office, the weak and moronic Mayor listened to a well-rehearsed presentation from three community activists.   One was black, two were Hispanic.  The female leader of the group was a former Alderperson who presented a carefully coached demand that he do something about TerrorTown.  Known locally as the Double Tee or TT, this was the area on the south side where drug gangs ruled the streets, where people hid at night and the police, when they had to go there, were both less than welcome and sometimes shot.  Bottom line; the good citizens demanded a substantial increase in financial aid and support for a broad neighborhood voluntary watch group.

Always politically correct, the dumbass Mayor picked up a pen and made a note.

"And?"

"A special commission composed of active community members to gather information and encourage law-abiding residents to aid in ridding our area of its crime and reputation."

"Right," said the Mayor, writing again, not knowing that this was not only his last term, but his last elected political position.  "Anything else?"

"A substantial increase in police officers preferably in a task force headed by an experienced Hispanic and African-American police officer."


Little of the above however, was about to happen since the economics-challenged Mayor had already decided to clean out the “bad” part of town through gentrification and renewal.  What this meant was that he’d decided to give away Godzilla-sized chunks of the street to developers with the tacit understanding that he and his friends would get lucrative boardroom positions once out of office.  While he was not a particularly intelligent man, he did know you couldn’t totally clean out vice and corruption from any city worth the name.  It was like trying to squeeze your colon away because you didn’t like the idea of shit.  

But he had his ass to cover, so with a politician's typical thoughtless over-reaction when addressing what might become a PR problem, the Mayor came down on the Police Chief.  He demanded of the chief an immediate resolution of the problem brought to him by the constituents, the resolution to a problem which had been building for years.  

In response to what he felt were the idiotic Mayor’s heated and absolutely unrealistic demands, the Chief grimly and with huge misgivings, significantly increased his police presence in inner city Langford.  

Finding a way to deal with the bangers was always easier said than done.  Hundreds of kids and young men were involved, and whether black, white, Arab, Latino or Vietnamese, socioeconomic backgrounds alone could not explain a boy’s decision to join a gang.  A few of the gangs were small and concerned themselves with little more than robberies, burglaries, carjacking and small-time extortion.  

Others were part of some larger gang which had branches throughout the country, thus involving all manner of organized crime from drug trafficking to gun running to prostitution and even child slavery.  The two major local gangs were the ME Gunners and the Los Tentaculos.  They hated each other; and as expected, the Tentaculos and the Gunners were always feuding about territory, and almost always mixed up in various kinds of lethal pissing contests.  

Acting on a direct order from the Mayor, the Chief pulled men in from different stations and sub-stations located throughout the city to form two-man foot patrols using only his most experienced officers.  These patrols were scheduled 24/7 for the foreseeable future.  With a visible increase in patrolling by State Police cruisers, the intensive patrolling quickly curbed most of the violence which many of the citizens had been afraid would become permanent.  Most shopkeepers and locals were satisfied with this response, and this made the Mayor happy.  And when the Mayor was happy, everyone was happy.  

The Chief was able to maintain this surge for several months by burning through his annual overtime budget.  But after a couple of months that was pretty much gone, as was most of the assistance from the State of Florida.  He wasn’t given sufficient budget to hire additional experienced manpower and the officers that he was using soon began to burn out after so much overtime.  As a result of his pushing the Mayor, the city had put in for multiple Federal Grants to pay for more patrolmen, but because of the typical bureaucracy at city, state and federal levels, additional money wouldn’t be available for at least another six months with the onset of the new budget year.

After four or five weeks of continuous overtime, even his best troops had become sloppy.  Sloppy in the way that tired men and women become after too much stress, too little sleep, too much coffee and too much work.  Complacency and monotony inevitably led to inattentiveness.  A cop not paying attention led to mistakes.  And mistakes on these patrols eventually created what after-action reports sometimes wistfully referred to as “situations.”  It was inescapable.  At some point, someone would make a mistake and a cop or another kid would needlessly die and then the city would explode again, ruining everything for which he'd been working towards over the last three months.

But he was trapped.  The only way he could continue the foot patrols and satisfy the shopkeepers and the Mayor was to keep expanding the manpower pool; this meant relying on continually less experienced patrolmen.  This he knew, was a double edged sword; it meant that rookies and troopers with less than two or three months on the street would at some point be making major split-second life and death decisions---everyone knew this too was a recipe for eventual disaster.  

The best plan the Chief could come up with was to continue flooding the area with foot patrols.  But he tried to ensure that teams always consisted of a really senior person paired with each of the newbie’s.  The more inexperienced a patrolman, the more experienced his partner had to be.  Hopefully, this would hold the line until he could either stand them down or the Federal money came in and his troopers could be reinforced with new hires.


PART Two: The man who crushed woman’s lives

A Brief Glimpse Of Their Future or It Really Sucked To Be A Beautiful Woman Working For This Guy

The Janjaweed are like a grotesque mixture of the mafia and the Ku Klux Klan...  These guys have a racist ideology that sees the Arab population as the supreme population that would like to see the subjugation of non-Arab peoples.  They’re criminal racketeers that have been supported very directly by the government to wage the war against the people of Darfur.
-John Pendergast

South of Houston

It was almost one in the morning and The Albanian was tired.  He hated the coastal Texas humidity more and more the older he got.  It seemed to come earlier every year and here it was only mid-May and his shirt was soaked.  He found he needed to sleep longer too, almost as if it were a way to avoid his life here.  

The way he lived his life wore him down.  The bugs, the humidity, the heat all took their toll, but that wasn't the hardest part.  It was the continued manifestation of paranoia which truly wore a person down.  The psychological toll this life took on his nerves was far greater than the way the heat and the humidity sapped his strength.  The constant threat of discovery meant that every move, every task was thought through two or three times and still taken with some measure of trepidation.  Every trip away from the compound, every business action concealed an enemy who just waited to cut him down.

He took a deep, shivering breath.  It was not good to approach business in such a state of anxiety and material attachment.  Except for a few special things, trying to fulfill earthly desires was sometimes like carrying water to the sea; a never-ending task, and an ultimately useless one too.  Taking deep, slow breaths, he closed his eyes, concentrating on nothing.  But he was still a good businessman and taking care of business always came first.  

He was a quiet man, always a quiet man.  His village had accumulated significant wealth and power.  Despite this, his father had been an unassuming man who deferred to those around him and rarely looked anyone in the eye.  And this was the lesson that he’d beat into his son.  Present nothing of yourself of which the world would take note.  Build up others while diminishing yourself.  Let the endless supply of egocentric men stand in the spotlight they craved while he remained in the darkness.  That was how lasting empires were built.  

When he felt the ripples in his mind had finally smoothed out, he ambled over to the security room to take stock of current business activities.  Rooms showing men and women.  Caucasian women laboring under men and on their knees with their faces in the men’s crotch.  White women he called his “chum” and “trash” and “meat”.  

Chum to him was the bloody mess of worthless bait fish that had been chopped into small pieces and was used by fishing boats to bait sharks close to the boat where they could be caught.  His holding cells were filled with waiting American women, bored American women, enslaved American women……..women he thought of as nothing but chum, essentially worthless objects whose only value was how they allowed him access to the more important targets, the wealthy and politically connected men of this country.  

The girls were simple meat-sacks.  

Meat-candy for paying clients.  

At a maximum, he could fill more than twelve rooms at a time with the most beautiful, extremely high-quality women and another fifteen or twenty with only slightly lesser quality merchandise.  There were a minimum of three hidden cameras for each room, depending upon the quality of the woman involved and the acts allowed in the room in which she labored.

He was always busiest on the weekends, but he ran specials for some of his more regular clients which brought in a surprising amount of weekday trade too.  Some rooms were quite comfortable and had been set up for little more relaxation and routine sex, the clients here were allowed to inflict only minor side dishes of pain and humiliation along with the more normal sexual variants.  It was in these rooms that his best women labored every day.  Clients could have just an evening of fun and leave, or stay the night with his woman.  

However, other, darker cells were set up for a little more than just adventurous sex.  The toys that were routinely used on his whores in these last rooms were often rough and sometimes unforgiving.  If a wealthy client hurt one of his slut’s during their play time, the customer paid through the nose for the privilege of having fucked up the whore, and then the old man gave his woman a few days off to heal under the care of his house pet doctor.  If serious medical or psychological complications surfaced, The Albanian disposed of the woman, often using her to satisfy The Punisher, and replaced her with fresh meat.  

He was nothing if not pragmatic.  

It was to these very same rooms that he sent many of his top women upon demotion; after he'd possessed them for a few years and they were no longer as fresh as they'd once been.  Everyone understood that women in their profession aged quickly; it extracted a mighty toll on their soul.  But other, still fresh girls worked this second set of rooms too.  Young females that had never been quite as physically exquisite as his best, but which were still close enough for the less discriminating customers.  

Finally, there were the darkest rooms in the cellars, in what passed as a basement in these forsaken parts.  It was in these wet, nightmarish, stinking subterranean cells that his hard men worked the hardest.  He referred to his men by various names, euphemistically calling them his “meatbreakers” and “butchers,” his "handlers" and “mechanics.”  These understatements of his were endless, but the reality was that these were the male employees who worked in the gloomy cells, breaking the endless supply of teenagers and young women when they were first delivered.

It was also in many of these same cells that the real sexual deviants were allowed complete access to the almost worn out T-2’s.  Definitely not his best merchandise below ground, but all in all, since this flesh was already needing to be replaced, it was more than good enough for the strange Western men with the truly bizarre tastes and the overwhelmingly psychotic need to hurt women.  


The ones he called the Peepers and the Watchers were perhaps the most distasteful of his clients.  But they also were the ones who truly affirmed for him just how truly lost and disgusting this culture was.  One of his club’s draws for this type of deviant was the unfortunate employee he thought of as his Punisher.  Well-known among certain sub-cult groups, the man called Prince Geoffrey was normally employed only on very specific occasions.  One of these was to amuse a paying Watcher; another was to punish a recalcitrant woman.  Of course, in either situation the woman became an immediate object lesson since she was useless for anything else after that.  

The Watchers paid a lot of money to view Prince Geoffrey, nicknamed the Punisher, in action with one of his lesser T-2.  

Color videos in all their ugly, brutal glory were made of the object lesson’s demise, whether paid for by a Watcher or as punishment; the remaining women were always forced to watch the video to ensure that reprimands of this magnitude were exceedingly rare.  Finally, if it had been over two or three weeks since Prince Geoffrey’s last woman, The Albanian tried to find one of his T-2 girls who had just outlived her usefulness and like an aging naval ship, was about be decommissioned, as it were.  And if one wasn’t immediately available, he had several times accelerated an unfortunate woman’s Best By date.  Anything to keep The Punisher happy and satisfied.  In any case, Prince Geoffrey was never given a girl that could still be used to make a profit, for when he was finished, she was literally no good for anything else.  

His skin crawling with distaste, the last time he had seen him was he had been forced to stand next to the first-time client paying for Prince Geoffrey’s services.  The two of them had been waiting outside one of the better lit cells in the basement when his employee had walked down the stairs; a huge black wearing nothing but heavy, knee-high boots, a loin cloth and a whip.  

Although informed of all details ahead of time, seeing was still not necessarily believing.  


He’d then had to explain to the moron that the Prince had once suffered from a case of lymphogranuloma that had remained untreated for an extended period of time.  Worse, the scarring in his case had led to elephantiasis.  

The Watcher-client had exploded, “Jesus God!  If that’s real, then how can you pay a woman enough for taking that?!!”  

That outbreak alone had told him how hopelessly idiotic this man was.  The Watcher knew exactly what went on here, so why would he even think of asking a question like that?

Instead of pointing out the stupidity of his client’s comment, The Albanian had snorted in cynical amusement, “We couldn’t.  And wouldn’t if we could.  Not money anyway.  All of the girl’s he gets are strung out.  So long as they get their three to four jolts a day ahead of time, they don’t care—they don’t even know—who does what to them.”

He had then led the Watcher to the room in which he would be seated while Prince Geoffrey brought finality to the helpless one.  The client had gagged at first as he took in the bed, the extensive props and the mewling young woman who lay there.  Eventually finding himself as it were, the client had then settled in for an extended stay.  

This had been someone’s daughter once, but he didn’t care.  He’d shown the video of the drugged girl taking the massive, diseased, stallion-sized cock to the remaining women the following day, and at the same time had put in a safe place the accompanying video of the easily recognizable client contentedly watching it all.  

Another high-level Federal judge in his pocket.  
He did not consider himself an uncultured man.  As much as he found it personally distasteful, he catered to all types here.  There were few tastes which couldn't be satisfied at The Albanian’s club….if you had enough money.  The main requirements for entry were money and discretion…and power.  And you never got to experience his unique stable of kept women until after you'd been thoroughly vetted.  If all a man wanted was simple salvation of the flesh, he was directed to one of the numerous, high quality brothels on the south side of Houston.  

However, what he ran was not strictly a brothel.  Some of his clients were known to have flown thousands of miles to partake of his exclusive wares and entry was by invitation only.  The government under this new president was....tricky, and he had to be even more careful than usual.  His compound appeared in no handbooks or directories.  But even money could not guarantee entry if he did not trust you and the large numbers of wealthy men who had all been turned down were proof of that.  

Each applicant was thoroughly vetted and then he interviewed the applicant himself over a secure video line.  He was a man well versed with the signs of deception or weakness during interrogations; the twitches that even in the incredibly wealthy indicated untruthfulness and the subtle signs of prevarication and mendacity.  He noticed when an applicant looked up or away if he was lying or exaggerating because he was reading a script in his head.  

If a man swallowed a bit hard or his lips suddenly became dry, The Albanian never failed to see this and to understand what it implied.  One or two had even tried to use the threat of blackmail to gain entrance to the delights he offered; each had been found lying next to their bodyguards the next morning, strangled and lying in the gutter of a bad part of New Orleans.  He always left his trash in New Orleans because The Albanian never shit in his own house and he brooked no form of defiance.  

The women were actually somewhat of a sideline to other, more lucrative business activities.  Over the years, he'd developed a network of former and current clients, friends and members of his extended family.  Some men worked for him out of loyalty to him or his clan and some for money, others were under his influence because he had extremely damaging videos of them with some of his whores.  Still others were pulled into his orbit against their wishes, for he was like an illicit drug that way.  In small doses he was tempting and beguiling, but if not monitored, his excesses could rot a man's body and soul to the core.  

He was like a low calory, in the shadows, parallel deep state, except he was a little more militant in his plans.  He paid a lot of money for information.  His intelligence network rivaled that of many small countries and he mainly used it to keep abreast of his other business activities.  But it was perfectly satisfactory for checking out new clients too.  

In addition to security and intelligence, his organization also used experts in several other different, yet still related areas.  The most important of these was his computer guy.  Chen was a Chinese Muslim he had smuggled into the U. S. and who believed in their goal with a fierceness matched only by The Albanian’s.  This man wrote truly elegant software with an ease that shocked most experts familiar with his work.  He hacked computer systems and networked with other hackers.  When on a roll, The Albanian had heard him called a fire-wall busting, code-breaking, back-door building, antiviral-thwarting, data-drilling maniac.  

Extremely smart in an oddly eccentric way, the Asian’s greatest advantage was his singular ability to obsess in an almost autistic way combined with both his wildly enthusiastic nature for what he did along with his unconventional patterns of thought.  His moon-shaped cynical face always gleamed with the frustrated intensity of a man certain of an ambush, but unable to forestall it.  

Chen had been the first to point out something called the Core Principal.  Since the 1980’s, the United States government had maintained a database of U. S. citizens it considered potential national security risks…..the Core Principal list currently contained over ten million names.  And it was Chen who had brought his attention to the U. S. government’s unparalleled ability, via the NSA, to listen to anything electronic that might be in the air.  U. S. citizens would be stunned if they knew of the extent to which the United States had become a burgeoning surveillance state.  In the name of post-9/11 security, they had voluntarily given up their rights requiring warrants for wiretaps and allowed an all-encompassing dragnet across the Internet.  Even their current president had been illegally wiretapped as a candidate.  

People’s thoughts, and the invasion of them, was another development which disturbed The Albanian for obvious reasons.  Chen had directed his attention to the work developing algorithms which used personal data to anticipate customer behavior.  Software predicting consumer behavior was probably the most sophisticated in the world.  And while much of this in itself wasn’t new, in and of itself, the progress of the NSA’s current efforts were.  

Incorporating the digital bread crumbs generated by unwary citizens each day: the millions and millions of tweets, Facebook entries, E-Z pass toll records, Amazon purchases, cell phone data, GPS information, search engine queries; all of these and more were fed into the most sophisticated artificial intelligence system the world had ever seen.  Code-named APRIT--Advanced PRedictive INTelligence--the system had not only been taught to think like a human being, it was also predicted the way people think and act.  

Additional data was fed to APRIT by the RASTER system—Rapid Attribute Selection TERminals.  These were devices that could be secretly deployed at stadiums, airports, malls and other public locations in an attempt to ”…identify terrorist activity before it took place.”  At least, that was the excuse. 

Without permission, these devices now scanned the physiology of each person who unknowingly passed by its sensor array, recording, storing and analyzing their respiration, pheromone secretions, “electrodermal” activity and cardiovascular signature, all in an attempt to recognize “malintent” and alert authorities.  

A secondary “tagging” system worked in parallel to establish the subject’s identity using the FBI’s new LGI--Latest Generation Identification—database.  It was like iPhoto tagging, only a thousand-fold so and on steroids.  

Thus, Chen was not being paranoid when he stored the software he used offsite.  Rather, it was stored on a web site he maintained under an assumed name and which was housed on a server located in Dimondale, North Dakota.  The web site was identified by number only and had never been listed on any search machine.  It could not be found on Yahoo!, Google, FireFox, internet Explorer or anything else.  Chen’s web site was a storage facility for software only.  

When The Albanian needed to determine the status of an investigation, when he wanted information about an applicant or when a member of one of his Midnight teams desired data on one of their targets, Chen accessed his web site from remote sites ranging from Russian to the Philippines, just to download what he needed.  

He’d made the last request to Chen about thirty-six hours ago to determine the status of the ongoing FBI’s investigation into the latest kidnappings by his Midnight teams in the deep south.  After going through an overseas anonymizing server, Chen had downloaded an assault program called HYDRA and a clone program he called TROJAN.  

The download had taken about ten minutes, after which Chen had hand-dialed the phone number for a branch of the Wells Fargo Bank in Battle Creek, Michigan.  He then used HYDRA to hack into their system.  TROJAN piggybacked on HYDRA, and once in the system, had cloned itself into a free roaming entity which existed only in the WFB system in Battle Creek.  TROJAN, from Battle Creek, had then dialed into the FBI’s National Repository.  As expected, TROJAN was stopped at a gate which demanded a password.  TROJAN then imported HYDRA to assault that gate.  From start to finish, the process took two minutes and twelve seconds, at which point The Albanian, as Chen’s master, had access to everything within the government’s database on kidnapping cases in the Southeast and Southwest.  

It was good the FBI was so anal about ensuring their agents kept their field reports up to day.  Data for the grist mill on multiple ongoing federal investigations.  Turned out there was only one of major concern to him.  

The DB of particular interest was the compilation of a massive effort which peripherally involved the police of eighteen different cities in five southern states.  The women his teams had taken made up less than thirty per cent of the pool being examined.  Technically, all the women his teams had taken were still classified as missing persons.  No bodies, no real crime scenes, generally little press interest.  

The FBI special project team had been in existence for over six months now.  But if one read between the lines, it was clear that after six weeks of getting nowhere, personnel on the team had been pulled off and assigned to other duties until only two full-time agents now remained.  That, of course, had changed overnight when his team had taken the three young women from that small town in Louisiana.  While the investigation had just begun there, it seemed that, as usual, law enforcement was stymied by a lack of any evidence.  

Oh well, he sighed to himself.  Time to be a little proactive.  Time to shut his teams down again for a few weeks until the air had cleared a little.


The Albanian also incorporated the efforts of two other specialists at the same time.  One was a specialist in documents.  Sixty-five year old Matuesz Cerny was a Czechoslovakian communist expat who had also been a document expert for the Soviets before their empire broke up.  He was godless, without conscience and exceedingly greedy, and he was an acknowledged expert at both the soft and the hard stuff.  

Soft document packages were good enough for the Midnight teams to easily travel from site to site, utilizing rapidly created ID packets consisting of just the essentials; forged driver’s license with fake holographic seals, Social Security card and a few things to fill out a person’s wallet, like fake credit cards, library cards and so on.  

Then there were the hard packets consisting of solid, dependable home-grown documents that would last forever, if necessary.  These included a driver’s license, Social Security card, birth certificate and real Visa, MasterCard and American Express credit cards.  The birth certificate was a duplicate of a real one, but the credit cards always had a payment history which went back at least a year while the driver’s licenses always had a real counterpart within the legitimate Department of Motor Vehicles of some state within the U. S.  

The reason they were called home-grown is that this document set was pretty much created from scratch by Matuesz, leveraging off documents that already existed in the system.  By the time he had finished one of these packets, it was real for all intents and purposes.  Matuesz spent much of his time continually massaging packets of this type, making credit card payments, replacing pieces that expired, etc., as well as continually growing new ones.  


In addition to his efforts to provide the highest-quality document forgeries and fake histories, he took additional steps regarding his communications security.  There are two basic types of intelligence that the U. S. government sought: human intelligence or “humint” and signals intelligence called “signit”.  Exposure of his operation by humint sources was greatly reduced both by the depth of investigation of his clients as well as by him having so many of the local police and politicians on his payroll.  The first line of defense against the second was to use a massive array of signal jammers which prevented any wireless signals from being sent or received within a quarter mile of the compound in any direction.  

While certain parts of the Federal government security apparatus immediately picked up on anomalies like this, he had been able to ensure that five of his “client’s” had used their considerable influence to authorize grandfathering into the system the local communications shadow his compound created.  Thus, at least on paper, it did not warrant any further investigation by the authorities.  Of course, they had no idea regarding the truth of who or what he was.  

With cellphone and other types of wireless communications disabled, his second layer of defense was to ensure that any phone calls made within the compound were made from a landline, thus guaranteeing that no one could pluck that conversation out of the air.  As a plus, this also ensured that a person who wanted to “overhear” a conversation would have to first get a court order and then actually come on the grounds of the compound to physically attack the phone system if they wanted to listen to it.  

Thirdly, he ensured that no local calls could be made to the outside from his landline system; it was an in-house phone system only.  

The fourth layer of communications defense was to sterilize the burner phones his teams used.  Buyers could always obtain mobile phones over the internet so that they did not have to go into Wal-Mart or Target and risk having their face show up on surveillance cameras.  But he also knew the U. S. government was tracking internet purchases.  So, to supplement Matuesz’s computer expertise, and to provide the best communications security for his people, he had smuggled in large numbers of high quality Samsung Galaxy S9 active knock-offs for all of his people to use.  

No ordinary burner, HDC’s Galaxy S9 active was a Shenzhen special.  This was more than likely the phone that eBay shoppers saw advertised as a brand new, half-priced Galaxy S9.  But if they were knowledgeable shoppers and popped the back of the phone off before they purchased, they’d see that the IMEI, the phone’s unique serial number, confirmed its Chinese origins.  And that was even if they did not notice that when you popped the back off, the insides had Chinese characters written all over it.  

Each member of every one of his teams had been assigned a code name taken from a list of heavenly angels.  The irony amused him that while Muslims looked at all angels as being obedient to God’s will, Christians believed that there were as many bad as there were good angels…and nothing could be closer to the truth.  But by having his men primarily use their code names along with unique short codes and coded phrases while using the burners he provided, he had made it significantly more difficult to be caught by traditional means.  For if the FBI had the serial number of a real phone, all they had to do was call Japan and Samsung would tell them who it had been sold to.  But these phones, they had been made in some nameless factory in Shenzhen, China.  Who were you going to call there?  They wouldn’t speak English even if they answered the phone, and they sure as hell did not keep good records.  

He had taken one further precaution.  The SIM cards for all of his burners came from Uzbekistan.  He smuggled them in bulk, and so what his men had in the end was a Chinese knock-off phone with an untraceable serial number and an untraceable SIM card.  He sincerely wished the FBI good luck with tracing the phone back to him through purchase records!  

However, the ability to track the flow of money in real time through the global banking system had given governments a powerful third form of intelligence gathering sometimes called “finint,” or financial intelligence.  For the most part, finint was highly reliable for money didn’t lie; it just went where it was told to go.  What’s more, the electronic trail left by money was often predictive in nature.  But his people had long ago learned how to deceive Western spy agencies with false chatter.  He however, had taken it even one step further by engaging in financial deception; money went to non-existent agents and terrorist’s cells, tracking down these dead ends still required significant time and manpower from the government.  

From these accounts, the money went to still other accounts controlled by foreign shell corporations created by overseas representatives for specifically that reason.  Following the money trail where he was involved always led to overseas dead-ends, but only after months of work which had tied up scores of the U. S government’s precious forensic accountants.  


The final specialist the old European employed in-house was a weak-willed but brilliant moron who had graduated from the Harvard MBA program in the mid-90’s.  A sexual pervert who had been on the verge of being swept up in a Federal corruption probe of a Chicago company where he had been in charge of cooking the books.  After saving this corrupt man, he kept this now willing fool busy creating an unending list of untraceable domestic shell-corporations that he used for various purposes, including obtaining group medical policies to which various members of his snatch teams were then added as employees, but only to be used while on the road.  

So, Derby/Ackerman was a subsidiary of PKD Ltd, itself a subsidiary of NOC Inc., which was a subsidiary of…  Even with all of the top-secret database-cracking software the U.S. government had, the NSA investigators literally ran into one digital brick wall after another as they probed corporations under so many different umbrellas that none of them had ever seen the light of day.  

Further, after 9/11, as pressure had increased in the last few years on both The Albanian’s organization and the Mexican cartels, he had further diversified by purchasing additional real estate and incorporating a huge number of new companies and import businesses across the U. S., Canada and Mexico.  He now had unofficial working arrangements with three cartels, MS-13 and even the ISIS training camp just south of Juarez—after Al Queda, he called this particularly disparate group of revolutionaries, businessmen and soldiers The Base.  Most recently, he had received communications from The Base that Antifa had made contact and wished to join the effort.  


As the old man looked into the monitors, he took a virtual tour of the club's compound.  It was a slow night and only a few women were working at the moment.  Some of his best girls would probably go unused tonight.  Gayda for example, the beautiful dark-eyed, twenty-three year old Canadian backpacker whom he'd kept enslaved for almost two years.  She'd been a much-traveled twenty-one year old free spirit who had become a little too incautious one night when she hooked up with some frat jocks from South Carolina.  

He felt a cold, destructive ease spread through him as he looked at her.  It felt almost comfortable, like a homecoming.  Her brand read thirteen hundred and eighteen.  

Nothing had bothered her then, before his attentions, and she had dressed anyway she’d wanted; casually hip by day but shifting to sexy, even raunchy by night.  She had been a free-spirited girl who had figured her body would tell her when it was time to live life a little more conservatively. But she was a greedy slut for fun and she’d kept at it a little too long to avoid his attention, and she now worked her ass off for him.  Literally.  

She'd been evaluated and then quickly trained by his men.  Taken to the lower cells after that, she had been worked hard…..very, very hard.  But her initial vibrant, unrestrained nature combined with her startling beauty had quickly promoted her back above ground to better beds and a less “rigorous” sex life.  That promotion was the only reason she was still alive, even though she was in fact, approaching the normal expiration date that one of her type and use must always face.  


Some men were born without the brutality gene.  A few of these visited his club to enjoy in solitude and peace the company of beautiful, sexy, well-trained women.  Jun was an exotic, twenty-one year old Japanese bathing suit model that one of his teams had taken after she’d finished a photo shoot in Florida.  Fairly well-known in many international circles, she was as close to a celebrity as he had in his stable.  

Taken at nineteen, built like a beautiful and graceful Japanese doll, she had flawless pale ivory skin and dark hair, with just tiniest hint of auburn, which cascaded almost all the way down to her hips.  Her face was exquisite, with deep pools for eyes, an aquiline nose and delicate but full lips.  Tall for an Asian, she was slender, with long straight, shapely legs and black, shoulder-length hair.  With her long limbs, petite frame and perfectly rounded breasts, she had the delicate features of a princess and the body of a goddess.  

His team had been drawn to her when they’d first heard Jun’s cold laugh dance across a Key West bar they’d been in; it had been pure, confident, free, untamed.  Unfortunately for the model, she’d been a little too eager to meet wealthy Americans: a little too eager for success in America and not nearly aware enough of her surroundings and her own mortality, she’d been taken after three days of discreet surveillance.  

Her kidnapping was radically different from the unknown ciphers his teams normally took, for to the press this one’s abduction caused a flash fire.  A white hot tale with an unknown shelf life, every news outlet on the planet was on the story at one point or another.  

As usual (and built in as part of the plan), the local cops were slow, arrogant, easily offended and clueless.  There were no witnesses or informants, there was no evidence, and most puzzling to the police, there was no ransom demand.  By the time the local cops finally began to get their act together, the unremarkable suburban taking Jun north and west had already been cleared through three different checkpoints.  

Forcibly weaned from the cutesy Harajuku-style clothing she’d always worn before, the beautiful Japanese model now dressed for his purposes with a slick, modern, sexy edge.  Jun had turned out to be the perfect recruit; sexy, seductive, sultry…..and unfeeling.  A gorgeous woman, most importantly to him, she was also emotionally barren.  

As a model, this was a woman surprisingly well-trained in Tantric sex.  Cold and unfeeling, Jun never let a man inside her emotional defenses.  She knew some of the finest techniques in the art of pleasuring a man and her specialty was to take her client through several waves of near-orgasm using different styles of stroking and stimulation.  The art of Tantra had taught her that it was possible for a man to experience the feeling of orgasm without actually ejaculating.  She knew that after coming close to orgasm a few times, without release, most men experienced a very strong and oftentimes lengthy orgasm.  

Her pampering ministrations turned most men into soft clay that she could mold in almost any way she wanted.  The old man had watched her make one poor soul experience several of these “dry” orgasms in a row, all the while exercising a coldly calloused control of the situation.  And when she had allowed him a final release, the man’s actual orgasm had been so intense that it had been a paralyzing, full body tremor which had lasted over a minute.  

There had been a lot of publicity in the Japanese press when she'd gone missing, but it had died quickly in the U. S.  His more sophisticated clients enthusiastically indulged themselves with this one.  Her name was ironic, for Jun meant obedient in Japanese, and she certainly was now.  

The brand burned into her flesh read twelve hundred and ninety-six.


Then there was the Janine, the inexperienced reporter working on a small-town newspaper out of Georgia.  On what she’d thought would be the scoop of her just-starting career, she'd been following leads about female sex slaves being smuggled into the southern U. S.; leads that could have eventually led her to him.  Once he’d had a good look at the twenty-two year old, mocha-skinned African-American, he’d decided it would be less work to just have one of his teams take her ass and allow her to develop an intimate understanding of the story from the inside.......and they had.  

A smart woman, she'd had a well-developed sense of her “civil rights” in the beginning, and it had taken almost two and a half days before she'd been reduced to total acquiescence.  But when she did break, the girl had turned out to be a delightful acquisition and one of his most popular whores.  Wearing number seventeen hundred and eighty-seven deeply burned into the underside of her arm, he’d had her about fourteen months.  

His other females were generally white, mostly Christian or post-Christian, but two were black.  Or rather, a delightful Creole-coffee mix.  Both had fabulous bodies and looked particularly good when wearing almost nothing.


Taking Everything He Wanted or He Gave World-Class Lessons In The Abuse Of Women

And then there were the other men.  Other men, he sighed, who tended to be more brutal.  In monitors five through seven, he could watch various angles of a beautiful, young red-haired white woman as she labored beneath a huge black man.  A Philadelphia native, the newly wealthy client was a massively unintelligent, obscenely large defensive linesman who was paid a grotesquely huge annual sum of money to play football for the New Orleans Saints.  He was a brutal and insensitive man, but a surprisingly steady customer of this particular woman.  This man was quite unlike his other club members, but the old man had allowed him entrée because he was a celebrity, easy to control, and might actually be a source of contacts down the road.  

The girl he rode so brutally was in her mid-twenties, one of those rare natural redheads with a dusky complexion and a slight sprinkling of freckles below striking sapphire blue eyes.  Her name was Kelly and they both knew that she'd about outlived her usefulness to him.  The only thing which could be seen beneath the monumental man who rested upon her body were her attractive knees awkwardly poking out from either side of his thick waist and her long, shapely calves.  The captive woman's hands clawed at his back and her slitted crystal blue eyes stared sightlessly at the ceiling over his right shoulder.  

The little muscles which gave shape to her mouth struggled and quivered, and her eyelids quickened and fluttered with his every thrust.  Her chin, her face, everything turned slightly from side to side as she breathed in the sweaty, laboring musk from his massive muscled shoulder.  Suddenly, almost without conscious control, her hand shot up over his arm and up the side of her face, reaching for her hairline.  Then her fingertips slowly, softly raked down her face, wandering aimlessly as nerves suddenly gone independent were unable to maintain control.  Her hand made a half-fist at another of his thrusts, but she had become as familiar with his colossal penetrations as any woman ever could and so did not cry out very loudly.

All she wore was a dark green velvet choker and a pair of jade-green strappy high-heeled sandals.  She had shapely feet; The Albanian made sure his whores almost always wore high-heeled sandals with ankle straps.  He'd learned early on that even after being broken, a few of the girls tended to kick a little the first couple of times they were with a customer, especially if they hadn't yet learned the reality of their new life or the futility of denying him his business needs.  

He could always tell which ones would be fighters.  Ironically, he actually made more money off them at first than the others, because there were always men who enjoyed an obviously unwilling female.  The ankle straps just ensured that the sandals stayed on their feet.  Later, by the time they were being fucked by their second or third or maybe twentieth client---and after they'd had their shapely asses beaten a little more, they would have learned the uselessness of fighting their new life and the high-heels then became just another sexy accessory.

As usual, the black man was making monumental love to the beauty with the lion's mane of copper-red hair, and as usual, there was no love involved.  Kelly was doing her best, but also as usual, she was clearly having trouble accommodating his huge erection.  Of course, any normal woman would too.  Her hands raked his thickly muscled back and shoulders now, and her knees could barely spread wide enough for his thick waist to settle between her firm, creamy thighs and onto her flat belly.  

It was a big, expensive bed, but this was a big man and the whole bed shuddered with each of his thrusts.  The light pink soles of the client’s feet were braced against the foot of the bed and The Albanian could see his whore's face as she was unmercifully pounded by her temporary lover.  The video was of surprising quality, good enough that he could see the sweat beading her painted upper lip like dew.  

The sound was turned down, but it was obvious that she was full, literally unable to take any more cock as the man bottomed out against her cervix with almost every thrust.  Her nails were digging into the skin of his shoulder now and she was grimacing, her mouth shaped like an “oh” as her rider continued his rhythmic pounding.  The old man reached out slowly and turned up the volume.  The dominant sound was the heavy panting of the big man.  But over that could hear the young woman's rhythmic grunts and groans, ”Uugghh..... Ohhh...... Uughh...... Oww...... God..... Ugghh.”    

Everyone knew that she was in for an even more difficult time when the black man next took her from the rear.  He was a man of steady, if unimaginative tastes and always paid extra for the right to take this particular woman both bareback and front-door/back-door.  Like many in professional sports, he was superstitious; when he finished with this woman, he was done with sex for the week....except during football season, when he often took her before a game to help relax and then settled back again for some serious recovery fucking for a day or two after each game.  

The first time the football player had visited, The Albanian had chosen Kelly to entertain the new client because he already planned on selling her well-used ass on the internet during the following week....so at that point, it didn't matter much to him if she had a little internal damage or not.  But this client had paid a lot of money and seemed to enjoy fucking this particular whore silly, and so he'd kept the redhead around longer than originally planned.  He'd made a lot of money off her reluctant ass over the succeeding months, but that was about over now.  Regardless of her excellent physical shape, no woman could for long maintain giant tits like hers; they were starting to sag and were killing her lower back.  Plus, she was having problems from so many brutally massive anal penetrations….  

The old man ran the video file running on monitor six back to the beginning.  The client was already waiting in the room waiting as the reluctant, red-headed whore was delivered by one of his men to the tiny, plushly furnished apartment.  The young woman wore a sheer, dark-green mid-thigh robe with lace trim that tied around her small waist.  Immediately, the black man possessively grabbed his slut-for-the-night by the arm and pulled the robe off.  She was a beautiful thing; long shapely legs emphasized by five-inch stiletto-heels, a high, firm ass that just begged to be grabbed by a man and a tiny waist that a man could almost span with his two hands........and then there were her giant tits.  

Nothing ever changed with this client, nothing was ever different.  The whoremasters who worked for the old man knew now to ensure that the obedient Kelly was wearing inexpensive lingerie.  This time it was a sheer jade green teddy which tied in the front and accentuated her narrow waist, but as a result, barely covered her huge bosom.  It was cut high on her luscious hips which only emphasized the tiny piece of cloth that was stretched so tightly between her legs.  The front was so narrow that it was clear that her vulva was either totally shaved or she had a bikini wax that left just the tiniest strip of pubic hair.  The only other items she wore were the high-heeled sandals and the choker.

Even though the crotch of the green teddy could be quickly unsnapped to allow total access, the huge man's eyes almost seemed to glow as he immediately ripped the lingerie from her body with one aggressive move.  The choreography of the man's physical and emotional needs never changed, the violence was extreme and always gratuitous.  

In seconds the beautiful girl was naked and had been thrown on her back on the bed.....but not before having been slapped twice in the face---a quick forehand, then backhand, and then she was punched in the stomach almost with an air of indifferent ownership.  The Albanian winced as he saw the experienced whore take the last shot to her belly.  He'd made it clear to the black man that if he injured Kelly, in any way, he owed her serious money to compensate for lost income.  Of course, Kelly would never see a penny of it.

The ruined teddy was slowly dropped to the floor and the man began to methodically undress, clearly savoring the look of fearful resignation in his victim's eyes.  Her East European master knew that Kelly hated the black man and what he did to her, but she was also too smart and too well-trained.......and too afraid........to say anything that might antagonize her lover or make him more violent than he already was.

The black man looked down at his rented whore and said, “Beg for it, you nasty bitch.  You know you want it, so beg for it.”


The young redhead closed her eyes for a second as she licked suddenly dry lips, then looked up at her temporary master as she repeated almost word for word the same thing she'd said to him for the last six months each time he'd purchased her body for the evening, “Please fuck me with your monster cock.  Nobody can satisfy me like you.  Please.  Fuck me.  Please fuck me hard with that big nigger cock.  Hurt me with it.  Make me scream.”  

To her, it was a terribly degrading mantra which left her filled with total disgust for both him and herself, a feeling so strong it almost made her stomach cramp.  But nonetheless, there remained the rest of the script that she had to follow.  As Kelly spoke, she also raised her knees and spread them wide to expose her naked vulva, holding her arms open to him at the same time--raising her knees like this also helped Kelly handle the cramps he caused when this monster fucked her. 

Her temporary man slowly nodded his massive, shaved head, then lowered himself onto her.  His only response to her submissive surrender was a hoarse chuckle as he said, “You didn't seem real glad to see me just now, so tonight I'm going to fuck you up a little special tonight.”   


Instead, the man’s huge hands closed around her neck and squeezed.  Kelly punched and tried to claw him, but it was hopeless.  Her diaphragm heaved to suck in air that just wouldn’t come.  Her larynx felt nearly crushed under the awful pressure.  He’d blocked the blood flow to her brain and she felt her strength draining away like water from a burst hose; her eyes were suddenly filled with a million exploding stars, and a spreading stain of darkness began clouding the edges of her vision like ink poured into water.

“How does it feel, bitch?”  She heard sounds in the background, as if from far away.  Then thankfully, the iron grip of his hands loosened and fell away.  She was still swimming in a sea of darkness when he slapped her face again.  


Realizing his investment was still safe, The Albanian thought back to over three years ago.....Kelly had been smart even when she'd first been delivered.  Of course, you might expect that from a second-year law student from Vanderbilt University.  She was a woman with the brains of a scholar and the legs of a showgirl.  With wealthy parents who had been killed in a car accident three years prior to being recruited, she was to inherit over twelve million dollars upon turning twenty-one.  As a result of the looming inheritance, she'd had little time for others not as gifted or as lucky as she.  

Upon being taken and delivered into his hands, the undisciplined and untrained woman with the riotous head of red hair had positively radiated arrogance and unbelieving indignation upon her initial arrival at his compound.  She could no more believe what was happening to her than she could have voted for a Republican president.  At this point in her life, you might say she was one of those people who were smart in school but dumb on the bus.  But she had soon learned what her new life was really all about; boy had she learned.  

A debutante of sorts, she'd come to the attention of his hunter teams after her lawyer had contacted an anonymous web site which specialized in this type of exotic merchandise.  The Albanian’s people had discretely done their homework and then it was time.  

They'd caught up to her as she was leaving a newly popular night club after a night out with some socialite girlfriends.  In her early twenties, she had worn a tweed jacket and a black turtleneck, which along with her hair at night, had made her skin seem milk-white.  To this, she’d added rimless glasses and an expression that sophisticated young women often affected to discourage even casual conversation, let alone advances.  She had the kind of beauty that could make a man in his late forties feel wistful, or at least inspire him to suck in his stomach when he saw her.  

But as smart as she was, she'd made a cardinal mistake by being alone.  It had been easy for his team to gather her up when the female on the team had pulled the unsuspecting Kelly off to the side and asked her for help, woman to woman.  Unfortunately for Kelly, she'd been acquired two weeks before she inherited her fortune.  During the last eighteen months, while Kelly had been servicing one monster after another, the lawyer in charge had milked her inheritance, reducing it by over half with spurious investments, travel costs and management fees.


It generally did not take more than three days to “reduce” a woman; “breaking” them was so yesterday’s term.  The record for resisting the meatbreakers was held by an anorexic bitch who had trained herself to last a week on just water and minimal food.  She’d lasted nine days before she’d finally agreed to their demands, but by then she wasn’t worth keeping.  At that point, she became what they called in the trade, an exemplar.  

An object lesson.  

A warning.  

On average, about once a year or so he was forced to make an exemplar, and he hated wasting expensive property that way.  But making his chum watch the video of someone they knew being turned into an object lesson by his men worked quite well at cooling the fervor and resistance of his remaining livestock.  He felt it was always better to be safe than sorry and really, it took such little effort to make the effort – really nothing more than a snap of the fingers and the bitch was history.  

But as smart and tough as Kelly was, she’d lasted only two days.  An intelligent bitch like most of the women he kept, his men had been able to use that against her.  That and the arrogance with which she'd first attempted to deny them her body's charms.  No longer feeling quite so self-important once she'd been broken, it had pleased his sense of ironic justice to have her charms enhanced....just a little.  

He thought back to when she'd been delivered to the little cellar-like medical room his pet doctor maintained.  He remembered his first sight of the small incisions under each of her breasts and felt amazement once again that the monster implants which had changed Kelly from a modest 36C cup to a comic strip-like 38FF had been fitted through those tiny holes.  

Their owner had lain unconscious as her newly enhanced tits stuck up proudly into the air.  Every man who had watched the operation that night knew in his mind that her gargantuan tits were as arrogant now as she herself had been before being broken like a cheap porcelain plate.  The Albanian thought back with satisfaction to the look on her face when she'd awoken afterwards, the sheer horror in her eyes when for the first time she actually realized what he'd ordered done to her.  It was her intelligence which kept her sane, but it was also her intelligence that made her understand and appreciate, in exquisite detail, everything she suffered in her role as an involuntary whore forced to service any man with enough money.  

The defrocked doctor who had operated on her ensured that she wore a sports bra for the first three weeks following her surgery.  He'd also made sure that no one used her tits for anything until she was healed.  Then all bets were off.  Men just seemed to LOVE fucking and fucking up a woman with tits like he'd ensured the arrogant red-haired bitch had been given.  That's why he always kept at least two of these pneumatic barbies on the premises at all times now.  The Albanian had an extraneous thought---since Kelly would be departing his service soon, he needed to make sure that one of the new girls was similarly enhanced as a replacement for Kelly as soon as she'd been broken in.

With a brand which read nine hundred and twenty-one, this Kelly of his was clearly a survivor.  She’d survived everything they'd done to her and somehow still maintained her sanity.  But The Albanian felt it was time for the still beautiful, yet the fully chastened and now quite docile millionairess to begin the last new act in her young life....working for one of the vicious pimps who still trolled the streets of Mexico City.  

The man he had in mind loved getting his hands on Norte Americana’s, and Kelly would fit into his stable perfectly.  Despite a body that was starting to age at a dramatic rate, she was still capable of earning a new master much money for the next several years before she finally lost all value.  Then she could go home to her millions, if she was still alive and there was any money left.  But the odds were against her, since he was just about positive that the Mexican pimp would pretty much allow his clients to fuck her to death.  That was his usual M.O. with the North American meatsacks s he purchased.



Over-Weaning Pride Goes Before The Fall or He Was A College Student’s Worst Nightmare

The Albanian turned to monitor three and with a little boredom watched a beautiful, young platinum blonde groan in fake pleasure while getting her brains fucked out by a distinguished appearing, yet frail-looking old man.  The man was long and lean, with large bony hands and a cadaverous face that was weathered and veined, yet his watery blue eyes were clear and full of intelligence.  When he smiled, he showed his teeth, large and yellow.  

A lithe sponsor of erotic memories for her aged customer, the young woman lay on her back, knees spread wide as the man took her in a normal preacher's ride.  Her lady-like feet were inside his and crossed at the ankles, apparently pinning the man’s larger feet from the outside.  

Amy was a contradiction which was becoming more and more common in his experience.  Six months ago she'd been a nineteen year-old college sophomore from Florida with stunning patrician looks and a boring life fully planned out.  Then his hunters had run advertisements in the university's newspaper offering to buy women's eggs.  

The old man had been skeptical at first that this would attract any females of quality, but the ploy had been an astounding success.  Many young women had answered the ad, but Amy was far superior to the others present at this particular gathering.  She'd responded along with almost sixty other coeds, but no one had been able to figure out why.  

Born into the lucky sperm club, she’d ultimately thrown it all away with her overweening pride.  She didn't need the money that had lured the others; perhaps it was just an attempt to prove she was the most genetically desirable on the campus or maybe it just for kicks.  In any case, Amy had been asked back for a second interview after a cursory background check had confirmed her answers on their questionnaire.  

She'd sat down at the second meeting, fully aware of her devastating effect on the others as she'd brushed her long blonde hair back, hair as luxurious as silk, to better display the fine architecture of her face.  A straight nose, chiseled cheekbones, high forehead.  Sexy green eyes complimented the long platinum blonde hair and when she smiled her teeth were white enough to dazzle a man.  

The male members of the team had studied the curves of her body, dressed in a clinging black mid-thigh knit dress.  Her shapely long legs had been crossed at the knees.  A high-heeled sandal had dangled precariously from the toes of her right foot, hinting at a dangerous sexuality.  Even as experienced as they were with beautiful females, she'd been hypnotic to the two men as they'd focused on her naked, gleaming legs.  

It'd been an easy matter for his men to take her in the motel room that day and from what he understood, the look of shock and outrage on Amy's face just before they’d knocked her out had well repaid their efforts.  After binding and gagging her, they'd cleaned the room, then cleaned it again to ensure nothing was left behind.  Not fingerprints, not hair or DNA of any kind....nothing.  

The harvesting team had then used a handcart to bring in from their rental van a large, sturdy, but most importantly, empty box in which a 120-gallon hot water heater had once been shipped.  Positioned next to the wall nearest the unconscious woman, the two men had hauled her upright into the box and let her drop.  They lowered the flaps on the box and whipped it shut with duct-tape.  The team had backed out of the motel room with the box and handcart and then wheeled their freight across the parking lot, ensuring they kept the box tilted back so that Amy’s weight leaned into the man pushing the handcart, and not to the side.  

A glorious T-1, she'd been delivered to the intermediary contact and from there to his place.  She had quickly taken to her unwelcome new harness.  Ridden hard over the last six months, the young blonde still had a few good years left before he'd have to begin thinking about trading up.

The old man thought about the young woman’s history and how she'd reacted when first delivered.  A gorgeous young woman, another American Princess who'd been born beautiful, Amy had truly felt she was of the entitled, one of those lucky few whose future obviously entailed marrying well.  She’d had her life mapped out; two kids in quick succession, enough to please a husband but not enough to lose her figure.  But her plans had been changed involuntarily, for at 5' 9”, her smooth tight skin, firm out-thrust butt and natural C-cup breasts that looked great even without a bra were enough to ensure a non-declinable invitation to join his organization.

It was hard to envisage the groaning, writhing young woman who now lay under the older man as the same immaculately poised college student delivered half a year ago.  A nice blend of glamour and sophistication, she'd been an exceptionally rare acquisition.

The Albanian thought back to when he'd first seen Amy.  She'd been delivered to the cleanup men in the basement just like tens of hundreds of other captive American women before her and then been given her brand.  His meatbreakers were well trained in the practical aspects of the psychology of breaking the human spirit.  They were the men who would commit continuous…..acts…..until there was very little will or resistance left.  But for some reason, the head breaker, Bashir, understood the psychology of American women like few men he'd ever known.  Thankfully, the man was absolutely loyal to him.  

And Bashir had for some reason taken a personal interest in Amy.  For this man, it had all been too easy, the familiar sequence of events known all too well.  The screams and the threats, then the need to negotiate, always followed by the begging.......it never failed and the order of occurrence never changed.  The old man smiled as he recalled that all of her attempts at negotiation had ceased only a few hours after being introduced to the Spider's Web and the Spanish Donkey.

She'd broken after undergoing only thirty-six hours of reduction.  Still hanging on the web after her initial breakdown, she was used at first by his men as were all his new girls, for this was somewhat of a rite of passage he allowed.  

But Bashir had later cleaned Amy up somewhat for some additional attention, then had fastened her onto a padded table; one of several in the cellar built to The Albanian's specifications.  Each looked like a medieval rack, but updated with 21st Century dials, knobs and gauges on the sides and it was covered in black synthetic leather that could be washed clean of sweat and blood and tears.

The top of the table consisted of four separate rectangles, with each quadrant independently controlled as the operator moved it upwards, downwards or outwards.  As a result, despite her best efforts to fight, Amy's arms and legs were in the end positioned exactly as his man had desired.  But like any good psychologist, the breaker had waited then, allowing the suspense to build.

The Albanian had seen his foreman looking closely at the young woman named Amy when she'd first been taken subterranean.  His man Bashir wasn’t an unusually big fan of gratuitous anal sex for a woman's lower colon was unhygienic and unnatural and seemed to his mind highly over-rated.  But he and Bashir had seen enough over the past thirty years to know that anal rape added a totally new dimension to a Western female’s shame.  So his man always took the initiative and ensured that the captive women were correctly introduced to their new profession.  

Given brand eighteen hundred and seventy-three upon introduction to her new life, the girl had been a backdoor virgin upon delivery and Bashir was unusually determined to be the first to welcome the girl to her new life.  Furthermore, even though doing this had been actually work related, there was always a little spice to be extracted from the encounter.  In this case, as he did with most of the new girls, the foreman wanted to see her face when he took her.

And for her to see his.

With arms stretched out tautly above her head, she been left ungagged to allow maximum venting of sound.  Her legs were spread far apart and painfully rotated up into the air and back, almost as if she was trying to get her ankles behind her ears.  As a result, the cheeks of her tight ass had bulged nicely as they hung off the edge of the table, perfectly positioned to invite a man's attention.  It was an awkward position, a position which greatly hurt a person’s lower back, a position to which no one but the female who had been forced to assume it even gave a second thought.  

Bashir had been a little impatient perhaps, but it was all good in the end.  It always was.  With little warning to the girl, in one muscular move he'd brutally buried a long, heavily ridged and well lubricated silicone cock deep into her swirling pink rectum.  The captive had enthusiastically howled her response, but despite how the wealthy college student had struggled, she could do nothing to prevent the assault.  Tied down as she was, it had been easy for Bashir to work her rectum with the large, cucumber-sized dildo, back and forth, up and down, in and out.  

The dilating foreplay had been both short and dramatic, albeit brutally painful for recipient…then it had been time.  Bashir had smiled into her face as he'd slowly withdrawn the huge rubber piece, then leaned over and carefully eased the shiny, purplish head of his greased erection into an unprotected anus which had waited, delightfully beckoning him with a loosened sphincter which wouldn't tighten for another half hour or so after he had finished with her.

With a complete sense of ownership, he'd leaned forward onto the back of the no longer arrogant American girl’s firm thighs and into her less than welcoming pelvis, his cock sliding smoothly into the once-virginal rectum which he had so brutally expanded for his long anticipated pleasure.  Horror had quickly flashed over her face and then settled in for a much longer visit, while tears pain and humiliation pooled in her eyes as a man old enough to be her grandfather had begun to take his pleasure.  

At the same time, he'd placed his hands on their new woman’s gorgeous breasts and kneaded them like balls of dough.  She'd screamed and grimaced like they always did, her body shaking with the additional pain of such intense tearing pressure on her breasts and the ripping, slashing pain and horrible fullness in her lower abdomen.  But rightly, his man hadn't cared nor had he slowed down.  

Slowly Bashir had rocked his hips backwards and forwards, penetrating deeper and deeper into this particular symbol of the American hegemony he had so come to hate, each thrust in his mind a way to destroy yet another one of their enemies.  At his deepest penetration, he had known the young, beautiful woman who lay spread so wide open before him literally couldn't breathe, for it must have felt like he was pushing her organs aside to make room for his massive erection.  To hell with her and her feelings.  

Her disbelieving face told the whole, wonderful story.  Scrunched up with pain, filled with horrified disbelief that this could be happening to her, eyes tightly shut and biting her lower lip until it bled, trying unsuccessfully to contain the fiery agony in her abdomen, wincing and crying out with agony with each and every one of his brutally shocking thrusts.

As good as this was, it was still unacceptable that she had tried to escape her fate this way.  “Open your eyes, woman,” he had demanded harshly.

Obviously beginning to learn her place in her new world, the young woman’s beautiful emerald eyes fearfully, obediently, flashed open at his command, glistening with a mixture of unshed tears, horror and diminishing rage, humiliation and frustration.

“Tell me,” he had said as he looked directly into her eyes as he continued his slow pump, filling her beyond what she could take with his deep strokes, “did any of your boyfriends ever want to do this to you?”


Amy felt her breasts jiggle in time with each of his thrusts.  Wave after wave of pain flooded her body, the awful sensations stopping her mind from working.  An odd part of her mind, the only part which seemed to be working, recognized the obvious masculine ecstasy on the face of the man raping her anally, his erection driving through her body like a bolt of lightning from some awful god, taking her this way without her permission.  Amy felt the soft flesh of her breasts rippling like bowls of Jello again with each move of his hips.  Humiliatingly, she knew her mouth opened and closed silently like a fish now.  But she was unable to form any words as the outrageous and awful sensations filled her unwilling lower body and paralyzed her mind.

She groaned in pain even she was forced to accept the horrific sensations of another especially hard thrust.  

The monster stopped then and leaned forward a little, putting more pressure on one side of her pelvis, leaving her rectum stretched to tearing and her colon almost bursting like a water-filled balloon, her abdomen filled with ripping cramps.

“I expect an answer to my questions, dear,” he said softly in his strangely accented English.  

Having well-learned her lessons when tied to the web, Amy moaned—incoherent as it was, it was still the only sound she could make at that moment.  Then she somehow found the strength which allowed her to nod her head as much as her bindings would allow.  She tried to speak but it was so difficult with him purposefully controlling her through the horrific anal sex this way.  

After a moment of full concentration, of maximum effort, she was finally successful, “Yes.  B..…..but it was just.......ooowww.....joking.  They.…aahhh...it was a joke.  They…uhh…didn't....it wasn’t something…they really…..oohhh.....wanted.”

His face cleared with sudden understanding and he nodded, finally standing upright again between the backs of her widespread knees.  After another moment of silent immobility, he went back to building a rhythm he could obviously maintain for a long time.  

After another brutal minute of forced sex, he stopped again while still inside her and said, “You do know….”  

And here he shrugged his shoulders like stoned freshman might when discussing philosophy, “…. that’s how men often ask for something they really want.”


Number eighteen hundred and seventy-three had licked her suddenly dry lips and tried to swallow.  Her agonized expression had betrayed her total confusion that a man doing this to her would pursue an apparently extended conversation at this exact moment.

“You know,” he had begun conversationally.  “You just waited too long.  You've lost the opportunity to ever make a choice again.”  

He had thrust his hips then in a way which had ensured that her body would not be denied to him, nor would the pain he had purposefully caused her.  

Her reply had been quick and to the point.  Grunt……a long desperate exhalation ending in a lung-emptying sigh.  

He had continued the conversation with a small smile on his face.  “Very soon, you’re going to let any man do anything he wants to you.”  Another ass-destroying thrust of his hips.

She’d given him the only response a woman in her position felt reasonable.  Heartfelt groan.  Quick breathing, almost Lamaze-style birth panting.  

“Especially this.  You'll soon get used to it.  Then it will be no big deal to a woman like you.”  

Gasp.  A hissing moan then of such unspoken lament that the helplessness of its sound had immensely pleased Bashir.  

“All the big American girls get used to it sooner or later.”


He used such a matter of fact tone between his grunts of effort that it would have taken Amy’s breath away if she hadn’t already been in partial shock.  He was hurting her terribly, purposefully doing awful and unbearable things to her.  She was no fainting couch feminist, had never participated in slut walks or participated in demonstrations.  She’d just wanted to have fun.  

She had never done anything to these people, but that didn’t matter.  He seemed resolute in his determination to destroy her previously wonderful life.  She just didn’t understand, knew it had to be a nightmare, a terrible delusion.  Some kind of dark and awful fantasy in which each act these men did seemed carefully planned to cause her the maximum anguish possible…and then it was carried out to the last detail.  

Always before Amy had just been a girl who wanted to do what she wanted to do.  She knew she was beautiful, enough men had told her this beginning when she was fourteen to know that it was true.  Her parents loved her, her dad spoiled her, and she’d always had money and clothes.  Her life had been great.  She was smart and things had permanently come easily for her.  She had always before been in control of any situation, of what she’d always felt was the good natured joking, sometimes even flirtatious comments, which had surrounded her.  

She’d always been in control of her destiny!

But this!  This horrible experience left her mind flooded with unfamiliar emotions; hastily tamped down anger, all-encompassing humiliation and even the unaccustomed despair which colored everything.  She liked sex, she’d always liked having sex.  And she had even experiment a little, but only when she was in control.  There had been no stealthing with her, no trusting men with already opened drinks, no getting so drunk she that passed out, rarely much more than having sex the same way she felt her parents had probably had sex for twenty-five years.  But this!  What they had done to her….  These horrific acts weren’t normal sex.  It was…they were…..

He went incredibly deep just at that moment and stopped…  

Amy felt her whole body freeze in agony after first flinching at his lunging penetration of her lower body.  She tried to make a sitting up motion but failed because of her bonds.  Her abdomen cramped and her colon had been over-filled to the point of rupture—she couldn’t help herself because it hurt so much.  She wanted to scream but couldn’t.  It was like she had been crippled, was in the process of being maimed somehow.  Even the slightest movement seemed impossible at that moment.  

Yet the man raping her watched closely for a second, like a snake might watch the mouse it was going to eat.  She suddenly felt so dirty, so unutterably filthy that she just wanted to die of humiliation and shame.  This wasn’t her fault, but somehow she still felt responsible for it.  

Motionless, still force-packing her body to over-full with his huge cock, the monster peered down at her suffering face.  He nodded with approval.  It seemed that once he had satisfied himself as to her anguished helplessness, he continued with filling her still seemingly attractive, yet now much less than virginal hole with his slow, deep thrusts.  

Why? Amy’s spinning mind screamed with a lack of understanding through the waves of shame and pain.  Why had they kidnapped her?  Why was he doing this to her?  Why was this something men felt compelled to do?  Why did men so like doing these awful things to innocent women?  Why did men like to hurt women?


The Albanian had watched as his foreman nodded approvingly at the result of his anal rape.  He increased his pace then, slamming into her helpless body, hammering her in the ass, his sweaty groin rhythmically slapping against her tautly upturned buttocks.  Changing angles, he went up on his toes and then swayed from side to side as he continued to drill her, all in an attempt to gain the once arrogant coed's absolute attention—which he did.  There had been no need to hold back then, no need to impress anyone with the false masculinity of most American men.  After all, he wasn’t trying to impress her, at least not in the way to which she had always been familiar.

“Aaaaahhh.......yessss..…...yesssss....…  That feels so good,” Bashir had hissed in a triumphant sixty second release after another ten minutes of anal rape.  He'd filled her now loose and non-virgin ass with his cum.  Both the old man and his foreman knew that while he may have been the first, he certainly wouldn't be the last—she had yet to learn that lesson well but she would.  In fact, everyone present knew she'd soon become used to it.  Even this attractive American girl who couldn’t move, who couldn’t even put a coherent sentence together at the moment…if she dug deep enough into the darkest parts of her mind, she would acknowledge too the probability of her awful future at their hands.  


All He Wanted Was A Little Appreciation or Baby Really Ain’t Having Much Fun Yet

Panting, the foreman had stared down into the American girl’s face as he pulled his slowly softening erection from her bottom.  It was time to humiliate her a little more.

“Open your eyes, woman.”

She had opened her eyes at his command, but they were dulled now with both the realization and acceptance of her victimhood.  They were filled with the pain and shame and every other emotion that a ravaged woman could ever feel.  Everyone knew this young woman was in agony; it must have felt like her lower back had been broken.  And they could all see that she had difficulty filling her lungs because of how the master, Bashir had pinned her legs.  But by far the worst part for this infidel woman had been the out of control emotions which had been ransacking her mind, making her even helpless than she was with just terror and fear.

Bashir gave her a small, cruel smile as he said, “Now say thanks to me.”

The inward-looking misery disappeared and a blank look on her beautiful, once-time-member-of-the-elite face showed the world her confusion.  Finally, she shook her head in bewilderment at the humiliating request.

“Thank me, you beautiful, young woman.”

At first he thought she might fight him some more, at least he hoped she did.  He had looked forward to that.  But finally, to his disappointment, he could see the mind finally begin working again and the fear flooded her eyes long before her mouth finally worked, “Th… thank you.”

He let her see him examining his cock.

He continued in the same humiliating vein, “Come on, say it.  You want to suck me now, is that right?  You want to suck it clean?”


“No.  Please, no more.”  Amy had begun crying openly at this point, soft almost silent sobs which sounded like her heart was breaking.  But the terrible man and didn't care.  God, and worse, he wasn't finished with her yet.  He'd tilted his head to the side then and just looked at her, his eyes almost smoking in their intensity.  

She'd known it was the wrong answer even as she said it.  But she couldn’t help herself.  This whole thing was horrible, unbelievable.  Her whole world had collapsed, everything had been destroyed, her mouth tasted like it had been filled with ash.  She couldn’t…

Amy sobbed softly again as she finally corrected herself, “I....I....okay.”

He'd nodded his approval as he walked up to the other end of the table and manipulated a couple of switches, lowering her legs into a more natural position.  Pain wracked her body as her hips screamed in protest.  Then he pushed another toggle switch and held it down as with a whirring sound, her back and head slowly descended to the height of his hips.

“You will service the men here and smile all while you’re fucking them.  No dead expression.  No unsmiling whore who hates her work.  No woman lying on her back like a lump of uncooperative wood.  You've seen the pictures and the addresses we have.  We know your family.  Your parents, your grandparents, your older sister.  And as for right now, you think about biting me and they'll all pay.  In fact, we might bring your sister here anyway.”

Amy felt her face go still, her mind stop working.  She closed her eyes and waited a moment, trying to get her courage up.  Finally ready, after taking a deep breath, she opened her mouth…..


Once he'd finished threatening her with what he would do to her family, Bashir fed his foul, glistening, brown-streaked cock into the woman's now open, yet still unwilling mouth.  Her eyes were filled with tears.  Horror and self-loathing shone from her eyes.  Finally, the bound female began to do her best to satisfy him.  He smiled down on the back of her head.  As good as she was technically, they both knew what this was; hers’ was the open mouth of a beautiful, yet unwilling woman being brutally fed a shit-stinking dish of ice-cold sexual domination.  He closed his eyes, raised his chin a little, and settled back to enjoy the bitch.  

But she'd broken all too easily; he’d never had to bring in Gëzim to intimidate her.  He was the true physical monster, the man who his people had begun calling The Finisher because of his effect on the American women when they saw him.  Rarely was he was allowed to have one, for that was not necessary.  The threat alone of being given to this man was usually enough.  Gëzim the monster was a man who despised all types of government and lived only for his religion.  He had been the best looking young man in his village, in all of the surrounding villages too.  A leader in sports, on and off the field.  He’d had a great voice too and had starred in numerous spectacles put on by the village; women and girls of all ages had loved him.  

He could have done anything with his life, but he had come from a poor family and so had joined the Army.  After some specialized training, he had become the equivalent of a communications sergeant.  Then came the war; and where before Serbs, Croats and Muslims had all peacefully served together, now each had become bitter enemies.  To Gëzim, all governments had become too powerful and malevolent, and he blamed every one of them for the fact that his Niva jeep had been blown up, detonating the gas tank.  He didn’t seem to credit the heroic efforts of the Army plastic surgeons who had saved his life and given him at least a semblance of a face, grotesque though it might have been.  But who could blame him for being angry…the cosmic irony of it all was the fact that his physical appearance, which had defined him for so long, defined him still.  

No, Bashir had not needed the help of his pet monster.  It had been fun for his foreman in the hours which followed as he'd pushed and pushed, making physical demands that allowed him to uncover her emotions and pry at her psyche until he'd found her deepest, most final point of resistance. Then things had gotten really interesting.  But, in the end, she was no different than the others.  Broken for good, she was now pulling her weight without further complaint under the yoke of absolute sexual servitude.


The old man suddenly snapped back to the present.  It had all been over quickly.  The massive pain, then the shame and overwhelming sense of humiliation, immediately followed capitulation and victimhood....everything had combined to break her in less than a day and a half.  She'd been servicing his clients in various ways since that time and he'd made a ton of money selling her charms.  

He thought back to her arrival.  Food had been a real issue for Amy at first, as it was for many of the girls.  By plan, their diets had been designed to reduce their body fat to high single digits or low teens…..the clients liked them better when they were healthy and lean, while still maintaining a nice feminine layer of body fat.  But this goal was impossible for a few.  Those particular young women clung to body fat like sap to a tree.  It was evolutionary.  But he eventually got even them down to twelve, thirteen percent and then improved their overall body tone with exercise.  Suddenly, every one of them, even the already beautiful ones with the stubborn bodies suddenly looked much, much better.  

Men loved the lean, yet firmly rounded and just…..healthy look of his working women.  Women who had not yet suffered from birthing children or time or weight gain and loss, or any of the other see-sawing vicissitudes of most female flesh.  These women were perfect……and……pale……..usually pristine white pieces with full nipples and tiny aureoles, and tan lines which plummeted down to form perfect V’s matched only by the dark V below, which itself lay in a field of white so alluring that no man could deny it.  

As an independent businessman and marketer of sheer sexual pleasure, he was aware that many pre-packaged items on the shelf often looked bigger and better while on display.  But when you got your purchase home, it didn’t seem nearly as special.  The Albanian ensured that his merchandise wasn’t like that.  It started out top of the line, and then he improved it.  In addition to diet, his men had the girls working out every day, six days straight, and they hit every body part twice a week.  By the time his men were done with them after four weeks, he had sculpted their living flesh, giving the majority of them the best bodies they’d ever had in their lives.  They wound up with ridges and curves and sharply defined shapes, instead of the kind of flesh which hung off a woman like moss.  

Unused to gyms and weights and heavy exercise, many of the girls freaked when they were first introduced to his weight room and his trainers.  He remembered his man talking to Amy.  “We’re starting you off on the stationary bike.  Easy at first.  Each of you women comes out here by yourself and you won’t even think about trying any funny business.”  

The heavily muscled instructor had looked hard into her eyes.  “Because if you do, it’ll be your life depending upon it.”  

And like all the others, she’d mumbled something in agreement.  He’d set the bike on low resistance and started her off slowly, not wanting any muscles pulled…that unfortunate happening would cost money.  They all wore light generic grey sweat suits, and once she’d warmed up, when she was fully perspiring, his man had started her on light weights, once again starting off slowly.  Inclined presses, eventually lifting to failure.  

Her body generating immense heat, the woman’s top came off quickly now.  Her breasts were flattened like a couple of eggs sunny-side up in the confinement of a sports bra that snapped in front, her chest was glistening with sweat.  It hadn’t take Amy long to get totally buff.  And his man had definitely enjoyed watching her lie down on the hamstring machine, hook the bar behind her ankles and start curling those weights back.  It was an exercise that produced the most delightfully tight glute’s.  With every pump, her taut ass buns rose hungrily, as if achy for relief, as if inviting the swiftest violation.  With Amy, as with all his girls, this delectable sight was only heightened by the cruel constancy of their firmly rounded ass cheeks.  

She’d been quite delectable when first beginning her journey of enlightenment; Amy was absolutely prime flesh now.  In fact, all of his women graded out as prime flesh when he finished with them.  


He Considered Her A Defiant Talent or She’d Been Born To Be Used and She Was Basement Bound To Prove It

The first rule of business, protect your investments.
-Etiquette of the Banker, 1775

The old man's eyes suddenly narrowed a fraction; he thought he could see welts on his whore's hips.  The client was new, an older Italian bureaucrat who worked at his country's Houston consulate.  The Albanian watched as the man used some uninspired moves to fuck his whore for a couple of more minutes, then he decided to look at the video file from the beginning to see what the Italian liked to do when warming up with his slutty, yet expensive American women.

Amy had preceded her client into the expensively decorated bedroom.  She’d been wearing a beautiful sheer pink satin babydoll top edged with lace trim.  Even though the sides didn't come within two inches of meeting in the front, they were tied shut across her gorgeous breasts with one fragile lace ribbon.  The soft cups which cradled her firm young tits barely covered her nipples and it appeared she was afraid or a little excited, for quickly hardening nubs of flesh could easily be seen through the sheer material.  The matching thong was tiny and stretched tightly between her legs.  Her five-inch stiletto-heels were matching pink and only enhanced her already perfect calves.  

Even though he knew that beauty was at best skin deep, the old man was still struck by Amy's looks.  Suddenly, The Albanian's interest was aroused.  Her client had arrived, entering with a ball gag and what looked like a thin, flexible cane; now he prepared to use it.  The Italian had been smiling when he entered the room.  But the smile had quickly left his face as he considered the source of his delight, obviously planning in his mind how he would give the woman an arousing and enjoyable cocktail of pain and pleasure, mixed in equal portions.  


First the Italian handed her the gag.  Knowing better than to argue with a client regardless of what they might demand, the whore obediently opened her mouth and inserted the gag herself and then submissively turned her back so that he could fasten it around her neck.  Then without another word, it began.  Long moments passed as he hit the girl with the cane once and then stopped.  

Several soft moans filled the room and then tapered off.  These sounds clearly excited the client.  Grinning ever wider, the man obviously felt his arousal grow even more as he hit her a second time and those moans, sometimes punctuated with gasps or groans, continued to escape the young woman’s throat.  He hit her a third time.  The girl was trying to stand still, but found it hard and almost jogged in place with the pain.  Still, the girl was willingly accepting whatever he wanted to do to her.

Pausing for a moment, the old Italian stepped around the still wriggling form, idly tapping the cane against her hip as she looked him in the eye, not nearly as defiantly as at first.  The girl’s skin was flushed pink and sweaty and she was drooling around the gag as saliva ran down her chin and dripped on firm breasts that heaved with each breath, nipples fearfully, or proudly, erect.  Smiling slightly, he reached up and teased her nipples gently with his fingers, bringing out another shuddering moan as she bit down hard on the gag and threw her head back as far as she could.  

Chuckling softly, he took her head between his hands and popped the gag loose so that it hung around her neck.  Panting hard, jaw probably sore from grinding down on the rubber which had filled her mouth, the young woman was almost crouched in pain as she struggled to regain control of her body and her breathing as she licked her suddenly dry lips clean.

"How many?”


The old Albanian watched, quite amazed at the Italian's effrontery.  This was new.  His Amy was a T-1, not one of the cheaper sluts he allowed to be treated like this; she was for fucking and perhaps a few other light diversions, but nothing heavy.  Of course, the definition of fucking covered a wide range of activities and he was a tolerant man.  But he absolutely forbade anything that might cause scars, break bones or even cut the skin of his best women.  

The bottom line was that lower class T-2’s were to be used for whipping, caning, clamping and the other more esoteric desires, not the physically perfect top of the line whores who populated the best rooms.  The lower class women could mostly be found in the special rooms he had in the basement.  Rooms in which men and women could “play” with their prey to their hearts content.  This latter group of women was pretty much......expendable, and he ran through a lot of them in a year's time.  

The Albanian felt a touch of pride; clearly the T-1 female in the room was scared but so well-trained she still obeyed implicitly.  As much as he disliked American women in general, this particular female was one for whom the old man had previously had absolutely no respect.  He'd allowed many men to use her in a lot of hard ways; although still undeniably beautiful and physically perfect, she was....compromised goods to him.  

Maybe he needed to re-evaluate this one?  


It took an eternity, a full handful of heartbeats for the question to register in her ears, for the young woman to understand what he meant.  He could see it on her face.  He knew it must be hard for her, so very hard to think, but when she finally did understand, she swallowed loudly and said between pants, "Thr….three." she managed to force out between pants.

"Three?" He wondered aloud, "Now that, my lovely little bitch, is quite impressive.  Do you like what I do?"

The well-trained whore tried to play along, “Yesss!”  But she moaned softly, uncontrollably, with the pain as it still echoed through her body, and he could actually watch the girl visibly try to control herself.  Suddenly, she stood upright again.  

He smiled; perhaps her apparent small defiance was an act, for complete sentences seemed beyond her at this point.

"And what do we say?"

"Th...thank you, sir," she gasped softly.

He wasn’t yet finished with her yet, not by a long shot.  He grinned, almost pleasantly, "You’re very welcome.  Now, please keep count for me, aloud."

Thaawackkkk!  “Four,” she gasped.  He walked around her, waiting for the girl to catch her breath.  

Sooner than she expected there was another shish-thwaawackkk!  “Five,” she cried out, surprise on her face.  He knew she must be on the edge as she rode the waves of pain, but still she stood straight and brought her body back under control once more.  

Seconds later, before the girl even had time to recover from the last blow, another scream tore itself loose from her throat as the cane struck her chest twice, a soft backhand across the left breast and then a forehand quickly across the right

Panting heavily, the girl closed her eyes; he could see it was getting harder and harder for her to keep any semblance of control.  "Six, seven!" she gasped breathlessly.


The Albanian was reluctantly fascinated by the look on the girl’s face; he finally decided she appeared more resigned than afraid.  Even so, her hips were still thrust forward in what resembled an arrogant, almost demanding stance as she waited for her customer to make the next move.  The new man didn't hesitate, his next blow was across her chest and even The Albanian winced in sympathy.  The man had hit both her breasts with one slightly diagonal slashing motion.  Amy moaned gasped, but her hands remained clenched by her side as her body began a quick front to back jerking motion which obviously helped her handle the pain.  


“Ahh,” the Italian said with a satisfied tone in his voice, “you like that, don't you?”  

He watched her once again, idly playing with one of her breasts through the thin, satiny top, pinching and teasing her flesh as he applied more and more pressure, always more force.  

He went back to the cane now.  She’d almost immediately lost all physical control of her body now and the beautiful girl jerked uncontrollably with each of his strikes; long, shuddering moans and erotic cries of what seemed now to be almost painful pleasure escaped her throat as the soft mounds of her breasts jiggled under each blow.  Eyes squeezed shut, skin glistening now with stress sweat, the gag dangling around her neck like some demented accessory, the young woman moaned and panted and cried out with each strike, writhing helplessly.  

Yet, obedient to the end, she continued to maintain the count.  “Eight…..nine…..ten.”


Amy didn't answer as she blinked back tears.  God!  She didn’t belong here, shouldn’t be here.  But he hit her again, a quick slash between her legs that for a quick second buckled her knees, before her neck corded as she raised her chin, a look of intense pain on her face…a look that could also be mistaken for continued defiance.  A soft moan escaped before she could lock her jaws shut again.  He slashed her again and again across the breasts, creasing her nipples and causing them to pop out like huge organic light switches.  Ripples from the blows traveled across Amy’s breasts as if they were made of Jello instead of firm female flesh.  


Even though he had no real sex drive left, everything somehow seemed painfully, exquisitely erotic to the old Eastern European mobster at this moment; the sound of the cane as it cut the air, the song it played on his whore's previously unblemished skin, the echoes of the loud thwacks which rocketed around the room as the cane almost molded itself to the contours of her lush body.  

This had all already taken place, it wasn’t like he could go back in time and stop it.  All The Albanian could do was ensure the man paid in the end for the privilege he took with this once-perfect woman.  

The whipping continued.  It was as if the Italian's supple cane-like switch almost loved the taste of naked skin as it seemingly clung to her welted flesh.  The man laid a soft slap onto the cleft between her legs, a delicate blow to her outer lips that elicited multiple groans which finally trailed off to silence.  He waited patiently for that silence before he began again.  This time, he alternated slaps between her legs with several harder blows to her buttocks that forced gasps to the teenager's luscious red lips.  The girl's clit was obviously stiff and she was breathing hard now, almost as if she were getting off on what he was doing to her.  

The Italian closely watched his young whore.  At “Eleven,” the girl’s skin was flushed and sweat poured off her body.  Her face was locked in a stiff almost-grimace as her exhausted body was pushed to its limits.  

Finally beginning to lose control, the girl screamed like a banshee at “Twelve!”

An equally loud scream accompanied "Thirteen!"

At "Fourteen!" her muscles were clenched and her entire body shook with uncontrollable muscle spasms.  The Italian waited patiently.  This was the last one, but she didn’t know that.  He was so hard now that he could barely stand upright.  Suddenly, it was time and he swung, hard.

At “Fifteen,” something seemed to break within her as the young woman clenched every muscle in her body, threw her head back and truly shrieked for the first time.  Her breath pitiful and ragged, tears streaming down her face, the girl gasped as she felt his hand clamp gently around her throat and force her to meet his measuring gaze.

“Pl....please." she begged him in a small, shaky voice, "Pl..please, no.. no more."


Finally, the Italian stopped, panting for breath.  The Albanian looked at his whore still standing in front of her tormentor with her hands to her sides.  The tableau of man in front of woman had not changed significantly, but the very atmosphere of the room seemed charged with the woman’s resignation to her fate.  


The arrogant look of presumed equality she had shown in the beginning was gone now.  Amused by the girl’s changed attitude, the Italian asked, “What’s this?  You felt strong enough to challenge me earlier; now you’ve had enough?"

"Please, sir! It really hurts!"


After a moment, the client slowly removed the whore’s top and bared her bruised breasts before he helped her slide out of her thong.  All she wore now were the high-heeled sandals.  The Italian slowly walked around the woman once again to review his marks of ownership.  This was new for her and The Albanian was amazed at the amount of abuse his slut had taken with only the slightest of whimpers.


Never taking his eyes off of hers, the Italian’s hand found the girl’s breast and he squeezed painfully, "Who owns this body for tonight?"

Clenching her eyes shut and struggling not to moan, she said "You do, sir!  Everything belongs to you!"

The girl’s eyes suddenly went wide as he squeezed even harder.  "That’s right, my dear," he said, softly, intensely, "everything belongs to me tonight."


Amy felt like she had passed out on her feet for a few seconds when the older man had finally finished caning her.  How could this be happening to her?  Something truly had seemed to break inside her during that last moment when she’d thrown her head back in an outright scream, with her eyes literally rolling back in their sockets.  But it didn’t matter, since no one would ever hear her scream anymore, certainly not in one of these rooms.  

She closed her eyes in pain.  This was her life now.  

It seemed so long ago and in a life which belonged to someone else that Amy had foolishly and arrogantly assumed that her position as one of the elites ensured she remained inviolate, untouchable by those upon whom she had so looked down.  But things had gone horribly wrong for her since that terrible moment of stupid naiveté, predictably wrong given her initial arrogance and their professional abilities.  And suddenly, Amy realized too late that she had willfully put herself in a position to be taken.  Convinced she was insulated from her actions, never expecting anything to come of what she did, her actions had acted as a challenge to them.  Now she was a sex toy for any man who had enough money to buy her.  An erotic plaything, forced to satisfy multiple men in a week, she had even somehow come to accept this horrible fate even though it had been forced upon her.  

But even as a sex toy, she had risen above most of the others to become one of the special ones.  As a T-1, she wasn’t used to being treated this way.  But none of that mattered anymore.  Never a religious person, Amy know knew that Hell existed, hell with a capital H.  And if Hell existed, then so must Heaven.  Despite her acceptance of the situation, she was exhausted emotionally, physically…sexually—she didn’t want to be different or superior anymore.  She just wanted to be left alone, to live somewhere where no one knew her name or her history.  That would be Heaven to her.  

This man, he’d really hurt her and for the first time since she’d been kept here, she felt true fear again, the same kind of feeling which had slowly, finally begun to leave her bit by bit since the beginning of her terrible journey in this place.  

Amy knew there were cameras in every room and that someone had to be watching them at this moment.  Because no one had come to save her from this man, allowing him to continue had to have some kind of official sanction.  As this thought occurred to Amy, her knees began to tremble uncontrollably and the shaking quickly spread throughout her body.  

The gross old foreign man obviously sensed her fear and gently kissed her forehead, then her lips.  She opened her eyes at his gentle touch, to find herself face to face with his piercing gaze, even as a gentle smile touched his lips.  Feeling more tears flood her eyes, but this time ones of tentative hope, anticipation of relief from the anxiety which filled her.  

All Amy could do was let her chin drop to her chest and whisper through pursed, trembling lips, "Thank you,"


Finally, it appeared that that the consular official was done with his warm-up.  The Albanian’s woman clearly felt the sting from a series of shallow crisscrossing red welts across her tits and belly, another set which had been concentrated on her vagina and the insides of her thighs.  There was a final series of fine stripes across her lower back and buttocks.  The Albanian knew he couldn't sell her body again for at least another week.....the Italian would be paying a hell of a lot more for the pleasure of fucking his Amy tonight than he had originally been quoted.

Also, he was somehow…..disappointed in her.  Suddenly, he realized that for some reason, in his professional judgment, Amy was now officially a T-2.  He had shelved her there her there in his mind.  He’d decided that after the stupid Italian had finished with her, she would be moved to the sub-rooms where totally subjugated women were forced to submit to anything a man desired…and could afford.  

Even though he’d found quick pleasure in watching her being abused like this, she had disobeyed him too; T-1’s did not allow themselves to be abused like she had.  He had determined to his satisfaction that if she liked this kind of stuff, he would ensure her needs were obliged on an almost daily basis.  And he would just charge the clients a hell of a lot more if they wanted to continue to seriously fuck up her beautiful, once-perfect body in the process.

 
Women Like Her Liked Women or What The Hell Was She Thinking At A Moment Like This

Decision made regarding his woman’s fate and becoming a little tired now of looking at beautiful young women and the gross, sweaty men fucking them, ready to go his suite, the old European now turned his view to the final monitors showing any activity.  

In these, a tall woman with short black hair was sitting on an older man’s hips and rocking up and down on him, burying him in her wanton pelvis.  Every now and then, she would stop and obviously clench him with her vaginal muscles, before she began the rhythmic rocking motion again.  There was a second man sitting in a chair, watching the couple and waiting for his turn.  

The woman had what appeared to be a slight smile of pleasure on her face and wore a navy blue cupless chemise drenched in lace, and garters that supported sheer navy stockings.  Her eyes were closed and she held her head up and back, face pointed towards the ceiling at the head of the bed even as she suddenly leaned over the man and continued fucking him like a mad woman.  With each move of her hips, her fine, high and firm breasts hung down lower and lower, until she finally raked her twin pierced nipples across the man’s reaching lips.  Her feet were folded back along the man’s thighs and she was particularly careful to keep the heels of her navy pumps away from the man.  

Despite being tired, The Albanian smiled when he looked at the recently acquired twenty-five year old who worked so hard in the room – lucky number eighteen hundred and eighty-seven – that was the number of her brand.  He thought back to when the young woman had been brought in by one of his teams, recruited just outside Montgomery, Alabama, near the Kilby Correctional Facility.  Kilby was a maximum security prison with 1250 prisoners.  

She’d been the proud recipient of a recent Master’s degree in Psychology and had been a court-appointed expert visiting a really bad guy housed there.  She’d been working on a paper about narcissistic sociopaths for one of the professional journals.  Most narcissistic personality disorders were cerebral or somatic, that is to say arrogant either because of their intelligence or because of their physique and athletic prowess, or both.  

The particular prisoner she’d been evaluating had manifested both traits and while this multi-pronged example of typical male arrogance and toxic masculinity was going to be good for her article, the man had been unusually tiring for a woman of Petra’s sexual persuasion.  

Petra was a government employee who loved living in a big, sophisticated southern city.  When forced to temporarily live in the sticks like this, she’d routinely finished her day in a dark, low energy club not far from her motel, unwinding in an isolated corner of the room.  After calling her female lover, she’d then sit by herself and work on several ongoing papers she was writing.  

The Albanian’s team of recruiters had been watching her for the previous forty-eight hours and had preliminarily analyzed her routine  They had watched her enter the club twice before this and the way she had interacted with both patrons and club employees.…..it was immediately obvious that the young woman was lesbian.  That night she wore the uniform of the day with what appeared to be her customary sharp-edged chic, a white lacy blouse, and navy suit jacket and pencil skirt which ended just above her knees.  

Petra had great legs.  Terrific legs.  Toned and tanned and shapely, long and smooth.  Yet well-muscled too.  A ballerina’s legs, ideal for clasping around a man’s waist.  And she made the most of them, pushing the dress code as far as professionalism would allow with her extreme stiletto high-heels and a slit in her skirt that commonly showed flashes of high thigh.  She had an arrogant walk and, standing at a flat-footed 5’ 8”, she was at least as tall as most men when in heels.  

Petra’s nearly translucent skin looked like fine alabaster, while her finely chiseled nose, cheekbones and mouth looked like they had been cut by lasers.  Her dark blue eyes were set off in an interesting way by black hair cropped almost as short as a prison crew-cut.  She’d removed her suit coat in the bar to better display her tiny waist and full breasts beneath the white silk blouse.  She constantly drew men’s attention to her legs by folding one over the other or allowing them to part just wide enough to offer a glimpse of the shadows beneath.  Not necessarily an exhibitionist per se, she truly just didn’t care what men thought…about anything.  

Her manner seemed all derisive snorts and cold-eyed squints, as if her main ambition in life was to never let anyone get the better of her.  It was easy for observers to see that she had little time for men just by the arrogantly curt way she gestured to the male waiters.  When necessary, she pushed empty glasses toward them using the end of a blunt pencil, as if they were not to be trusted.  She’d literally oozed an attitude that implied that it was an ordeal to even be in the same room with them, as if she had to steel herself to even be there.  

Later that last evening she sat by herself at a small table, drinking a martini.  The room was crowded when the very attractive female member of this particular snatch team had approached Petra’s table.  The Albanian’s team member introduced herself and asked if she could sit down.  There was a moment’s hesitation and then the objective’s quick, reluctant nod of approval.  

The target was initially withdrawn and the team member had difficulty beginning conversation at first, but after a few minutes the watchers had sensed a sudden thaw in the younger woman.  The slightly older woman glanced up sharply enough a couple of times to catch Petra staring at her speculatively…..they both knew it was just a matter of time after that.  

She had smiled knowingly and Petra had tossed her head and looked away, haughty as a rich girl’s pony.  But when the young woman had looked back, she’d worn a slight smirk as if she’d won a bet with herself.  The older woman smiled too; she liked cocky and educated women, especially when their profession was something like a lawyer or a shrink.  They always thought they were so insightful, so fucking well-armored against the bad things in life.  

The older woman stared into Petra’s eyes and held her gaze.  The younger woman had tried to stare her down, but didn’t stand a chance.  When Petra finally broke and looked away, her throat had turned lovely shades of hot, confused colors, confirming her true thoughts.  Then their prey had turned back and studied her table mate, as if to assess her for sincerity.  

His woman had stared back and kept her face impassive…she could fake sincerity like no one else.  Then, after another moment, Petra had finally begun to really talk to the older woman.  The more she talked about herself, the more excited she became, red patches glowing on her cheeks and throat.  

Finally, she stopped and gave one of those well, there it is shrugs.  The oh-so smart, educated woman had opened herself up; she’d been like putty in the older woman’s hands after that.  

The two went back to Petra’s motel room in separate cars -- everyone knew that propriety for the professional woman must be maintained.  But while Petra was in the bathroom freshening herself, the remainder of the snatch team had been let in by their team mate and now silently waited for their prey.  Exiting the bathroom, wearing only a towel and a shocked look, the hard-edged young woman had gone down like a bowling pin, without even a fight.  The only surprise for the team had been the slight touch of perfume and re-touched make-up she’d worn for her supposed tryst with their team leader.  

Back at the compound, the beautiful, strong-willed Petra had been carefully, but thoroughly broken in under thirty-two hours.  The old man snorted; several lesbians had worked for him previously and he found it amusing to ensure they were given only to men--generally big, overly-masculine men—it was a not particularly funny inside joke they all played.  

As for Petra?  She was overheard talking to the other women at times.  She’d finally become used to having constant sex with men, but still did not enjoy it.  She was smart though and had quickly taught herself to close her eyes and fantasize as best she could that she was having sex with a woman wearing a strap-on.  She told the other girls that the only thing she had not yet been able to fit into her fantasy was when a man came inside her vagina, for that hot/wet gushing sensation still truly disgusted her.  

The old man snorted once more under his breath.  He didn’t care about her sexual desires, and he certainly wasn’t there to make her happy.  


An Immigrant’s Dream or Built Solely With The Sweat Of His Genius…And Their Stupidity

The only reward of those, who wage war against ALLAH and HIS Messenger and strive to create disorder in the land, is that they be slain or crucified or their hands and feet be cut off on account of their enmity, or they be expelled from the land.  That shall be a disgrace for them in this world, and in the Hereafter they shall have a great punishment.
-Allah's alleged words in the Quran, 5:33

Upset the established order, and everything becomes chaos.  I’m an agent of chaos.  And you know the best thing about chaos?  It’s fear….
-The Joker, in “The Dark Knight”

The Albanian was not an unread man.  He knew that Jews were not really the children of the devil.  Nor did he think they necessarily controlled the world’s finances and media, although their influence was way out of proportion to their numbers.  They did however, he believed, bring the holocaust upon themselves, and he knew that it had in fact occurred.  He did not believe that Jews used the blood of non-Jewish children to prepare their unleavened bread, nor were they apes and pigs as portrayed by Wahhabi clerics and in Saudi textbooks.  Despite this intellectual knowledge however, he hated Jews with an emotional passion which bordered on the irrational.  A man of strong beliefs, this was his only hatred that exceeded his loathing of Americans and America.  

In the East, he would have been a member in good standing of the Muslim community, the Umma, who possessed territories in the dar al-Islam, the Land of Islam, the land where the edicts of Islam had been fully accepted.  Instead, he lived in the dar al-Harb, the land of the Harbi, that of the non-believers who lived in the land of warfare.  The dar al-Harb included any country that belonged to the infidels and which had not yet submitted to Islam.  

Nonetheless, there was no doubt in any good Muslim’s mind that these countries were all historically destined to pass into Islamic jurisdiction either by conversion (Western Europe through their truly mindless immigration policies put in place by self-serving politicians) or by war (harab) in Indian Kashmir and other like places.  All acts of war were permitted in the dar al-Harb, and once the dar al-Harb had been subjugated, the Harbi then became prisoners of war.  The Imam could then do whatever he liked to them, depending upon the circumstances.

In some cases, they were sold into slavery, exiled, or just treated as dhimmis.  The Americans he blackmailed here?  The fools never knew he treated them as virtual dhimmis.  Dhimmis were second-class subjects as long as they paid the kharaj, a kind of land tax, and the jizya, a poll tax.  Normally, each of these was to be paid individually at a humiliating public ceremony, specifically designed to remind the non-Muslim they were inferior to the believers, the Muslims.  

In his current situation however, since he could not actually force the powerful and wealthy American men he owned through blackmail to pay him taxes, he used other means to force them to show their fealty to Islam whether they liked it or not.  Instead of giving him their tarnished gold, they paid their taxes in information and influence.  And their women?  It gave him great pleasure to kidnap their daughters, taken as spoils of the ongoing, yet still unspoken war and as enslaved women, to be used against the Americans themselves.  


The Albanian despised Petra and Amy and Kelly, and all the other numbered American women like them upon whom he had placed his brand of ownership.  He was a business man first and foremost though, and Petra and Amy were exactly the kind of woman that he'd expected to find when he first arrived in the U. S.  They were to be the feedstock of his empire.  Women who used the freedom they were given to turn themselves into whores.  Women and a culture who embraced an intellectualism which not only marginalized God, but often denied his existence.  And the hopeless, endless arrogance.  

He was an amateur historian and had thought deeply upon this.  He had long recognized the seeds of America’s decline and now those seeds were beginning to grow.  Like the Soviets before them, the United States had been deeply wounded by its pathetic efforts to conquer countries favored by Allah.  It insatiable greed for all things material had led to financial collapse that was already in the early stages of being repeated.  And its uncanny cohesiveness—the thing that had been the secret of its strength—had devolved into petty squabbling and government paralysis.  It was the fundamental flaw of democracy: Power found its way into the hands of liars and mobs instead of the cunning and strong.  

After 1,200 glorious years, the West was finally done, and the best part for Islam was that it had fallen without a battle in 1960.  In 1960, the birth control pill became widely available.  Many thought of it as heaven, sexual nirvana, the route to self-expression, wish fulfillment, and the liberation of millions of women.  

It convinced women they were being liberated from their bodies; that they could have sex without consequences.  For their part, men were convinced that their dreams had come true; sex without consequences.  Society had been convinced by the left-leaning cultural leaders that the “choice” was not really between keeping the baby or giving it up for adoption, but rather between having the baby and killing the baby.  

That belief now was more akin to Auschwitz in a bottle.  

In truth it was genocide for, while using it, the women of that early generation had happily traded off 1,200 years of unparalleled growth, wealth, security, stability, scientific and ethical progress for a second BMW in the garage.  The West had ceased producing progeny at a sustainable rate, while Islam continued to populate the world.  Demographics is destiny; this simple, yet quite profound and coldly logical fact could not be denied.  The wealthy Westerners he knew could best be compared to upper-class Brits on the deck of the Titanic, asking, My, my, why is the great ship tilting a bit?  It’s probably a minor problem in the engine room—meanwhile, may I have another aperitif, steward?  

But not only did the pill doom the West from without by limiting population, he felt it destroyed the culture from within by destroying the gyroscope of its civilization—that is, the balance between the sexes.  It disrupted the understanding that had maintained between men and women for eons; namely, that there were always consequences to choice.  

The sexes had existed for tens of thousands of years in a kind of brilliant equipoise: men provided and protected, while women nourished and nurtured—they were the center of civilization.  It was a sublimely efficient system, even if often harsh or not particularly satisfying to some.  But the end result had been generation after generation of bold, intelligent, hardy risk-takers that Islam had not been able to match.  In all realms, Western thought had prevailed, but in a selfish folly of extraordinary scale, it was all being thrown away in one generation.  

The West in general and America in particular, had destroyed the Nazis in World War 2.  They tied in Korea, then proceeded to lose all militarily in a long string of conflicts which ranged from Vietnam to Bosnia, from Libya to Syria.  Proud people that they were, he reasoned that to protect their psyche from the truth, the elites had decided that leisure and intellectual refinement were more important the economic and military might.  He did not deny the value of these last, but they were nothing without secure borders and a strong economic engine.  The last president, a black man, had not only presided over this increasingly steep decline, he had seemed to actually relish it.  Increasing size of government and the people who took advantage of this largesse, the country had been increasingly inching towards socialism each election cycle, and the disincentive was taking its toll.  

After 1960, the dominoes had fallen quickly; it was the nexus of the Pill, the Sexual Revolution, and Roe v. Wade.  Once the size of a family could be controlled, it shrank precipitously; women demanding “equality” returned to the workplace.  Soon they were making equal to or more than males, so existing male authority was challenged, and metaphorically, that leveraged and ultimately destroyed the whole concept of authority.  

Simultaneously, with smaller family size, more was invested in each of the 2.4 children, so that the death of one meant a shattering emotional wastage.  It meant that soldiers could no longer be allowed to die in the hundreds, much less the thousands.  And without its defenders, the West was doomed.  

If the West could no longer be defended, the East would no longer be denied.  He had long ago come to the conclusion that he was watching a once-great civilization slide towards the abyss – and this did not bother him in the least.  The masses wanted the state to provide for them in every way, and the politicians who promised the most were the one who were elected.  They in turn gave the masses what they wanted, which in turn placed an ever-increasing burden on the most productive members of society.  If you couldn’t or wouldn’t produce, the next best thing was to steal what someone else had created.  

Very few here really seemed to understand the new realities.  When you saw millions of people, whole political systems, countless numbers of citizens who believed in God, when they said they were going to convert a group or kill them in the attempt, one had really better listen.  

At the same time that all of this was going on, cultural Marxists had also begun their inevitable boring from within, both in the United States and Western Europe.  Identity politics, white guilt, gay pride and third-wave feminism—Occupy Wall Street and Black Lives Matter and Antifa, it all came together in one huge destructive wave of intersectionality as group was divided from group and then finally, set against each other.  

There would be no equitable restructuring of the existing social systems here, as the oligarchical elites and the symbols they used to both achieve and maintain dominance were weakened and then finally smashed.  The cultural Marxists on the far left desired nothing less than total destruction of the country they felt had been immoral from its very founding.  And they had enfeebled the country enough that, when taken in whole, it appeared that they might actually win the battle for the soul of the West.  It was these weak, weak people whom Islam would then eventually face.  


To those who said Islam was submission, that it was barbaric in its Jihad against infidels…true enough.  But once Islam had achieved hegemony and existed without challenge, all that would change.  That is what truly lay ahead: Islamic hegemony over the earth, based upon the Arab ideal of masculinity—self-discipline, faith, obedience, and finally, duty.  That was the system of governance which would best serve the most people and make the most people happy.  

The Western intellectuals and gays, however, they would never be satisfied.  Wisely, Islam would execute them for they would do harm to society far in excess of their actual numbers.  They must be eliminated without mercy.  Feminists and independent-thinking bloggers and university scholars would immediately follow, but for different reasons.  Feminists were loud and demanding, often street activists who caused far more problems than they were worth—they put ideas into people’s heads.  Academics were not as loud and were generally more weaker-willed, but still pains in the ass nonetheless.  Bloggers?  With no internet allowed to ensure stopping the spread of the cancerous Western culture, they had no reason to exist and so must be eliminated.  Just better to be rid of all of them right off the bat.  Except that is, for the attractive ones.  These might be kept in sort of locally-accessed harems kept for use by lower level bureaucrats.  

The Albanian pondered upon the values of the women shown on his monitors.  He was an immigrant like most other Americans if one went back into their history far enough.  But to him, the generation of American women he used in his business was exactly what one could expect after fifty years of wanton decadence.  

Women like Petra, were un-Godly, going against every teaching of the Koran, while those like Amy represented everything decadent and undisciplined that he hated about the West.  Some idiotic parents worried that perhaps it was television or movies, or even music that motivated this behavior.  That was wrong.  Talk about totally misunderstanding an entire generation!  

It wasn’t these things which motivated them; it was the world these young adults had been thrown into that caused this reaction against the older values.  Even as many of them continued to search for the stability of religion’s values, the culture of cynicism that had grown up over generations had taught them to mock their culture’s heroes and to scorn sacrifice.  Their music was merely a poor soundtrack, an echo of what they saw as a senseless world and the people who ruled it.  

To him there was no doubt that America’s greedy rulers, only concerned about short-term successes, were responsible for all of the ills of his people, of the Middle East, of the world.  Islam needed to, and would, expand under the banner of the Wahhabis --- the only true followers of the faith.  Their religion was under a constant onslaught by the weakened West.  To protect Islam they needed to retake at least the southern shores of Europe as a buffer.  

The Americans were always telling themselves and anyone else who would listen how peace-loving they were.  That was why they spent more on their military than the rest of the world combined, why they had over seven hundred overseas military bases in a hundred and thirty countries, and why they had been at war pretty much continuously since they were nothing but a bunch of colonies.  If a Martian visited Earth and tried to identify the most peace-loving culture, did Americans think he would pick the U. S. A?  It was obvious that they were a war-like people, why couldn’t they admit it to themselves?  

Perhaps it was because when someone lost a job, when a child sickened, when a policeman bullied, America was always behind it somewhere.  So, to him, every girl he had here was a symbol of American decadence in some way, all cast in the role of handmaidens to Satan.  To him, these women had become the summation of all American women, of their cruelties and their infernal weaknesses.  

He often thought about the behavior of the men here, marveling at the weak-loined decline of the Americans.  How had such men ever come to power?  Their women stripped away any sophistication they might have had and left them looking mooning and naïve, as weak as the worst actor in his worst role.  And what was even more surprising, they were proud of their weakness, flaunting on both coasts their beta-maleness to anyone who listen.  So, the more he could humiliate and use women like her, the more powerful he felt.

This generation of Americans drove around in their ridiculously fat SUV’s with phones clapped to their ears talking about things that couldn’t possibly amount to anything, and they didn’t care if driving a vehicle they couldn’t even steer with one hand made them kill you.  When they were on foot they demanded to be first in line, to get theirs’ first.  They sincerely believed in their own importance.  The men were loudmouthed and pushy, trying to be intimidating when they didn’t get what they wanted, but most of them had never felt a serious punch or heard a shot fired.  

The women were self-obsessed and lazy.  They were greedy for money and wanted to dress like movie stars using their plastic credit cards because they couldn’t afford what they felt the world owed them.  They neglected their children, hiring immigrant women to raise them, but wanted other adults to refer to them as “moms.”  Seeing them spread their values was like watching a disease take over a herd of cattle.  The only hope for the culture had been to have them die off before the disease could spread further.  

But it had not.  The country was filled with degenerates now.  No heart left in it, just mindless filth.  At least his people believed in something more than gratifying every animal desire whenever they felt like it.  

And now, standing within the chaos of their economic meltdown and supposed recovery, their culture on life-support as demographics changed irrevocably, the Americans still didn’t get it.  He was living in, but not a part of a realm in which most of the people around him moved along like sleep-walking drones, not realizing that the entire world was on the brink of a new era.  It was all falling apart for them, on a crash course with chaos and bankruptcy, accompanied by rioting in the streets just like the Greek students demanding jobs which did not exist or the Catalonians demanding freedom from Spain, and yet they still tried to play the new world with old rules.  All of this had been perfectly characterized in the slow death of America as epitomized in the most recent presidential election.  Mankind was about to enter a new era where only the brilliant and powerful, and those ruthless enough to take advantage, would survive, thrive, and prosper, while all the rest would become slaves even if they didn’t initially realize their position.  

He snorted crudely; at least the females of the youngest generation that he owned knew their place in the new world order……and that was flat on their backs with waxed legs spread wide.  

Smuggling was the Albanian mafia's core competency, and over the past decade the Albanians had steadily come to dominate smuggling into and within Europe, finally even overshadowing their mentors, the Italian mafia.  He’d come to the U. S. a little over thirteen years ago as part of a group of Kosovars brought over by a Houston-based church.  

A smuggler from birth like all of his clan and a peripheral believer of religion at best; at forty-seven years of age, he’d been on ‘family business’ in Kosovo when he was trapped by the quick advance of the Serbian militia.  Trying to get home after seeing terrible atrocities in what seemed like a hundred tiny villages, he’d been one of a small group of Muslims saved by a Brit patrol from execution by a Serbian death squad in southern Kosovo.  

His family had sent him money shortly after his arrival here and he’d not been forced to rely long on the largesse of the church.  Instead he had started looking for a place to set up business.  Eventually he’d been able to get his visa and then bought off a judge to become naturalized---now he was an American business man and he even paid his taxes quarterly!  He ran two legitimate corporations; one importing luxury items from Eastern Europe and the other a gentleman's place he called The Last Club.  

However, because of the lighting he used in the courtyard, it had initially been mockingly nicknamed The House of Red Lights by a few of its oh-so exclusive clientele.  He knew this from listening in to their childishly unprotected phone calls, but cared not what the spoiled and wealthy American idiots called the lever of their own destruction.  And so he had adopted the name which originally been meant to be derisive.  He too could be what one failed politician had called a “deplorable”, but with a twist which only he could appreciate.  

After a period of searching, he’d eventually found a location that exactly fit his needs; a large tract of land just south of Houston which was both adjacent to waterways and close to the Gulf.  This last was important because his imported goods came into the Houston docks via small freighters from Greece, Albania and Bulgaria.  Smugglers will be smugglers and the commodity on any given day shifts with demand, whether it is narcotics, weapons, fuel, stolen goods…..or people.  The legal imports came through bonded docks to the southeast of Houston.  But he had other ways of importing too.

A radar blimp was tethered outside the port of Houston, allowing better coverage of the Gulf.  With great expense, he had obtained a maintenance schedule for the blimp.  And delivery of his non-declared items, those considered less acceptable to the U. S. government was timed to coincide with these few periods of low coverage.  Off-loaded in the middle of the night at least fifteen miles from shore onto small, slow, low-visibility, radar-stealthy semi-submersible boats that were more submarine than surface craft, these same freighters were destined to later off-load their declared cargo in the port.

The men in his organization were either family or came from small villages in Albania that supported his family's organization---there were no problems with loyalty.  Most of his men were uneducated thugs and bullies, chauvinists who had never read the Koran but who had bought into violence and hate, and had refused to let go.  But he brought them in and handled them, ensuring they knew that he had goals, and if they were the one who endangered his achieving that goal, not only would they suffer, their families back in Albania would too.  

His young driver Ergon, loyal to a fault, was a good example of the men that he commanded.  He’d found no difficulty in bringing all the men that he needed into the U. S. over that last decade.  A few of them were legal, having arranged to quickly marry American women of Eastern European descent.  But the majority carried impeccably fake ID’s for which he’d paid dearly.  

It was so easy now.  So much better than before.  Smugglers had competition, both ethnic and from within various Albanian families.  He thought back to the time when he had last been involved in serious interrogations, trying to get information from a competitor.  Tying a Serb into a chair, working his lower body over with a meter long piece of angle iron that broke every bone in his legs and feet, every joint crushed beyond repair.  Those had been the tough times and the Serbs had been tough bastards to a man.  

But now he worked with these young American females who had never before had to suffer, who never had to worry about where their next meal came from and who were convinced that the world was an orderly, civilized place in which they held a particularly protected status.  Even so, the concepts he employed on the beauties his men kidnapped were simple, the elements universal.  Fear, peer pressure, pain and exhaustion and the endless repetition of just one task…giving their bodies over to his needs.  These were the tools he used, the tools instructors of all types had used for millennia.  And so the ideas, as simple as they were, worked.  

Stimulus and response.  Punishment and reward.  

Surprisingly, most of the females he took turned out to be of above average intelligence.  They may have been spoiled and bored and lazy, but they did not tend to be stupid people.  Many were even quite well educated.  But just because you understood the principle of what was being done to you didn’t mean that it wasn’t effective.  In fact, it was damned effective!  

Breaking them, enjoying them, using them, and finally discarding them when they were worn out, this was an easy life, a good life compared to where he came from.  A little hard on the women perhaps, but not bad at all for him as it allowed him the time to bring these people to their knees.  


He hid from himself what he did, had never tried to reject the cost of what he did.  He not only accepted the price to these people, he reveled in it, bit down on it like a broken tooth and ground it into his flesh.  He would always be what he was, and while he appreciated the irony of being saved from one group of ‘crusaders’ by other ‘crusaders’, the experience had done one thing and one thing only---it had confirmed in his mind the value of his religion.  Routinely praying five times a day as best he could, he’d been a good Muslim before the slaughter, but not a particularly devout one.  

After that though, after that…..

Regardless of the fact that he was not an Arab, he had sometimes begun to claim he was a distant descendant of Muhammed Abdul Wahhab, the eighteenth-century preacher whose austere, puritanical version of Islam became the official creed of Saudi Arabia.  Despite this inherent contradiction, many believed it of him.  

This belief enhanced his status over time within the Umma as he also finally began to acquire a useful veneer of religion and its vocabulary.  In the end, he became proud of the notion believed by others that he contemplated Allah and the Prophet, Peace be unto Him, for hours at a time.  All he really did though was daydream over an unread Koran.  

Too, he had not actually made the Haj, having traveled only as far as Abu Dhabi on business, but he was flattered by the title “Haji” which had been bestowed upon him after only a little bit of stealthy prompting.  Not many of the ignorant Americans knew it, but the dark brown spot in the middle of his forehead was a callous which came from pushing his head into his prayer rug as he prayed five times a day, every day.  

The world had recently shifted under men's feet, along with the centers of power and profit.  Regardless of what happened and what he was forced to do, The Albanian had come to consider himself a man whose life was consonant with true religion.  In retrospect, it seemed remarkable to him that so many of his criminal actions in the old days undoubtedly had also been pleasing to Allah.

The Americans and the Europeans, all Westerners for that matter, certainly the ones in power at least, all of them were nothing but schemers trying to control their own little worlds.  He was not a schemer, at least not in the small ways they were.  Not anymore.  After what had been done to his country, he wanted to bring them down.  He wanted to show the schemers how pathetic their attempts to control things really were.  He wanted to show them that their ways were the past and that his was the future.  

So, when he told his broken, captive Western women that it was nothing personal, these terrible things he did to them and the soul-destroying acts he demanded of them, they always knew in their very soul that it was the truth.  He ensured they knew that, in fact, it was the schemers within their own culture who had actually had put these girls where they were through their continuing pathetic attempts to maintain the old order.  The young men on Wall Street earning the obscene twenty-million dollar annual bonuses for moving money around and the older players, paying a dollar a day to workers and stripping undeveloped countries of their natural resources.  

But, in truth, each of these girls had also been schemers themselves, for they’d had their own wretchedly pitiful plans too….and look where there plans had taken them.  He’d taken their little plans and turned them on their heads.  And then, when their friends were also delivered in two’s and three’s, when their sisters were also brought in bound and ready for the torture cells, their morals, their codes, all of the things their civilization had taught them to live by…everything in which they had believed had all turned out to have been a terrible joke.  

In the end, these were all the things which, in this corrupt society, were to be dropped at the first sign of trouble by people who had no real beliefs in anything larger than themselves.  For these Americans, the ones who drifted, who went with the flow, they were only as good as the world allowed them to be.  They showed everyone around them just how strong they really were when the chips were down.  So, in the end, he knew he was correct in his assessment of them, and that he was not a monster….he was just a man who was ahead of the curve of historical forces.  

In some ways The Albanian appreciated the Americans, but he didn’t like them and he certainly didn’t understand them, for they were a very strange people.  Soft about certain things like their pets and their women, they could also be terribly brutal to those against whom they held grudges.  They would seemingly without anger accept insults over which other countries would fight wars, but would then react viciously to what seemed the most innocent provocations.  He still felt thrills of anger every day down the middle of his back at their treatment of Muslims around the world.

For as long as he had been in America, he had not sexually enjoyed a Western woman.  In fact, the only Western women he'd ever had were not actually from the West.  They’d actually been the false Russian blonds who plagued his homeland and who turned out in reality to be as dark as their souls.  These were the Slavic women with hair dyed chemistry-set blonde and which wore the cheap, hard-colored clothes that Russian girls mistook for sophistication.  But he knew in his heart that he would be man enough for any American woman, should he choose to honor her with his seed.  


He had always known that men and women did not think of sex in the same way.  For most women, sex was an altar upon which they worshipped with more or less devotion at various times depending upon their lover.  A woman made a present of her body to a man, and most women wrapped that present up in emotion.  Otherwise, to them it felt cheap.  

However, in his experience, all the younger, more “liberated” American women ever wanted was brutish, shameful sex; and it was clear that none of them could be controlled by their weak males.  For all of their talk about a war on women, none of these uneducated and unthinking idiots, women and men, had ever seen what a real war on women was like.  

He was Eastern European, not from the harsher Arab lands.  And so, certain extreme beliefs of the one true faith bothered him a little.  Being kept from schools, forced to marry at an early age, forcible female circumcision, not being allowed to drive; these things happened to other women, not to the North Americans.  Yet it was the feminist American females and their feminized men who shouted their slogans the loudest about freedom from the control of men, thus weakening the culture he was committed to destroying.  

And the more they screamed for their freedom from the “male patriarchy,” the louder he heard the clanking of the chains they wore as their drones increasingly flew over American cities and traffic cameras gave out machine tickets, even as the courts approved spurious cases of eminent domain and the government spent trillions it didn’t have, borrowing it all from a now-awakening China.  

But, at the same time too, he’d never seen an American male from their coastal elites turn down one of his captive beauties either.  It seemed that, for all men, sex was simply a bath they needed on a regular basis -- and often not even in the same tub.  

He had been raised to accept the Muslim fundamentalist philosophy that although women were not second-class citizens as they were portrayed to be in Islam by the West, they just occupied a different place in Allah’s scheme for the world.  Women organized and ran the home, while men organized and ran the world.  It was a simple division of labor set down more than ten centuries ago by Allah’s prophet Mohammed.  

Men were strong and women were silent.  Sons were of inestimable value, while daughters were an early burden upon the family.  Especially if they grew up not knowing or understanding their place.  

Like Western women.  

Especially American women.


A Post-Modern Perspective On Feminine Values or He Felt A Strong Need to Believe In Their Weakness

In his sage judgment, the video of the old movie Basic Instinct perfectly captured the decadence of the West.  Women who did not have a firm hand laid upon them turned into ravenous creatures, prisoners of their sexual appetite.  They were too weak to resist the constant prickling of their flesh and all he did as a newly minted Capitalist was take advantage of their need to betray their husbands as they reveled in unimaginable orgies.  All of the films of Sharon Stone were instructive in this, and he had obtained pirated video copies of each as soon as they became available.  But Basic Instinct remained his favorite.  It was unthinkable that women be indulged so, and the shamelessness of the actress, her squandered beauty, always made him want to cover his eyes in horror.  

He had watched the film more than seventy times.  

So many more films, so much more shocking than Basic Instinct had come out over the following years that he had lost track.  Instead of The Stepford Wives or Clueless, iconic feminist films like Thelma and Louse or Legally Blonde abounded.  The Albanian would have killed any of his female relatives had they even hinted at such behavior.  But he also realized that fantastically successful females like Gwyneth Paltrow and Miley Ray Cyrus sent exactly the message that most men of the world wanted to hear; that women who pretended to be free remained insatiable demons who needed to be used, mastered, even contained, but certainly not respected.  

He had finally come to realize that the great thing about these women, at least to the males of the planet, was that they proved you did not have to bother with conversations, emotions or anything else which diverted you from the point.  Madonna too had been a genius at it, as was Lady Gaga.  The U. S. military was a feeble thing compared to America's world-conquering blonds.  

In the West, the same theme of cultural deconstruction continued with movies like My Own Private Idaho and Breakback Mountain, as they mainstreamed male homosexuality.  As some cultural analysts had already commented, in every example in which homosexuality was mainstreamed in art and culture, that always occurred at the end of the culture.  Islam had finally come to realize that all of this was psychological warfare at its best; hilarious and irresistible to its targets, and always irreparably destructive.

There was little that he could do to right these blasphemies and injustices which surrounded him, but he did what he could.  Many American and more than a few European women walked or were eventually forced to crawl through his hands in the space of a few months, but he kept surprisingly few for his own use.  Most of the slavers he knew had no imagination, never thinking beyond the next trivial advantage of the senses that having young American flesh brought.  For the life of him, he could never begin to explain how the males of the species produced masters of chess.  Many of the men to which he sold his stock were foolish people.  And the most foolish of these were the men who had turned religion into politics, and politics into religion.  

He stayed totally away from the overt politics of Houston, but he had made it his business to smuggle in those things that he knew would have the most damaging, the corrosive effects on this odd society.  Sooner or later, they would rot from the inside due to the repeated attacks of the increasing number of true believers like him.  Chaos would be the order of the day.  And only from chaos would grow the best opportunity for non-believers to be shown the errors of their way.  

At the same time, he knew it was inevitable he would be caught and his operation dismantled.  He toiled deep behind enemy lines because he must.  There was no honor here, if there ever had been.  He knew in his heart that fighting the Great Satan was right, and it had been an easy decision to make.  Unfortunately, the enemy of his enemy could not be relied upon to be a friend, including the Russians and Iranians and Syrians, the Taliban, Hezbollah and Hamas.  

This wasn’t a ballfield or schoolyard.  The U. S. now was more like a poverty row barroom, in which despair and hunger brought everybody together, then deranged them with alcohol and worry until all of the old vengeances and spite and greed blossomed into bloodshed.  

But despite the holes in their borders and the inefficiencies of their methods, the Americans were good at security and getting better.  It truly was inevitable that he be gathered up someday in one dragnet or another.  But the one thing that separated from the vast majority of American-born was that he would not allow himself to be captured alive.  This was his fate…..he already knew this and had accepted it from the very beginning, for the truth was he should be dead already.  Capture or death may come from an incautious word over the phone or perhaps when one of his clients offered him up to avoid a traffic ticket.  It was all fore-ordained, already carved in the sand; no one could change what had already been written.

One does unpleasant things because one must.  One has a duty to fulfill until no longer capable of acting.  


The U. S government was aware of how dangerous and widespread the Muslim Albanian Mafia had become.  They called his clan "The New Islamic Mafia," and were watching all Albanian immigrants closely since the Albanian Mafia had been held responsible for the murder of Danbury restaurateur/chef Zef Vulevic (aka Zef Vulaj and Joe Vuli).  But even with planes and drones, blimps and newly constructed sections of the border wall and additional border agents, the U. S. Customs couldn’t watch everywhere, and for those few Customs officials who were more alert than their peers, a little money could go a long ways.  And when twice that had not worked, accidents were arranged.  

While things had gotten much, much tougher with the major up-ramping of Coast Guard security since that glorious day in September so many years ago, he was still able to bring in pretty much anything he desired.  As long as the radar blimp was down and there was no one around to see the contraband depart the vessel before the pilot came aboard to bring the ship through the ship channel, he was pretty safe.  While port security had been beefed up in the last few years, as with ships waiting offshore, he knew they still couldn’t watch everything.  

Only two shipments had been intercepted so far.  Since he was never involved in personally sponsoring any of his men, there was no paper trail back to him.  Those few of his men that had been arrested for one thing or another had willingly gone to jail in silence rather than turn on him.  They knew that their families would be supported while they were away and that they would be rewarded upon being freed.  They were also aware that he KNEW where their families were should they ever decide to cooperate with the authorities.

He had little fear of his men betraying him.  They were good men, but most of them were young, still immature and easily impressed.  And the fruits of life in America were tempting, terribly tempting to men like his raised in a country that had had culture for a hundred times longer than the Americans, yet who had still had been raised in poverty.  

To counter the temptations and feelings he knew must exist, he’d talked to his men extensively, asking them, “What is it to wear expensive Western clothes, to drink the Coca Cola drinks, to go clubbing and end up fumbling with some slut of an American girl in a doorway when your mind is weakened with drugs?”  

“It is nothing,” he’d answered his own question, “nothing but ashes in the mouth.  The taste of the death of your soul.  The West sells you the illusion of an earthly paradise...it has to.  But despite all the gaudy pressures shown on television and the cinema, designed specifically to influence you, in your lives, the way the Americans behave around you.....you have kept yourself pure.  

And this is the West's worst fear.  Young men they cannot control, they cannot sell, they cannot touch.  What you do is for me is the way to true paradise.  And we will make them pay for what they do to Muslims around the world.”

He’d said at the end, “Just look around at what you have come all this way to destroy.  Face your destiny.  Embrace your faith.  Honor your God…..and obey the texts.”

At the same time, he was a pragmatic man.  He knew his beautiful stock in trade could be addictive to some men, those with the weakest souls.  So, those unmarried young men who still felt lust for his Americans were allowed full access to the girls that weren't working.  Unbeknownst to his men however, their trysts too were always regularly monitored by video.


A Bountiful Harvest Of Beauties or There Were No Limits On Their Availability

His Balkan contacts assured him that they could provide all the product he could use once he was ready, and so they had.  He’d used them as sources for a lot of things; knockoffs of Russian, Chinese and Belgian automatic weapons for the street gangs; programmable Russian mines made undetectable because they consisted only of plastic and explosives, weapons that had been stamped from cheap steel in Bulgaria, street drugs from Turkey and poorly made generic medical drugs from Albania, and finally, women.  Even though he’d just received a small shipment of Russian-designed, Chinese-manufactured pieces of shit called Dragunov SVD’s, arms shipments had overall slowed down a lot since 9/11, but he’d increased his supply of generic drugs to make up for this.  

With a skeletal wooden stock and longish barrel, the SVD looked a lot like an AK-47 that’d been stretched out in a medieval torture machine.  These had been battlefield pickups from some long-forgotten firefights where the owners had come out as second-place winners in Iraq and Afghanistan.  It was an awkward, heavy piece of crudely machined parts, mostly metal, with knobs, bolts, buttons, ledges and all sorts of things sticking out of it.  Although the SVD represented the Russian “Fuck you, end-user” school of ergonomics, they had at least been shipped to him by his Albanian cousins, so he knew they were clean.  

On the other hand, his family was very careful about using the Turks as a source for narcotics because you never knew who might try to sell you out on the other end.  And in any case, heroin wasn’t as popular on the street as it once had been, but it was still his biggest source of income.  

Another big source of income was smuggling illegal immigrants.  Among the illegal’s, there were always a few women who had been brought over for various uses.  And while the women weren’t as profitable as drugs, he did okay with them.  Even though post-Katrina New Orleans had pretty much ‘dried-up’ as a market, he still supplied women to gangbanger prostitute rings as close as Houston and Dallas/Ft. Worth and as far away as Miami, Phoenix, Los Angeles and Las Vegas.  The best girls however, he kept for his own private club.

Sometimes the women filling the international supply chain came from the Ukraine or Georgia or other parts of the failed Soviet empire.  Other times they came from Albania or Bulgaria, or even Greece.  There had even been a few Italian beauties mixed among the others over the years.  Some were taken off the street.  Others taken only after they'd already been ensnared in some local insanity.  

It was laughably easy for his family to get these last young girls, since so many were desperate to get out of what was now a dead-end life in some small village.  They’d answer an advertisement in some big Eastern European city newspaper for a nanny or a language tutor or a hair dresser and if they were pretty enough, his family would grab them on the spot and they would simply disappear.  A lot of the girls were forced directly into prostitution in Eastern Europe and a few were even sent to Western Europe.  

But the best of the lot were sent to him on the small freighters in two’s and three’s for use in the U. S.  In this, religion didn’t matter.  If she was beautiful and available, she would somehow find her way into the pipeline whether Buddhist, Jewish, Christian or Hindi.  He had no doubt that even a few Muslim females had been scooped up in the dragnet of flesh too, but he was comforted by the fact that they would receive their just desserts in Heaven for having suffered the physical insults of the infidels on earth.  The rest of his whores could burn in hell for all he cared.  

In the last three years, he’d begun increasing the supply of American women in his franchise on his own.  He had three full time Midnight teams that did nothing but snatch beautiful young girls in the U. S.  His people mainly worked universities, selecting only the best flesh after studying the potential targets.  

But they often took advantage of natural disasters too, being drawn to scenes of disasters all around the country.  A tornado in Oklahoma or northern Texas and for at least a couple of years some of his women would speak to their new Masters with a western twang.  A hurricane in Florida or Georgia or Mississippi, and he suddenly possessed young girls who cried out for mercy in a soft southern drawl.  An earthquake in California and he was able to sell for profit the hard-bodies of suddenly former beach bunnies and surfers.  At all times, his teams trolled various college campuses for “gimme’s,” drunken young co-eds staggering home after a night of drinking.  

These last he mockingly called his “Red-Shirts” after he’d read about a trend a movie-buff had noticed on the old TV show Star Trek.  When an unknown actor showed up on Star Trek wearing a red uniform tunic, the real Trekkies knew they were the character of the day, that the character was going to be written off or killed, or would perhaps just mysteriously disappear.  

He’d liked the symbolism of the Red Shirt characters and now used it to refer to the lesser quality American girls that just disappeared from their undisciplined, chaotic life of indolence and leisure, especially when they were taken without any real plan or planning.  

It was easy, taking Red Shirts like these.  Most of them wound up working in his cellars as they were used for just about anything a man could imagine.  He knew from experience that social and historical forces—mass shootings, wars and natural disasters, for example—caused people to renounce their freedoms, often doing so with great moral satisfaction.  The fools.  

People said they loved freedom, but in reality they hated it; he knew this.  The Koran said: “We choose a master, then roll over on our backs and ask for the leash.”  This age-old truth was the one upon which he ran this part of his business.  He revoked the freedom of women from almost every part of the globe and each one of them responded to his discipline just as he knew they would, just as they had been born to do.  

Sometimes he filled contract orders for other purveyors of flesh too, but only after he had already filled any of his own vacancies as he continually upgraded his stock.  As new girls came in, if they were good enough, the cream of the cream, they would first replace the upper tier whores that needed to go the basement, then he replaced those that had not yet quite outlasted their usefulness.  These latter females he would then also move to the cellars or on to other slavers and pimps if he didn’t have the cells to spare for them.  The circle of life for these women was so small that they could literally see the curve ahead.  

He liked to keep it that way.

In the end, some of these girls wound up being fodder for snuff films, others continued their life as a sex slave, but now with new masters.  The lucky few that still had their looks often ended as closely monitored, multi-functional maids working for wealthy men.  Finally, the dregs wound up in brothels in Central America, filling whore's cribs in Panama, Mexico, Costa Rica and Guatemala.  These women----they were no longer girls by this time---were the ones that were immediately hooked on heroin, their new whore-masters allowing the drug to act as the world's most effective dog's leash.  

At the end when the bodies of this last group had given out, when their looks were gone along with their teeth and disease had riddled their bones, the women were either put down, killed that is, or turned out onto the street to survive as best they could.  They were his revenants……the long missing who could never go home again.  

None of them, not one of the many that had been released over the years had ever attempted to return home or go to the police.  They knew The Albanian would target their families and loved ones if they did.  But even more compelling to these women was the fact that too much had happened to them, too much had been done to them and by them, and there were always the videos which documented in detail the too-much water that had gone under the bridge for them to ever want their loved ones to see what they had become.


With Friends Like These or She Was Predisposed to Cooperate……In A Manner Of Speaking

His harvesting teams always moved slow and easy, generally stalking women in small towns and crossing state borders at will just to more confuse the local police.  But they were cautious too and well-trained.  And when they returned with superior product like worker ants returning with spoil to their colony, it always stroked his ego to be in charge of the precision machine he had created.  

In fact, one of his teams had scored from a strip mall outside a small town in Louisiana day before yesterday, and if all of the reports where correct, he should have superior fresh product coming in soon.  But the old Albanian was annoyed tonight.  His women were edgy, fractious, tormented by the unusually hot spring weather and the relentless nature of their lives.  He needed to maintain vigilance to ensure that nothing happened.

Kelly's impending removal had been scheduled for several weeks, but with Amy’s demotion to the basement warrens, he would temporarily be a little light on the numbers of top-tier women.  One hole in the schedule could be planned around; two was a little more difficult.  One planned absence seemed barely noteworthy, two at the same time almost careless.  

Oh well, the others would just have to work a little harder.  The old man shook his head and forgot about Amy, instead watching the seventeen year old brown-eyed dark blonde beauty in monitors thirteen, fourteen and fifteen.  She was almost a little too tall to wear the high-heels that he so liked on his women, and she had developed that way of looking both anxious and tranquil that whore’s often developed.  There was a tentativeness about her too; she was still a young thing…naturally elegant and yet awkward too, gentle and kind at the same time.  You knew instantly she was a good girl from a good home, a girl who had lost her way.

Michelle wore a lacy cream-colored bustier accented with tasteful beige designs.  Six garters from the bustier held up sheer cinnamon-colored stockings without toe seams.  Her matching high-heels looked like nothing more than soles attached to five-inch stiletto-heels, everything was then held onto her feet with only a few thin straps.  

The teenage girl wearing brand number nineteen hundred and one was on her hands and knees, with her feet and knees spread wide apart, allowing the man behind full access from the rear.  The Albanian could see that the soles of Michelle's new sandals still looked new.  Good, he smiled to himself.  He disliked having to buy unnecessary clothing for his whores and the bottom of her sandals should have little wear, having been pointed at the ceiling most of the time she’d been wearing them.  

The hands of Michelle's customer were clenched on her hips to both improve his accuracy and to pull her ass onto his driving cock.  The client knew he was hurting the young girl, but could've care less since he absolutely knew that this was what the sluts like her lived for.  The man continued hammering his condom covered erection into the teenager's tight anus as hard and as fast as he could, even as he slapped her lightly on the side of her head and told her what a nasty piece of shit she was and how she deserved everything that men did to her.  

Although the view of her face in monitor fourteen was partially obscured by a loose cascade of thick, honey-colored hair that swayed with every hard thrust into her ass, it was clear that Michelle's neck muscles strained to hold her head up.  The young woman was extremely attractive and the video clearly showed the classically beautiful profile of her face.  Her eyes were closed at the moment, but her mouth hung open and her lips were drawn back tightly, baring even white teeth, as if by this act alone she could channel through her mouth and into the open the pain and humiliation which consumed the other end of her body.  After all, seventeen year old girls rarely had to learn how to handle serial anal rapes.  

Or perhaps it was just to let out the sounds......since Michelle grunted or groaned with every hip thrust of the man that had rented her body for the night, “Ugghhnn....ugghhnn....uugghhnn.”  But with each groan of fake pleasure/real discomfort, she still pushed back into her client's groin to meet his thrusts with her buttocks just as she had been taught, then wiggled her hips for his pleasure each time she was fully impaled by him again.

An American instructed to strict Continental standards, like all of his women she'd been thoroughly educated in the hard school the European ran in his basement, being brutally taught how much easier it made her life when she pleased men in the ways they demanded.  Faking delight, acting happy to accept strange and unknown men between her thighs, incorporating any odd act that the many odd men she'd fucked over the last months had desired, learning to somehow keep her hips and ass held high as a target which invited any man who temporarily owned the rights to her body no matter how much he might be hurting her.  

But in addition to giving her current rider good anal sex, at the moment there was an attractive bow to Michelle's back that raised her ass up and pushed her belly and tits toward the mattress upon which she crouched.  Her current lover adored this look and couldn't keep his hands off of her body.

This too she’d been taught before being allowed into the general population of T-1 whores.

While Michelle was a girl that was a little on the slender side, she had nonetheless an exquisite and firm body.  Long hair, beautiful face, long shapely legs....a definite model's figure except for one thing.  The bustier that so tightly cinched her waist was cupless, allowing her breasts to hang down from her current crouch….and they almost touched the bed in her current “horse” position.  Her creamy breasts were all natural, exactly what she'd been born with......but they were still quite out of proportion to her slender figure.  

Michelle was young enough that gravity hadn't yet begun to make them sag.  But once the tits started to go, The Albanian thought, I'll move her on to the basement and then to a whore's mattress in Guatemala or Panama.  Also, he thought to himself, he'd have to make sure that she never turned up again after that.  After all, she was a “local” girl, and as a result, knew far too much about one of his employees—far more than the other females he held captive.  


Plucking Another Man’s Daughter At Will or Taken Without Mercy Or Honor

A proud Houston acquaintance had six years ago showed one of his employee’s pictures of his three children.  The child who’d stuck in his man's mind had been that of the youngest daughter.  Michelle had been twelve at the time and already a beautiful girl.  Slim and athletic, the remarkable thing was that even then she'd begun developing some serious tits.  His man had often visited their home as a family friend after that and confirmed her blossoming potential.  So they'd unobtrusively followed her life, allowing her to develop like a hot-house flower before eventually moving in for the harvest less than six months ago.  “Plucking” this beauty was seriously satisfying.

A smart girl as well as beautiful, Michelle had been a senior attending a private high school in north-central Texas when harvested.  The teenager had developed into a gorgeous young lady; a teenager chronologically, she had a fully developed woman’s body.  

Then, a tornado had gone through the town leaving behind nothing but chaos.  As beautiful as she was, the seventeen year-old had also been quite naïve, far too open and trusting and friendly.  She'd been a truly nice person, one of those people always willing to volunteer spare time to help those less fortunate.  

Again, the woman on the pick-up team had been invaluable.  Michelle had stood there at the entrance to her school, alone in the dusk and wearing a short, white tennis dress, with panty hose of all things, and old-fashioned white tennis shoes.  Even though her clothes made her look like a vision out of the early 1960’s, the short dress still beautifully emphasized the young girl’s long, gorgeous legs.  

The ambush/kidnapping worked perfectly and the high school girl had been easily netted.  All the female team-member had to do was walk up to the front door of her dorm building and ask for help.  The unsuspecting teenager had been more than willing to offer aid as she had walked to her own personal Armageddon that waited out front in the guise of a plain, unmarked van.  The Albanian just loved young, pretty, female Good Samaritans; they almost always begged to be taken and have their bodies used.

Once it became public knowledge that Michelle was missing, his man had called her father as an old family friend to offer condolences and heart-felt support.  But even as he was talking to her father, all his man had to do was turn his head slightly in order to see the gagged high school sophomore being silently gang-raped in the small, dark room.  


Seventeen at the time she'd been taken, she’d celebrated her eighteenth birthday two weeks after being abducted and just at the beginning of her life as a working whore for him.  The young female wearing number nineteen hundred and one truly was beautiful and The Albanian’s man remembered being glad they'd waited for her to bloom.  

He'd claimed first rights after she'd broken so quickly and he'd gone easy on her....after all, he was almost a member of her family.  But regardless of how he might have felt and what he'd already given the young girl that night, there'd been a long line of men waiting after him and he knew the young woman would be very, very sore the next day.  

He remembered how she had been laid out on the mechanical bed in the basement that first time.  Tied down for their pleasure, a look of terror had ravaged her face as he ran his hands along the insides of her firm thighs.  But then her eyes had slowly taken on a look of horrified recognition as he'd fondled her; this alone told every man present that she had remembered him as her father's friend.  He'd slowly dragged his fingers through the curly bush which hid her fresh young mons and then moved up onto her flat belly--the firm belly that waited for him to mount and leave his gift between her gorgeous legs.  He remembered his hands probing between her legs until they'd found a minimal amount of moisture, then measuring again and again with his hands the firm fullness of her high, firm teenage breasts.  Best of all, he remembered savoring the relaxed feeling in his loins as he later consoled Michelle's father on the phone, for he'd already taken the man's daughter twice.

But she had turned out to be as resilient as she was she was beautiful.  The gift of her youth was the ability to take her daily life and somehow tune it out.  Once she recovered from being broken, nothing ever after that seemed to penetrate her youthful armor.  She remained a kind, caring, compulsively naive person even as she was being serially raped every day.  She was the oddest, and perhaps the strongest, of all the females that he had ever owned.  A truly formidable young woman, it was just too bad she had also become quite experienced at being his whore too.  


His Nubian Way or A Black Blade Cutting Deep

The Albanian's bored gaze returned again to monitor seven.  His client had just about achieved initial nirvana.  The black man on top suddenly raised his hugely muscled upper body off the red-haired woman in order to look deeply into her eyes even as he ran his hands up her arms and pinned her wrists above her head.  Nothing at all like a gentleman, his considerable weight rested totally on her spreadeagled body.  The old European could see the black man bend his knees slightly, then suddenly straighten his legs against the foot board for a final drive into the red-headed whore even as his massive butt cheeks clenched for a long five count.  

An extended, heartfelt groan of appreciation rumbled from deep inside his thick chest, while number nine hundred and one’s feet arched and her painted toes splayed in response to the sheer hammering physicality of the man's initial ejaculation.  Then his knees bent a little and suddenly straightened and locked again as he pushed deeply into Kelly a second time and his butt clenched for another long five count.  

Relax.  Then one final clenching delivery.


Kelly could feel his huge black cock almost vibrate for a second inside her vagina, then it seemed to rhythmically pulse as wave after wave of scalding hot semen jetted into her hard enough to seemingly flay away the outer layer of skin cells.  He hurt her with this; he pushed too hard at the end, he always did......he was inside her far too deeply and he really hurt her.  

She couldn't stop herself from moaning softly even as her body arched involuntarily beneath his.  Again the long, fat, steel hard shaft that filled her belly vibrated and she felt a lava-hot jet lashing at her insides.  And again she moaned and felt her belly and hips arch against him, against her will.  And then one final time.   

She tried to remain motionless under him and deny him that little pleasure, she always did.  But often she couldn't help herself…it was often impossible to ignore the extremely intense sensations.  It almost felt like a water cannon as his cum accelerated from his nuts through the extraordinarily long tube of his erection, exiting finally as a physical entity that actually slammed against the top of her vagina, then drenched the inside of her pussy in a thick layer of his black semen.  

God!  Thank you.  He was finished with her for now, but Kelly knew what came next.  He never seemed to get enough of her.  God, please, make this the last time.


The Albanian smiled grimly as he watched Kelly's feet involuntarily arch as she reacted to the intensely hot, jetting pulsations she had to be feeling.  Her ankles and toes relaxed, strained again, then a third time.  Seeing her pussy pumped full of semen like this seemed to him such a crystal-clear example of Capitalism at work....filling a market niche that was woefully undersupplied with quality product.  

Slutty Western women fucking wealthy, mostly brutal men that liked to hurt them.  As far as The Albanian could tell, it was win/win for everyone.  He made a pile of money exploiting American women's naturally whorish nature, American AND foreign men enjoyed rough sex with just about any type of woman they could desire.  And the women got to live out their sluttish whore fantasies, even if for only a few short years.


Kelly panted for air too, having been crushed for too long under the man’s great weight.  But she knew the bastard would be ready for act two all too soon.  Kelly knew she should be pregnant again from what he’d just pumped inside her body again.  As a woman, she knew this without a doubt deep in her bones.  But she could never have children now.  

Life after Vanderbilt and before the black man had been an awful parade of one boastful, slobbering man after another, but she'd somehow learned to survive despite the huge breasts they’d given her and which she hated so much.  

Then he'd come into her life, along with his almost magical sperm.  He always paid extra to fuck her without a rubber, and she could just tell.  She could always tell the exact time it happened.  The terrible Eastern European man that kept her captive had forced her to have four abortions in the first five months that she'd been rented to the football player.  The last one by the bungling doctor had been so incompetent that she was now sterile.  So the black bastard could do about anything he wanted and still not impregnate her.  This was perhaps the only thing about which Kelly felt she could be thankful for in her current life.

Sometimes she just wanted to give up, but something buried deeply inside just wouldn't let her.  Then the still, tiny voice of total surrender would speak up again, a voice she'd heard so many times over the last eighteen months.

Give up now, it whispered.  Rest.  You'll be glad.  Let others live out your dreams.

The few you have left.

True enough, at least philosophically speaking.  But she was a fighter, always had been.  And even though she suffered through day after day of torture and perverted sex, Kelly answered the small voice inside her head in the only way she knew.  

Screw existentialism.  I just want my life back.  

Kelly could have easily hated the men who came to use the girls.  She talked with the other girls at the few moments they had together when they exercised.  The vast majority of them felt the same way.  She knew that most of the men were not necessarily lacking in compassion for those whom they actually cared about; but they were all superficial and certainly used to getting their own way—that was why they were wealthy.  It was just that these men didn’t see her, or any of the girls as people, but rather as things.  

That was how they could do what they did to her and the others, and still sleep at night.  

As much as how she tried to remain upbeat, her mind was always in turmoil after one of this man’s visits.  She feared she could not possibly remain sane after what they had done to her, after what he did to her.  She felt mentally fragile, physically delicate, emotionally drained after each of his visits, and it was such an effort not to be totally overwhelmed by despair.  The thought of being imprisoned and used for many more years, the agonizing frustration of not being free, it all tore at her insides in a way she could never have imagined even only a couple of years ago.  

God, she just hoped they would let her go someday, someday soon.  As much of a fighter as she was, she knew she couldn't take much more.  As much as she tried to keep her sanity under tight control, sometimes it was just too much to ask.  And she knew what was coming from this bastard next.  It always did.  It may take him five minutes or maybe an hour, but she knew how it would always end.  

Her body was all messed up now and she just wanted to go back home to Tennessee.  Her lower back ached from carrying the foreign weight of her hugely inflated breasts.  Her stomach bothered her all the time now, first with cramps and then with excess acid which burned the lining of her throat all the time.  She couldn't sleep at night and when she did, there were the terrible nightmares she had to fight through.  Worse, sometimes she couldn't even control her body’s physical needs.  But what could you expect after what they'd allowed so many men to do to her?  

All she wanted was to go home and be alone.  She'd have these monstrous implants removed and perhaps even have a breast reduction to the point where she looked like a man.  

And she'd never have to be with another man again.  That was the best part of the dream for her.

She'd promised them time after time that she'd never tell anyone what had happened, what they'd used her for, if they'd just let her go.  When that didn't work, she offered them money, more money than they'd ever dreamed of having at one time.  She told them she was rich, but they'd just laughed and gave her to the ebony monster again.  And again.  

And again.


The huge man lay on the red-haired girl for at least two or three more minutes to catch his breath.  Finally, he rolled off her sweaty body with a heartfelt groan of appreciation and lay next to Kelly, almost snoring as he gasped for air, but now only through his flat, deviated nose.   

The Albanian knew he'd seen her shaved labia glisten for a second in the monitor, knew she'd been smart enough to lubricate herself before being delivered to her black lover.  He hoped she'd lubed her ass too, for that was always what came next.

The Albanian could just look at the slim woman and see that she'd had trouble breathing while lying under his massive weight, but the huge man who lay next to her could have cared less about her discomfort.  The older man looked at her huge, sweaty, artificial breasts and knew that he would in some superficial ways miss the arrogant little rich bitch that he'd so thoroughly broken and humiliated.

Then again, maybe not, he corrected himself with an internal smile.


PART Three: Cops and circus performers

The Lost Patrol In Florida or Life Always Has A Way of Rearranging Itself For The Worse

Every society gets the kind of criminal it deserves.  What is equally true is that every community gets the kind of law enforcement it insists on.
-Robert Kennedy

The Most Dangerous State For Homeless People Is: Florida.  Again.
-Huffington Post headline, December 16, 2013

Langford, Florida

In Langford, it was a hot and wet night.  It was 2 AM, the light rain had just finished and Sgt. Dumphries walked with his rookie partner in an area which now had an “interesting” mix of warehouses and businesses.  He’d parked the beat up cruiser near a small joint that stayed open all night and met up with the two-man foot patrol that they were replacing.  The two men that had finished their watch had gone back to the precinct to write up their reports of ‘nothing fucking happening’, while he and the rookie started their patrol.  He walked with his head hunched down and his thick neck pulled in, hating every minute of it.

This was an area that had seen better days and would probably never see upscale again, if it ever had a first time.  Republic Avenue was a night street, wide and potholed, sometimes divided by a railroad spur belonging to the United Fruit Company.  It ran between rows of stucco bars, Pakistani and Vietnamese and Korean grocery stores, rundown hotels, most of the latter painted dark green.  By day the street was a scene of unparalleled torpor.  Bits of cellophane and paper trash blew in the gutters, and there was little traffic apart from dogs, the occasional beggar searching for a doorway bedroom, and black-clad widows with corroded looking skin, who perched on the curbs.  

Burned-out traffic lights snarled the sparse traffic.  Most of the buildings around him had been damaged during the summer riots and many had not yet been rehabilitated---some never would be.  When he walked along this particular street, it reminded Dumphries of a wino’s gapped-tooth smile.  The struggling still-open businesses were the rotting teeth and varied from hotels and small liquor stores with gated windows that advertised cheap beer and even cheaper vodka concoctions to tattoo parlors, cheap OTC drugstores and struggling video shops.  Liberally interspersed between these businesses were a significant number of unfilled gaps mixed with graffiti-covered storefronts that had been boarded up over the last couple of years.  Far more stores were boarded up and factory doors chained than were open.  

Broken street lights created endless pools of shadow in which indistinct human figures crouched, hot eyes watching.  In the India-ink doorways of tenements between shops, the night fauna had ventured forth with the retreat of light.  They leaned into the few remaining neon lights with postures of seduction, of familiarity, of intimacy.  They were thin and the night rose to the surface like bruises in the hollows of their cheeks and in the concave planes drawn in their cheap rayon clothing by the reduction of flesh.  They were Burmese and Rwandan, Guatemalan and Filipino, Amuria and Transvaal.  Brave in the sometimes arrogant way of the poor who have little or nothing to lose, they whispered mockingly to the two cops as they walked by.  

Prematurely-aged women prowled the darkened streets, hungrily seeking to survive another night by whatever means necessary.  Music with a driving salsa beat and rhythm blared from a few second story windows.  But there was little melody, the lyrics were muddled and the tone screamed violence, rage and raw sex.

Following the normal economic attrition that one expected in an area like this during the current really bad times, porno shops had once sprung up like mushrooms, but they had been zoned out of existence by the current Mayor when he was elected over three years ago.  Some of the remaining structures were relatively small, local warehouses.  Most of these were continuous two and three story brick buildings; most had basements and many of these were inter-connected.


Dumphries was a little over fifty years old, his nickname with the guys was “Old School.”  He was tired; very, very tired…and his feet hurt.  He’d been doing this shit for almost thirty years and he was just….fucking…done with it.  Divorced for eight years, he still didn't miss the bitch.  He’d also gone far past his 20, and now regretted having stayed in.  Still a patrol sergeant, most guys his age and rank were either retired in Boca Raton or sitting behind a desk drinking bad coffee and eating stale donuts, watching video cameras while they worked for some shitty little security company.  

Most of the men that he’d come in with had already retired, many at a higher grade and pay than him.  Oh, he still played the game by keeping his uniform and shoes tight, but it was a charade and everybody knew it.  He was at least thirty pounds overweight, most of it carried in his belly as it draped over his belt.  A mean sonofabitch; he’d made a couple of mistakes with assholes that he’d arrested in the better days when he’d still had a career.  Both times there had been indignant citizens lurking nearby with the then new cellphone cameras.  God, how he hated civilians with modern cellphones.

Dumphries face assumed an automatic snarl as he and his partner side-stepped a beautiful transvestite.  This one was over six feet tall and had legs that would have made any woman jealous.  To the side, an emaciated addict cowered in an abandoned doorway, hunched over and shitting his brains out.  They walked together up and down the Nightside, back and forth, up the Grand Parade and down the old Main Drag.  Taking in the wildest clubs and the lowest dives along the still rain-slick streets and shadowed alleyways.  Walking under hot neon and flashing signs, past the open doorways of very inviting private clubs and terribly discrete dens, where barkers promised every pleasure you’d ever heard of or dreamed about.  Places where patrons called for still madder music and wilder women and danced till they dropped.  

The whole area was one great kaleidoscope of sin, with temptation on display in every window at marked down prices and Dumphries was more angry than usual.  He didn’t care about the human trash around him, didn’t actually even see it anymore.  About the only thing that pissed him off more than members of the public pushing the civil-rights blues was working in this shithole with rookies that wanted to save the world.  He'd seen them come, and with absolute amusement and with unending patience mixed equally with acidic vitriol, he'd seen them go again.  Always beaten down by the system and the very asshats they thought they were serving.  Christ, he hated self-righteous, bleeding heart, idealistic rookies.

He just knew these foot patrols were the lieutenant’s way of getting back at him.  His feet and shins hurt all of the time now with all of this fucking walking; God help any banger smartass that caused Dumphries to have to run.  Overall, he just wanted to last out the year and then he was gone to the Keys and fishing for eighteen hours a day.

Their beat consisted of a triangular shaped area that had quieted down immediately after the riots and there had been few significant problems since that time.  But the last part of their beat was the worst.  It consisted of an area claimed by the Gunners, and few Tentaculos every showed their faces here anymore unless they were looking for trouble.  But the area had been quiet for months and both officers were bored with their job, bored with their patrol area and ready for the shift to end in about five and a half hours.  

This team was a perfect example of what the Chief had feared; the senior sergeant was supposed to check in regularly with dispatch, but things had been quiet for so long that Dumphries often ignored this standing order.  And the rookie didn’t really know any better.  Deep in thought about wildly different things, neither was particularly observant.  All that went through the rookie’s mind over and over again was the refrain, ‘Hello boredom, my old friend’ hummed to an old Simon and Garfunkel tune.

They slowly passed an off-track betting parlor, a vacant lot, a pizzeria with the windows blacked out.  Further on, there was an abandoned weed-choked schoolyard; then an industrial laundry, a warehouse, a closed store advertising adult magazines and novelties.  Fossilized hulks of cars were parked up and down the avenue, balancing on wheel rims and axles.

As they turned the corner and started down Walnut, Dumphries thought he heard a faint sound coming from a vacant lot adjacent to a three story brick building a few tens of feet ahead.  The large warehouse was a hulking brute squatting in the middle between three other deserted buildings.  Brooding, sooty bricks, gaping shuttered windows and a sullen atmosphere – you would not hear church bells in this place.  No, the sounds coming from here would be more like bloodcurdling screams and sobbing pleas for help.  

Sending the rookie that he was ‘training’ further on down along the front of the building, Dumphries cautiously walked towards the lot and the source of the sounds.  There had been nothing about this that made him want to call in so far and he was damned if he’d ask for backup and then look like a fool to all of the young smartasses that somehow outranked him now.  But cautious as ever, he waited at the corner of the building, ensuring that he and the rookie were in sight of each other the whole time.

Keeping the building on the left, Dumphries inexperienced partner slowly walked down the sidewalk until coming upon a set of stairs that paralleled the sidewalk and went down about five feet to a basement entrance to the building.  Looking down over the edge, it was apparent that the door leading into the basement was ajar.  

Flicking on the heavy flashlight that every cop carried as an impromptu club, after calling out to let anyone present know that police were on the scene, the rookie slowly walked down the stairs, one step at a time.  It was like descending into hell.  Now about four feet below ground level, the rookie looked back at Dumphries for second to ensure that the older man was still in sight and then continued down the steps and stopped in front of the unlocked door on the left.  Pushing the door open with the flashlight, the rookie took one step into the building and then turned to signal Dumphries.  Just then, the rookie could see the senior patrolman being attacked by two dark figures which seemed to have magically come up from out of the ground.  


Real fights happen within the space of a phone booth.
-T. Blauer, on training police.

Turning to help Dumphries, at that exact moment the inexperienced cop also felt or somehow sensed movement coming out of the darkness of the doorway to the rear.  There was no time to react; no time to draw a weapon or even call for help on the two-way radio that each patrolman carried.  Even worse, there was no way to get up the steps without being overtaken from the rear.  This all flashed through the rookie’s mind in a nanosecond before animal survival instincts demanded an immediate turn and leap for the top of the concrete which marked the edge of the sidewalk just at eye level.  

Successful in this leap because of unusually strong thigh muscles, the young cop grabbed the lower guard rail and after desperately scrabbling for a short second, was able to do a pull-up and then grab the top railing.  Pulling on the top steel railing now and desperately fighting gravity, the rookie was able to get one leg over the top rail before there was a rushing sound from close behind and then a sudden, vicious pull at the inexperienced cop's reinforced uniform collar.  The yank from the back was so strong that the off-balance rookie flew almost half way back through the open door into the empty building before hitting the ground.  


A Bad Man's New Toy or It Was The End Of This Woman’s Freedom

For me, my awakening came when I was kidnapped.
-Patty Hearst

He’s a Stone Dead gang member.  He'll be hanging with the other Deads, and the Deads own the fifth block of Stark.  Their color is purple.  Their name is significant.  These losers are dead inside.  They've grown up with so much violence it's normal to them.  They're like zombies.  They feel no remorse.  You do not want to go up against one of them.  If you find this guy I want you to call me, and I'll send out the SWAT team.
-Janet Evanovich, Takedown Twenty

Lena Olivat lay stunned on the hard, cold concrete of the basement, the wind knocked out of her.  She lay on her back and literally wouldn’t be able to move for at least another 60-90 seconds; time she didn’t have.  There were two attackers and one of them appeared to have had some marital arts training.  This one put his foot on the side of her jaw and stepped down, painfully grinding her left cheek into the concrete.  

Without hesitation, the other man leaned down and grabbed her left ankle.  In one smooth practiced move, he stepped over her mid-body so that he was now facing away from her.  Stooping down, he grabbed her other ankle and pulled them apart as he lifted both of her legs into the air.  Stepping through and putting his right leg between her knees while he continued pulling her ankles higher, he stiffened his right leg and locked it at the knee, raised his foot as high as he could and then viciously drove the heel of his boot backwards into the crotch of Lena’s uniform pants.  

Ignoring the man’s weight on her face, Lena’s body involuntarily stiffened in response to the shocking agony between her legs as a mostly squelched scream burst from her mouth.  Her back arched, inadvertently rotating her upper body to the left on her forehead.  The man standing over her waist now let go of her legs, allowing Lena to curl into a small ball on her left side, with her hands cradling her bruised pelvis.  

He reached down and grabbed her, his powerful hands clutching at her uniform shirt and belt.  Helpless, she moved up and through space, dragged inexorably by his power.  She was floating, weightless and she felt like a little girl again, like when her father had picked her up and carried her around.  How wonderful it had been to surrender everything to that embrace.  How much joy she had taken in being a doll in her father’s arms.

In one slightly sickening, perfectly fluid movement, the unknown man threw her against the wall of the steps.  Her back collided with the concrete so hard that the pain woke her up and bent her double at the same time, made her want to pass out even as it brought her fully to consciousness.  She slowly collapsed, her back sliding down the wall.  He was going to kill her, she thought.  Maybe he would break her neck or just beat her face in.  There were so many ways he could destroy her, and tears spurted from her eyes; there was nothing she could do to stop them except be afraid.  She suddenly had no energy for anything except fear.  

He strode towards her on muscular legs with nothing but hatred glittering in his dark eyes, and then he reached down and pulled Lena’s handcuffs from the leather case over her right hip and without struggle, put the cuffs on her right wrist.  He then straightened her up enough to be able pull her left wrist into the small of her back--with the last clicking sound Lena had been handcuffed with her own gear.  But she didn’t really care about that right now because she still hurt too much.

The young cop was unable to think or cry out because of the stunning fall just thirty seconds ago and incapable of struggling because of the pain between her legs.  Still lying on her back, Lena was dragged into the dark building and the door closed behind her.  There was no sign of anything ever having happened in the stairwell at this point and the block was silent again except for the soft, wet sounds of pain from her partner as he lay in the shadows fifty feet away from the doorway.  Within seconds, even these were gone.

Out in the lot, Dumphries had been beaten and stomped.  Immediately dropped by a three-foot long piece of 2 x 4 to the side of his head, his attackers had continued with the beating, ultimately breaking six fingers and severely bruising or breaking multiple ribs on each side along with his liver and one kidney.  In the heat of the moment, one of the men tried to kick him in the side of the chest but misjudged due to the darkness.  Accidentally kicked in the side of the neck and with his reflexes already slowing down, the beaten man’s body was moved only slightly with the blow.  But his trachea had been collapsed and it was over permanently in another ninety seconds.  

Once he no longer reacted to their blows, they took his gun and radio.  Still ready for trouble, but now cautiously curious about their victim, one of the men finally took a moment and checked Dumphries’ pulse.  It took only seconds before both realized that they were in serious trouble.  Grabbing Dumphries, the men dragged his body out of sight and temporarily covered it with flattened cardboard boxes and trash.


As the uniformed woman landed at their feet, her long brown hair had partially come undone from the severe bun she normally wore while at work.  Seeing their victim was female and semi-conscious, the men decided to take her captive.  Even as they grabbed her, they had no idea why they were doing it---right now they were going on adrenaline and it just seemed like a good idea at the time.  

Lena was quickly dragged another thirty feet into the building at which point the attackers stopped to catch their breath.  They quickly ripped her personal radio from her left shoulder and broke it underfoot.  After fumbling for half a minute to remove her gear from her equipment belt, they opted instead to just remove her uniform pants.  They did this quickly and efficiently after first removing her clunky, thick soled work shoes.  In this they were lucky, for Lena always carried a spare handcuff key in a small pocket sewn into the hem at the back of her pants for an emergency such as this.  After her uniform pants had been removed, a small holdout gun was also discovered around her left ankle; this too was taken by her attackers.  

Still dazed, Lena was finally pulled to her thick-soled white cotton stocking feet and a large, foul smelling oily rag was balled up and forced into her mouth.  After weakly struggling for fifteen seconds to get all of the rag into her mouth, her captors tightly wrapped another rag around the lower part of her face to keep the first gag in.  While they knew that this was less than optimal, the men also knew it was all that they needed for the moment.  Her shoes were tied together by the laces and draped around her neck, while everything else, including her pants and equipment belt, was picked up and carried by one of the men.

The two knew they had to move fast.  They’d been using these buildings since shortly after the riots, and they knew that the large basement under this building was ‘unofficially’ connected to all of the surrounding buildings.  Orienting themselves, the men each grabbed one arm and dragged Lena into the bowels of the deserted building.  Even though she took perhaps one step on her own for every four or five of theirs, she slowed them but little.  They passed people lying and squatting on the filthy cement floor.  Most of them were asleep; a few were drinking from bottles.  Amazingly, a scrawny goat chewed rags in a corner.  Everyone shrank away from them in apprehension or obvious disgust as the three moved among them.  

Lena finally began to be able to think again.  Just then, one of the men said, “Into the basement.”  If Lena had thought the ground floor was scary, the stairway into the sub-cellar was like a descent into the Last Judgment, a Boschian vision of Sodom and the Black Hole of Calcutta mixed, looped, and re-mastered in her face.  They passed a sweaty and unwashed couple fucking, grunting like dogs under a torn coat on one landing.  Upstairs, a young girl puked obsessively into the stairwell, and one of the men yelled at her.  Rats squeaked on the perpetually wet concrete and bit each other for lebensraum.  Some of them chewed on an old man lying dead, apparently of natural causes.  

At the bottom, she saw a vast basement with a partial concrete floor that alternated with small areas which looked like beaten dirt, all of it thick with brick columns and broken machinery.  The scale and emptiness of the place made her think of an abandoned factory, then her eyes began to partially adjust to the darkness.  Chains hung from the ceiling in profusion.  The floor was littered with moldering cardboard boxes and in the far distance it seemed she could see a small fire which was surrounded by huddled figures.  

They exited this part through a hole that had been broken in the brick wall, passing another small fire around which some furniture had been arranged, old chairs and couches with springs sticking up through the rotting cushions.  Fifteen or so people were gathered here, watching the flames leap and dance, giggling among themselves at some unspeakable joke.  They fell silent as the three-some approached and then passed them by.  

They entered a series of more modern concrete-floored tunnels, passing from the basement of one building and into that of the next building.  Mind spinning wildly as she tried to figure out how far they were taking her, Lena was breathing heavily after five minutes of being dragged down poorly lit, disgusting subterranean corridors and tunnels.  She found it hard to breathe with the gag in her mouth and since she wore only white cotton socks, her feet were wet from all the puddles she’s stepped in and hurt from all of the debris she'd stepped on.  Her pelvis still ached and throbbed from where she'd been kicked, but at least she was able to walk now instead of being dragged and she was trying to remember the path they were taking.  

It was mostly dark, but every now and then there was a minor light that allowed her to see a couple of feet in any direction.  The man on her right was malnourished and looked as run-down and untrustworthy as the place through which they were dragging her.  He was a skinny Hispanic male about 5’ 8” tall, smelling of Corona and refried beans.  He had a bandana tied around one thin bicep, and a rather reptilian appearing face peered out beneath the edge of a hairnet that kept his dark, limp hair back.  Overall, he had the proud bird-beak nose and face of an Aztec, but sallow putted skin and a pair of empty, dead eyes showed why he would never be considered handsome.  

Nervous tics made his face act as if he should be in a circus sideshow.  He looked neurotically thin, defiantly unhealthy and basically disgusting on a genetic level.  You got the feeling with this one that he’d still be sleazy even if you soaked him in bleach for a week.  He appeared jumpy, paranoid from drug use, always looking to check to out his back route.  The man had a scruffy two-day rubble and blinked incessantly.  Multi-colored tattoos covered both biceps and his left shoulder.  He rarely opened his mouth, but when he did, it was apparent that his teeth were in awful condition.  Lena could smell his breath from two or three feet away and it stunk of rotting meat.  He did his best to look both tough and put upon at the same time, but she felt an instinctive need to slap him, just on general principles.  

The man on her left was carrying her pants and had been the one who had kicked her in the crotch.  The Alpha male of this group, he was by far the larger of the two and had shaved his head of dark hair.  About 6’ 1” or 6’ 2”, he was bulky in an over-built weight lifter sort of way and seemed comfortable with his body.  The largest, he was also by far the more dangerous of the two.  But danger was a relative term.  

Lena consciously suppressed her anxiety as she evaluated quickly and came up unimpressed with the big one.  He attacked her with his eyes, acted tough with his shaved head and what looked like gym-rat muscles, and maybe he was, but already he was on the downhill slide.  How could you fear or respect someone who came across as false somehow, like he was an actor who had won fights without sweating because he lived in a make-believe world.  He had the kind of face that would be jowly by the time he was thirty.  But by that time, the muscles would have begun to turn to fat and although he would still be dangerous, he would be coasting on the reputation that he’d earned as a vicious teen.

The atmosphere was musty and smelled of mildew, the air within the basement corridors cool, but humid.  Even so, her captors were profusely sweating and even in her fugue state Lena could tell that neither had been taking enough showers recently.  Both men looked vaguely Hispanic; they wore dirty, white ‘wife-beaters’ and sagging jeans with rolled cuffs, all of which was topped off with something that looked like heavy soled Doc Martin’s.  The man on her left continued to put a lot of pressure on her biceps as he dragged her along the corridors and she tried to shake him off once.  But he had slapped her in the face like you would a dog that was misbehaving and they’d continued on as they had been before.  

The underground odyssey continued for another five minutes before the three walked up a flight of stairs and then stopped in front of a newly reinforced metal door.  The man on her right knocked quickly and after he’d been checked out through a peep-hole, the door was opened and they hustled in.  The room smelled of rancid fast food and mildew, but it was well lit and seemed to have all of the comforts of home.  There were at least five men inside, all reclining on old tattered couches and stuffed chairs.  A smaller separate room held a large wooden table and loose white powder was in the process of being bagged by a man wearing a cheap paper mask over his mouth and nose.  The smell emanating from a drain in one corner located the designated bathroom.  There was a second exit from the room near that corner and it too sported a new metal door.  The two men took Lena over to a corner and pushed her to her knees.  They then walked over and began to talk to their boss.

The men were all local gangstas, gangbangers using these rooms to store and prepare cocaine to be sold to nearby schools; the rest they heavily cut to sell to other, less local markets.  Neither Dumphries nor Olivat had known anything about this operation since all of the locals had been intimidated after one of them had been tortured to death by the gang in a particularly nasty manner.  Their ignorance of what was happening on their beat was however, understandable since both the Police Drug Intelligence Unit and the laughable Gang Task Force were also just as much in the dark.

Just then, the two men who had beaten Dumphries showed up.  The Gunners had been unobtrusively moving massive amounts of drugs through the area for over six months now.  The four men quickly explained to the leader what had happened---that the two cops had changed their route and patrol timing just a little, just enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.  Dumphries and Olivat had interrupted a shipment coming in on that side of the building and what the four men had done gave their leader just enough time to let the bangers clean up the area and get out---nothing more than that.  The gang had to leave the basement complex before the police changed shifts and anyone knew for certain that the two-person patrol was in trouble.  


Taken Off The Street Like White Trash or She Just Wanted To Go Home And Take A Bath

The boss was pissed, but mostly with the two that had taken the cop.  While he knew his men had acted quickly and probably had done well to do so, he just didn’t know what to do with the female pig.  

Most of the bangers unobtrusively exited in a few minutes in one’s and two’s, exiting a block away from where the two officers had disappeared.  Also, the leader planned on setting some fires in the basement in the hope that this would destroy most of the evidence and cause a lot of problems with the Crime Scene techs.  With any luck, this would give them time to get set up in a new location.

But the gang leader was still furious because he knew that there were three major problems.  He counted them off mentally; one, he didn’t have a new place ready right now so they would all be winging it.  Bad things happened when he moved his men around like this, but it was unavoidable.  Once the police realized something had happened to the two patrol officers, the city would be locked down and there would be a dragnet of unprecedented proportions to find the missing cops before the gang members could escape.  They had to move to a new location and they had to move quickly, but he already sort of knew where to go.  It would have to be a totally different area, perhaps in the suburbs and away from any areas controlled by the Kings.  But if he could get his boys to lay low for just a little while, he thought that they'd be okay.  

Which brought him to the next problem---what to do with the cop's body.  The bangers already had a couple of cars that had been stolen and re-painted.  New tags were stolen once every couple days or so from similar type vehicles and the plates from these vehicles were then replaced by other plates that had also been stolen---this tended to slow down the discovery of the original stolen tags.  Thinking quickly, he ordered the two men who had beaten Dumphries to put his body in the trunk of one of the cars.  They were to take the body out into the pine forests seventy or eighty miles to the north, strip it, knock out the teeth, cut off the finger tips and then bury it.  

The teeth and fingertips were to be discarded in the deep brush on the way back while all of the cop's gear, including his gun, were to be individually discarded into various rivers on the way back after they had disposed of the body.  But first, the clothes were to be put into a large plastic bag and this bag was to be put inside a second bag.  The men were told to shit inside the outer bag and after tying it shut, they were to put it into the closest local convenience store dumpster while no one was looking.  Cast off a long ways from the scene of the ambush and reeking of feces, after a few hours brewing under the hot sun, there was little chance of someone going through the inner bag in any detail.

Calculating distances and work and times in his head, he told the two men to call him just before they got back and he’d meet them at a tiny cafe that was located just north of town.  He already knew he’d eat something while he was grilling them about how they’d done their job.  And since this was some serious shit, he was gonna dispose of their sorry asses too the first chance that he had.  

And that left his final headache.  Later, he realized that he probably should have shot the female pig and have her taken north with her partner.  But he was just too pissed at the moment to think straight.

“You stupid sons of bitches.  What the hell,” he asked the two men that brought Lena to him, “were you thinking when you grabbed this bitch and brought her here.  She’s seen everyone’s face, so now you dumb bastards get to take her out somewhere and put her down too.  Then,” he added sarcastically, “you get to hide her body.”  


Lena ignored her bruised cheek.  The men were talking too low to hear anything, but she knew they were talking about her.  She struggled erect, looking around the room and cataloged as many details as she could.  It hadn’t taken her long as a cop to learn to despise the bangers.  She respected the violence of which they were capable, but knew in her heart that without a doubt every one of them was both a coward and a born loser.  

For some reason, she didn’t feel afraid of the assholes right now---if she didn’t get out of this situation, she wouldn’t need the details.  But if she did somehow get free, every piece of information would be priceless to the Intelligence Unit and the Gang Task Force.  But even more pressing was her concern over Dumphries.  He was an asshole, in fact he was a perfect asshole, but he was her partner.  She’d never forgive herself if anything bad had happened to him.  

The two men who had grabbed Lena looked at their leader for a second, then walked back over to the corner where they’d left Lena.  They forced her back to the floor on her side, then wrapped wire around her ankles and from there to her cuffed hands.  It was a quick and dirty hog tie, but that was all that they needed for right now, especially with all the activity going on.  Little Man cocked his head at her for a second and then removed the laces from both of her shoes.  Tying them together, he now wrapped it around her head and gag several times before he tied a knot.  Left alone, she continued working on the reinforced gag.  Although only a hasty job, it had turned out to be far more effective than she would've ever imagined.  This really pissed her off.

The two then went back and began talking to the gang leader again.  Taking a deep breath, he started giving her two kidnapper’s instructions as to how best dispose of Lena’s body.  He spoke softly so that the pig couldn’t hear; he really didn’t need her putting up a fight right now.  After a couple of minutes, they nodded their understanding and went to help the other bangers prepare for the hasty departure.  They didn’t know that as far as the leader was concerned, they too were going on their last ride for the Gunners.

All of the men had by now started getting their shit together, quickly packing the drugs and picking up all of the personal crap that had accumulated.  Within half an hour, everything was pretty much cleaned up and ready to go.  Most of the men had their own vehicles, and they started leaving after the boss had come up with a new rendezvous point.  Olivat saw the boss talking with Big Man and Little Man for a couple of more minutes and the longer they talked, it seemed the angrier the boss got.  But eventually it appeared that everything was smoothed over.  

Lena was still wearing her own cuffs.  Keeping anything that had a large metal component, all of the rest of her equipment had been smashed and crushed in front of her by the boss, including a cellphone that they had found in one of her pants pocket.  The men now began to gather up all of the mostly non-metallic police gear they had accumulated and put it in a pile with Lena’s pants and shoes.  The men then spread out and did the same in various other parts of the building.  Once these piles had been gathered, they were liberally doused with gasoline and the men started lighting them one by one, until only the pile left unlit was in front of Lena.  The fires would burn and smolder a long time before really taking off.  The head of the gangbangers planned to take with him all of Olivat’s metallic gear including her two guns, badge, keys and a cylinder of pepper spray.  He hoped that the fires would both destroy the evidence of the gang and the cop having been there as well as distract the police for a few extra hours.

Lena looked up at the two men that had kidnapped her.  The Big Man reached down and took off the wire around her ankles, then both roughly picked her up and stood her on her feet---he was immensely strong.  Without a word, each grabbed a bag and dragged Lena with them as they left the room.  The last thing she saw was the leader again dousing her clothes, shoes, equipment belt and smashed gear with gasoline.  He lit the pile just as she was forced out the second door.  

For fifteen minutes, the two men dragged her through underground passages that were connected by impromptu entries that had been smashed through the brick walls.  Eventually they went up some stairs then stopped at a boarded-over entrance.  After checking to make sure that no one was around, Lena was dragged by the two men across the dark street to another abandoned building where their vehicle was parked.  The Big Man had a battered five year old grayish-white panel van with two solid doors in the back.  There was nothing distinctive about the truck and most people never noticed it even when they were looking directly at it.


A Fast, Desirable and Unavailable Woman or Who Ever Knew Gymnastics Could Be Such a Spectator Sport?

Jerry, you stand on the threshold to the magical world of sensual delights that most men dare not dream of.
-Kramer, talking to Jerry, in “The Gymnast”

People generally only see gymnastics on TV and in the Olympics at such an extreme level.
-Shawn Johnson

South of Houston

The Albanian's club room for selected clientele was decorated in a masculine, darkly wooded Western style that was comfortable to the men congregated there as they talked business and drank twenty or thirty year-old whiskey.  The shape of the room was roughly octagonal, with a bar at one end.  Small tables were spaced around the interior.  Along the walls to the left and right of the small stage were at least a dozen booths.  Flat screen monitors were discretely inset under protective glass allowing the occupants to see the video broadcasts.  There were maybe ten or fifteen people present, mostly in the booths.......about twenty percent capacity.  But word had gotten out that some new girls would be delivered tonight or tomorrow and the crowd would be a lot bigger when he broadcast videos of the young females being broken to his harness.

Blue smoke from good cigars filled the air, but he despised the things and ensured that all of his girls were non-smokers.  His clients however, could do whatever they wanted as long as they paid for the privilege.  Thinly populated during the day, this room was where mostly men gathered before and after working out with the old man's whores.  These were hard, wealthy men, often used to the outdoors.  Oil and land was still a hard-minded, tough business in Texas.  

Sometimes however, the room was more populated by the physically softer entrepreneurs, running businesses which ranged from software to import/export.  But even if these last weren't physically intimidating types, they'd been toughened by business.  The one thing they all had in common was that they'd all arrived at the pinnacle of success as each knew it.  And they all knew what money allowed them to do to the women the old man paraded before them.  

The small stage to one side was awash in bright lights, including a tracking spot that followed the performer.  Some dramatic classical music was softly playing in the background, either a full orchestra or a well-programmed synthetic track.  The woman onstage began a short tumbling run.  She ended that run bent over so far backward that her head protruded from between her legs.  As the crowd watched, she uncoiled faster than a spring, did the splits, and picked up a coin using only her shaved vulva.  

Her costume was a dark, electric red which covered her completely save for her hair and eyes.  Probably some kind of spray-on latex, but it looked as if she had been held by her hair and dipped in a giant vat of crimson paint.  All of her skin was covered, feet, hands, face and shaved Mons.  The Albanian knew the overall effect was much more intensely erotic to the watching men than if she were totally naked.  

She dropped to the floor on her back, rolled her straightened legs and pointed toes over her head, and then tucked them behind her arms.  The next coin from the audience dropped exactly where its owner had intended it to land, and a second later, it too vanished.  

The young woman wearing the brand sixteen hundred and sixty-four next did a round-off, two backhand springs and a high arching backward dive that ended in a stretched-out body roll into a full side split.  With her legs spread wide, she leaned forward and laid her torso flat on the stage, turned her face to the left, then the right, then put her head down, hands pillowed under her hair.  She looked as if she had fallen asleep for a second, then she sprang up, leaped high and twirled, her long hair flying, and landed on one foot.  Settled slowly into a one legged squat, her other leg extended straight in front of her until it was parallel to the floor, toes pointed.  Held that pose for ten seconds without a sign of quiver in her muscles, then smiled at the audience she couldn't see for the light in her eyes.  Her teeth flashed white against the dark red of her second skin.  The music slowly died out, the tracking spot winked out, and the other lights in the room faded slowly until the stage was absolutely dark.  When the lights came up a couple of seconds later, the stage was empty.

Her name was Trish and her act was exotic, erotic, athletic and absolutely unique.  The old man generally had two or three offers for her on the nights that she performed.  But these were always turned down.  She had been an up and coming college gymnast when his men had taken her.  Prepared to treat her like the rest of his stable of kept women, she had somehow convinced Bashir to watch her perform.  Now she provided entertainment for The Club, while the customers were waiting for their women to be prepared.  In return, she was left alone while not performing.  He’d had her for over twenty months.  What she did was tough on her body; what he hadn't told Trish was that once she began to age, she'd be put in the harness with the rest of the worn out sluts in the cellars and he'd just have to go out and recruit another world-class gymnast.


Panting, Trish stood in the tiny alcove off to one side trying to slow her heart beat as she watched the poor girl walk back through the bistro, and her heart broke.  She knew all of the girls called this place the Meat Market, but if she too called it that, it would be admitting that she was no better off, no safer than any other one of them.  Trish had performed for almost two years in this miserable little hole; she was no fool, she knew her future was empty, that it held nothing.  The men and women here, the ones for whom she performed, she knew they would be on her like a lion after a sick gazelle if the old man would only let them.  

She’d worked hard from the age of six, learning this art.  She’d lived her gymnastics career with a lot of passion and a lot of purpose.  Good enough to maybe make the summer 2020 Tokyo Olympics.  It’d been her life; she’d somehow known from an early age that this was what she was supposed to do, go down one straight road, with no real friends, and do it every day without complaint.  And at the end, she’d be able touch the goal that had always been so elusive.  

But she’d been stupid one night, just one night away from her training schedule, that’s all she’d wanted, and she had been taken.  Her eyes flooded with unshed tears as she thought of the unfairness in life while the poor red-headed woman finally limped her way through the cynically amused crowd towards the exit and vanished.  Her exit was like that of all the girls here.  One day they were in the world, a part of the world, and the next they were gone.  Never to be seen again.  

Trish knew she just hadn’t touched the wall of that particular goal yet.


The Whore's Walk Home Alone or It’d Been A Ferocious Night Of Getting Fucked

Kelly limped painfully, stiffly through the “Meat Market” on her way back to the cell-like room in which she was kept, doing her best to maintain the fiction of having been allowed to retain a modicum of pride, always somehow keeping her chin held high.  She kept her silence, but knew her face was still flushed from the physical exertions the monster had demanded from her body in their sexual charades.  The women called it the Meat Market because the old European's sexual chattel were always paraded through it on their way to an assignation.  This was one of his oblique methods of advertising.  Afterwards, the extremely well-used, sometimes silently crying prostitutes were led back through the same room on the way back to their cell.  

Kelly wore nothing now under the thin jade colored robe she held close to her chest with her right arm.  Over her left arm were draped the pieces of torn lingerie that had been stripped from her body by the massive black man.  At the end of each assignation, The Albanian's whores were forced to openly carry the remnants of their underwear or lingerie with them when they were escorted back to their cells.  This was a less than subtle advisory of what was allowed and it ensured that the women continually knew their exact place in the scheme of their isolated universe.  Ironically, it was one of the most eagerly anticipated events at his place, one which clients who had not yet selected their whore, routinely attended.  Everyone loved seeing these women's degradation, loved speculating upon that which had been done to them based upon their appearance afterwards. 

The red-head hurt everywhere and the ache in her hips and rectum and pelvis barely allowed her to walk in a straight line after what the black bastard had done to her.  As usual, the blood would ooze for another hour or two before it stopped.  But she was tough inside, tougher than they knew.  She'd survived everything they'd done to her so far, and she'd survive this too.  The lovely young woman from Tennessee hurt almost too much to care, but still gave small thanks for having been allowed to clean herself a little in the bathroom before beginning the disgusting parade that represented the end of another night of rape and physical abuse.  

Afterwards, when the client had satisfied his needs and Kelly was made a sexual exhibit for the pleasure of the other clients, their eyes followed her from the moment she entered the large room to the moment she left.  She knew there was much unspoken speculation on how good the various girls were at their involuntary trade; the feeling of men’s eyes on her skin was so strong at times that she could almost taste it.  

Sometimes, it was so obvious that she'd been used hard that her sudden appearance actually stopped conversation as the silent men and women followed her essentially naked body as she limped her way through the room.  At other times, to her relief they appeared too busy to pay much attention to her brief presence.  God, she wished one of them would want her, instead of always being given to the black monster.  But she knew this wouldn't happen now; the younger women who were at least as attractive as she was were always taken instead, for they were not considered so tarnished, so used, so....second-hand.


She remembered the first client she'd had.  The Albanian's right-hand man Bashir had taken her the way he ritually took all the new girls, then they'd let her heal for a few days from the breast surgery before they put her to work.  She’d still ached both from the brand, the breast surgery and the savage beatings given earlier when being broken that first night.  She had almost been overcome with fear as she dressed for the first time in the short black skirt and thin white blouse they’d left for her to wear.  Everything had looked pretty much ordinary on the surface, even if slightly sexier than might be considered normal because of the sheer stockings and the garters well hidden beneath.  

Everything was ordinary, of course, except for her oversized breasts.  That night was the last she ever worried about what was right or wrong, about what was fair or not fair, about good versus evil.....  She knew now that life…just…was.  

She remembered the roiling emotions that blanked her mind the first time she was led through the meat market, her face scarlet, burning with the shameful knowledge that every man sitting there in such a relaxed atmosphere knew exactly what she would be forced to accept, what was about to be done to her...and most of them had wanted to be the one that did it to her.  Every man's face displayed an almost hungry anticipation of her pending debasement.  She remembered her eyes involuntarily tearing in humiliation, the mortification she'd felt as she'd almost stumbled under the weight of those dead stares because of the ridiculous high-heels she'd been forced to wear.  

She'd felt at the time that nothing could have been worse than being put on display like that.  She'd wanted to scream for help, praying that at least one person watching her that night might feel some small amount of sympathy for her and the other women held like her, some man experiencing at least minor shame at his inaction.  But no one had said a word and she'd left them behind to meet her first lover as one of The Albanian's whores.

Somehow, the journey back from that personal hell had been worse, much, much worse than either that first trip through the room or even the rape itself only a few hours earlier.  Walking back through that room after she'd been raped multiple times.......men’s conversations had stopped and all eyes had expertly measured her well-used body.  Her shapely legs were bared for all to view, the blouse missing buttons so it had to be held together with one hand.  Her stockings, garter belt, thong and bra were draped over her left forearm like relics acquired in some misbegotten lover's battle; displays of total loss and abject subjugation in some nearby bed.  They advertised, like the golden arches at some erotic McDonald's, that here, like so many before, was another unwilling woman who had been served up in sexual slavery to a hungry, wealthy man.

Kelly had cried herself to sleep that night, but that had been the last time she cried.


Kelly ached from what he'd done and she looked forward to nothing more than cleaning herself and trying to get a little sleep.  But when the red-headed beauty was returned to her room this time, she had a surprise.  All of her “stuff”, a pitifully small pile that could be contained in one tiny plastic bag, had been packed.  Two hard-faced Hispanic men she'd never before seen escorted her to a black SUV that waited near the back entrance.  Kelly, the self-proclaimed millionairess, disappeared from The Club that night and was never seen again.  

She never did make it back to Tennessee, but rather wound up visiting a Caribbean island to entertain a certain business acquaintance of The Albanian's, a real-life pirate.  After a month of using the redhead himself, he in turn sold the massive breasted woman to a member of the Cuban government.  This Cubano liked having an American female to abuse and Kelly continued to entertain angry Latino males for several more years.  Time was not kind to the one-time law student and she vanished before her thirtieth birthday.  

Six years after Kelly's disappearance, her lawyer petitioned the court to have her declared dead.  This petition was eventually granted and the money remaining in her fund was distributed to her heir’s after all “reasonable” administrative bills and costs had been paid.  

Very little remained when the lawyer had finished.


She Lived A Fractured Existence or And Her Mind Was Pretty Fucked Up Too

At the same time that night, a younger girl was looking at herself in the mirror before she stepped into a steaming hot bath.  Tall and slender with long dark hair on top and again between her legs, the fine structure of her face proclaimed great beauty.  She turned from the mirror and exposed the skin on her back that was so white it was almost transparent.  She had a runner's lines and her back was a work of art.  So was her chest, with pale nipples set atop breasts that were relatively small and high, and had clearly visible veins running just below the surface of her skin.  You could count her ribs from fifteen feet away, but she was still gorgeous.  She smoothly bent towards the tub with legs that were long and hard with muscle.  Her buttocks were likewise an athlete's despite the hours she’d spent pleasuring men.  The only obvious flaws were the bruises that covered one thigh and her left arm.  

The brand under her left arm proclaimed her to be sixteen hundred and ten.  

Candice stepped into the tub, then submerged herself to her chin and groaned with pleasure.  Another evening gone, another trick almost completed.  And never once had she been forced to trudge her way through the Meat Market on the way to having her body sold.  

Candy thought back to where she'd come from.  She thought about how she had been raped by her father, a member of the Rotary Club, since the age of six.  As a young child she'd been loaned out by her mother to a pimp named Jackie V, who produced S&M movies with children.  Soon after this, she was brought into a network of her father's friends and abused at parties in different houses near Atlanta.  When she was ten years old, Candy had been handed by her father to a wealthy man and his main aide, who continued to take her to different abuse parties all over Georgia.  From age eleven to thirteen, she had been regularly picked up from home by a local juvenile court judge who brought her to abuse parties in homes around Macon.  

Candy was seventeen when she'd finally run away from that life.  

What little school she'd attended had been rough because she quickly discovered that she had “issues”; that she was “missing time”.  Candace turned out to have gone to school, gotten good grades, even made friends with several classmates who spoke to her sometimes, but somehow this all had gone past her without her knowing it.  It seemed as if someone else took over from her as soon as the door of her house closed behind her.  It seemed as if the ill-used Candy was put away until one of the men again stood at her bed or was waiting for her at the school gate.  Thus, the abused Candy was hardly was aware of school and family; the other, luckier Candace seemed not present during the abuse and so was allowed to live a “normal” life.

It had always been this way.  But there were costs.  At her grandmother's, the adults noticed that she talked to voices in her head, that she often rapidly changed moods or even began to speak with another voice or accent.  Even though she was only six or seven, she understood that something like this was weird and was not allowed.  She learned to hide her voices, her other “selves”.  After what had happened to one of her friends when she was ten, the voices and the bizarre feeling that she was at times led by a different inner person became stronger.  After her initiation into an abuse group when she was twelve, she no longer resisted the voices.  It was blissful to disappear into nothingness and she only wanted to become conscious again if no one was there. The pain seemed more bearable that way.

Less than two weeks after running away from Macon and despite her street smarts, she’d belonged to the old man.  She'd been seventeen then and she was nineteen now.  Candace often felt like she was quickly aging even though despite her early life, she could still easily pass for a young sixteen.  Her main fear was that she didn't know how much longer he'd keep her around.  But however long it was, it wouldn't be long enough.  Sure, she had to do some crappy things with some awful men and women.  But as bad as it was here, it was far better than she'd ever had at home.  

Since Candy had been eight or nine years old, her pimp Jackie V would often take her with him and give her the assignment of hanging around a certain customer.  She learned to like doing that.  She’d learned to smile when asked to stand next to a customer for a picture, and in response the customer would reluctantly smile and put a weak arm around her young shoulder.  Far too experienced for a child her age, she quickly came to realize that the glances exchanged at this point between the one taking the picture and the customer were priceless, for this was when the customer came to know he was trapped.  In her bed in the middle of the night he might have been the boss, but now he was the prey.  Too bad that most of them, once they knew they had been trapped, wanted to experiment even more during the next night...

In Macon, there was a house in which a room was set up with built-in cameras. These cameras were so discrete that only the people who maintained them and the child prostitutes knew where they were located.  Why did Candy have to get those guys clearly in the picture, why was she supposed to get them to hit her and brutally rape her?  Why was “regular” sex often not enough?  

Blackmail.  It was the word that was never mentioned.

Political leverage, contracts between the businessmen and the political world, contracts with businessmen amongst each other, fraud with subsidies or licenses, setting up fake firms, money laundering, everything was possible.  And it always ended with sex and children.  Pictures were taken, only in jest it was understood, to keep both parties to their contracts.  But the men were brought to this depth by the child pornography movies that were played at parties.  

The pimps also had another tactic.  They invited to dinner a person who could be useful to them.  And after he had been liquored up, they took him to a “party”.  Men from the top layers of society were used to being offered prostitutes.  They usually knew that something like this would happen and the prostitutes they would see upon first entering would be the slightly older girls, perhaps between sixteen and seventeen.  More booze and cocaine would be supplied to create an “ambiance”.  And only then would the “prey” be taken to a room where a younger girl was waiting, a girl like Candy.  

Most men probably realized only afterwards how bad it was, but by then it was far too late.  Men were introduced to the network by colleagues, friends and family members.  Carefully or slowly, or sometimes briskly after a party.  Step by step, the customers who first went to bed with her cautiously, she later graduated to rougher sex at the demand of her pimp.  The pimps and the prey became complicit and at the same time their mutual connections became tighter.  They were owned as surely as the young girls had been.

This was the life from which Candy had fled, and even if she still had to dress as a young, teenage girl and convince some men to be rough with her at the old man's request, it was a small enough price to pay for the security she now enjoyed under his protection.  Even before she’d started going through her changes and her body had begun to blossom, she’d instinctively known which was not only the fairer but the stronger as well.  Most men would have given up years ago if they’d been living her life, and just rolled up in a gutter to die.  Men were physically strong, and that had its benefits and pleasures, but she plied a different kind of strength, one that had served her well, keeping her alive in dangerous times even if she was missing a little of her past.  

And so, here she was.  Most clients didn’t have to be coerced or tricked into hurting a girl.  But a few of the uninitiated, a group very small in number, were sometimes allowed to attend, almost always with a friend that was already involved as a regular attendee.  These few had no real idea of what the place really was, or what actually took place, especially underground.  But if they were important enough to the old man, important enough in the political or economic or even military sphere that he wanted them involved in his astronomy of feminine pain and servitude, then the unlucky and unwitting soul was invited to his club, and then introduced to Candy.  

Tonight had been a bad one.  The old man from New York had been an important politician, an extremely wealthy and powerful Federal Senator.  He'd been in town for three days and it had been her first night with the bastard.  She was known as Candy to this trick and she’d hated every second of it.  His jowly face pushed against her barely formed chest, his soft, fat belly against her flat one, his sad little tool between her strong, muscled legs.  

She'd been able to tell from the way he licked his lips when he first saw her that he'd had the urge from the beginning, but he was a cautious piece of shit.  She'd been forced to almost beg him to beat her before he'd started getting rough, before he'd finally let the inner beast out for a midnight stroll.  He'd scared her at the end, but it was over for now.  One more night, then he'd be given another girl to abuse....  

The Albanian had promised.  

Candace slowly disappeared beneath the hot water.  She dreaded tomorrow night and truly pitied whichever one of the girls got him after her.


She’d Had Some Difficult High School Years or A Big Girl, Most People Had A Less Than Fair Assessment Of Her Charms

Police woman Lena Olivat was twenty-one and came from a family that had realized the finest values of the late ‘90s; these were the true-believers who were ever hungry for more money and status.  Her mother had died young and she'd been raised by a father who had totally committed himself to attaining success in the existing superficial value system.  Lena also had three older brothers and she’d become the biggest tom girl in her small town.  But she hadn’t inherited her father’s need for money or achievement.  

Instead, Lena was what was what someone once called a ‘Yeppie’ or a ‘young experimenting perfection-seeker’.  She was one of those young 20-somethings that didn’t aspire to a job in finance or a BMW in the driveway.  If anything, these Millennials tended to quit their jobs to go backpacking, were slow to commit to relationships and were idealistic but confused.  Lena was one of these young people that was always ‘life-shopping’; jumping from one thing to another, whether careers or partners; she was forever in search of an idealistic existence, always trading up, trying to find the best available partner.  Why these SJW’s felt they had these prospects, no one knew; it may have been that they have extremely high expectations, fueled in part by the internet media to which they’d been exposed.  But many also had something that makes ‘life shopping’ a lot easier; the financial backing of Yuppie parents.

Lena was lucky in this way.  She’d tried college for a while and hadn’t really done well, always looking for the true meaning of life as it could most easily be obtained in the next college philosophy class about third-wave feminism or social Marxism.  And when this turned out to be unsatisfactory, she would move in frustration to the next religion class.  

Or perhaps the perfect life could be attained if only she met the right young man in the next coffee bar or party---but this never worked out for her either as she continually trading up in partners.  In any case, Lena had dropped out of college after two years and had tried a number of disappointing jobs after that, all of which she had quit after only a few months.  

On a whim, she applied for a position with the Langford Police Department after seeing an advertisement in the local newspaper.  But going through the Police Academy and beginning the street patrols had given her one of the biggest thrills of her life.  It appealed to both the tomboy and the idealistic side too.  This was something that was worth doing; it was of value to society and it finally made her feel good about herself.  As might be expected, her father could not understand her choice.  At the same time, this was his only daughter and she knew he would support her in anything that she might choose to do.  This support included continuing the monthly checks that he’d been giving her since she’d turned eighteen.

The loss of her mother so early in her life had affected her emotionally….the kids her age had always considered her ‘distant’ and a little odd.  Up until she was fifteen, she had suffered from the three most deadly afflictions that could ever be thrust upon a young girl; she was always at least six inches taller than most boys her age---she was gangly and rather uncoordinated, almost “coltish” in appearance---and she was obviously more intelligent than most of the other kids.  

As a young woman, Lena was a six-foot tall brunette with the potential for looks that had never been fully realized.  “Husky” like Brooke Shields…maybe even bigger and certainly more muscularly toned, she was not a woman that most men considered pretty in the normal sense of the word.  But what she did have were the kind of looks that would stop a thinking man dead in his tracks with a strong, intelligent face and beautiful eyes.  This was a truly big woman that could have been very striking if she knew only how to fix herself up.  While not unattractive, growing up surrounded by her brothers and her father, without a mother and being estranged from her female peers all through her early school years, Lena had never learned even the basics of how to enhance her looks.  She could see how the young slut's around her dressed and behaved, but she was too intelligent and had too much pride even then to try to mimic skanks like them.

Consequently, during high school Lena hadn't dressed in a way that was attractive to young boys and she used very little makeup.  What she did use often came out looking as if it were applied by a fairly large cement trowel; this was something that Lena had always promised herself that she would someday learn to correct.  Not really knowing better, she had always dressed in what her high school classmates would euphemistically describe as ‘a masculine style’, but she was not considered ‘butch’ by any means.  In addition to the clothes and lack of makeup, other things made her appear different from most girls her age; little things about which she was unaware---for example, her thick dark brown hair often looked like it could use a good shampooing.  

While Lena was a girl who never really held a grudge and always tried to be nice to others, she was also smart, a little too idealistic and all too aware that she was considered socially odd.  All of these things could be, and were, attributed by others to her growing up in an all-male household.  But instead of dwelling upon her lack of social abilities, she had compensated by excelling at sports after her fifteenth birthday; leading the girls’ basketball and field hockey and swim teams to city championships.  The things she had enjoyed the most though was swimming and ice skating, the last of which was strange for a girl born in Florida.  

Lena had finally settled on swimming as much as she could during her last year of high school, for this was her way of getting rid of the stress in her life.  She’d continued her swimming after graduating and she now admitted without too much pride that she was probably one of the best ‘unranked’ amateur swimmers in the state---she wasn’t really sure of her skill level, but she’d never had any formal training and had no desire to compete against others.  

But while the swimming helped her to relax, it did nothing to help her become more feminine.  For by the time she’d decided what she wanted to do with the rest of her life, she’d developed exceeding large and muscular shoulders for a woman and her biceps and triceps literally bulged with every move she made.  Her thighs and calves, while still shapely, were far too muscular now for most men’s tastes.  Her police uniform had to be hand tailored, buying men’s extra-large tops which were then taken in at the waist.  It was the same with her uniform pants because of the size of her thighs and calves.  

The odd thing however, was that no matter how nice she was or how talented she was in athletics’, no matter how much of a leader she was seen to be on the court or playing field, none this had never translated into popularity with her peers.  Whether because of her unsuitable style of dress or her inability to make herself attractive to boys or her failure in the female small talk that was so important in enabling a young girl to fit in with her peers, Lena always stood on the outside looking in.  This was the major motive for her continued search for the perfection that she felt had been so lacking in her family and social life up to this point.

While not a virgin, Lena was not sexually experienced either.  At sixteen, she’d lost her virginity to a popular boy a year behind her in school.  While it seemed he was mature enough to not brag to his friends about what they’d done, that one time with her had been enough for him and he’d avoided her after that.  But Lena felt that she’d given him a precious gift; hurt and embarrassed, not understanding why things happened the way they did, Lena went on with her life as best she could.  

A few months later, she tried sex one more time with a boy that was a year older than her.  This time however, it was a disaster.  The boy had quickly let his friends know that she’d not only spread for him, but he horribly embarrassed her by telling everyone that she wasn’t any good at it either.  Lena hadn’t been with a man since that time even though she spent a lot of time with the guys in college; she continued to tell herself that this was normal and that five years wasn’t too long to wait for the right man.  


This Was The Face Of A Defiant Woman or She Was Nothing More Money In The Bank, A Simple Form of Currency

The best thing about being unattractive is that I never have to worry about being kidnapped or raped.  
-Anonymous

This just didn’t happen to girls like me.  This just didn’t happen to anyone.
-Jenna-Lynne Duncan, from Hurricane

I was amazed as people must be who are seized and kidnapped, and who realize that in the strange world of their captors they have a value absolutely unconnected with anything they know about themselves.
-Alice Munro, from Lives of Girls and Women

Langford, Florida

The two men grabbed the female cop and dragged her to the back of the van.  Her struggles never threatened her captors and it was easy to get her to their transportation.  But as soon as Lena saw the back of the van, she began to fight again, sensing correctly that as soon as they got her inside, her ass was theirs.  Big Man realized he'd have to use a little physical reason to calm the pig down a little, so he threw the bitch up against the back of the van and put a quick shot into her stomach.  With her hands cuffed behind her back, her bullet-proof vest protected her from much of the blow.  But he’d punched low and enough force still came through below the vest to knock the wind out of her.  

It was easy then to get the doors open and throw her inside.  Both men climbed in and shut the doors, leaving relative darkness.  Big Man grabbed her by the shirt collar and threw Lena to her stomach on the thin, incredibly stained mattress that covered the floor in the back of the van.  Pinning her legs down, Little Man grabbed the piece of wire that he had been carrying in his back pocket and tied the bitch’s ankles together again.  Grabbing the pig’s ankles, the two men then pulled them up to the back of her thighs and with the remaining wire, tied her ankles to her handcuffed hands, leaving her body forced into a reverse bow by the hog-tie.  After checking her gag, Big Man got into the driver’s seat, started the van and they took left the parking garage headed West.

Big Man and Little Man had talked; they’d both decided that they’d had enough of Florida.  The boss had one hell of a temper and if he’d had the time or the opportunity right then, neither doubted for a second that it would have been fifty-fifty whether he’d have killed them on the spot for what he considered their fuck-up with the bitch pig.  While both men were pissed about not having a lot of money in their pockets, they were also glad to still be alive and planned on keeping it that way.  Big Man knew of some ‘brothers’ in Dallas with whom they might be able to hang.  And if that didn’t work out, they could always head for Phoenix or LA.  

While they didn’t have a lot of money, they had one major resource; both men figured that they might be able to use the cop to make themselves some fast cash.  They’d either pimp her ass and keep a little cash coming in every day or they’d find someone that bought bitches like her and they’d sell her ass permanently.  The fact that she was a cop would make her less marketable to a lot of buyers, but to others this would make her extremely dangerous and thus even more exotic and desirable; to these few she would be worth even more.  

In either case, they both knew that they’d be taking her big, yet shapely ass out for a spin themselves as soon as they had a chance.  They could tell right from the beginning that she was an authoritative, arrogant bitch--they both looked forward to introducing her to the methods used by Gunners to break their women in.  


Lena lay on the filthy mattress in the back of the van and looked around as she continued to work on the gag in her mouth.  She could see the two men up front, but they seemed to be concentrating on where they were going and not on her.  She was thankful for this because she knew exactly about what they’d been talking to the gang leader.  She continued to stealthily rub her face against the mattress in an attempt to loosen the rag wrapped around her face.  

As a cop, she had no false ideas about the seriousness of the situation that she was in.  Lena desperately considered a speculative time line.  Assume a couple hours from the time that she and Dumphries were ambushed, though it felt longer.  She thought of the last time that she'd seen him and felt sick, but pushed that thought away.  No one had come to rescue her.  This was bad.  It was doubly bad because it had given her abductors time to have moved some distance from the primary crime scene from which she’d been taken.  There were probably even more bad things that she hadn't thought about, but these were enough.

Lena felt a sudden sick swirling in her stomach; Dumphries was down, he could even be…..dead…lying in an alley somewhere, sprawled under some cardboard box.  Lolling dead in a car somewhere, brains beaten out, his face waxy and pale.

No.  No!  She suddenly tensed every muscle in her body, made an all-directions spasm of movement with every ounce of strength.  Her bonds didn’t even stretch, but she triggered enough jags of pain around her body to haul her mind out of the dark mine shaft down which it had threatened to plummet.  She resolved to lie quietly for now, mainly to just empty her head.  

Bad never gets better by thinking about it.  But bad never gets better by trying not to think about it either.  You just have to think about something else.  

She spaced out as best she could, but soon realized something.  There was a presence in her head.  Something that had come to make itself at home in her; an emotion against which she had vigorously defended herself for most of her life.  As yet it was a still sly newcomer and knew it had more work to do, deeper inroads to forge.  But it was there.

Lena tried to breathe deeply and evenly.  It helped, but not much.  She had to accept this thing as fact.

She was scared.  

All adrenaline was gone now.  The truth was, Lena was badly scared.  The feeling continued to grow and it seemed that within minutes she was totally filled with a sense of dread and impending doom.  The awful sinking feeling in her stomach continued to grow, seeming to plummet deeper and deeper inside her, exploring depths of despair she had never before known could exist.  The only thought that made it bearable was that Dumphries wasn’t here with her and that made it possible that he might be okay.  

Lena was intimately aware that she sought perfection in everything she did, and of how helplessness had always before seemed to consume her; how she’d always obsessed when something was out of her control.  But being taken by these two banger assholes put everything into perfect perspective.  She now realized that these feelings in the past had been over such small things; trivial things that were in reality far too insignificant for a young girl to have worried about.  

At the same time, this feeling had always been one that had driven her to succeed and had made her just that more determined to overcome whatever obstacle might confront her.  She may not have been the most beautiful girl or the most popular girl in school, but she was certainly one of the most competent.  And it drove her nuts to not be able to control her destiny.  While it scared her, the danger also seemed in some way to add a little zest too.  She was a fighter and would never give up trying to get free from these banger assholes; it never occurred to her that she might not be able to get out of this terrible situation.  

Lena lay on her side on the mattress and for the first time really looked at the van in which she rode as an unwilling passenger.  It was covered with discarded pieces of fast-food trash and the insides were scarred and pretty banged up.  From her viewpoint, the mattress upon which she laid could also use being cleaned and fumigated, followed by being burned.  The inside of the van too could use being cleaned with about ten gallons of undiluted disinfectant.

The van had clearly been used for deliveries of some type, because there were at least six rusting tie-down supports welded on each side of the van; three were located equidistant and about three feet off of the van’s floor.  A matching set of tie-downs was located immediately below each of these and about an inch above the floor.  In addition, there were three more welded along the center of the top of the van and she wouldn’t be surprised if there weren’t an equal number welded to the floor below her mattress.  All in all, except for the number of tie-downs, the van was totally unremarkable and unmemorable.  

They had only been driving for a couple of minutes when it finally began to hit her---what a precarious situation she was in.  She felt a deep cold begin to creep into her.  It took a few seconds to recognize the phenomenon--fear.  Fear of the inexplicable.  Fear of the absolutely unreasonable actions of these men.  Fear that came from not understanding what the hell your opponents were up to or what they would do next.

Suddenly, her stomach did a flip and she felt an even deeper sense of dread; for the first time she truly began to feel consumed by fear of what might happen.  After a few minutes of the kind of fear that blanks your mind and paralyzes your body, she felt the van slow down and then stop.  The van rocked as both men got out.  Suddenly, one of the back doors opened and Big Man looked in at her.  After a second, he gruffly told her to keep quiet or she’d regret it; he then closed the door and there was silence.  Finally, here was something that she could react to, something over which she might have some control.  Lena cocked her head, listening for sounds indicating that one or both of them were outside…..perhaps they were testing her.  But it didn’t matter, because she still continued working on the gag.  

Now Lena was getting angry; she figured she’d wait a couple of minutes and start screaming whether she’d gotten the gag off or not; there was no way that she wanted to be leaving town with these guys and Lena knew that she had to take advantage of every opportunity offered to either get free or summon help.


Mechanisms Of Masculine Control or She Had Nothing But Time Left Once They Were Done

Parking in the lot as far away from the hardware store as he could, the Big Man went in to make some purchases after he’d warned Little Man to watch their pig-fuckmeat.  Little Man stood outside the van in the cool early morning air smoking a cigarette, listening for any noise from their captive.  While the lot was deserted, the dim light from the light poles allowed him to see everything going on around him.  Suddenly he heard muffled sounds from inside the van, but they were so soft that you’d literally have to be next to the van to hear them.  Even then, you wouldn’t be sure what you were hearing.  He cocked his head and listened closely.  After a moment they stopped, so he ignored them and continued watching for anyone that might come too close to their vehicle.  Seconds later, he crushed out his cigarette and climbed back into the front seat.  

Finally, Big Man returned with a small bag.  After looking around to make sure that no one was around them, he stuck his head next to the van and listened for a second.  With a smile, he then opened the back door and climbed in.  He was immediately joined by Little Man, as he closed the door behind him.  Lying on her right side, Lena watched him dump the bag next to her and begin organizing what he had purchased.  A normal yellow kitchen sponge, roll of duct tape, some caribiner clips, a few inexpensive key locks, a coil of rope and thick leather dog collar, a matching three-foot leash.  Taking a knife out of his pocket, he trimmed the sponge into a 3 inch by 3 inch square that was about 2 inches thick.  

Grabbing Lena’s hair, he pulled her head back and began taking off the rag that had been so tightly wrapped around her mouth.  As soon as it was off her lower jaw, Lena tried to spit the gag out.  But with an economic movement, Big Man swung his fist and hit her hard in the stomach again.  She immediately folded over like a cheap piece of paper and as she lay gasping for air through her nostrils, he pulled the rag-gag out of her mouth and immediately began stuffing the yellow sponge in.  Lena tried to fight, but her struggles were weak and just a formality between them.  

It took about fifteen seconds and a lot of pushing, but finally the entire soft yellow square was in her mouth.  He then began ripping short pieces of duct tape off of the roll and putting them on the lower part of Lena’s face.  He didn't care if the adhesive fucked her skin up or not, he just wanted her quiet until he'd taken what he wanted.  First he put an X over her mouth; then he proceeded to fill the X in.  By the time he was done, there was enough tape over Lena’s mouth to supply two plumbers for a week.  All she could do was lay there and just look at him with both rage and fear in her eyes.  

When Big Man was done gagging Lena again, he picked up the dog collar and put it loosely around her neck.  The cheap collar was made out of coarse, thick leather about 1 ½ inches wide; it had double sewn seams and a big D-shaped ring.  After being buckled, there was a metal ring that came up through the free tongue-end of the leather, allowing a lock to be applied to the collar to prevent its removal.  Big man put one of the cheap locks through this, after which both men grabbed large handfuls of Lena’s hair and dragged her about a foot closer to the front of the van until her head hung over the end of the mattress.  She continued struggling until Big Man turned the ring in the collar to the back of Lena’s neck and used one of the caribiners to attach her new collar to a D-ring welded to the floor.  

Little Man now untied the wire from her handcuffs and released Lena from the painful hog-tie.  With her ankles still bound together, Little Man forced Lena’s stiff legs out straight and then sat on her knees.  At the same time, Big Man pulled out his knife again and began to cut off her uniform top.  He had to be a little careful because she struggled like the bitch-sow from hell.  But this only took a few seconds and then he was able to work on her bullet-proof vest.  After cutting the shoulder straps, he was able to unvelcro the sides and then it too could be pulled off of her upper body.  This left Lena wearing only her sweaty T-shirt, sports bra and panties.  Within twenty seconds, the first two items had been removed by the knife and the big man's captive female lay on the mattress wearing only a pair of ugly white cotton ‘granny’ panties and white socks.

Big Man now had a moment to actually look at his new bitch and he had to admit that he was a little surprised.  She was a much higher-quality piece of ass than he had expected, way above the worn out skanky whores with gaping pussy's which he normally fucked.  The bun was long gone and long, luxuriously thick brown hair in wild disarray framed a slightly oval face in which intelligent brown eyes desperately searched in vain for an escape.  

She was a big girl, Amazon big, but had a tiny waist and flat belly which had not been obvious when she wore her masculine uniform with all of the equipment that had been slung on her belt.  The pig had a very nice pair of tits that would look right at home with the best centerfold models.  Not huge, but certainly large enough that they would be greatly missed if gone.  They rode high on her chest and had small dark brown aureoles with lighter brown, almost pink nipples that looked permanently erect.  

She had good legs too; long legs with thighs more muscular than the norm, but not excessive muscled or overly thick.  And there were the slim, shapely ankles which led to firm, muscular calves and good looking knees.  But it was her ass that took the cake; even from here he could tell that her ass was fabulous.  She was like an unexpected birthday present that came in a dark, navy blue wrapper.  


Lena glared at him as she took deep breaths through her nose.  Unfortunately, her heaving chest only seemed to turn Big Man on even more.   She’d never had a man look at her chest like this; like she was a piece of furniture to be evaluated by the number of scratches it had or how the upholstery had held up.  

He stared for a moment at her beauty mark, the small dark mole on her right breast, halfway between her armpit and her nipple.  When she was younger and so unhappy, she’d often told herself that it was a witch’s mark, the place where Satan suckled.  Oh yes, he suckled there and then took her on trips throughout the world, she had sometimes laughed to others.  But the conscious or unconscious wickedness of her laugh had suggested to some of the girl’s taking showers with her after Phys. Ed. that she thought she spoke the truth---and this made her seem even odder to them.  

In any case, she glared back at Big Man in the best intimidating manner that she’d learned in the Academy, but it didn’t seem to faze him.  She felt an incredible rage at herself for having allowed this to happen and at the big bastard for doing this to her; and she was embarrassed that there was nothing that she could think of doing to get out of the situation.  

The big man braced his hands on the ceiling of the van and kicked Lena in the side once.  She was still an arrogant slut and needed to be brought down a little more.  He dropped to his knees, took a moment, then turned his attentions to her panties, quickly cutting them at the hips with his knife.  Just to play with her, he placed his left forefinger on the outside of her panties and pushed hard on her clitoris.  

Lena tried to struggle, but with the other man still sitting on her legs she was pinned in place.  Slowly, provocatively, Big Man now pulled the cotton towards himself, pulling it between the crease of her buttocks which so were tightly pushed together and then through her closed thighs.  The friction of the moving cotton rubbed tightly against her stiffening button of flesh as he pressed down on it.  Looking down between her legs, as best he could make out, she seemed to have a rather wild dark brown bush that had never been trimmed or tamed.  He liked the wildness of this bitch.  He much liked it---he like it a lot.


Telling his partner what he wanted, the two men roughly flipped their captive on her stomach.  Little Man immediately pinned her legs again.  Cutting a long piece of rope, Big Man ran it around both her biceps three times just above her elbows and then tied it off, binding her elbows tightly together behind her back.  This painfully pulled her shoulders back into an unnatural position which could not be normally held for more than a few minutes.  

Kneeling on the small of her back, Big Man now took off the handcuffs and inspected her wrists.  Finding them only a little raw from the cuffs, he proceeded to tightly wrap her hands together in the gray duct tape until it looked like her wrists ended in one shiny gray ball.  She was now helpless to do anything with her hands until he took the tape off, so he removed the rope around her elbows.  

Flipping her on her back again, they forced her legs out straight and Little Man again sat upon her knees.  Even though Lena struggled, Big Man easily removed the wire from her ankles.  Cutting another two pieces of rope, he made a loop out of slip knots in the end of each piece.  He slipped a loop of rope over each ankle and tightened them.  Each man now grabbed one of the rope ends and stood up, Big Man on the left and Little Man on the right.  Lena knew she was struggling for her life; she began kicking and flailing with her legs even harder if that were possible.  But it didn’t matter.  Both men now went to opposite sides of the van and pulled each rope tight enough to drag Lena towards the foot of the van until the dog collar around her neck began to choke her.  

Backing off the rope tension just a little, the two men finished by running the rope from her ankles to cargo rings on each side of the van near the floor, then pulling the ropes tight and tying them off.  Police officer Lena Olivat lay on her wrists on the mattress; the ball of tape upon which the small of her back rested was large enough that it ensured that her pelvis was thrust invitingly into the air.  Bound on the mattress with her legs spread wide in a whorish, wanton position, Lena struggled as best she could, but soon realized that she was totally helpless and at their mercy.  


Banger's Have Needs Too or Mama Just Didn’t Teach Him Any Better Manners

Rape.  You save yourself or you remain unsaved.
-Alice Sebold

I just want to sleep.  A coma would be nice.  Or amnesia.  Anything, just to get rid of this, these thoughts, whispers in my mind.  Did he rape my head, too?
-Laurie Halse Anderson, from Speak

She couldn’t get any farther away inside from her skin.  She couldn’t get away.
-Cynthia Voigt, from When She Hollers

The ball of tape was killing her lower back, but she knew that this was the least of her problems.  Looking at the two faces, she realized that their eyes looked like sharks and they felt no mercy towards her.  For just a moment as she’d struggled, she’d been able to forget her terror.  But now her feelings of helplessness and fear returned with a rush.  

Lena’s muscles strained from exhaustion.  Covered with a thin sheen of sweat over her abdomen and between her legs, Lena stopped her struggles, turned her face away from the two men and closed her eyes.  Yet the very stress which had fatigued her muscles managed to keep her mind from going insane.  She felt like she was teetering on the brink of a deranged abyss, but had managed to pull herself mostly back.  That small voice in her encouraged survival.  She was absolutely powerless, but fought on.  

Hearing the zzzippp of pants being undone, she closed her eyes even more tightly.


Big Man dropped his jeans and stained underpants around his ankles and slowly knelt between the cop’s muscular thighs; he then began to stroke her body.  Gentle at first, he increasingly became rougher.  He inspected her now sweat-slicked vagina and then he looked at her pubic mound and approved of how it seemed to rise from her flat abdomen, full of promised, yet still hidden sex.  

Stroking Lena there, he spread her labia apart and searched for a second before he captured her clitoris between his right forefinger and thumb.  Rubbing it slowly between his fingers, it soon became moist and erect.  He looked at her face for a reaction, but didn’t see the fear and horror he was looking for.  He began pinching harder and harder as he rubbed, but she still wouldn't react to the stimulus.  Lena moaned once as he pushed against her bruised pelvis; but she refused to look at him and he was forced to grab her chin with his left hand and turn her face towards him.  

“Rides aren’t free, honey.  Now”, he said, “is when you get to pay for your part of the ride, bitch.”  The first and most obvious thing Lena saw about the Big Man was that he had a huge erection.  He moved his right hand up and used it to stroke her body, beginning with her breasts and working his way south from there.  Looking like the ends of thick rope, her nipples stood hugely erect both from her struggles and her fear.  This was a man with big hands, which allowed him to gather her whole left breast in one hand.  He squeezed her breast hard for a moment as he looked deeply into her eyes.  Her eyes flooded with wet pain, but only the slightest sound could be heard from deep within the captive cop’s throat.  Then he let go so that he could begin working on her nipple.  


All of the time, he continued to force the bitch to watch what he was doing.  If she tried to turn her face away or close her eyes, her nipples paid the price for her disobedience and she quickly learned to obey his unspoken commands.  After a moment, his right hand slowly trailed down her chest, hesitating over her flat belly before it continued down between her legs.  

Finally there, he took his time as he again probed and rubbed her.  At the same time he leaned over and took her left nipple and most of her breast into his mouth and began to suck.  Gentle at first, he soon became more aggressive; with her erect nipple tickling the back of his mouth, he quickly became greedy, sucking as hard as he could.  This soon brought a deep groan of discomfort from his captive as his attentions ranged rapidly from unwanted and merely irritating to absolutely painful.  

He loved sucking on women's tits, especially women that didn't want his attentions.  He had somehow become convinced that fear brought a different taste to a cunt's tit than did either boredom or feigned interest.  He loved sucking on the tits of a woman who feared for her life.


Lena knew without doubt now that she would not be leaving this van without having been raped.  She tried to prepare herself mentally for the brutality to come; but how did one do that?  She wasn’t the first this had happened to; other women had gone through this before her.  They’d survived somehow, and so would she.

Too, she was a cop.  Lena knew that she was professionally trained, mentally and emotionally tough.  But she also knew she'd have to be even tougher, much tougher to survive this with her mind intact.  God, she could only pray that she was tough enough and hope that that was all that they would do to her.  

Finally, Big Man let go of her chin with his left hand and she could again look away from him.  Without warning, he hit her hard in the breast.  Shocked by how much pain the blow caused, she tried to fight past the waves of nausea welling out from her aching stomach.  Out of the corner of her eye, Lena saw him slowly lean closer.  She felt the van sway slightly as he climbed onto her belly, then his massive weight as he settled down on her hips and between her helplessly invitingly, wide-spread thighs.  He moved his hips once to get into a little more comfortable position on her vulnerably upthrust belly and hips; this put his head resting between her right shoulder and neck, so close that she could hear him breathing heavily into her right ear.  

The smell of unwashed skin, old sweat and stale tobacco flooded her nostrils and made her want to vomit.  Suddenly he nipped a small fold of her neck between his teeth and bit down hard enough to make Lena give an audible gasp of pain.  Helpless, all the bound woman could do was close her eyes or stare through slitted eyelids at the ceiling over his shoulder.  Then he made his first move with his hips.


Standing at the back of the van, Little Man was in perfect position to watch his partner’s clenched and straining butt power his first push into their captured cop.  He saw the pig’s head snap back against the floor of the van and heard her muted scream as the Big Man made his first attempt to penetrate her bone-dry vagina.  Greatly muffled and coming from deep in her throat, the shocked shriek of pure, outraged pain barely made it past the sponge that completely filled her mouth.  He saw Big Man do a pushup on the bitch's breasts and rear his upper body high in order to look into the slut's face as he took her.

Big Man truly enjoyed looking into his bitch's eyes when he rode them.  He especially liked looking into the faces of the cunts he raped, just to see the emotions running across their face and in their eyes.  He knew this one must be a pretty tough bitch, but it didn't matter because the pig felt just as good under him as the most undisciplined sixteen or seventeen year-old street-whore whose body he normally commandeered.  Pigs like her didn’t normally wear much makeup, but there’d obviously been a little on her face because it looked like she lines running from each eye where she’d been crying.  

The bitch’s eyes had been slitted at first as she attempted to ignore what he did.  But her eyes now shot wide open in horrified shock as the bulbous tip of his erection separated her unready labia, then they bulged even further as he started pushing deeper into her dry box.  That first shocked reaction had been followed by an uncontrolled scream of agony that, if anything, made him even harder and larger, even more filled with anticipation.

The look on her face and in her eyes told Big Man that this bitch wasn't any different than any other woman whose brains he’d fucked out.  This one had thought she was tough, just like the others had always thought they were smarter or somehow better than him too.  But that attitude only lasted until he started filling their pussies, then they all bawled like a babies as they begged him to stop.  

But he never did.

Little Man watched as an even more powerful thrust from his friend totally dominated the cop's body, his cock penetrating even deeper inside her this time and bringing another muted howl of anguish from their sexually inexperienced captive.  Little Man now appreciated for the first time how shapely and beautifully toned the cop’s legs were; he watched as her powerful thigh muscles strained against the bonds at her ankles as she fought to close her legs and protect her most precious parts from attack.  Her heels drummed against the bed of the van while the quadriceps in her thighs stood out in fiercely solid relief, drawing beautifully defined vertical lines in her firm, white flesh, making distinct zones of light and dark in the shadows of the van.  Damn, she looked good and he could hardly wait for his turn.

She may be tight as Jewish miser, but Big Man knew that nothing would protect the pig-bitch from his need now.  He kept himself up off of her upper body by pushing up on her tits, but every now and then he had to use one hand to slap her or use her hair to pull her head back to dead center so that he could watch the familiar emotions that accompanied a rape like this play across her face.  

When he did this, she cried out in even greater pain as all of his great weight was concentrated directly on a single breast.  Another massive thrust was immediately followed by another and then another.  Even though they both knew that she belonged to him now, he sensed the bitch's body was still fighting him even as her desert dry vaginal canal finally began to moisten and no longer resisted his advances.  

The mattress was relatively narrow and did not cover the full width of the van.  Lena’s legs were bound so far apart that her heels were off the mattress on each side; they once more made a soft drumming sound against the metal floor as her heels banged the floor in unison with her unsuccessful attempts to fight Big Man.  Her feet arched violently again and her bound legs fluttered as she tried to protect herself.  With each massive thrust, her toes involuntarily pointed towards the back of the van as she continued her struggles.  In one of those moments of odd perception, Little Man noticed that the cop’s bright pink toenails clashed with the traces of blood that now stained the insides of her thighs....he had to laugh at the pig's pathetic attempt at femininity.  

As his partner began to drive his groin into Lena's for the fifteenth or twentieth time, Little Man saw him finally lay flat upon the captive woman and reach down to grab two great handfuls of firm beautiful ass to use as anchors for his thrusts.  She howled again in sheer physical outrage with this move, but as before little sound was heard outside the van.  At this point, he watched his partners’ thick shaft disappear completely inside their captive policewoman again and again, leaving only his balls draped over the crack of her gorgeous ass.  The Big Man had impaled her; he possessed her totally and completely now and there was no doubt in either of the men’s minds that tonight she would be giving them everything that pleased a man and which made her a woman.  

Holding this position of dominance for a moment, he raised his head from her neck and looked down at her face and then into her eyes.....his eyes seemed to glow with satisfaction as he finally attained total victory over her body; a smile of complete physical satisfaction quirked the corners of his mouth at the thought of how he owned the cunt.  Once he'd gained full entry, she had stopped screaming and now gave only muffled sobs.  The policewoman being raped continued looking at him with her eyes bulging and eyelids blinking quickly as if out of control.  He noticed that the pupil’s in the bitch’s brown eyes were huge.  

Letting go of her ass, he grabbed her hair in both hands to ensure she couldn’t look away from his face.  He kept his rigid, iron-hard rod buried deep in her belly as they stared into each other’s eyes for at least thirty seconds, neither of them making a move or a sound.  Then he slowly withdrew his erection until only the bulging purple tip of his cock was still inside her body.  

He watched her eyes slowly begin to close, perhaps in relief.  And when they were almost shut, he plunged violently back inside her body and watched her eyes fly open in shock again.  He treated her according to the rules of war, for he and his gang were at war with bitches like this one.  He'd acquired his ownership by capturing her and with this came the right to treat her as he pleased.  Finally, he buried his face in her neck again and began a rhythmic thrusting movement with his hips which devoured everything between her legs that a female body could offer.  She wouldn't know this yet, but he could keep this pace up almost indefinitely---or close enough that most cunts couldn’t tell the difference.

Little Man stepped outside and closed the doors of the van.  Listening closely, all he heard was the rhythmic squeaking of the van’s springs as it leisurely rocked back and forth in slow motion.


Inside, Lena found it hard to breathe.  She lay beneath Big Man and tried to go to some far away spot in her mind that allowed her to maintain her sanity.  No, she told herself, I will not cry—I will not give this animal the satisfaction of knowing he made me cry.  Even as she refused him her tears of rape, using her eyes she mutely beseeched the man for mercy as he lay on her.  

The contradictory behavior was not lost on Lena, but she didn’t know what else to do.  The sexually ravenous man didn't stop and soon, too soon, his burning hot cock somehow became more bearable as her body provided the lubrication that nature had designed to make this act easier and more pleasurable.  But pleasure was not on the Big Man’s mind tonight, at least not Lena’s pleasure; and he continued plowing her.


Every now and then the rapist forced a muffled scream from his captive policewoman as he bottomed out in her ravaged pussy, slamming the tip of his erection into her cervix with a particularly deep, vicious thrust.  The muscles of the bitch’s body would automatically respond in an attempt at protection; her arms jerking as they tried to come up from where he kept them bound and her knees attempting to close to prevent further abuse.  In this, she was always unsuccessful as her ankle bonds kept her open and available for his continued enjoyment.  His amusement at the pain he caused never seemed to grow old.  Likewise, he was tireless and never stopped, but just continued driving into her with an bull-like vigor.  This man at first shocked Lena's naive understanding of men's physical abilities and needs and finally horrified her as her vagina became more and more sore from being forced to accommodate his massive penetrations and apparently unending need.


She Was A Sturdy Female Used To Taking Physical Abuse or He Kept Her Real Busy Satisfying His Needs

It was early in the morning and Little Man was tired.  Looking around, he saw a convenience store only a little further away than the hardware store.  Walking over slowly, he leisurely purchased a large cup of coffee.  Cursing as he burned the inside of his mouth with his first sip, he slowly walked back to their ride.  

It had taken him almost fifteen minutes to walk to the shop, purchase the coffee and return; back at the van, he found a metronome-like squeaking still emanated from its springs; Jesus---the Big Man was still banging the cop’s brains out!  The Big Man'd been fucking the cop senseless for over twenty minutes straight.  As he walked around to the driver’s seat, he again listened for screams but heard nothing but occasional grunts of effort or sounds of appreciation from his partner.  The stagnant silence of the woman in back combined with the noise from the vehicle’s suspension let him know exactly how their pig was doing, or rather, how she was being done.  He thought to himself with a smirk, she was quiet......must be enjoying it now.  

Opening the door and climbing in, he started the van in preparation for their trip.  He glanced into the back once and all he could see was that Big Man had his feet braced on the van's rear doors to anchor his body, allowing him to give great slamming thrusts into the bitch, literally driving her bound body towards the head of the van with each pile driver plunge of his hips.  The only thing that stopped the pig’s head from being driven into the back of the front seat were the ropes that bound her ankles.  Her eyes were half-open and seemed focused on some point an infinite distance away, staring at the rusty ceiling of the van over Big Man’s shoulder without any expression on her face.  

A minute later, the grubby white van made a left as it slowly pulled out of the parking lot and began its trip to Dallas.  Listening carefully as he drove, he soon heard Big Man’s rhythmic grunting assume a quicker beat and a more urgent tone.  This seemed to reach a peak and finally he heard Big Man gasp and then give a soft cry of pure pleasure and release; their pet pig had just earned her first hundred “frequent-fucking” miles.  .


Lying helplessly beneath his sweaty body, Lena flinched and then closed her eyes as she felt the rapist begin cumming inside her belly.  This was nothing like her few experiences with fumbling boys.  Each of those time her partners had used condoms and she'd never before felt a man's semen left within her like this.  It seemed as if this monster had planted seeds of absolute fire deep in her belly; the heat continuing to consume her cervix for at least another minute before she could no longer feel what he had injected so deeply.  

The rape had been terrible, but it was something from which she could mentally separate herself.  But his cumming inside her---his act of ejaculation had been what had finally somehow hammered Lena’s mind like nothing before---the feeling of his body's fluids introduced so deeply inside her body and mixing with hers’, this is what had finally driven home the reality of her situation.


Catching his breath, Big Man laid on the pig he’d just raped for another couple of minutes until he had shrunk down to the point where he could no maintain himself inside her.  Adrenaline still gripped a frantic hold on him and his heart pumped wildly.  His mind raced and yet he experienced a feeling of calm, even relief.  Groaning in satisfaction at the relaxed feeling in his groin, he rolled off the woman’s bound body and stretched out on the mattress beside her for a smoke.  After a few minutes, Big Man curled up next to his bound victim and dropped off to sleep.  

Neither of the men felt the need to talk to the pig.  The bitch was here to be used and to attain physical release.....perhaps to be slapped around a little to prove she wasn’t a cop anymore.  She was the cunt they’d fuck just to pay her back for the trouble she'd caused.  

It was a long trip terribly extended by numerous stops to trade driving duties.  Of course, this wasn’t all that they traded.  Four hours out of Langford, they pulled into a rest stop.  After parking in the most deserted part of the lot, Big Man and Little Man stepped out and after locking the van and stretching their legs, they headed for the rest room.  Taking a quick piss and walking around for a second to stretch their legs, they went back to the van and entered from the back after unlocking the door.  

Big Man was driving now and everything seemed so peaceful.  He smiled and stretched; fucking-A, he was spent.  His raging hormones had been satisfied and his sense of calm remained even though he still had a semi-hardon that wouldn’t fade.  Never a deep or reflective thinker, he still felt a strong sense of satisfaction and accomplishment.  He felt a warm surge pass through him like a wave, the sensation at once both tranquil and energizing.  Physically, he felt amazingly good after getting his nuts off a couple of times in the pig.  Mentally, he was relaxed and almost ready to have a third go at the whore.  

Their cum-covered bitch lay silent and unmoving on the mattress now; her nose was running but her eyes were dry and dull as she stared at a small patch of rust that had formed on the roof of the van just above the driver’s seat.  Fucked four times by the two of them, she was covered from lower belly to mid-thigh with their semen.  Even more fun, the insides of her thighs were stained black with her blood after being fisted by Little Man.  


He’d felt the need to hear their new whore scream and when she wouldn’t cooperate while being fucked, he decided that she needed to be punished just a little for her arrogant silence.  She was pretty well lubricated by this time, so he’d positioned himself to push his middle three fingers inside her vagina.  He waggled his fingers to open her up and this took a little while, but once he had them buried inside the female cop, he then made a spear out of all of his fingers and got that inside her too up to just past his knuckles.  

By this time, she was bucking in a piss-poor imitation of a mechanical bronco.  Even better, the bitch was finally squealing like a pig and giving out quite adequate screams…but he was too hot to do her this way now…he'd gone too far to stop.  And besides, it was all her fault anyway......and he wanted to punish her for not going along with his plans right from the beginning.  If she'd just cooperated in the first place and faked a few screams for him, she wouldn't have had to take it like that.  What a cunt!

Kneeling between her widespread thighs, he struggled at the entrance to her well-muscled pussy, too excited to even think of stopping.  But even after the multiple acts of unwanted sex, the uncooperative bitch was still tight around his hand and he was forced to slow down a little.  It was obvious that everything he gave their piggy fuck-meat from this point on really hurt her, but he honestly didn’t give a shit what she was feeling.  Little Man took his time and worked her cunt some more and eventually the tight muscles guarding the entry to her vagina suddenly relented, submitting to his superior will.  

Abruptly, almost unexpectedly, there was a rough jerking motion of the van as it pulled off to the side of the road just as he found his right hand buried in her up to his wrist.  He watched clinically, almost objectively, as pig-cunt really went nuts; maybe he'd ripped something inside her a little.  But no matter how much more he worked the pig's vagina, he couldn’t seem to force his way any deeper inside her pelvis.  But he was sweating and tired by this time.  And truth be known, he'd gotten his nuts off several more times by just being able to make the cop scream like the whore they both knew she was.

The ravaged woman now wore their bite marks on her neck, breasts and nipples, but none were very deep.  Although painful when inflicted, they would fade within a day or two if they didn’t get infected.  The insides of her thighs were also bruised in several places from their blows---these bruises too would fade if no more were inflicted.  But the men now stood and just looked down at her naked body.  Finally, Little Man grabbed a rag and wiped the insides of her thighs clean.  Even satiated as they were, the ravaged female cop still seemed hot as hell to both of them.  


Bound as she was and after what they had done to her, Lena felt that there was nothing left to protect; they'd taken it all, brutally stripping away everything that made her special as a woman, as a human being.  She was spending almost all of the time now in that tiny, peculiar place in her mind that allowed her to maintain her sanity.  She knew that in reality none of this had been her fault, but it still didn’t feel that way.  She still somehow felt “tainted” by them, “ruined” both as a woman and as a person; as if by being a peace officer, it had been her “responsibility” to prevent everything bad from happening.  And since she hadn’t stopped them, she was then somehow to blame for both what was happening to her now and for what she was afraid might have happened to her partner.  If only she had been a little more aware, a little quicker, a little more competent.

That was the worst part.  Even though having been raped by these two was psychologically devastating, Lena knew how tough she was and that if given half a chance she would somehow, eventually work her way through it.  Dumphries was an asshole, but she would never be able to forgive herself for not being there to protect his back.  That guilt wouldn’t go away and would haunt her until the day she died.  

At the same time, lying bound and helpless on that mattress in the back of the van, all the police training and protocols that she had ever learned had already been tossed aside; the observant mind and the tough talk, the defiance and the aggressive “cop” attitude were all things of the past.  The rapes and the senseless pain these two had inflicted upon her had just taken too much of a toll---she was mentally and physically exhausted, and frankly, just too sore to even try to fight them anymore.  Lena however, was still quite inexperienced in the ways of men like this.


There Are Two Sides To Every Woman or He Was A Brown Tunnel Lover and Not Ashamed To Admit It

It had been almost ten hours since she'd begun her journey into hell.  The van had been parked at a rest area for over an hour now and the men were rested again.  Going to the ropes that bound her feet to the side of the van, each man now untied a rope and grabbed an ankle.  Working together and cursing under their breath at the uncooperative bitch, the men now changed sides and after they’d flipped the woman onto her stomach her ankles were again made fast against the side of the van.  It all happened so quickly that she hadn’t even understood what was happening until they were done.  Next, Little Man began to unwrap the tape that bound her wrists at the small of her back.  The captive’s shoulders ached and her arms were numb both from being bound behind her back and from having been lying upon them for so long.  Consequently, it took little effort on the part of the two men to free her hands and then anchor them to the sides of van.

Big Man looked down on their new bitch and marveled at his luck.  She had an absolutely gorgeous ass, one of the best asses he'd ever been able to inspect in person.  He now lowered himself upon her back and after grabbing a handful of hair to pull her head up, he used his thumb and forefinger to grab a swipe of mucous as it ran from her nose.  He wiped this on the head of his newly born erection.  Precariously balancing himself upon her back, he pushed the quiescent whore’s ass cheeks apart with his left hand as he tried to guide himself into her with the other.  


His actions finally brought Lena out of her fugue and she felt incredibly enervated as a massive surge of adrenaline shot into her blood stream…No!...NO!!...this loser gangbanger couldn’t be thinking of doing this to her…..this couldn’t be happening to her, not her……she couldn’t allow this to happen.  

Lena somehow found a new reservoir of strength and courage that allowed her fight him once more and this time she was absolute desperate in her struggles.  She bucked and arched and rocked in a hopeless attempt to save herself.  In this, at least for a short time, she was somehow successful.  

But………


The van's engine and the barely heard the shocked shrieks of horror and agony from in back started at about the same time.  It had taken Big Man multiple tries before he had gained his initial entry.  And the woman beneath him had desperately fought against his invasion, literally fighting him every inch of the way.  But soon, as with everything else that concerned her body during those early morning hours, he had his way with her.  For everything which had protected her had finally capitulated to his dominant strength and need.  He was in her now, he could tell both by the incredible tightness as her body locked around the circumcised tip of his thick cock, as well as the way she suddenly froze---no more did the bitch pig arch or quiver or buck beneath him.  As soon as he got that first full inch in her ass, except for her screams, every muscle in her body had frozen in place.  But he didn’t care.


Now Lena lay under him as if dead, as if by maintaining an eerie stillness, her motionless body would somehow protect her from his continued assault.  Occasionally however, the spittle accumulated to the point that she choked even as she still howled into the gag that filled her mouth.  

“Noooo, please not this.  Oh God,” Lena screamed into her gag, “please let me die.  I just want to die.  Noooooo.”  But there was no God answering her prayers on this early morning.  


The cunt beneath him panted through her snot-filled nostrils and he could hear her muffled screams for mercy.  Damn, this bitch turned him on.  

Her shrieks were just an added bonus to Big Man, making the act of sodomy just that much sweeter.  He wanted to completely fuck this cunt up, take everything the bitch had to give a man.......make her take everything he had to give a woman.  Every muscle in his body, every thought in his mind, every ounce of his being, everything about him as a male screamed its chorus together demanding that every inch he possessed had to be lodged inside the young woman’s hot, tight, slickly moist body, so he started pushing again.  

Within seconds, he felt her tight, gristly muscles totally surrender as they gave way before his urgent need---and once they did, he possessed her in every way that mattered.  He pushed deeper, exploring with his thick, heavily veined cock the parts of her body that were never meant to be investigated like this.  He felt the cunt's rectum desperately surround his cock, gripping him like a lifeline as it finally accepted the intrusion of his massive shaft, then it released for one spasmodic moment before clenching him again.  He pulled out a little and then accompanied by the pig’s muffled howls, somehow rammed himself even deeper inside her again.

Finally, he was all the way in and the young woman under him had become an unwilling member of a small and exclusive club he had founded a couple of years ago.  She suffered first-hand the humiliation, the awful and loveless agony of flesh stretched to the point of tearing and then beyond; the unfamiliar and shocking feeling of overwhelming fullness within her lower abdomen; of being forced to accommodate what most resembled only a conquering baseball bat-sized rod that probed ever deeper inside her until she could not breathe.  Everything combined into an ever increasing crescendo of pain; an eon of agony always followed by that half second or so of blessed relief as he would pull back in preparation for his next attack.  

He was merciless and he took her hard; he knew it must have seemed to the young woman that it went on forever.  Cops liked to maintain control of a situation; how’d she like being on the other end now?  He just KNEW that she wasn’t so arrogant anymore and her barely-heard gargled shrieks of profoundly pure animal-like pain gave him a bone deep feeling of satisfaction.  Now that he possessed her, he found that her buttocks were so muscular and so well developed that he had to drive hard with his hips just to make sure he didn't bounce off her like he was hip-fucking a goddam trampoline or something.  God, she was hot!


Snot drained from her nose and terrible shooting pains ran through her pelvis from front to back; it felt like a thick steel shaft had been driven inside her then inflated like a massive balloon.  She felt crippling stomach cramps that were accompanied by a compelling, urgent need to defecate, as if her intestines would explode if she couldn’t let go.  

But she never could and they never did.  


Big Man had forced his victim's face to the left and he lay upon her so that he could talk into her left ear.  “Oh yeah, that’s right,” he crooned with his stinking breath.  “Come on, you’re my fuckmeat, baby.  Take it deep, baby, real deep.  You’re my ass-pig and you know you want it there.  Women cops are all whores anyway; you know you just love it like this.  Sluts like you just like uniforms, like to fuck all the other cops, now you get to fuck the real men too.  You are one lucky piece of ass, woman.  You got a great body and you gotta know that once you’re trained right, you’re gonna’ be one hell of a piece of ass.  You’re definitely gonna’ be an ass-fucker’s dream.”

The cunt had become a personal challenge for him, “Come on, you bitch; you know you wanna cry for me.  Come on and cry for daddy now.”

Because he had already filled her pussy with cum a couple of times, this last fuck-fest turned out to be a marathon event; it took Big Man almost twenty brutal minutes before he could finally achieve his delayed release.  And in this epic of forced sex, he finally achieved his goal.  After changing his angle of penetration several times just to cause more pain, the woman under him finally broke down and cried like a baby one more time.  Each time he plunged into her from a different angle, her screams would reach a muffled crescendo and then end with her bawling into her gag again.

The pig’s back was slick with their combined sweat now as he continued his pile driver thrusts.  Finally he was moving faster and faster, the reduced friction from their sweaty bodies still increasing the body heat between their bodies and on his erection that was so firmly and deeply buried inside his captive’s ass cheeks.  From the almost numb feeling in his groin, he knew that when he shot his load this time, he wouldn't be fucking her again for a while; or at least not until he’d had a chance to get some sleep.  Too soon, he felt the familiar burning, boiling sensation begin in his nuts and groin; he felt it going higher and higher until he couldn’t hold it in anymore and it was then with a soft sigh of pleasure that he gave the cunt another precious gift of his body’s fluids---a gift injected deeply into her precious, darkly forbidden cave, a part of her body the bitch had probably had never dreamed would be desecrated like this.

He rolled off of her back after a couple of minutes and stretched out on the mattress.  His pants were still down around his ankles and his legs were draped over the back of her right leg as it was still bound to the side of the van.  After a minute he went to sleep, snoring softly as his body was thrown back and forth by bumps in the highway.


Around And Around The World Forever And Ever or They Firmly Believed That Everything Worthwhile Begins With Pain

Lena couldn’t keep from crying.  It was too much to take.  Physically helpless and locked down in her own mind, suddenly having time to think about what had happened to her over the last half day, what they’d done to her, she was pushed by those images towards shock.  She cried softly, at first trying to keep quiet, not wanting them to hear her misery.  But the inner voice that had given her hope before was long gone now, and suddenly, it didn’t matter if they knew she was crying.  

Her anal sphincter ached terribly and her bowels suddenly felt so over-extended, almost uncomfortably empty when he’d finally pulled out; but after only a few minutes, she’d felt her body slowly begin to recover.  Although she was still cramping, thankfully they were coming further apart and diminishing in fierceness.  She continued to softly sob in pain for another couple of minutes, but was finally able to stop.  Even worse, the temperature inside the van continued to rise and it was already like an oven.  Under her arms, behind her knees, everywhere she could be sweaty or damp, she was.  Even the backs of her bare thighs somehow seemed to be sticking to the thin mattress upon which she lay.  She was in a physical hell and in the same place psychologically.  

The now relaxed sodomite lay next to her.  He touched her face almost lovingly and then stroked her body.  Less than ten minutes ago he had finished sodomizing her, and now he stroked her face like he was her lover or something.  A gentle, kind touch, but it was so twisted, seemed such an insane thing to do.  Lena had to look away from him; she couldn’t look at her rapist now without wishing him dead...and normally she wasn't that kind of person.  But the bastard held all of the power right now and somewhere deep in her mind, she knew she wasn’t capable of hurting a fly.

Soon, he lay asleep next to her on the mattress.  


It was now around 6 AM; between driving and taking their pleasure with the captive, the two men had physically exhausted themselves.  They continued taking turns driving and napping in back with Lena.  After a couple more sessions of full-tilt loving on the mattress in back, there was no fight left in her and at that point they were able to leave her ankles unbound.  Although she remained dry-eyed and awake, they snuggled up next to her and slept for half an hour to an hour at a time.  

After waking, they again took advantage of whatever part of their captive’s anatomy happened to be closest before trading places with the driver.  This last session in the back of the van snuffed any internal fire, destroyed any remaining fight Lena might have retained.  The two men had finally succeeded in taking a proud, professional law officer and turned her from a shocked woman into to a submissive, child-like female victim in a little more than twelve hours of pure sexual hell.  


Big man felt good, upbeat, like he could tackle the universe after taking everything from the female cop.  Degrading the whore-pig had been the highpoint of the last month.  After checking her bindings, the three of them headed out once more.  They stopped for gas several times and by late-morning, were driving down a deserted and an unpaved country road, looking for a place that was still and quiet and alone.  Finding one, they parked the van out of sight so that it would block her from any curious onlookers.  

Still feeling like a king, Big Man unhooked their woman’s collar from the van bed below the mattress and she was brought out like a favorite pet.  Naked but for her gag, Big Man cuffed their bitch on the side of the head a couple of times before they led their new whore a short distance from the van by a leather leash attached to her dog collar.  


Her wrists were unbound now, but she did exactly as they ordered—there was no thought of defiance or even willful disobedience—all of that had been removed, forcibly taken from her in the back of the van.  Lena could barely walk; her hips were stiff and her joints hurt.  Her legs did not work well and there was a dull aching pain in her vagina, a bruised and swollen area that throbbed with each beat of her heart.  

Perhaps most disturbing of all, at least to Lena, while there were few abdominal cramps anymore, her anus burned and ached with every step she took.  Dully looking around, Lena felt little embarrassment at being forced to squat in front of the two men to urinate.  They’d already seen her naked in every possible position.  

She felt like her mind had been surgically removed from her body.  There was a frightening mind-numbing, monotonously dreary distance between where she was now in her head and the reality she inhabited in the back of the van, a distance which upon later analysis was nothing more than a subconscious attempt to maintain her sanity.  Nothing mattered anymore.  After unsuccessfully attempting to vacate her bowels, she wearily climbed back into the rape wagon and without being ordered, lay back down on her back on the mattress again.  

She told herself that she would have tried to fight them or escape had there been an opportunity, but that was a lie.  Her situation?  It was hopeless.  At this point, Lena felt totally worthless, both as a person and as a woman…especially as a woman.  She had been beaten down and there was no fire left inside---they had successfully put it all out---she now knew it was useless to fight them over anything they might want to do to her from this point on.  Her only hope now was just to survive; and to survive she had to cooperate.

Once she was back in the van, she voluntarily held her hands out to them.  As usual, they tied her wrists behind her back and her ankles together, then tied the rope to her wrists.  Finally, her collar was clipped to the floor ring again.  It was an uncomfortable hog-tie, but even this was acceptable if it meant the two men left her alone.  They stopped once at a McDonald's and purchased burgers, fries and cokes to go.  

When they were back on the road, Big Man climbed in back, unclipped her collar from the floor and untied her ankles from her wrists.  He made her sit up and ignored the way she shrank away from him when he freed her.  After turning the ring in the Lena’s dog collar to the back, he easily picked her up and slammed her against the side of the van.  He then pushed her head back against the van’s wall and used a carabiner to clip her collar to the side of the van.  Trying to avoid drawing attention to herself, Lena pulled her legs under her body in an attempt to achieve a little comfort.  But bound against the wall like this, she knew that she was still absolutely helpless.  

Finally, he leaned in to her face and asked in a gruff voice, “Are you thirsty or hungry?”

Refusing to look into his eyes, Lena nodded her head.  He began to remove the tape that kept the sponge gag in her mouth.  Stopping just before he pulled off the last piece of tape, he said, “If you make a sound or try to scream, I’ll fuck you up big-time!  No one's gonna' hear you scream anyway, but it'll piss me off.  You understand, bitch?”

Wearily, Lena nodded her acceptance of his rules.  This seemed to satisfy him for he now removed the last piece of tape over her mouth.  Leaning her head forward a little, she opened her mouth for him and he reached in, grabbed the saliva-soaked sponge and pulled it out of Lena’s mouth.  With her mouth empty for the first time in over half a day, Lena worked her aching jaw muscles as she put her head back against the wall of the van and closed her eyes.  The inside of her mouth felt as dry as the Sahara.  After a moment she licked her dry lips and tried to swallow, but had no moisture left in her mouth.  

Big Man offered her a coke with a straw, and she greedily sucked on the icy black nectar.  Finally, after a minute it seemed like the dry membranes in her mouth had absorbed enough moisture for her to be able to talk, but she was smart enough to keep her mouth shut.  Big Man offered her a small bite of a cheeseburger and Lena forced herself to chew it slowly.  Soon, far too soon, she had finished what little they offered her.  Lena kept her head down so that she wouldn’t have to look at him, but he grabbed her chin and forced her head up until she looked at him.  

He said, “Open your mouth, bitch.”  Helpless, Lena cooperated and allowed herself to be gagged once more.  But thankfully, he left her leaning against the side of the van with her collar clipped to the wall as he went back up front with his partner.  


PART Four: Dripping dungeons and rusted chains

A Place Of Profound Ruin and Tragedy or Three Louisiana Newbies Coming Right Up

You can't prepare for everything life's going to throw at you.  And you can't avoid danger.  It's there.  The world is a dangerous place, and if you sit around wringing your hands about it, you'll miss out on all of the adventure.
-Jeannette Walls.

The chains that break you, are the chains that make you.  And the chains that make you, are the chains you break.
-Anthony Liccione

South of Houston

The off-white suburban containing the three new girls from Louisiana reached its destination near the south-central Texas Gulf around mid-afternoon.  Still conscious, but barely able to move after more than twenty-four hours in their tiny box, the girls were easily transferred to a small panel van for the last forty miles.  After an additional hour's drive, the van pulled into the compound that had been their final destination from the beginning and then into a garage-like stall.  

Belts were unleashed and straps undone, each woman was pulled from the van by her hair.  The diapers and waist belts were removed and unresisting hands were cuffed behind the back.  Still gagged, each naked young woman was dragged and partially carried by two men each through a door, down a hall and finally into an elevator which descended into the hot, muggy-atmosphered basement.  The walls looked almost wet from the overwhelming humidity and thin puddles of water looked like permanent fixtures in some of the rooms.  It was clearly an unhealthy environment in more ways than one.  

The girls still acted barely alive.  One at a time, they were pinned to separate tables by their escorts.  Only now did they begin to struggle again.  Once strapped down each was forcibly branded, with a quick, small burn mark discretely located on the inside of their left bicep near the armpit.  The brand was a number which signified their position in the long line of females that had been recruited by The Albanian prior to their arrival.  Their numbers were twenty eight-one, twenty eighty-two and twenty eight-three.  

The journey ended up in a sprawling subterranean room as the frightened girls were pushed in front of a floor to ceiling webbing made of coarse manila rope.  This was The Albanian's Spider's Web.  The Spider's Web was an arrangement of rope fixed to the walls, floor and ceiling somewhat resembling the design of an ordinary spider's web. The rope defined a net with a mesh of between eight and ten inches.  The web had been pulled taut, and when bound to it, the extreme tension on the rope ensured little movement was possible by the victim.  The old Albanian mobster felt that the web had advantages over more old fashioned items such as the St. Andrews cross since once the victim had been secured, she was accessible from both front and back.  The handlers had also found that it was also much easier to bind a woman in such a way that the web supported more of her weight, thus making it possible to leave the girl bound for much longer periods.

One man grabbed each girl by the throat and cut off their air.  After being cautioned to remain silent, the men released each of the girls and the gags removed.  Each of the dazed and hurting young women were offered a sip of water and strong tea out of a squeeze bottle.  The girls gratefully drank everything offered before the gags were replaced.  They didn't know that the water had been laced with heavy doses of caffeine and the tea brewed from rose hips, which was rich in vitamin C.  Both fluids kept people awake when drunk in enough quantity and within twenty minutes, the girls hearts were racing like trip-hammers.

Multiple men were yelling at the scared, horrified girls, far too many to obey any one of them.....guttural sounds spewed from their mouths, and while the words were incomprehensible, the inexplicable venom in their voices was immediately obvious.   Even though there were way too many men to fight, the girls still struggled as best they could to at least to cover their nakedness.  But nothing worked.  Wrists still bound behind their backs, they were quickly tied in a position that left them completely exposed and horribly vulnerable, upside down against the web.  

Their heads were about three feet off the ground and their legs were spread almost four feet apart as the bottoms of their feet almost scraped the low ceiling.  Much of their weight was supported by a set of ropes around their ankles and another set of ropes that ran tightly around their waist.  Another rope from ran under their arms and across the back of their necks, allowing the remaining weight to be taken by their shoulders.  A final rope ran from under their arms and across the base of their breasts, ensuring that their backs remained tightly affixed to the rope webbing.  Once the men had finishing binding the girls, they stepped back to admire both their work and the new talent that had been recruited.  

Each girl was then roughly cleansed by a man using a water hose.  They tried to struggle when strange men thoroughly wiped them between their legs after having been hosed down, but stopped quickly after being slapped multiple times in the face and punched in the breasts.  


It Helps To Be Strong or But They All Still Break If He Has Enough Time

The final task was to give each new girl a welcoming gift.  The Gargantua.  While each young female had bucked and screamed when first hung on the web, there were significantly more frantic struggles and much louder groans and screams and cries for mercy when the monstrous things were quickly inserted in their rectums.  Every man watching smiled as even more horrendous screams could be heard upon initial inflation of the rubber behemoths.

The Gargantua was by far the largest dildo ever used by the old European's men.  It ripped up a few of the women forced to take it in and hurt the rest like a mother-fucker; the meat crew laughingly called it the Mother of all Mother-Fuckers.  It was made out of heavy dark brown latex and at first glance looked like nothing more than a large banana skin from which the fruit inside had been removed.  

The beauty of this tool was its ease of insertion while in the deflated mode.  But once inside a female's body, it could be inflated with a hand pump to however big they felt the lady had earned with her behavior.  While it was mostly sold to the LGBQT community as a great tool for gradual anal dilation, on these girls it was supposedly used as an initial introduction to their new life-role.  Bashir however, ensured that there was nothing gradual about it.

For these three "ladies," the dildos were slowly pumped to slightly over half size over a period of only a couple of minutes.  The final inflation was always left as a punishment for continued unacceptable behavior.  Each incremental increase at that point was accompanied by muffled shrieks and screams which seemed to echo throughout the subterranean cell, then out into the building itself.  Of course, each of the men took it upon himself to counsel the girls as to the inappropriate behavior as shown in their previous lives.  The young, inexperienced girls however, had every right to voice their extreme concern, for when fully inflated the Gargantua was approximately fourteen inches long and over two inches in diameter at the base.  

It was a woman-killer.

Becoming bored with a show that all of the men had already seen numerous times before, they finally departed amid raucous laughter, lascivious bets and mean-spirited catcalls, leaving the new girls hanging on the Spider's Web, immersed in little but their individual thoughts for several hours.


Time passed so slowly for a young woman in this situation.  

She was still in shock, frozen with disbelief, her mind refusing to work.  Yet Ursula was filled with real agony too.  The terrible thing that had been pushed inside her was agonizing in its dimensions; it left her stomach continually cramped and with such a grotesque feeling deep in her belly, as if someone had actually stirred her guts.  The cramps never stopped, hitting her again and again, always making her try to double over to relieve the pain.  And they were constantly accompanied by a strange internal pressure associated with what felt like a terrible writhing feeling within her intestines.  

Immobilized and hanging upside down, her brain felt like it was going to explode from the blood pooling in her head.  It was hot and the air felt thick and unbreathable, laden with subterranean moisture.  A sense of overwhelming dread permeated all three girls, and the more Ursula panicked, the more difficult it was to breathe the waterlogged air.  Her weight continually dragged on her ankles where she was tied to the wall of rope, and Ursula felt this overwhelming sense of total vulnerability brought on by how terribly exposed she was between her legs.  

God!  Her mind screamed wordless pleas and threats, but refused to work in any helpful way.  Her ass ached and throbbed with every beat of her heart.  Even worse, whatever they'd forced inside her seemed to take up far too much room in her lower body and chest, feeling like it was pressed against her diaphragm and making it so much harder to breathe.  The thing was so large that it filled her abdomen and just taking a breath made it hurt her insides even more.  Her mind continued to spin in terrible circles of profound helplessness, revolving only around the thing inside her body.  

Every now and then it seemed that a draft of cold air whispered over the insides of her thighs.  But still, she was so hot now that nothing helped.  Sweat trickled towards the ground as her lungs heaved for oxygen, the salty fluid running into her eyes and blinding her.  Or perhaps it was the lights they'd left shining into their faces.  The light that was so intense that it blasted her pupils even through closed eyelids.  She couldn't even close her eyes to get away from it.  

Hot klieg lights can blind your eyes when you're hanging on the something like the Web.  They're a lot brighter than portrayed in the old WW II films where the Nazis are torturing an Allied prisoner.  Some who have suffered the glare say it can even penetrate your skull and affect the pineal gland---the deeply buried “third eye” that old-time mystics used to call a direct link to the soul.  A searing light like this is said to reveal hidden truths.  

Or make you delirious enough to find cosmic meaning in stark simplicity.  

Mind finally working a little, Ursula suddenly realized that nothing could save her from whatever these men had planned.  An unfamiliar sense of total hopelessness filled her.  Things were going to get worse before they got better.  Somehow, she just knew this.  

She chanced a short glance to one side; Linda hung to her left, finally silent and unmoving.  She saw that the girl she'd only barely known in high school seemed to be doing okay, given how they all suffered—at least she was still breathing.  Abruptly she arched up towards her feet as much as she could—Ursula could tell that Linda was cramping as much as she was.  

She quickly glanced at Dana.  The young girl was crying, still struggling weakly against the ropes that bound her to the webbing.  Trying to help her avoid more punishment, Ursula urgently whispered, “Quiet.  You need to be quiet or they'll hurt all of us more just to make you stop.”

Dana quieted slowly, sobbed, then finally glanced at Ursula

“It's going to be okay if you'll just be quiet.”

However, Ursula couldn't stifle a groan herself as her abdomen cramped again.  Breathing quickly to fight the pain, breath hissing between clenched teeth, she said, “Speak only when they speak to you.   Give them what they want.  They're not going to stop until they get what they want.”

One man eventually returned, but the girls weren't sure if several hours had passed by now or several days.  All they knew for sure was that moaning and struggling accomplished nothing.  The man silently opened manila folders and methodically laid out pictures and typed notes on the concrete floor below their heads.  The girls had been blinded by the bright light and it took them a few minutes to be able to focus on the material displayed beneath their eyes.  But each was shocked as they realized that these were pictures and addresses and phone numbers of all of their respective family members.  Everyone was included, even their grandparents.

They were left alone again for another hour to think about what this meant.


The Training's The Thing Here or He Was A Man Definitely Committed To His Task

It was midnight, time to begin.  The moon was full and that always helped on nights like this, with what he had planned for the three new girls.  The moon was full and glorious.  White, with a tinge of red; full and fat and beckoning.  All of it called to the need, to the demands that would be made tonight of the new women.....and he was ready.  He thought of the things that he would teach each of them now that they were here.  They would not be happy with his instructions, but they would be amazed.  

It was like an assembly line; what Bashir did here represented the beginning of a chain which took in beautiful young American women and spit out at the end beaten females that were nothing more than cowed, submissive sex slaves.  It had been a long process figuring out just what exactly worked and why, but now it was pretty much fool-proof.  There was still breakage, of course, but for all intents and purposes the system had been perfected—here, in the land of the Detroit assembly line.  He loved the irony.

The girls had at first flopped on the rope wall like a freshly landed fish lying in the bottom of the boat, but all now hung quietly, their strength gone.  Their feet were well above eye height and he noticed how nicely shaped they were.  All had nails looking almost professionally painted, toes straight and not deformed by having worn fashionably tight, toe-pinching high-heels for too long.  As usual, he reflected upon their high quality, it was best to begin with the young ones who had not yet suffered from their futile, and even sad, attempts at Western high fashion.  

Each girl had reached her journey’s end; it was not a pretty place for beautiful young females such as these.  Joyless, controlled, regimented.  Sweat rolled down his back as he stared at his next three victims, soaking his shirt.  It was hot for him, but much worse for them…welcome to Charnel House, the place of horrors.  A little overly dramatic perhaps, but he would allow them to be the judge of that in another forty-eight hours.  

He was Bashir, the head meatbreaker, the lead cleaner.  The man who led the men that did the dirty work.  He was that man.  He didn't hate these poor, forlorn girls.  Not really.  But he felt no respect for them either.  In fact he felt surprisingly little emotion towards them now, never really thinking of them as human at all anymore.  He had initially cultivated this air of nonchalance as a defense mechanism.  Even so, some tiny part of him still felt ashamed of what he did for a living…manipulating and torturing young women and men, treating them like playthings…and he used his chilly aloofness as a preemptive strike against any criticism, real or imagined.  Yet this frigid distance still was not quite enough to salve his conscience when he awoke in early in the quiet mornings that followed delivery of new merchandise.  

Of course, it helped that a large number of the American females that came through his hands were true sluts, basically deserving pretty much anything he and his men did to them.  He loved that word, slut.  It perfectly described most of these whorish young women.  And as long as he could see them all as sluts and whores, he could rationalize everything, allowing him to continue doing his job.  The torture and sexual humiliation, the full-out serial rape of these sluttish females, the sexual and physical and emotional assaults that seemed to go on forever, all of these were just tools in the toolbox, a number of quick and sure ways to break the bitch’s will, a way to demonstrate his absolute power over them.  

Of the tiny remainder, most were truly innocents, unluckily caught up in something far beyond their experience.  These weren't the ones driven to prove how little they thought of themselves or their femininity, but they were sausage for the old man's machine nonetheless and nothing could save them now or prevent them from being ground up and ultimately destroyed.  In a perfect world, he would want the naïve ones, the ones in the last group to know that it wasn't personal, these things he did to them.  But he also wanted them to know he WAS going to break them, every one of them----and he needed them to understand this, to believe this to the very depth of their souls.  

These were the vulnerable ones that walked through life like meat on the hoof, perpetually stumbling down the jungle game trail with hungry tigers sniffing at their heels.  As a predator himself, he knew very well the powerful feeling of strolling in disguise through large groups of potential feminine prey, enjoying the knowledge that at any minute he could cut one of them from the herd for his own use.  

In truth, he didn’t often bother with taking the girl’s anymore, instead leaving that to two or three of his men.  Yet as much as he hated to admit it, under his studied icy calm exterior there was still that tiniest touch of addictive exultation in the pure animal pleasure he felt at certain times of the moon.  Emotions fed at the deepest levels with adrenaline and lust, and a thirst that was quenched only with forcing each of these girls to obey his every whim.  As much as he fought them, these feelings inside had lasted a long time and he knew his experimentation with these Western girls was risky and in the end, doomed.  

Deep inside, he had at one time known, for sure, that what he did was wrong.  Certainly, it did something to a man on inside when he looked into the eyes of the women he trained, somehow breeding a sickness of the human spirit at first.  But with the emotional distance he now cultivated with the girls, he really didn't care much anymore.  Sometimes, it even seemed that even though he was losing his humanity, the glory and the triumph of possessing such supremely beautiful young females offset some of the loss—it certainly made him feel like a lion among sheep.

The morality of what he did didn’t bother him anymore for he knew that, especially in wartime, all traditional values were crossed upon themselves.  In Western society, men were raised to have and to hoard and to succeed.  Yet during war, a man was also expected to share his food with a stranger in a foxhole, or even give his life away in defense of a soldier he might have met only weeks before.  Surely, the rigid rules of ‘morality’ were a construct, and the nature of the construct was an ever-changing one that depended entirely upon circumstance….

All his misgivings had been kept buried deep inside for years, the doubts continually becoming softer and less compelling, until they were almost gone now.  What, he had asked himself at first, what if you keep evil at arm’s length, not because you’re afraid of being harmed, but from fear that it may provoke recognition, some answering tug, a sense of welcome inside?  He didn’t ask himself this question anymore.  

He jolted then, as he almost always did at that point.  Away down the subterranean corridor in which he stood, a woman screamed.  It was a rising wail of pure agony.  Followed immediately by a shorter, second scream.  

Then deafening silence.

He immediately shut the sound from his head, giving no sign of having heard it.  When a rabbit was in a snare, pinioned, and the fox closed in, then the rabbit screamed in fear and agony.  This was the way of life.  He knew the sound he had heard, and he knew the ways and desires of the man that was his master.  

These three new ones, for example.  One thing he had to give this particular snatch team; they had very good taste in women.  Even though each was different, it appeared they all had three things in common: beauty, brains and a sense of independence.  

He compared them now; the one called Linda, her looks were more aristocratic and it seemed her sensuality would be expressed in small details.  The young one, Dana, she seemed wilder and her sensuality, like the rest of her, was almost explosive.  Culturally, the superiority of the one called Ursula was unchallenged, but emotionally, Linda seemed richer.  Dana was, in a perverse way, more sexually interesting.  Linda, in spite of her extreme personality, was more straightforward and once trained, would have a relaxing presence to her clients.  Even after being broken, Ursula was the one that would probably have to be watched the most over the long run.  Without realizing it, Bashir was tallying up the characteristics that made each young woman unique…and desirable.

He'd read their dossiers and knew instinctively that the religious one would be the toughest one; the one that would take the most effort to break in the beginning.  After doing this for many, many years, he was experienced with these American girls now; and after familiarizing himself with Linda's background, he was sure he knew her weaknesses and what would break her.  

Amazingly, it seemed this Linda could even still be a virgin; she had remained an unclaimed beauty far longer than normal for one her age in this culture, but this “condition”, this defect, would soon be rectified.  Perhaps even some money might be made out of it.  Too, as far as he could tell, he'd located at her center a seeming- invincible arrogance in her beliefs; he was sure she felt an unshakable conviction in her religion....give her three points for beauty, then subtract two for hubris.  

Whatever protection he supposed she might have felt from her religion was in fact illusory.  The truth was that her supposed shield was also her vulnerability.  Although a quiet one, there was no doubt that deep inside, she was still vain about her beliefs.  The vainer these lovelies, no matter what shape their belief might take, the more it became tied up with their egos.  It became an almost pathological self-belief, a fortress-like confidence in themselves which blinded them to that which truly threatened them.

A naturally centered person, Linda seemed the type of woman that could probably hold out indefinitely against unsophisticated and barbarous tactics.  He would bring her pain, oh yes; he would bring her both pain and sexual degradation.  But instead of assaulting her strongest point, while she concentrated on defeating his attacks on her body, he would engage her psychologically by making her responsible for the pain he gave her friends---these so-called friends, they were her true vulnerability.  He would play each of them off of the others the whole time.

He automatically assumed that because of her religious beliefs, this Linda would be a “dancer.”  Dancers weren’t the most openly resistant recruits he faced, but their unpredictable cycles of defiance alternating with cooperation made them the most difficult to break.  Some of these girls turned out to be mentally unstable, unable to distinguish fantasy from reality.  Others used this technique as a form of passive resistance, a way to incite the meatbreakers.  Openly angry and resistant girls invited brutal treatment and sexual retaliation from the very onset.  But by alternating, dancing between resistance and compliance, a smart girl could attempt to slow down the initial period of being broken, giving herself time to resist and even recuperate a little.  

He looked at the one around whom his thoughts circled.  The young beauty named Linda seemed to be ignoring her nakedness as she hung next to her friends.  Clearly suffering from some type of shock, she was no doubt experiencing the almost electric impact of true helplessness for the first time in her protected life.  What he planned next would take complete advantage of these turbulent emotions.  

Now it was time to begin.

Bashir stepped up in front of the three captives.  “I am Bashir.”  

His voice boomed and all three girls tried to look up at him.  “I won’t waste your time threatening you.  You all have work to do for us.  But understand this.  If you work well, if you perform well, you will receive two rewards: you’ll stay alive and you will eat well.  If you do not, then you will die.  Painfully.  That’s all you need to know.  Forget the future.  You have no future.  This is all the future you have.  And forget the past.  It’s gone, and you will never get it back.”  

There was a moment’s pause while he looked for dissent, for anger, but there was none, just shock, disbelief, and fear.  When dealing with the psychology of women of this particular type, in this situation, the thing to keep in mind was that after he’d had them for a while, if all went well they would actually want to cooperate with him and his men.  They would want to do this for two reasons.  First, cooperation resulted in rewards…less beatings, more amenities, and eventually, less time lying on their back with a man sweating on their bellies and pumping between their thighs.  He’d make sure they understood this.  Second, and just as important, they would soon be competing to gratify their new masters.  Seeking to please perceived authority was only human nature, after all.  Put simply; they would eventually accept working here just for the potential of receiving gold stars.  

He would work them, cause them pain for a while, then show them how they could cooperate in a way that still allowed them to somehow feel right about the choices they were about to make.  Then, as their new life continued in the impossibly pressurized environment in which he kept them, he and his men would work on convincing the girls that the values with which they’d been raised were misguided.  

This involved gaining the girl’s trust, at least on a superficial level, after he’d broken them.  That was often tricky, but the longer he worked on them, worked with them, the longer they were kept in captivity and forced to perform, the more naturally the vast majority of them eventually came around to his way of thinking.  In this sense, time worked to his benefit, for even after they’d been reduced, the process continued for at least another six months with each girl.  

He wasn’t necessarily proud of it, but one time he had even experimented with what the interrogation professionals called “psychic driving”.  This was a fancy name for nothing more than massive de-patterning.  In his case, just to see how it worked, he had once reduced a beautiful, yet exceptionally stubborn girl to essentially a vegetable state using electroconvulsive shock, sleep deprivation and sensory isolation.  

Once fully de-patterned, the girl had become incontinent and unable to even feed herself; unable to say her name or even try to guess what day it was.  Only then had they begun to rebuild her personality and values to their specifications.  It had turned out to be a less than exact science and in the end they’d been forced to “retire” the girl.  The lesson he had learned here was that it was far better to secure a girl’s voluntary cooperation if possible, that is, to work with her instead of against her.  

He looked at his men and nodded.  “Vader, they are all yours.”  


Some of the men Linda had seen here looked soft, but not this one.  He was large; an older man who carried himself with an ease which suggested both familiarity with violence and authority under these circumstances.  The man had oversized features with a great head from which gazed his deep-set dark eyes, steady and penetrating.  They were soulless, as empty of anger as they were of empathy.  But his eyes radiated power and intellect too, and when they rested upon her, it was as if he could possess her, devour her whole.  His skin was dark and yellowish, taut and shiny, like something that had just popped to the surface after two weeks in a river.  

His head was entirely hairless.  There were neither eyebrows nor eyelashes, but he had moles along one side of his face.  The lips below the long wide nose were mottled and thick.  His lips only opened when he spoke and then they flared wide, revealing strong, feral white teeth and baby-pink gums.  When he spoke in anger, his eyes bulged, more animal than human, and they seemed to blaze with an otherworldly fire.

His huge head rested upon a wide and thickly corded neck supported by heavy shoulders of epic proportion, the shoulders of a giant.  It turned out that he had no idea how much he weighed and didn’t care.  He knew there was not an ounce of fat to be found.  He took care of himself, drank his cup of bull’s blood every night before retiring.  And this had been his habit for years, for he was always in battle with the infidels while here.  

They stood, looking at each other for a second without saying a word.  Then Bashir seemed to come to some sort of a conclusion as he turned to the girls and said in broken English, “I am Bashir.  Welcome.”


His men easily took Linda off of the Web and placed her upright.  Her face was already filled with revulsion toward him even as she swayed, light-headed with dread, but somehow she still managed to stand her ground, neither moving nor speaking.  

Suddenly, she raised her chin as she said, “You want me to scream in fear of you….”  

She looked at him with disgust, “If that’s the only way you can get excited……  But I won’t.  The day of reckoning is at hand.  Don’t you understand?  The world is about to look upon the face of Christ.  Upon His grace.  You do not want to be doing this.  Fall upon your knees and beg for His infinite mercy.”

She would have said more, but Bashir only nodded to one of his men and said, “Gag her.”

 “You American’s,” he shook his head with disgust.  He continued softly as he spoke directly to Linda.  “You talk too much.  The amount of dogmatic attention and religious adherence you give to the idea of "freedom" might as well be philosophical slavery - anything that does not conform to your concept of freedom, to you is automatically "evil" and is therefore to be rejected.  Knowing half the truth but thinking you know all of it is far worse than knowing nothing at all.  You are so secure in your perception of the truth that it finally "becomes" the truth.  Well, now you will have a new truth to evaluate.”  He smiled at the thought of the impact of the new truths in her life.  

Quieted now, two men pulled the girl towards her next rendezvous, but she could not easily walk with what still filled her rectum.  But that didn't matter for he had plenty of willing hands.  The beautiful young woman was easily muscled to the other side of the dungeon, away from the comforting presence of her two friends who even now struggled weakly again, still hanging upside down on the Spider's Web.  

One end of a twenty-foot long piece of medium-thick manila rope lay coiled under a double-pulley that had been anchored in the low ceiling, while the other end had been threaded through it and now hung from the pulley.  

What looked like a very large clear doghouse on wheels waited below.  


Two slanting sides of thick, clear Plexiglas formed the roof, and where the two pieces met they had been tightly glued together.  The result was a seam that was less than an inch wide and which had been sanded smooth and left slightly rounded.  A thin piece of unpadded leather had been glued on the outside of the Plexiglas at the center of the roof crest.  The naked woman was placed upon this edge on top of the now stained leather piece as if riding a donkey or horse.  The insides of her thighs were pressed tightly against the sloping plastic sides while the highly sensitive area between the woman’s legs, that tiny area which connected her pussy and her anus, was then pressed against the upper edge of Plexiglas by her body weight.  

The doghouse had a sharply pitched roof and there were several small but powerful electric motors visible on each side at the base which connected to series of cables and pulleys.  A small camera looked up from inside the doghouse, centered upon where the victim would sit.  Finally, it looked like a long flat black, twelve-inch by twelve-inch pad had been also been fixed to the inside of the doghouse along the very center of the peak—a lozenge-shaped hole had been cut in the pad so that it would not block the camera’s view of the rider’s genitals.  

Multiple wires connecting the electric motors, pad and the camera ran to a logic board located in the base of the doghouse structure.  For the convenience of whomever was controlling the debasement on this device, there was a separate handheld panel several containing dials and switches and which was connected by a thick, twisted, six-foot long cable to the logic board.  

A separate cable inside the clear doghouse ran from the motherboard to an old-fashioned appearing dial face which had to be at least eighteen inches in diameter.  There was a large black needle pointing directly downward on the dial, perfectly dividing it into two halves.  The east side, from twelve o’clock to six o’clock had been labelled “Self.”  The western side, from twelve o’clock through nine o’clock and down to six, had been labelled “Friends.”  

This face had been attached to the front end of the doghouse by a strong piece of metal which first ran horizontally away from the doghouse for about a foot and then went vertical for two feet.  A small eighteen diameter monitor had been placed above the dial.  The location of the dial face and monitor was such that both were placed immediately in front of whomever might be on the device.  

This was the new Spanish Donkey.

The Donkey was an old idea that'd first been used in Europe to extract confessions from heretics and converted droves of Jewish women to Christianity.  He had liked the concept and had continually modified it in various ways over time as technology improved, but the basic concept of the device had never yet failed him.  This was his latest high-tech version.  

The European old-timers had often used stirrups in order to add weight to the woman’s feet.  Where before there had been stirrups, he had lately added heavy elastic straps that went around the victim’s ankles.  The straps ran through pulleys to the electric motors and sensitive dials on the control panel could be set for various weights on the loops in half-pound increments zero up to fifty pounds.  The panel’s variability switch controlled the pressure on the loops, allowing it to build up to whatever had been set as the maximum punishment and then to decrease again automatically.  

The minimum weight and time taken to reach this level could also be set as a variable so that it was different every time; there was never any constant other than the maximum pressure.  Further refinements included a tilt motion which made it seem like the woman was riding a ship at sea as well making it vibrate.  Oscillations caused by these last two additions increased the pain by several fold.  The amount of bowing along the Donkey’s peak caused by the victim’s varying weight was measured by the black pressure pad beneath her body, while the camera positioned in the center of the pad showed the victim what their body looked like as it underwent this particular torture.  

Finally, a rope was used to slowly pull up on the leather collar that had been put around the victim’s neck, effectively choking her if she fought it.  

There was an immediacy to the Donkey that never failed to amaze onlookers, for the untamed women who rode for him always screamed their beginning agony to the ceiling before any pressure had even been added to their ankles.  But add enough weight and he could cut one of these stubborn American bitches in half if he so wanted.  And the collar could be used to literally choke the woman to death.  But he'd never been forced to go that far, because all he really wanted was just their honest cooperation...


Linda, still held by two men near the clear plastic doghouse-looking thing, suddenly realized she ached everywhere in her body.  In her mind, all she heard over and over again was the mantra, ohJesusdon’tletmediehere.  pleasedon’tletthishappen.  ohdearGodplease  lordletmebestrong.  ohJesusdon’tletmediehere.  pleasedon’tlet…..

Her body felt as if every muscle had been beaten.  Her rectum especially ached from the unfamiliar and terribly large piece of inflated rubber that always demanded her full attention.  Linda looked at the monster incredulously as he continued his monologue and then she was forced to bend over as another abdominal cramp hit with the ferocity of a Category 5 hurricane.  

Finally Linda could stand upright again; she wished she could vent her anger and outrage at him for what he had done and for what he said he planned to do to her, to them.  But a part of her, the part that had been indoctrinated for most of her waking life, instinctively refused to indulge herself in evil of a like kind.  She was a normally calm young woman who worked hard at being the best person she could be, so the pure narcotic effect of the burning hatred and helpless frustration she felt at that moment literally shocked her into silence.  This man was her enemy, the enemy of all of them, of her country.  She fought the feelings, but for the first time in her life, Linda wanted to kill someone.  

The man ignored her, but one of his minions hit her hard in the pit of her stomach and she folded over again, gasping for breath through her nostrils.  When she could breathe again and stood upright with their help, she warily sized him up.  

The one who had just had one of his men hit her was not at all like most men she knew, men who had smooth faces and trimmed nails.  Even some of the men here seemed soft.  But this man, their leader, he looked like the real thing to her.  He seemed like an unholy ancient warrior, as if shaped and hardened at some nearby iron foundry.  His age was difficult to guess, but she estimated him in his late forties or early to mid-fifties.  He was bald with a large nose, and there were some kind of bumps on the right side of his face.  

But it was his eyes that haunted her.  Even in the reduced light found in this corner of his torture chamber, his eyes seemed to hold a clear black fire which seemed to wither her soul.  He was huge, and when he spoke, it was in a tone which announced that he was entitled to her respect, whether she was inclined to give it or not.  As he spoke, she could feel his will eating away at her, pushing her towards capitulation or death, and the deepest fear yet filled her.  

“You're mine,” he said, letting the flames of his gaze fall on her so hard that she actually flinched.  Even filled with a sense of resistance which came from a burgeoning, righteous anger, she couldn't stop a sob of fear from escaping.  She was only a young girl; she couldn’t be expected to be prepared for something like this.  Linda remained silent, her mind spun and it was like her brain just couldn’t connect to her mouth.

“Listen to what I say, girl.  I always say exactly what I mean.  Don’t think that my English is so bad that you can use that as an excuse.  Don't read between my words or assume I mean one thing when I say another.”  

He paused, then said softly, silkily, like he was baiting a trap of some sorts as he snapped his fingers at her, “You will please look at me when I speak to you……”  

Linda looked at him after a moment’s hesitation, but the expression on her face made it obvious she was not processing all of what he was saying.  

“Look at me,” he repeated more fiercely this time as he grabbed her chin and raised it so that she was staring into his eyes.  “Pay attention to me.  No, don’t look at any of the other men or at your friends.  Look at no one but me whenever I am talking to you.  It is disrespectful for you to do otherwise.  I feel very strongly about you acting respectfully toward your betters at all times.  Do you understand?”  

Linda’s mind suddenly tried to focus.  She instinctively hated a man who snapped his fingers at her and she knew he had asked her a question, but the words still didn’t seem real somehow.  Linda hesitated as her mind abruptly clicked and it began to work a little better once more.  She tried to figure out what he had demanded of her and finally nodded.  Filled with a sudden dread, she felt more alone than she ever had before in her life.  

“Here is the truth, if you can handle it.  I AM a monster.  My only pleasure in life is making miserable the lives of the women I work with.”  He nodded first at her then towards the girls with whom she had been inducted, “You, your friends here, me…..we are all part of the same organization now.  This is all true…..once you have accepted your role here.  All of you.  You’ll work here and live here, and we’ll take care of you in return.  You will stay here with us.  Forever.”  

Linda sagged, all strength gone as the horror of what this monster described her new reality hit her for the first time.  She abruptly realized that this situation was far worse than she could ever have imagined.

Her eyes began fluttering wildly as he leaned in towards her.  “Okay,” Bashir whispered.  “Now we begin with you.  It’s going to start now and you get to decide….   Whether you and your friends suffer or not, it’s all up to you.  Not them.  You alone, all alone.”  

He smiled then, a hard smile.  “And there will be no more delays, no more taking your time to come up with an answer.  This is what your people on TV say is….I think they call it the Speed Round.  Rapid fire.  You don’t have to think about these.  Just answer.”  

He touched a knife it seemed he had pulled from thin air, touching the point, running his thumb along the shiny, sharp edge.  “No one can hear you here, but the second you scream, I’m going to cut you with this knife.  It will hurt a lot, but it will not show where I cut you and it will leave only a small scar.  I don’t hurt to you, not because I fear someone will hear you and I want you to stop---no one will ever hear your voice again without my permission.”

Now he leaned in so close that she could smell his rotten breath, “I will cut you because you have been disobedient.”

“There is a big difference between the two.”  He leaned back a little and shook his head.  “You are not irreplaceable; there are a million other sluts and whores out there just like you.  So as you Americans like to say, I don’t really give a fuck about what happens to you personally, but I think you already know that.”  

He stopped and cocked his head to the side, “You do know that I don’t give a fuck?  Is that correct, the way I have just said it?”

Unable to answer his craziness, Linda fearfully nodded in agreement once she had processed everything.  Bashir’s voice had grown low and calm, cold and relaxed at the end, but his terrible eyes hadn’t changed.  Linda’s chest felt packed with coppery terror now, all rage was gone, having fled in the face of this man with his terrible beliefs and awful willingness.  

Fear filled her mouth and her mind instead, leaving no room what so ever for thoughts of escape.  She believed to the bottom of her soul that awful man was in charge, and that he would do anything to win.  Anything!  Linda, in turn, already knew she would try to do everything he demanded, if she could.  Whatever it took to keep them alive.

And so the young inexperienced girl began her final journey of self-discovery in the cold, hard world of her new reality.


As the beautiful young woman stood in front of him, her body visibly quivering almost uncontrollably, Bashir kicked her feet apart and then snapped his fingers.  Another man quickly deflated and gently removed the moist, slick tube that had been buried inside her lower body.  Her long hair was bedraggled now and Bashir decided not to take the time to have it braided.  

Sometimes, when the women had long hair, he had a hook braided in the end and used that instead of rope to keep them in an upright position.  It was another nice little touch he liked, using their hair as a tool against them, as he sent each kidnapped woman on her way down the four-lane, super-highway of personal humiliation and individual destruction.  But regardless of how enervating the full moon seemed tonight, he was just too tired to wait for that.

Bashir fastened an inch-wide, coarsely thick leather collar around her slender neck and then tied the loose end of the rope to the collar.  Finally, he reached out and grasped her right breast, manipulating her nipple until it had become hard.  The captive girl looked him with eyes widening in horror as he put a paper-clip-shaped clamp on it.  One end was wider and more open while other end finished with a tight loop about half the diameter of a pencil.  She moaned in pain but remain motionless as her erect nipple was pushed through the wide end of the clamp and then the clip was pulled down, pinning the nipple within the smaller loop.  He did this to her other nipple with a smile on his face, and the heavy weight of his victorious gaze bowed her down, pushing her own eyes floorward.  


Not Really On Her High Horse or It Was An Extended Voyage Of Profound Personal Discovery

Linda cried out a second time as a desperately freezing wind blew through her mind again, destroying the last remaining fragments of self-control.  The terrible man snapped his fingers again and the two men tightened their grip on Linda’s arms to stabilize her.  Without a word, he pulled on the rope and raised the helpless young captive onto her tiptoes before he tied the rope to a waiting mechanical drum.  Linda faced the wall as she swayed next to the doghouse and he turned her body so that she faced her friends.  The man in charge stepped closer and smiled as he took another step, then backhanded her with a crack that almost suggested a broken cheekbone.  

He gently pulled on her hair to make her face the ceiling; Linda was beyond resisting him at this point.  Her legs were spread in a pathetic attempt to maintain her balance against the rope; but standing at her back, it was easy for two of his men to lift her up onto the razor’s edge of the Donkey.  He already knew she was near-sighted and probably could not see her friends too well from this distance.  But that didn't matter for she could see them good enough.  

The more important thing was that they could see her.

As she was lowered onto the sharp yet still blunted edge of the roof peak, the increasing width of the Plexiglas at the bottom pushed the insides of her thighs further and further apart.  The men ensured that the edge bisected her body, dead center on her vagina.  The small video camera set inside the Donkey centered immediately below Linda gave graphic proof of how much the clear, hard plastic edge had split her labia wide apart and how her own body weight crushed the poor girl’s wet, pink virginal slit.  

Her feet were off the ground at this point and Linda's body leaned forward uncontrollably until her ankles were fitted into the stirrups and the loops of the bands and the straps then tightened around her ankles.  The saddle stirrups allowed a rider to sit with better control, but even as they kept her upright for the moment, the bands around her ankles did not yet have any pressure on them either.  But the bands also did not give any additional support or allow the captive girl to keep herself off of the pointed Plexiglas wedge driven between her widespread thighs.  

Next, tight elastic rubbers were connected from the Donkey to the bottom loops of the clamps around her nipples.  Linda now had to choose between two basic options—she could clamp the insides of her thighs together tightly enough to attempt to stand upright, thus keeping most of her weight off of the Donkey and saving her vagina--but this pulled terribly on the tips of her breasts.  The more she attempted to do this, the higher it read on the side of the dial labelled Self.  Or she could slump onto the terrible, sharp edge between her legs to relieve the pressure on her nipples, but this then crushed her pelvis and genitalia as the weight inexorably pulling her onto the doghouse roof increased on her ankles too—the made the pointer on the dial read on the Friends side.  This option also resulted in the collar choking her even more than it did normally.  The trick was to somehow try and balance the pain between the two areas as best she could.  


Linda was gasping now from the horrific pain as she crouched over the Donkey like a jockey bound for hell.  But she was determined to not cry in front of the men or the girl’s from her small town.  The laughing men now engaged the metal drum that began to wind up the rope connected to her dog collar.  The rope was tightened until the collar had been pulled up almost under her right ear.  At the same time, this pulled her chest upright, making the bands attached to her breast threaten to tear her nipples off.  Finally, the straps around her ankles were set at a one pound variable pull.  On, off, pull, then release.  With this, she began a journey that few women in history have ever truly appreciated.  

She tried to be strong.  God, how she tried to be strong.  The first five minutes or so were horrible.  The pain was literally blinding, terrible in the extreme, and when she tried to open her eyes all she could see were long, flashing strings of white that seemed to consume the darkened world in front of her.  Her entire existence was focused on the six-inch area between her legs where the monster’s horrible machine was creating hell on earth for her.  Worse, the pain kept growing, consuming more and more of her being.  For the first time in her life, Linda understood the concept of crippling pain.  

For the first few seconds, Linda tried to confront the pain by concentrating on her breathing.  Given how her mouth was filled by a rubber gag, she did the best she could to place the tip of her tongue firmly against the back of her front teeth as she breathed heavily in and out of her nose.  Her body was immediately covered with sweat as she tried to focus on preventing any other sensations from entering her mind.  Linda tried other things too, thinking about how yoga masters could lay on a bed of nails or walk across burning coals without feeling pain.  

And that even worked for a short while.

But the pain kept growing and worse, it seemed to move within her, again and again and again.  It moved from her breasts to the area in contact with the Donkey’s peak and from there to deeper into her pelvic girdle.  Her widely split feet caused the sockets in her hips to burn and tear and then the pain moved even higher into her lower spine.

It might have been only a few minutes later or it could have been hours later when the monster Bashir moved next to her and whispered into her ear, “You are a brave one.  But I want you to tell me how this feels.”  And with that, he set the pull on each ankle at five pounds and stepped back.  

With the bands at this higher setting, no matter how she strained to remain upright, more than Linda’s full body weight had now finally settled onto the thin edge of the polished, shining clear plastic and brutally pinned her genitalia.  Her head was pulled even further up and her breasts were in agony.  

The unseen monitor in front showed her labia major pinned against the Plexiglas, the flesh turning white from the pressure.  Her labia minor were squashed up in against her body, covering the entrance to her vagina--all of the folds of her flesh were now involved.  The large dial which showed the results of the pressure on the crest of the doghouse pointed down, quivering around seven o’clock on the Friends side.  

Suddenly she struggled to sit higher, more lightly on the saddle.  Measuring the pressure between the pull of the rope up on her neck collar and the pressure on her ankles of the bands pulling down, the dial now read around five o’clock, showing which choice she had made—to sacrifice her friends.  There was little in her mind except the thought of saving herself by going with the pull of the collar around her neck to reduce the crushing vaginal pressure even as it pulled more on her breasts.  


Bashir watched as the girl’s eyes bulged maniacally and she inhaled mightily through her nose.  He observed her fabulous chest with lascivious interest as her breasts continued to expand seemingly forever even as the nipple clips continued to cling hawk-like to their prey and pulled down on her with hellish determination.  

Then…he sensed a pause…..almost as if the dungeon itself had sucked in its breath and now waited for her reaction.  Suddenly her head snapped back involuntarily and a muffled, yet still penetrating scream erupted into the room.  Even though mostly stifled by the gag that filled her mouth, the outraged intensity of her shriek still reminded him of a solar flare; immediate, unexpected, white hot and capable of obliterating any humanity the surrounding men may have felt in its sheer strength and anguish as it traveled around the room, cutting the charged atmosphere like a knife.

He nodded with approval as he looked at the dial mounted on the front of the Donkey.  It quivered, varying from pointing almost straight down and then moving to seven or eight o’clock on the half of the dial which had been labelled Friends.  This implied that she was mostly allowing the ankle loops to pull down on her while still straining to fight the strain—she just had not gone all out in her fight against pull of the ankle loops yet.  

Bashir looked at her with interest.  This was a psychologically strong young woman and he was convinced that she'd ride his Donkey a long time before she gave up.  The question was though, who would she sacrifice?  But even so, there were still the standard psychological stages that every woman went through when faced with an intolerable and in all, unresolvable situation like this.  He'd bet the girl had already gone through denial and perhaps even anger.  That meant bargaining was next.  But if that was the case, she hid it well.  

Seemingly impassive up to this point, as if she had fallen off of the edge of a knife, the girl was suddenly no longer aloof or emotionally removed from her intimate voyage of discovery, from quick submission to eventually ensured domination that she and her new master undertook together.  She was instantly fully committed to the macabre dance of power between them as her will fought the new reality he offered her --- the girl’s torso was further drenched as rivulets of sweat immediately flooded her snow white skin and bubbling screams constantly gushed forth now without conscious control as he added additional weight to her ankles in tiny increments.  

The girl’s sleekly feminine body writhed and twisted on the Donkey and sweat ran in rivers off her nose as muffled screams of pain continued to sound through the gag.  Her eyes had bugged out and everyone could see her trying to scream even louder but the gag stopped almost all coherent sounds.  Even time was her enemy as it passed oh-so-slowly, but that didn’t matter for as everyone but she had understood from the very beginning, Linda never stood a chance.  

Finally, sure that she was done and so that everyone could appreciate the base physicality of her emotions, Bashir removed the gag that had kept her so muffled.  

As usual, he started out small with the weights and built from there.  After all, there was no need to maim her.  At least not at this point.  And besides, he had other surprises in store for her too.  The drum would rotate a quarter of an inch once every hour, pulling up the collar around her neck.  And when necessary, they would lower the stirrups just a little again and again.  When taken together, all of the things taken together would be more than enough for this lost female.  


The leader stood next to Linda once more after what seemed an eternity.  He snapped his fingers and the sudden slack in the rope leading to her collar meant she could breathe a little better again.  This, mixed with a relaxation of the pull on the loops around her ankles meant that only her normal weight now forced her down on the Plexiglas.  While this almost felt like heaven in some ways, the pain was constantly there between her legs, shifting and combining like some kind of a furiously malevolent ball which consisted of every toothache she’d ever had in her life all rolled up into one.  

A massive, thick-waisted man stood next to him wearing only what almost looked like a leather loin-cloth.  He stood in the shadow for a long moment studying her and then he moved into the light.  Linda could finally she could see his face and wished she had not.  It was horrible welter of ropy scar tissue, some strands paste-white, some an inflamed red.  He had holes for nostrils and a slash of a mouth, and eyelids that some surgeon had crafted from patches of skin taken from somewhere else on the man’s body, most likely from his thighs where rectangular scars showed where patches of skin had been removed for various reconstructive surgeries.  

One eye was milky, obviously no longer functioning, while the other eye looked hyper-sensitive, perpetually red as it blinked in the low light, obviously irritated by even the little illumination in the dungeon.  The stitch marks all over his body and face from previous operations were prominent.  Little hair grew on his head, and where it did, it could only be measure in tufts and small patches like weeds in a poorly maintained lawn.  


The second man breathed in deeply and noisily.  “She looks nice, real nice,” the ruin said in a raspy whisper, his vocal cords wrecked and barely useable.  His mouth made a constant wet clicking noise, the sound of banks of tissue in the wrong place.  

The monstrous man standing next to Bashir tilted his head in odd way and stared at their first victim.  “Let me have her.  She’ll be quite cooperative once I have finished with her.”  

Bashir chuckled politely, as if just having been told a bad joke.  He turned to the girl riding the Donkey, “Where are my manners?  You need to meet Gëzim.  Gëzim is the man we use when it seems that our normal methods might take too long.”

He hesitated for a moment.  “You really don’t want me to give you to Gëzim.  This is not a good man; this is a man who has suffered for his country, his people, and he blames you and all of the others just like you for the way he looks.  Gëzim likes it when we give him recalcitrant American females for breeding purposes.”

“Don’t you, Gëzim?”  Bashir said as he turned to face the monster.

The man only growled deep in his throat as he gazed expectantly upon the bound girl.  


Linda screamed inside her mind.  She might have tried to do the same with her voice, but her throat was too sore, her mouth too dry.  She felt a dark, primal fear cutting her deep inside, crushing her as if a rusty bear trap had clamped down on her heart, pinching it shut, preventing it from pumping.  She tried to master her breathing, tried to calm herself, anything to deny the ever-present, all-consuming pain that was so crippling.  

She quickly glanced at the new man one time and then averted her eyes again.  He was another monster, just like the one named Bashir, only uglier.  Over and over, she recited the beliefs and truths she had come to know: I know that my redeemer liveth, she said to herself over and over again.  And that he shall stand at the latter day upon the earth.  And though worms may destroy this body, yet in my flesh I will see God.  Yes, she cried out in her mind, In my flesh shall I see God.

Linda knew her face had given away the absolute horror she’d felt when she looked upon this man, for Gëzim studied her closely, almost angrily as he looked down at her again.  Finally he turned to Bashir, “I’m not sure I’m needed here right now.  Let me have her if necessary.  And if not her, then give me one of her friends to provide an object lesson.”  

With that, he turned and disappeared into the darkness, leaving Bashir alone standing next to her.  The remaining monster’s eyes were bloodshot and his face was lined with what she could only assume was a weariness of the soul from the awful things he’d done to so many others before her, and what he had yet planned for her and her friends.  His strong, blunt hands were suddenly on her naked body now and although Linda barely felt his touch, she sensed what he meant to do; how he meant to cause her enough pain to make her give him anything he might want.  

As he looked into her eyes, all of Linda's agony suddenly welled up inside her.  She felt the need to vomit.  Her abdominal muscles and diaphragm had suddenly locked up and she had what felt like a concrete block in her belly.  The pain was incredible, intensely focused on crushing her clitoris and labia, threatening to split her pelvis in half.  She felt as if she were literally being split, actually pulled into two separate halves.  

Oh Christ oh Jesus Oh my Lord he’s completely insane and I’m going to die here, I’m going to die just like that.  My God why have you have abandoned me, left me desolate, forsaken.  God, please help me.

She was still in denial.  Even with the threat of Gëzim.  

It began again.  The rope around her neck once more ensured Linda remained upright and semi-strangled while the stirrups ensured she was just on the verge of viciously pinning her clitoris against the sharp edge of the hard wood with even more than her body weight.  The pressure pulling on her ankles ensured her body felt like it was being cut into two pieces.  And no matter what she did, her breasts were in agony as the attached rubbers pulled on her nipples.  Body and mind caught between the multiple incendiary sensations, she rocked and then bucked in a pathetic attempt to roll off the donkey.  Nothing worked.  Linda continued screaming in her mind, not even realizing that her body did the same.  Later, Linda realized that at the end of her ride, she may even have actually lost her mind for a short while.  

Then an hour had passed and the rope had infinitesimally tightened her collar during that time, making it still more difficult to breathe.  There was an unexpectedly sharp pain and she almost shrieked, but didn’t because she’d already burned her vocal chords to a crisp by her previous shrieks.  Linda knew she was going to die now, but that somehow seemed okay too, for she realized that she was ready.  


The head meatbreaker had rarely known women that gave out as frenzied screams as this before he'd begun working for the old Albanian; pained, desperate, primal sounds that rang throughout the cell and the soul, resounding through both block and cinder and steel, leaving behind only echoes of the lust and squalor that was rampant here.  Despairing young girl sounds that were immediately soaked up by stone and cement, yet which still left behind an indelible atmosphere of terror and hopelessness.  

He could hear the short, heaving snorts for air the captive girl took through her nostrils between shrieks and he watched the sweat run off her body in torrents.  Just like every other American whore that had come through his hands.  They all looked different, but they were all the same inside; they'd all eventually succumbed to his Donkey's unspoken demands.  And every one of them had then labored for his master afterwards, lying on their backs as men pumped themselves to exhaustion between their lovely thighs.  

He didn’t really punish the girls for untoward sounds at this point; that would be like hanging or shooting a man already dead.  So, he waited.  After this one finally screamed herself hoarse, he removed the gag.  And while she still shrieked and moaned as pressure were changed on the mechanical beast, what he’d done had ensured that the maximum volume of which she was now capable had been turned down to an acceptable level.  

After all, whimpers really were much more appropriate in a place like this.  


Linda found she could finally breathe, but that was little consolation for a terrible, burning sensation of unendurable pressure was working on her body, crushing her vagina, eating its way through her groin like acid, like terribly scalding water shot into her with a fire hose.  Even without the gag, it seemed she still couldn't breathe, still couldn't get enough air.  She cried out, gagging, gasping for air again.  It felt like a four-hundred pound weight was pulling on her ankles and pressing on her chest at the same time, squeezing the air from her lungs.  She tried to push up but pain like she'd never before experienced was shooting through every nerve in her body.  She writhed then, her chest burning for oxygen, her energy completely sapped.  

But still Linda raged in her mind, refusing to accept that it was she on this terrible thing.  NO!  This isn't happening.  This isn't happening to me.  God, protect me.  I have too much of my life yet to experience.  There's still so much I want to do.  This is not FAIR!

Another fifteen minutes had passed, or maybe it had been twelve hours…she didn’t know for she’d lost all sense of time.  All Linda knew was that she couldn’t take any more.  She’d do anything to make them stop.  But they wouldn’t.  They just wouldn’t, no matter how much she begged them to!!  She glanced up once in her misery and then let her eyes go unfocused once more as she wallowed in her awful misery.  

Somehow, the dial in front of her still quivered a little more on the Friends side; the monitor showed her clit now along with the full length of her outer vagina, all pressured-white flesh devoid of blood supply yet covered with sweat.  

And as it went on and on, Linda’s mind left her terrible reality behind once more.  

Finally, the terrible man stepped in, grabbed a handful of hair and pulled her face towards him as pain from the unexpected move ripped between her thighs.  Even though his mouth was next to her ear and his stinking breath caressed her cheek, she could barely hear him through the roaring in her ears.  

“How are you doing, my sweet American lovely?  Are you having a good ride?” He whispered with a smile on his face as he roughly shook her head a couple of times.  

Linda groaned as she came back from the personal hell she had been inhabiting in a far corner of her mind.  She literally had no idea of how long she’d been on this thing.   “It’s awful.  God, please take me off this. You’re killing me; I'm going insane."

He pointed at the dial where the needle registered at about four-thirty.  “Look!  Look closely!!  Your friends are over there.  You ride lightly in the saddle, giving your friends away.  Will you let me do anything I want to them, just to save yourself?  Are you sure?  Can I fuck them in the ass?”

She shook her head as if she’d been in daze as she pushed herself down on the doghouse, crushing her femininity against its glass smooth walls, forcing the needle back to Friends.  She almost screamed at him, “No!  I…no!”  

Without a word, he walked away and left Linda to stew in her own misery.  She wanted to cry at his back, come back, please come back, I’ve changed my mind.  But she somehow forced herself to remain silent.  Soon, Linda was wailing almost rhythmically, howling and screaming in time to something that only she could hear as she pushed herself down on the doghouse.  It was obviously an attempt somehow accommodate the pain, to live through the pain.  It would fail, Bashir knew, it always did.  

He returned sometime later, perhaps after only an hour had passed, perhaps more than five or six hours later, for she had no way of knowing.  “How are we doing?  Still riding high in the saddle.  Ready to cooperate, ready to let someone else ride in your place?”  

She was done.  From her soul through to her bones, she was done.  There was no untapped reservoir of strength, no bravado left, no willingness to crush herself against the smooth glass walls to save the other girls this time.  

“Your friends are over there and the dial tells me you still ride high in the saddle.  Will you let me do anything I want to them this time, just to save yourself?”  

He asked her again, “Can I fuck them in the ass?”

Linda felt sickened by what she was doing.  Mostly though, she just wanted off.  "Yes, as many times as you want," Linda whispered through her clinched teeth.  

It was difficult to even think, let alone talk.  This was one of those moments when a person knows what they are doing, what they are giving up, what lines of self-morality they have crossed.  But none of that mattered now to Linda.  She’d more than likely be regretful later, but right now the only thing that mattered was the structure upon which she was sitting and how much it was hurting her.  

"Suppose I offered to put Dana in your place.  Then, it'd be her young body being crushed so hard, not yours.  Are you willing to give her up in your place?  Would that be okay?  Do you want that?  Is that okay for her?" The monster asked, reaching between Linda's legs to rub her numb clitoris.

"Anything, anything; just get me off this, please," Linda begged, forcing herself to look into his burning eyes.  "It’s killing me, I can’t bear it anymore."

"Does this anything include letting Dana, or even Ursula take your place?  It would be their body resting there on the Devil’s Wedge then, not yours.  You will have betrayed them.  Is that now okay with you?" He asked in a smooth, honeyed tone.

Linda was out of her mind with pain and didn’t even realize what she’d said until later.  "Yes, put Dana here; put both of them on this, I don't care.  I'll even help you do it.  Just take me off."

He looked at her but wouldn’t stop talking, wouldn’t take her off of it.  "You're positive about this?  A devout person, you’re taught to care about others first, before even yourself.  Yet, here we are talking about Dana, a young girl you say you don’t really even know.  And you would let her ride the Spanish Donkey; endure the same pain you're feeling just so that she could take your place?"

"Yes, get her, bring her, I will make her ride," Linda whispered, her voice gone, her mind’s responses only controlled by the terrible pain which emanated in waves from between her legs.  

"Would you help us attach the straps to her ankles?  Would you enjoy seeing the little bitch suffer?"

"Yes, bring her here.  I'll attach the straps myself and I'll enjoy her screams," Linda croaked out, having totally lost control of any desire other than not having that horrible thing pressing into her sex.


"I guess we do see some results,” Bashir said as he turned to the other men.  “Put the gag back in her mouth!”

Almost two hours had now passed since that time and there was little movement now from the girl being given the slow ride to hell.  Bashir knew this one was smart and that she'd learned to remain motionless fairly quickly in an attempt to reduce the pain, but he continued to watch for what inevitably came next.  

He watched and like a patient spider, he waited……

Almost four hours had now passed now and the girl was choking, making soft garbled sounds as she tried to breathe through the gag that he’d put back in once more.  Nothing ever worked for the young woman for very long though, for there was no escaping the hell he had devised for her.  After a couple of minutes more, he could hear a long, sobbing heartfelt groan emanate from deep within the belly of the bound woman and then a shudder ran through her whole body.  

At this point in her ride, he knew the pain had approached a crescendo and even though the immediate physical demands were made only on the flesh between her thighs, the slightest movement now brought excruciating new complaints from every nerve in her body.  Linda just sat and shuddered with every other breath as agony and torment played on her nerve endings like a master pianist.  

Bashir smiled to himself.  He had her body and was going for her soul now.

Nerve endings numb, her pain had plateaued for the moment.  Bashir nodded to himself, then added slightly more pull to her ankles and watched impassively as her suffering began all over again.  But this time, rather than suffer his gifts in immobile silence, the helpless girl now threw herself against the donkey, against her bonds.  As useless as she knew this to be, as much as she further bruised her already pinched genitalia, she still continued to struggle for long after any normal person would have given up.  

But other than admiring her ability to endure tremendous pain, Bashir didn't care what she did.  She was like a fish fighting the hook; the more she struggled, the more she tired herself before they had even begun to approach the final dance at the finish line.  A feeling of immense satisfaction drifted through him, a sense of almost bone-deep pleasure flooded his limbs at her wild, yet unyielding spirit.  

She would be a worthy tool for the organization once fully broken.  


Abdominal and thigh muscles terribly weakened, Linda still tried to twist away from the pain that consumed her groin, but everything conspired to slow her movement.  Once, when she fainted, it had been preceded by burning white circles at the outer corner of each eye, circles which grew larger and larger until they passed out of her conscious observation.  Now the color of the underground room was fading to white as she watched the monster step closer.  Her abdomen jumped at the touch of his hand; she felt another slow movement she didn’t recognize.  Then her head jerked back, her mouth shaped itself into strange convulsions.  She rode her body, then was strangely thrown free, lost.  

There was moaning, and Linda dully realized it was her own voice she heard.


A Beautifully Broken Woman or Breaking Her Softly To His Reins

Bashir prided himself on his impassivity.  It had taken him years to understand, but he had eventually realized that the hidden thrills which raced down his spine as he did this to them and against them, the complex emotions he kept masked yet which coursed through his blood at this very second weren't always just about something trivial like the impending sex he’d have with this girl, although like any healthy man he appreciated having unlimited access to gorgeous, young, unwilling women.  

No, it wasn’t really about the sex anymore, but rather it had to do with seeing how far he could push each of the Americans before they broke.  Bashir knew that part of this had to do with his sadistic side.  And he admitted he enjoyed giving these girls their pain.  Most of them deserved this, if not more.  

But yet, there was still more to it than that, it went farther than that for him.  It was about the control.  Having total control over another human being; crushing them emotionally, mentally and physically before you permanently changed the course of their lives.....this kind of power over another human being was as addictive as the worst of drugs, for even as you changed each of them, you too were changed.

But none of that philosophy really mattered now.  The girl Linda had settled down much more quickly this time.  Clearly a smart girl and tough, she'd finally learned all over again that her only hope was to maintain a sphinx-like stillness despite the addition of more weight and an ever-tightening rope to her collar; for a woman like her, accepting the pain was the only way to face it.  She'd arrived at the realization surprisingly quickly, that total stillness, no matter what he did to her, was the only real way to minimize the damage of what he did.

But now it was time to begin again.  Bashir was tired and a little short tempered right now, which meant he had to be careful to not take it too far.  But he still pursued the conquest of the three girls with the single-minded focus of a shark on the attack.  He knew he was not a fanciful man when it came to speculating about his emotions.  But the anticipation of success with these Americans, the reward of first making them admit to their true nature as arrogant, undisciplined Western females, then making them finally submit to his every demand as a Muslim man as he bred them; it all gave him such a heady feeling, of being totally in control of his life and theirs.  

And later, it would be he who was allowed a night with each new recruit to ensure that each girl understood the reality of their new lives; and for that one last time, they would suffer the trial and tribulation he designed for them.  

And even later, as he stood to the side and watched them begin to live out their new lives in front of him.......this last scene always left him filled with a feeling of incredible success and victory, an emotion that was one of the purest sensations he'd ever felt, something akin to that of a man dying of thirst being given a cup of frigidly clear crystalline cold glacial water.  


The religious one, she was his now.  The Donkey hadn’t necessarily totally broken her but it had frightened her, certainly made her much, much more malleable.  And once she’d shown a willingness to have others take her place, even offering to help him do that to them, he’d known he’d had her where exactly he wanted her.  She might not remember her weaknesses, but he would remind her.  And that shameful, humiliating memory of her willingness to sacrifice others in her place would eat at her insides like the strongest acid.  

And then the guilt would set in.  Oh yes, the guilt that was such a good friend of his.  And when he’d begun hurting her friends, he would make sure she knew that it was all her fault that they suffered so.  

Like so many before her, she might even still fight her fate for a little while longer after that, strenuously denying the certainty of her new life with an agonized intensity that bordered on insanity, but he would convince her of the truth he’d recognized inside her……that she was willing to accept being their whore now for as long as they wanted her.  There was nothing she could do about it and besides, it was in her nature, it was who she was—betraying other, betraying herself.  The one called Dana had subconsciously realized this about herself years ago, but only the one called Linda had still played at games denying her true needs and desires.  

She'd still try to fight them a little longer, he knew.  But if she truly believed in her God, and he was a just deity, then why was she there?  Why would he allow this for any of HIS children, let alone one such as her?  These questions and more remained to be answered by the young woman as she faced certain enslavement.

But in the end, she'd realize the truth of what he said.  He'd ask if she was ready to accept her new life, cooperate in everything they demanded of her, if not for her sake, then for the sake of her friends.  He'd remind her that they could just take anything that they wanted anyway, and they would.  But more than her body, they wanted her open cooperation too.  For she was beautiful and men would pay a lot of money to be with her.  

Men would be paying too much money for Linda if her heart wasn't in it just as deeply as her body would soon be.  And even if it was just an act every day, the act had to be perfect.  Convincing.  Compelling.  Charming.  But on the other hand, even if her heart wasn't in it, if she fought her new life at first, then certain other men would pay for the privilege of experiencing that too.

For her part, he knew she'd ignore his requests as she sometimes remained silent and then begged for his mercy at other times.  These Americans, they always did this toward the end of the first act.  He knew it all too well, for it was a scene that had been enacted countless times before.  But it was a one-two step they both had to take together before they could go on to the next level.  And once he'd led her there, she would finally realize that it wasn't really her fate that she controlled, but that of her friends.  And it was they who controlled hers’.

He whispered softly in her ear.  You belong to us.  And we have chosen you for a reason.  You are not a free person now; you belong to us, to do with as we please.  You are our whore now, a true whore.  Go ahead and shake your head no all you want, silly girl.  Nothing you can do will stop us from taking exactly what we want.  And if we have to hurt you in the process, it still won't change the results one bit.  So why fight us?  What we ask is already in your nature, and you need to accept that side of yourself before it destroys you, before we are forced to destroy you.  You were no different than any other American girl your age.  All of you want the same thing, the very same dirty things.  

In response, she tried to butt his face with the side of hers.  He pulled back quickly, unhurt.  It was a weak and uncoordinated effort, and would not have hurt him even if she had connected.  

A smile played on his face.  This one was special and he would treat her that way.

The young woman did not disappoint then, never turning her face away from her two friends even as wave after multiple shuddering wave of uncontrolled pain ran continuously through her body.  He'd seen women in her position before, many of them.  What they all had in common was fear.  What was different, what he always found so interesting was the way they tried to cope with it.  

Some, faced torture like this with bluster.  Other women tried to beg.  Truly, both types were really opposite sides of the same coin; their focus was on him and because of this, they tended to crack easily.  As soon as they saw their bluster and begging were useless, that they couldn't make a human connection that would stop the pain and torment, their psyches folded and obedience, the proper submissive behavior he demanded, everything they had, everything they were, it all was offered in exchange for an end to the pain.  

Dana was like this and as tough as she thought she was, he was sure she would be the first to break.  In fact, she probably wouldn’t even need to be taken that far, for she would soon readily admit to the reality of what she was.  Ursula would fight them a little more strongly, but in the end, she too was brittle in this way and would break quickly also, offering them her complete obedience and submission.  

But there was another type that would go silent even before the fun and games had begun.  One who wouldn't utter a word of submission even later, even while screaming with pain.  These were the ones that were exceedingly self-contained and therefore more difficult to crack.  Exhibiting a much greater grasp of his nature and of their situation, from the very beginning they wouldn't expect anything from him.  They were the ones who correctly conceived of him not so much as a human agent as a force of nature, like stormy weather or disease.  Not as something that could be reasoned with, but rather as something that had to be endured, something that could only be ridden out.

This final type was by far the toughest mentally and the hardest to break.  Under duress, they generally defaulted to a core personality from which they somehow derived strength and comfort.  Bashir thought that Linda would be a mix of these last two types.  She wouldn't disengage from him the way the complete stoics did, but her behavior wasn't calculated to affect him the way the beggars and blusterers did either.  

Its function instead was self-referential.  What she had been unconsciously attempting to do from the very beginning was convince herself that she remained true to herself.  For if she remained true to herself, she was still partially in control and things couldn't be that bad.  To break her wasn't just a question of pain.  She would use her religion as a shield and the pain then was just a surface thing.  To break a woman like her, you had to break her deep down inside.  Leverage her core beliefs by asking her to sacrifice herself for others.  And sometimes it was an unpleasant thing to have to do, to have to watch being done to another.

He left her to stew in her own juices for another half hour, marinating deeply in her thoughts and fears.  She couldn't know it, but the waiting was part of it too, part of how he would wear them all down.  The uncertainty about who had taken them, what might happen next, when it might happen, who would break first and who would be punished for the intractability of another.   


Not Particularly An Old World Romance or This Wasn’t Lena’s Paradise Garage Either

Women have very little idea of how much men hate them.  
-Germaine Greer

What we are doing here is only the image of what we would like to do.
-Marquis de Sade

Outside of Dallas, Texas

The day seemed interminable, but finally, the two gang members and their captive police woman reached their destination.  The van pulled onto a gravel driveway that fronted an isolated two-story house built into the side of a hill.  The setting sun caused long shadows from the trees that blocked the view of the house from the road.  Walking into the lower level which would normally be the garage, Big Man called out for ‘Moonburn’.  Lena would later learn that Moonburn was the local Gunners leader.  He was a monster of a man that was almost albino in coloring; it was sometimes said that he could get a skin burn from just the light of a full moon.  

A voice from the darkness asked “..who the fuck wants to know” and an extremely large, heavy-set, greasy looking man walked out of the shadows.  After identifying himself, Big Man said that they needed a place to lay low for a while.  Sanchez recognized him since they had met once before and told him that Moonburn wasn’t around, but would return soon.  Big Man and his friends could stay until Moonburn returned and then the boss would decide what to do.  Curious, Sanchez walked up to the left front door of the van and looked in at the naked girl bound to the right side of the van.  Walking back to Big Man, he queried Big Man with a questioning nod towards the van.  

Big Man explained the situation; that Lena was a pig that they'd ‘borrowed’ in Florida and that she was going to be earning them some pocket money.  Thinking for a second, Sanchez got an odd look on his face and told them to bring her into the garage.  He then turned and headed there himself.  

Looking at each other for a second, they both nodded at the same time.  The two kidnappers entered the van and after putting the gag back in her mouth, they unhooked the pig’s collar from the van.  After using her own police handcuffs to cuff her wrists behind her back, they led her out on the leash.  Mentally dazed and completely naked except for cuffs and gag, she put up no fight and obeyed their commands explicitly.  Docile after being repeatedly beaten, raped and sodomized, she followed them into the darkness of the garage without a protest  

Sounding a little higher pitched than before, Sanchez’s voice came out of the darkness, telling them to cuff her wrists in front.  Without comment, Big Man held her biceps while Little Man transferred the cuffs and bound her wrists in the front.  Sanchez then told them to tie her cuffs to the rope that dangled from the ceiling near where dim light radiated from a single bare bulb.  As soon as this was done, the rope was tightened and her unresisting wrists were dragged towards the ceiling.  

Big Man and his sidekick turned and left the room laughing.  Big Man knew his woman was in for a long, long night.  But he'd gotten what he wanted and he'd gotten there first.  By the time the tenth or twentieth guy was ready to fuck her, it'd be like sticking their dick in a mayonnaise jar.


A New Hero Arrives On The Scene or It Was Lena’s Time For A Real Short Walk Through Hell

Still in a daze, Lena could hear the men talking as they left; they were going to get something to eat and then sleep until Moonburn returned.  The two who had kidnapped her were laughing as they walked through a barely seen door and shut it behind them.  Suddenly, the dim light went out and she was left hanging in the darkness.

Lena hurt everywhere.  She tried to wriggle her hands free, but the handcuffs were too tight around her wrists.  She hurt all over and now she had a new problem too.  Breathing through her nostrils was almost too much of an effort, especially now that her arms were stretched so high above her head that she had to stand on her toes just to reach the cold concrete floor.

She tried to make a noise through her gag, but there was no response from the lightless shadows---she hoped that she was alone.  Her bruised breasts ached with her arms pulled up so tightly and her hips and lower back throbbed with pain as her legs tried to find purchase in order to take up a little of the stress.

Lena knew she was hanging from the high ceiling beam of a garage or underground room, but she had no idea of the identity of the man that had talked to Big Man.  All she knew for certain was that he had sounded male.  Suddenly, a chill ran down her spine and the hair on the back of her neck stood up.  She’d been wrong---even though she couldn’t see anything, Lena suddenly knew someone was still in the room with her because she heard heavy nasal breathing only a few yards away.

There was a click and the same low watt bulb unexpectedly came on again and threw a dim glow across much of the dirty room.  At first, the light dazzled her eyes and she tried to turn her head away, but as her eyes adjusted she saw that the room was a small windowless oblong area; unpainted sheets of plywood defined the walls and there were iron girders in the ceiling acting as support for the floor above.  The dim bulb hung swinging from one ceiling beam, while she hung nearby by her wrists from a cheap metal pulley connected to another girder.  Lena blinked rapidly, her vision finally becoming clear enough to see an enormously obese man standing about six feet away.  He stared at her hungrily and even though it wasn’t hot, he was sweating profusely.

The man had the face of a bloated wolf.  His lined and wrinkled forehead was partially covered by a carelessly tied bandana; his narrow eyes savaged anything they lighted upon and his nose was as prominent as a hook.  Thin lips were above and below yellowed and uneven teeth, and around them a tangle of hairs formed a sparse mustache and beard.  The man made no immediate comment; but there was no sign of pity or respect in his hard eyes.

Lena tried to gather her courage, reminding herself that she was a trained police officer.  But his manic expression never changed and soon any composure she might have had fled again.  As if he was able to sense this moment of weakness, as if it had been precisely what he had been waiting for, he exploded in a violent move that ended with him next to her helpless naked body.

His rough, dirty hands roamed all over; caressing and squeezing, grasping and groping, pulling and twisting.  He pulled and twisted and pinched hard on purpose, hard enough to hurt her.  Surprisingly agile for his size, the one called Sanchez pressed his hulking body against hers, finally whispering and crooning unknown comments as he ran his eyes over her naked body.  

Lena swayed in her bonds as she tried to avoid his hands, but it was no good.  Without thinking, she instinctively clenched her butt when he cupped her cheeks and pulled her belly towards his groin.  She finally sank in her vulnerability, her knees giving way as she ignored the pain that pulled at her wrists.  This put her lower down along his body allowing him to put his left hand on the back of her head and force her face into his chest.  He smelled of stale tobacco and beer and week-old sausages.  He hadn’t bathed for far too long and the sickly sweet aroma emanating from his chest and armpits was strong enough to make her gag.

After eons of being touched by her new captor, the obese man quickly stepped back and began to undress in front of her.  Laughing at something only he found funny, she saw his huge naked bulk move toward her, his enormous erection protruding from beneath his massive belly and sagging male breasts.  Overlapping folds of blotchy flesh hung down and almost covered his sparsely-haired groin.  For a man of his size, he gracefully dropped to his knees, running his hands down her ribs and onto her flanks before they moved around and again cupped her buttocks.  Then he buried his face in her crotch, sniffing and licking her most intimate flesh, the flesh that had been so ravaged and which still remained despoiled and unclean.  

Surprised at how horrified she felt, Lena closed her eyes.  Yet still she knew it was his tongue that intimately trailed between her legs and licked at her naked vagina where both Big Man and Little Man had hurt her so much in the van.  She struggle weakly, tried to turn her body away from him as she hung there but he held her too tight, too close.  She then tried to knee him, but couldn’t get any force behind the blow and he just snorted as he laughed it off.  The fat man didn’t seem to mind that she had been brutally used and still retained the multiple, dried essence of the two men along with any blood that may still be on the insides of her thighs.  

She wanted to faint, to blackout, to die and make it all go away.  Perversely, horribly, his actions instead seemed to somehow have revitalized her body.  Even as a surge of adrenaline ran through Lena, she was once more overwhelmed by helplessness and screamed her revulsion of this obscene man into her gag.

As if in response, he now quickly situated himself behind Lena.  Still on his knees, he once again placed his hands on her hips.  Lena couldn’t help herself, she stiffened in disgust when he slowly rubbed her buttocks and then finished by licking the sweat off her lower back.  With this last move, she again screamed her frustration and disgust into her gag.  At the same time, his hands continued caressing her body, slowly stroking her flanks and then coming around and cupping her vagina, then finally separating her labia to allow deeper exploration of her body by his fingers.  

Still on her toes, she did her best to keep her knees locked tightly together, but it was almost impossible to prevent him from accomplishing his goals because his caresses pushed her body back and forth.  Sanchez’s actions reminded Lena of her helplessness, of how terribly sore she was from the Little Man having exploited the depths of her body with penis and fist and wrist.  Helpless in her bonds, she gritted her teeth as the disgusting fat man continued his manipulations.

His hands now slid back over Lena’s hips and he began exploring her anus.  Suddenly she felt searing pain as his finger pushed past her bruised sphincter and entered her body.  Never before today in the van had a man demeaned her like this and as a woman it had been an awful, painful, humiliating experience.  She was still so sore from being taken by both men that way that it seemed her whole world revolved around the pain which continued to emanate from her rectum.  

God, how she had hated what they had done to her!  How she hated them!  As a police officer, she was supposed to enforce the law.  But all she could think about was how satisfying it would be to have the two men in front of her when she had her service automatic.  Enforcing the law would be in her hands then and the two rapists would have already been found guilty and given a death sentence in her eyes.  

Now she was helpless once again in the face of what might be another coming rape; she was helpless and angry at her helplessness, yet mortified and ashamed of her weaknesses, and even of her femininity.  And if the truth be known, even though she would deny to her dying breath, knowing that she would ultimately lose this fight, she was also somehow, hatefully, resigned to her fate.  

Lena knew exactly how much the first two had hurt her when she fought them and she didn’t know if she could take that kind of pain again.  She knew that her muscles were tense and that there would no real attempt by this monster to be kind, to use lubrication before he explored her body.  She was sore and dry and her muscles there so tightly clenched in fearful anticipation of the impending familiar doom that even his one finger caused great pain as it continued its unwanted manipulations.

Lena found that she was holding her breath now, but after what seemed like an eternity of aching and of feeling the awful fullness of his finger inside her, he finally removed it.  She sighed in relief and started to breathe again, but it was at this point that Lena realized that he had risen to his feet.  She shuddered in horrified anticipation as his huge hands circled her waist and that his great flabby belly was pressed against the small of her naked back!

She pleaded and she begged through her gag, at the same time hopping on her toes to ruin his aim and tightly clenching herself in the only pathetic defense allowed her when the bulbous tip of his penis began to probe there.  He stood behind her, putting his face into the curve of her neck to inhale the scent of her hair.  Lena gagged, for his breath was as bad as Little Man’s and it made her skin crawl as he nuzzled her; his terrible aroma seemed to surround her, the sour, unclean fragrance coming from all sides.  Soon his hands drifted around to the front of her body to cup her breasts.  A touch that began as gentle soon became more and more rough as Lena continued to squirm and frustrate his attempts to hold her.  Finally, he grabbed both of her breasts and squeezed hard until she froze, stopped moving away from him.

He whispered in her ear, “I know that you’ve taken it in the ass before, so you know the drill.  Haven’t you?”  He giggled for a second.  “I like that term ‘drill’, because that’s what I’m gonna to do with you.”

“I won’t ask you again,” he said as he squeezed her breasts even harder.  “Have you ever been fucked in the ass?”  

Lena lowered her head and answered his question with a quick shake of her head.  

He replied, “You lie, bitch.  But if you don't, then sweet, sweet buns, it’s time to learn.”


Changing Neighborhoods Without Asking Permission or No Sanctuary For The Brown Chute

With his left hand acting as a bar across the front of her chest to hold her immobile against his body, he violently spread her with his right and made a stab with his massive erection.  This attempt failed as her body swung away from him like a pendulum…but nothing stopped him for long.  Even as Lena struggled against his body, his second thrust gained initial entrance.  By leaning into her and maintaining control of this first breach, he was allowed a moment to reach around with both hands, one going over her breasts and the other down by her pudenda, pulling her back against his chest and pushing her buttocks back towards his groin.  These two parts of her body he used to pull Lena to him at the same time that he made a third thrust with his hips.

Pain drove a muffled shriek of horror from deep inside the captive woman's chest as the first inch of his erection disappeared inside her body.  Please, Lena begged.  Not again.  Please, God, not again.  At least not this soon.  

Even among the gangs, she sensed that this one was a loser.  She knew it wasn’t the sex that he wanted so much as to dominate and control her, to make her feel his pain and for him to be able to dole it out as he pleased.  It was pure dominance and power he wanted, the act of bringing her down to his level, to lower than even his level.  And her screams seemed only to inflame his desire as his hands continued to pull on her.  His next thrust forced his iron-hard shaft deeper within her resisting flesh, while with the fifth he was able to bury himself completely.  At this point, he stopped moving.  Buried to the hilt, he leisurely, yet thoroughly, enjoyed the sensations of being able to assfuck a woman cop, literally letting her hang off of his cock as he racked his nuts at the door to her insides.

Through a haze of pain Lena realized that while the monster was very well hung, there seemed to have been just the tiniest amount of lubrication around the erection which still threatened to split her in half.  Perhaps he’d had serous fluid leaking from the tip of his erection and it was this which had acted as a lubricant inside her?  All she knew was that his manhood felt like a red hot poker, burning red-hot and tearing her up, branding with anguish and misery everything it touched inside her body.  Lena felt that never had a woman ever suffered like she did with this animal.  But it could have been worse.

He buried his rod of steel and then began her true ordeal.  Lena was afraid to move for fear that she would break in half.  Each of his thrusts somehow seemed to go deeper and deeper, allowing him to explore depths of her hot, tight flesh that not even Big Man had reached.  It seemed as if his size literally forced apart the organs in her abdomen in order to make room for him.  The young captive policewoman could feel something finally begin tearing inside and it only added to the crushing pain, the helpless horror and total humiliation she felt.  But he didn't stop, just continued pushing harder, probing deeper.  Through the raging pain, the depth of his penetration made it harder and harder to breathe now, as if he were pressing against her diaphragm.  But nothing that he did seemed to meet the need he felt to hurt her enough.  It just went on and on and on.

It seemed that Lena swayed back and forth forever, suffering his powerful, driving demands.  But finally, he began to grunt louder with each drive, as if this were the only way to truly conquer her flesh.  At the end, he suddenly stopped thrusting and just left himself buried to the hilt inside Lena.  Using his grasp on her chest to firmly pull her body against his, he stood up on his toes, lifting her body from the floor by only her breasts and his cock.  Feet mostly off the ground and shrieking her mindless agony at this point, Lena hung from his pole of an erection as if draped off him like a weightless pennant, her toes barely scraping the ground.  

Forcing her helpless body even more firmly against him by pulling on her breasts, Sanchez then began to ejaculate deep within her flesh.  Her feet dangling helplessly above the concrete floor, Lena somehow felt his scorching semen jetting into her again and again and again.  Time slowed down and it seemed to take hours for him to finish as she felt each individual spasm of his cock as it injected the last of his burning hatred deep into her guts.  

Finally he was done and he lowered her body.  As he let go of her breasts, she once more hung limply from only two things; the rope which bound her wrists to the ceiling and the massive bar of rock-hard flesh that was his steaming cock.  Basking in the glow of total satisfaction, the rapist slowly withdrew one of her two supports.  

Lena hung only from her wrists now as he moved around in front of her.  

His still mostly erect penis was covered at the base with the thin red film from where she'd bled on him.  He blankly looked at her face for a moment, then smiled hatefully as he turned and walked into the darkness.  Suddenly the rope that held her upright fell slack.  Even though her arms were still held over her head by the rope, Lena slumped sobbing to the floor.  Her breasts throbbed with each beat of her heart and she was filled with a terrible burning, tearing ache that now far surpassed anything that the men in the van had left her.  But at least she could breathe now and she was still alive.  As long as she was alive, there had to be hope.  Suddenly his face was next to hers again and she looked up at him in some small thankfulness.  She could hope…perhaps now that he had taken what he wanted, he wouldn’t hurt her anymore?

Suddenly Sanchez reached out and grabbed a handful of Lena’s long brown hair and used it to wipe his half-erect penis free of any brown scum or reddish-brown liquid that might have remained on him from her body.  This was a final humiliation, and Lena found she couldn’t help herself as she started crying again.  He left her after a minute and suddenly, the room was again plunged into darkness as he turned the light off.  Pausing at the door, he turned in shadow to Lena and said, “Fuckmeat, you’ll stay here until we decide what to do with you.”

She heard footsteps and the rattle of a loose doorknob, followed by the creak of hinges that needed to be oiled and the click of a lock, and then there was a deep, black, wet all-encompassing silence.  It was the silence of the grave and of the Pharaoh’s sarcophagus; the atmosphere that surrounded her seemed to gradually thicken until Lena couldn’t breathe and her mind swam in panic and dread.

“Don’t leave me here alone!” she screamed into her gag.

More softly, she now begged incoherently as she rested on her knees in the darkness, “Please…..not alone……not alone.”


Workin’ The Worst Of The Worst The FBI Way or He Could Never Get His Head Around The Really Bad Ones

Rural South Georgia

The Special Agent from the FBI could see his destination ahead.  Red lights turning noiselessly in the early evening darkness.  The lights on the tops of two cruisers whose noses almost touched in an arrowhead shape, as if to screen off part of the road.  In front of them was a hastily installed cordon of yellow police tape.  The Cruiser got out of his car and looked around, then approached the first line of tape until a policewoman strolled over to stop him.  He fumbled in the breast pocket of his jacket and flashed his FBI credentials.  Looking away, she made an economical gesture, Go through.  He ducked under the tape into a knot of perhaps half a dozen people.  

The Bureau was on the case because it was murder and if this turned out to be one of the missing cops, the body had been transported across state lines.  Pieces of the male body had been cut off and the remains had been twisted into a fetal position and strapped with duct tape.  Then it had been dropped in a black plastic contractor bag and re-wrapped.  Which seemed like a lot of trouble if you were just dumping a body in the woods.  Special Agent Nathan Will wiped the sweat from his forehead as the assistant coroner stretched the body out.  I'm late, he thought to himself, irritated.  The crime techs have already worked the area.  

They'd been lucky.  The corpse had been in the bag between two and three days, but that was still long enough for decomposition to have its way on the ligaments which had stiffened the body in rigor mortis.  And the smell.  You never got used to the smell.  But Will had seen much worse in his seven years with the Bureau.

Two primary investigations were being run out of his office at the moment and he knew he was lucky to get this one.  His involved two missing local Florida cops, the other one was the three small-town Louisiana girls that had gone missing for almost three days now.  No clues had been found yet in the other case, so one knew for sure, but it seemed likely they'd been kidnapped.  

Seemed like a lot of that had been going on down here over the last couple of years, but as long it had been one here and one there and no one had connected them as a serial event, it hadn't been taken it too seriously except by the locals.  Oh, the Feds and the Staties had been in on it big time at first, but technically, all the cases were still classified as missing persons, not homicides.  No bodies, no crime scenes, not a lot of press interest after it came out that quite a few of the victims were not exactly model citizens.  Almost all were white.  Some had a history of running away, others were arrogant bitches who’d had no use for rules or for anyone not of their “class”.  Some were normal girls and a few wealthy.  These last had got a little more attention, but that hadn’t lasted long.  So, the FBI had been investigating alright, but it hadn't been a high profile effort until the most recent triple had occurred.  Then suddenly, it became big news all over again as the newspapers began to connect a few dots.  

But all in all, he'd rather work a missing persons or a murder any day over possible sex crimes.  Especially if the missing and murdered were cops.  As much as he hated having to work a cop fatality, there were just........some things about sex crimes that he hated even more.  Things about himself that worried him in the wee hours of the morning when a cop found himself going over the day, trying to figure out what he'd missed.  


Will was a big man.  Just turned thirty-three, tall and looking almost skeletal despite being really well-muscled, his light brown eyes matched his coffee skin.  His hair was in dreads’ and much longer than the Bureau liked, but he'd been undercover until only a few months ago.  He was one of those rare men with the personality of hard metal—unmalleable, impenetrable, unstoppable.

The way he was right now, he wasn't a guy whose looks fit the public's idea of a Federal agent.  He'd somehow talked his boss into letting him keep it like this since he had a good chance of being called back undercover.  He'd been a good investigator in the Army and he was a good one here.  

Back in the Army, he’d been nicknamed the Cruise Missile.  Once fired at a suspect, he kept moving until he had hit the target.  He never missed and he had never counted the innocents that suffered nor cared about the collateral damage he caused.  He’d been a soldier, as he’d been a football hero before that, because he was big.  He’d known from childhood that he’d had the strength to make people listen, to make them obey.  He hadn’t minded this.  In fact, he’d come to rather enjoy it, ultimately becoming addicted to hitting people to get their attention.  Alas, it’d been a hard habit to break, but the Army had taught him there were so many other much better ways to get someone’s attention.  Then, it was time to get out and move on, and the Federal government had beckoned the Cruise Missile.  Only now, it had been shortened to the Cruiser.  

He and two others, they were the team so far.  He had them working some other leads in Mississippi, while he handled this part himself.  As the lead investigator, he could, and should be working with a partner, but he knew he was becoming known as a guy that kept mainly to himself.  Will just didn’t fit the normal FBI profile; he broke a few rules every now and then doing this, but the others knew enough to stay out of his way now.  His superiors were tight-asses, but until he fucked up, they were giving him all the rope he needed to hang his professional career.  


The two cops had gone missing in another state over a hundred miles to the south but his gut told him this was one of them.  Already unofficially categorized as a Humpty-Dumpty, it was hard to tell though, what with all the parts that had been slivered off to make identification more difficult.  As the corpse's legs were stretched out, it became obvious that the body was male and the abdominal cavity had been opened and then emptied.  What kind of a sick fuck, he asked himself, would do that?  Whoever they were, and word on the street was it was gangbangers, had used something sharp and opened the victim from pelvis to throat before packing him in plastic.

Will kept looking around, not too obviously, but obvious enough if you knew what to look for.  Most people who spent any time around him knew that he was one dangerous bastard.  Not like a gangbanger, who you wouldn't turn your back on, but more the Spec Ops kind of dangerous.  Total situational awareness, like a cat at a dog convention.  Actually, the local detective that had called the case in to the Feds thought he looked more like a lion at a dog convention, wondering if he should just go ahead and kill one dog or the whole pack.

Will turned and walked back to the detective in charge of the locals.  The FBI guy walked strange as shit, the detective thought to himself.  He'd seen a lot of walks, the street slide with feet half shuffling, hips moving stiffly.  The robotic walk of a SWAT team member, arms cocked and legs pumping as if trying not to leap off of the ground.  But this “Feebie” walked with legs slightly spread, heel striking then a roll to the toes, then stand flat-footed as the next step rose in the air.  It was almost as if he had to think about each step.

He looked like one fucking dangerous bastard.


Will accompanied the sheriff’s deputies to the local morgue, a low, cold and quiet building.  The walls were so white that they seemed to glow, and everything smelled of industrial disinfectant with a hint of orange.  Beneath that was the smell of decomposition, a smell Will had never gotten completely used to.  It was an indescribable odor, and no amount of perfume, air freshener or menthol-rub daubed under his nose could ever eliminate it all together.  

There was also something peaceful about the place.  It wasn’t like he wanted to spend a lot of time in places like this, but he appreciated its chill tranquility.  It was a still space, like a church or a library, where he could let his mind wander as he walked down its hallways with the only sounds being that of his own footsteps.  

The autopsy suite was less tranquil.  It was hard to get used to the sounds of the various instruments dissecting a body.  The bone saw, in particular, made him a bit nauseous, especially when it spread burned fine dust into the air.  It sounded exactly like a dentist’s drill.  The sounds always reminded him of the grim circumstances of his profession.  Eventually we all wound up there.  And while it wasn’t logical, he was always afraid that he would somehow feel the stainless steel blade cutting into him, going through skin, fat and muscle tissue to expose his hidden interior.  That was Will’s ultimate terror: being cold, blind and paralyzed, laid out on a table, unable to scream or say a word as the scalpel or saw bit deeply into his body.  

The hunched back of the small-town medical examiner indicated that he was deep into his job as he occasionally spoke into a microphone placed over the autopsy table.  Will quietly walked around to the other side of the table and waited silently to question the marginally competent coroner.  The examiner never looked up at Will and it took over an hour, but finally he had a few answers.  As much as he disliked this part of his job, ultimately, it was time well-spent.  The body was that of the missing policeman and therefore, the crime came under Federal jurisdiction.  

He would find the fuckers that had done this and take them down.  Now, all of their asses were his to reap…and he would!  

He tried not to hold the fact against them that they were a total waste of DNA as he asked a few more questions afterwards, but he just didn’t get much satisfaction from either the coroner or the deputies.  He finally checked his mental question gun and found that it had about two patience bullets left.  After that, it was going to be shooting live ammo.  At the end though, it was clear that this involved a real murder.  The problem was that in his experience, real murders didn’t get solved that often.  

From experience, he knew there were two types of murders.  One was the type where you catch someone red-handed, on video, with fifteen onsite witnesses, and a murder weapon in the killer’s hand.  These are the ones that will go down.  

They don’t happen very often though.

Then there are all of the others.  Out of all of those, one in ten may lumber towards a resolution; with a lucky footprint, a long-shot DNA match, or a last-minute witness falling out of the woodwork.  This one in ten may also go down.  Sometimes.  

The others will not.  

The whodunits will stay out there, inviolate and perfect; part of the tapestry of life’s events and only wrong because someone says so.  People always say that the perfect crime is next to impossible, but that’s a crock of shit.  The perfect – in the sense of insoluble – crime happens hundreds of times a day.  And they were just like this one.  No witnesses.  No prints.  No murder weapon.  No forensic evidence of any kind.  

But that didn’t matter.  He’d work a case like this until the end of time…….


Not Necessarily Lacking The Instinct To Fight or It Didn’t Really Matter ‘Cause The Other Side Was Using Caveman Rules

South of Houston

The three girls faced each other, hope gone from each face.  Ursula and Dana still hung head-down from the spider's web, totally helpless.  The screaming had stopped but the black silence was more horrible in some ways than was any noise.  Exhausted, their minds were blank.  They had not been allowed to sleep for almost two full days.  They’d been given one drink the whole, and when they’d tried to use the straws, to the amusement of their captors, the water had run all over their faces.  So they were thirsty and their bellies were empty.  They had not been allowed to use toilets and they were covered in their own filth.  Their heads pounded with each beat of their heart, the ache feeling like a terrible metal band that had been tightened unmercifully around their foreheads.

Each girl had screamed in terrible pain when first violated with the immense dildos, but skin stretches, muscles and ligaments relax and the body finally learns to accommodate almost anything.  The two young girls somehow learned to live with the unfamiliar, terribly invasive feeling of massive fullness and ripped flesh.  They watched in muffled horror as the girl they knew was forced to mount the torture device alone and they screamed for mercy for her, since Linda could not herself give voice to the pain she felt.  

Crying, they screamed aloud, first demanding, then begging he let Linda go, let them all go.  But they were ignored.  Crying, hanging upside down with the blood rushing to their heads, they were forced to listen to Linda's muffled, frenzied shrieks.  And watch the horrible man with the burning eyes as he softly whispered in Linda's ear, then had the machine add additional weight to screaming girl’s ankles.  But now the only sounds were Linda's shuddering moans of pain that trailed off into soft, agonized groans.  They heard Linda begging to be taken off of the Donkey and her offers to help put them on it in her place.  Neither girl held it against her for they both knew in their hearts that they would have done exactly the same thing if in her position.  The only thing they would have done differently was reach that final point much, much more quickly than had Linda.  

Yet Bashir left Linda, still riding the Donkey and walked back in front of them; suddenly it was their turn.  Three men stood impassively behind their leader.  An older bald man, a young skinny man with lank, lifeless blonde hair, and a middle-aged dark haired man with a double chin and glasses.  They just stared at the two naked girls without saying a word.  Silent as dispassionate scientists studying microbes.  It was clear that these men viewed them not as women, not even as fellow humans, but merely as subjects, the focus of a series of impending if/then sequences that meant nothing more to them than their desire for a certain result.  

Two had hand towels, the third a water hose.  After removing their gags, the bearded leader asked, “My name is Bashir and I am your…caretaker.  They call us various names……but you may call me, oh I don’t know…….Tutor.  My job is to train people that need training and to fix things that need fixing.”

He smiled as he looked at them, “You might ask what needs fixing here…..”  At that point, Dana began struggling, screaming her frustration and anger.  

“That,” he said slowly in an annoyed tone as he held up his index finger, “was what is known as a rhetorical question.”  

He stepped closer and slapped her face.  “Don’t interrupt me again.”

He continued with a grim smile.  “My job is to address things that are broken, things that have been broken for a long time.  I assess ignorance and punish arrogance.  I fix incorrect beliefs.  Incorrect beliefs about freedom, about responsibility….your freedom to act and mine.  Your freedom to be used.  Our freedom to use you, to take what we want and use it.  That’s why you are here; first to be punished, then to be fixed and taught your new role, and finally to be used.”

“You've both heard about this thing your American torturer's call waterboarding.  It's what your CIA does to our brothers.  Most Americans seem to think it's okay, that it’s not really torture even though your lawyers say it is against the law.  I'll let you decide for me.  Do you know, do you really know what it means to experience this?”

The purpose of the question was two-fold: first to bring to the front any memories of torture they might have read, any memories that might trigger anxiety and fear; second to suggest that he knew a great deal about them, about their weaknesses even as he intimidated them.


For the first time, Ursula could clearly see the man who seemed to be in charge.  His features were thick and rough, and his skin an odd waxy color.  His eyes were permanently underscored by purple-gray parentheses and his nose was rather bulbous.  He had a smoldering stare.  A stare that seemed to say, “I’d shoot you, but I wouldn’t want to waste the bullet.”  

She squinted at the spots on his forehead.  They were on the right side, just above his temple.  Moles or birthmarks or warts.  Whatever you called them, they were both disgusting and almost fascinating at the same time; they made eye contact virtually impossible.  

Ursula begged for an answer, “Why are we here?  Why are you doing this to us?”

He casually reached down and clamped his hand around her jaw.  His grip tightened harshly, painfully, around Ursula's lower face.  His face didn't waver as his grip tightened even more.  “If we're going to get along woman, we need to establish some common ground rules.  Rule number one is to never answer a question with another question.  Understood?”  

His flat, cold voice had never risen above a soft conversational level....as if he was already bored with the whole situation.  He kept his eyes locked on hers until she nodded.  He released his grip, a faint smile breaking across his thin lips.  Ursula begged in pleading tone, “Can I please ask you a question?”  

He nodded tolerantly, the Pasha granting a boon to a lesser individual.  “You can't do this to us.  It's against the law!”

The man began laughing and after a moment said, “Is there a question in there somewhere?”  

When she said, “No, really.  You can’t do this to us,” he began laughing so hard he almost lost his balance.  

The coarse man finally stopped laughing and looked at the two girls as he said, “The law is….a human institution.  You would be surprised at what the law here allows us to do.”

He continued, “The contradiction of your country is that you have taller buildings, but shorter tempers.  You have bigger houses and smaller families.  You spend more, but have less; you buy more, but enjoy less.  You have more education, but less sense; more knowledge, but less judgment.  You’re too fat, you drink too much, you smoke too much, and you spend your lives too recklessly.  You have learned how to make a living, but not a life.”

He nodded tolerantly, “So we have decided help a few of the lucky ones create a new life, a life more full of meaning.”

“You,” he turned to Dana, “you are at fault here.  It is your fault that these other girls are here.  Our people came for you.  Because of the way you dressed and the way you acted.  The perfect young women acting like a spoiled slut, serving as whore for every man in your town.  The beautiful young woman who had so much to offer, but chose instead to act as an exhibitionist to the world, showing everyone exactly what had been given to you from birth.”

He shook his head sadly, “All you had to do was act a little more demurely and not flirt or wear such sexually provocative clothing, and we would never have known of you.  But you could not.  And so, with this behavior, you have asked for what is now brought to you.  But, unfortunately for your friends, they will pay too.  You are responsible for what happens to you and to your friends.  Think about that tonight and in the nights which follow.  When you hear their screams in your dreams.”


Bashir had lied to the two girls about Dana and was perhaps laying the victim-blame on a little heavy, but it never hurt to push guilt onto any of them.  If they derived strength from each other, you separated them physically and emotionally.  It often worked quite well in helping break the girls down more quickly.

It was time.  The water in the lungs, the panic it loosed in their heads, the fear of drowning that was as ancient as any human thought, the joy when the air came back and the crushing tragedy when the water came again.  It took their soul, it took their dignity, it ate at their courage and it dissolved any thoughts of decency or goodness.  And that was why it worked so well.  

It was time.  

As his voice died, the men raised the two girl's heads and wrapped towels around their faces.  The man with the hose turned it on Dana's chest first, then Ursula's.  The cold water followed gravity and hit the thin towels, immediately soaking through.  The girls twisted their heads right and left, but the man kept the hose flowing on first one towel, then the other.  

More than a minute passed, during which they all knew the two girls were holding their breath.  Next the man with the hose aimed the flow of icy water between their legs, letting it run from their crotch down their abdomens and then onto the towels.  Suddenly the girls were choking and coughing, their hard, young bodies bucking against the webbing and the restraints which kept them pinned against it.  The man with the hose kept the water flowing for a couple more seconds and then diverted it.  


The water drained down through the towel and clamped itself on Ursula’s face.  She tried to hold her face tight to fight it, to keep it from tunneling into her system, but that defense lasted only a second.  The water unleashed a terrible fear.  Ursula did not think herself a fearful woman, but she could not help herself.  She had never experienced anything like it.  She felt her body jerk and spasm uncontrollably as the man soaked the towel wrapped around her face more and more.  All her strength went against theirs, but he, they, were the ones that prevailed.  She’d been a fool to think she could fight this.  

After the initial shock, Ursula gave up her instinctive thrashing attempt to escape and just went limp.  There was no point attempting to fight.  She was still holding her breath.  Her lungs began to ache, as if there were compressed in an ever tightening clamp, and then they cramped with an agonizing need to breathe.  Suddenly she began to fight again; Ursula was terrified for she couldn’t NOT do this.  Her body demanded AIR, but her mind knew what was coming.  Her muscles were spasming almost at random as the world went dark around the edges and her mouth involuntarily opened in an attempt to breathe water despite her fevered attempts to maintain a semblance of control.  

Water, water, everywhere.  Funny little rhyme from somewhere lost in time, it was nevertheless the awful truth as her mind spasmed, just as her body did and both lost control against the totality of wet death that clamped upon her face, until she gathered enough strength to blow hard against the towel, expelling a small part of what had come in, and then she reflexively breathed in and there was no air, only a rushing wall of water, coded with death and cold and impending humiliation, and here it was at last….

The tiny part of her brain that could still think knew that the men were trying to kill them; it was as simple and final as that; that this was the moment of her death……then air rushed in.  She breathed in hard as the towel was removed, sucking it in, pure elixir, cold and life-sustaining…..her lungs inflated greedily.  


To Bashir, the advantage of the towels was that it allowed him to carefully modulate the amount of water the girls could actually swallow, while still causing suffocation and thus the sensation of drowning.  This sensation was what he wanted them to feel because that alone was enough to cause the panic response.  Actual drowning was counter-productive because when you are unconscious, you're no long panicking.  And being revived from drowning could also sometimes produce euphoria---not exactly his goal.  Besides, he didn't want to be performing mouth to mouth on these girls.  He waited and waited and waited, and then it was time again.  


The second time the water was like a living creature.  It hunted Ursula through the already wetted towel even as she squirmed and struggled, trying to fight for that last wisp of oxygen trapped in the cotton fibers, but then it had her.  She thought of some kind of wet monster, something monstrous from the dark, dark well of human fear, some glistening, tentacled, boneless crushing thing from the deep that wrapped its arms about her and buried her head in the place where all those arms formed a hideous, pink, cold, horror-movie sucking mask over her face.  Wet and cold and slimy, oceanic and ancient, it fought to snatch Ursula’s soul from her, and she felt her body bucking in its grip, her bound legs trying to rip free, her hands trying to claw from where they were bound, and she had an image of throwing it to the floor, and smashing it with her bare feet, feeling it squirm in endless pain as it died spewing green, slimy guts across the floor…..and then it went all black…..

…..but at the last possible second, the soaking towel was removed and Ursula could breathe again, two great rattling whoops followed by a coughing fit that sounded like an artillery fusillade.  She had breathed in only a little water but it took a whole minute to get it all out, during which she was not aware of anything but her lungs.  By the time it was over, she was exhausted, her core muscles so worn from coughing that she could not move.  Her chest ached with every breath as if her lungs had been filled with broken glass.


He had left the basement to take a quick break outside.  The full, fat, reddish moon, the night outside almost as light as day.  Moonlight flooding down across the flat land that had once been used to grow rice; the full moon brought him joy and relief.  It also brought the full-throated call of the night, the soft, wild voice of the wind as it blew through the hairs on his arm.  

He most enjoyed what he did with the females placed in his care on nights like this.  

There were no beatings or broken bones, there never could be.  These girls were here because of their extraordinary beauty; it did no good to destroy that which made them so valuable to his Master in the first place---and it would certainly annoy him.  He instead relied on the stressors associated with extreme and violent mental discomfort rather than true physical torture, which he associated mainly with broken bones and torn muscles.  Bashir's efforts were calculated violations, causing deep, yet transient physical pain.......and even deeper emotional and psychological damage as he broke or destroyed what normally underpinned the girl's sanity.  

During these “treatments,” Bashir invaded and destroyed any beliefs the women had in their independence; that they as females had a purpose and a place in life by the simple virtue of being a human being; that they were not simply an object.  In the process, he also destroyed any presumptions regarding their privacy and intimacy, of uniqueness and invulnerability.  He destroyed the unspoken belief and trust that things like this mattered, that their weak society even cared about them or could save them from him.  

Forced into the position of being a pure object, an object without value which had lost any sense of interior privacy, the girls experienced time now as only in the present.  There was nothing left that separated the inside from the outside, the past from the present, the thought from the thing being thought about.  Bashir's was the ultimate act of perverted intimacy as he invaded their bodies and possessed their minds.  

With success assured in the end, he became a black hole at the center of each individual woman's world, sucking in their universal need for solace, for a sense of shared humanity.  When he'd taken them to their lowest level, the girl’s last hope for mercy was in their efforts to somehow please him, but still without giving in to him completely.  This last was always made in a pathetic attempt to appeal to what they saw as Bashir's dormant empathy, something that as a human being they knew must exist........and it was an effort that always failed.  

And in the end, when they saw they were unsuccessful at tapping into his humanity, when they were crushed psychologically; the final product then was a woman who had been reprogrammed to live in the alternative world he had created for them.  When it worked, it worked well.  

And it always worked, for in the end, he had all the time in the world.  Now, back to the new girls.  Counsel them on cooperation, give them more vague threats and then leave them, alone with their thoughts for yet another hour.


“Anything you wish to say to me?”

The coughing subsided, but neither girl answered.  

“You young ladies need to understand one thing.  It doesn't matter what you do.  Nothing you can do or offer me will make me stop.  The only thing that can stop me is your friend Linda's cooperation.  Her cooperation makes it easier for you and yours makes it easier for her.  Very simple really.”

He walked back to Linda.  She barely noticed him at first, but when he grabbed her shoulder and roughly shook it, her sudden scream of pain showed he had her complete attention.

“This,” he said, “is all your fault.  Your friends over there.  They're ready to cooperate, they're almost ready to do anything to make me stop.  But all their cooperation will do is make it easier for you.  It's really up to you whether or not they are treated better.  You were ready to give them up; ready to have them take your place on the Donkey.  But to make it stop, all you have to do is cooperate.  Just give me your promise of absolute cooperation for as long as we keep you.”

With that, he added another pound of additional pull on Linda's ankles.  But he’d never taken the gag off after that first time, never allowed her to tell him that she would cooperate, that she might have already submitted to him.  She nodded her head frantically at him and began screaming into her gag again.  This continued for about fifteen seconds, and then she stopped and began rocking slowly, rhythmically backwards and forwards on the Donkey's backboard, at the same time also grinding her femininity into the hard acrylic peak that rose between her thighs.  

Linda had finally found the exquisite release, the beautiful absence of sensation that can come with true pain over time.  Nerves that are continually stimulated over long intervals can become numb to further arousal.  The pain never really goes away, but it changes, morphs into something the mind can accept, even if there is great cost to be paid later.  And if something happens to give those nerves new life, the quicker they can become burned out again and the sooner the body goes back to a blissful ignorance of what is really going on.  


Wicked Deeds and Unbearable Thoughts or Without Honor Or Humanity, and They Weren’t Very Nice To Lena Either

Outside of Dallas, Texas

It was an hour later or perhaps even a day might have passed, Lena couldn’t tell in the darkness.  The door to her black prison creaked open and a couple of men walked in and turned on the light.  She couldn’t make out any details since her eyes were still used to the dark.  They stood looking at her nakedness for a moment and then one of them began to untie the rope from her wrists while the other grabbed her collar and pulled her to her feet.  Lena moved like a robot as they prompted her; she felt no sense of embarrassment or of anxiety, she felt almost nothing at all.  

She was dragged through the door and could now see that it was night again.  The men led her to a set of wooden stairs on the right and they ascended to the upper floor.  With her bound hands in front of her, she was pushed through the doorway and after making a ninety degree turn to the left, entered what must be the kitchen.  

There were at least twenty men standing around drinking beer and talking; a quick glance told her that all were bangers.  All sound stopped when Lena was pushed into the room.  She stood there swaying, naked except for her cuffs and her gag.  She knew her hair was tangled and greasy; that she was bruised over much of her body and covered with drainage from the multiple ejaculations of three men.  She knew all these things, but just didn’t care anymore.  

Her eyes slowly moved through the room and finally centered on a remarkable monster of man; a man who looked like he came straight out of a circus.  Every part of him that she could see was almost white.  Not the pinkish, off-white of a Caucasian, but the white of an egg shell or of a porcelain toilet.  He had long blonde-white greasy hair and pink eyes.  He too was staring at her with an intensity that was frightening.  

Finally, he turned away and began talking to another man.  Apparently he had said something to one of the other men, because Lena was immediately led by two men into the bowels of the house.  She felt no anxiety at being led away.  At the far end of the hall, she made a right turn and then was pushed into what could only be a bedroom.  

She was roughly pushed onto the bed and landed on her back with a bounce.  Her left wrist was quickly freed and the handcuff still around her right wrist was fastened to the right post at the head of the bed.  Another set of handcuffs was brought out and her left ankle was bound to the left post at the foot of the bed.  After taking a moment to devour her body with their eyes, both men turned and left.  

Lena thought about removing her gag, but was afraid of what the white monster might do if she did.  Finally, the door opened and he walked in.  Never taking his gaze from her face, he began pulling his pants off; when ready, he climbed on the bed with her.  He was huge......and ready.  

Fighting back tears, the captive woman watched his gaze slowly travel up and down her body.  When he reached out and slowly grabbed her left breast, she couldn’t help herself and the tears began to run down her face even as she closed her eyes.  Hating herself for her weakness, Lena cried even harder as she felt him crawl on top of her and settle down on her belly and breasts.  His weight seemed enormous and made it difficult for her to breathe.  

Suddenly, it began and there was nothing that she could do about it.  Lena was already exquisitely sore from what the Little Man had done to her, and the albino’s massive attentions were pure torture.  She tried not to scream and was mostly successful, but her rape at his hands was long and hard and brutal.  The only sounds he made were grunts of pleasure and satisfaction at end when he was cumming deep inside her.  Finished, he got up, slapped her face once and the left without saying a word.  The bedroom door remained open and within thirty seconds it was darkened by the figure of another male.  

Her police training was no good here.  She tried to be brave, but this time Lena bawled in pain as the new man brutally took what he wanted.  She screamed into the gag for another fifteen minutes, but the room was silent after that for the rest of the night except for some pained grunts unbelieving gasps and a few soft moans.  

She had their undivided attention all night long.  Over twelve hours of continuous, serial attention.  Twenty-two men, every man at least twice and many three times.  At the end, Lena made no sounds at all even though her gag had finally been removed.


Girls Still Singing The Subterranean Blues or Drowning Your Sorrows Only Works With Alcohol

South of Houston

The water boarding was repeated twice more with hour-long intervals in between; both girls quickly broke but the waterboarding continued because the one who could stop it had not yet done so.  The men all looked over at Linda as she continued her slow rocking movement on the doghouse Donkey.  Still gagged, she had been making small animal-like sounds in her broken, cracked voice, but now it seemed she spoke as if in a slow trance as her eyes looked off into the distance, refusing to acknowledge the existence of either the slavers or the young women she knew from high school.  

Dana was babbling her willingness to submit to whatever the men wanted, offering huge amounts of her father's cash if only they would stop.  Less vocal, Ursula still weakly begged Linda to cooperate, making it clear that she too wanted no more of the water-soaked towel and that she would submit to any demands they might make.  Neither girl knew that Linda was already far beyond giving their captors just minimal cooperation.  


Ursula knew she had been breathing water for too long this time.  She counted somehow; thirty…thirty-one…thirty-two…  She was exhausted and her body was panicking; she couldn’t control her reactions anyone.  She struggled and flexed her shoulders hoping they would pull away the soaked towel.  But instead they pressed it ever closer.  Forty…forty-one…  Her body was in survival mode now, her legs kicking wildly, scissoring as if they belonged to someone else.  

Was it fifty or sixty now?  She’d lost count.  Her mind was flooded again with dull prism-like colors, like the patterns you see under your eyelids just before sleep.  She wanted to weep for the mother and father she’d been forced to leave behind and the lovers she would never know.  She wondered if were possible to weep with your face in a towel like this.  It was like falling down a mineshaft, getting farther and farther away from the light.  Ursula could feel nothing clearly anymore and thought itself grew faint.  

At last they let go and she spit out water which felt like it was draining from her lungs as she tried to breathe again but it hurt and it was hard, so hard.  She hung there, upside down, her chest rising and falling fast, but as if it were unconnected to the rest of her.  She heard distant coughing and breathing and could not be certain if it was her own.  Slowly, she felt her ears unblock and strength begin to return to her arms and legs.  He heard one of them talking, but was not certain to whom.  She detected a subtle change in the group around her.  Suddenly, it seemed as if only seconds later, the towel came back again.  Would they ever stop?  


Still on the Donkey but completely filled now with despair, Linda hurt all over but it seemed different now.  The monster had finally reduced the pull on her ankles, but the pain between her thighs had increased to the point where nothing could stand against it.  Darkness began to fill her eyes, like ink slowly coloring a crystal bowl filled with pure water.  The room seemed to suddenly recede, the way the ground recedes below a rocket, and the pain crescendoed to a searing flash of light that consumed all of her world.....and protracted into a single line of light that stretched out to an impossible attenuation, exactly equaling infinity.  Her soul was between worlds, hurled there for a moment by the incredible pain which still ravaged between her thighs; but it was still connected to her body by a silver cord.  That cord, she somehow sensed, could be stretched across a universe, as long as it was held in place by her will.  But that was what this terrible man was attacking.

She heard him whisper in her ear as his voice echoed across galaxies.  From far away, from the beginning of time.  It seemed to Linda that she was at the end of time now.  It could have no end, but it had one, all at the same time.  Her body seemed filled with paradoxes as the Spanish Donkey tried to cut her in half, but she could not choose the time or space she occupied.  

Suddenly, there he was.  She was looking through time at him.  Christ was a dark-skinned man, with long black hair dirtied by blood from the crown of thorns; he was lean, his nose hooked, his brow a bit heavy; his eyes, his black eyes, oh, his very black eyes looked back at her.  This was not possible.  She shuddered, feeling that gaze penetrate to her soul.  She felt a vast pity wash over her from the figure on the cross.  Strange that a man being crucified would feel pity for anyone else.  But she realized at that moment too, that nothing would change for her in this life, that she would live as a sex slave for these men, or whatever else they wanted her for, just like everything else in her life that had already passed.  She lived in the wrong universe for anything to ever be fair.

Linda, the time has come, she heard a whisper in the dark.  And she found that she was falling through a hole in space, tumbling through the roof and walls of the place they in which she had been imprisoned as if they were made out of fog.  Entering the human world once again, disoriented.  Feeling the feverish rage of hell crackling in the very air around her, devouring the very flesh between her thighs.  

It was time to fully submit, and she knew now that she would.  But some terrible contrarian part of her still would not let her do it yet.  She had humiliated herself once by begging him to put the other two girls on in her place and she would forever hate herself for that, but she had one final “never’ left in her before he took everything away.  


True to his word, Bashir had two of his men remove the straps from Linda's ankles, but he left her astride the donkey.  Her friends had broken, so now she was free....sort of.  

After he removed her gag, he stroked her sweaty hair as he said in a soft, gently chiding voice that for some unknown seemed to make perfect sense to the hurting young woman, “Linda, Linda.  Young woman, you know that only you can stop this.  They're your friends and it's only your stubbornness that forces me to do this to them.”

He looked at her reproachfully, “This is ALL your fault.”

Linda’s eyes were filled with unshed tears and her lower lip trembled with pain and fear, and mostly, guilt.  But she somehow ignored him one final time.  And so, without any obvious anger towards her, Bashir ordered the two innocent girls to be water boarded again.  

This was the last time, she could stand no more.  A trembling Linda was finally helped off of the Donkey while Dana and Ursula were still being water boarded.  Two men stood Linda on her feet, only to discover that like all of the females who had ridden the Donkey before her, she was not capable of standing on her own.  

But when the towels were taken off of the faces of the two girls’ being tortured with water a fourth time, after they could finally breathe again, after they could see Linda standing free in front of them, only Dana began screaming at Linda.  Not understanding what was happening, Dana alternated between cursing Linda and then begging her to make the men stop.  Ursula just cried silently and begged for mercy in a soft, broken voice.  

An aching Linda felt the power in the man standing next to her and knew without doubt she had lost this contest to him; that he was the one holding the key to the rest of her life.  He was the spiritual equivalent of a black hole which sucked at her heart.  She put both hands in the small of her back and pushed, was finally able to stand upright.  The darkness seemed to reach its maximum thickness around her, but she knew it was only in her mind.  She felt a clutching in her gut and the sense of inevitability a woman in the middle of the street must feel as she turns to see a truck barreling down on her from a few feet away.  It was too late to get out of the way of this man and she knew that her destiny was coming to a kind of convergence with his, at least in this life.

Linda waited for the final blow, the one thing that would make her fully, irrevocably belong to him.  The whole world, she now realized, was a waiting room.  You waited to grow up, you waited to grow older, you waited to deteriorate, and you waited to die.  It was all temporary in this world.  Only the next one would have anything truly lasting about it.

She felt weakness as strength suddenly poured into him.  She heard him say something, but the sound was muted as if by the rush of flowing water---she didn't think he was speaking to her.  The darkness began to close in around her.  She couldn't see anything anymore, only shafts of light through the darkness.  

God, help me.  I only wanted to do your work on earth.  Why couldn't you save me from this, send someone to help me?  

It was a heartfelt prayer.  But the only response was increasing darkness, an ever deeper darkness......


At the end of the fifth round of torture, when his man diverted the hose away her face, they saw vomit flowing from under Ursula's towel.  Bashir looked over at Linda and from the look, on her face, judged this was the right moment.  If they went on much longer, the burgeoning panic would be replaced in the two girls by utter exhaustion, and then he would have to change to more brutal tactics.  Tactics he preferred not to do --- as much, he recognized, for his own sake as theirs.

Bashir nodded to his men and they peeled the towels away from the two girls.  His man lightly hosed the mess off Ursula's face.  After a few moments of complete inactivity, she finally began to jerk back and forth, blindly trying to avoid the fine spray.  Both young women wheezed and gagged, then threw up again with choking, strangled screams.  Their chests heaved in the cadences of barely controlled panic.  Their teeth chattered and their hands writhed and shook.  Their breath whistled in and out in whimpers, and he realized both were crying.  He pushed aside his disgust at the weakness of the young American whores and leaned forward.  

“Let us see what your friend has to say.”  He walked over to Linda, accompanied by the sound of Dana and Ursula's begging.  

Gently, he lifted Linda’s face so that she could look into his eyes.  “You've already held out longer than almost any other woman.  You’re friends--why do you torment your friends so?  Do you really care so little for them?”

Linda looked blankly at him for a second, then turned away.  Although the look of blankness on her face was almost as if she were standing in her own kitchen rather than here with him, there was something about her eyes that told him she was almost done.  She was right on the verge of breaking, of submitting to his will, of accepting her new life.  He waited a moment longer, then nodded to his men.  They stepped forward with the towels and lifted the girl's heads, but Ursula struggled free for just a moment.

“For God's sake, Linda.  Please.  We're begging you.  Please make them stop,” Ursula begged.  She was crying so hard, it was difficult to understand her.  But she suddenly went silent as the towel was wrapped around her face.  But before the water could be applied, Linda spoke for the first time.

“All right!” Linda shouted, her voice cracked and hoarse.  “God!  Alright, you’ve won.  

But it still wasn't over for them.  They'd be tested hard tonight several more times before they were given time to recover.  He turned to his men, “It's done.”  

He looked at Linda with a look that promised more torment should she be lying.  “Time to go back with your friends.”  

She nodded listlessly, the muscles of her neck as weak as string.  The man in charge reached over and took her arm, pulling her towards the Spider's Web.  Everything physical seemed to stretch out on the way to the netting, elongating in a house of mirrors sort of way.  Linda could tell that they moved, yet her friends seemed to remain the same distance away.  It was like her legs were attempting to move in some kind of a thick morasses, yet the harder she struggled, the more it seemed they weren't going anywhere at all.  Suddenly however, she was there, and within a minute, she too was again tied upside-down beside her friends.  

The man looked down at them with apparent concern.  “From where I come from, we have a saying.  When a man from my country conquers an enemy, he says, 'I broke his eye.'”

Now Bashir walked over in front of Linda and looked brutishly, directly into her eyes.  “I broke your eye, my dear.”  She looked away, obviously unwilling to meet his eyes.  

“I have never before had a serious conversation with an American in your position who wasn't eventually afraid of me; who wasn't eventually eager to please me or assist me, to ingratiate herself with me, to guide me, to agree with me.”

“All women break eventually.  There is no shame in this.  But now we have a deal.  And the shameful part is when you women try to renege later, once you've had time to recover.  You Americans, your word is meaningless.  You will say anything, do anything to make me stop.  I get very angry with women whose word means nothing to them.  But I've made a deal with you and there is no going back for you.  So, you tell me you quit, but what do I do to make sure you know how serious I am?  How do I ensure that you understand?”

Dana babbled her willingness to give Bashir whatever he wanted, for as long as he wanted it.  At the same time, both Linda and Ursula remained quiet, but both obviously agreed with Dana.  Bashir was filled with a deep sense of satisfaction; he was a master at taking these stupid American's along with their images of themselves and bending them and refracting them until he had obtained what he wanted.  He'd seen them like this hundreds of times before, and the next part, to him, was what always sealed the deal.  The realization that their lives were truly meaningless and that they were forever alone.  Freedom, as the song said, really was just a word….for they belonged to a new master now.

Still not finished, Bashir’s men now walked up to all three girls and simultaneously put all three girl’s heads inside plastic bags and closed the bags around their necks.  Shocked into stillness for a second, the young, well-toned bodies arched and thrashed, struggling against the webbing like fish in the bottom of a boat.  Soon however, they'd lost their energy as like a fish out of water, they continued to gasp but nothing filled their lungs.  Surprisingly quickly, all three bodies hung motionless from the Spider's Webbing.

Suffocating, whether by wet towel or plastic bag or leather garrote, is something you never get used to.  It affects the lizard part of the brain at the most fundamental levels and it is totally disorienting.  


The girls were being suffocated by clear plastic bags pulled over their heads.  They could see it being done to each other.  Passing out and being brought back, then passing out again.  

Dana’s eyes began to throb and then flooded with tears as she begged for mercy on those moments the bags did not stifle her voice.  Ursula watched her friend’s eyes bulge as they both gaped and gulped like a fish in the bottom of a boat as their lungs found only carbon dioxide to breathe.  All three girls thrashed on the Spider's Web, but could never get free.  They all shook their heads, trying in some way to pierce the plastic bag that had been shut so tightly around their necks.  Ursula watched as the other two cried and screamed and struggled, only to begin passing out before her very eyes.  Things were spinning now for her too, and within seconds she had joined them as everything went as black as if she had dove into a pool of deep, dark, cold water.  

As a victim, the first time is the suffocation.  Prior to this, suffocation is just a word.  You fear it, you are not sure what to expect never having experienced it before even if the lizard brain is already gibbering with fear.  However, it still nothing but a word.  But the second time and third....  You know what to expect and that is what makes it so much more terrifying.  It doesn't get easier and it doesn’t get better with practice.  

It's impossible not to panic after the first time.  Ursula never learned to accept being suffocated with grace…nor did the other two girls.  


Bashir Was A Cruel And Shallow Man or They Were The Confessions Of A Lesser Mind

Bashir thought back to when he had first started working for The Albanian.  It had troubled him a little in the beginning, the concept of enslaving women.  A hard man coming from a…primitive…..time in his country’s history, he had in many ways still considered himself a good man and a moral person, at least at first.  But true evil has a hardening effect…  What he had discovered was that the conscience can be seared until the scar tissue that remains has no nerve endings at all.  

At first, it was all almost unthinkable; then it became a necessary evil required to make an unjust country pay for its crimes--and then you tried to think less of what you did just in order to just get by.  Finally, after that, it became just a job.  You got up in the morning, put your pants on, went to work, and then you went back home.  It was however, a job with a few superficial perks that many younger men would kill for.

He looked down dispassionately at Ursula.  The leather strap was off now but she remained unconscious, as were the other two.  All three however, were breathing deeply, evenly.  He'd had his men suffocate the girls three times in the last hour, each time separated by about fifteen minutes.  They'd been brought back twice already and he was waiting for them to come around the third time.  Impatient now, he checked his watch again as finally Linda coughed, coughed hoarsely a second time, then gasped for a huge breath.  The other two were only a few seconds behind her.  Finally, they were all back and totally, horrifically aware of their hopeless situation.  He looked into their eyes and saw nothing but horror; sheer, unending, cataclysmic horror.  Their throats would be sore and they'd all have tremendous headaches for a while, but they hadn't been permanently harmed.

Bashir had done this so many times that he could almost do it in his sleep.  When everyone is told they are special, then no one is really special.  This strange culture talked about feelings of self-worth even before these feelings had been earned.  These American girls had been taught from birth that their privacy, intimacy, integrity and inviolability was guaranteed.  And with the continually increasing emphasis on civil and other rights, their culture had taught them to look at their body as a unique temple, as a familiar and safe territory of sensations and personal history, theirs to do with as they pleased.  But when he invaded, defiled and desecrated the shrine they held so important, their culture had not given them a core with which to fight him, or anything to which they could anchor their beliefs in order to fight him.  They might have begun as feminists, even warriors for Social Justice, but none of them ever ended as one.  

He felt the one called Linda had in many ways been the strongest, and so Bashir had gone after her first.  He had done so publicly, deliberately, and repeatedly.  He had done so sadistically and sexually, even if without necessarily enjoying it.  And having been broken in this way, the effects were pervasive, long-lasting and pretty much irreversible while the females were under his master’s control.  In this way, he had rendered their own bodies their worst enemy.  What he did to them was the ultimate act of perverted intimacy.  

He controlled their bodies with superior physical strength, saturated their psyches with his impeccably calculated attacks on what made them what they were and possessed their minds with his perfectly disciplined emotional strength and willingness to ignore all boundaries of morality and humanity.  Deprived of meaningful contact with anyone but him and his minions, starved for human interactions, each girl had in a perverse sort of way now bonded with him, their predator.

It was extreme physical agony coupled with emotional vulnerability and dependence that compelled their beliefs to mutate, their identity to fragment, their ideals and principles to crumble.  In the end, their bodies became one of his most trusted accomplices, allowing him an uninterrupted primary channel of communication; their flesh became treasonous, poisoned territory as it fostered a humiliating dependency of each of the abused with him.  

Temporary pain.  Layers of terror which repeatedly came back in the middle of the night.  Bodily needs denied......sleep, toilet, food, water......each necessity was now wrongly perceived by the young women as the direct cause of their degradation and dehumanization.  As they saw it, he rendered them bestial not with sadistic bullies, but by using their own flesh and its basic requirements against them.  

None of the so-called experts had any experience with what he did.  "Traumatic bonding", the so-called intellectuals called it, akin to the Stockholm syndrome.  

What it was really all about was human hope and the search for meaning in the brutal and indifferent and nightmarish universe of his torture cells.  Bashir had to smile at what he saw in their eyes.  It was done for tonight.  All fight was gone; the clear bag around the neck, especially everything else, never failed to compel a direct and brutal honesty from the captive females.  

The casual-appearing violence visited upon these untrained teenagers had been traumatic.  But that didn't necessarily mean that once they'd experienced it, a "victim mindset" would automatically be adopted.  Not at all.  Therefore, his job was to ensure that after having been subjected to his beautiful violence, these girls in fact re-defined themselves according to their new "reality;” that as they obsessed on their fear, it ensured a paranoia which soon helped to control them even more effectively.  While every one of them was different, eventually each young woman arrived at a place previously appointed by their captors.......as women who had given up the struggle of "playing the game" and had instead entered a state of............detachment, of emotional numbness.

It was almost time to let his men finish initiating these young women.  But there was one more thing the females needed to experience before Bashir let the men have them.  The three breakers that had been helping stood to his rear, each now holding a rubber strap and a syringe which they placed on a small stool by each girl's head.  There was a moment of silence, then he gave a small nod of his head.  


Burning Pain And Smoking Blood or Fucking Asshole, That Really Hurts!!

Linda felt oddly broken, as if something within her had split in two.  One part watched almost dispassionately now, the other part felt its skin crawl as she watched the man reach over and tie the rubber strap around her forearm.  In the background, she noticed the other two girls getting the same treatment.  

All she wanted to do was cry.  She was far beyond caring now about her nakedness, her total, wanton exposure.  She was terrified of this man and the Cromagnons he had working for him.  It was a totally blind terror.  It was a primitive horror she felt, a hardwired-in-the-caves-fight-or-flight dread.  But tied as she was, there was nothing she could do and consequently, her mind was overwhelmed; she was dazed and helpless, stunned by the horrific emotional impact of the repeated suffocations and the very real fear they would continue doing this to her.  

The tiny rational part of Linda still functioning knew that for as long as she lived, she would never get over the terrible machine they called the Donkey.  She knew that it produced the most unbearable agony she could ever have possibly imagined.  Unwillingly, but still out of her control, a part of Linda’s mind went back and remembered how the terrible ride had taken her to the very edge of madness.  She tried not to think about it, but her mind would not cooperate.  She reluctantly recalled how the constant rocking motion had moved the pain from her vagina to her sphincter and then to the pelvic girdle that supported all of her weight, of how there had never been a moment when the agony was not somehow growing, metastasizing throughout her body.  That terrible pain had only been complemented by the downward pull on her ankles which slowly increased the pressure of the knife-like edge against the unbelievably sensitive area between her legs.  

That area he had attacked between her legs which was only now beginning to get full sensations back. She was incredibly sore there, but the pain seemed so much less important than it had even a few minutes ago.  Linda shook her head in frustration.  Her mind just refused to work properly, seemingly shutting down without warning.  She found herself just staring now, ignoring everything around her.  She was just so overwhelmed by everything that had happened…..the world was coming at her too fast, far too fast to process.

She knew she was young, but Linda had always tried to see the best in people.  But this awful man?  She hated this man with a passion that surprised her.  For some reason, he had unfairly zeroed in on her from the beginning, and everything he did to the three of them, he seemed to first direct towards her.  

Again, her traitorous mind strayed and went back to the beginning.  “Earlier, you begged me, wanted to know why you had been brought here,” the old one in charge had said to her as he began.  “Let's see how we get along before I answer your question.”  

Suddenly, all thought fled as she stared down blankly at the man who had just pulled her arm out to the side, then tapped two fingers on her forearm just below her biceps, beckoning a vein to reveal itself.  

Linda wanted to shrink back in horror, but she was just too exhausted.  She felt so weak, so helpless.  She wished she could fight, show them a little spirit to let them know they hadn’t beat her.  But, the truth was, she was too afraid to do anything.  And so, instead she just watched.  

The man held her bicep clamped tightly against his side and once she'd stopped moving, he tapped her arm once more with his long, thin fingers.  With a burgeoning horror that felt removed somehow, as if it came from another person, Linda watched as a vein pulsed out welcomingly.

She tried to move her arm, but the leader grabbed her chin again, this time in a vise of iron.  Finally, she nodded numbly, signaling a subtle willingness to at least temporarily submit to his rule.  After a moment, he let go of her and her forearm was swabbed with a small ball of cotton dabbed with alcohol.  The man next picked up a small glass vial that held a pale, straw-colored liquid.  

The man drew a tiny amount of the liquid into the syringe he held as his leader said, “You haven't been completely honest with us, have you?  You say you're willing.  But our eyes and our voices betray so much more than we imagine, if one only knows what to look for.”  

As if to emphasize this ominous warning, his man squirted out any air bubbles left in the needle and turned to her.  A glaze of cruelty seemed to shimmer over the man's eyes as they settled on her again.  

The old man said in a warning, yet somehow victorious voice, “And I do,” just as his man pricked the needle carefully into her vein without even glancing at Linda.  Then, as the syringe was emptied into her blood, he said.  “And this is just a taste of what you can expect if I feel you're not being entirely cooperative from this point on.”  

He grabbed her chin again and shook it hard.  “Remember!  And think upon this….it is just a taste!”

Fear had tightened around Linda's heart like an iron fist as she watched the pale liquid disappear into her body.  She looked at her captor dully, then at the man who had injected her.  With an efficient touch, he flicked the rubber strap off her arm.  Her heart raced and her mind was swamped again with panic and terror, her eyes searched their impassive faces for clues, her breaths came short and fast.   

Still wanting to reason, Linda opened her mouth to ask the monster why he wouldn't believe her, but the act was cut short by a strange, savagely burning sensation which suddenly flared up around where she'd been injected.  The pain was bewildering.  

It held constant for a second before the fierce warmth began to spread in both directions as it slowly worked its way against gravity towards the tips of her fingers and down towards her chest.  Her skin crawled then, feeling both hot and unnaturally dry.  Suddenly Linda’s flesh was filled with unpleasant sensations, as if her skin was covered with spiders that were scuttling around and nipping her.  

As the substance traveled more in her blood, the burning quickly increased in intensity, growing from a stinging, prickling, locally violent pain to a scorching, excruciating torment until finally it felt as if every vein in her body were on fire.  Every blood vessel in her body was suddenly filled with molten lava, they were nothing but pipelines filled with burning gasoline.  

There was a grotesque, indescribable feeling deep in her belly now and she could feel herself repeatedly shaking violently, her body first bucking and then going rigid with pain.  She tried to stop but could not.  Her vision blurred and her lips quivered as bubbles of greasy sweat trickled down her face.  Linda felt as if she were being fried with microwaves, but from the inside out.  Her mind tried to tell her body to reject the pain, but she was sucked again and again into a blackness that cut out whole seconds or even minutes of the agony, making it even more difficult to keep up with the horrible reality of the moment.  

When she tried to separate these overwhelming sensations in her increasingly non-functioning mind, non-reality was a black which didn’t hurt quite so much while her reality was colored an exquisite flaming red and it felt like she had been submerged in acid.  Reality was feeling her body twist and flip unendingly on the net when she couldn’t possibly move because of the pain.  

And so for increasingly longer moments, her mind sought the relatively soothing black, but she always came back to the red.  

The men just stood and watched patiently.  She vaguely remembered the leader stooping to hold the vial in front of her face.  He seemed genuinely impressed with it as he said, “An interesting little thing here.  It is called capsaicin.  Comes from the chili peppers.  But you have to admit, biting into an enchilada's not quite the same thing as having a touch of this concentrate pumped into your blood, is it?”  

His wry smirk went all fuzzy as she blinked away her tears and then her body involuntarily shuddered again from the searing pain.  “The chili pepper's a great little fruit and it tells us a lot about human nature.  It burns because it’s developed a defense mechanism over time to ward off animals and not get eaten.  It works against all animals, but alas, just not for us humans.  We're different.  We search out this little red thing and we grow it.  We add it to our food because we tell ourselves we enjoy the pain it causes.  But that's nothing to the perverse pleasure we get in using it to cause pain to others.  Mayans used it to punish loose girls by rubbing it into their eyes, and if their virginity was in question, they rubbed it in their vaginas.  The Incas put it in large bonfires upwind of their enemies just before battle.  Even now, the Chinese use it to torture Tibetan monks.”

But his remaining words were wasted on Linda.  The burning inside her heart became much, much hotter, far too hot to survive.  Like grabbing the wrong end of a curling iron – her automatic response was to drop the scorching thing that burned her so.  But there was nothing in her hands, nothing to drop.  Her arms were bound behind her back and felt like dead things even as the already ferocious heat continued to build inside her.  The fire blazed even hotter and she wanted to scream, to beg for someone to kill her, before she lived for one more second.  But she felt paralyzed, couldn’t even move her lips now.  

She could see his mouth moving through the blur of tears and hear snippets of sounds in her burning eardrums, but her brain was swamped and had no ability to process them because of the all-consuming agony of her body.  The waves of pain raced to every neuron in her body, ravaging LINDA to her very core.  

All she wanted to do was die.  To never have been born.  The whole of her existence did not, could not outweigh the pain the man had given her.  It wasn’t worth living through even one more heartbeat.

Letmedieletmedie let me die.  

Let.  Me.  Die…..

For a never-ending space, that’s all there was…..just the fiery torture and her soundless shrieks, pleading for death to come.  Then, as if by magic, on the verge of another round of merciful blackness, as suddenly as it had first swept through her, the burning began to recede.  

She took a deep breath, then another, tensing up in anticipation of another wave of that awful acid pain, waiting for it, dreading it……but it didn't come back.  

It had just died out like a snuffed flame.  

The leader was watching her with grim interest as if she were a caged animal in some sort of unholy zoo.  Linda heard her two friends sobbing softly next to her, she watched as he looked at his watch and nodded to himself almost imperceptibly, as if making a mental note of her reaction and of how long it had lasted.  His last words before his man had administered the injection swooped into her mind then.  

He called it just a taste of what she could expect.  She shuddered at the thought.  

Not the regular dose.  

A small taste.  

Linda couldn't even begin to imagine what a full course would feel like.  She knew what her God's hell must be like now.  The burning and the pain.  

The thought of another injection tormented her, it consumed her.

The leader continued to watch her, and as she regained her senses he nodded to the ghosts that stood next to her.  She wouldn't fight them anymore, he somehow knew this.  And with her broken, the other two would be no problem.  The assistant stepped forward, gave her a sip of water and then receded into the shadows again.  


Bashir’s voice was soft, low, almost kindly.  “I finally, truly believe you really wish to cooperate with us now.”

The three females were now ready and his men brought over three Whitehead gags.  The large oval metal piece was inserted in each girl's mouth and the attached leather strap tied tightly around their neck.  It was an interesting little gag that he used.  It didn't really silence them, but it did leave them "open" for a lot of different kinds of play.

Their heads hung about thirty-six inches from the floor, their mouths kept open wide by the gags.  Other men were noisily accumulating in the subterranean room by now as the three cleaners who had waterboarded and injected the girls stepped up and unzipped their pants.  


Upside Down and Dirty or It Was Time For A Mouthful Of Lovin’

The young man stood in front of the girl with the honey-brown hair.  True Muslims did not gamble, but could mimic this when necessary.  They'd drawn lots earlier and he'd won the one called Linda.  He was the youngest, least experienced of the three breakers Bashir had been using tonight and they all told him he was the softest, but he didn't believe them.  He stepped up to the girl he’d won as the erection he'd already freed from his pants slapped directly against her face.  As he put his hands on the back of Linda's firm thighs and pulled her to him, he felt her stir weakly against his chest and belly.  The girls had been kidnapped over three days ago, been given little to drink since then and nothing to eat, and then kept bound for the whole time and tortured.  

But there was still a scent he could not name as it drifted faintly to his nostrils from between her thighs.  Somehow, amazingly, to him at least she still smelled clean and green--like skin freshly showered---and the awareness of his own funk of coffee and sweat and cigarettes and used clothes depressed him suddenly.  

He was tired, but it didn't matter for the still fresh beauty of this one excited him immensely.  He easily threaded his erection through her artificially gaping lips and into her mouth.  His meat filled her there and there was nothing she could do to stop him.  His hips began a rhythmic thrusting motion and he only faltered once when Linda attempted to turn her face to the side.  

He stopped mouth-fucking the inexperienced girl long enough to reach down and grab a firm young breast and then both squeeze and twist at the same time.  She would understand that he must not be embarrassed by her in front of the other men.  The girl shuddered, bucked against him for a couple of seconds, then finally submitted to his demands by returning her face back where he could begin mouth-fucking her again.  He looked down and saw that she was crying silently, but he could have cared less in this moment of heavenly pleasure.

He watched as his friend Mlan exhaled with pleasure, his breath almost whistling as he stood with his feet apart in front of the one named Ursula, unzipping his jeans.  Ursula had seen what he was doing to her friend and knew what came next for her too.


The lead meat handler thought, for some reason, in a world of physical intimidation and sexualized humiliation, what came next for these girls always seemed to work.  He regretted this in a way, but his men almost demanded it.  And the girls weren't really hurt by it, just demeaned a little more.  To tell the truth, if humiliating the girls now prevented a later disobedience which demanded a much more severe punishment, if this saved them from doing something stupid, something that forced him to treat them in the ultimate way that he preferred not to, well then, it was worth shaming them like this….and in fact, in the light of that viewpoint, he was actually doing them a favor.  

Plus, no matter how far they’d been broken down, the American females in particular always at this point still somehow maintained that little nugget of final arrogance, that tiny remaining vestigial kernel of inflated self-worth.  They just didn't seem to be able to learn their place in this new world of theirs if he didn't give them a final, dramatic proof of their actual value.  


A Gift For Every Party or No One Pretended to Like Her Anymore

There was nothing she could do.  There was no possible escape.  Ursula knew she could expect no better than what was being done to Linda.  Eyes leaking tears that burned like acid, Ursula finally looked obediently up into the man's cruel brown eyes, gravity holding her tongue flat on the roof of her mouth as she prepared to receive him.  Then it began and there was nothing she could do.  He drove deeply into her mouth, around her tongue and finally banging the tip of his rigid cock against the back of her throat.  

Quickly, she had a sore throat.  But it went on and on, then suddenly, prematurely, he began to cum.  It was impossible to swallow, so his semen pooled in the back of her mouth along with the massive quantities of saliva that had accumulated during the oral rape.  Her mouth was suddenly awash with silky, salty-tasting, honey-thick fluids, both hers and his.

Suddenly, there was a commotion next to her and she heard Linda's muffled, gargled screams.  She wanted to look, but being impaled by the man's erection kept her head pinned back against the rope webbing and pushed between his thighs.  He finally pulled out of her mouth after achieving total satisfaction.  Suddenly, he grabbed his softening erection and began urinating on her!  He covered her face and neck with his stinking fluid, but concentrated his aim on the inside of her mouth.  Gagging, she whipped her face back and forth to avoid his stream.  Angered, he began to hurt her vulnerable breasts.  A lot.  In the end, she knew there was nothing she could do to stop him......and so she somehow closed her eyes and forced herself to allow him his victory.

It went on and on for Ursula, man after man.  For all three of them, it never seemed to end.  After the first one, she knew now what came immediately after the oral sex and she dreaded it, hated it with every fiber of her being.  When one man had finished with her, she was hosed off, her open and waiting mouth washed clean in preparation for the next.  Several times, the man waiting was too impatient and she was taken again while still soiled from the previous rapist, her mouth and throat filled with the ejaculate and urine of two men.  

The aroma and taste were indescribably awful.  The wet smell of the dirty concrete below her head.  The smell of wet hemp rope to which she was bound.  The chewy-thick cum which coated her mouth and throat, the urea-stink of the men’s urine and any bile or vomit that might have erupted from her belly -- it was all washed away from her mouth and face each time, and then it began all over again.  The line of men awaiting their turn never seemed to end and no amount of times made it better or easier.  

Just the diluted stench of their urine on the floor beneath her head making her feel light-headed and her throat gag.  The sharp, sour taste and the acrid after-burn that exploded up through her nose to make her eyes water both from the acid of the men's love fluid as well as the humiliation of being their urinal.

This latest one grinned down at her viciously and carefully uncoiled his soft but still huge penis onto her tongue.  He banged into her mouth for what seemed only a few seconds before cumming.  Then he grabbed himself in the way that men have when they want good aim.  Ursula knew his flow would be burning hot as he tried to funnel it into her mouth.  No matter gravity, she had still somehow swallowed some, prompting what little gag reflex still remained, all interspersed between bitter little burps and tiny drips of bile that she felt mostly at the back of her throat.  The worst part, the most humiliating thing was that she'd begun to be able to differentiate between the men, recognizing a variation of tastes in their urine.  

For what seemed the hundredth time, Ursula felt the first fiery squirt of his liquid go down her nostrils and splash around her mouth, and finally, begin pooling against her tonsils.  “Oooohhhh, yeah…” he exhaled with a sigh in his accented English, “that feels good.”  

He treated her as his living toilet and what little remained of the rational side of her brain screamed once more in mixed humiliation and rage.  But the emotional side, the mortified feminine side, the terrified woman side, it somehow had accepted she had no choice, no other option.  This part of her was petrified by what might happen if she frustrated him, turned her face away, pulled her mouth from her current rapist-lover and thus infuriated him.  She was frightened for Dana and Linda too.  But mostly, Ursula feared for herself; and she felt a deep shame, shame at how much she wanted to avoid the pain she knew they would willingly give her for any disobedience, real or imagined.

And so the independent, forceful Ursula, the resilient survivor known for always having a plan to endure the bad times, this strong and independent woman somehow cooperated with her attackers, forcing herself to willingly continue facing man after man as she felt their blood-warm streams racing into her open mouth, covering her face and soaking her hair, making her eyes water as she tried to avoid choking.  She still gasped and sputtered as she made her rapid, fish-like swallowing movements, quick gulps that accomplished nothing but emptying their urine from the side of her mouth, even as they kept filling her there.  But regardless of her efforts, the horrible acrid tang continued to get worse and worse.

Towards what must be the end, for she could finally see the end of the line of men, a bubbly, frothy liquid spilled from her mouth over her lips and down her face, but she somehow prevented herself from vomiting again.  Finally, this one was finished.  He shook the last drips from the end of his penis onto her chin before tucking himself back into his jeans.  Ignoring her, he then turned and with a whistle, walked away towards a freedom she would never again experience.  

Fresh water hit her face and washed out her mouth.  

The man with the hose finished, and the next man jauntily walked up.  

Ursula truly wished she were dead.


For The Female Cop It Was One Night Too Many or Perhaps It’d Been Too Many One Night

Outside of Dallas, Texas

When Lena awoke, she knew at once what had happened, but couldn't remember for a moment when or where, or who had done this to her.  Having majored in sports and gone through the police academy, she knew the varieties and vintages of pain the way that some women knew expensive wine, but this pain in her head was already beyond the judging stage and well into the realm where screaming was the only sane response.  But she didn't scream….even that would hurt too much.

The room was mostly dark but even the dim light from the covered window hurt her eyes.  Everything had a nimbus around it and when she attempted to focus her eyes, nausea rose up through the pain like a shark fin cutting oily water.  She solved this by closing her eyes.  Now there were only the inevitable, ambient sounds from beyond the closed door.  She started to raise her hand to rub the right side of her head--the epicenter of this universe of pain--but her hand jarred to a halt next to the headboard.

Physical pain and mental anguish brought with them different problems.  Individually each can cripple.  A physical injury immobilizes a person, where psychological trauma incapacitates by inflicting fear or taking away an individual's desire to live.  Separately, they are bad enough, but together they are almost always devastating.  The last day had been, by far, the worst of Lena's life.  Her mind, when it finally worked again, bounced back and forth between overwhelming despair and vengeful rage.  But nothing would save her.


Big Man walked into the bedroom the next morning with a wet washcloth and even though he looked, he didn’t at first see his captive woman cop.  But upon hearing a soft whimper from the rumpled sheets on the bed, he looked closer and finally saw her.  Walking over, he looked down and shook his head.  “Bitch, you fucked a lot of men last night and this morning.  For a cop, you're a real pig for dick from what I understand.”  

He laughed at his own coarse humor as he released her left hand.  “Now get up.  We’re leaving.”

Lena looked back with shocked-looking red eyes, eyes that seemed bruised from the dark blue shadows that lay beneath.  She'd been ridden by the last man less than an hour ago, her genitals were still stretched and bruised and leaking fluid.  Her hair was absolutely filthy now, much more so than when she first had been delivered to the rape-bed.  It was stiff with dried cum and other, much worse things that had been wiped on it.  

Her gag had been removed by one of the men after five hours had passed, after she'd finally stopped screaming, and now her face was covered with caked and dried semen as were her breasts, her belly and her thighs.  She had bite marks all over her body with most centering on the insides of her thighs and her breasts, and this pissed Big Man off for her street value would be reduced if she was permanently marked.  But after a quick inspection he was pleased to note that none of the men had gone too far with his cop fucktoy.  

After talking with Moonburn, Big Man had realized that they couldn’t stay in Dallas.  But Moonburn had given him the name of a man who collected women like this.  The man was located south of Houston somewhere and they had already set up a meet with one of his representatives not too far from the Ship Channel.  The man was a foreigner and was interested in obtaining all types of women.  But a female cop had really raised his interest.

With a laugh, Big Man leered at Lena, “You’re a nasty, nasty bitch.  You need to keep yourself a little cleaner.”  

He threw the washcloth on her groin and told her to clean herself up, especially between her legs “.....because of your skanky woman smell.”  

The weakened cop moved slowly, painfully, trying to clean with one hand the dried semen from between her thighs and her buttocks and off her belly.  But washcloth became soiled quickly and the chore impossible to achieve.  The man who had dominated her life for the last two days then leaned over after she had finished a cursory whore’s bath and unlocked her ankle from the bedpost and freed her right hand.  Leaving the cuff on her wrist, he roughly rolled the unresisting Lena onto her stomach and cuffed her wrists together behind her back again.  

He pulled Lena to her feet by her hair, then took a piece of rope and ran it from the D-ring in her collar through the chains of the cuffs and pulled the rope tight before he tied it off.  This pulled Lena’s hands into an extremely uncomfortable position up closer to her shoulder blades.  

Finally, he grabbed a longer piece of rope and made a loop in one end.  Standing in back of Lena, he wrapped the rope around her waist, ran the free end through the loop he’d placed in the small of her back and then tightened it.  Finally, he ran it down between her legs and to the front.  Walking around to the front of the policewoman, he pulled the free end of the rope back up and threaded it under the end of the rope that had already been belted around her waist.  He pulled the rope around her waist tight and then tugged on the end which ran between Lena’s legs.  Taking the free end of the now tight rope, he tied a final knot around the belt made of rope.  He used this impromptu waist leash to lead the naked and dazed woman out of the bedroom and into the kitchen.  

The tight rope ran down the crack of her ass and pressed hard against her savagely bruised anus; it cruelly cut into her worn and sore vagina and kept her aching labia spread far apart.  Meant to be both painful and humiliating....the rapist had succeeded beyond his wildest imagination.

Her hair was matted and stuck out wildly.  Her eyes gave a view into a desolated soul.  Lena could barely walk and moved stiffly in small steps, like some zombie-ized creature cast from a cheap movie; her mind had shut down completely, both from the night of overwhelming horror and pain, as well as from the absolute hopelessness of her situation.  Lena was afraid she might go mad, but something inside her wouldn't let go of that last inch of sanity, that fragile lifeline which somehow kept her sane.

He didn’t offer her food, but did allow her to drink a little water.  The policewoman had had little food over the last couple of days and didn't know it, but this was a conscious effort on their part to physically weaken her.  The bangers all knew from experience that women weakened by hunger tended to be more malleable and easier to manipulate.  

When she’d finished the glass he held for her to drink from, he grabbed her reins of rope and dragged her in fast, shambling walk from the house and back to the van.  Lena was so sore that she could barely move; her hips didn’t seem to work right and it was as if her legs belonged to another person.  The only way that she knew for sure it was her legs that carried her weight was that with each stumbling, jarring step, her vagina and rectum ached and throbbed.  Her lower back felt like someone had driven a nail through her spine and her legs shook uncontrollably at times; as if that weren’t enough, her abdomen was constantly cramping.  Only by gritting her teeth could she prevent the moans that seemed to piss Big Man off so much.  

The place seemed deserted at the moment and no one was around to see them off.  After he untied her wrists and removed the improvised rope rein, she climbed back inside the back of their vehicle in small, child-like moves.  Grabbing her hair, he pulled her face up so that their eyes met as locked her against the inside of the van again.  He said, “I’ll leave the gag off if you promise not to yell.  You make a sound and no one’s still gonna’ hear you, but I’ll beat you half dead after I’ve gagged you.  Understand?”  

Lena’s throat was sore and her voice was gone both from screaming and from having so many cocks rammed down her gullet, but she nodded her understanding without looking at him.  They left immediately for Houston.

Big Man took his time to ensure that they didn’t attract the attention of any cops.  Houston is physically large and stretches out from the inner loop for many miles in every direction.  They came in on I-45 on the north side of the city after four hours on the road and took it all the way through until they reached the south side of town and were headed for Clear Lake and Pasadena.


As A Cop, Civilians Generally Didn’t Understand How Dangerous He Was or The Initial Interviews Didn’t Take Long

Rural South Georgia

The tall FBI agent talked to a lot of people about the missing cops, starting near where the body had been dumped.  Some homes were patrolled by dogs, but he was OK with dogs because he had always been around them when growing up.  He could talk his way past dogs.  He talked to unmarried mothers that almost seemed to speak a different language; he talked to wives and teenage children.  Some gave him their answer at the door; others invited him inside and sat with him to answer his questions.  

To a few, he was a nuisance, to most he was a curiosity.  He made the same statement as each door opened.  “Two police officers went missing a little over forty-eight hours ago.  Have you or anyone in your household seen anything that might help find them?”  

If the person looked like they might be of further help, he sometimes followed up with, “An unidentified male body was just found dumped near here.  It was dumped here less than twelve hours ago.”  

It was almost midnight by the time he finished.  Some folks were angry at being woken up; some gave him their life history, then came around to saying that they were in bed, in the back of the house, in the bath, had already gone to work.  

Others were brusque.  They had seen nothing.  They knew nothing.  

For the most part, he believed their denials.  None had any significant details that told him anything of the cops’ disappearance or of the body that had been found.  But there was fear there too, shrouded by the belligerence, hidden by others with courtesy.  Drugs were cooked in this country and none of them wanted trouble.  

The gangbangers had been here and gone.  So, he too moved on, following the only remaining lead that had been dredged off the streets of Langford; minor observations involving a nondescript van headed west and possibly carrying a captive female, apparently for some place in Texas.


She Was A High School Whore or Born Rich and Lacking Discipline, She’d Never Felt A Need To Be Mentally Tough

South of Houston

Despair settled over Dana like a thick winter mist as she looked at the walls of her cell.  This was all so UNFAIR!  She fought down another bout of nausea.  Unbidden, tears sparkled at the corner of each eye.  She and the other two girls had been hosed down one final time when the men were finished, then released from the spider's web.  The cuffs had been removed, but her shoulders still hurt from having been bound for so long with her hands behind her back.  A man in a white coat had stepped up and ran his hands over her body.  With a harsh, barely understandable accent, he had told her to open her mouth and then wrinkled his nose at the smell emanating from within.  

Her eyes flooded with self-pitying tears…there was nothing she could about that after what the men had done to her.  

He'd checked her teeth and then gave her a quick, impersonal physical exam before nodding brusquely.  Dana had been led off then, leaving the other two behind.

Crying silently, she had been forced to step carefully, haunted by dizziness from hunger and what had been done to her in the torturer's cell.  She could barely walk.  She had wanted to put both hands on the shoulders of the young man as he led her to her new cell, needing his strength but hating to touch him.  Arriving, she finally sank into the shadows of her cell.  “Please, I have to sit down.”  

Her breath and hair stank of urea, her stomach clenched again and again with the need to vomit and she felt what might be the onset of diarrhea.  Her weakness slowly turned into a lassitude that wanted nothing more than a bed to lie on.  

She closed her eyes and tried not to think about how much she hurt, about what her future held, about how she had been humiliated.  It was hard to feel frightened of death when you were in great pain, miserable, bereft of hope, and you probably faced a life worse than death.  Life did not seem so precious when it hurt this much.  

Dana knew now that she would cooperate with them no mattered what they asked of her, no matter how demeaning.  She'd tried to tell them that from the beginning, but couldn't seem to make them understand.  They'd kept her gagged for so long and then when she finally could talk and tried to tell them, they hadn't wanted to listen no matter how much of her father's money she offered.  She never wanted to go through that again.  Whatever they wanted from her, nothing could be as bad as what they'd just done to her.

Outwardly, the room was about what she had expected.  The door lacked a handle on her side.  It had no windows and smelled of bad earth and other indefinable things.  A single weak light bulb showed a narrow bed with thin mattress, and heavy, brickwork foundations which did not match, as though one building had been replaced by another, one on top of the other.  The walls were wet with moisture and there was a puddle in one corner where a hole gaped in the floor.  The toilet within beckoned while a mirror made of shiny metal let her see herself.  She had sobbed at that first sight.  

Water and a little bread waited for her on the floor.  She carefully washed her mouth out, gargling with water and then spitting it on the floor.  But it didn’t help any.  Dana couldn't remember when she had last eaten, but equally couldn't bear the thought of putting anything in her stomach, especially if it had to go through her still violated mouth.  She looked around miserably; there was a cold austerity here that was more threatening than any cell she'd ever read about.  

She carefully measured out the remaining water, then used enough to wash her hair once, leaving only enough to drink for another few hours.  She may have been making a big mistake washing her hair, but she just couldn’t stand leaving it as filthy as it had been.  

The burning pain that had seared her veins was all gone now.  Dana rubbed her bare arms slowly, still amazed that there was no aftereffect from the---what had he called it?  She could barely remember anything he’d said to her while she was in that red hell.  But she could remember exactly how the words couldn't come out of her mouth fast enough once she'd submitted to their rule, and this both humiliated and angered her in a way.  She felt weak, helpless, and worst of all, so humiliated by how weak she’d turned out to be.  

Dana felt she'd faced adversity before and had always prided herself on an inner strength and resolve she'd thought she could draw upon when necessary.  But the last few hours had bulldozed through any perceptions she had of her own courage.  How could she have been so stupid?  That horrible man had effortlessly reduced her to a cowering, terrified object of sexual derision.  The thoughts of her weakness burned through her as fiercely as had the demonic fluid he'd had brutally injected into her.

Dana knew she was living in a serial nightmare.  A nightmare in which she had only begun to learn to measure her existence in degrees of pain, discomfort and sexual humiliation.  Sitting in the foul air of this cellar, the contents of her skull were spinning as if she had overdone a weekend of partying, rather than being tortured and raped orally.

Her strength partially returned after about an hour and a half.  Dana edged to the door and tried to peer out.  No luck.  She plastered her ear to the door and listened intently.  She heard a door being unlocked somewhere nearby and a cry that sent shivers down her spine, a young woman's pained, pleading yell.  The haunting sound was quickly followed by an angry man's bark ordering her to shut up, quickly followed by what she was sure was a slap.  She could just about make out some whimpering before the door was slammed shut and locked.  She waited a minute for the man to move down the hall, counting down the seconds, her heart in her throat, wondering if she could make contact with one of her friends.  She had no idea what lay beyond the door, but the thought scared her.

The back of her throat was sore from the forced oral sex, but she cleared it with a rasping cough.  Even though she knew it was wrong, Dana decided to take the risk.  “Hello?  Is anyone there?”  Her whisper echoed in the dark silence around her.  

Dana repeated it again, this time a bit louder, a bit more desperate.  She thought she heard a low whimpering in the distance, but couldn't be sure.  Her heartbeat pulsed loudly in her ears, confusing matters even more even as her mind raced back to the face of the man that had been in charge, remembering him as he had watched and listened.  She had wanted to fight him, fight them all, but there was so very little she could have done.  The flames racing through her body had seen to that.

Dana still couldn’t eat and instead laid down on the thin mattress, but she found it impossible to sleep.  Her mind churned; she may have been released from the awful ropes in that horrible torture cell, but she was still imprisoned.  And for the first time in as long as she could remember, Dana felt truly ugly; swollen hands and filthy body, no makeup and a blotchy complexion, an aching rear-end, vampiric red eyes and wet hair which still stunk of urine.  

Dana knew she was shallow, that she probably cared too much about her looks.  She didn’t care if others thought she obsessed too much about superficial things—they were the things that she found important.  But the men here taken all of that away and her self-esteem was gone.  She was lonely and afraid, isolated from everything that had any meaning to her.  

Just as her kidnappers planned, Dana was experiencing intense and unpredictable, emotions, and was finding it hard to deal with her memories of the torture cell.  

She was still awake hours later when they came for her.


Workin’ Hard To Improve Mother Nature’s Design or Big Tits Were Always An Asset In Her Line Of Work

The medical man looked down at the tall, brown-eyed blonde who lay unconscious before him, the one named Ursula.  He was a man filled with bitterness and anger.  He’d come to this country to get away from all of the politics of his homeland.  Sure, he'd made a few professional mistakes, but he resented being The Albanian's pet physician.  Hell, he resented being anyone’s pet for that matter.  He wouldn't even be here if there was some kind of time limit; you shouldn't have to pay for past errors forever.  

Even though Doctor Dashamir had spent his share of time in prison, he still prided himself on his ability to appreciate the finer things in life and he particularly hated the fact that he now found himself providing both routine and specialized services for such uncultured pigs as this particular mobster.  But one had to have money to afford the better things.  

Dashamir removed his rubber gloves with a snap and a flourish.  With a wry smile of satisfaction, he looked down on the sleeping beauty.  The three new girls had been broken cleanly and relatively quickly.  Then he'd been given Ursula, the one before him.  Even though breast augmentations were a matter of personal taste, like the others, this one probably wouldn't appreciate the massive silicone implants he'd just given her either.  None of that mattered though, for since she'd been unconscious, he'd been forced to choose for her....or actually, her new owner had chosen for her.  

He had no doubt she’d have complained no matter what size he chose for her…women could be soooo damned ungrateful at times.  

Under his careful scalpel, Ursula's already substantial breasts had just been enhanced to what would eventually be FF's once the swelling was gone.  Even though it was hard to tell since she was horizontal, she looked like a big enough girl and he had no doubt she'd carry them well.  Everything had gone well.  He was sure her body would accept the implants and her new udders would cause few problems once she was healed.  Physical problems that is.  

A physical aesthete where females were concerned, he was a man that liked big tits on a woman.  Like the girls who surrounded him, he was a virtual prisoner here.  But having little to do in a compound filled with young, generally healthy men and women, in a moment of boredom, he had early in their relationship suggested being allowed to physically improve some of The Albanian's whores.  

Cautious permission had been granted at first.  But the initial makeover had been an astounding success with his clientele and now he had a mandate to ensure that at least five of the American bitches, at all times, had been given an idealized perfection that matched his demanding eye.  The first time he did it, four had seemed to take it well, the other one not so much when she realized how much he'd altered her body.  

The weak one?  She had been shipped out within the week and the last time he'd seen her, she'd been starring in a porno-snuff film.  While the vast majority of snuffies were fakes, as an MD, Dashamir knew that the Isabel he'd seen on that screen would never be troubling them again.

And then he had selected another American girl to be improved.  Now he just performed this cosmetic surgery whenever one of these five overamped cows was “retired’”  

He looked at the unconscious woman again and admired his work; the two-inch incision carefully placed under the bottom of each breast and the dissolvable stitches that would be gone in ten days.  Her breasts would be tender for a couple of weeks and they would feel a little too firm for up to four weeks.  But as long as The Albanian ensured she wore a sports bra for three weeks and that no one banged her new udders until she'd healed, she would fully recover from the surgery.  

He understood that this one was supposed to be resilient---she certainly was a gorgeous bitch.  It was going to be interesting to see how she mentally integrated into a new life which had been altered with her improved udders and her uncompromising future as one of the Albanian’s giant titted American whores.


Possibly The Steal Of The Century or If The Female Cop Stayed Sane, She Might Actually Be Worth Something Some Day

Lena never made a sound during the trip.  She ached all over—especially her shoulders-- and felt feverish, almost as if she were suffering from a terrible bout of the flu.  She was quiet and some might have said that she was deep in thought.  But she wasn’t.  There were no thoughts on her mind, no plans of escape or revenge, for her mind had temporarily shut down.  It was the hopelessness that dragged Lena down into full despair, that she found was the worst.  Lena just leaned against the side of the van and dully stared at nothing.  She was close to the breaking point, the place where one’s sanity flees reality in an attempt to keep the core organism still alive.


About half way between Galveston and Houston, Big Man stopped at an abandoned Shakey’s and pulled around to the back.  A nondescript van was already waiting there and the occupants apparently recognized the Big Man’s van from the previous night’s phone conversation.  Two men got out and walked over to the back of the van where Big Man and Little Man were waiting.  

Both newcomer’s had odd, dark brown spots in the center of their foreheads and somehow looked foreign.  The older of the two looked to be about 60 years old or so, was a little overweight and had a full head of silver-gray hair.  He had a pug nose and pig’s eyes behind rather old-fashioned, thick-framed glasses.  His teeth were stained yellow from cigarettes and his clothes, although of European cut, seemed five or ten years out of date.  The other man was quite a bit younger and although he looked intelligent and observant, his bushy eyebrows gave him a slightly comical air.  He was obviously there to provide muscle and never said a word.  

There was silence as the two groups met.  The older foreigner looked at Big Man for a second, then a little impatient, he made an obvious gesture with his head towards the van’s doors.  The younger man's eyebrows catipillared up and down once---a Groucho Marx move made by a professional wrestler.  Big Man quickly understood his goof and opened the doors wide.  The silver-haired man looked inside at the bound woman for a second and then slowly and with a lot of grunting, got into the van with her.  He knelt next to her and then leaned in closer.  

Her thick dark hair was heavy with filth, her skin ripened with bruises and bites.  After mastering the shock of more light, her eyes stared out the open door as if sightless, although sudden movements made her pupils track.  The man saw that she was young, perhaps not yet twenty, with good bones that had been sharpened by her nightmare and the amazing decay it had caused in such a short period.  

She squatted as she waited, and the musty smell of old sex spread from between her thighs more harshly than that of any animal.  As The Albanian watched, the woman jerked once, then gently clawed at her collar to settle it more comfortably around her neck.  Exposure to the fresh air made no difference to her.  A cone of light came down through the clouds and made another cell for her in the middle of the van, suspending her in early summer's deep, hot beauty.  

But she never noticed.


Lena tried to pull herself away from the strange man who had hopped in with her, but her collar attached to the wall of the van effectively immobilized her.  He slowly ran his hands down her chest, cupped her breasts with both hands as one would if he were judging a horse and then ran his hands down her body to the insides of her thighs just above her knees.  Cowed, she cooperated slowly as he now pushed her thighs wide apart so that he could see and touch her vagina.  Despite the ripe smell of well-aged sexual pheromones, he slowly probed the dark untrained bush there and looked up at her face quickly as she gasped in pain.  Finally, he forced her mouth open and looked at her teeth.  

He leaned back away from Lena and said, “Were you really with the police?  I mean were you actually a police woman?”

Eyes tearing up, Lena nodded yes after a long hesitation.  

He wasn’t yet satisfied.  “To what police department did you belong and how long had you been a police woman?”  

His diction was exactly correct in every way and to her police-trained ear it immediately told her that English was not his mother tongue.  The remnants of the trained police officer that still existed inside Lena immediately realized that he was a man with an Eastern Euro-accent, probably held a U. S. passport, and would make every woman he passed shudder with revulsion.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Lena slowly replied from a throat sore from men’s cocks ramming into it, through a mouth swollen by blows from men’s fists, “I was with the Langford, Florida police department for six months.”


Nodding his approval, he turned to leave.  Wiping his hands on his thighs, the older man laboriously climbed out of the van and stood again.  After shooting his trousers to ensure the still razor-sharp creases hadn’t been damaged, he snapped his fingers at the younger man who then handed him a moist towelette in an unopened package.  Breaking this open, the older man wiped his hands clean and gave the mess to the young man for disposal.  He then began drying his hands on a crisp white hanky he pulled from a hip pocket.  

Big Man had stood there watching all of this with his mouth open.  Thinking that the potential buyer was done, all that he could think of saying was, “Well?”

Lena felt her brain engage just a little—she almost felt sorry for him at that moment, for he sounded like such a pathetic asshole.  He talked like a man with a Plexiglas skull; you could almost see the workings of his mind.  He formed his thoughts right in front of you, slowly stumbling down one mental alleyway after another, spitting out words and then searching for thoughts to fill them.

The foreign man ignored him for almost a minute as he continued wiping his hands clean and then putting the hanky back into his pocket.  He refused to be hurried.  Finally, he turned to Big Man and smiled as he said, “As I told you, the price would be contingent upon the quality of the goods.  She has been damaged; some of the marks might be permanent.  She is filthy and it is difficult to tell how she will look when cleaned up.  On the plus side, she appears healthy, still has all her teeth and confirms that she was with the police.”

He walked away for a second, clearly concentrating; finally he turned back to Big Man.  His smile broadened to show a gold tooth and gold crowns.  He said, “I can give you no more than $1,000 for her.  While she is clearly an interesting acquisition, I would be lying if I told you that she was worth more than that to me.”

Ignoring Lena as she began softly sobbing in the van, Big Man could hardly control his rage as he blurted out, “That’s a tenth of what you told me she was worth over the phone.  You’re trying to rob us!”

The foreigner looked coldly at Big Man, “Watch what you say.  You may yet regret to your dying day your brashness.  I repeat to you, she is not worth $10,000 to me in this condition.  $1,000 is my final offer, my only offer.”

Taking the hint, Big Man quickly cooled down.  “I have better offers than that for her in Dallas.”

“Well,” came the quick reply, “then you had better head back to Dallas.”

With this, Big Man knew that he was beaten.  “Awright.  Give me the money and she’s yours.”  

The money quickly changed hands and after he’d counted it, Big Man crawled into the back of the van, unhooked Lena’s collar from the van and attached the dog leash.  Leading her out, he handed the end of the leash to the older man.  

The European looked at it distastefully for a moment before handing it to the younger body guard.  The young man led the quietly sobbing Lena to the back of their van and removed the collar from around her neck—he clearly had little concern about her trying to run away.  He popped the rear doors and lifted out a hard, black rubber pear-shaped gag.  After pushing the gag deep into Lena’s mouth and fastening the strap around her neck, he wrapped a nylon belt around her waist.  Next he cuffed her left wrist, brought it around front and cuffed her wrists in front.  Finally, he shackled her ankles and connected her ankle irons and wrist cuffs together with a thin chain.  

Once she was bound again, he pushed the unresisting woman into the van.  

Not being able to use her hands, Lena awkwardly climbed over the rear bumper and lay down.  After gently tucking her feet under her, the body guard hooded the incoherent, now ex-cop and then closed the door.  

Everything was black for Lena as he shut her in and at that moment, the complete and total lack of light somehow seemed terribly appropriate; the deal complete, her fate had been sealed and Lena ‘officially’ belonged to The Albanian now.  Within seconds, the exhausted woman passed into a deep slumber.  She never saw the Big Man again.  Lena was woken within ten minutes and transferred to the trunk of an eight-year old black Lincoln Town Car.  This vehicle took her the rest of the way to her new home.  


The Albanian leaned back in the leather seat of the Lincoln and sucked on a cheap, foul smelling Eastern European cigarette.  He had grown up smoking these things and even though he could now afford the most expensive tobacco money could buy, he would no more change brands than he would consider betraying a member of his family.  The old man took his glasses off and rubbed the bridge of nose---he was tired, very tired.  But he was still driven by a fire that had burned inside him for over a decade.

He had looked over the girl in the van, and although the coloring was wrong, for some reason she reminded him of a young Sharon Stone.  Certainly, the girl did not have the full beauty of the actress or in her condition any of the actress's glamour, but even degraded and covered in filth, she was young and Western and had been in a position of authority as a police officer.  

It angered him to think that this latest American woman in his power had probably already had many, many lovers despite her youth.  But he always had need of young, good looking females and right now, his teams were going to ground because one of his more politically connected clients had alerted him that the FBI was sniffing around.  That’s why he was so interested when he received the call from Moonburn about the product that had suddenly been put on the market.  

But as beaten down and shocked as ex-cop looked right now, it was hard to tell how she’d ‘dress out’.  He’d had hopes for the female cop as a sort of dominatrix-type, but she didn’t seem to have either the looks or the attitude one needed for that.....in fact, she appeared to have had her personality almost surgically removed by the sexual trauma she’d suffered.  He'd get her checked out medically; if she was still clean after being gang-raped, he'd maybe find a place for her.  Until then, her fate was still up in the air.


Lena regained consciousness in the trunk of the limo.  Her head ached, but she could still tell they were on secondary roads from the sound of the tires on the tarmac.  It was hard to remember everything that had happened.  She couldn't see anything because there was something over her head.  It felt close over her face and constricting, like a drawstring bag had been pulled over her head and the string tightened.  She tried to reach up and touch it, but couldn't.  Her wrists were cuffed.  Her ankles were imprisoned too.  And because they were linked by a short vertical chain, she could not raise her hands more than a few inches above waist height.  

There was something tight around her midriff too.  At the rear of the belt a hard square box dug into her back whenever she leaned against the side of the trunk.  She could feel metal, hard and cold, against her thighs, buttocks and back.  Her hands were gloved with padded mittens, like boxing gloves, that made it impossible to feel anything, so she couldn't actually touch her bare skin.  But she didn't have to.  She knew perfectly well that she was stark naked.  


PART Five: Shock, confusion, fear, anger, grief and defiance

Evil Thoughts Thunk And Evil Deeds Located or This Really Was The House Of Red Lights

We're told another large-scale terrorist attack is inevitable by those people who have committed so many resources to preventing it.  They likely know what they're talking about.
-Greg Bear

If he is terrorizing the terrorists, if he is terrorizing America the terrorist [...] I am with him. Every Muslim should be a terrorist.
-Zakir Naik

South of Houston

The old European ran The Club out of his compound.  When you came to Houston, for those of the highest levels of social clout, this is where an exclusive part of the in-crowd went to relax and eat well.  Everyone recognized this area was an unlikely place to start a business like his, but eventually that very improbability became a part of the enticement.  

For the younger ones with family wealth and connections, it was “....come on down to the rougher side of town and explore life a little.”  For the scions of society, the opportunity to let one’s desires run wild was an irresistible draw.  On the other hand, those with more sophisticated tastes were drawn by the renowned Italian chef running his kitchen and preparing the excellent food his club offered.  His cellars were well stocked and the drinks ranged from expensive, $5000 a bottle wines to excellent brandies and cognacs to rare, aged single malts.  

But more than food or drink, to those clients he deemed to have maximum discretion, he catered to various tastes and activities with captive women, satisfying needs that ranged from the often quite vulgar to just flat out illegal.  But all of these needs were always satisfied, and any consequent fallout handled discretely.  And as his stable of women gained a reputation for both exquisite beauty......and a wonderfully malleable willingness to please, his business grew.  His clientele now ranged from Houston's most socially significant to the more sophisticated new millionaires that lived in the exclusive gated communities inside the loop to the influential shakers and makers that flew in for only a night or two.  If you had sufficient money and were a known quantity of a certain type, you could get into The Albanian's place at least once.  If you behaved yourself or were important enough, you might even be allowed back a second time.  

He had no moral qualms about offering conscripted women as young as fifteen years old, for these were already females old enough to be bred.  But there were two things he never allowed though; the first of these was full-on pedophilia with young children.  This was an act which offended him as a man.  Similarly, those wishing to pursue various occult practices were also turned away, for these things offended Allah.  He always kept track of the men and women who inquired regarding this and the list contained a surprisingly large number of both conservative and progressive politicians, along with major TV and movie stars.  

Most men who made the cut wanted or needed to come back again and again, for the girls were all beautiful and a “willing” one could always be found no matter what the tastes or needs might entail.  And if the prices were steep, this ensured both privacy and limited exposure to the gauche nouveau riche and the riffraff which seemed to so dominate Houston society right now despite the recent flooding.  



He owned too many men and women to keep track of the specific numbers, but these connections were never lost or misplaced.  At different times, two different local District Attorney’s had even gone so far as to call press conferences regarding “…Houston's international forces of crime and decay.”  The Albanian supposed that referred to him, but had never asked them if it was so.  But then, that night or the very next night, both men’s daughters got drunk enough on dares from girlfriends, girls they’d grown up with…and perhaps certain drugs were involved which perfectly mimicked drunkenness….  Though maybe if these men had been paying attention, they would not have necessarily approved of some of the company their daughters had been keeping.  Then, maybe each daughter had gotten in a little deeper than she’d expected on after accepting a dare from one of her friends…..  And so, the next morning, a packet of photos arrived on each father’s desk, along with a DVD.  

What did a loving father do then?

Only one man had ever developed a severe enough case of conscience that even blackmail had not worked.  Unfortunately, he'd been killed in a terrible car accident before his press conference.  And that man’s assistants had been much easier to control than he.  A relatively young man at forty, the only truly regrettable part had been that his exquisite, much younger wife had been with him at the time.

They’d had plans for her, but in the end, nothing in life ever turned out perfect.  


However, instead of just trying to maintain a permanently low profile by avoiding most threats and silently removing the potential threats he couldn’t circumvent, he’d found that it sometimes helped if one moved to the aggressive side…but only if one was smart when making the shift in strategy.  

Despite the overwhelming budget and incredible manpower available, American security authorities were working at maximum capacity all the time now.  For the sad truth (for them) was that despite their best efforts and the billions spent each year, the United States was largely indefensible.  In fact, the only way to prevent attacks on the U. S. was to stop them before they reached American shores.  To The Albanian, this state of unending chaos was pretty much by choice, not necessity.  You can choose to work smart, or you can choose dumb.  As a result of trying to stop everything, they prevented nothing.  Thus, Homeland security was a myth.  It was a bedtime story that the American government told its people to make them feel safe at night.  

But when Chen or one of his other sources informed him of some facet of a police investigation of which he did not approve or which may have been getting a little too close to one of his activities, it always helped derail their efforts if he just gave the local, state and federal authorities something else more important to investigate, something of a much higher profile just to keep them occupied.  This kind of government prompting was necessary every six to nine months just to ensure his own peaceful existence.  

The war he was involved in would last for many more years and many more on both sides would die.  He had no problem with Americans dying.  But he was a civilized man and as such he hated killing people, even American infidels, for no reason.  Yet…and yet, putative terrorist attacks were always so very satisfying…..  

Thus, two months ago, at 8:46 on a Friday morning, a relatively small bomb placed within a trash bin had gone off in the midst of men and women hurrying to work in the crowded lobby of a downtown Atlanta skyscraper that had walls of glass facing the packed sidewalk.  Because of the crowd and the glass, seventy-eight people were killed or maimed by that bomb.

A second bomb detonated at 9:03 AM that same day in Lafayette, Louisiana just as a large mall opened its doors.  Placed in another trash can within one of the main open spaces of the mall, its heat and anger swept through a crowd consisting mainly of women with a large number of young children gathered to watch a well-known local clown perform.  A clown his people had been hired fifteen days earlier for the job.  That bomb immediately claimed thirty-eight souls and more joined the list every day.  

Finally, a small bomb behind the altar of a Catholic church on the outskirts of Little Rock had rattled the early morning quiet ready to be broken by a crowd that had gathered to participate in the wedding of a popular, locally-grown professional basketball player.  Passer-byes outside had seen the church doors slam back twenty to thirty seconds later and the crowd of wedding well-wishers had come tearing out, their faces a uniform ghastly yellow except where traces of the priest’s blood had marked them.  The second bomb, on the roof of a car parked illegally in front of the church, had gone off thirty seconds after that at exactly 9:37 AM, sawing them all down with thousands of pieces of shrapnel.  

Like the preceding two, this bomb was a marvel of design and construction.  It was not the kind of device built from an Internet manual or any of the how-to pamphlets floating around the Salafist mosques of Houston, Chicago or New York.  It had been perfected under battle conditions in Palestine and Mesopotamia.  Packed with roofing nails soaked with rat poison—a practice borrowed from the suicide bombers of Hamas—it had carved through the panicked crowd like a circular saw.  So powerful was the explosion that windows a mile and a half away had been rattled.  

The church’s façade had been a haze of powdered stone, while fresh splinters had raised a hundred violent flowers of white against the dark wood of the doors.  More importantly, the steps of the church had become an abattoir of well-wishers, wedding guests, and Christians.  Those closest to the bomb were blown to pieces, sheared in half, or decapitated, the preferred punishment for unbelievers.  At eight feet, limbs were lost.  At the farthest edge of the kill zone, the dead appeared unspoiled.  Spared of outward trauma, they had been killed by the shock wave which ravaged their internal organs like an earthquake that measured plus-ten on the Richter scale.  The police arrived quickly, and the first to see the carnage, declared, “Karachi had come to Little Rock.”

There is a truism about terror networks: putting the pieces in place is not as difficult as one might imagine.  But once the mastermind pulls the trigger and carries out the first attack, the element of surprise is lost and the network exposes itself.  However, in this case, after several days of following the conflicting leads, emails, cellphone intercepts and money transfers his people had set up, his moles in the government reported that authorities admitted to being totally puzzled.  Some thought it was Al-Qaeda in the Islamic Maghreb.  But others thought it unlikely they could have pulled off a coordinated attack such as this.  To some, it didn’t quite feel like a bin Laden extravaganza that had been masterminded by the old-line al Qaeda leadership in Pakistan, rather being more reminiscent of al Qaeda 2.0 efforts in Baghdad or Karachi, or ISIS in Syria.  Certainly, it wasn’t a coordinated series of “Lone Wolf” or "Known Wolf" attacks.  

In the opinion of a few “experts”, the attacks were the result of an entirely new network run by someone with the charisma of bin Laden and the ability to recruit his own operatives in Europe and America and call upon cells from other terror groups.  To all, the lack of “chatter” on terrorist websites preceding the attack was the most terrifying part of all.  

The one thing that none of the “experts” had picked up on at first was the symbolic timing of the blasts; 8:46 AM for when the first plane had hit the North Tower, 9:03 for when the second plane hit the South Tower, and 9:37 for when the Pentagon was hit.  At least not until the group “responsible” for the bombing brought this to the attention of world the next day when it threatened to continue to “…strike the Far Enemy in his homeland…to shed more American blood on American soil.”  

Of course, it was all theater; a Kabuki dance in the shadows, a necessary evil which resulted in government forces tying up significant resources as they bayed after the wrong home-grown targets to which his carefully laid trails led.  

It had only been…business…after all.  

This was the third set of attacks over the last two and half years and would probably be the last.  For, in conjunction with others, he now understood that the current efforts needed to change.  The day of the fundamentalist and fanatic had passed.  A smart, modern enemy of the Americans would not continue using these techniques, for despite how difficult it was for the infidels to protect their homeland, luck could always play a large part in breaking networks like his.  

So.  No more bombs, no more suicide vests.  

Now a new generation was emerging, men with access to irradiated medical waste and world destroying diseases—highly educated men adept with technology, often trained in this very country.  While all of the Mujahedin wanted the same thing, in hindsight, the cave dwellers with their bomb belts and planes converted to missiles looked like dial-up.  The new men were broadband.  

Yet, did thoughts of the massacres for which he was already responsible kept him up at night?  Not at all.  


The compound was situated in the middle of over four hundred acres of table-smooth land The Albanian owned under a series of offshore shell corporations.  The land was flat and poorly drained, perfect to have produced rice in the past.  Consequently, if approaching The Club by road a car would be visible for at least a mile in any direction.  However, because of all the layers of large trees that he'd had planted over the years, the compound could not be seen from the roads.  The security here was multi-layered; some passive, some active.  Most club members appreciated his efforts, looking at it as his attempt at keeping them safe from the prying eyes of the paparazzi.  In reality, the security was significantly greater than any of them knew, and at least in some part, was much to keep people in as it was to keep invaders out.  

More than ten acres had been enclosed by a continuous nine-foot high adobe-faced cinder block wall that was surprisingly attractive except for the sharp glass shards discretely cemented to the top and the continuous rolls of razor wire that hung over the front edge.  Inside the compound, heavy concrete planters, three-foot high and three-foot wide had been set against walls and then filled first with dense stone and then dirt.  A second row of two-foot wide and eighteen-inch high planters had then been set in front of these.  Multiple annual and perennial flowers along with shrubs and trees too small to climb filled the layered planters, providing the wall with a riot of color and texture.  Liberally supplied with good drains, the plants were watered daily, keeping the planters at maximum weight.  

There was a second eight-foot high wire mesh fence eight feet outside of the cinder block wall.  This wire fence had been continuously seeded on the outside with grape and ivy; and with Houston's climate, these plants had absolutely blossomed and covered the fence in only a couple of years.  Ultimately trained to spread over the top of the run and onto the interior cinder block wall, this outer fence looked like nothing but one side of a long, beautiful grape arbor…inside which highly-trained, free-roaming Doberman pinscher guard dogs were allowed to run.  

Finally, what might look suspiciously to some like a medieval moat surrounded the outer, plant covered fence.  Normally about twenty feet wide, the ditch sloped gradually as it led towards the deepest part closest to the compound.  This ditch was always water-filled due to the naturally high water table.  The edge of the ditch nearest the fence surrounding the compound ended in a four-foot high well-maintained vertical wall made of painted cinder block—normally only about a foot of the wall showed above water.  

Offering a sense of established grandeur to his compound, the land outside the ditch had been sodded with St. Augustine grass for at least a hundred meters in any direction.  The grass was mowed at least once a week and was maintained in the style of a golf-course green.  Of course, the mix of non-metallic, programmable Russian-made anti-vehicle and anti-personnel mines buried beneath the sod would have been an unpleasant surprise to anyone attempting a surreptitious entry at night while using the park-like vista for access.  

He was not worried about the authorities discovering the mines, for his cover would necessarily have been penetrated by the time they had made the decision to make an armed assault over the lawn.  Hopefully however, his moles would be able to give him warning before things had gone that far.  

They were maintained regularly and because they were programmable, it was easy to turn the mines off long enough to mow the area before turning them back on again.  He never told the gardeners about the "surprises" over which they mowed.  Two additional chain-link fences had been put up to stop wildlife from entering the area and setting the mines off, one at the edge of his property and second just at the outside edge of the mowed area.  There had been no accidents to date because deer were not heavy enough to activate a mine, nor did he plan on having any accidents.  But if someone did get that far, it would not have been by mistake.  

Inside the compound walls, taut steel cables ran overhead from one interior wall to another in a tight fifteen-foot diagonal crisscross pattern decorated with multicolored hanging oriental lanterns and strings of decorative Christmas lights.  In actuality, these cable prevented helicopters from attempting to land inside the compound.  A loosely woven, gaily colored sun shade was tightly draped in strips over most of the steel cables hung over the compound interior.  In fact, the netting was made of a futuristic material the military used to camouflage artillery positions from spy satellites.  Additionally, it was a very difficult material to cut if one were hanging from a rope or swaying ladder attached to a hovering helicopter.  

The compound’s main entrance was through a large two-story garage-like building.  Reinforced rolling doors made of half-inch thick case-hardened steel could be used to isolate the building while a vehicle was inside, but generally the doors were left open and unobserved.  It would probably easier to crash the gate than any of the walls, but that was an unavoidable weakness.  If someone got that far, then it would be the U. S. government coming in force.  In that case, they had better be prepared for another Beslan.  

Exactly centered inside the compound, his buildings had been erected in what might be described as an Eastern European's idea of the Middle Eastern potentate style.  The area encompassed by the overall structural footprint was quite large.  Oriented such that the southeast corner faced towards Mecca, the structure had been constructed away from any small town or county, where building inspectors were basically non-existent.  He had gone to considerable lengths to ensure that any building plans on file with the state did not reflect the actual structure he’d had erected.  Using these blueprints to plan an assault would be a mistake of epic proportions.  

A large, continuous, flat-roofed, two story building was connected in a hollow square that left a large open courtyard in the center.  An ornate mosque had been built in the southeast corner, with four towering minarets marking the corners and a gold dome dominating the center of the building.  The look was remarkable, much more suitable for Turkey or Saudi Arabia than the southern United States.  Almost all male employees attended the pre-sunrise Fajr and post-sunset Maghrib prayers.  The noontime Zuhr as well as late-afternoon Asr prayers, were sparsely attended.  Very few attended the Isha, or nighttime prayer.  

The flat inviting roof of the rest of the building was literally carpeted with upright nails and razor sharp caltrops.  The lock on the single, reinforced roof entrance on the largest building would require explosives to blow, so there would be no surreptitious entrance by anyone seeking to invade from there.  The building itself was white-washed at least once a year.  Beneath this ever-increasing thickness of whitewash were three layers of what had been, at the time, the EU’s best radar and thermal absorbent paint.  FLIR from drones and planes would have a difficult time at best penetrating it in order to see what lay beneath.  

The roof, both looking inward and outward, was bordered by an eighteen-inch wall which marked its edges.  On the interior edge of the roof, this short wall, so perfect for use by snipers, was mined with multiple strands of what the military called “det” cord.  Set where the wall met the floor and covered with putty, the det cord was virtually invisible.  Detonation cord looked like nothing so much as plastic-covered clothesline, but it ignited like a line of high explosives.  Anyone snuggled up against it in order to shoot over the wall or hiding behind the wall and using it for cover, would find it an unpleasant surprise.  

There were multiple rooms lining the inside and outside of both the first and second floors.  All of the inside rooms facing the courtyard were large and airy; all had windows and sliding doors leading out to individual patios.  On the second floor, the sliding glass doors led out to pleasant balconies overlooking the beautifully landscaped interior garden.  All of the outside facing rooms on the first floor were windowless and without exterior doors however, and the outward facing second floor rooms all had small discretely barred windows located high off of the floor.

Finally, and unusually for this part of the country, there was a quite large continuous complex beneath the structure, a basement which contained both several large open areas as well as a significant number of dark, rather dank cell-like rooms.  Since the water table was so close to the surface, using a multi-layered approach as if creating a submarine, he had gone to great expense to ensure the subterranean cells remained waterproof and therefore dry.  Two walls were built when the basement had first been dug, one inside the other.  One wall went no higher than the surface, while the second one, a foot inside that, acted as the structural foundation for the actual building.  

The area between the inner and outer walls was capped and sod laid over it.  Multiple coats of waterproof paint on the exterior of both walls stopped most of the water.  The empty zone between the walls had also been purposefully graded towards multiple holding areas which were then kept drained by submersible pumps.  Even so, all of the basement's outer cells were still gloomy wet places, always stinking of mold and mildew as water continually seeped in through cracks in the thick concrete floors.  

The worst of these cells were used as living quarters for the lower tier sex slaves, staff and waitresses.  However, there was always demand for a few of these cells from some of the more esoteric clients.  Finally, some of the better maintained interior cells were also available for the more burlesque pleasures enjoyed with a better ‘grade’ of woman.  These last rooms were kept entirely separate from the first and were always well sound-proofed.

The Albanian used only illegal immigrant females, Mexicans and Central American Indians, for various serving and housecleaning functions at The Club.  All outside doors were guarded and kept locked and if not accompanied by a male supervisor, these illegals were locked into their rooms after their shift was completed.  While both waitresses and staff were illegal’s, they too had still been graded for quality.  

Thus, the few waitresses he used tended to be a little more physically presentable, while the lowest level staff consisted of the true expendables brought up from southern Mexico, Guatemala and Nicaragua.  These last were numerically the largest group, and generally consisted of Indians and half-breeds, the tiny beaten-down sparrows who knew no one and no one missed.  They were truly expendable to The Albanian.  While having sex with a girl from either of these last two groups was not strictly forbidden, doing so was therefore considered déclassé, a sentiment he supported, and they were generally considered to be off limits to the club’s clientele.


His driver entered the compound and parked inside the entrance building.  Quickly exiting the car, the young eastern-European driver opened the old man’s door as a sign of respect.  The Albanian slowly got out and walked around to the back of the car, wincing as he heard his knees crack with age.  His pet doctor was waiting at the entrance and came over to meet him as their latest acquisition was prepared for her unveiling.  

The big driver opened the trunk, leaned in and grabbed the young woman's arm, pulling on it to make her get out.  Slowly, awkwardly, Lena climbed out of the car trunk still wearing her chains and the belt.  Gagged and blinded by the bag, in shock and pain from the thirty-six hour long ordeal, Lena numbly tried to hide her nakedness as best she could from the three men she could not see but somehow sensed were there.  The new man grabbed her elbow and pulled her towards the door that led into the two-story building.  Stumbling in a blind waddle, the hooded woman was led through a winding maze of hallways that eventually ended in what was a small infirmary.  There, she was told by the man to sit on the single bed.  

Looking at her with little obvious sympathy, the man finally said, “I am the doctor here.  You can call me Dr. Dashamir.”  He then slowly ran his hands over her body.  His actions were not sexual in any way, but rather were an attempt to clinically determine her condition.  He knew exactly what had been done to her over the last day and a half.  Looking closely at the bites on her breasts and inner thighs, he sighed softly and tsk’d.  Lena sensed what seemed to be concern for her condition in his voice, an emotion so unexpected that she started crying and couldn’t stop.  The tears trickled silently down her cheeks as he listened to her heart both from both the front and back.  While Lena’s nakedness continued to cause her discomfort, the man seemed not to notice she wore no clothes.

Finally, he was done.  

Telling her to wait, the doctor walked out into the hall without closing the door and talked with the old man.  Not understanding their language, Lena could not know he recognized both the psychological and physical trauma she had suffered; that she wouldn’t be ready to join the others until she'd healed from the bite marks that covered her body.  He had some cream that would speed her healing, but she still needed at least a few days of rest.

The Albanian silently listened to Dashamir; he knew the physician was sometimes a soft touch and hated that to which he’d been reduced.  But The Albanian also respected his abilities as a doctor.  The female cop had been purchased cheaply enough that his decision was made easy.  The old man looked at his new acquisition and decided he didn't particularly want to wait; perhaps Missy might be interested in taking her off his hands for her ranch.  

Missy was a customer, but more than that, she was one of the few he allowed himself to view with even the remotest amount of respect in this God-forsaken country.  The fact that she was a woman decreased his respect only a little, and sometimes he wondered why he felt this way.  In any case, he wanted to know now whether or not the young woman could be broken and if so, how easily.  He had the still-hooded cop led away to a cell while Bashir prepared her reception to a new life style.


Lena had lost all sense of time; she didn't know long she’d been kept alone in the darkness.  Naked except for the hood over her head, her wrists still bound behind her back, she tried to get some idea of the cell's dimensions by making her way around the perimeter of the room.  It felt square, maybe twenty of her chained, restricted paces on each side.  She ended up huddled in a corner, shivering as the chill from the almost-moist concrete floor seeped into her bones and stiffened her muscles.  While Lena had always thought herself to be a fighter, that preconception had been removed as easily as one removed an unwanted wart.  Even so, she tried to clear her mind of apprehension and stay positive, but she failed miserably…..any attempt to remain upbeat was useless.  

An age seemed to pass before she heard the sound of the heavy door being opened.  Footsteps entered her cell and she was dragged to her feet and led by the chain again.  They went back down a corridor, perhaps the same one that had led her here and then she felt hands turn her and she was pulled forward again.  Her toes stubbed something hard, which made her cry out in surprised pain.  Then Lena felt a sharp kick in her butt and her arms were pulled upwards.  She heard just one word in English: "Stairs."  

She lifted her right foot as high as she could and was just able to get a grip on the rough concrete corner of the first step.  She tentatively brought her left foot up to meet it.  It was a slow, desperate, degrading process and she was assisted on her way by regular slaps and kicks, always accompanied by raucous male laughter.  Thankfully, there were only a few steps and she soon reached the top where the floor was covered by cool, dry tiles.  Finally, a tug on the chain brought her upright again.  

There was another one word command; "Stop!"  Next came fingers at her throat, a sharp tug and suddenly the hood was pulled from her head.  She blinked her eyes against the sudden light and gradually her vision cleared.  Next the gag was roughly removed from her mouth.  

Now able to look around, Lena found she was standing in a room that she estimated to be about twenty feet square.  It was completely bare and the walls were painted a brilliant chalk-white, as were the concrete floor, the ceiling and the inside of the door.

Three men stood in front of her.  One of them, a redhead, held what looked like an old-fashioned television remote.  But Lena's eyes were fixed on what was obviously the leader.  The older man looked her up and down with the detached objectivity of a police surgeon inspecting a corpse on a mortuary slab.  

For not the first time, Lena felt a frisson of shame brought on both by her nakedness and her captive status.  There was something profoundly disturbing about this man's studied examination, but nothing could be as bad as being held by Big Man and his various henchmen.  Even though she had endured the worst they could do and even though she was sure she would somehow survive to beat these men too, Lena still had to force herself to keep her head up and her gaze steady.  

"Good evening, woman," the man said.  "I am called Bashir.  Let me explain your situation.  First, please understand that you have no hope of escape.  But if you try, then I must punish you.  And while I do not mind doing that, I would prefer not to have to do so.  Even though you have been mistreated, we know you are still a resourceful female or you would not been able to become a police woman.  But even assuming that you could somehow free yourself from your shackles, like Houdini, you can be disabled in an instant."

The man stopped for a moment and looked at her and then pointed to her belly.  "Please notice that there is a black nylon belt around your waist.  It’s been there since you first joined our organization this afternoon.  This thing is called a REACT belt, short for remote electronically activated technology.  It has a power-pack, a...a battery secured at the small of your back, out of your reach.  This thing, it is capable of sending a fifty-thousand volt charge through your body -- and it is controlled, as its name suggests, by this remote unit."

Now Lena knew what the redhead was holding.  

"This belt is sometimes used by American authorities to restrain violent prisoners," the man continued.  "But this has recently been condemned as a torture device by the weak, feeble minded men that rule Amnesty International.  They seem to object to the total paralysis caused by such a massive shock, along of course, with the agonizing pain, brain trauma and even the incontinence it can bring.  For our purposes here, these all seem like rather like recommendations rather than drawbacks."

"Now let me introduce you to my staff.  They will, if you insist, make your stay here as uncomfortable as possible.  I have introduced myself and you have of course already met Ergon."  Like a lead singer introducing his less important band-mates, Bashir pointed to the emaciated figure with the punky red hair.  "That is Mr. Titov."

Bashir was obviously the leader of this group, and she’d noticed the waves in the other’s emotions as they rode in his unsteady current.  No smiled or said anything useful.  

Suddenly Mr. Titov smirked at Lena and then pressed a round, white button on the black box he held.  Without warning, fifty-thousand volts surged through Lena's body, the shock making every nerve scream in pain, jerking her body like an epileptic marionette, rocking her head from side to side and ripping an animal howl of pain from her throat.  

Mr. Titov kept his thumb on the button.  One second......two......three.

Unable to maintain balance or control her limbs, Lena dropped to the floor, her fall weakly broken only by her still tethered hands.  The world exploded and time stopped.  Muscles taut and unresponsive to commands, Lena flipped like a fish and screamed for maybe seconds, maybe minutes.  She lay there writhing helplessly, her wrists and ankles tugging and scraping against their shackles.  She was utterly controlled by the electric commands ripping through her central nervous system.  Her body was slippery with sweat, her heart pounding.  She was about to black out.  

At the last moment, Bashir nodded and Mr. Titov lifted his thumb from the button.  The current stopped and Lena's body flopped into blissful immobility, one leg still stiff and frozen a foot off the ground.  Gradually, her pulse slowed and she lay still for a minute while her audience compared notes on her involuntary performance, most of the men hooting with soft laughter as they mimicked her thrashing about.  

Eventually she realized that the pain was gone.  But the aftershock was like the worst hangover in the world.  Finally, Lena gathered her breath and slowly, painfully, pulled her knees up behind her so that she was sitting on her haunches with her head on the ground, almost like a Chinese peasant prostrated before an emperor.  It took her a few more seconds to gather enough strength to raise herself up until she was kneeling upright.

"Many formidable women have come through here; most broke after a short time.  But a few, just a few, took too much time or too much effort, or were of no value when we had finished.  

"Kiss my feet," he said.  "And beg forgiveness for wasting my time."  

She looked up into his eyes, searching for some slight sign of hope, some recognition of her being a fellow human being.  

"You don't want to do this to me," she said.

"Yes, I do," he replied.  

He smiled then, “I really, really do.”

Lena barely noticed his slight nod to Mr. Titov.  As she endured the second electric whipping, it seemed that it was another voice instead of hers which screamed so loudly, another body that flopped and twisted so spasmodically.  It seemed like the whole world screamed this time.  Her muscles raged helplessly and she would have given anything to make the pain stop, done anything.  When the current did stop this time, she finally opened her eyes after a moment and saw that she lay at Bashir's feet.  She felt so beaten this time that there was no fight left in her.  

Lena rolled her head painfully and looked up at him.  She closed her eyes and swallowed—the electric shock had destroyed her.  It was like there was a tunnel in front of her eyes and if she went down it, there was real danger she’d not be able to come back.  

From the look on his face, it was clear she did not need to get to her feet again to please him.  Once the power to move had returned just a little more, she knew what he wanted.  Her face hot with shame, she wriggled forward on her stomach, every joint and muscle aching, pulse still racing and chest heaving as she gasped for air.  Forcing herself to do something which absolutely humiliated her, Lena stretched her neck so that her lips kissed the shining black shoe leather as she whispered, "I'm sorry."

Bashir gave a flick of his foot, lightly kicking her face away.  Lena lay motionless, the side of her face on the concrete, one tear slowly leaking from the corner of her eye.  The man dropped to his haunches, sat on his heels and grabbed a handful of her hair, then he pulled it up until she was forced to look into his eyes.  "Take a good look around you.  You will never see freedom again."

Lena closed her eyes for a moment and took another breath.  Finally, she struggled to get back up on her feet.  Paying painstaking attention to every movement, she made her way from her belly to her knees.  Next she put one foot flat on the floor and rested on one knee.  After taking a couple more deep breaths, Lena drew herself up until she was standing somewhat at attention in front of Bashir, her knees knocking together.  Lena swayed slightly, grinding her teeth as she struggled for balance and some semblance of dignity, her hands held down in front of her belly, a feeble attempt at preserving her pathetic modesty.  

Bashir cocked his head to the side as he gave three slow, dramatic claps.  "Bravo.  Congratulations.  That was done like a true trooper.  But my main point still remains.  We own you.  Foooreevvvvveer."  

She knew he had dragged out the last word just to humiliate her.  Still Lena said nothing.  It took all of her concentration just to remain upright.  Bashir watched her efforts, then spoke a few soft words to Mr. Titov who at once picked up an ornately carved wooden chair, heavily decorated with gold leaf and placed it behind her.  

"Sit down," said Bashir.  "I want to hear your story."  He issued another order to Mr. Titov, who walked round to him and handed his master the small black box.  

Lena found herself staring at the omnipotent white button.  Bashir caught her eye and Lena's guts flooded with cortisol as she waited helplessly for the debilitating shock, her muscles stiffened, body filled with the stress hormone that was the anticipator of fear and the bringer of pain.  She swallowed hard and her armpits prickled, then she shuffled to the chair like an arthritic old woman and began to sit down.

Bashir smiled, then pressed the button, holding it down for just a single second, just enough time to power another jolt through Lena that picked her up off the chair like a yelping dog and then slammed her back down again with an impact that almost set her chair toppling backwards.  Mr. Titov gave a gleeful cackle of delight and directed a volley of foreign obscenities in her direction.  

"Well," Bashir nodded thoughtfully.  "We know for sure this keeps you under control."  He nodded to his men, dismissing them.  On his way from the room, Mr. Titov stopped by Lena's chair, looked at her for a second and then slapped her hard enough to almost knock her off the chair.  Suddenly, without warning, her body shook with an uncontrolled tremor which seized her body from head to foot, an unwanted reminder of her earlier convulsions.

"Mr. Titov has never had much self-control where women like you are concerned," Bashir mused, ignoring Lena as she squinted and shivered.  "So far as he is concerned, this is just an opening skirmish.  He will want a lot more satisfaction before he is finished with you.  And I agree with him.  I too have not yet finished with you.  There is still something false about you, something not quite true.  You gave in too easily."

He nodded thoughtfully.  "I want you to understand that you were never anything to anyone.  Nothing real that is.  And from now on, you will never know anything more than what we choose to let you feel."

She’d suffered in silence, given them what they’d wanted.  But they’d given her too much time, she’d recovered enough from the electrical torment.  Lena had regrouped a little, her body felt a little stronger.  She knew there one last act of resistance left in her.  She tensed her muscles and then relaxed as she tried to get blood flowing through her limbs.  After a second, she let her head sag on her shoulders and then mumbled through swollen lips, "You think it's over, don't you?"

"Yes," Bashir said, "for you it is.  We are here to decide whether or not to keep you...or if we have to move you on."  

The brutal man was obviously relaxed, confident that Lena was broken, at least for the moment.  His attention lapsed for just a second and in that moment of vulnerability, Lena leapt.

She had already tensed her feet against the concrete floor, pressing her toes in hard, bunching the muscles of her upper thighs and sucking in her stomach.  Then she pushed up and away from the chair with her remaining strength, aiming to smash into the hated man's face.  

Lena slammed into an invisible wall that stopped her dead in mid-air as 50,000 volts jack-knifed her body for the fourth time, leaving her once more groveling in agony on the floor.  

"Did you really think I would be that careless?" asked Bashir.  

He stood over her, "Well, did you?"  

Then he kicked her in the guts.  "Don't you understand who I am?  What I represent in your life?"  

Bashir had not raised his voice as much as refrigerate it, now delivering every word with a frozen, deliberate matter of fact mien.  "Do you want me to do this to you again?"

"No," groaned Lena.  "Please.  I beg you.  I'll do whatever you want.  Just please...stop...hurting me."

"Well now..." Bashir was almost whispering to himself as he walked around Lena.  "Why would I ever believe anything you say, and why would I want to give you some kind of relief?  More and more, you strike me as dangerous, a very dangerous female."

“We have found that it takes about forty-two pounds of pressure to break the average human bone.  Some are more brittle and take less.  And some are more durable and require more.  Unless you want to find the breaking point for each and every one of yours, you will never attempt that again.  Do you understand?”

She nodded.

He looked at her, “Do you understand how serious I am?”  

She nodded again.

“Good.  Because you’re fate is in your hands.”  


Lena took deep breaths and gathered her wits as best she could, and it was then that she noticed that she had missed a few things about the room during her first view.  A closed circuit TV camera at one corner of the ceiling was focused on the room's only piece of furniture, a single white painted, high-backed metal chair, placed in the middle of the room and which had a professional quality sound boom dropping hanging over it from the ceiling.  The chair was bolted to the floor and arranged at a right angle to the door.  Leather straps had been attached to the back, the arms, and the legs of the chair, ensuring that anyone sitting in it could be totally restrained.  A white wire snaked from a socket in the wall to a pair of white headphones resting on a hook attached to the back of the chair, along with a roll of silver tape.  

There were more fluorescent lights on the ceiling, while a large, shallow box perhaps four feet wide and three feet tall had been fastened on the wall directly across from the front of the chair.  The outside frame on the wall was black, but the biggest surface, facing the chair, was still clear.  The interior of the frame was white and fitted with many more lights, but nothing had yet been turned on.

Lena could feel the sweat chilling on her skin and her mind felt dazed, as if fried by the successive electrical shocks and her inside had lost contact with her outside.  She longed for a drink of water to ease her thirst, but she needed to urinate too.  It had taken all of her concentration not to wet or soil herself when the shocks had ripped through her.  But now her bladder was sending stabbing reminders through her guts.  She had to hold out.  She refused to let this monster see her dirty herself now.  Deep inside, a kernel of pride still burned too red hot to allow that.  

Bashir looked at Lena thoughtfully.  "You will never, I think, submit until you have been physically ruined…and perhaps not even then.  This is a shame, but this is what I will report, that we should not keep you.  But….I can still make sure that some of your rougher edges have been, let us say, removed."


This Was Only The Latest Catastrophe In A Young Cop’s Life or The Terrible Hours Seemed Never To End

Bashir supervised Mr. Titov as they lifted and shoved her back into the chair.  The woman was absolutely filthy, with awful odors emanating from every part of her body.  The men wrinkled their noses at her smell as they strapped her down, securing her waist, chest and thighs.  The buckles were fastened behind and under the chair, where she could not reach them.  Besides, with her hands still cuffed, she had no hope of reaching them.  Her head however, was left free and the ankle irons removed in order to strap her ankles to the frame of the chair.  

Bashir stared at the bound woman as the stark glare of the remaining light, along with her state of near total exhaustion, caused her head to droop forward, leaving her chin resting on her chest.  There was something about this one that…interested him.  Not in a professional way, but as one human to another.  

He checked his watch; he was running out of time and patience.  As much as she interested him, he wanted things from her too, but he suddenly realized that he hated being in this room with her.  He was not a delicate or squeamish man at all, yet this place literally made his skin crawl.  It was not a pleasant place, but he felt it was a necessary evil.  

He was a practical man, and his group was notorious for the way it treated the men and women who came under his control.  But Bashir didn't enjoy torturing women, not necessarily because of what it did to them, but for what it ultimately did to him and his men.  He was more than willing to do what had to be done in the cause of his religion, but had no desire to sink to those attractively obscene depths unless necessary.  But unfortunately, they were approaching that point with this one.


When there is pain, there are no words.  All pain is the same.
-Toni Morrison

As Lena sat there, her mind was blank.  It was difficult for her to think for the repeated bursts of electroshocks had battered her brain as much as if she'd been punched by a heavyweight boxer.  Her circuits were fried.  Part of her short-term memory had even been temporarily burned away.  

She tried not to panic and fought against the tightening feeling in her throat, the desperate falling sensation in her stomach.  But nothing helped as Mr. Titov stepped up and pushed her head back against the solid metal back of the chair, then placed a leather strap across her forehead and tightened it until the leather seemed to dig into her skull.  A second strap was forced across her mouth, then tightened so that it both gagged her and pulled hard against her teeth and tender jaw.

Lena was frightened, terribly afraid now.  The final straps were tightened without the use of electricity and she almost wept in gratitude.  But Mr. Titov was not finished.  He reached behind the chair, picked up the headphones and placed them over her ears.  There was no sound, simply a muffling of the world around her, as if she had stuck her fingers in her ears.  Next, Mr. Titov grabbed the roll of silver duct tape and tore off a four-inch strip with his teeth.  Then he leaned forward and pulled on Lena's lower eyelids, forcing them down.  As soon as she realized what her captor was doing, Lena opened her eyes as wide as possible.  She wanted her captor to know that she was cooperating, that she was doing everything possible to be good.  

Lena felt the sticky grip of tape on her right upper eyelid, then a jerk as it was pulled upwards, and a second grip as Mr. Titov smoothed the other end of the tape onto her forehead.  Her eye was forced open now, held wide open with tape.  And she could not blink.  

Once he had done the same thing to her other eye, Mr. Titov took a step back and removed the dreadful black box from his pants pocket and held it up grinning.  He stretched his right arm out and raised his forefinger.  He looked at the box, then turned his head and looked at his finger.  And he winked.  

Lena heard the muffled laughter of the other men and at the edge of her vision she could see figures move.  But she didn't care about those things; her full concentration was totally on Mr. Titov's finger as it slowly, ostentatiously rotated in the air, swooping from one side of his body to the other, closing to within inches of the black box and its gleaming white button.  

Lena's taped eyes widened even further.  Her gagged mouth emitted a pathetic, wordless whimpering.  Her sweaty skin was slick against the back of the metal chair.  Mr. Titov was a sadist and he let her suffer, relishing every second of Lena's terror.  Then he put the box back in his pocket and turned away.  

Bashir and Mr. Titov were leaving the room!  The torment was over!  For a few moments, Lena just sat there, naked, cold and immobile in the silent solitude of the gleaming cell.  Then, without warning, the white box on the wall opposite her burst into blazing light, a white-hot glare that burned into her staring, wide-open eyes.  At the same moment, the headphones burst to life and her ears were pounded by a deafening burst of white noise, like the static of an untuned radio.  The noise exploded in her skull, filling her brain with a random roar that had no structure or meaning, nothing that her mind could grasp or comprehend.  Meanwhile, the light attacked her mind like a blowtorch.  

And there was absolutely nothing she could do about it.  

Lena Olivat was trapped in hell.  Literally, she was trapped in hell.  The noise and the light would go on forever and she could not turn them off.  She could not close her eyes.  She could not block her ears.  She could not move any part of her body.  She could not even hear herself when she screamed.  


The men left her like that for an hour, before they dragged her out of the chair and took their hands off of her.  Totally disoriented, it was also obvious that Lena was completely unable to see as she uncoordinatedly waved her arms around in front of her like a blind beggar.  

The men moved her up against the wall and Lena just stood there submissively, cowering like a whipped dog, looking around with the pathetically staring, yet unseeing eyes which were still taped wide open.  The fascinating thing to the men who surrounded her was that Lena's hands were free.  She could have taken the tape off her eyes by herself, closed them for a bit, but she was incapable of mentally working this out by herself.  

Finally, Mr. Titov tore the tape off both eyes just to see what would happen.  Lena blinked a few, obviously painful times and finally shut her eyes once her eyeballs had been lubricated enough.  When she finally opened them again, she was crying, weeping softly and quite pitifully.  Clearly, what she looked at still wasn’t being processed as images and being sent to her brain in any comprehensible manner.  But being brutally slapped in the face by Mr. Titov a couple of times seemed to wake her up.  She seemed suddenly to understand where she was, and tried to stand up straight, but she couldn't.  She fell over and one of the men had to prop her against the wall.  


Bashir came back an hour later and after putting on a pair of sunglasses, went in the white room again.  Her found their latest acquisition in the chair again, her limbs and body bound, her mouth and eyes taped open, the headphones clamped to her head.  It was the absolute silence in the room, an almost sphinx-like stillness that surprised him most of all.  A shiver ran down his spine.  She must have been undergoing agonies beyond comprehension, yet there was no sign whatever of her suffering.  Even the ability to communicate her pain had been denied Lena.  


The main problem with torture lies in the human beings on whom it is inflicted, for they have a limited capacity for pain.  Even the toughest will reach a point where they will say or do absolutely anything to relieve their pain.  But sometimes torture is inflicted for its own sake, either as punishment or for the torturer's pleasure.  But then, another problem rears its head.  If the body is pushed beyond a certain point, it simply shuts down.  It takes real skill to keep the pain at just the right level--not so gentle that it serves no purpose, yet not so harsh that it becomes counter-productive.  

The mind too reacts much like the body.  Many techniques rely on psychological rather than physical stimuli.  The victim is humiliated, degraded, made to feel less than human.  Bashir used these techniques to perfection.  But with this woman, sexually abused, deprived of sleep, bombarded with noise and light, he’d had to aim for that Goldilocks’ balance.  Ultimately not a woman with the looks for The Club, he wanted her to be disoriented, bereft of hope, unaware of the passage of time, so that seconds to her felt like minutes and days would pass by in a flash.  But he didn't want to induce a full-scale psychosis either.  Not too soon, at any rate.  

Again, though, the question of shut-down arises.  A mind that can no longer make sense of the world around it or order the information it receives into any coherent meaning will eventually abandon the attempt and retreat into itself.  Hallucination takes the place of reality.  Memory fails.  A woman's very identity begins to slip away.  

Lena was hungry and exhausted before meeting Bashir.  Since then the successive traumas she’d suffered had weakened her to the point of collapse.  She'd made no attempt to resist when they led her back to the cell and strapped her in the torture chair again.  When Mr. Titov hit her with a final blast from the stun-belt, just for the sheer pleasure of hurting her, there was something strangely lifeless about the spasms that had wracked her body, as if she were no longer aware of the pain or he was using electricity in an attempt to reanimate a corpse.  

She didn't feel the teeth being wrenched inside her jaw as her head fought against the straps.  When the headphones and light box were switched back on, her overloaded brain did its best to reject the barrage of incoherent stimuli and she drifted into a sort of dream state.  Her dazzled, desiccated eyes were still wide open, but the blazing whiteness had now been replaced by images from her subconscious, long hidden recollections of people and places fused into a new world of their own.

Bashir had not liked her, had not trusted her....and Bashir had won.


I thought of the pieces of me I’d left behind, a piece here, a piece there, scattered like bread crumbs.  How much of me was left?
-Jennifer Niven, from American Blonde

Wish I could be a fragile piece of glass to accept my brokenness.
-Munia Khan

Finally finished, they began to free her.  They worked their way down, beginning from her head where the suffering was the most obvious.  The men pulled the headphones off her head, then set about undoing the straps that held her in the chair.  The tape on her eyelids was loosened and removed--one of the men was forced to brush his hands over her eyes just to close her eyelids.  The leather binding used as a gag had wreaked havoc.  As they pulled it away, a mass of clotted blood came with it, stuck to the surface.  The stun-belt round her waist was padlocked shut, but the battery packs powering it were removed.  

Lena made no response as they knelt by her feet, for her mind was temporarily gone and she was still frozen.  Eyes still open and mouth gaping in a silent, bloody scream, she remained so motionless that for a second they feared she might be dead.  But no, her flesh was still warm, her chest still rising and falling with quick, shallow breaths.  

They talked and finally got through Lena’s shell of pure horror--she eventually responded to their commands in a cracked, quavering voice, admitting at first to little more than her existence in a cocoon of blind helplessness.  Moments later, for the first time since being freed, she turned her head to look at her tormentors.  She slowly blinked several times trying to restore her vision, then screwed up her eyes and peered at their faces, searching for any clues of humanity, of compassion.  There was none.

The men pulled on her biceps and said, "You need to walk now.  Do you understand?"

She gave another frown, some more blinks, and then a slow, deliberate nod.  

"Do you understand?"

A part of Lena tried, it really did.  A dry, inarticulate croak emerged from her mouth, then her arms and legs quivered, summoning up the energy and will for an immense physical effort.  She lifted her hands to the arms of the chair, then pushed with all her might.  Slowly, inch by inch, her face grimacing with strain and concentration, she raised herself until she was upright, then she suddenly collapsed into the arms of one of the men that stood next to her.  

He held her up until finally, she stuck out her right leg with all the stiffness of a woman trying an artificial limb for the first time.  Then she gave a brusque shake of her arm, brushing away the hated man, and took two more ungainly strides before falling once again into his arms.  

She mumbled something unintelligible.  Lena closed her eyes, thought for a second and then tried again.  "Nemorsch."  She squeezed out the sound over her swollen, lacerated tongue and past her aching teeth.  

The men led her slowly towards the door, then propped her like a broomstick against the wall.  Lena knew the connection of her mind to her body still wasn’t working.  The men took their hands off her shoulders, and letting them hover near her, they remained ready to catch her if she fell.  She was given a short drink that felt like heaven against her parched, cracked lips.  

Finally, one of the men reached into a bag he carried and pulled out a pair of jeans and a T-shirt.  Her legs still felt like they belonged to another person.  He took a moment to steady her, then eased them over her feet and pulled them up so that she had at least a moment of dignity.  The man fumbled with the zipper.

Not wanting to give the men anything they might interpret as an additional victory, she mumbled, "I can do tha'."

The man had to help her fingers find the zip.  She gave a tug and got it about half way up before the man helped her finish the chore.  Then the T-shirt was pulled over her head and the vile black band of nylon was finally covered.  

She was led away, her unconfined breasts swaying under the T-shirt, her vision still blurred and dotted with dancing lights.  Lena saw the world like a film that'd been partly burned away; a picture scorched with white shafts of pure light.  Gradually though, she was beginning to regain a faint sense of connection to the world outside.  

She knew once more that the red-headed man with her was named Mr. Titov, and for some reason she felt sure he was one of the men she had tried to talk to, one of the ones that kept drifting away.  He seemed very upset, as if she'd done him harm; and as she thought about it, she did remember a terrible hurt, a pain in her heart, but could not remember when or why that had been.  It didn't matter though, because the man said that as long as she cooperated, everything would be alright.  He even promised.  

Her cell was dark and quiet......and that was nice.


Lena remained in her cell for what seemed an interminable time.  There was nothing in it but a hard cot and a thin sheet.  Water condensed from the humid air and puddled on the floor in one corner.  

But it was enough for her.  Her body began to recharge and connections remade.  


Very dim lights eventually came on after an unknown period of time and a young man entered, carrying a small plastic bowl of easily digested oatmeal.  The silhouette of a second man stood motionless in the doorway.  The jailer saw that Lena's eyes appeared from under her lowered head as if she were still disengaged from any thought of life.  

Having no fear of the obviously beaten female, the one man had approached too close when she exploded off the bunk.  She was all over him, a grimace of inhuman triumph on her face.  

"Gotcha', you bastard," was all she said.  

They fought quickly, silently, in the dark room for less than a minute, before her manic strength suddenly, predictably, disappeared like a morning mist.  She was again the blank-faced, almost zombie-like woman they’d led into the cell over a day before.  It was as if she had reacted in rage and frustration for all that happened to her over the last thirty-six hours.  Although he probably would have reacted this way too if their roles had been reversed, it had been an inappropriate move for one in her position to challenge a Muslim male.

Before Lena knew what was happening, the man who had waited outside stepped in and placed his left hand firmly on her lower back.  With a violent short-arm punch too small to be noticed by anyone had they even been standing in the cell, he drove his right fist into Lena’s stomach, just to the side of the central pillar of her abdominal muscles.  

A savage percussive wave of pressure coursed through her body, compressing air and blood passages, overloading her nervous system, jarring her brain.  The shock bounced around inside her, absorbed by soft tissue, reflected and conducted by bone, shock waves crossing and crisscrossing each other, creating interference patterns and slamming the kidney as if between two bricks.  To him the agonized expression on her face was both worthwhile and actually quite rewarding.

Suddenly, the second man hit her on her arms, her back and thighs.  Her cries of pain must have sounded like they came from a creature other than a human being.  When she finally fell to her knees, the man kicked her in the ribs and her stomach, in the place she had always cherished as the womb of her future children.  Soon she lay prone on the floor, waiting for unconsciousness…or death.  

Then it stopped.  He seemed to have grown tired, or bored, and he stepped back.  Lena let out a brief sigh; her ordeal seemed to be nearing its end for now.  

There was the clink of metal, the sound Lena realized, of a belt being undone.  Was he about to flog her too?

But now she felt two cold hands on her clammy hips, hauling her up from the moist floor like a joint of meat.  He was not trying to make her stand up, but rather was forcing her into a kneeling position, so that she was on all fours.  

Lena could barely feel her legs, let alone move them.  She collapsed back on the floor several times, but he always pushed her back up.  Suddenly she sensed him near her, his body arched over hers.  She heard him unfasten his zipper.  

The sudden realization of his intent made her scream a silent and futile protest, but he brought his hand down over her mouth, clamping her jaw tight, so tight that she could not bite, and then he thrust himself inside her.  Her mind finally left her again, fleeing to the same place it had gone earlier.  Once more, she vanished from herself even though she felt, or rather sensed his penis still stiffening as he thrust deep into her mouth.  

Lena did not know how long he used her.  Miserable and beaten, she’d still have bit him if she’d been able.  But she was not, and for him it must have been like pushing himself into a warm and wet zip lock bag filled with mayonnaise.  

After only a minute, but what seemed like hours, he exploded into her throat.  Hot cum made her cough and humiliatingly, forced it way back out through her nose like a shooting string of silky white snot.  Finished with using her now, he pulled out, stood up and buckled his pants, then grabbed her by the hair and pulled her to her feet.  He had one final thing to say before he left her in the cell.

“Suck it up,” he said, leaning forward to whisper in her ear.  “If you’re as tough as you seem to think you are, it shouldn’t be so bad.”

He patted her shoulder and stepped back, unhurried, out of range as she slowly collapsed back onto her bunk.  He was pleased to see her face was sheer white, her neck tendons tight as mooring ropes.  It wasn’t just the corners of her mouth that were twitching now.  She made a sound finally, and it was like a dead person trying to grab one more breath.  

The second man turned to The Albanian standing in the doorway and said, “Sir, she’ll do for your friend now.”  Then he turned and walked away.


Lena once more lay on her back in the darkened cell, not feeling the coarse material beneath her.  Her blank face was turned toward her left shoulder, allowing the man’s semen to continue draining from her mouth.  She floated in a deep, dark space defined only by her misery.  Grief that she never could have imagined surrounded her and tore at her from every direction.  Circumstances beyond her control had finally pulverized her, sapped her will and left her motionless in the dark.  She was done, finished.  Whatever they wanted, they could have.  

As long as they stopped the pain too.


FBI and Gangbangers Don’t Really Mix Well or Agent Will Didn’t Have A Lot Of Patience With Fuckwads Like This

Outside of Dallas, Texas

He was in northern East-Central Texas now and still working without backup despite the regulations that required otherwise.  He only had one partner now, but he’d sent the poor, naive bastard Manny on a couple of wild goose chases just to get him out of his hair.  More than anything else about his job, Nathan Will hated the waiting.  The news conference earlier that morning had gone well, he thought.  He’d ensured that the FBI spokesman had given the news pukes a few comments, which if those fucking scabs followed up they wouldn’t pan out, and that was a plus.  Now he’d be able to work quietly while the media chewed on some choice tidbits he’d given them about some mythical, non-existent Eastern European crime lord, a fucking Muslim no less.  And it would only be a matter of time before Geraldo and Nancy Grace and all the others would start throwing around every theory possible about him.  

But now the waiting was over.  Working in the FBI, he'd gotten used to flying without a net even if it meant he was alone when he "interviewed" members of Los Tentaculos.  It had taken him too long to track down this particular sick bastard.  He looked down at the typical piece of trash that lay at his feet.  

Pius Romero lay on the asphalt, gasping for breath.  Special Agent Nathan Will pulled a specially weighted black leather glove on his right hand and gazed at Romero as if the young Hispanic male were less than an empty cardboard box.  

"Listen carefully, Pius.  I'm not here to arrest you, but I want some information.  If you lie about anything, I'll track your lying ass down and give you a shit-load more pain.  Do you understand that?  Show me you understand."

Pius sat up and touched his scraped elbow.  "I ain't done nuttin’ wrong."

"Who supplied the woman to you guys a couple of days ago?"

The question made the young man sit up a little straighter.

"Don't know what you talkin’ ‘bout."

Pius scrambled to his feet and tried to run away, but Will caught him easily.  He threw the banger drug dealer against the wall and began slapping him with his right hand.  The leather glove made a cringe-inducing wet, smacking sound every time it hit Romero's face.  Blood streamed from his mouth and broken nose.

Will's voice was calm and reasonable.  "I've broken your nose, Pius.  Now I'm going to strike upward and crush some tiny, little bones beneath your eyes.  They have real important sounding name for being so small…nasal turbinates.  Now, listen very carefully to me.  I look at you like something I’d wipe off the bottom of my shoe – but this is real important to you.  These bones?  They never heal successfully.  Not like an arm or a leg.  You're going to feel pain for the rest of your life after I’ve done it."

Pius Romero raised his hands protectively like a child.  "Whab yub want?"  

He whimpered through the blood that streamed from his nose.  "Nabes?  I gib yub nabes ‘n whateber.  I gib yub eberyt’ing..."

And he did.  


It Was A Woman's Role Now For Linda or A Young Girl's Fears Are Often Grounded In Reality

South of Houston

I guess it’s too late, I’m dancing this dance alone, this chapter’s done, the story goes on.  
-Anonymous

For Linda, it was a different kind of a nightmare.  The waking kind.  For a moment after she woke, she didn’t remember what had happened.  Then it hit her and she moaned as if struck, curling into a fetal ball, unable to deal with the enormity of it all.  Her whole body was shot through with icy shivers and she felt so terribly bruised between her legs.  Her mind kept recoiling from the idea of her new future and then returning to it again, as if picking at a scab.  Breathing hard, she stumbled painfully to a corner of the corner and threw up.  After that she dropped to her knees and prayed.  Linda knew her prayers needed to be strong and loud, her best attempt to send out the message to her kidnappers and rapists that she had not abandoned God, and that no matter what they did to her, her voice would not be consumed by sin and depravity.  

But there was no reprieve, the man came for her and she knew it had started again, the same thing that had happened a lifetime before only eight hours ago.  This one, he was new to her even though she had not noticed him earlier, for he had been one of those who used Ursula.  Linda had just finished her morning prayers and was painfully squatting over the hole in the floor in the corner when the door opened without warning and the man entered.  She shouted in fear and embarrassment, then peed on herself.  

This appeared to amuse him greatly.  

Linda felt old, she could barely move as he led her from her old cell, her body so filled with aches and pains from stretched muscles, twisted joints and a bruised pubic bone from the horrific ride she'd endured, a journey which even now her mind would not let her completely remember.  

She knew someone was watching, for the door to her new room opened by itself at her approach.  This room was much better than her previous cell; cooler, dry, furnished with a bed, dresser and stuffed chair.  With apparent respect, he handed her a robe to cover her nakedness and with some surprise, she slowly put it on.  Impossibly, until that very moment Linda had almost forgotten she was naked.  She finally lay down on the bed and then gave a heartfelt groan at the simple pleasure of being off her feet.


She couldn't know it yet, but he was young, new to the crew.  He looked down and smiled at her with obvious pleasure.  Her body was totally revealed to him; it kept breaking his concentration as he stole glances at her.  Clearly sore in parts of her body, she had a few bruises, but not too many.  True, her eyes looked haunted right now, but that too would change…it always did.  

From what he had been told, the females almost always learned to accept their role here, some even learning to quite enjoy it.  He averted his eyes from her bare arms and the tidy swell of her breasts.  Her shoulders and throat were trim, firmly muscled, well-shaped.  The clean physicality of her American-woman sweat cut toward him through the stale air like a dangerously unsheathed blade.  

His attitude towards Linda had shifted helplessly over the last few hours.  He had been here long enough to see the other women kept here.  Like Linda, they had all been brought here against their will.  As they were led from the rooms of the men who had purchased mastery their bodies for the night, some tried to appear defiant but looked ashamed; others looked unfazed, chins up like they were only waiting for a hard burp to clear their systems.  

He had been prepared to scorn this one like the other newly acquired American whores, to deliver the torments her kind deserved.  But her faith stopped him.  Her religion was not his, but he had to respect anyone who still believed in the God of the book.  And her strength was so amazing he found he could not hurt her without regret, nor could he bear for others to see others hurt her anymore or witness her disgrace.  

Although he still believed that he was prepared to kill her if necessary, in his thoughts he had somehow become her protector in the meantime, casting the scene in his mind as a matter of honor, of the charity of the Faithful before the weak.  His visions of her cleansed and wrapped in her beauty had become more frequent.  He imagined her freed, turning to him of her own will, running to him, begging humbly to share his life, to re-create herself in the cool shadow of his love and protection.  When he touched her, even in her soiled condition, his hands burned with desire.


Linda felt so weak.  There was an idealized picture Linda had of herself buried deep inside her mind which still wanted to fight, but knew she could not anymore.  She was scared, dizzy, aching, angry, stressed; she was weak and ashamed of her weaknesses.  But she felt so hurt and tired now; so tired of it all already, feeling as if she just wanted the whole situation over, one way or the other.  She could not move quickly, she could barely even move on her own.  The air around her felt as thick as overcooked oatmeal.  It was terrible for her life to end this way.  But she was able to passively accept it too.  

Linda had always before been so positive about life, felt so strong, so capable.  And now she now could not tell what was real now and what was false.  But while nothing had mattered as long as she remained undisturbed in her cell, everything now seemed so surreal.  In her soul, she knew it would end here for her.  Not necessarily now, but here, in this building, with these men and by these men.  Her death seemed so abstract, not impossible anymore, but not yet real either.  

Linda clearly remembered being taken from the insurance office, but the other things they'd done to her seemed like a dream now, things like that couldn't really have happened to her, at least not in the U. S.  Except for what they’d done to her at the end--that remained brutally real.  She could still smell the stink of their urine, the taste of it in her mouth, their obsessive need to spray her face with it and her efforts to snort the awful liquid out of her nostrils so that she could breathe.  

She found it so hard to even conceive of what they’d told her was her new life, let alone accept that it was her reality, for the rest of her life.  She thought about the life she’d once had and of how she had not appreciated it, of her parents’ safety, and then she prayed silently.  

Allow me the strength to accept this terrible sinful world as it is, not as I would have it, trusting that HE will make all things right if I surrender to his will.  And that I may be reasonably happy in this life and supremely happy with HIM forever in the next.  Amen.  

Through the pain which even now still rocked her body in waves, she even thought of old boyfriends, not missing them really, but feeling ashamed of any un-Christian heartlessness’s she may have shown them.  She had always tried to be nice, but they had each seemed so inadequate at the time.  Now she realized their failings were only human.  She had always been too demanding of the young men around her.  A real bitch.  No wonder she had never found the right guy.  Now others would take what they wanted and she was helpless to stop them.

Both Linda’s upbringing and previous life experiences made her underestimate man's abilities to cause intolerable agony to one another.  Her basic human sensibilities were now completely overwhelmed by how these men could even consider forcing her to submit this way, force her to accept a shortened lifetime filled with sexual slavery and domination.  She knew she was stronger than her friends, but some of things she'd seen done to the other two had left her stunned both physically and mentally, leaving nothing but an empty spot of roiling sickness inside.  And everything had seemingly worsened by the hour.  Her friends had screamed for mercy, but in the end, the still quiet of the torture room was penetrated only by the groans of the captive women and the murmurs and quiet laughs of the remaining men as they took horrific pleasure from their captives’ bodies.

She had hoped that some of the men might feel guilt about what they had done, what they were doing.  But they were clearly experienced at this and had developed a comfortable routine; a routine which appealed to the primal instinct to spread their seed, to impregnate and dominate those physically weaker than them, and to inflict pain and humiliation.  You could tell the ones who lived for the love of hurting their captives, who enjoyed seeing naïve young women despoiled, by the confident exuberance with which they carried themselves.  It was the same as with anyone who knew they were doing something in which they excelled, and who knew there would never be repercussions for anything they did.

She had scant reason to hope anymore.  They seemed too practiced, too careful to make mistakes.  Would she ever see the sun again?  For some reason, she wasn't sure the sun even existed here during daytime.  Or maybe it was what they'd put her through.  Why her?  She was too young!  She had too much she wanted to do yet.  She wanted to live with a man in a life in which there was no time for anything except celebrating love, spreading charity for kindness sake, creating music and making life beautiful.  


She Regretted Not Being Able To Say Goodbye or For Dana, It Was All Downhill From Here

Her father.  Dana hoped he didn't think she'd run away.  She knew her father would move heaven and earth to help her if he knew she was in trouble.  The thought comforted her intermittently, only to leave her feeling weak and frustrated and angry each time.  She'd always hated having to rely on him for help.  It just wasn't fair that things like this happened to her.  

It was always her father that had gotten her out of predicaments before.  

Dana couldn't escape thinking of him, even now.  Nor did she want to escape him this time.  Now she prayed that he would come and save her from what these men planned.  She wanted him to come get her; she couldn't help wanting it.  It was mean of her and wrong, but she certainly didn't care about the other two girls.  She was scared and felt immeasurably alone; she just wanted to leave this horrible place, get out and away even as she just began her journey along the road to discovering the power over her of basic needs, needs so fundamental and unglamorous that she'd never before had to consider them.

Dana loved her father and had even liked him as a person, but she had also wanted a life of her own.  She'd hated him in the ninth grade after she'd discovered his Cajun mistress.  After he'd walked out on her mother.  He was a seductive man and could not be resisted without a lot of distance.  She'd hated him and loved him, even when he'd treated her like she was a child.  Later, when he'd treated her as a grown woman when she obviously was not, it had helped a little but not as much as he’d wanted.  She'd lived in a monstrous cocoon of privilege her whole life, and the boys and men she'd taken into her world had never seemed consequential for long.  

She'd had the life she'd always wanted; the nice apartment, nice sporty convertible, beautiful clothes, boys that couldn't pay enough attention to her and her needs.  Now it was all gone.

She just wanted to be with her dad again.

Dana looked around.  It seemed they’d first put her in some kind of a temporary holding cell for she had eventually end up in another room, this one much nicer than the first.  Dana soon regained enough strength to allow her to stand in the shower for half an hour as she cleaned herself.  She was not a large woman and sometimes people had told her that it looked like a gentle wind might knock her flat.  But for all her size, she could muster a ferocious temper when necessary.  But not anymore.  Food had been delivered while she was in the shower and what appeared to be clothing.  A new man stood waiting patiently when she stepped out of the shower; Dana forced herself to ignore her nakedness as he handed her an envelope.  She unsealed it and found a short, typed note folded inside another sheet of paper.  His duties completed, the man turned and left without a word.  

She unfolded the two pieces of paper; the one on top was a photocopy of her father with the cross hairs of a rifle sight over his face.  Dana’s hand covered her mouth in horror at the crude reminder of their leverage over her.  She read the note quickly, then helplessly sat on the edge of the bed, not moving as deep depression washed over her again.  It was a script for a role they wanted her to play.  The scenes were described in general detail, and the note told her roughly what they wanted her say.  Suddenly, the food was cold and unappetizing, but that didn't matter for she neither wanted nor needed anything on her stomach.  

She waited, her mind whirling in thought.  She helplessly glanced at the script one more time and then tossed it aside.  

There was an unexpected knock on the door and one of the oldest looking women Dana had ever seen walked in.  She was a tiny woman, her face full of wrinkles and her hair long and dark.  It was impossible to guess her age.  

The woman carried a rather large leather bag.  She walked over to the dresser and dumped the bag.  Out came a complete makeup kit including mascara, eyeliner, lipstick, foundation, blush, moisturizer and God help her, a set of false eyelashes.  There was even perfume too; Tender Poison by Dior.

Dana’s stomach felt like it had fallen about a mile inside her.  It was time to get ready.  


PART Six: New girls prepare for the worst night of their lives

Taking Each New One To The Next Level or How To Celebrate Their New Non-Celibate Lives

Regardless of what he had to do, Bashir considered himself basically a good man, even a religious man of sorts.  He respected and feared his master, and while he had a job he didn't like sometimes, overall his life wasn't too bad.  Over the last couple of years though, it had been getting tougher.  He often regretted causing so much pain, but knew it was ultimately......necessary.....and somehow it helped him to relax; for working with these girls, helping train them for their new lives truly made him feel better for some reason.

The guilt he felt may have crested at one time, but lately it’d started to become easier again.  He knew he caused them pain and heartache, but things just seemed......simpler.....more casual at certain times.  Tonight was one of those times.  He felt good tonight and it was probably because of the moon.  The glorious moon.  It all was so perfect at this moment.  

He was older now and working with these last three had exhausted him more than normal.  But he'd finally gotten some rest after working the basement chamber so hard and he was now ready to begin their initial evaluation as newly recruited whores.  He would be the new female’s first client and he would take their measure individually, using them one at a time over the next day or so.  

The one called Dana would be first and he would be the most fresh at that point; he planned on entering into this one’s life determined that she would understand he just didn't like what she represented in the world.  The whorish demeanor as a teenager, the demand for equal rights by modern Western women without the willingness to accept any of the attendant responsibilities, the crudities and unsophisticated, unfeminine behavior just being taken for granted.  She epitomized all of this to him and he would humiliate her more than the others just to ensure she was aware of his contempt.  

Then it would be Linda's turn next, probably early tomorrow, all to give Ursula a little more time to heal.  Of the three, he looked forward to enjoying Linda the most, for she was one whose values he could most respect.  She was the one that lived her life closest to his beliefs, yet she too had been spoiled, tainted by the culture of her birth.  Despite her beliefs, she was being punished by her God for her inability to see what she was and to repent being an infidel.

The big girl would be last.  He was ambivalent about Ursula and she would probably learn to appreciate her good luck a few months from now.  Then all would finally be brought back together, thus allowing each to see what the other had undergone, what each had become and how they'd all begun their new lives together.  


The Muslim world deals very harshly with sexual stigmas where women are concerned.  Oftentimes, the distinction between a woman who willingly commits adultery and one who is forcibly raped is lost.  Throughout much of the ancient Patriarchal history of his country, rape was viewed not so much as an assault on a woman, but rather as a serious property crime against the man to whom she "belonged."  The honor of the family, which really meant the honor of the father, was important above all else.  This was especially true in the case of betrothed virgins, since lost or “stolen” chastity was perceived by his people as severely depreciating any value to her husband.

Albanian law voided the betrothal in such cases and financial compensation was demanded from the rapist, payable to the woman's household whose "goods" were "damaged."  In a few backwards parts of his country, the woman might be killed by family members to regain their honor or even be married to the rapist as part of the legal penalty.  This, he thought to himself, would probably be enough punishment for any man.

But these American girls, he knew, the ones they kept here, they belonged to no man and were therefore available to anyone who had the strength to keep them.  Dana, he thought to himself, had been warned and should be preparing herself even as he daydreamed.  Still, he knew he must be going soft, for the moon should not be quite so much of a help to him in this matter.


Cocooned inside her quiet new room, Dana felt drugged.  She looked at herself in the mirror with an almost subdued detachment, staring at her own face as it loomed bizarrely back at her.  She had followed the written demands as best she knew how.  The painted image she saw in the mirror wasn't registering.  It felt like she existed in an alternate reality, a surreal parallel universe she was watching through a tear in some Matrix-like continuum, except that it wasn't.  It was real.  Starkly, unquestionably real.  

Dana felt a constricting ache in her chest; she was on auto-pilot and her hands felt like they were being run by a puppeteer as she fastened the final suspender of the lacy, navy-colored garter belt to the second stocking she'd just put on.  She knew the heavy makeup the woman demanded she put on made her look like a cheap whore—the lipstick too bright, the eye makeup too dark, the mascara too heavy.  She was scared, terribly afraid of what the future held; she'd never looked like this, never before worn what was almost a costume like this and she hated the thought of giving any semblance of pleasure to the man who had supervised her torture.

Finished now with the patterned navy lace garter belt and stockings, she slowly put on the tiny dark blue G-string, then the tightly fitting navy pumps with the too-tall stiletto-heels.  The sheer white short-sleeved blouse over the creamy bra came next.  Finally, she slipped into the form fitting, navy skirt that barely came down to the top of her nylons, then the matching business jacket.  Dana looked at herself in the mirror as she finished putting on the dangly earrings.  

He must have a fetish about slutty secretaries.  Typically trashy underwear, covered by what looked like a business suit, except the skirt was a good five inches shorter than it should have been, easily making it equal to the shortest mini-skirt she'd ever worn in high school.  She knew without a doubt if she bent over, the backs of her buttocks and her thongs in the crack of her butt would be immediately visible to anyone looking.

How could this be happening to her?  She was only nineteen, for God's sake. Why her?  Where was her father?  He should be here --- he WOULD be coming for her, he HAD to be coming.  He would protect her from this.  She felt certain he would find her and stop these men.  She wasn't sure she believed in God anymore and certainly hadn't prayed in a long time, but if it wasn't too late now was the time to start.  God, please don't let this happen.  Please let this be a nightmare from which she could awaken and laugh at her foolish fears.  God, please make them stop.  All she wanted was to go home again.  She wanted to hug her mom and dad, and tell them that she'd learned her lesson.  She'd never be mean to another person ever again in her life.

She ached everywhere from what they'd done to her.  Even though much of the torment had been psychological, it was the physical acts which had defeated her so thoroughly.  Dana hated herself and the truths she'd been forced to acknowledge about herself.  There was no doubt now, she wasn't like the other two; she knew now she was a physical coward and the thought tormented her.  Dana knew in her heart that her friends could have held out longer if it hadn't been for her.  She'd always be grateful for them saving her from additional pain, but that was how it should be…she didn’t deserve to be hurt like those men had been hurting her.

But now she had to go, it was late and she knew she couldn't delay any longer.  She suddenly felt nauseous, but still knocked on the door to let them know she was finished.  One of the eastern Europeans was waiting outside the cell to accompany Dana to her first rendezvous as a sex slave.


Linda too was awake in her second, more luxuriously decorated room when the old man delivered the new clothing, if it could be called that.  Overwhelmed by a sense of exhaustion, kept awake by a throbbing body, she hadn't slept, really slept in over three nights; none of them had.  They'd been given a little water at the end of the first day, but no food.  She'd known this was some kind of torture or mental stressor.  But following her capitulation, she'd soiled the cell in which they kept her and she’d had nothing with which to clean herself.  Her stomach had ached so badly from hunger that she could hardly move.  Her glasses had been taken and she couldn’t see very well.  She didn't even care about her nakedness when the frantic need came to relieve herself again.  Between stomach cramps, she stood/sat/curled up on the floor and sobbed.  

Then they had moved her to this new, more refined room and given her something to eat.  She’d had time to take a long hot shower before anyone had materialized; and when he did, she recognized him immediately, for Bashir was his name.


The nearsighted girl backed away from him and into a corner.  Bashir carried a small, neat stack of lingerie and high-heels under one arm and her old clothing in an untidy bundle under the other.  He remained silent as he placed everything on the bed, then he let her stew as he surveyed her fine, firm body in a way that told the young American he had all the time in the world to appreciate her full nudity.  

He approached her silently, and with unconscious feminine grace she moved to cover herself with her hands, but this left her open to his sharp slap across the face.  Now she stood silently, eyes tearing up, waiting for him to finish.  When he pulled her away from the corner and then slowly circled Linda, she whimpered softly once, but forced herself to remain completely open to his view.  

Bashir could tell that she was smart and would learn quickly.  

He destroyed her old clothes in front of her, placing scissors against the hem of her original skirt, cutting it in half with one quick move; then he made one more cut.  The skirt was relatively simple, the jacket took more time, the blouse shredded in seconds.  He buried the scissors in his pocket when finished.  Of course, this was all theater for her benefit.....these things were her last personal possessions, the last vestiges of her personal identity.  Destroying them was symbolic.  Replacing them with what would typify her new life under their control was an additional, yet rather unsubtle symbology.  But still, it worked very well on these spoiled, naïve Americans.

It was pretty clear the young woman had given up.  She stood before him naked, shifting her weight from one bare foot to the other and back again, her wonderful, young breasts heaving as she occasionally gave a silent sob.  She had perfect feet; straight toes, high arches, attractive heels, a good looking network of veins around her ankles.  Bashir’s gaze moved up as he looked at the damp, matted triangle of her pubic hair and knew it was too thick for his taste; she had an appointment with a razor before he saw her next.

"This is what you will wear and make sure the panties go on last."  He laughed as she shook her head in refusal.

“You will clean yourself and put this on, or I will order five men to come in here and do anything they want to you, then I will have them dress you in these clothes anyway.  Get clean and put it all on.  Now.”

With that final command, he turned to leave.  Then he stopped, pulled out a folded piece of paper from his shirt pocket and threw it upon the clothes.  Finally, he departed without another word.  


Linda looked at the pile to which the horrible man pointed.  Everything was sheer and fluffy and white…it all screamed cheap and tawdry so loud that it hurt her head.  Heart fluttering, she opened her mouth, but all she could think of saying was wait, so she held her tongue.  She had submitted earlier and now their demands had escalated beyond anything she could ever have imagined in her worst nightmare.  She felt so weak and worthless, so unable to fight them or even cope with their demands.  And she had shamed herself by betraying her beliefs.  

Linda had never felt so alone before; she had nowhere to turn now for any kind of help or even strength.

Almost as soon as the door had closed behind him, it opened again and a small, wrinkled woman appeared.  She carried a few items that turned out to be mostly bath oils and an additional shampoo.  The woman quickly took charge, drawing a hot bubble bath without Linda's permission.  When the foamy tub was ready, the woman ushered Linda into the bathroom with broken Spanish-accented English, and from there into the tub.  Linda sank into the hot water with a soft groan of pleasure, but the bath was not meant to help her relax and the woman was not finished.  

Although unnecessary, at the woman's urging, Linda shaved her legs and armpits again.  Linda obeyed her numbly, without speaking and like a robot.  But upon completion, she realized that no matter how quickly she might capitulate, no matter how completely she might obey their commands, they would never be finished with her; there would always be another demand, another hurdle for her to jump.  For now, the old Mexican woman took over her razor; quickly, intimately, ultimately, Linda was bereft of all pubic hair too.  The tiny woman didn't let her sit in the filthy water for very long before she began to make a clucking sound.  Linda finally understood that they were under some kind of a deadline, so she got out of the tub and allowed the woman to clean her under the shower spray before she toweled Linda dry.  

First, the woman rubbed oil onto Linda’s feet and legs, and massaged it in.  After working on her hair, the woman said, “Now is time for makeup.  Pretty makeup, but heavy -- thick.  Now.”  

Linda hesitantly began to apply the mid-level expensive makeup which rested on the counter, but the woman was never satisfied.  It had to be more dramatic, heavier, more in line with the tastes of uneducated Eastern European males.  Long dangling earrings made of concentric hoops completed the look for which the old woman searched.  Finally, the Mexican Indian was satisfied and she stuck a white blossom in Linda's hair.  As she prepared to leave, the tiny woman said, "Put on clothing.  Now.  Or you will be punished."  


Numb with the realization that this was really happening, Linda finally shook out the top and held it against her chest.  Oh God!  It was so small and almost transparent.  Eyes tearing, her heart heavy with embarrassment and shame, her stomach filled with knots of acid, Linda waited for a moment and then with shaking fingers finally began to sort the tiny pile of lingerie.

She eventually slid the garter belt around her waist and looked helplessly at the empty garters hanging down as they rested against her thighs.  Finally, she figured out how to attach stocking to garter and sitting on the edge of the bed, she slowly, carefully pulled the first stocking over her left foot and drew it carefully up over her oiled thigh.  When it was taut, with shaky and uncertain fingers, she attached the stocking welt at the top to the two garter straps that hung down.  Reluctantly, she donned the second stocking and fastened it at the top also.  

Now Linda reached over and put on the high-heeled sandals that had been left.  They were tight, but she could get them on.  Standing, she saw that there were wrinkles in both stockings around her ankles.  She groaned as she bent over and put her hands tightly around one ankle and slowly, tentatively ran her hands up her leg to the top of her thigh.  She now tugged the stocking tighter and then re-hooked the garter belts to the top of the stocking and then did the same to her other leg.  All wrinkles were gone now as the stockings hugged her firmly muscled legs to perfection, giving them a silky, lustrous glow that was slightly darker than her natural skin tone.  

Now Linda looked with revulsion at what she thought was called a teddy.  She finally slid it over her arms and shoulders and tied it shut in front with the one lacey strap that the designer had allowed in front.  It was a horrible piece of trashy froth, for there were two holes rimmed with elastic in the front through which she was forced to push her breasts.  The elastic around the holes fit tightly around the base of each of her breasts tit and was meant to emphasize each pear-shaped tit as it hung free in front.  

The white velvet choker Velcro’d together at the back of her neck and finally it was time for the tiny thong panties.  Linda slowly stepped into them and pulled them up over her nylon-clad thighs.  As she snugged them around her waist and fit the strip of cloth snugly between her butt cheeks, a soft sob that she desperately tried to control finally escaped.  The last thing she put on was a mid-thigh length, shiny white lace gown which had a scalloped open front.  The gown was so sheer it hid nothing of what was beneath.  She had to hold this together in the front with her hands for there was no way to fasten it shut.

As she silently waited in the lonely room for whatever happened next, Linda tried to avoid thinking of how awful she looked, of bad her body felt.  Instead, she realized that she was so filled with dread that it was difficult to breathe.  


He Normally Preferred Younger Women or But These Two Still Had A Certain Undeniable Charm….For MILF’s

Seeing activity on one screen out of the corner of his eye, The Albanian turned to the monitors that showed the entrance to his compound and viewed the dark Suburban stopped at the first of many obstacles that prevented easy entry into his compound.  ID checked and current password approved, the vehicle passed through and finally stopped at the delivery entrance around back.  It truly amused him to have the abducted women deposited at this point.  Two female figures were eventually extracted from the box hidden in the vehicle’s frame and pulled into the light by the entrance.  

The women had been drugged and staggered drunkenly when first stood upon their feet.  Thick, crude leather belts were still strapped around each narrow waist and wide leather cuffs around their wrists were tightly locked to each belt.  Even with the bags covering their faces, one could just look at them and tell they were older than the normal material which matriculated through here.  Both were very attractive-bodied mature women in their early to mid-thirties, had long shapely legs and quite attractive chests, and wore strappy high-heeled sandals, one pair yellow and one pair red.  The one wearing red had shaved the vaginal hair between her legs, while the one wearing yellow still had a glorious thatch of wild dark hair.  

It was impossible to tell what they looked like, because the two had been gagged and then black hoods pulled over their heads, but he’d been assured that except for being a little older than normal, they were still prime material.  

He was sure that Missy would be pleased.  

While The Albanian didn’t fear this woman from south-central Texas, he certainly appreciated her hardness.  Of indeterminate age, her hoarsely croaking voice and glittering dark eyes let everyone know that here was a woman to be treasured.  He somehow just knew that she’d been Albanian in some previous incarnation; he could easily see her ruling her clan with an iron fist.  She was the only American he truly respected, for this was a woman who had been around, who knew exactly what she wanted and was willing to spare nothing to obtain it.  

Before he’d begun any work with her, he’d had this strange, hard woman thoroughly investigated.  He knew that she was quite wealthy, having inherited some money and land and married into more money, and that she ran a large ranch somewhere in the Hill Country southwest of San Antonio which specialized in breeding championship ponies.  

What very few knew was that in addition to horses and ponies, she also kept a select herd of women and men who she forced into becoming human versions of her ponies.  Apparently, she wanted the two dark haired women to either pull racing sulkies by themselves as “singles”, or a larger cart as part of a "matched" team of racing ponies.  

While he didn’t really understand the old woman’s fascination with turning men and women into make-believe animals, who was he to judge the foibles of another?  Besides, he received good intelligence from her every now and then, and who was he to look a gift horse in the mouth?  Even if it was a ponygirl lover rather than real horse…..

He was putting together a shipment of bodies for Missy and these two were the first part.  She’d also put in an order for what she called playponies or cowponies.  These were supposedly the ones used solely for sex in this rather peculiar crowd.  He had three very attractive Senior high school cheerleaders being brought in at this very moment from Oklahoma to fill that part of the order, and they would probably be arriving within the next ten hours or so.  Her ranch was at least an eight hour drive from his compound, so he’d give her a call in another couple of hours just to let her know that it was time to send one of her ranch hands over to pick up the merchandize.  

Finally, he’d just decided that he would give the big muscular Lena to the old Pony Ranch owner as a gift.  If they liked turning women into ponies, the cop was strong enough to actually carry a lighter person if they had the correct kind of saddle for the policewoman to wear.  He snorted at that; the cop would hate being turned into a beast of burden, but if anyone deserved it, that strong-willed woman did.  


PART Seven: An experienced lover, Dana begins a new journey

The Discipline Of Silk And Cane or Dana’s A Quick Study And Learns Her Lessons Well

The click-clack of her high-heels gave a falsely brisk echo as Dana was escorted from her cell and down a hall.  Although no one was present, the door unlocked as they approached and swung open without being touched.  Still dazed, she was led through a sort of darkly wood-paneled men's club, drawing the attention of a group of obviously wealthy and important men and a few women, all of whom were relaxing as they drank and laughed softly.  It was a busy night and the eyes of every person there were upon what looked like, except for the extremely short skirt, a high-level executive secretary or mid-level female executive being escorted to a business meeting.  

But word was out about the three new arrivals.  Every man present knew she was a novice, a likely top-tier girl being escorted to her first professional fucking by the man that had broken her.  And once he had taken his pound of flesh, she could be theirs too; theirs to rent if only they were willing to pay her price, theirs to use until they'd worn out her body and then they could move on to using up the next beautiful woman that was available.  

Her escort held her arm as they walked around tiny tables and overstuffed leather recliners.  The ridiculous heels they made her wear forced her hips to roll even more than normal and Dana felt horribly self-conscious.  Even though completely humiliated, she did her best to hold her head high, ignoring the stares, the whispered evaluations and the rude, grotesque comments she was meant to hear.  

She felt like every man there measured the manner of her walk and the way she held herself, evaluating her body and her looks, her potential abilities in bed.  In surprise, she noted that while the men seemed overtly lecherous, the few women present seemed almost more predatory, if that could be possible.  The lust that emanated from the surrounding tables was so strong it could almost be smelled.  

They finally reached the flight of steps which led Dana to her first night as a forced woman of pleasure.  To make things worse, the well-lit staircase was long and steep as it curved up.  Almost everybody in the club room could see up her short skirt as she slowly mounted the stairs towards her not so secret rendezvous.  In another setting, she might have found this funny and used it to her advantage.  But here, now, it was only a further demeaning embarrassment, the humiliation planned, the shame fully controlled and the indignity completely exploited.

Dana finally reached the room to which she'd apparently been assigned.  Somehow, the door opened in front of Dana without anyone having made a move, so she knew she must still be being watched by someone somewhere.  She hesitated at the door, then finally entered after her escort gently pushed her shoulder.  She stopped just inside the open door and looked around.  

The room was large and luxuriously finished, but had a grim, authoritarian and functional feel to it.  Plush carpeting on the left led off to marble tiles that announced a private bathroom.  There was an over-sized bed in the far left corner, and a large, heavily pillowed couch and coffee table in far right.  An overstuffed arm chair occupied the final corner, behind which stood an expensive floor lamp next to a discrete, narrow dresser with drawers.

He sat in the chair, patiently waiting in shadows, in a corner so purposefully black it was hard to make out any details...but she would've recognized him anywhere....it was the man who controlled the dungeon.  Finally, he stood up and walked over to close the door behind Dana.  She could see him better now, could afford to pay more attention to his appearance now than when she had first met him.  Her first thought was that even though the man was old, at least fifty-five or sixty, he seemed to be in fairly good physical shape for his age.  Could she even think like that anymore?  That a man had to be in acceptable shape to make love to?

The man began immediately, “You can call me.....master Bashir.”  

She ignored him.  “Please,” she begged after a moment's silence.  “Don't do this to me.  I…..  Please don't do this.”

Bashir didn't become angry at her rudeness, rather he seemed almost accustomed to a woman begging for her life at this point; it was as if he expected no less from her.  

"It seems the brains really don't fall out of a woman like you."

Dana looked at him in confusion, before he continued.

“My dear, have you never felt the hand of fate across your brow?”

He spoke softly, in such odd, old-fashioned terms that she wondered for a moment if he was joking with her.  But his expression remained stark and unemotional, quite serious.  

“Does it feel like you've just awakened from a dream?  No matter.  As much as you might hate it, the rest of your life is suddenly clear in your mind, your path washed clear by the rain of what was taken from you.  It's very real, and when you realize that you have to live your life as God has dealt it to you, in that instant the way ahead seems clear and without obstacles, perhaps even unavoidable.  In this, you have no choice.”

Bashir smiled almost sweetly and went on.  “You American women, you are so odd.  I have watched you over the years.  Reason and pleasure and reward often have little effect.  But pain.....ahh, pain is the language you all understand.  Pain inspires you all.”

“You are such a young woman.  You are completely new to this and must be quite confused, so let me explain.  You'll be with men from now on, men that will pay us for your services.”  

He shook his head slowly.  “Stop crying now.  The reports say you are quite experienced with men.  But really, you're not.  You are too young to be truly experienced, boys, not men, that is what you have experience with.  You'll be one of our more expensive young women, but of course, that's why you have been chosen.  You may not like it at first, but you're going to do everything you’re told to do.  Eventually, I think that one like you will come to accept……perhaps even enjoy your new....duties.”


The smile suddenly left his face and he seemed more openly violent and aggressive.  “One more thing you had better know too.  You and your friends are.....disposable.  I can easily dispose of women like you.  And I am unusual in that I can take or leave casual sex with an American whore like you.......because here, it just doesn't matter.  You're no more than a passing fantasy to any of the good men here.  You have nothing that I can’t already get from a hundred girls more experienced than you.  But you new girls, you know yourselves, in your heart you all know you're eventually going to cooperate.  And that a year or two from now, you will be the experienced whores we offer.”  

The smile went away.  “Then later you'll probably cry and finally you will even hate yourselves afterwards.  All the time at first.  But in your heart, you also already know you're going to do exactly what we tell you to do.  Cooperate and you'll survive.  Fight us---play your silly little feminine games---and you'll be hurt a lot more than last night, and we will still get everything we want from you.  And your families will suffer along with you.  Sex and violence, it's your life now and you don’t get to choose how much....and how little of each you experience.”  

He gave her time to think about what he'd said.  “Is there anything that isn't clear?”

Stunned by his forthrightness, Dana hesitated for a second and then mutely shook her head.

“Good.  Did you get a note?”  

Dana mutely nodded her head.

“Do you understand?”

After a moment’s hesitation, she mutely nodded her head again.

"Then go ahead.  Begin.  Now."

Dana hesitated for a second and then slowly crossed to the bed and sat on the edge.  She crossed her legs as the script demanded, and the man saw the tabs of a garter belt suspender hooked to the top of the stocking.  Dana leaned forward, causing the skirt to inch even higher.  Then she swiveled and put her back against the foot of the bed, left leg over the other, right leg straight up in the air.  It was a cheesy burlesque move.  As the script had required, she now smoothed her stocking; her skirt had now ridden so high that Bashir could see the panties she wore.  

Bashir swallowed hard and then seemed to calm down as he went back to the corner, sat down and leaned forward in the upholstered chair as he clasped his hands.  

"Very nice.  Now, open your blouse, my dear," he said calmly, if unexpectedly.

Dana felt sudden shock at the unaccustomed reality of her new life, then felt her face coloring deep red.  She had barely begun to recover from what these monsters had done to her and her friends, and now this!  

She took a deep breath to steady herself......she had no choice now.  The beautiful teenager finally, reluctantly, reached up to the top button of her white blouse and opened it.  She took another deep breath and slowly worked her way down to the second button, then the third and fourth, and finally the last.  

She was a girl experienced at sex, but Dana suddenly realized that she’d always before used sex to control the boys and men she was with.  It’d been the feeling of control that had been so seductive to her.  Now, someone else had that control.  Now, she could only look blankly at the first man to have ever actually owned her body, as she waited for his next order.  She wanted to bolt, to run home seeking the safety and love of her father, but her legs felt too weak to move.  Besides, even if she could have escaped them, where would she have gone?  Where would she have hidden from these monsters that they wouldn't find her?  

Her blouse hung open, showing her off-white bra.  

"Pull it apart and hold it open," Bashir said.

He was toying with her.  Dana's face went even brighter red.....she was totally at his mercy, dependent upon his report to her new masters and she knew it.  The reluctant teenager slowly pulled her blouse free of her skirt and then separated the front, exposing her flat belly and the beautiful full breasts hidden in the creamy bra cups.  

"Undo your bra and show me your breasts.  Come now young woman, no more delays."

Dana had known this was coming, but could still hardly believe how sick to her stomach it made her feel.  She wanted this over as quickly as possible, so she obeyed with unsteady fingers, her fumbling hands reaching behind her back.  Finally undoing the clasp, she slowly pulled her bra cups up, baring her naked breasts.  Dana felt her face burning hot enough now that her skin felt like it was splitting; she was desperately fighting to not break into tears.

“Pull the blouse and bra apart and show me everything.”

Dana's trembling fingers fully bared her chest for his view.  While Bashir's casual assumption of dominance horrified her, his demand didn't hit as hard as it might have prior to even a few days ago.  She just felt numb right now.  Too many terrible things had happened and he'd already seen her naked body in too many awful positions to even number.  It was someone else doing this, her mind screamed silently; it wasn't her being forced to bare herself for a strange man like this.  Suddenly, she felt an uncontrolled wave of panic race through her.  To Dana's horror, her nipples started to become engorged as fear-based adrenaline laced her blood.

“Take it all off now, young woman.  Take off your blouse and bra.”

Dana's eyes teared up again, but she swallowed hard.  It was almost as if she were watching a movie, a very bad movie.  This couldn't be her doing this; it must be some other young woman in a cheesy Grade C porn movie stripping for an older man.  Her heart was thumping like it would leap out of her chest as Dana slowly took off her blouse and carefully hung it over the locked door knob.  She immediately felt foolish, for who would care tonight if her blouse got wrinkled?  With that thought racing around her mind, she shrugged her shoulders like she had a million times before in the privacy of her own bedroom, but this time it was different as her bra was quickly gone, dropped to the floor.

"That's a good girl.  Now turn around."

Dana's head came up as she closed her eyes and clenched her jaw.  She slowly turned her back to the man, wearing only the too tight, too short skirt below her waist.  But nothing changed; even with her eyes closed she could almost physically feel his eyes touching her as they roamed across the back of her body, including her legs.

"Very nice.  Very, very nice.  Very beautiful breasts, firm...high....just right.  And wonderful nipples too, just the kind I like.  Looks like you have a nice rear too.  You'll be popular here.  Are you wearing the G-string?"

She faced the wall with him at her back now.  It was a thong, not a G-string, but she wasn’t about to correct him.  Dana's voice cracked as she tried to answer, "Y..yes sir..."

She'd done some slutty things, but no one had ever spoken to her like this before.  She felt dirty, tawdry, like a cheap whore.  God!  If allowed to go on, she would be a whore.

"Did you wear thongs often?"

She didn't answer at first as she prayed that this was a bad dream from which she would soon wake up.  This had to be a nightmare, standing there being questioned about her underwear by a man she'd never met before.

"Yes sir, I wore them all the time," she finally replied.

"Good..........now pull your panties down to mid-thigh and keep your knees spread apart."

Dana still faced away from the man as she bit her lip.  She blinked back hot tears of shame as she slowly complied with his order.  She stood with her knees shoulder width apart as her suddenly numb hands seemingly moved by themselves.  They disappeared under her tiny skirt and pushed it up to her waist and then slowly eased the dark blue lacy thong off her hips.  Dana had to bend forward slightly to reach down to her knees.  As she did, she heard the man in the chair breathe in heavily.  The loud sound of breathing confirmed that he appreciated what he was looking at......the tops of her stockings and her bare ass, everything accentuated by the full labia that peeked back between her firm thighs.

Suddenly he said, “Freeze where you are.  Do not move a muscle.”  Dana remained awkwardly bent over facing the wall with her panties down around her spread knees.  She suddenly felt him standing behind her, then his hand slowly rose between her thighs and softly cupped her shaved vagina.  The touch of his fingertips on her recently shaved labia was surprisingly gentle.  After a moment, his hands stroked the insides of her nylon-sheathed thighs before intimately cupping her vulva one last time as one of his fingers rhythmically diddled her clitoris.  

Then his hand disappeared as he said, “You can stand up now—and turn around.”

Dana finally straightened up still facing the wall.  Gathering her courage, she awkwardly turned with her panties around her knees and faced her first client as a service whore.  He was seated again.  Like her, Bashir was just staring now.  But while she was in a trembling daze, he appeared greatly aroused and barely under control.  Dana could still feel his imaginary hands between her legs and she knew she looked cheap and terribly sleazy; overdone makeup, breasts exposed, wearing nothing but stockings and a ridiculously short skirt now pulled up around her waist, and her panties twisted around her knees.

“You are a beautiful young woman,” he said softly.  Dana just looked at him silently.  Bashir as a flatterer just didn't work.

"Come over here, Dana.  Next to me."

Dana hesitated before walking unsteadily toward the man on the unfamiliar stiletto-heels, her panty-bound knees severely limiting the length of her stride.  As she slowly approached him, her thongs abruptly fell around her ankles and she almost tripped before she stepped out of them.  Suddenly, she realized with a sense of shock that the man had unzipped his pants and was sitting in the chair with a huge bulge in his underwear.  

Initially, the butterflies in her stomach had just been roiling, but now Dana felt them leaping, cavorting in her immediately acidized stomach.  Dana closed her eyes; she was not a virgin and should not have been surprised, but she still felt a surprisingly deep sense of shame at what she knew would be demanded next; it was her helplessness, her inability to influence her fate that so galled her.  But even as reluctant as she was to admit that this strange, terrible man now controlled her fate, the young girl still somehow forced herself to approach her new master.

"I didn't give you permission to take off your panties....even though you know what I can do to you, you are still willful.  It seems you might need more lessons on obedience.  Go get them and bring them to me, then get on your knees in front of me."

Her knees were shaking so hard it was difficult to remain standing.  Quickly, Dana did as she was told, keeping her knees demurely together and swiveling her bent knees and closed legs to the right to pick up her lost underwear.  She handed him what he wanted, then knelt before him, putting her face on level with his crotch.

The man stood up in front of her, invading her personal space with his groin and hips, "Now take off my pants."

Dana fought back useless tears again as she unzipped the man, pulled his pants down to his ankles and then finally off.  

"It is time, young woman.  Please remove the rest now."

Dazed, her mind working on autopilot, Dana slowly pulled his old-fashioned underwear off of his hips.  With a victorious smile, the man who had been so cruel to her only a few hours ago sat back down on the edge of the chair.  Suddenly, he grabbed a handful of her hair and dragged her slowly onto the chair with him, then between his legs as he ran his hands over her body.  She was still on her knees, but now with her face in his groin; there was no doubt what he wanted.  

Finally bared, she could see that his erection was longer than she was used to and certainly thicker than normal at the end.  From the bulbous, purple uncircumcised tip, his shaft narrowed somewhat at its base almost eight inches away.  All in all, while he was not the largest man she'd ever been with, he had to be in the top ten....and she'd been with a lot of men.

Afraid and trying to avoid further beatings, she edged a little closer; reaching up, she grabbed his erection and licked it for lubrication.  After a moment, she reluctantly guided the head of his cock into her mouth, using one hand to pump the shaft as she began to suck.  The head of his hard meat filled her mouth and left little room to spare, with at least three inches still showing.  Dana heard another sharp intake of breath as her mouth closed and she accepted his meat.  She hated doing this, giving him pleasure like this, but slowly she wetted his penis and finally took him all the way in....as deep as she could--still an inch showing.  God!  He was huge!  She could feel his hand as it gripped the back of her head to control her movements, something she had never allowed her other lovers to do.  Finally, she began to pump the base of his cock with her hand as she sucked on him.  

He responded enthusiastically almost immediately, "Uhhhmmmmmm!!  Oohhhh, yesss!  As soon as I read your file, I knew you'd be good at this.......but this......is heaven....ohhh.......ohhHH…from one as young as you."

Leaving himself filling her mouth, Bashir suddenly let go of her hair and reaching down, pulled her tiny skirt even higher, just to bare her beautiful ass to the hidden cameras as she worked his cock.  She sucked earnestly, despite the odor emanating from his crotch and the foul taste of his erection.  She sucked hard, hating what he forced her to do, but eager to get it over with.  Within seconds she'd begun to salivate and drool accumulated in her mouth.  The sounds in the room became wetter and more intense.   Finally, with effort, she got the remaining inch in her mouth by taking at least three inches down her throat.  God!  She had to gag!  She always did with men this big, even though she'd gotten bigger men than him all the way in her mouth. 

Bashir was fucking her face now, jerking her head back and forth as he enjoyed the sight and feeling of this heavenly young creature.  Just like so many before her, forced to crouch on her knees before him, her mouth and throat and hands working his ancient erection.  The suction of her mouth on his rod, the feel of her hard body and soft breasts beneath his hands, the erotic sounds that escaped from Dana's mouth, they all turned him on more and more by the minute.  


The Whole World’s A Phony Stage or Bashir the Bastard Had Set Both Of Them Up

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door and she froze.  Apparently not surprised at being disturbed, to her astonishment the man only said, "Come!"

Dana frantically tried to pull her face from his lap, pull her mouth off his erection, but Bashir held on tightly to her short hair and kept her trapped with her face planted in his groin.  His erection still filled her mouth and the only sound she could make as she struggled for a short second was “Mmmm, urrgghhh, mmm.”

Dana glanced out of the corner of her eyes.  To her horror, the door to this bedroom opened and Linda suddenly appeared in the doorway.  But Linda was looking and dressed in way no one had ever before seen.  In an odd voice, she asked if Dana was busy.  There was no way for Dana to hide the fact that her face was buried between the old man's thighs and that his cock filled her mouth.  

The man who temporarily owned her body had to clear his throat before he could speak. "Dana?  She's....busy."  Bashir glanced with meaning at his new teenage whore's bare ass, currently pushed into the air and at her face buried in his crotch.  Between his withered thighs, Dana actually felt his erection pulse and throb on her tongue and if anything, it felt like it suddenly grew about an inch.  

“But I want you to wait just a minute.”

“Yes sir.”  Linda hesitated before she entered the room, but as she did the door closed behind her.


Linda was still in shock from her trip through the meat market.  Even though she couldn't see well without her glasses, she could see well enough to understand what her captors were making her do and it had been horribly embarrassing.  Clutching the sheer gown to her chest in a futile attempt to cover the nakedness her top had been designed to emphasize, Linda was totally bewildered at the incredible intensity of the silent, yet obviously bared need and desire every man and woman in the room displayed.  

Each one had exhibited absolute lust towards a young woman they had to know was being forced into this position.  On her limping, terrible trip up the winding stairs, the men actually licked their lips in their eagerness to possess her.  Once she fully understood that to these people she was even more desirable because of her helplessness and vulnerability, the openly displayed sexual depravity had left her even more horribly frightened.

After the meat market, her escort ordered her to ask for Dana in the room to which she was finally delivered.  As usual, the door to the room somehow opened automatically at her approach and she entered slowly, unaccompanied by her escort.  Her mind still buzzed with confusion and fear, and it took her eyes a few seconds to adjust to the darkness.  But after a moment in the dark room, her confusion had calmed enough that she was finally able to look around and she began to recognize a few details.  

Again, while poor, her eyesight was still good enough to realize that except for a small strip of dark cloth high around her waist and the sheer navy stockings held up by a garter belt, Dana was naked and on her knees with a man's erection filling her mouth.  The hands of the man who sat hidden in shadow caressed the back of Dana's head, but it didn't seem he was forcing her to do anything she didn't already want to do.  She was willingly...........

As she took another step closer, the man in the shadows was resolved as the monster Bashir.  Shocked to see Dana hunched over the old man's lap, Linda hated her at that moment.  This was the man who had tortured them!  Dana had always been the girl in school who was considered easy, yet a rich father ensured her reputation had never suffered for it.  She hated the way that Dana seemed to fit right in here, even seemed to enjoy herself, doing what seemed to come so naturally.  Dana didn't understand, couldn't appreciate what Linda had just given up for her and Ursula.  What it took for her to dress like this, what torture it was to wait for what she knew was coming, to...to....be forced to become like Dana.  Oh God, please help me.  Linda truly hated Dana for causing what was about to happen to her and she regretted having ever submitted to these men's desires to save trash like her!


"Mmmm,” Bashir turned his attention back to Dana.  “You ARE so very good at this; I just hope your friends are half as good."  Bashir started face-fucking Dana again with exaggerated hip thrusts, but this time his moves were meant for Linda's novice eyes.  All the while, his comments were interspersed between guttural grunts and groans of approval.

"Yesss.  Uhh.  That's good.  You are a professional....at this.....your mouth.....is very soft and.......feels so good!  Mmm, that's it.........all the way.....take it down your throat......ahhhhh.....oh yes."

As Dana worked on his groin, Bashir began speaking to Linda.  “You have apparently held yourself....” he was forced to stop again for a second to fully acknowledge Dana's attentions.  He swallowed heavily, “That's a good girl.  Oh, you ARE goooood at this, aren't you?”

He then continued his broken conversation with Linda again.  “You have avoided.....this type......of behavior......the groping in cars…at night.......the sexual experiments…with other teenagers.”  

He gasped softly in wonder and delight, then paused once more to appreciate Dana's latest move before speaking to Linda again.  “That's good and it's bad.......it's bad because now it puts your skills.......behind those of this beautiful young thing.......that is your friend.  Watch her......oh yes, learn from her.  Until you are at least as good as her.............you'll be given extra opportunities.......to improve your skills.”  

Bashir paused as Dana reached a critical juncture, then he continued between gasps for breath.  “And even though......you may not care what happens to you..........like before, your friends will.....also suffer every punishment given to you.  And…if you are truly bad enough…..your mother and father too.”


Busy concentrating on satisfying her new master, Dana only vaguely heard the soft sob emanate from across the room from where Linda watched; then there was silence again.  Trying to increase the old man's pleasure so that he came more quickly, Dana slowly changed the tempo as she sucked at the shaft of blood-hardened meat which protruded from his lap.  At the same time, she slowed the pumping, stroking motion of her hand at the base of his erection.  Soon his breathing slowed down and he groaned again in anticipation of the pleasure to come at the expense of the beautiful young woman.  Carefully leaning over, he picked up the teenager's discarded panties.  The old man brought them to his nose and inhaled deeply. 


Occasionally, his hands went from the back of her head to slowly stroking her firm breasts as they hung down and swayed with each bob of her head.  He pinched her then and sometimes pulled hard on her nipples, just to feel the vibrations as she groaned with pain around the cock which filled her mouth.  He knew her throat was probably sore from the long throat-fuckings she'd been given only a few hours ago, but Bashir didn't care as the tip of his ancient cock banged hard against her tonsils with each drive of his hips and every tug on her hair.  



With a final lurch of his hips, the man jammed his cock down Dana's throat as far as he could, choking her and spattering the insides of his thighs with the drool that had accumulated in her mouth.  

Like the main character in a cheap porno movie, he bellowed "AhhhhHHHHHH!" as he pulled out a little and then came hard.  Dana felt heavy strings of cum spatter against the back of her mouth and throat, then begin sliding slickly down her gullet.....more steaming hot, honey-thick liquid than she would ever have thought a man like this could have produced.  A few more upward jerks of his hips with Dana's mouth still locked firmly around his cock, then Bashir sagged and relaxed in his seat.  Dana thought to herself as tears suddenly flooded her eyes, texture aside, it always tasted the same.  Her eyes unfocused as she grimly ignored the thick sensation as it stuck along the side of her throat for a second, before continuing its slow journey to her stomach.  


"Ohhhhh!  That was soooo gooood," he moaned out loud, as his hips moved and gave tiny jerks of his cock in her mouth again and again.  As this wanton slut's new master, he felt more than physically satisfied somehow, for she represented yet another Western woman completely submitting to a Muslim man's needs.  Given the nature of their women and the weakness of their men, it was inevitable his people would win the current cultural war, even if it took another century.  Take their women, break them to the ways of his clan and tribe, use them until they were used up, then leave them pregnant with a Muslim child as their worn out asses were sold to the highest bidder.  That was the way the strong always controlled the weak.


Dana fought the impulse to gag as even more semen dribbled into her mouth. But finally, it seemed he was empty, at least for now.  With her mouth still impaled by the old man's erection, all Dana could do was glance at Linda again still out of the corner of her eye.  Linda looked everywhere but at her, then struggled to put her eyes back on the man and what he did.  Linda’s face was red and her eyes glittered with unshed tears.  It was clear that Linda had been sent to the room to see Dana's humiliation at Bashir's hands.  She was, if anything, more embarrassed by the encounter than was Dana.  The second thing Dana noticed was that from the way her friend was dressed, it was clear that Linda was headed towards her own sexual rendezvous.

Spent, Bashir slowly pulled his saliva and cum-slick cock out of her mouth.  Dana hated what he'd just done to her in front of Linda and she didn't know how to react; she didn't want to swallow, but she didn't dare spit out the still-hot semen either.


Linda stood by the door, frozen in disbelief and embarrassment.  Dana in turn, felt crushed by humiliation too at the way it must look, sensing that Linda couldn't understand, couldn’t believe what she was seeing.  Her mind almost as full of misgivings as her mouth was of his seed, at the urging of his hands, Dana somehow continued licking the old man's cock like a lollypop and tried to look at Linda obliquely at the same time.  Dana's mind was whirling, but the first thought that popped into her mind was, Oh no, not her too.  Linda looked like some sort of a sexy bride---what would they make her do?  

Linda’s face was covered with ridiculously overdone makeup.  Dana could see that the good girl she’d barely known in high school was scared to death, knuckles white from tension as Linda clutched to her chest a sheer, lacy white robe that only came to mid-thigh; a robe that even while held tightly closed, still hid nothing.  It was obvious that underneath it the frightened girl wore a white lace babydoll top that allowed her surprisingly firm breasts to hang free in front.  A lacy white garter belt held up sheer flesh toned stockings and over these garters she wore a tiny white G-string.  On her feet there were very expensive strappy white evening sandals with extreme, five-inch stiletto-heels.  The bizarre, almost dazzling white outfit was finished off by a white velvet choker and she had a white flower in her hair.  


This Presentation is Rated WTF or Two Young, Beautiful Women and One Heartless Bastard

"Now.  What did you think of that, Linda?" Bashir winked at the shy, religious young woman who stood frozen in front of him, her face riven by a look of horror.  Linda shook her head mutely, unable to answer the old man.

"Your friend really loves the taste of a good man.  Don't you, Dana?" Bashir asked, chuckling, as he looked at her.  Dana was still trying to decide what to do, whether she should swallow the man's vile semen or spit it out.  With his comment, she had no choice but to slowly nod her head in agreement.

Bashir said in a sly tone, "Why don't you open your mouth and show us what you have there?"

Hating him and herself, Dana obeyed after a moment's hesitation and slowly opened her mouth, displaying to Linda the fresh, pearly white, thick and sticky semen he'd left on her tongue.  "You both may be hot young things, as you Americans say.  But you're ours now.  Our whores.'

He spoke to Dana.  “Keep my gift right where it is," he said in an arrogant, abusive tone as he stood up.  "Don't spill a drop!"

“Now for you, young woman.”  He faced Linda.  “I think our doctor might be correct and you might actually be that rarity here, a young woman who has saved herself.  Certainly, you're new to this.  Perhaps you need some relief before it begins for real?”  

“Yes,” Bashir continued, agreeing with himself before she could say a word, “I can see that you do.  But first remove that interfering long gown you wear.”

Linda hesitated and the old man knew that this was another psychological turning point for the girl.  If she obeyed him without requiring additional physical force, the rest would be much easier.  His voice harsh, Bashir repeated his command.  “Take off the gown NOW!”  The teenage virgin finally found the strength to comply and it whispered to the floor.  Bashir relaxed again; she was definitely theirs for the taking.  

"Dana would love to help you out now, wouldn't you Dana?" he offered.

Still on her knees, Dana couldn't look at Linda’s face, but could only stare at the floor instead, head held low in shame.  When he repeated his question, she nodded, still without being able to look at Linda.

He looked at Linda, “Now go sit on the edge of the bed, my dear.”  

Linda hesitated for almost thirty seconds, then in a daze she walked obediently to the bed, stumbling only once before she sat down stiffly, still not used to the sexy evening sandals with the five-inch stiletto-heels she had been given to wear.

“Now spread your knees nice and wide.”  Linda looked at him helplessly, her eyes tearing.  Seeing no mercy in his stony face, she then looked at the teenage girl resting on her knees next to her.  Dana guiltily refused to meet her gaze.  Finally, never looking at Bashir, Linda complied slowly, her long, shapely legs moving jerkily apart.

“More.  Now your ankles.  Further apart.”  Linda somehow complied.  

“That is lovely.  You truly are a gorgeous young thing.  Dana, go over to your good friend Linda.”

Almost in tears, Dana nodded, then edged forward on her knees over to where Linda waited.  Linda sat as if in a trance, looking at the wall over Dana's head, refusing to look at her, avoiding the treacherous, slutty eyes of the girl she thought she’d known, one of the girl’s for whom she sacrificed everything.  Linda's lips moved silently as she entreated over and over, “Pleasedon'tpleasedon'tdothis.”  Dana noticed that the left side of Linda's face was red, as if she had been slapped.

Both girls looked incredibly erotic to Bashir and to everyone else watching the camera monitors that night.  The beautiful young Dana, with just the slightest trace of cum on her chin; the only thing that marred an otherwise gorgeous and perfectly made-up face.  Her nylon-clad knees whispered softly as she moved across the floor, high-heels still on her feet.  Silvery earrings emphasized her long, sexy neck as they swung with every little movement of her head.

Then there was Linda.  Full breasts peeking, no, actually gloriously thrust through the front of the sheer white lingerie top she wore, long stocking-clad legs which gleamed lustrously in the poor light, beautiful LONG legs that were now reluctantly spread wide to welcome the mouth of her female friend.  

“Now, Dana, I want you to give just a little pleasure to your friend.  I'm sure she's earned it.”  

As she leaned forward between Linda's thighs, Dana whispered around a mouth full of semen, “I'm sorry.  I'm so sorry.”  Then Dana began to tug Linda's thong off.  In a daze, Linda lifted her hips just enough to help.  The white panties were quickly down around Linda's ankles, then discarded on the floor.  

"You know what you need to do, Dana.  Give my gift to Linda.  Deliver my gift to her.  Do it now," Bashir said in a sly tone, a smile on his face.  Dana's head slowly, reluctantly moved forward into Linda's crotch and her tongue unwillingly speared Linda's now shaved vagina.  Linda's head snapped up in shock as the other girl’s tongue pushed more and more deeply inside her.  Finally it was deep enough, and as Dana opened her lips, Bashir's saliva-thinned cum rolled down her curled tongue and was delivered second-hand into Linda's vagina.  Dana's mouth was soon empty, but his rotten semen still coated the inside her mouth.  Without be ordered to do so, Dana licked Linda's clitoris to ensure that every drop possible had been given away.  Even this saliva-thinned mixture Dana eventually smeared on Linda's labia and the insides of her thighs at his command.  

Linda's eyes closed in almost physical pain as she felt Dana's tongue probing deeply inside her, pushing his semen deeper into her vagina and Bashir could see her lips moving as she prayed.  But nothing saved her from experiencing forced oral sex with her high school classmate.  


Wet And Pink And Fully Available or Just Nibble Please, Don't Gulp

This was far beyond the worst nightmare Linda could ever have imagined.  She wanted to fight, to somehow deny them what they demanded, but she could also see that Dana had already been beaten.  And now, like the compliant whore Linda knew she had always been, the other girl seemed only concerned with satisfying the monster’s every demand.  Linda also knew that in addition to the whorish Dana, Ursula's safety also depended upon how she acted with this man.  

Linda knew that if she were a true believer, she should be able to forgive this young girl for everything she did; but instead, she burned with hot hatred for what Dana now represented, of what she so willingly seemed to do.  But she felt icy too somehow at the same time, frozen inside, unable to move away or even think about arguing with this man.  She felt her face slowly freeze, all shock hidden and her body almost numb as Dana's tongue licked the insides of her thighs before it slowly poked between her labia once again.  

Linda gritted her teeth and held herself so stiff that it hurt her back; she felt nothing, was filled with revulsion for the girl between her thighs.  

It only got worse.  She closed her eyes as she tried to ignore Dana, but her eyes flew open in shock when after a few seconds, the terrible old man leaned over and re-arranged her top, freeing her breasts from any flimsy cover they might have found.  Then he pulled her ankles ever further apart, allowing Dana unlimited access to her vagina.  Linda closed her eyes again; she could still feel Dana intimately probing her most secret places.  Linda had to close her eyes; feeling Dana between her thighs was bad enough by itself, she was afraid she would vomit if she watched what Dana did to her too.


After a minute, the man went over and fondled Linda's breasts for a second, then tugged her shapely ankles ever further apart until she sat on the edge of the bed with her knees spread as wide as possible, her sheer cinnamon-colored stockings gleaming dully in the well-lit room.  Neither girl knew it, but he was posing them both for the cameras that were recording everything that happened between them.  

Head bobbing up and down, Dana continued sucking on Linda's pussy and clitoris for over five minutes. Finally, even for Linda it became too much.  She could no longer sit upright and pretend nothing was happening.  To ease the strain on her lower back, she leaned back and rested on her elbows, coincidentally making it easier for the novice whore crouching between her thighs to continue eating her pussy.  

Bashir silently approved of Linda's move, since it forced her to assume an even more wanton and slutty position.  He stood up, walked over and then opened Linda's teddy even more, rearranging her breasts, enticing and pulling both of them even more completely through the holes in front and ensuring that the elastic firmly encircled the base of the beautiful breasts that now lay bared above the captive girl’s tiny waist.  The girl allowed him to touch here there even though the emotions crossing her face told him exactly how she felt.  He smiled to himself, so she wasn’t very happy with him manipulating her that way?

To make her appear even more wanton for the multiple cameras capturing everything which went on in the room, he then stretched her legs out again but this time spread them even wider apart for the camera.  Like a marionette with the strings cut, he posed the unresisting young woman in different positions, each ensuring maximum genital exposure.  The oral sex continued until he thought Linda might finally be enjoying it just the tiniest bit, then he said in casual tone to the young girl laying back on the bed with her gorgeous legs spread so far apart, “Stop now!  You!  Go to your assigned room now and wait for me.”

Pussy-eating obviously completed for now, the girl Dana looked up and then rocked back on her heels, looking like she wanted nothing more than to vomit into the nearby toilet and then brush her teeth for at least half an hour.  At the same time, the one named Linda exhaled and leaned forward towards her knees again as with shaking hands, she tried to cover her bared chest.  

Once her erstwhile friend had moved back from between her knees, the dark haired girl stood up, her naked vagina glistening briefly in the low light from Dana's mixture of saliva and semen.  He smiled as she wobbled for a second due both to the unfamiliar heels she wore as well as her shaky knees almost giving out.  The girl closed her eyes for a second to gather her strength, then picked up and put back on the sheer gown she’d been forced to takeoff in the beginning.  Finally ready, she slowly headed for the door without a glance back at her friend kneeling on the floor.  


The Albanian watched in his office, courtesy of the secret cameras installed in the room.  He watched Dana with his head tilted to the side as he examined her face in the monitor.  The new girl had in the beginning seemed more concerned with getting rid of what Bashir had deposited in her mouth than with pleasing her customer.  She had thereby earned a few surprises, but he made a note to himself that her real punishment would start when his breaker had finished with her.  He had an almost unlimited number of men to use when teaching Dana.  She'd quickly tire, but after she'd sucked off thirty or so men one immediately after the other, under their strict supervision she'd soon learn to act in a more pleasing manner.


Beating Her Softly In A Loving Sort Of Way or Disciplining Her Needs With Cane And Care

Trying to be strong, Dana quickly stifled a sob as she stood shakily by the bed and watched Linda depart, leaving her alone with the monster.  She swayed unsteadily, her skirt still a wrinkled mass around her waist.  

“Now strip, young woman!  Take off the skirt, but leave the stockings and heels.  Now!”

Dana nodded quickly, her head bowed and eyes closed as she tried to stop the tears.  She slowly unsnapped and unzipped the mini-skirt, then oozed it off her hips.  It had been easy to manipulate her into looking like a cheap slut who wanted nothing more than to cooperate with her degradation.  She fully realized now nothing could save her from what these men planned.  Nothing.  She looked at him, her panties still in his hand.

"No panties for the rest of night," Bashir said with a wicked smile.  

Eyes closed again and lost in her own world of desperate thoughts, Dana sensed his approach, but didn't look at him.  Her life was a nightmare, she could not believe how low these men had forced her to stoop in satisfying them.  She glanced out of the corner of her eyes; one of the upper drawers on the dresser was open now.  She caught only a glimpse as he neared her carrying a black, leather dog collar.  He'd apparently had “toys” delivered before her arrival.  Dana couldn't help herself as she cringed like a truly frightened woman when he fastened it around her neck.  

Once she'd been collared, he had her stand at the foot of the bed, bend over and put her fingers on the floor next to her feet.  Flexible enough to accomplish this task, she was not to move under threat of the worst beating of her life.


The captive teenage girl was learning to obey his orders explicitly.  The best part was that when she’d turned towards the foot of the bed, her exposed butt cheeks, though quite firm, had still quivered slightly as she’d deliciously performed an exaggerated model’s sashay in front of him.  He didn’t know if it was because she was afraid or because the stilettos were too unstable.  But he really didn’t care either.  

Bent over and touching the floor, Dana fully revealed her absolutely gorgeous ass to all who might wish to look upon her teenage beauty.  Bashir wished, almost, that someone else could be her handler, just for a few hours, and that he could watch her being manipulated....anything just to look at her body for a little while longer.  She was not a tall girl, but she had remarkably long legs for her size.  Bent over for him now, the teenager's long, elegant legs were locked at the knees and her thighs were pressed tightly together.  The stockings gave her an almost irresistibly erotic look and the high-heels made her muscled calves and thighs incredibly sexy and shapely.  

Like his Albanian master, as a Muslim, Bashir too despised this girl and everything of the decadent West she represented....but the man in him wanted her too.  For she was truly beautiful, with a gloriously developed ass in which firm out-thrust buttocks above were separated by two well-developed horizontal creases from her well-muscled thighs below.  Then there was the tantalizing disappearance of those horizontal folds of flesh into the darkness that hid between her thighs, and finally, the cleft between her buttocks that would be so welcoming to him in just a little while.

He had been privileged to see many beautiful Western females present their “treasures” to him in this way, and over time he had learned to successfully mask his inner emotions with his outward demeanor of controlled calm.  Now, however, these feelings threatened an almost irresistible re-connection.  The girl may have been a spoiled brat, a cheap young Western whore both by choice and nature.  

But Dana's current attractiveness was not due just to her physical perfection alone, rather it was to him erotically enhanced a thousand-fold by the situation in which the teenager now found herself; the setting they had devised for her, the sexy things they forced her to wear, the willing, docile behavior they demanded she exhibit for them.  All of these things represented his unlimited power over her, his ability to completely and totally degrade this young defenseless girl.  The sight of her firm, shapely cheeks perfectly framed by the vertical garter straps, then the vertical lines of muscle her thighs topped by the horizontal lines of the dark stocking tops; taken together it all seemed to make her infinitely more sexy and desirable – and also explicitly promised to both of them that it would be she that would satisfying his needs tonight regardless of her personal desires.  And unlike so many of these whores, at least this one would have had enough experience to develop an expertise at satisfying men.  

Bashir had almost forgotten that he was still holding the cane stalk he had taken from the dresser drawer a minute ago.  He took up his normal position to the left of Dana's unwillingly proffered bottom and raised the cane for its first stroke across that perfection of divided symmetry.  He noticed the young woman's eyes were wide open as she stared in apprehension at the floor.  

Her master for the night decided the girl’s first stroke would be straight across the top.  Bashir took a deep breath, raised his arm and paused for a long moment, then Swisshh THWHAPPP!  The supple cane blurred, wrapped itself around her hips in an erotic hissing caress of infinite energy and then bounded back, quick as a striking snake, the instant after striking her flesh.  The full impact of rattan on her ass cheeks vibrated in his wrist and his desire for her still unmarked body surged at the moment, but he refused to give in to it.  

The girl's ass and hips jumped in sudden pain reflex and the teenager uttered a loud gasp at the shock of the blow; her eyes were now squeezed shut with pain.  But she obediently held her position as ordered, allowing Bashir a moment to contemplate the thin crimson line that suddenly appeared as if by magic across the top of her ass; that beautiful ass stretched between the framing garters and which was now clenched so tight in anticipation of the next blow.

Bashir was a master at maximizing his women's pain.  He paused, but not for too long, perhaps fifteen seconds the first time, but no longer.  Then he raised his cane to administer the second stroke.  The third blow however, took over a minute to be delivered, and by time it came the girl was making soft mewing noises of terrified anticipation.  And so he continued, for eight beautiful, hard strokes.  The girl was sobbing now, soft sounds of pain which proved his God-given mastery over weak females like this.


The evening's events spun around in her mind, threatening to drive her insane.  Despite what had happened during the kidnapping, Dana had never before been forced to do something like this, remain motionless just to accept a beating from a maniac.  For the first time in her protected life she was absolutely consumed by fear because she knew the penalty for disobedience was even worse.  Physically and emotionally exhausted from the very beginning, terrified, still confused and her mind not working well, .  

She had entered the room and almost before she could think, she had found herself ordered to strip for his pleasure.  Obey or suffer had been her only two choices and she had complied without any conscious thought of disobedience.  Dana had been almost too petrified to walk; her garments had simply dropped to the floor, deposited wherever she had been at the moment.  Then the horrible, humiliating scene with Linda.  

Now this!  Overwhelmed by a deep sense of helplessness, feelings she had not experienced since childhood, Dana forced herself to somehow remain in the humiliating position he demanded.  Her orderly world crushed down around her and in sheer defense of her sanity Dana tried to make her mind blank, staring at the floor in front of her eyes as she sensed him preparing to strike.

But perversely, at this exact moment her mind experienced a sudden clearness that had been missing until now; with a rush of emotions that could not be explained, she suddenly felt every ache of her muscles, the tingle of every nerve eagerly waiting for the next sensation, the trace across her skin of a single drop of sweat.  


Now this hyper-alertness.  At the last moment Dana thought to inhale, to breathe deeply in anticipation of the coming pain.  She took several deep, quick breaths to cleanse her lungs.  With terrified expectancy she held her last breath for it was clearly time again.  Swisssh THWHACK!  The awful sound registered clearly in her brain even as an acid-sharp line of fire suddenly leaped across the top of her buttocks and hips.  

Dana clenched her jaws and squeezed her eyes shut as she heard herself gasp with the quickly mounting pain.  Eventually, she found herself able to breathe again as the pain of the burning line on her flesh began to diminish just a little.  She had never been treated like this before, but still tried to force herself to be strong.  She knew there was so much more to come.  She grabbed her ankles more firmly and held on, for Dana knew that if she did not, she would never be able to withstand the complete discipline he had already planned for her failure.  

Somehow, with teeth gritted and tears splashing the floor around her feet, Dana was able to maintain the position demanded by her new master as the next seven strokes professionally seared her lower body.  Finally, it seemed to Dana that the terrible man might have finished toying with her as he said, “Get up.  Brush your teeth and gargle.  Time to take care of your man, just like a good woman.”  

Her horrifying journey felt like it had lasted an eternity, but in actuality, it had lasted less than five minutes.  His words still rung in her ears, but the meaning had not fully registered for her mind was still integrating other things; her nakedness and exposure to this man and what it truly meant, her throbbing and stinging bottom, the embarrassment of having been spanked, of actually having been beaten with a rattan cane.  But when he raised the cane in a threat to hit her again, Dana finally understood his orders and dutifully scurried to the bathroom and began cleansing herself for him.  

When she came back, he was lying on the bed naked.  He patted the bed by his side in a familiar manner; she slowly, uncomfortably walked over and lay down next to him on her back.  Dana froze in that position, buttocks aching and burning against the bed sheet.  She closed her eyes in horrified anticipation as he inched his way closer to her right side.  Bashir lay on his left side and rested his head on his left hand, elbow pushed into the mattress.  His right hand slowly pulled Dana's nylon-clad thigh over his, the inside of her dully lustrous leg now draped over his hip so that he could feel the satiny-slick feel of the nylon which encased her leg.


He leaned in close to her shoulder and sniffed her clean, teenage smell.  “Men will take advantage of you, degrade you.....they will pay money to do so.  Pay us for the right to treat you in ways they would never treat their loved ones.  The one rule that you will obey is, if it makes your clients feel better, then allow them their satisfaction.  We will decide if and when, they go too far.  As for you, the sex and the embarrassment they might cause, it doesn't have to be real.  Let it go.  Make it a job.  Pretend in your mind.  At least you'll keep your sanity.”

When he next spoke, it was with a calm that belied his words.  “I would be very sad if we had to get rid of you because you had lost your mind.  Some here do, you know.”  

Bashir's hands and fingers traced slow patterns on the inside of her leg as he talked, beginning at her knee and slowly trailing up her silky thigh until the tips of his fingers reached the top of her stocking.  

Bashir said, “Look at me, woman.  Look into my eyes.”  

Dana looked into the face of the man who literally personified her nightmarish new life, the man who had just made her give him a blowjob and then perform oral sex on a girl with whom she’d gone to high school; she was so afraid.  Suddenly Dana began crying helplessly and couldn't stop.  She wanted to stop, she tried to stop, but she just couldn't.  

Bashir slowly, softly stroked the inside of her thighs and allowed her to cry.  Eventually, she was cried out, but he never stopped the long, sensuous caresses of her hard teenage body.  Sometimes his fingers stopped at the end of her nylons before beginning their slow trip back down the inside of her thigh.  Sometimes his fingers played under the top of her stocking, before they continued up the inside of her thigh, then lightly trailed over her labia before separating the folds of sweaty flesh he found there before probing her vagina.  

Sometimes he leaned down and guided one or both of Dana's nipples into his mouth at the same time.  He massaged them softly, circling the hardened nubs with his tongue before he began sucking as hard as he could, always looking up into her eyes as he brought quick looks of pain to her face.  

Twice he reached down and raised her foot so that it rested lightly on him, fondling her clit for several minutes at a time.  Dana felt like a zombie, like her emotions had been surgically removed.  But she still maintained enough awareness to ensure her high-heels did not dig into him as he stroked her leg from ankle to pussy. Every now and then he would lean over and kiss her on the lips.  The soft kisses made her want to vomit, but instead her breath caught in her throat as she tried not to sob too loudly.

Either Bashir was a patient man or he enjoyed seeing a teenage girl in emotional pain and psychological distress, for he toyed with her for over an hour.


PART Eight: An experienced girl begins the long journey down

The Bondage of Rubber and The Discipline of Steel or One Of Amy’s Biggest Problems Was That She Didn’t Know How To Ask For Help

Things had changed for Amy.  She was sore from last night, really sore, but it wasn't anything she hadn't felt a hundred times before.  After satiating the mark, she'd been escorted through the meat market to a different cell rather than back to her normal room, a space more Spartan and much less nice.  Her first concern had been to clean herself.  Afterwards she had explored the tiny room, only to discover that what little personal belongings she had been allowed to possess had been delivered prior to her arrival.  What was going on?  Could they be demoting her?  Apprehensive, she still somehow managed a little uneasy sleep.  Awakening later than normal, she dressed in the abbreviated workout clothes allowed the sex captives, then waited patiently.  An escort eventually showed up with two other girls and took them to the ill-equipped gym where she endured a short workout.  


Even more nervous now and not understanding what was happening, the teenager submissively struggled into the skin-tight garment while eying the men.  The suit fit like a custom-made glove, forming a thin second skin which covered her from neck to ankles.  Her belly button was a sexy concavity clearly visible beneath the taut, shiny rubber.  Shoving her breasts through the too-small holes provided in the front of the suit was both a difficult and uncomfortable chore.  At the end her breasts rested on a small hard rubber shelf which protruded from below the constrictive openings.  This pushed her tits up and out, making better than average-sized breasts just that much more prominent.  Her dark pink nipples stood proudly erect from her efforts, literally crying out for a man's attention.  

Regardless of how she'd suffered here and how she’d learned to deal with her nakedness, Amy still retained the tiniest kernel of modesty, for once she glanced in the mirror, she realized with shock how the suit made her look somehow more than naked.  Quickly, she Velcro’d to her chest the softly padded rubber cups that both contained and covered her breasts.  

The last items were high-heeled boots that rose to just below her knees.....and the hood.  Amy put her long hair into a pony tail and threaded it through the hole in the top of the hood before pulling it down over her face.  Finally, with an odd feeling in her stomach, she sat on the edge of the bed and waited patiently while one of the men braided her hair, then put some kind of a weight on the end.  Finished, she stood and stared at her reflection in the mirror; the look hid nothing and reminded her of Anne Hathaway in one of the Batman movies, sort of a sexy, modern day Catwoman, she thought.

The two men who insisted she put on the suit unexpectedly fastened a thin, yet strong chain around her hips, leaving three feet of excess hanging down in back.  Suddenly, they grabbed her wrists.  

This was bad.  She wanted to struggle but knew it would only make things worse—she’d learned this her first week here.  

This was real bad.  

Docilely, Amy's waited while her wrists were bound in front and then she was gagged.  This too was new, and stronger, deeper nibbles of real fear now ran down her spine.  One of the men then reached between her thighs from the front and pulled the chain between her legs and under the new belt they’d made of the chain, then hooked it to her wrists.  Her hands were bound to her belly until she was released.  

Amy had been one of The Albanian's T-1 hostesses long enough to get used to the routines of his establishment.  Boredom during the day, getting fucked like a mink for a night by a man she'd never seen before and likely would never see again, then back to her room to clean up and fight the boredom once again.  It was a mind-numbing, soul-killing routine, and being only human, she had become familiar with and comforted by the small things in her new life.  

But this was different.

The body of the gag in her mouth seemed too small at first to be truly effective and she felt relief at their first mistake.  But one of them fixed a small cylinder to where it came out of her mouth and it began inflating.  Very quickly, it completely filled her mouth, preventing any sounds from escaping.  Finally, it was time.  Her eyes were covered and she was led to a new destination on a lower level.  She could hear a buzz, but nothing else.

Amy was scared now.  The girls who worked and slaved for the old man were always being re-ranked and re-categorized.  She knew she was one of the few at the top right now, but she sensed that this wasn't a place the best girls were ever taken.  The unfamiliar musty smell told her she'd never been here before, certainly not dressed like this.  

Quickly, the chain was removed from around her waist and her hands re-tied.  Amy stood silent now, immobile, her arms tied together above her head.  But tied to what, she didn't know.  Blind and mute, the beautiful young woman eventually stood on her toes for a little relief; her arms and shoulders ached from hanging from the rope as support.  Her hips and lower back hurt now too.  The high-heeled boots they'd given her to wear helped a little, but not enough.

Amy finally heard something....footsteps.  She wasn't alone anymore.  Someone was in the room with her.


Unknown to the client who had paid to use Amy's body tonight, multiple hidden cameras attached to recording devices slowly scanned the scene, capturing it for perpetuity as she hung from the ropes; the unseen watchers waited for the client to enter the picture, for the trap had been set and would soon be sprung.  

The man who had paid so much money for use of this woman tonight hesitated just outside the range of the camera lens for a long moment, almost like a dog testing the breeze for scent.  With ferocious focus, he studied the beautiful female body that was so erotically encased.  

He asked himself, what kind of a twisted bitch enjoys this?  Why would a woman willingly allow a strange man to do this to her?  Probably, he thought to himself with a nasty laugh, it was a crack whore, the only work she could get anymore.  

He sometimes wondered vaguely what they looked like under the skin-tight rubber, but he really didn't care anymore what motivated them.  Their profession used them up and turned their faces into twisted, bitter parodies of what they'd looked like at fifteen or sixteen.  In fact, not being able to see the faces of the whores he used like this allowed his imagination to run wild.  

He didn't have a lot of sympathy; most of the bitches he used were burnt out crones who just couldn't get a better gig than this.  All he demanded was a good body; that was all.  He had a routine, a schedule to follow.  Tonight he would ensure that she would get her pleasure....sort of.  Tomorrow night, it was his turn and he would get his.  But all he cared about tonight was getting started.  After all, she was costing him a small fortune.  But tomorrow night….  That would be different, much, much different.  Although she wouldn't be able to appreciate the differences too much when he was finished with her.

He loved the look of a woman dressed like this, always had.  The man felt himself hardening even more, but he still moved slowly for there was plenty of time, he'd paid for the whole night.  He imagined the glowing pale flesh hidden from his sight, her skin slick with nervous perspiration, her abdomen and thighs taut with apprehension.  The sleek look of her head, totally encased in tight, black rubber.  A strip of rubber Velcro'd in place over her eyes; another strip covered her mouth keeping the gag in place.  The only protrusion a long blonde ponytail which had been threaded out an opening at the top of the hood, the full length of hair having then been plaited into a leash with a metal hook on the end; its only use to control the woman.  

The woman's body was hidden by the rubber, yet fully exposed at the same time.  The shape was extremely feminine; the body curvaceous and excessively mammalian.  It was hard to imagine she could actually be as smoking hot her body suggested.  Even so, he found himself staring at the girl’s taut ribcage and tightly covered breasts as she took small, even breaths.  Then his glance froze between her legs.  

She had a great ass too.


She Had A Chest Full Of Rubber or What Could He Possibly Want In A Place Like This?

A hand softly touched her, followed by the “scritch” of Velcro and her pupils were suddenly blinded by light.  Amy fought rising panic as her eyes finally began to focus.  She didn't like this; she didn't like this at all.  Her eyes wildly darted left and right, but all she could see was the smiling, overweight man who looked to be at least seventy years old, an unhealthy seventy years old.  He stood in front of her and waited; she tried to speak around the gag, but couldn't.  

"He'.  He'.  He' uhee.  Le' uhee gggew-hewww, 'ease.  He' uhee.  MmmMMMPPHH.  He' uhEEEE!"  Nothing worked.  No matter how desperately she tried, she couldn't say a word.  Inflated to a massive size, the gag totally filled her mouth, threatening to dislocate her jaws while even as it ensured total silence and one hundred percent compliance.

Amy could see a little better now.  She looked around wildly, finally saw the full length mirror on the wall immediately across from her.  Frozen in shock at first, her mind screamed at the image.....of herself.  She hung from a rope tied to the low ceiling, a rope short enough that it allowed little more than her toes to touch the gray concrete floor.

"Ne' uhhh.  Ne' uhhh.  Mmmmmmmm.  MMMPHH!"

She could see herself reflected in the mirror and chills of fear ran down her spine on tiny clawed feet.  Behind her a single table waited with four empty straps hanging to the floor, each strategically placed for a wrist or and ankel.  Everything was black, but the lighting was such that she could see herself clearly, suspended on tiptoes in the outfit from hell, the skin tight cat-suit of rubber.  She'd put the suit on as ordered, but now regretted her total submissiveness.  She knew she'd been right in fearing what it signified.  

The constricting rubber firmly caressed the area between her legs as it came up and over and imprisoned her bosom.  It ran from her tightly encased thighs into the tops of stiletto-heeled leather boots.  The rubber tautly covered her ass cheeks before it encased her torso and ended in the truly horrid hood.  Velcro straps held the gag in her mouth and only a tiny mesh opening was left for her nostrils.  Her eye slits were open now, but the mask hung to the side, ready to be quickly put back into use if necessary.  Her body was sheathed in rubber as tightly as if it were a sausage skin, and for the first time in over a year that was what she felt like, nothing but meat.

She could see her own wide terrified eyes staring back from the full-length mirror.  Her mind was racing, thoughts random yet fully concentrated:  Please.  God.  I'm begging you.  I don't want to do this.  I don't want to play at this anymore.  Ohhh God, please help me get out of this.  I'll be good.  I'll do whatever you want if you'll just get me out of here.  I'm begging you, don't let them do this to me.  Please, just this one time.

Amy tried to scream again, but the gag worked perfectly, reducing her howl of fear and anguish to nothing more than a muffled, saliva-choked gurgle.

The man could sense her raging fear and smiled again as he made eye contact.  He had grey hair and was grossly over-weight; his eyes were hidden in his fleshy face and his jowls were legendary.  She wasn't a scholar of politics, but she recognized him immediately as a member of the U. S. Senate.  Amy still thought his eyes looked gentle, but she knew something had to be wrong with the mind behind those misleading eyes or he wouldn't have preferred her like this.  She bucked her hips and pleaded with him again, trying to express with her beautiful green eyes the fear that threatened to crush her.  But he ignored her.  Instead of reading her fear or feeling the slightest pity for her predicament, the man tapped his index finger against his front teeth as if deep in thought.  

Amy felt cold air move across her sweaty bosom as the straps which had contained her taut breasts were finally released.  She groaned in fear and helplessness as her beautiful milky-white breasts swung free from where they had been held captive by the bra-like cups.  Her magnificent tits now jutted out at almost right angles from the too-small chest openings in the suit and the firm sweaty blue-veined globes of her breasts made perfect frames for the rosy-brown erect nipples that had been irritated by the insides of the cups.


He admired the tight-bodied female who was bound in front of him for another moment, then began to go about satisfying his needs for tonight.

He slowly cupped both of her breasts; squeezing very hard.  In fact, he squeezed far too hard, obviously enjoying the weight and density and texture of her flesh in his hands.  The woman encased in rubber groaned in real pain and bit down on whatever was in her mouth.  At the same time, she did her best to pull away from still smiling man.  But as planned, nothing worked for her.  Now he moved around to her back and after cupping her ass with both hands for a second, he gripped her breasts from the rear.  Again, it was almost as if he was trying to guess the weight of some forbidden over-ripe fruit.  The man's fingers and thumbs continued to tease her nipples, tugging on the now turgid nubs of flesh, forcing them to continue lengthening and hardening.

The man disappeared for a second, then returned pushing a stainless steel trolley.  He stopped in front of her on purpose----he wanted her to see the strange, terrible looking devices he would use on her.  


Some of the implements looked horribly familiar to Amy, their meaning obvious in a glance, while there were others about which she hadn't a clue.  It was easy for Amy to admit that she was scared to death.  God, if she ever got out of this, she would never take anything for granted again.  While she'd been afraid a lot over the last few months, she had mostly been able to keep it in check.  But Amy was afraid now and not too proud to show it.......she gave a long frustrated murmur of fear through her gag.  Only her blazing eyes gave a hint of the awful fear that gripped her heart.


Rock hard now with anticipation, the watching man was filled with barely controlled lust as he looked at the slut he now possessed.  First, the old man had given him that really young whore to play with, but that had not been enough after a couple of nights.  Oh, she'd been fun and it was amazing how much she liked to be hurt.  But he had soon tired of her vanilla acceptance of pain, hour after deliciously boring hour.  But, as always happened after a while with one woman, he soon hungered for more....extreme thrills.

It had taken a lot of negotiations with the old foreigner before the fucking East European idiot had agreed to provide the fresh meat he craved.  He'd wanted to take one of the old man's whores offsite and work on her in his leisure, but the old man had expressed his disapproval in a hundred small ways and continually denied him.  Until suddenly, yesterday the old Albanian had agreed to provide what he wanted.  The more he'd been delayed, the more his cravings had been aroused.  But none of that mattered now, because she was here now, in front of him, waiting for his attention.  

He was from the Northeast, the sole remaining scion of one of best known and wealthiest families in the U. S.  One cousin had been a president, another the U. S. Attorney General.  He'd have gone further himself if not for some unfortunate circumstances, the kind of disaster that seemed to have cursed his family for over a hundred years.  

For anyone else, the price the old pirate had demanded had been so steep, she would have remained out of reach.  But for him, it was a pittance, something he spent on tips in one day.  But at the same time, he was determined to stretch his pleasure out for at least a couple of days.  The only flaw was that the old man had insisted that he pleasure himself here, where the old man's people could get rid of whatever was left behind.  But he knew he could always work that aspect into his plans in one way or another.


Amy was terrified now.  Her fantastic figure was brilliantly accentuated by the ceiling lights shining off the skintight black suit, the highlights from her curves as obvious as if she'd been dipped naked into molten tar.  There was no way to hide her lush feminine curves and her gorgeous legs seemed to go on forever as they disappeared into shadows.  Her footwear was perfect for the trial ahead.  The boot's heels thrust the teenager's hips forward and shoulders back into an erect posture and despite her hands being tied over her head, Amy's bared breasts jutted out from the inky black rubber in an openly erotic, almost wantonly beckoning manner.

Two rings hung on ropes at waist height on either side of her hips, bringing to mind something seen only in gymnastics.  The jowly man casually reached down and lifted her long right leg under the knee.  Amy was scared now and kicked out weakly, hurting him a little in the process.  But he never stopped, instead almost seeming to relish her combative spirit.  It was a quick struggle and he finally succeeded in feeding one booted foot at a time through each ring; she hung now by her knees from the steel hoops and by a rope that ran around her wrists and through a pulley in the ceiling.  

The ropes that ended in metal rings were hung about ten feet apart at the ceiling, this continually forced Amy's knees further and further apart.  She struggled to keep her knees closed against the unending pressure of the rings for a couple of minutes, but soon, far too soon, the nineteen year old beauty soon found herself with aching hips and exhausted thighs spread obscenely wide as she hung from the rings.  

But her lower back felt a little better since some of her weight was now better supported as it was transferred onto the rings.  While the rope tied to her wrists still supported too much of her weight, at least she wasn't in so much pain now.  Suddenly, that rope too was lowered until Amy's head was only about waist high.  This made it more difficult to hold her head up and her neck muscles strained with the effort.  Almost as if he could read her mind, the man lifted Amy's head, then tied her head to the rope using only her single long braid of hair as support.

She hung from the rings and the rope, her head pulled up and forward onto her chest by her captive braid.  Amy hated what the smiling man was doing; she didn't think he had a nice face anymore.  Her position made her feel totally exposed, the rubber suit creaking as she struggled to mentally accept the vulnerability of thighs forced so far apart.  But nothing worked.  Even in her mind, there was no place she could go to escape.

Now he stepped between her spread thighs and opened the Velcro'd flap which ran between Amy's legs.  This exposed two slits in the tight, thick rubber that made up the suit's crotch, one large hole carefully positioned over her anus, the other a slit giving perfect access to her vagina.  Amy struggled futilely once more, but again stopped after a moment.  She was trapped exactly as he had planned.


Struggling To Fit It All In or You Really Can’t Grow As A Woman Without At Least One Lousy Man In Your Life

Electric shocks have been used as a method of torture for almost a century.  And since the received voltage and amperage can be precisely controlled, it was a wonderful tool with which to cause pain while avoiding leaving obvious evidence on the victim's body.  Such torture normally required electrodes attached to parts of the victim's body.  But electricity can also be used to give pleasure.

The smiling man carefully held up a double electrode that had two 1 ½” dual conductive highly polished aluminum balls about three inches apart.  Both were attached to a long, bent piece of clear plastic, which itself was stiffly tethered to an anatomically shaped, non-conductive silicone shield that Velcro'd into place over the his slut's vaginal mound.  Each ball could be electrified separately or in fired in unison.  Straps held the base in place and the whole thing looked like it was perhaps ten or eleven inches long.  He positioned the tip in her pussy as his fingers easily spread her moist labia.

"This, my dear,” he said, “is a love wand.  It goes all the way inside you and touches you at just at the right spots."

"Ne-eh, ehh hoo 'ong." Amy tried to squeal at the terrible looking, almost Star War's kind of device.  About ninety-five percent of her skin was covered, but Amy had never felt so vulnerable, so totally naked in her whole life.  

Amy thrashed at first, but quickly gave up as she ran out of air.  Her breasts heaved as she fought to inhale air only through her nostrils.  The man ignored the distracting sight and began to slowly ease the tool into Amy's now unresisting body; she gave a whimper as she felt the stiff man-made item end deep inside her.  He then began to bend it a little more inside her to obtain the perfect fit—she groaned and pushed her head back against her binding strap of hair which protruded from the hood she wore.  The tool itself was already made in a crooked shape that was designed to reach were no man's cock could, and slowly she felt her vaginal canal explored and stretched beyond belief.  

The man smiled widely now, enjoying the view.  Although ten inches long, virtually only his gripping hand remained visible around the base plate.  Amy's beautiful eyes were alive with revulsion at what he did, but she was helpless against him.  

When inserted vaginally, the opening in the base plate allowed manual, vibratory or oral access to the female's clitoris.  The Velcro straps held the shield closely against Amy's Venus mound, ensuring good contact with the labia major.  The straps also allowed the shield to be moved somewhat in order to vary where electrostimulation was delivered.  But the man considered the tool he used now to be a stationary device because it always delivered a focused electric stimulation to a specific spot; in this case he could choose whether it would be the cunt's G-spot or someplace deeper, perhaps right up against her cervix.  It all depended upon his mood and how the female cooperated.  He attacked the G-spot lightly when he liked the girl, but used a heavier, much harsher hand when he’d been annoyed.  

The smiling man carefully chose a clear plastic shape next and held it up so that she could see it.  The Clit Sucker was an excellent choice for initial clitoral stimulation.  The anatomically shaped suction cup was designed to fit onto the base plate he'd already laid around her pussy.  By placing the suction cup onto her clitoris and simply squeezing the vacuum bulb, the Clit Sucker would create a hard vacuum, a vacuum that was supposed to be both exciting and irresistible to the female.  But he had further modified this by adding another electrode; he now proceeded to hook it up to the power box too, after which he connected the wires of the electric dildo.  

The sensations offered by the shield and its attachments could be quite unusual.  As electro-stimulation began, a distinct "pulling" sensation occurred in the woman's clitoris, this coming on top of the actual physical suction. When used by a maestro such as he, the tingling energy would play lightly around his captive's most sensitive areas like an invisible mouth sucking her inside out through her vagina.  Electrically stimulating the G-spot almost always created intense arousal in the whores, especially when the Power Box was adjusted to peak performance.  They never faked it, they never needed to; for at the same time that he went after their most sensitive vaginal area, the actual feeling of powerful suction on such a tender area as the clitoris inevitably made his females go crazy.  And as he stimulated the slut's blood flow in such a tiny, yet sensitive area, he knew her clitoris would swell with need, then allowing just that much more stimulation.

He squeezed the suction bulb and Amy's body arched as she squealed in response.  Finally, he turned the tool on and waited for a second.  The head buried in Amy's pelvis began to buzz faintly.  Closely watching Amy's face, he slowly moved the humming tip inside her until he knew he had found the ideal spot by the way her beautiful eyes widened involuntarily as he now excited her most sensitive areas.  

“Come on,” he crooned to her.  “Give it up, baby.  You know you want to.  You're a whore and you fake orgasms for a living.  But you're a woman first, and this is real.  Come on, you know you want to show me your pleasure.”


Amy moaned at the sensations electric, her G-spot and clitoris feeling multiple sensations and pleasures like she had never before imagined, let alone experienced.  She instinctively tried to deny him his victory by pulling her knees together.  But her legs weakened quickly and her knees turned into jelly.  As he must have already known would happen, her knees were quickly spread wide for him again and she could hide nothing, deny him nothing.

The wand was buzzing in places she'd never known she had.  Sex and physical pleasure had been the furthest things from her mind only seconds ago.  But it felt soooooo gooood, so incredibly good and suddenly, Amy couldn't help herself as her body arched up and held that stiffened position, every muscle frozen except for her tightly clenched ass which gave short, quick pelvic thrusts for almost thirty seconds before she collapsed to hang from the ropes again as she gasped for air.  

During this whole time, his hand never strayed from her flat belly, ensuring that his fiendish machine stayed exactly where it did the most good/damage to Amy.  He didn't stop the tool when she finished her first orgasm and Amy quickly found herself cumming a second time, then a third.  She was heaving for breath now, she couldn't get enough air; he was killing her.


The gently smiling man admired her still tight pussy as the vaginal lips continued gripping the thin shaft; what little he could see of her face was flushed with embarrassment, her eyes sparkled with unshed tears.  

She began begging through the gag.  "Eh.  Geh.  Uh, uh 'op.  'ease 'op!"

Her teeth chattered against the gag as her G-spot and clit continued to be stimulated by electricity.

"Nnnnnnnnnnn!  Oh oooohhhh 'it 'op, 'op!"

Her nipples were as big and hard as coat pegs now, they looked like the coarse ends of a thick rope sticking out from her flesh.  He could tell she was no better than the rest; that as much as she tried not to respond, she still continued shuddering and cumming, a fourth time, then a fifth.  She was his and she was finally warmed up for scene two.  He turned the electricity off and slowly removed the Clit Sucker, then carefully withdrew the electric wand from within her body.  Amy groaned in release, but looked as if she were unable to move, as if every muscle in her body were made out of rubber.

He slowly withdrew her legs from the rings and lowered the rope attached to her hands.  Amy sagged at first from the rope, then stood upright after what seemed an eternity.  Her knees wobbled and her ankles threatened to give way as her legs acted like they were made out of both rubber noodles and wooden logs at the same.  The man now released the exhausted girl from the ropes that held her upright.  She collapsed first to her knees and finally onto the floor on her stomach.  He next began to put wide leather cuffs on each wrist and her ankles.  He had shattered her.  All she wanted to do was close her eyes and sleep, but he quickly and effectively tied ropes to the ankle and wrist cuffs.  Each rope ran through a separate pulley in the ceiling that was about five feet from Amy's ankles or wrists.  

The man first pulled her erect and back on her feet, hands up to about head height with the pulleys.  Then he started on her ankles.  By the time he was finished, Amy swung gently at a height of about three feet off the floor from four separate ropes now tightly attached to the ceiling.  The worst part was that she faced the floor rather than the ceiling in a gentle reverse bow; her arms were stretched out over her head and up towards the ceiling, while her legs were slightly bent at the knee and the soles of her feet pointed at the ceiling.  It was an extremely uncomfortable position reminiscent of something that might be assumed by a diver.  He knew he had to be careful because it must feel like the small of her back was being broken and he could easily dislocate her shoulders with this position.  

But most importantly, like all of the others before her, she was helpless.  

Next he slid a three foot high stool under her chest just below her breasts to support the weight of her trunk.  His whore now looked like Shelly Winter in that ridiculous scene from the first Poseidon Adventure movie, the scene in which she was being taught how to swim.  While uncomfortable for the helpless girl, the current position wasn't nearly as physically dangerous as it had been a few seconds before.  Truth be known, he really didn't care about her discomfort at this point, but rather was just ensuring that his property lasted until they could get to the main course tomorrow night.

His last move was to take her hair braid and attach the hook in it to a loop made in a fifth rope that hung from the ceiling over her head.  This kept Amy's head pulled up tight and denied her vision of what he did below.

The smiling man now held up what looked a wrinkled black banana made out of thick latex.  It was deflated at the moment, but he smiled as he slowly lubricated the ungodly thing and then walked around behind her.


He gently moved his hand down her back in a soft, caressing motion and then over her cheeks and between her legs to probe her pussy.  They both knew that she was still incredibly wet from having cum so many times in just the last few minutes.  Amy felt him begin fumbling at her rear end for a second, then her firm butt cheeks were pushed roughly apart and she bit down hard on the gag in pain.  She gargled incoherently as the smiling man slowly, carefully began inserting the greased dildo into her rectum.  

"Ehhh Gaw, ne uh ont ut 'at uh, ugggg uh, arggGGG!!"

Obviously against her will, she had been turned into an anal expert.  With a sliding Pop, the tough, gristly muscles which protected her rectal canal struggled for only a few seconds, then parted in total surrender as her body finally accepted, then began to encase the invader.  Amy howled helplessly as the softly flexible two-inch diameter tube spread her anus, but soon it was in all the way.  Her anal sphincter clamped down around the humanely narrow base once the considerable body was finally inside, allowing her a moment’s relief.  Although she was an experienced ass-whore after having been kept by The Albanian for so long, Amy wasn't a girl who really enjoyed anal play like this, for it just made her feel like she had a huge, impacted bowel movement that was ready to drop.  She could feel her body as it kept trying to push the foreign body out, but her anus refused to part enough to free it.

”Uhh 'ease, eh oo uh uch." She pleaded as her body arched in discomfort, pivoting on the small stool that supported her abdomen.


Smiling, the man from the Northeast ran his finger along the crack of his whore’s rubber covered ass and down over the exposed end of the ass dildo.  "You're a whore, you'll get used to it.  You'll learn to appreciate its small size," he reassured her as he hooked an airline and hand pump to it and then ran the thin, but heavy hose back over her ass cheeks.

This little gift was a loaner from the weird guy, Bashir; it was the first time he'd used anything like this on one of his sluts.  He was surprised and pleased at how easy it was to insert into a woman when it was deflated.  But he blown it up as a test when he'd first gotten it, and when fully inflated, its fourteen inch length was enormous.  And at over three inches in diameter at the tip when fully inflated, it was a potential killer.  The thing was gargantuan in size and he knew it would put a severe crimp in his whore's mobility.  

He smiled at that thought.


Amy bucked again in horror at what the man had done, but was unable to offer any real resistance.  She'd been used hard over the last hour and had no strength left.  Whatever it was he'd put in her, its’ extreme size made it extremely uncomfortable.  Her anus was stretched so tightly around it that she felt like he'd inserted his arm in her up to his elbow instead of some kind of a butt plug.  

Hanging facedown from the ropes, Amy realized quickly realized that her tits were hanging down now too, swinging invitingly with gravity as both were fully exposed to this maniac's desires.  He stood to the side, so she couldn't see what he was doing, but she suddenly sensed him carefully manipulating her breasts, greasing her hard nipples with what felt like lubricant.  

Her heart began racing even more with fear.  Smiling as he now stood where she could see him, he held up two long clear, hard plastic tubes for her to see.  The tubes were about six inches long and perhaps an inch and half or two inches in diameter.  Each tube had some kind of attachment on the closed end, but was open on the other end.  Clear plastic pressure lines ran from a steel pail that rested on the floor under her chest to the ends of the tubes with the attachments.  

"I'm leaving you alone for a few minutes. But first I'm going to attach your gorgeous tits to these things.  Oh, by the way, this is a milking machine that I've had put together just for you.  It’s pneumatic; that means it runs on air, and I know you will quickly learn to appreciate it.  But only for a short while, for you're just a temporary pet my dear........but I always take care of my pets.  You'll get to experience something very few women have.  It's an experiment.......and you're the cow I've rented.  Both of us know we won't get any milk from you, but I would love to have you later describe to me the experience, the sensation of having your tits sucked hard for several hours without stopping.  I'm guessing you'll be surprised at how arousing it can be when a woman like you gets constant unyielding attention to your tits.  Of course, maybe I'm wrong too.  "

“And, of course” he laughed, “then there's your beautiful ass.”

She tried to struggle again as he first pulled down one of her breasts, then the other, just to attach the ends of the tubes ends over her lubricated nipples.  She could hear the clatter/clunk of plastic on plastic as she first felt the cold touch of the hard tubes on her sensitive flesh.  Amy felt goose bumps run up and down her back at the feeling.

“Oh, by the way; what I've pushed inside your rear is something like a dildo, but it balloons’ up to quite a respectable size.”

He continued, “The butt plug and the milking machine are attached to the same air compressor, but each works on a different regulator so that the first one works for about thirty seconds.  Then that one stops while the other one works on you.  The ass balloon inflates to give you the exquisite feeling of being ass-fisted for half a minute, then it takes thirty seconds to deflate.  Every time the ass balloon starts to deflate, the milking machine builds up suction on the tips of your breasts and maintains it for thirty seconds before the pressure is let off.”  

The man stood up.  "Enjoy.  When not being tit-sucked, you'll be ass-fucked.  Pneumatically milked and ass-fisted at the same time.  Make sure to take notes.  I know I will."  He turned and flicked a switch on the air compressor, then watched as the air cylinders and lines shuddered to life.

The suction cups began first as they took long drawn-out gulps of soft flesh, each tube attempting to swallow a nipple whole.  After a long half-minute of hard suction that felt to Amy like it lasted an hour, the pail under her hissed and the plastic cylinders wobbled as the pressure on her nipples decreased only slightly.  But the perfect fit of the tips of her soft breasts into the grasping mouths of the unyielding plastic tubes was exquisitely tight and enough soft flesh had already been sucked into the cylinders to act like wine corks, sealing in the pressure of the suction.  

The plastic cylinders hung towards the floor, but clung to her breasts like leaches or lampreys, and retained their grasp on her flesh even without active suction.  

She groaned with the pain in her nipples from the suction and from the weight hanging from her breasts.  Then she groaned again but deeper in her belly as the balloon filling her rectum continued to expand, feeling at first like a baseball bat being pushed inside her.  As the piece of heavy rubber relentlessly continued to expand inside Amy's colon, the feeling of a bat being inserted changed until it seemed like first a fire hydrant was being used and that then changed to resemble a telephone pole; it was so big and so deep it literally threatened to rupture her.  She inhaled and held her breath, then released it in a rhythmic, snorting manner, all to better withstand the awful sensations inside her.  Then it all began collapsing thirty seconds later as the compressed air inside was allowed to escape.  While the discomfort remained, at least the debilitating pain had lessened and she breathed easier for a moment.  

At this point, the suction on her nipples began again and it seemed even harder this time.  The terrible pulling, sucking feeling lasted half a minute which seemed to drag on forever, then died down as the dildo in her ass began to rapidly re-inflate, bringing another gagged groan from Amy.  The smiling man looked at the milking machine and already could see her nipples had been pulled an inch and a half inside the tip of the clear suction tubes.  It would be hard to convince the machine that she had no milk, but he would let it work its magic on her for a while just to make sure.  

The suction never stopped.  Again and again and again, the hard plastic tubes pulled greedily against Amy's greased skin.  The young girl's nipples were agonizingly hard now, her infinitely flexible breast flesh stretched and pulled deeply into the now more than half-filled tubes.  And the massive driving monster which kept her rectum continually filled never stopped coming at her either as it brutally rearranged her insides.  It was always one or the other which was tormenting her and they never stopped taking turns.  

The machines soon took on lives of their own, each demanding a hundred percent of her attention, both assuming grotesque personalities that demanded nothing more than her total capitulation to their specific needs.  They didn't want to stop, for the machines wanted her for their own.  Amy groaned deeply again and again in her desperate hopelessness, for this was total bondage, and it was all her bondage allowed.  

The man who had been watching her from the side was suddenly back in the picture.  With one quick move, he now attached the Clit Sucker to her clitoris and then powered it up too.  Amy screamed as the first familiar sensations that were almost crippling in their intensity rushed through her groin unchecked.  

The feelings from the stretched and inflamed flesh, what he was doing to her clitoris, to her breasts and her rectum, everything was so humiliating.  Amy settled into her humiliation and suffered in silence for a few more moments.  Suddenly, out of the blue she realized that the anal dildo must be having an effect on her vagina even as it worked her ass.  She suddenly understood that it was somehow massaging her vaginal walls even as it pushed against them.  She was being fist-fucked at the same time her tits were being milked dry by two machines that seemed to have come to life.  Worse, the suction and electrical stimulation of her clit was suddenly driving her nuts.  The rubber suit creaked wildly as she threw herself from side to side, attempting to avoid what she knew must eventually come.  But nothing stopped it, nothing she did delayed it.  

Every time she moved, the pain in her rectum became more terrible…and yet more exquisitely, seductively acceptable too.  The tubes hanging from her chest rattled as they clunked against each other whenever the pressure was applied or when her breasts swayed from her ever-more frantic efforts to escape their less than tender ministrations.  She couldn't take any more, for it already felt like her tits were almost fully inflated, pulled out of shape and reformed into the long, thin balloon-like images he obviously desired she have.  Yet the vacuum never stopped as the sucking tubes made her desperate nipples scream in pleasure/pain/pleasure with each hungry gulp of new flesh.

Her nipples were intensely sensitive now, delicately alive to every sensation, every invisible, feather-like touch of the suction.  The infernal machine continued, always sucking on her engorged nipples, the tubes firmly snapping to attention over each breast as the suction was applied.  And it never lessened, for the gaping mouths of the tubes allowed a perfect seal with the soft skin of Amy's breasts.  Since no pressure ever escaped, her nipples were sucked ever deep into the tubes over and over again, but never released at the cycle’s end.  Worse, as more blood was drawn into Amy's engorged tits, her wonderful breasts became more and more firm and ever better seals against the hungry tubes she unwillingly fed.  

But in counter point to what going on with her tits, Amy's groin was also becoming more and more aroused as her vagina continued to respond to both the rapid inflation and deflation of the pneumatic butt drill as well as the Clit Sucker.

God, help me, Amy silently begged in her head.  Please make this stop.  She sobbed once more from the decidedly sick and now extremely painful, yet still compellingly beautiful sensations which continued to engulf her body.  Suddenly, nothing could stop the wave of arousal that washed over her.  At first Amy fought it, screaming her embarrassed anger and defiance to whatever god it was that allowed this to happen to a young girl.  Then, helpless against what she felt, fully betrayed by her body, Amy finally screamed into her gag in perverse pleasure and abject humiliation, her body twisting, her hips arching and thrusting as they searched in vain for something to push against.  

The unwanted wave of arousal washed over her whole body in a series of undulating peaks that kept getting hotter and higher until her wet vagina shuddered and her muscular butt cheeks clenched around the still-fisting butt plug for almost forty seconds.  She roared in primitive, guttural pleasure the whole time as her pelvis made only the small, short jerking movements of which her bindings left her capable of performing.  

Amy finally collapsed into the now normal position of the reverse bow, hanging from the ceiling like someone’s perverted idea of a sky diver and supported only by the small surface of the stool as she hung limply from her ropes again.  She was truly exhausted now, more tired than she could ever remember having been in her life.  And she was hot, far too hot, for the rubber body suit acted like insulation as it kept in her body heat too well.  Her pussy was soaked with vaginal fluids, she was drenched in her own sweat and felt like she was cooking in her own juices.  

As Amy slowly caught her breath, she eventually flushed with embarrassment as she realized that she had actually forgotten for a minute that her nipples were still being milked and her rectal canal was being violated.  Even more shamefully, she realized she had been giving bottomless barnyard-like grunts of bone-deep satisfaction at the end of her last orgasm.  But worst of all, every sensation she now felt seemed to have somehow flipped from being awful and terribly painful to truly, painfully erotic.  


He'd let it go on for perhaps a little too long.  After that first giant orgasm, he'd untied her braid from the ceiling rope and removed the rubber hood, allowing the girl’s body heat to vent.  She still wore the gag, but her head hung down now on neck muscles that refused to work anymore.  Shudders ran through her body and she moaned continuously like the whore he knew she was.  

He explored her body carefully.  She'd cum so many times now that the muscles of her vagina were almost totally slack.  A few of the follow-up orgasms were still full blown affairs, raging torrents of emotion accompanied by enthusiastic squealing and thrashing, but most were nothing more than slight whimpers accompanied by a few tense quivers and jerks sometimes accompanied by a series of clenched buttocks.  She'd given up resisting his machines long ago and now it was just a matter of her trying to avoid hyperventilating between each climax as the crests continuously built now from one to another.

He'd stopped his machines once to let her catch her breath and give her vagina a moment's relief.  But he knew he had started them up again far too quickly for her.  And at least for her nipples, the pain had seemed to drive her almost insane for the first minute of renewed suction.  

But it had worked too, for despite the woman’s obvious discomfort, her groans had quickly changed to squeals and higher pitched squeaks again.  It was clear she was cumming again even now as her hips began wildly thrusting at nothing in her reversed body bow.  Suddenly, the helpless girl let out a belly-deep animal roar into her gag as she bucked on the ropes again.


Amy felt as if she teetered on the fine edge of insanity.  She’d swear that her insides had both turned to mush and were on fire, all at the same time.  But as her last orgasm finally subsided, the grim pounding in her ass continued, as did the relentless suction on her nipples.  Seconds later she was forced to begin to scream again as the now familiar sensations smashed once more through the flesh of her hyper-sensitive button.

Aawwwwww Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaw!!!!  She screamed into her gag.  She inhaled through her nose in order to give voice one more time.

Aaiiieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeehhhhhhhhh Ggggaawwwwwd!!!!

She screamed and wailed for what seemed an eternity, bucking hard until her pussy was actually numb.  And then, when this one was over, it seemed he was mercifully finished.  The machines stopped all at once and he began to remove them one at a time.  The clit stimulator, then the massive thing in her ass and finally, the two tubes that seemed permanently attached to her tits.  Each of the monstrous tubes hung onto her, seeming to want to stay with her, refusing to release her flesh.  The man was forced to jerk them from side to side as he brutally pulled at the same time.  The bound woman screamed in both pleasure and pain as her flesh was finally released by the last tube with a drawn out sucking sound; finally everything was gone.  

And suddenly, Amy felt empty somehow inside, as if her body were designed solely for use by machines now.  As if she’d been modified in some awful way to accept only their abuse and turn it into the most wonderful of sensations.  

She hung on her ropes as he began to untie them and then lowered her to the floor.  Her mouth was suddenly as dry as cotton.  She lay flat on her belly and couldn't move, her muscles refused to work.  God, suddenly her breasts, her nipples, everything began to hurt.  The ache grew and grew as the vacuumed numbness was driven away by the surge of returning blood.  Amy’s legs remained spread wide apart for it didn’t feel like she really wanted her legs together at the moment—she’d almost rather explore the new sensations she felt in her body.  Besides, Amy wasn’t sure her hips would work.  And conflicting emotions filled her brain for she felt an emptiness in her rectum which now seemed somehow wrong, yet at the same time she had to grit her teeth for she would have sworn that she could still feel the long, massively thick rod giving phantom thrusts up her ass with the coldly relentless, metronomic precision of a machine lover.


The woman in rubber lay on the cement floor on her stomach, unmoving, her nerveless, useless legs spread wide in a wanton and unladylike position.  Then he rolled her over onto her back and removed her gag after spreading her legs wide again.  

First he began with her breasts.  Her beautiful, firm breasts were misshapen now, the nipples hard and red and abused.  The ends of her perfect tits looked like each had been capped with demitasse cups, the artificially full shape of her breasts reminiscent of church bells for the first two inches.  Still aroused but only semi-erect now, the exhausted woman’s vacuum deformed nipples drooped onto each aureole.  

He slowly touched her, then slid his mouth over the end of her left breast and tongued the still turgid nipple.  The girl shuddered and groaned, her arms twitched.  He took her in deeper, filling his mouth until her bruised nipple touched the back of his throat.  The feeling of the distorted breast was odd in his mouth, but still quite pleasant.  He began to suck, hard, and she screamed in sudden pain, her face snapping from side to side......but she had been too well trained by her master to make a move to stop him, to deny any male his pleasure with her body.  

But she could call to him, she could beg him to stop for pleading with the client was allowed.  “Please,” she implored him, her eyes slitted against the ache in her breasts and rectum.  

Her fists clenched and unclenched in an unconscious rhythm to the suction from his mouth.  “Please stop.  No more.  At least not tonight.  I....hurt everywhere.  Please, I beg you, no more.”

But he never stopped.  He first worked Amy's left nipple with his mouth, then her right.  He ran his fingers over the tips of her still grotesquely hard nipples and flicked them with the tip of one finger.  The young girl moaned and gasped and cried, but never murmured another word of protest.  

He eventually tired of the girl's unnatural, and to him, now monstrous tits, so he moved on to her cunt.  Spread out like this, he knew there was no way she could stop him from doing whatever he wanted, even if she had the strength.  He wasn't going to fuck her yet, so he licked her soaking wet pussy and tongued her at his leisure.  He loved the taste of a woman who must have cum at least a hundred times.  

As badly as her muscles must have burned with fatigue and her insides ached, he could tell that she still made an effort to please her Albanian master.  The girl struggled to spread her thighs even further apart for him and weakly thrust her hips upwards into his tongue, just to please the man who had rented her, who had so abused her already.

Eventually, he gave up in disgust at the inability of the whore to further satisfy him.  It wasn’t him, it just seemed that she just had nothing left, that he had probably taken her further than any man ever had before.  Now she needed rest before they could finish the second act together tomorrow.  

Without a backwards glance, the man stood up and walked away from the motionless, backward-arched body covered in black rubber.  Within a few minutes, two new men arrived and helped Amy to her feet.  The girl could not walk by herself and, unusually, she was helped to her room without having to go through the meat market.  

Only now was she finally coming around to understand what he’d done to her.  The men left Amy lying on her bed, and she cried as they removed the rubber suit and high-heeled boots.  Crashing emotions.  Humiliation, even for someone as experienced as her.  Pain.  Disgust.  Exhaustion.  Uncertainty as to her future.  

Yet despite all of these passions and feelings, despite the rankly overwhelming odors of sweat and wet rubber, of fear and raw, wet sex, the young woman almost immediately passed out without taking a shower.  She slept for twelve hours without moving a muscle, only occasionally moaning in her sleep.  


Hold On, This Might Sting A Little or They Sorta’ Felt Larger Than Promised

Still in shock after having awakened from her surgery several hours, Ursula lay on her bed in the darkness, trembling, staring into the darkness in complete shock.  Led from the dungeon just like her two friends, she'd been taken to a small operating theater and forced down upon an old operating table.  Men held her down while a mask was placed over her face and anesthetic pumped into her lungs.  

Her mind was fuzzy.  Groggy, she’d awakened in this room, a new room with a cheap bed and dresser, a mirror on the wall and a small walk-in toilet with shower.  Her head was splitting and her stomach nauseous, her chest felt stiff and achy and unusually heavy.  The air smelled rancid, thick with pollution and mold and humidity.  But it was an atmosphere that was as heavy as stone too, as cold as the metal drawer in a morgue and as lifeless as the corpse on it.  It was like breathing ice cubes, where chunks of ice passed painfully through her windpipe and sat in her lungs like lead.

Unable to concentrate, Ursula lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling for almost fifteen minutes before realizing something was different; that things had changed, had been altered, that she'd been.....modified.  She was wearing a mid-thigh green cotton gown which tied in front.  Under the coarse fabric, her breasts strained against the cloth and for the first time, she noticed that her chest ached in a different way from having been beaten.  As Ursula looked down, she could see that her breasts appeared much, much larger than they should have under the green clothing, especially while lying on her back.  Grotesquely larger than even only hours ago.  

Slowly, with a growing sense of horror, she opened the front of the gown and looked at herself.  She had on a kind of training bra which looked like it should belong to some ancient Russian peasant woman, a crone whose breasts sagged to her waist line.  Where before Linda's firm 36C's had been in perfect proportion to her build, she now had monstrous globes that must have measured at least EE or FF's.  She was sore there, and had no idea of what size she would be when the swelling had gone down.  

Until her acquisition by The Albanian, Ursula had been a confident woman, but like everyone, she had a few foibles.  One was that like many other women, she had always been a little uncomfortable with her body and often went to great lengths to avoid looking at herself in a mirror when disrobed.  

She wasn't yet aware of this, but Bashir had somehow become aware of these feelings and planned to use them against her in the same manner he would exploit the other two from her little town....public humiliation......sexual humiliation, shame and disgrace that would crush her like it would her two friends.

Ursula laid her head down and began to cry softly.


Dana Gets Disciplined By The Instructor or There’s Some Major Back Tunnel Exploration Goin’ On Here

Dana awoke with a start, not sure where she was for a second.  Sudden realization crashed into her consciousness; the terrible dream had not been a dream.  It had really happened.  He'd hurt her, emphasized her worthlessness, made her into something less than human.  Physically.  Sexually.  Emotionally.  Afterwards, he made her crawl into bed with him still wearing the garter belt and stockings.....and the dog collar.  

Somehow, against all odds, she had actually fallen into an exhausted sleep for what felt like a couple of hours.  She lay on her back now; he pressed against Dana on his side facing her.  His left leg was wedged between her knees and his left hand cupped her young breast firmly, protectively, possessively.  She silently turned her face to the nearby wall as tears trickled down her cheeks.  She hated the fact that he could make her cry so easily, because she was suddenly determined to survive this horror.

The terrible man seemed to have somehow become aware of her awakening, for he too now stirred, cupping her firm breast even harder and rubbing his legs against hers.  He was enjoying the slick, satiny feel of her shapely nylon clad thighs and calves on his skin.  He began to rub his legs against her steadily now, pushing his knee higher and higher between her legs, spreading her thighs ever further apart.  Knowing she had no choice, Dane seemingly willingly cooperated at first and tried to ignore what he did at the same time.  But she soon realized that she could feel his growing erection pushed against her hip, getting harder and bigger with every passing moment.  God.  Not again.  Not him.  Not this way.  She didn't want this.  She didn't WANT this!

His hand was stroking her body now; going slowly from neck and chin to breast and then gently from breast to flat belly and lower.  Her thighs were spread wide for him now even as she tried to ignore what he was doing, tried to ignore the way he spread her labia and stroked her vagina as he began finger-fucking her.  


It was an hour later and Dana's head was still swimming from Bashir's blow.  What thoughts passed through her conscious mind were a scattering of sensations and images that could not be controlled or organized into anything coherent.  He’d fucked her hard, thoroughly raped her and had rested then.  

But at the end of their time on the bed, he'd somehow changed personalities again, becoming coarser and more violent, clearly hating her as a woman.  He forced her to stand, stood behind her when she did and then unexpectedly hit her once behind the ear, a blow from which she was still dizzy.  

After he bent her unresisting body over the foot of the bed and pushed her face into the mattress, he forcefully kicked her ankles so far apart that it would have been difficult to stand even if not wearing the unfamiliar high-heels.  It was almost a familiar position.  Familiar enough that she tried not to think about what came next.

“You,” he said, “are not like the other one.”  

He turned to the dresser, grabbed a tube of lubricant and drizzled some down the crack of her striped, beaten ass after putting some on his sudden erection – the coming violence obviously excited him.  He took his time rubbing the slick creamy gelatin around and around her rose bud spiral with his fingertips and then eventually dipped his lubricated fingers inside her.  

Dana had never experienced anal sex, had never wanted to.  She’d always been the one in control before.  But now she thought back to when she had sucked on him; she remembered his size and knew she could barely tolerate taking him this way too.........but only if she had to.  While she had no doubt it would be painful and extremely uncomfortable even, she just knew that she could do this too.  She just had to do it, there was no choice.

I can do this, she said to herself.  I can handle him this way.  It won't be so bad, I can do this!

Suddenly, without a word of encouragement or warning, he grabbed Dana's hips to hold her in place and brutally thrust into her from the rear at the same time that he pulled her onto his rod.  His attack was unexpected, his victory complete.  Within only a couple of seconds, he had fitted his groin to her asscheeks and totally filled her with his meat.  For the first time, a man possessed her in this way and Dana knew that in fact, she could not do it, not this way, not like this.  The sodomized teenager screeched out a wordless cry then, she howled in agony and failure and shame.  There was a horrible, humiliating pain and raging anger at her helplessness and a complete loss of hope--all was mixed together in that first scream.  

“Ow, ow, owowowowowwwww.  Oh God.  Please stop.  It hurts.  It HURTS!  PLEASE!” She shrieked in a muffled voice with her face pushed into the bed.  

She tried to rear up but he hit her again in the back of the head and she fell back down, her head spinning from the blow.  Owowow, it hurts too much, pleaseIcan'tdothis.  It's impossible, it won't all fit inside me.  He'll tear me up inside.  I Can’tdothis, Dana screamed to herself in her head.  


He rode her hard, silent except for his heavy breathing, steadily looking at the back of her head for some reaction, any sign she felt something other than just the cock that was ass-raping her.  She rarely moved except to keep her knees locked and stand with her hips upright, continuing to allow him full access to her asshole.  After that first quick reaction, she'd mostly been silent except for a few deep groans intermixed with her continuous crying.  

He stopped for a moment with his eyes closed as he enjoyed the sensations.  His cock moistened by her body’s fluids, the constricted, hot hole of her ass and the way it encompassed his cock, grabbing him, massaging him, incorporating and tightly encircling him.  Knowing he was the first man to take her this way, knowing it was against her will.  Degrading a beautiful teenage American girl this way, despoiling her, making her acknowledge her worthlessness, ensuring she understood she was no more than any other young whore they’d brought here---this was power!  And that power over her gave him pleasure.  But since she refused to give him any additional physical pleasure this way, he would take his pleasure from this one where he could.  He lifted with his hips while still keeping his eyes closed.  The sound of her soft, groaning cry of pain was music to his ears.  

Thus, it went on and on.  The teenager was young and beautiful and hard bodied, and dressed just the way he liked.  He grimly continued sodomizing her, the effort at the end almost more than the pleasure he received.  But even as they approached the end, she continued to refuse to give him the pleasure he craved by begging him to stop.  

So he hit her again.


Later, even as the monster still continued sodomizing her, raping her ass from the back, Dana somehow realized that her body seemed mostly to be okay, but it was her lower extremities, her buttocks and legs about which she was most unsure.  That, and her mind.  Bent over the bed, her face was pushed into the mattress; the high-heeled pumps they had insisted she wear ensured her hips were perfectly positioned for a man's forbidden pleasure.  Then it had begun and she hurt terribly from where for the first time a man filled her in a place that up to now had been pristine and uncompromised.  She'd agonized as his manhood pried her apart and deeply penetrated her lower body, but the ripping, tearing pain seemed to be happening to someone else's body.  And to her shame, she could accept this being done to others, even to herself--as long as she imagined it being done to other young girls and not her.  

She’d experimented with sex a lot, but never this.  The friction of his abdomen and groin driving rhythmically against her buttocks and the back of her thighs ensured that her body moved compliantly with his, but the physical connection of him to her and of her to her lower body seemed physically intermittent somehow, as if some internal wiring were losing, then regaining some terrible connection.  

Her breasts hung down, bared and loose, erect nipples rubbing firmly on the blanket which covered the bed.  He leaned forward occasionally and grabbed one tit tightly with each hand, then pulled back roughly, causing her even more pain.  The only way to ease the crushing, surprisingly painful grip had been to push back into his groin even harder.  And she did this, somehow forcing herself to obey his unspoken command to further impale herself upon his rigid erection.  

Dana tried not to cry out as she obeyed his unspoken commands like a well-trained filly, tried to not to die of humiliation knowing she was performing like this for him or much he was hurting her.  But it was impossible to keep it all inside.  As Dana laid face on the mattress, she focused a dazed presence on a wrinkle in the fabric of the cover that was near her face.  The tiny fold jerked back and forth, nearer and further away, always in a rhythmic motion which emanated from her hips, from the connection of her driven pelvis to his groin as her body accepted this man.  

Never a deep thinker, she felt somehow mentally absent as she finally understood that he controlled her every move now, as if her breasts were reins and she his favorite mare.  The sudden realization of how she’d been objectified and totally disempowered, of how he looked at her and of what he must truly think of her, all of this had humiliated Dana once more, bringing a flood of stinging hot blood rushing to her face one more time.  

She crouched silently, compliant in her pained submission, forcing herself to wait for him to finish even as she still wore the ridiculous high-heels; her legs were spread wide to both help maintain balance as well as to ensure that he had full and complete access to everything he wanted.  

Dana's hips and pelvis felt broken at the end, two halves somehow no longer connected; forced apart and broken wide open by the telephone pole that he continued to push inside her body.  The insides of her thighs burned while her legs felt numb at the same time, two dead weights that neither passed sensations up to her brain nor responded to commands it sent down to them.  

Unable to do anything until her mind stopped spinning, Dana remained immobile, bent over just as he'd originally placed her.  She tried to sort out what she felt.  What feelings she was able to register weren't anything like the numbness associated with cold.  Rather it was a stunned numbness which came from the shock of massive, continued psychological blows.  

Dana felt so odd, so old.  Suddenly, she became aware that the sounds making their way into her consciousness were being made by him.  The primitive grunts and groans were tinny at first, little more than faint, barely audible reverberations.  They were muffled gibberish, sounding as if someone at the bottom of a deep hole were shouting up to her.  But the one thing that never changed was his continued possession of her body.  Completely.  In every way that counted.  Unable to concentrate on more than one thing at a time, she ignored him for the moment as she was flooded with the unfamiliar ripping sensations in her colon and sudden cramping muscles in her abdomen.  

Abruptly, unexpectedly, without any real warning, he came inside Dana, flooding her intestines with what would have normally been a driving, scalding heat.  The terrible cramping sensations in her abdomen were mirrored, yet exaggerated by his painful grip on her hips.  Bashir finally began to slow his frenetic thrusts, abruptly ending in a motionless stance like a clock run down.  

But he maintained his domination of her body, continued his painful penetration for at least another couple of minutes before becoming so small that he slipped out.  Anything to drive home the fact that she was an object, an object which belonged to a man now, a man she'd never met.  Now that Bashir had achieved his satisfaction, he grabbed Dana by the hair and pulled her upright, slid out of her body and then roughly turned her to face him.  

“Now you understand, don't you?  You understand what we want and what you are going to give us every day.  There won't be any problems from you on this, will there?”  



Slowly, her vision began to narrow.  Her sight, which had a moment ago been unhindered, was now reduced to a single pinprick surrounded by a gathering darkness that was rapidly collapsing inwards.  Only at the last moment, just before that circle of light disappeared, did Dana realize that the pain was gone, her feeling of nausea had suddenly passed, and that there was no longer the coppery taste of her blood or the bitter taste of his semen in her mouth.  Only warmth and a gentle falling motion registered in her mind as she slipped into unconsciousness and toppled over.

Unseen by Dana, Bashir left the small bedroom without looking back.  He needed only a little time to prepare for Linda.  


When Dana came to, she was leaning against the foot of the bed.  She looked around like a disinterested spectator, as if she'd never been involved with what had just happened in this room.  Her new sexy clothes lay strewn around the room.  Among them lay a dog leash and cane whip.  Shocked into reality, her hands went to her neck and she felt the collar suddenly constricting her, preventing her from breathing.  She fumbled with it for a minute, then let it go.  It just didn't matter anymore.  She was less than human now.  

Feeling more depressed than she had ever felt before in her life, Dana made no effort to get up, no effort to clean herself, instead crossing her arms over her bare chest as she began a slow back and forth rocking motion.  If she had been autistic, it would be called self-stimulating.  Here, it was just a feeble attempt at comforting herself.  Blinking back quick tears, Dana asked herself, what, after all, was the point?  What he had just done to her would be done time and time again by men she'd never met.  

Numbly, she looked down at the nylons she still wore and the high-heeled pumps still on her feet.  Stockings that were made for one reason, to make a woman sexier and more desirable to these terrible, primitive men.  She'd never worn anything like them before, but somehow knew that she would become intimately familiar with this type of lingerie.  

She tossed her head back and closed her eyes.  The light had vanished from her world.  They had shut the door to any future, and not only had they shut it, they’d done so with authority.  Daddy was gone this time; she somehow knew that for certain.  He was gone to her forever now.  

She looked around the room dry-eyed now, telling herself to remember this place, this time.  At first she thought that somehow, it should have been different, nicer, should have had richer furnishings.  But then she realized that this room perfectly epitomized her future; this cheesy bedroom had been burned into her memory forever, for it was the beginning of the end of her old life and flawlessly represented her new life.  

The room was silent; there were no sobs or tears from Dana for she was too exhausted.  But there was an additional, more subtle reason why she didn't cry.  She effortlessly understood her plight, her new life now.  She had seen and heard everything they’d said and she knew her situation wasn't going to get better.  As Bashir had said, the men she'd used in her previous life really would have the last laugh.  

Dana leaned back and closed her eyes again.  Suddenly, despite her determination and her best efforts, a single tear trickled down her cheek.  But even this moment was interrupted as the door opened and one of the awful men entered.  He barely looked at her as he snapped his fingers, motioning for her to dress herself.  She was to learn that it was her time to traverse the horrible meat market for the next-to-last-time tonight.

But instead of exiting through the meat market and being taken directly back to her cell, on The Albanian's orders she was led down into a series of subterranean rooms.  When the final door opened, her escort tried to lead her into the room, but Dana quickly saw that the room was absolutely filled with cold, silent men waiting for what could only be her arrival.  She tried to hold back, but he was too strong for her.  She was dragged into the sound-proofed room and the door locked behind her.  It took well over three hours for every man there to be satisfied, many of them twice.  

Her buttocks striped from the cane beating and her face reddened from having been repeatedly slapped into performing for the demanding crowd, Dana could speak only in semi-coherent monosyllables as she was once more led through the meat market and back to her cell.  She’d always had a healthy ego, but it had been a fragile one in some ways too.  Now it was gone, purposefully destroyed by these men.  

Looking neither left nor right, she walked staring straight ahead like a cadaver might; uncoordinated limbs moving loosely in a shambling, sometimes stumbling walk, wearing her wrinkled blouse, too small mini-skirt and ridiculous high-heeled pumps.  Dana’s navy stockings had been badly laddered from her futile struggles in the basement, her makeup had been ruined and her stomach pumped full of semen.  Vaginal and anal leakage showed as stains on the insides and backs of her thighs and where the drainage had stained her navy stockings.  

She looked awful to the men and women who saw her walk through the Market.  Her face was streaked with men's ejaculate and her eyelids were almost glued shut, and Dana’s perfectly cut short hair was tightly matted to her skull.  Like all the others before her at this stage of their new life, she walked blindly with her jacket and bra and panties carefully draped over her left forearm, symbols of total sexual devastation in the battle for the rest of her life.


Dana lay on her bed that night without moving.  She’d always liked sex, always enjoyed the very act of sex.  Normally, the more men involved, the more she enjoyed it as long as she felt empowered, like she was always the one in control.  But she felt like damaged goods now.  Her light blue eyes were truly blank, echoing a mind empty of all thought.  She felt as if she were lying at the bottom of a river of dark water.  While there was no blood flowing from any wounds, her injuries were just as severe as if she'd been knifed.  

The three girls had been held at the compound for less than seventy-two hours and the first of the teenage beauties was, psychologically, a thoroughly and completely broken woman.  

It had been a long, hard terrible day, but even so, sleep came hard for Dana.  When she finally dozed off, she did so thinking about what they had done to her; and what the rest of her life now held.  She did not dream, or if she did, she did not remember.


PART Eight: Linda begins her own journey to a different kind of truth

How Could This Happen To A Nice Girl Like Linda or Hers’ Was A Predictable Pattern of Behavior
When Linda had been told to leave Dana, she had been taken to a new room and left alone with instructions to prepare for a visit.  Somehow, Linda just knew that that time was almost here.  Linda looked at her reflection in the mirror almost without recognition.  The awful teddy which allowed her breasts to hang freely uncovered.  The garter belt and stockings and the heels.  The tiny G-string she'd been forced to put on again.  Every time she looked at herself in the mirror, she wanted to scream at her reflection, to somehow root out the burning shame that was her permanent companion.  


It had been hours since she'd first put on makeup and she'd been a mess after what Dana had done to her.  But her lips were glossy once more and without being told, she'd retouched her dramatic eye makeup, making her look once again like a modern Cleopatra.  An involuntary shudder ran down her spine at the thought of how she looked.  As she prepared for Bashir's arrival, she was experiencing a horrible sort of fear that could only be compared to the worst of stage fright.  Linda looked in the mirror one more time and hated all over what she saw there.  Unconsciously, she repeated to herself that she never would have worn this clothing if he had not threatened her and the other two with being gang-raped, and with the death of all their families.  

If only she could believe that was why she had capitulated.

Linda had explored the room, but the drawers to the dresser were locked.  She slowly walked back to the edge of the bed and sat down.  When she walked, it hurt her hips, it hurt between her legs.  God, she was so sore, her pelvis ached and throbbed so much from the things they'd done to her.  Linda looked at the foot of the bed where the thin but strong parachute cord hung from the ceiling.  This puzzled her and caused her no little anxiety, for there was no telling what these maniacs had planned for her.  

She sat with her back erect, her knees together as she had been taught her whole life, and without thought covered her bared breasts with her hands.  She couldn't believe her life now.  Everything was so awful, her life was a catastrophe.  Kidnapped only a couple of days ago, there had been the terrible journey to this nightmare place followed by the physical and emotional torture, then all of the disgusting things done to her and her friends.....and worst of all, the horrible things Dana had done to her only a few hours ago.  

She had honestly meant to cooperate with their captors; anything to make them release the three of them, but she realized the truth now.  The three of them were doomed, they had been from the very beginning.  She and the others would never be allowed to leave after what had been done to them.  But did the other two understand this?  Really understand this in their hearts?  In frustration, Linda snorted at the word friends; actually the other two were more like girls she had just known at school....and she hadn't even really liked the rich-bitch Dana or what she stood for.  

Concern for their safety, pity, friendship, whatever the reason, she'd made an emotionally driven, spur of the moment decision to offer the monsters what they asked of her, if only to save the others from more torment.  But did these two girls understand, really understand what it had taken for her to do this, what she had offered their captors in order to save them?  Did they appreciate what she had sacrificed, would be sacrificing for them every day of her life from this point on?  

Linda sat up.  She tried to gather herself, tried regain what little self-respect the faceless men had left her.  She looked around at the empty room, thinking she had somehow emerged from this terrible experience with her mind intact.  Well, more or less intact even after the torture, the pain and hunger, the anguish and the sleeplessness, everything--all of it.  Only to tumble backwards into the hell her mind created once again as she awaited his arrival.  

After what they had gone through, Linda wanted to believe in the comfort of her religion, but without any sense of contradiction, she also knew herself in normal times to be a capable, very rational person.  These were not normal times, but it was only these latter tools which had any chance of helping her and the two others in this situation.  

She also understood that their captor’s actions had been effective, for she'd already begun to drift into minor delusions.  Her skin reported creatures now where there were none, and she imagined hands intimately exploring her body even when alone.  Figures, their humanity blurred, moved at the periphery of her less than perfect vision.  Even her parents rested just outside her sight, but disappeared, fleeing when she looked directly at where they had been.  Was she really okay, or were these all the delusions of a ruined mind?

She'd been hurt badly by these men, enough to know they were capable of hurting the three of them a great deal more if she didn't cooperate.  But, then they left her alone to face her fear and delusions.  Only she and two other girls from her town had been kidnapped, as far as she knew.  Why were they doing this?  Ransom?  Politics?  Revenge?  

Without warning the door opened suddenly, breaking her useless chain of thoughts.  Bashir entered briskly, still looking old, but fully refreshed now.  Ominously, he carried a thin rattan crop.  

God!  What had he done to Dana?


A True Guest Of The Master or Linda’s Dance Would Be One Of Legs And Chest And Opportunity

The powerful older man glanced at her, now dressed in the whorish lingerie they'd left her.  He said only, "Are you ready?  Ready to cooperate?"

Slowly, very slowly, with her eyes always on his, Linda rose from a sitting position and stood frozen, her hands still covering her chest.  They stood like that for a long time, and she hated every second even as somehow the two of them became one person with one reality......and then she trembled.  Linda raised one hand halfway to her face and dropped it again to cover herself.  

She dropped her eyes now and looked at the floor first in submission, then nodded quickly.  Her hands drifted from her breasts to end up down by her sides.  With this act of exposure alone, they both knew she was now well traveled on the road to total submission.

She looked up into his face, his eyes.  Blood and fear pounded in her ears in a rush of understanding.  As a woman, she intimately understood exactly what she had just done.  All of the things that had happened and all that had yet to happen, everything was laid out there for her to see, if she would just look.  And she saw.  Linda finally dropped her eyes again in confusion and pain, not able to look at him anymore.

"Good.  We'll see how ready you are.  Dance for me."

Linda was bewildered by the command, it not what she had prepared herself to expect.  At first thinking it another of his mocking jibes, she remained still.  She had danced little as a young girl for it had not been allowed; her bafflement was plain for him to see.  

"I told you to dance.  Is my English that bad?  Is there something I said that you are incapable of understanding?”

Linda shook her head, saying, “No.  I mean, yes, I understand.”

“Then begin your dance.  Now!  You have been warned.  Learn to obey the men here, first time, every time.  Do you need more discipline to help you remember this?  If you do, I am willing to oblige right now.”  With this, he cut the air crisply with his crop.  “If not, dance for me.  Now.”


Slowly, reluctantly, the teenage girl began to move for him.  Her cupped hands again covered her breasts as they hung out the front of her short top, but now it was to prevent discomfort as she moved for him, rather than from a sense of modesty or shame.  She moved her hips in what to her were obscene gyrations, her feet in an openly wanton stance that exposed her groin, her firm, teenage breasts jiggling with her efforts.  

To Bashir however, she had accomplished an impossible task.  A beautiful young girl whirling in stockings and high-heels and lingerie, Linda looked impossibly awkward--she was slow, ungainly, uncoordinated.  This was a beautiful young woman wearing sexy lingerie, and yet she somehow made herself seem unattractive.  

He asked her scornfully, "Is that the best you can do?  You look pathetic, not sexy.  Take off your panties.  Put your hands by your hips."  

The blonde teenager slowly, reluctantly, slid the G-string off her hips and let it fall to the floor.  He was looking at her shaved vagina and the pouty labia which framed her there.  Bashir didn't think the young Louisiana teenager was really trying, so he applied the crop liberally, yet lightly, to the patches of bare skin that weren't moving in an erotic enough manner.  Linda yelped again and again; surprise, pain, frustration, embarrassment, each increasing with every slash of the switch.   

Bashir felt the teenage girl was probably doing the best she could, but it seemed obvious her semi-nakedness troubled her.  Perhaps, he thought to himself, she didn't want what little cover the lingerie provided?  Perhaps she was unlike most teenage girls when around strange men?  Perhaps she would rather be naked than wear his fine outfit?  

This was a girl about whom he’d though long and hard.  She’d already proven capable of a willingness to submit to her God.  Would it be possible to convert her to Islam, the one true faith?  If she converted, truly converted and repented of her prior sins, one of his men could marry her and make her an honest woman, rather than an infidel and non-believer.  It would be something to keep in mind.  


Earning The Freedom Of Nylon And Leather or It Was A Slow Ride To Linda’s Heaven That Day

His face expressionless, he demanded, “If you want clothing to wear, prove it.  Earn it.  Dance!”

Linda made a soft sound which, if one knew teenage American girls, ranged between a sob and a groan of despair.  

He pushed the issue.  “Put your hands back on your breasts.”

Linda hesitated and the man quickly flicked the crop at her face.  

“Put your hands where I said and now play with your nipples.”

She jerked her head away from him and sobbed her fear and unwillingness, but her hands obediently slid from her stomach to her breasts, her fingertips softly massaging the beautiful brown nubs.  Soon her nipples had hardened before her unbelieving eyes.

“That's right.  Thaaaat's right.”   

He escalated his demands.  “Cup them, offer them to me.  Offer yourself to me.  Cradle your breasts and offer them to me.”  

Desperate, embarrassed.....but in the end, compliant......Linda cupped her breasts in her hands and thrust her chest at him all the while continuing to gyrate to an imaginary tune.  

He had clearly had had enough of her clumsy dancing.  Lost in humiliation, the teenager sensed him approach as she danced, but couldn't force herself to look into the leering face which radiated such victory over her.  One of the upper drawers on the dresser was open now; he'd apparently had his own “toys” delivered before her arrival.  She only caught a glimpse as he approached her with a thick, black, leather dog collar.  The collar was studded, had heavily threaded seams, and a small lock which could be used to fasten the collar when necessary.  He pushed her into a prone position on the bed and fastened it around her neck.  Linda couldn't prevent herself from cringing under his every touch.  

"And this completes your beautiful outfit," he said.  To Linda's shock, he next produced a leash and clipped it to her new collar.

She wanted to scream at him, to stand on her feet, anything to fight him.  It seemed he would never stop in his quest to totally humiliate her. But nothing mattered anyway for she had been hurt too much, too recently, to question any his demands.  She wanted to be strong, but the quavering note in her voice was clear, even to her.  "Please.  I've done everything you asked.  Please," she begged.  

“That's right, you have.  And just keep on cooperating unless you feel the need for the three of you to meet my five friends.”

Linda shuddered involuntarily at the thought of being given to five men to be endlessly raped.  She had no idea that Dana was undergoing that fate even as they spoke, but with five or six times that number.  Bashir looked at her for a second, then jerked the leash so hard that she slammed face first into the mattress.  "You'll be a wonderful addition once trained, but right now you need a little more discipline," he announced.

Linda struggled to get her hands under her, but she'd known somehow from the beginning that nothing could save her now.  Nothing could save any of them, but she couldn't help herself.  “Please,” she begged.   “Please let me go, let us go. You don't have to do this to me.  You're a good man; you don't want to do this to us.  Please.”  


The Things Linda Didn't Learn In Parochial School or Party Tricks With a Collar Can Be Quite Amusing At Times

Bashir the head breaker just stood there, admiring the beautiful, helpless teenager lying on the bed, wearing only what he'd given her; teddy, stockings and heels.....collar and leash.....and nothing more.  He’d become used to impassioned pleas for mercy from these weak American women over the last few years, the feeble attempts to reach his humanity, the failed appeals to what they prayed was his innate moral nature.  Women more beautiful and helpless.....and more deserving of mercy than this one had tried to reach him.  But they'd all served his master to the end of their usefulness, and so would she.

"The reason you're here is because if ever a woman deserved to be here, it is you.  If any of your so-called friends knew what was being done to you, the boys and men who you've just used, they'd just applaud.  You were despicable to them......I think they called you a 'cunt' when you played your religious games then, and you're still a cunt to them now.”

"Wha…..what do you mean? I don't know what you're talking about!  I've never done anything like that."

There was a swishing sound. “Ow.  Oww.  Owww.  Aaaahhh, God," she shrieked as the strongest stinging pain yet ripped into her buttocks.  

Turning her head, she saw his cane and tried to roll away from him, but was still pinned to the bed by her collar and leash.  The teenaged American girl quickly learned that it hurt more to be hit on the hip than to take a blow on the meaty muscle of her gorgeous ass.  She rolled and arched her ass into the air for him.  

His arm moved again, then once more, and finally once more again.  “Aaaahhh.....owww.....aagghh."  She screamed and shrieked again and again in rhythm with his blows.

Stupidly, she allowed the tiniest bit of rebellious anger to surface when she cried out, “You're crazy!  Please.  Stop it!  I've already told you that I'll cooperate!”

The cane continued to move in sharp blows against her body, but they were more determined now.  Again.  Then one last time.

“Ooowwww.  God, please stop.  Why?  I've already told you I'll do whatever you want.  Stop, please”

Whaaackkk! The terrible cane came down on her exposed butt again. "Aahhh.  Owww," she screamed in perfect reply to what was the last blow for at least the moment.  The Albanian's head breaker smiled in satisfaction as a series of fire-red welts slowly appeared on her fair skin.  

"You don't get to speak like that to anyone anymore," he warned her.

The stupid girl started to protest, "Wait....please....you can't do this to me.....this is America...."  

She was cut off by the flash of the cane slapping onto her butt one more time.  Again, like the others before, it hurt so much she couldn't stop from screaming.  No one had ever treated her like this before.  Never!

"You don't get speak anymore at all unless you're spoken to, you foolish, stupid, ignorant American bitch."

Tears filled the kidnapped American's eyes.  He knew her parents may have spanked her as a young child, but it’d never been like this.  She'd never been mistreated like this before........everything was so horrible now.  She'd been attacked and tortured, now this.  She had been forced to wear a dog collar and beaten, treated like a nothing more than a mongrel dog.  It had to be quite….upsetting, actually.  
 
"Are you sorry for being what you are......a young, spoiled bitch?"

“I....I...,” she didn't know what to say.

The cane hit her ass again.  God!  It hurt so much. 

The cane had made her decision for her.  "Yes.  Please.  Yes!  I'm sorry.  Please let me go."  

"So you admit you're a bitch?  No better than a dog that needs discipline?"

"Yes.  No.  NO! "

"Oh young woman, I am so sorry.  That was the wrong answer."

Sssshhwwaaak!

"God!  Oowwwww, please.  I don't understand," she cried, sobbing.  Tears ran freely down her cheeks now and ruined her makeup as her new master contemplated the sexy scene for a short moment.

"Are you a bitch?" he asked the sobbing girl one more time, slowly.

"Yes.  Yes, I am." Her voice was choked, muffled with her face pulled into the mattress. The world had gone crazy.  She knew to agree with her master now, no matter what he said. 

"Yes, what?  You need to show more respect."

"Yes sir"  Respect?  This man was insane, no matter how much power he might have over her.

"Yes sir, what?"

"Yes sir, I'm a bitch"  Linda, could hear the capitulation in her voice.  Knew it was obvious to anyone listening.  She was so sore, so tired.  Tired of fighting, so tired of the continuous pain.  She just wanted it all to stop, to all just go away.

"Since you now agree you're a bitch, isn't it only obvious that you be treated correctly?  I mean, do you actually disagree with me in this?  Do you think you should be allowed the privilege of acting like a person?  Have you earned that privilege here?  I ask you, have you really?”

Filled with fear from his terrible whip, her face burning red with embarrassment, Linda could only shake her head no, that she had not earned that right.  And to agree that she deserved to be treated like a dog, not as a woman.

“You are most rational person and I am sure it will not take long to learn to behave correctly.  So!  Until I give you permission to do otherwise, from this point forward you crawl on your hands and knees like the undisciplined female dog we both know you are."

Linda felt a tug on her collar as she realized the man wanted her off the bed, and he was pulling on her leash now as if she were a dog.  And so, Linda slowly, painfully climbed down from the bed, fearful she would be punished again if she didn't get it right the first time.

"That's a good girl.  That's a goooooood girl."  He crooned at her and nodded in appreciation as he watched the beautiful young woman resting on her hands and knees, her firm young breasts hanging from her chest like a bitch ready to suckle her young.

Eyes closed, Linda's face burned with terrible embarrassment at being controlled by a leash and having to respond like a dog to his verbal commands.  He would pull and she followed exactly, crawling on her hands and knees wherever he led.  The teenager was overwhelmed by total and complete humiliation as she crawled around on all fours; the disgrace she felt with her total compliance was utterly complete and absolutely overwhelming.  

Twice he caned her ass when she responded too slowly to his commands, once he laid it lightly between her butt crack as he rocked her pussy from behind.  She screamed each time and learned to obey his commands even more quickly, more explicitly with each blow.  When he finished the last time, he threw the cane on the floor in disgust at her performance.  


Bashir led Linda on a leisurely stroll around the room once as he casually investigated the furnishings, then a second time.  Her knees were beginning to ache when he finally led her back to the sofa, but he finally seemed impressed with her obedience.  

"Heel," he commanded.  

It was a new command, so unexpected that she was confused.  Linda wasn't sure what he wanted, but at tug from her leash she finally rocked back on her haunches and assumed a kneeling position.  The handler gave her a little smile of victory and patted her on the head like he would his favorite dog.  Her face beet red, instantly, Linda was filled with fear that the man who treated her like this would hurt her again and an awful misery at the sudden recognition of her shameful lack of courage, of her eager willingness to cooperate, of her almost eager willingness to act as less than human just to avoid his blows.

“Fetch the cane,” he ordered.  Linda looked at the cane that lay on the floor across the room and reluctantly dropped to all fours again and crawled to the cane.  She began to pick it with her right hand when Bashir said, “Bitches don’t have hands.  Bring it here between your teeth.”  

Face beet red again, Linda flinched for an invisible second at the command, then leaned over and picked up the cane with her teeth and returned it to Bashir.  He looked at her for a second, silently demanding with a raised eyebrow.  Face continuing to remain flushed red from an overwhelming sense of embarrassment, Linda obediently rose to her knees, her hands positioned in front of her chest like dog’s paws, the cane still held in her teeth.


Forced Into Compliance Like A Good Little Bitch or Linda Really Tried To Develop A Canine Way Of Looking At Things

She was coming along nicely and Bashir looked with knowing eyes at the girl sitting on her knees.  “For an inexperienced and undisciplined female, you think you're a clever little bitch, don't you?”  

He used a different tone now and from the anxious look on her face, his captive must have sensed that he had something new planned.  Using the leash, he pulled the girl on the leash toward the bed and said, "Up on the bed.  Up girl."

Clearly hating herself, clearly understanding how morally weak she appeared to anyone who might be watching, the girl dropped the cane from her mouth at his feet.  Face red with embarrassment at what she was doing just to avoid a little pain, the new girl now slowly but obediently climbed onto the bed, still on her hands and knees. 

"Lay down.”

She hesitated for a moment, then lay on her belly, her hands by her side.


Linda felt her face flush deep red, but God help her, she obediently rolled over for him.  She was lying on her back now with her knees clamped tightly together.

"Are you a slut?  Come on, you beautiful young woman, answer me....are you a slut?"



"Good, now that our ground rules have been established, we can continue.  We both know what you are; we both know what you're going to be.  So you won't mind proving it, will you?  Come on; show me exactly what makes you what you are."


"Spread your knees wider," his voice cut through her roiling thoughts like a knife.  


“See how easy it is to allow yourself to be owned?  Especially if the price you avoid paying is high enough and it's truly in your nature to be submissive.  See how easy it is to give up the things you've taken for granted your whole life, and assuming in their place only the value of simple property?  A piece of advice, young woman.  If you want to survive here, learn to give your betters exactly what they want.  Or more.  And when you've earned better treatment, then they'll treat you that way.”  


Bashir snorted to himself; cooperate with him and what would the young Christian girl really earn?  Nothing but making a shitload of money for them by getting her brains fucked out for the next four or five years until they finally had to sell her ass off as too worn out for their needs.  But he had to admit as he looked at the terrified teenager lying on the bed; she was an absolutely spectacular piece of ass right now.  She was young and looked absolutely petrified, but at the same time, she somehow seemed almost casual in her nakedness now.  She truly was remarkable; slender and curvaceous, a vixen and a sylph both.  She was both tautly muscular and yet almost naturally languid in her pose on the bed too.  This one was a natural; men would desire her even more than Dana, mainly because this one would hate what they did to her so much.  Corrupting this one’s fragile youth would bring men a lot of pleasure.  With just a little more seasoning, this whore would earn his master a lot of money.

The blonde teenager seemed transfixed by her helplessness.  She lay before him timid and diffident, yet still the perfect vision of the ultimate sex goddess in silk and nylon.  That she wore this against her will only made it that much more sweet.  She was perfect tonight.  From the bondage elements of collar and leash the shy girl found so embarrassing, through the sheer kinkiness of the humiliating outfit the naïve young teenager had been forced to put on with trembling fingers, to her nylon-clad thighs.  No practiced slut or professional whore could have looked more erotic at this moment.  


For Linda, This Was A Life Altering Experience or What She Lost In Hope She Gained Equally In Despair

There could be no limits to what he planned for her tonight, for behind the shame and humiliation in her tear-filled eyes, Bashir thought there still burned just the tiniest trace of defiance.  This was something he would take pleasure in burning out over the next few hours whether it existed or not as he molded her into his master's creature.  She may even still be a virgin, but whether she remained that way when offered for sale the first night was up to him.  Bashir suddenly realized that he didn’t care about maintaining her virginity.  When he was finished and she was no longer a virgin, she would crawl away on hands and knees and be glad to escape that lightly.

"Take off your right shoe.”

The American girl looked at him in confusion.

"I am getting tired of repeating myself to you.  Take off your right shoe.  NOW!”

She slowly, hesitantly, reached down and undid the ankle strap before sliding her foot out of the high-heeled sandal.

“Fuck yourself with the heel.  Fuck yourself with it now."  

The teenager began crying again, her face beet red, her nose running, tears of humiliation flowing from her eyes.  Her face reflected the horrified apprehension that dominated her thoughts; she sniffed as she lowered her eyes in what almost looked like a coquettish move but which was in fact pure, total, soul-destroying humiliation, then finally brought the heel up to her beautiful, naked, seemingly virginal pussy.

"You don't get to stop until I'm happy, and the only thing that'll make me happy is to see that heel disappear inside your belly.  Do you understand?"  

The girl’s head was still down, but she nodded and started to hesitantly spread her labia and push the heel of her sandal into her vagina.  Slowly, it disappeared until three inches rested inside the entrance to her vagina.  She stopped and looked at him, begging him with her eyes to allow her to stop.  But he was adamant.  


The girl closed her eyes, and then, inch by inch, she buried it until the arch of the sole rested on the warm flesh between her legs with shoes’ pointed toe directed up as it rested on her belly.  He raised his eyebrows once and she began to move the high-heel in and out of her vagina, burying it up to the sole each time.  Suddenly, the young girl stopped, gave a soft gasp and looked at Bashir as if to say something.

Frustrated at the lack of blood, Bashir snapped the supple crop across her exposed left nipple.  The kidnapped girl let out a muffled scream of pain and the blonde teenager began ramming the high-heel in and out of her vagina in quick, deep strokes.  Fascinated, he noticed that she had angled the heel so that sandal's sole rubbed against her clit both going in and coming out.  

He wanted her to buck and moan with each thrust of the heel, to pretend that she was enjoying herself, but she proved both stubborn and naïve, a terrible actress giving a sub-standard performance.  Regardless of her acting ability, the kidnapped teenager knew what was expected.  He smiled to himself; she would pay for that lack of cooperation soon.  Nonetheless, right now her body had finally begun to let down a little love juice and the insides of her upper thighs had become slightly slick.  Even when still full of fight, it was still absolutely amazing what you could force a frightened young teenage girl to do when you applied enough pressure.  

He inhaled and smiled in anticipation, the smell of a female letting down her juices had begun to fill the room.  Bashir felt himself hardening.  He may be older now and had already taken one of them, but if he just took his time, he’d be able to fuck this teenager just as much as he had her friend.  He smiled at the memory.  

Bashir raised an eyebrow as he studied the heel she continued to bury in her vagina.  She’d shown a minimal amount of pain during the first penetration and there was little if any blood on the shoe, even after she’d fucked herself with it for a while.  

He asked, “Do you still claim you were a virgin?  Look at the heel of your shoe.”

With a look of shock replacing the trapped desperation on her face, the kidnapped Christian girl stopped masturbating and studied the high-heel she held in her hand.  Finally, she understood what he implied; that if she truly had been a virgin, then where was the blood from a newly broken hymen?  She looked up at Bashir and said in a solemn, almost indignant little girl's voice, “I swear, I have never been with a man.  I swear!”

After a moment’s hesitation, Bashir said, "Put the shoe back on your foot."  He guessed that, technically, there were ways she could have been deflowered without ever having had sex; riding a bike or a horse or something like that.  But he wasn't sure he believed her, he wasn't sure he believed there were any teenage virgins left in America.  In any case, it wasn't her cherry he wanted from this one.  To him taking a virgin was almost more of a problem with plumbing.  No, what his master wanted was the ability to corrupt her virginal innocence, her purity, her naturalness.  

But that was still available.  And that, he would have.


The careful constructs of her world destroyed, Linda lay on her back, her thighs spread wide.  Her left nipple ached where he’d slashed her with his switch, and her pubic bone ached between her legs.  A vibrator and a dildo rested on the mattress between her knees.  Bashir had removed all of his clothing now and he slowly crawled on the bed, his head towards her feet.  He mounted her, placing his head between her thighs.  Without thinking, Linda tried to close her glossy, nylon-slick knees, but his hands were already resting on the insides of each thigh near her knees and he easily pushed her legs apart again, then dipped his head.  

Linda looked at the ceiling helplessly and fought back tears as he began to explore her lower body in a way that no man had ever done before.  Suddenly, he raised his left leg and swung it over her head, placing it on the other side of her face as he rested his full weight on her chest and abdomen. Linda could feel him raise his upper body as he began poking his erection at her mouth.  She turned her face away until he said in a threatening tone, “Take it in, girl.  Take it in all the way.”

Knowing that she was already lost, but mostly remembering what had been done to the three of them as they hung on the Spider's Web, Linda unwillingly opened her mouth and accepted his terrible gift.  He began to pump his hips slowly at first, rhythmically filling her mouth and then pulling out.  After a couple of seconds, Linda reluctantly put both hands on his buttocks, hesitantly closed her lips around him and began to apply light suction.  But even as she did this, she could feel his mouth begin working her vagina with shocking intensity.  

He began to hurt her then, choking her with his deep thrusts.  Panicked, she beat helplessly, frantically on his hips and buttocks with her hands for a moment.  But nothing swayed him from his single minded goal, for her blows to him at that moment were as light as the touch of butterflies.


Innocence Taken Beyond Her Control or He Was Determined to Introduce Linda To His One-Prong Approval

The cold air brushed over his shoulders to touch her, caressing a woman's flesh that had been forcibly, yet so intimately bared for the first time to a man's attentions.  Uncomfortable chills ran up the insides of her thighs, causing goose bumps that were answered after a few minutes by a flow of unfamiliar, almost delicious languor moving down along the same pathway towards her knees.  The torpor ran light-fingered up into the unlit bottom of her consciousness and something was suddenly forced for the first time in her life to change perspectives somewhere deep in her mind.  She knew what was happening, sort of.  Linda fought these hormonally-based feelings as best she could, but it was so hard.  


He had wanted everything from her in the beginning.  But like any woman facing rape, she had held back from fully cooperating, resisting as best a female in her situation could.  Even if she didn’t have any hope of freedom, the idea that she at least might try to buy herself and her friends a little less abuse, a little better treatment, with her body…that was not too outrageous even though the idea absolutely repulsed her.  Everything indicated that this night was, for some reason, critical to his view of her.  But in the end, no matter how it ended she would still be his prisoner.   

Linda choked and then gagged as he hit the back of her throat.  She tried to ignore what he was doing to her, to her body.  But it was so difficult.  Linda had been filled at first with a hopeless black dread, unlike any emotion she'd ever before experienced.  But as the awfulness had unfolded--the never-ending sucking and tugging with his lips and manipulating her clitoris with his fingers and the vibrator—all of this a prelude to being raped, this overwhelming darkness slowly changed and time suddenly decelerated for the captive teenager as her world was flooded with heretofore unknown feelings and sensations which made her feel like she was drowning in slow motion.  

Linda hated what this terrible man did to her without her permission, nothing he did was acceptable.  But even as she told herself this, Linda was also forced to reluctantly acknowledge the unexpected tingling sensation which she suddenly felt run from her hips and up her back.  Linda would never admit this to herself, but somehow, horribly, she somehow actually did not hate that feeling which washed over her now.  Worse, everything was beginning with that terrible, treasonous area between her legs.  


Bashir continued to pump into her mouth at different rates, sometimes fast as the need arose, then more slowly until he had almost stopped.  He knew she must think he felt it was some devastating technique designed to drive a female crazy, but in reality, the naïve girl would not know he was just dragging this part out, trying to prevent himself from cumming.  But he always kept on working his hands and fingers between her legs, on and on, never stopping or slowing, fully forcing his reluctant captive beyond her initial awakening, ever further than she would ever be willing to admit…even to herself.  

The watchers behind the camera lens saw their captive teenager's wonderful body eventually flex and arch against the invisible mental bonds which bound her so securely on Bashir's bed.  Her eyes were wide open by now and she stared at the ceiling, her blushing red face generally impassive except for a few unpredictable grimaces.  Every now and then they saw her close her eyes and her head push back into the mattress, her neck corded with the effort she put into it.  


They saw her beautiful long legs struggle to stay closed at first, then spread wider and wider, eventually ending as wide as possible for Bashir's tongue.  Her toes curled then and feet strained uncontrollable, her heels rising imperceptibly at first up the back of his legs.  Her feet eventually moved almost uncontrollably up to his buttocks then slid down the back of his thighs to the bed, time after time after time.  These were slow, involuntary movements resulting from the sheer impact of these new sensations of pleasure, movements which cycled from her legs stretched out straight to drawn up almost against herself, then back to extended again; her knees opening and closing uncontrollably as the insides of her thighs pressed firmly again and again against the sides of Bashir's head.  


Linda began to forget, at least for the moment, what she thought she should be feeling and began to notice that there actually was a feeling that was both unfamiliar and unwelcome.  It began so strong and soon became overwhelming.  She knew what he wanted and at first desperately tried to please him in her unsophisticated way even as she manipulated him, just to get it all over more quickly.  But, more than him, more than the situation she found herself in, Linda hated what this terrible man now seemed to want to exploit inside her.  But, as much as she loathed herself at the moment, she was still helpless in the face of these truths; Linda felt a strange, almost compelling and certainly violent desire to accept that which she could not understand, except for the something which sang inside her with an unfamiliar, almost primal urgency.  

And even though her mind felt muddled and confused both by what he did and how she somehow instinctively knew how to respond, Linda was never again able to free herself of the terribly seductive pleasure which suddenly existed between her legs, no matter how much she might have ached there.  It was a need continually modified by both the cool night air and the hot-blooded warmth which spread like an oily liquid from between from her thighs throughout her body and which eventually, finally, threatened to take control of her mind.  


In the end, she hated herself as she was emotionally crushed by the sensations he forced her to experience, forced her to accept.  This was not what a good girl did and certainly now how a good girl should feel.  Certainly, the momentary loss of control was immediately obvious to any who watched that night.  And what they saw was that a release of all other possibilities had occurred tonight in this young girl, a release potentially so complete that it threatened to wash over her with a clean and pure energy which was more intoxicating than life itself.  At that particular moment, a part of her no longer cared exactly what had happened; that she was young and he old and unattractive, or that she had been kidnapped, taken from her home and parents, forced to submit to him.  

NO!  She didn't want this!  These sensations should have left her filled with revulsion, but they didn’t.  She was such a horrible person!  Hating both him and, for the first time in her life, herself, Linda could now see what a bad person she had become.  She hated that out of control feeling, hated what she was and what she had done—mostly she hated what she understood she had so easily become and the values it seemed she had so willingly betrayed.  

She had never been with a man before, but like all normal girls, Linda had at times guiltily satisfied herself late at night or early in the morning when the need had been overpowering.  

From the guilty beginnings at such a young age, she knew she must be a freak of nature, that there was something terribly wrong with her.  For at the age of five, she had climbed one of the legs of her backyard swing set…she had wrapped her legs tightly around the cold metal bar as she climbed with all the energy and speed of a Kindergartner…she had stopped then and in awed wonder, rubbed herself hard against the cold metal again and again.  Lo and behold, although she never made it to the top, she did reach a juvenile high point of another kind.  

That had been the first time.  And as inappropriate as it had been then, it’d been seductive too.  


And now this monster was doing these things to her.  


Linda Provided A Short, Salty Snack or He Ate Her Pussy Like A Cheap One-Prawn Cocktail

But he still was not finished with her even though she had temporarily stopped sucking on him.  She felt his big hands cupping her youthful, straining butt, pulling her to him as he continued.  He strained, pushing in further, his tongue spearing ever deeper inside her.  The cheeks of his rough face had become even wetter with her vaginal flow and she felt him continually spreading more of her fluids onto the insides of her thighs above the stockings she was wearing.  

A tiny kernel of her mind abruptly protested, this was all that remained of her rational will.  One part of her mind did its best to not think of what was happening, while another part had literally taken over…that part was the unthinking lizard brain which still directed the few controlled responses of her body.  The tiny remaining rational part was horrified by what she had just willingly allowed him to do to her, repulsed by what she had forced herself do in response to his needs.  And the lizard brain continued to maintain its unthinking, hormonal-enforced control.  

Although she knew it was hopeless to beg for mercy, Linda’s hands rested on his buttocks and she stared at the ceiling as she somehow found the willpower to plead with him in a broken voice.  Her voice had been mostly stifled though, muffled by his plunging manhood as she incoherently, intermittently, begged him to stop then.  But he was driven by his male needs, would not hear her inarticulate, imploring cries.  

She implored him in the name of her God, but he would not listen to the beautiful teenage girl who had already unwillingly responded twice now to his manipulations.  Finally, knowing she had failed in her last attempt and somehow suddenly not caring anymore whether or not it was right, she took him in both hands and guided him back into her mouth.  Emotionally, physically drained, Linda lay under him, panting for air as best she could with her mouth filled once more with his hardness.  Compelled by her awful circumstances, but mostly by his force of will and by what he still did to her vagina, she began sucking on his cock again.


His face covered with her vaginal fluids, Bashir continued plucking at the girl’s clitoris; long sucking moves with experienced soft lips which totally absorbed her femininity, drawing her stiffened nubbin out like he was inhaling a long strand of spaghetti.  He spread her sweaty labia wide with terribly nimble fingers that massaged her there and he probed; opening and kneading her pink moistness until the sight of it colored his world and the smell of her fresh, teenage genitals, so masterfully opened by him, filled the small room.  And when the teenage girl had been sufficiently bared before his lascivious eyes, he still licked her vagina and clit with his coarse tongue again and again and again.  

His cock still filled her reluctant mouth, but the sensations must have been extreme, for the kidnapped girl shuddered beneath him and arched her pelvis against his face.  The suction of his mouth and the rough feel of his tongue against her most vulnerable flesh was obviously more than the inexperienced and untutored girl had ever before experienced....and then........he used the vibrator on her again.  


It was a moment of harsh truth for the unwilling teenage girl.  She despised him, hated everything about the people who had kidnapped her, but the sheer intensity of the wonderful sensations she felt, the power of her unbridled emotions at that moment, the sheer wrongness and daring immorality of it, all of it together to compel within her a sudden stubborn and achingly perverse feeling of need.  Whether acting or not, whether driven by her desire to get this terrible thing over or a need to acquiesce to anything which might help save the girls from her town, all Linda knew was that she found herself suddenly screaming for him to stop, begging him to stop even though she did not want him to, even as she found herself thrusting her hips into his face again and again, grinding her pelvis against his chin and mouth as forbidden sensations threatened to rocket through the rest of her body.  

No!  This was impossible!!  She would not allow this!  She would not accept this…this…mockery of what was beautiful between a man and a woman.  But the more she tried to fight him, the more she tried to resist the sensations he had created between her legs, the more beguiling the idea of submitting to him became.  And suddenly, even while partially filled with dread for what she might discover about herself, for the first time in her young life, Linda unknowingly chased that beautiful thing which beckoned so terribly…..the unobtainable perfect orgasm that she’d never before even knew existed.  

Regardless of motivations, they joined as one then, the old man and the unwilling teenage girl he had kidnapped.  It went on and on, seemingly forever.  And even if it was not anywhere near perfect, to the inexperienced Linda it was somehow still both the most exquisite and yet the most awful thing she had ever experienced—it was the most wonderful act, an act performed under the most terrible of circumstances.  But ultimately, it threatened to be the most soul satisfying physical encounter she'd ever experienced in her short life--as well as the most soul destroying experience she’d ever been forced to undergo.  

Suddenly, he stopped, closed his eyes and with a soft groan, lay down by her side.  Praying that it was over, Linda closed her eyes and then moved her body, closing her legs as she turned towards him, struggling with her emotions as she forced her free hand to lay on his thigh as they both tried to catch their breath.  

She lay motionless, chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath, but too afraid to open her eyes to see if his were still closed.  She was lying on her left arm, head pressed to her shoulder, hand beneath her stomach.  She felt his huge hand between her legs for a moment and inhaled quickly—then she tried to control her breathing as she waited to be utterly destroyed by him.  

Nothing more; he didn’t move.  


Linda felt like she was living something out of a bad novel.  Revolting, stomach turning, but true.  If she made love to him—she had never used the word fuck and never would willingly--it would be to save her family and the girls she knew from her town.  But on the other hand, if she enjoyed what he did to her, if she liked they did together, even a little, that would be because of the evilness inside her, proving she was a bad person, an evil woman.  

Still confused but tired of over-thinking her situation, the need to cry finally left and after a while, Linda acted spontaneously, in an impulsive, voluntarily perverse way which would ensure she burned in hell for eternity……she decided to continue touching him.  

Deep inside, she couldn’t the control waves of revulsion which made her feel nauseous.  He controlled her life.  This was the existential event of her life.  That realization--and accepting it—they’d been the biggest mental shifts she’d ever been forced to make.  And now, afraid of the consequences of his accepting her actions, Linda at the same time now found herself terrified of the penalties of his rejection should he find her lacking!  

Her eyes were still closed, but she was sure his were open.  Linda swallowed convulsively.  Was this the way a person was supposed to feel when they were saving others?  She was so inexperienced, she couldn’t believe she was doing this!  Linda let her hand on his leg move lightly to his belly, and from there down to his crotch.  She simply left it there, no pressure besides the weight of her hand.  Any increase in his size would give her the courage to press on.  She continued touching him and even though the volume there still seemed normal after a minute, maybe she’d sensed a slight change?  She pressed lightly with her hand.  He didn’t react badly.  Instead, he touched her hand, pressing down upon it now as if they were lovers.  

It was impossible to breathe normally; his breathing had changed too, but his body remained motionless, except the part beneath her hand.  Linda waited a little while longer.  The smells of a man grew more intense and his member had continued to swell beneath her hand.  Slowly, as if afraid to wake him, she moved her hand up a little.  She held her breath--this was totally unlike anything she had ever done before, unlike anything she had ever conceived of doing before.  She felt oddly detached yet somehow excited too, as if she were compelled to do something both forbidden and dangerous.  

Up until that point, he had not moved at all.  But she had the feeling that the whole muscular mass was growing even more now, without his moving a single muscle.  Suddenly, his hand was between her legs again, and it found that she was wet there.  Linda had not even realized that she was becoming wet between her legs.  She closed her eyes in confusion and abruptly felt herself being lifted into the air and then settled on top of his groin.  

Only then did she look down into his eyes.  


It Was Time to Begin Linda’s Training As A Newly Acquired Whore or Everything She Had Was Reserved For Their Use
This was the moment where a choice must be made.  With only two options ahead of her, Linda squatted over his hips and felt his erection enter into her waiting vagina a short distance before she stopped the move of her own volition.  At nineteen years old and absolutely inexperienced sexually, she had little to choose from—she could endure being raped or she could cooperate and make it something more than a brutal sexual assault.  It would happen one way or another, there was no way she could physically stop him or prevent it from happening….  

After a moment’s wait, he impatiently pulled on her hips and Linda had made her decision.  She responded, if not eagerly, at least in a determined business-like manner, settling even further on him until the small discomfort of the first man’s entry inside her body had reached a sudden crescendo and then was gone.  She was wet and lubricated, he was hard and ready.  She realized that the first sensations had been so much more mental than physical, and shocked at finality of her actions, Linda felt him slide in slowly the rest of the way.  

She settled upon his hips and then gently rocked to ensure she’d taken his every inch.  It was done, and how he filled her!  But it felt......   How she’d known to do this as a sexual neophyte was a mystery which only women could ever answer.  


They fucked together then.  She moved only a little at first.  Once Linda became more experienced, a little more confident she was pleasing him, she moved with a little more abandon.  Finally, at the end, after almost ten minutes, the reluctant, captive teenager found herself moved up and down on him like a machine, the bar of hard flesh connecting their two bodies looking like a well-lubricated piston he always kept buried inside her.  The man’s hands continued to trace patterns on her nylon-covered thighs, then grabbing her by her firm, perky breasts and pulling the pear-sized mounds down to fill his always hungry mouth.  Young and inexperienced, Linda could not know this, but having just cum inside her friend only minutes earlier, this man could delay these games with her for almost as long as his heart held out.  The longer it went on, the more she sweated and screamed as her body and its needs increasingly controlled that of her mind.  

Finally, he came inside her belly.  It was only a small amount for that was all her friend had left him.  The sensations surprised her.  And the shocked look on her face as he did this was wonderful to behold for those men watching.  But more importantly, it was clearly enough for Linda to feel too, for surprisingly, she came too at almost the same time.  But shot through with this heady mixture of shock and embarrassment and intense first-time pleasure, there still remained a tiny fire burning, a simmering indignation which boiled in the back of her mind and which for the most part, she did not even know existed.  

Linda, now slightly more experienced, remained frozen for the first couple of minutes, shocked into immobility by what had been injected into her vagina and by what was still bubbling through her veins.  Stationary but still quite stable in her sweaty saddle, his thick pommel remained buried inside her.  Motionless, sweaty torso erect, lovely chest out and shoulders back, she held her head up to avoid looking into his victorious gaze.  Mixed with the roiling emotions and bubbling hormones of first time sex despite the circumstances, the captive teenager now felt an sense of shame too at what she’d done, no matter how good the reasons. 

Despite the increasingly conflicted torrent of emotions, there remained a significant part of the young Linda which strongly did not want to move, did not want this moment to stop.  She was a teenager with a teenager’s hormones.  Mentally, she understood that this surge of emotions was momentary, that it was the weakness of the flesh over the will of the mind--yet she didn’t care.  She just didn’t care!!  

It didn’t matter, for it…..just…..felt…..so……good.  

Still motionless upon him, Linda was incredibly reluctant to move.  She intuitively knew that she couldn’t let the blood flow out of his member because then he’d become flaccid and slip out of her.  Instead, she gritted her teeth and forced her face into immobility as she kept contracting rhythmically for a long time, until she thought, without embarrassment, that she’d taken every drop of the man’s semen inside her.  For some odd reason, this need to ensure she’d drained him seemed extremely important at the moment.  And so, Linda worked him, worked her rapist remarkably hard.  

Later, she would feel shocked and ashamed by this wanton behavior, but not now, not at this moment during the act.  Yet, in some ways, it was also a surprisingly unemotional moment too, for at no point did they embrace or kiss; all their energy was concentrated into other things.  


Bashir suddenly pulled her down next to him and that intense, oddly spiritual moment which he too had felt had suddenly been broken.  But the play continued as after a moment as he regained his breath.  Now, he instead began a new effort, initiating a new act in the ongoing struggle of total seduction.  The end would be the same--it was not the goal, but the way she got there, the road she traveled--which mattered.  For he already knew, if he could not lure her and entice this beautiful and naïve teenage female into giving him what he wanted, he would eventually take what was his through physical force.  And while they would get what they wanted this way, he would always view it as a loss.  

He touched her and he stroked her long, stocking-clad legs.  And in the act, he took his young and inexperienced, once-satiated lover back to the point where hormones once again ruled her mind.  But when they began this time, both their bodies were supple and warm, bathed in sweat.  Each took their turn wiping the sweat from their faces with the upper bed sheet.  Neither had said a word for long minutes, for it would have been impossible to mingle the pleasure of speaking with the teenager’s newly-found pleasure of fucking.  Instead, he moaned and snorted with pleasure while she screamed and gagged upon him.  

Bashir ensured they took it slower the second time even as her friend Dana continued to tune twenty or thirty or forty men with her mouth and her body.  


He was an older man, a man who she was not aware had already serviced one of her friends.  He sweated from all his pores, his hair was soaked and he puffed and panted.  But he finished in a way that her inexperience told her all men did.  When they were done, Linda let her body relax on his, reluctant for some reason to unglue herself from him.  She didn’t get off, but sat on his chest not far from his neck, as if he were a saddle, pressing his face between her wetly aromatic thighs.  

Linda stayed in that position, suddenly aware at a genetic level of the time-tested means by which women have always controlled men.  Feminine intuition developed over tens of thousands of years took over as she allowed him take in the acrid, beckoning smell of her sex.  Then she started slowly again, rubbing herself against his whole body, slickly greased by their sweat.  She couldn’t say how long she stayed like that, or how long afterward it was that she felt him grow hard again, but not hard enough to penetrate her.  

She kept rubbing her hard teenage body against him and now they both were sweating profusely.  On her knees, with his head between her wet, glossy, nylon-slicked thighs, Linda lubricated Bashir’s face vaginally, letting his nose penetrate until he almost couldn’t breathe.  Without moving from her seat on his chest near his face, she rotated one hundred and eighty degrees on her teenage firm buttocks, lubricated both by what he had put in her as well as by her own vaginal secretions.  Then she leaned forward and voluntarily slid her head between his legs, licking and sucking, until she could once again barely take all of his hardness in her mouth.  She knew she was not an expert, but what she lacked int technique, she made up for with enthusiasm.  Her mind was blank, an effort to not take away memories of this.  Linda lifted herself up, took him inside her and kept up her rhythmic motion; grinding, slow, controlled, so as to not lose her saddle.  Time stopped for both of them, during which there was only a grinding, circular movement which defined the complete measured movement of her body.

Then it was finished a second time and she was exhausted, covered in a dewy sweat, her bruised pubic bone still aching, body paralyzed by incredible muscle weakness, filled with a sudden rush of horror at what they had done together.  Now that it was over, Linda hated once more the gross and evil imperfections of her character this man exploited, but she could not help acknowledging her naive wonder too.  

At the end, when he had finished, there was not a muscle left untouched in her body, everything was a weak as boiled spaghetti.  The insides of her thighs and the tops of her stockings were wet with her fluids now.  She ached, yet every part of her being tingled with a feeling of newness too, a feeling.....almost of rebirth, a feeling she had never experienced before.  It was......a sense of over-all exhaustion coupled with total satisfaction and complete renewal, a human animal entirely and thoroughly sated.  

But a small part of her was still totally aware that what she had done, what she had willingly given him had been so wrong, wrong, wrong, even though she could not have prevented it.  And so, the feeling of elation she felt fled within seconds of this final revelation and everything quickly turned to ashes; Linda cried softly then.  

She cried for what she had gained and for what she had lost, for she had not thought of her faith once while she had laid with this terrible man.  This had been an evil act she had done….  Would it be this way with all men?


PART Nine: Linda becomes a much more experienced lover

Action: the accomplishment of a thing usually over a period of time, in stages or with the possibility of repetition.
-Merriam-Webster online dictionary.

Bashir lay on the beautiful girl for another half minute catching his breath, then rolled away from her sweaty body without a word.  He had somehow saved himself for this last part.  It had been hard with a young woman this beautiful, this vulnerable, so uncorrupted........so surprisingly willing at the end to satisfying his every need, but he had to remain the master somehow.  His immense erection was slowly dying, drying in the subterranean room’s cool air as he walked over to the dresser and removed the handcuffs he had earlier placed in the drawer went back.  He walked back to the silly girl who now openly cried softly on the bed.  

The girl he had just taken looked into his face with her huge eyes and must have seen that not only had she had lost---but that what she had lost was precious beyond gold and jewels.  What she had given him this night could never be denied; never be taken back.  More would be taken soon.  He could not read her mind, but even if her motives had been pure as the gold they stored in Kentucky, she had given him everything; everything she thought she had!  Her belief in herself, in her innate moral superiority, her independence; it was all gone now and she had become totally submissive.  

He took the unresisting teenage girl's hand and pulled her to her feet, then turned her so that her back was to him.  She was handcuffed before she was even aware that he held them.  


Linda felt the sudden return of fear, an emotion that had left the room for a short moment of time.  The older man led her to the foot of the bed and bent her over it.  Linda's knees were shaking, her legs too wooden to move easily; her movements as slow and labored as if she walked though hip-deep water.  

She obeyed his every command instantly for her mind had still not recovered from what he'd done to her on the bed—or what she had so willingly done with him.  When Bashir ran the free end of the rope that hung from the ceiling around the chains of the handcuffs and pulled, Linda's face was leveraged down into the bed and her arms pulled away from her body and up towards the ceiling.  His act was unexpected and so excruciatingly painful to her shoulders; she felt like they had both been dislocated.  

But Linda still did not fight him.  She cried out only once in shocked surprise and then turned her face to the left on the mattress so that she could see him.  He no longer looked old and exhausted, but rather seemed to have regained his strength, his vigor.  The worst part though, was that another man, a youthful man whose face was filled with vigor and enthusiasm, stood next to him.  

The old man walked around to the side where she could see him, and as he rested his hand in a proprietary manner on her bare hip he said, “Time for a little science experiment now.  There is an old wives’ tale in my country; women often fake orgasms.  But when a woman has an orgasm, a true orgasm, it loosens up the muscles in her anus too.  Have you heard this before?”  

Linda couldn't understand what he meant, what he was saying, it was as if he wasn’t even speaking English.  But being bound like this suddenly scared her and she began struggling weakly.  But it was hopeless, for she was in an impossible position.  Then suddenly, it all clicked into place and she knew exactly what terrible things he planned to do next.  

She begged him, “You don't have to do this.  Please, don't do this to me.  I’ve showed you how good I can be.  I’ll be good to you, very good to you.  You don't want to do this, it's not right, it's not necessary.”

Bashir snorted as he applied lubricant to himself.  “Your…Christian nature…allowed me to masturbate you to orgasm.  You have pretended your whole life to be different, better than most, but deep inside you are like every other American female.  Don't tell me what you need or what you deserve.”  

He snorted in humor, “Besides, you and your friend Dana have done your best to ensure that I cannot perform this last test.  But she is still being punished for her failures.  Is this what you desire for yourself?”


Frantic, Linda tried to look over her shoulder as she responded in an urgent tone. “No.  NO.  NO!!  You don't want to do this to me.  This is not what you want to do.  You don't have to do this.”  

For some stupidly, ill-advised reason, she actually felt betrayed by this man.  It was so idiotic, what she’d felt.  After what she had allowed him to do to her just minutes ago, Linda knew without doubt now that she was worthless trash, that she was exactly what he’d said about her, that she was no better than the local girls she had always looked down upon only days ago.  

At the same time, Linda still felt some tiny sense of responsibility for the other two that were here with her.  To save them, she’d committed to being exactly what these men wanted her to be, with at least a superficial knowledge of all of the emotional baggage that that had required.  If she threw that away, her sacrifice would have been all for nothing.  

She had known intellectually what might be demanded of her, but hadn't realized at the deepest emotional levels just how hard it would be to give herself to them in this way, to willingly debase herself for them.  Worse, after what he had done to her just on the bed, she’d felt the personal beliefs that had given her the strength to sacrifice herself, the surety of knowledge that had sustained her for so long…afterwards, these beliefs and understandings, they were all gone.  

They’d proved to be of no value in this crisis or she’d willingly cast them aside.  Now, there nothing left to act as her anchor, no place of emotional safety or refuge was left inside her.  Linda was finally realizing that she was no better, no different than the others; that she was not unique, that she was eminently replaceable within the system and had no value to anyone here except as a vagina with legs; that she would live her life only for men’s pleasure and that despite an earlier life of goodness, she was worth nothing else to them.


Bashir laughed to himself.  This Christian girl believed herself a good person, a strong person, but like all people she had weaknesses.  He knew for sure that she’d be a strong one in bed because she’d worn him out.  But Bashir knew the girl had to learn this lesson---she had to learn that it was her master who chose what happened to her---that she had no choices to make here and certainly no say in the matter.  He needed to continue degrading and humiliating her to drive this lesson home.  They’d quickly learned in the basement that she was one of those people that found it difficult to say anything about the act of sex.  “Good girls' didn't talk about it; the idea of unnecessary sex went against her upbringing and her original view of herself.  Talking about it embarrassed her—or at least it had.  

After a moment’s thought, he realized that he wouldn't enjoy destroying this beautiful girl quite as much as when he’d successfully forced any of The Albanian's other whore’s down this road in the past.  But if he could get this girl used to these things, no matter how humiliated she might feel now, once she was desensitized, she would be well on the road to becoming what they wanted.  And this, this was important because it would please his master.

He waited for a minute, trying to plot out his next steps and then began stroking her neck as he asked, “Does it excite you?  I mean the thought of a man burying his cock inside your ass?  If not me, then as many men as I choose to allow taking you?”

Bashir sometimes hated this part---making the girl’s talk like trash.  For most of them, it was appropriate to their personalities and it seemed a normal progression in their degradation—these whore’s deserved the degradation.  For others, it seemed a silly exercise in control.  But for a few, like this one, it was almost like an unnecessary blasphemy.  It was going to happen to them, to all of them.  And it would be he directing it against them.  

Still, it somehow made that tiny remaining seed of decentness buried deep inside him cringe when he made these last ones recite after him like trained monkeys, but it was a necessary part of their indoctrination and the master demanded the girls learn to please their customers in every way.  Plus, as much as it embarrassed him, it had to make all of them feel a thousand times more shamed by what they did.  And shame here was a powerful motivator.  

She twisted to look at Bashir like he was crazy and stuttered her run-on plea, “Pleasedon'tpleasedon'tpleasedon't.”

She caught her breath.  “You don't need to do this to me, not this, not this way.”

Bashir pulled in a deep breath and then forced out a laugh, “Oh, but I want to.  And I'm sure you think it’s disgusting?  Well.  First of all, I told you this is for science.  Second, I'm giving you a free lesson on how you’ll need to act with your clients......you need to learn how to think and talk.  For instance, say this and make me believe it.”  

“Get it right when you say, “I want you to fuck me in the ass.  I like to be fucked in my ass.”  

He ran his hand up her long, beautiful, silky-feeling leg as he leaned in close to her face, “Now, SAY IT!!!”   


He was a maniac and was raving like a crazy man.  She couldn’t believe what she’d been doing with him, to him, only a few minutes ago.  Linda couldn't stop him, but maybe she could refuse to cooperate with him, with the other man.  She sobbed and hopefully looked at both of them out of the corner of her eyes.  Maybe it was all an act!  But after a moment studying his face, his demeanor, she realized he was in earnest!  He nodded his head as if impatient with her stupidity and she turned her face away from him, shaking her head no, ignoring him, putting him out of her world for as long as she could.  

At this last sign of disrespect, Bashir leapt for the cane riding crop and used it frantically on Linda's buttocks and lower back.  Linda screamed and struggled, but nothing stopped the breaker from hashing her ass with strips of fire which burned like acid.  

And she still, somehow, refused him.  

He leaned over and wrapped his big hands around her neck and began squeezing as he whispered in her ear, “Remember the basement and the plastic bags.  You may be tough, but what about your friends?  And your family?”


Bashir could see in her eyes when the rational girl finally returned and reason finally reared its awful head.  She nodded frantically until he finally let her breathe again.  He knew the girl knew she couldn't hold out any longer, not and still prevent extra torture for her friends.  It was so easy to manipulate a person with these kinds of beliefs, it should be made illegal—wait, wait---it was illegal to do what he was doing.  

He chortled at his own humor.  

After a couple of deep breaths, the girl finally said in a dull, lifeless voice that she would obey him.  Even though he was a little frustrated with having to work her through each stage, Bashir grinned in total victory even though it was difficult to understand the girl through her tears.  But the main thing was that it was clear that she was back in compliance again.  

When the teenager was finally ready, her body stilled of all motion and her voice was that of a dead person, lacking in all emotion.  As she began speaking back to him, it was the voice of a machine-like artificial intelligence that said what Bashir wanted her to say, the voice of a well-made dummy with the ventriloquist absent, yet still able to mouth its lines, “I….I want you to fuck me in my ass.  I like to be fucked in my ass.”  

After she’d finished repeating his sentence, her eyes filled with tears again and she couldn’t stop crying.

“Linda,” he said in a chiding, yet menacing tone, “convince me.  Say it in a convincing tone.  NOW!”


Linda felt dull, as if all feeling had been pharmaceutically suppressed, as if she were watching a movie which starred someone that looked just like her, but wasn't.  At the same time, her emotions were on a roller coaster ride which at the moment was on the downhill plunge.  Her legs felt like her knees had been hyper-extended, her left breast stung where he’d hit her with his whip, her butt throbbed and smarted from being whipped only moments ago.  

There was nothing left inside her, nothing which could stop him, stop them.  Linda closed her eyes and finally repeated what he had said he wanted her to say as her next attempt came out in a much more clear and believable voice, “I want you to fuck me in my tight, teenage ass.  I like to be fucked in the ass.”  

She found her mind worked better if she closed her eyes when she repeated these awful things for his pleasure.  

The old man said, “Now say, ‘Shove your hard cock deep in my nasty ass.’  Go ahead, say it.”

Face burning with shame and eyes closed, Linda repeated this with a little more conviction, “I want you to shove your hard cock deep in my nasty butt.”

“I don’t like it when you change what I say.”  He cuffed her softly on the side of her head.  “Say everything exactly as I tell you.”  

He waited a moment and then continued.  “Now say, ‘I want your cocks rammed up my ass!  I want Bashir and the other men to sodomize me.  I want them to fuck my ass!  I want them to please slide their greasy cocks up my ass and fill my asshole with your cum!’ “

She started to repeat what he had said as if she were a tape recorder.  While the coarse words that these men used had bothered her at first, Linda soon learned that she could shut off her emotions and hide in that little safe place in her mind even as she spewed forth their venomous demands;

“I want all of your cocks rammed up my ass….I want Bashir to sodomize me…I want his men to fuck my ass….I want them to slide their greasy cocks up my ass, and fill my asshole with their cum!"


Not Voluntarily Was Kind Of A Mood Change Thing or For Linda, It Was A Truckstop Kind Of Honeymoon

Finally, the old man was done, for her last efforts at begging the two of them for anal sex had seemed to have reached a level of minimum acceptability; for a first-timer that is.  Linda gave a short fatalistic nod and wiped her runny nose on the bedding.  While coaching her, he had been busy tying a knot in a hand towel.  He now reached down and forced the knot into her mouth, tied the ends of the knotted towel together around the back of her neck and made a hasty gag.  He watched as the other man then slowly squeezed a thick and clear inch-long line of lubricant onto his palm and slowly worked it for a minute to warm the jelly to body temperature.

He continued watching in an almost clinical manner as she tried to fight back her fears, but with little success.  While the other man prepared the jelly, Linda thought about what this one had done to her on the bed and how it had felt, about how she had felt then.  And she thought about how she hated him now once more for making her repeat these awful things and how this whole thing scared and embarrassed her.  

What he planned to have his man do scared her terribly.  But the worst part was how he made her feel about herself.  Even though she tried to pretend that it didn’t bother her, to be forced to tell him that she “…wanted him to fuck her in the ass,” made her feel like the cheapest kind of lowborn slut.  The words and the ideas themselves were both vulgar and indecent, used by a far different class of society than which Linda had been familiar.  In her limited experience, only the sluts at her high school had talked like that.

She had cooperated in the beginning, but she realized now that her cooperation wasn’t enough, wasn’t really what he had ever wanted.  The old man wanted to corrupt her, to take her youth and her soul too, the things that made her human.  If they kept this up, Linda knew it was not a matter of if, but only of when…..  

It would be only a matter of a short time and they would have those things too.  Leaving her with nothing inside; leaving her empty and drained, no better off than any other young girl kept here and who they had turned into a whore.


Finally, the younger pf the two men was ready to claim his awful prize from her.  He leaned over Linda’s hips and pulled her buttocks apart to expose the puckered brown hole which, in hind-sight, she knew he had wanted from her from the very beginning of this exercise.  

After trying to look at him as she begged through the gag in her mouth, Linda froze in fear and disgust.  Worse, she felt frozen inside too, as if she were suddenly without emotion at that moment.  She felt like an automaton made of metal and wood and plastic, an artificial woman from top to bottom made only to provide any kind of sex requested.  That feeling of having a mass of glacial ice in her belly was equally balanced by a tightly controlled, deep-seated rage at the unfairness of what her life had been turned into.  

Nothing mattered to her now, she was lost, her life destroyed.  

Then it was time for him to begin and he did.  She grunted her disgust and groaned her revulsion through the knotted towel in her mouth as she tried to struggle.  The high-heeled pumps they’d made her wear put her hips at a perfect height for her attacker.  Her long, gleaming, wonderfully shapely legs were spread wide, her wrists had been bound behind her and her arms torqued upwards towards the ceiling.  For the first time ever, she felt a man fumbling between her cheeks, parting them with roughened hands in order to enter her there.  

She waggled her hips again, moving her hips in a final, frantic attempt to save herself….  


Suddenly, his man began, and while the pressure of his assault became stronger and stronger, he still was not successful.  For the first few seconds, he saw the girl beneath him praying tearfully as it seemed she first tried to ignore what were obviously the increasingly painful feelings in her rear and then she struggled.  

But soon these sensations must have become threateningly successful as well as agonizing, for he saw these same moves now left her frozen and motionless, her breasts heaving with fear, her chest flooded with helpless, useless emotions like that of a trapped doe.  He saw the teenage girl close her eyes tightly, heard her begging deep inside her throat for rescue---praying for rescue, for a savior---anything to stop this.  

But there was no answering cry, no saving response, nothing for this one but her lonely, utter helplessness.  There never was rescue for these women, there never had been.  

It was then that the man Bashir had chosen to sodomize the girl spread her cheeks even further apart and pushed slowly, gently, with his hips until he had achieved some initial success.  He supported his rigid member with one hand as it finally began to slide inside the captive Christian girl’s tight, teenage body, and that support was all he had needed for success.  

The pain was clearly tremendous for the girl for her upper body bounced off the bed with her efforts to avoid being sodomized.  But she was remarkably tight and he still seemed to be having difficulties.  The girl shrieked once more into the knotted towel and then groaned again as she closed her eyes, perhaps praying that it was over.  Perhaps, he thought, she might have felt she was temporarily safe.......  

But she wasn’t.  

His man pulled out once and took his time now as he applied more lubricant and worked her with his fingertips, rimming her again for a moment.  On his second attempt, the blunt tip of his uncircumcised cock finally pierced her insides, pushing aside the tough muscles that had defended her rectum against his opportunistic invasion for so long.  The pain was so great for their victim this time that nothing could stop the smothered screeches that continually escaped the impromptu gag on her lips.  

But then, as he pushed continually deeper inside her and it apparently became progressively worse…she just could not stop.  At one point, her head snapped up involuntarily as far as it could and she howled her pain and anger and frustration for all the world to hear.  The muscles in the captive girl’s neck corded and her veins bulged with the effort.  Unfortunately, the towel continued to muffle her shrieks of pain and indignation just as Bashir had planned and even within the room, the young girl's howls came across as subdued rather than imperative.  

Allah, Bashir knew she must have felt good on the man he’d chosen, for his grinning face certainly told one that as he pumped himself into the kidnapped American teen.  But Bashir could tell that this was not a moment of pleasure for her, no matter how much he might be enjoying it.  That this wasn’t bringing her pleasure didn’t really matter to Bashir at all.  That was something which would never concern them again regarding this newly recruited whore.  

He bent over and cuffed Linda hard on the back of her head as he said, “Be quiet, or it will get worse, much, much worse for you.  After all, there could be another five men lined up ready to take their turn too.”
Bent over and helpless in the awkward position in which she’d been bound, Linda tried to remove the pain of her body from her mind, tried to pretend she was watching a movie, tried to imagine that the awful things happening to the woman up on the screen weren’t really happening to her.  But these efforts didn’t work well nor did they last long.  Eyes squeezed shut and teeth tightly clamped into the towel he’d shoved into her mouth to stop her from making any noise, Linda’s stomach hit her with another doubling-over cramp as with frantic horror, she felt the man sodomizing her slowly drill another inch into her rectum.  

He guided his slick erection with his right hand and fed it into her with the implacable will of a full-blown sexual sadist.  It was agony, the exact opposite for her of the enlightened wonder she had experienced with the old man only a few minutes ago.  How could this same man be allowing this to be done to her now?  

Without thought, she instinctively fought this man’s need as best she could, strained and fought to expel him with her rectal muscles alone.  Even in her pain and great desperation, Linda somehow took hope as she sensed her efforts were making it tough going for him even as her muscles continued to fight what her body told her was a losing battle.  

The realization of this tiny victory brought little satisfaction, for Linda somehow instinctively understood that the pain of fighting him was five-fold greater than the extreme discomfort of accepting him.  Her body begged her to stop the pain of resistance and accept the anal rape.  There would be less pain, but she refused to comply and fought on.  

Finally, after another short second or so of continued resistance, he had won it all and she had lost everything as the barrel shaft of his erection began to fully slide more easily into her body.  Linda couldn’t help herself as she screamed once in pure horror at the realization of what he was doing to her.  Similarly, as much as she wished to stop responding, the irrepressible groans and grunts and gasps continued to be forced from her body with each further penetration.  Eventually, after he’d hit her several more times, she’d somehow forced herself to be quiet once more.


Bashir wished he’d had the stamina to be doing this to the beauty bent over in front of him.  He looked down and watched his man’s stiff cock begin its journey to utopia, sliding smoothly between the crack of her beautifully muscular cheeks as it disappeared inside their teenager’s ass, without interruption or hesitation.  As much as might he have pitied a girl like this in another life, the vision of the gorgeous teenager unwillingly accepting his man’s manhood in this way was one of the few things that could still arouse the jaded man within him.  That the blonde felt great on the other man’s pole, this was a given.  And he more she struggled, the more she fought against him, the better it must have felt, what with her hips moving erratically, her muscles clenching and releasing all along the shaft of his man's cock. 

The idea of being responsible for taking her anal virginity and the feeling of her natural tightness on a man’s cock, the way the elastic muscles of her anus would soon learn to stretch without tearing just to accept a greased shaft….  The way her dark hole had desperately tensed and strained to maintain its unviolated nature.  The way it had finally opened for the other man in the end and after extending, had then accepted all he’d had to give her.  Finally stretching and making accessible to him, and by extension to any other man, everything that at least this particular young female unfairly wished to keep to herself.  

Finally, and perhaps best of all, there was the obvious way in which she’d clamped onto her rapist, tightened on him and unsuccessfully strained to expel him, the hated invader, the conquering Muslim male taking another Christian female for his use.  

Bashir noted with professional appreciation that the man didn’t push too hard or too deep at first, not wanting to hurt the girl more than was necessary just to ensure she remained broken in spirit but not in body.  Bashir appreciated this man, he was becoming a master at gauging the pain he forced into his women during their indoctrination by the sounds he forced out of them—the quantity of pain or pleasure he caused was measured by how the unlucky one bucked under his hips and by how loudly she screamed.  


Linda shrieked again for suddenly, the hated male invader was measuring the absolute depth of her life with his erection.  Her knees remained locked even as he legs were shaking and quivering, it was so much more difficult supporting his body’s weight it should have been.  Thrusting, pushing, deeper and deeper, filling her, destroying her!  Her breath hissed around the towel as she inhaled--Linda felt like she just couldn’t breathe!  The probing sensation which searched inside her abdomen so fully and so deeply, the paralyzing abdominal cramps and the impression of terrible fullness which burned and hurt her so badly, the abdominal pressure which almost ripped her apart as he continually burrowed deeper, sinking down and down inside her, it all left her overwhelmed and frozen, unable to move, unable to respond.  

Immediately following his first penetration of perhaps five inches, Linda closed her eyes and ground her teeth on the knotted towel to keep to herself from any further screaming that she might want/need/feel compelled to make.  Linda wanted to explode with horror and outrage, to buck and shake and twist, to vomit him out of her ass, to regurgitate him and then destroy him.  She was a Christian, but she would have gladly killed this man if she could.  

Yet, at the same time, Linda knew in her heart, she could somehow feel with a horrifying inevitability, that they were intimately connected now like Siamese twins by his single tube of unyielding flesh.  It was a rod of iron from she desperately wanted to unlatch herself, but Linda knew in her soul that that was impossible.  They always would be connected--for the rest of her life, this man would always be the man who had sodomized her the first time.  

A sudden, piercing pain brought her back to the current situation.  Even though she somehow knew that Bashir’s man had not yet achieved his full penetration, it still felt like he had filled her completely.  His presence expanded her flesh, parts of her were tearing.  But more than filling her on the inside, he in fact filled her abdomen to overflowing, pushing her organs aside.  And that awful feeling was unlike anything she would ever be able to explain to another who had not experienced anal rape too.  

Why couldn't he understand that this thing, so pleasurable for him, was such a terrible pain and devastating act to her?  Why wouldn't he understand how much he was hurting her?  The thought went around and around her head, but she knew it didn't make any difference to him.  

Eventually, the terrible man behind her groaned aloud with apparent pleasure as he began to make these deeper penetrations; long, slow deliberate thrusts into Linda's body which explored the very meaning of what it meant to be an abducted woman, a female without rights and forced to accept whatever her owner desired.  

Even her tightly clenched jaws could not prevent other, louder involuntary sounds from escaping between her lips now.  He was huge!  Everything was going so much slower now; almost as if in slow motion.  And as time moved with the speed of molasses, she became so much more intimately aware of the sheer intensity of the sensations associated with what he was doing to her and inside of her.  

She felt everything more deeply than she had ever previously experienced anything in her life.  His every move was being intimately and permanently imprinted in her memory--the way he moved his feet the tiniest amount to further increase his pleasure but inadvertently changed the angle at which he penetrated her, the feel of his hairy thighs against the back of her nylon-sheathed legs, his pubic hairs ground against her skin.  Linda felt every millimeter of erection penetrating her rectum, the bulge of every vein in his cock, his every hot breath on the back of her neck as he leaned over to ensure her total capitulation, the terrible fullness that continued to expand inside her, it all was locked away there now and would never go away.  

Linda now knew exactly what it felt like to have a man to take her from the rear, in a way that purposely destroyed her innate feminine value in the process.  That he was taking what she did not willingly offer, that he was oblivious to her pain and unbothered by her lack of cooperation made no difference.  His presence inside her somehow made Linda feel that her world had been permanently altered; her mind irreversibly changed and her body irrevocably modified.  

The insides of her body felt both enlarged and dilated by his presence, overwhelmed by an exaggerated feeling of empty volume finally filled.  It was an awful feeling which extended from Linda's anus to her colon, from there to her diaphragm and finally it seemed, to her throat and tonsils.  The totality of what was happening completely overwhelmed the inexperienced teenage beauty.


Her Back Was Filled With Pain or Really, She’d Been Backfilled With Pain

Bashir’s man now began to speed up a little, pounding rhythmic short strokes into Linda’s ass.  From what he could see of her face, the teenager had her eyes closed and her mouth opened wide around the towel in silent screams of pain.  She was sweating profusely and her body was trembling; she was doing her best to stifle her groans, making instead soft grunting and gasping sounds now with each move of his hips.  

Knees shaking, her legs almost buckled once and the girl howled in pain at the huge change in the way the man’s cock then fit inside her.  She was continually moving her feet now, repositioning the high-heeled pumps she wore in an attempt to find a more comfortable way to hold up the weight of the man sodomizing her.  

After several more thrusts, his man froze and maintained full penetration as Bashir leaned over and removed Linda's hasty gag.  He felt no sympathy for her tearful face.  She was a beautiful woman with a body which would be taught to accept this as routine.  He had to believe that she’d been put on this earth just to accept Muslim superiority.  Standing again with his hands resting on one of her hips, he demanded softly, fiercely, “Tell me how much you like it.  Tell me how good it feels.  This is what your new clients will want to hear.  Say IT!”

Tears were running down her cheeks.  She shook her head, refusing to cooperate for some stupid reason.  Bashir looked at his man.  The man nodded and lifted his hips just a little.  This change of angle, the intense vertical pressure on her rectal muscles, it all proved to be enough.  She howled with pain at his move, and then became quiet as she once more began to accept his thrusts again.  

As the man continued, she frantically attempted to comply with Bashir’s demands between the unmanageable groans forced from deep within her belly.  “I.....uhhh.......I.......want you to..........ohhh God........fuck me......some more....please...”  

The girl became silent for a second more, but then the truth could not be contained as it burst free, “God, please, no more.  No more.”

Bashir knew he had been right, she still had a little fight left in her.  The young man fucking her had to feel the girl’s anal sphincter grabbing at him again, tightening and loosening, tightening and loosening, but her muscles couldn’t hold him because of the lubrication on his erection.  

Her black hole was exquisitely tight on his cock; it seemed to pulse with each beat of her heart and it felt both warm and moist as it encompassed his meat.  He looked down and watched her sphincter stretch into a tightly inverter circle that at full penetration clamped around the base of his erection, a circle that changed to a small, cone-shaped shroud of flesh which stretched out with his cock every time he pulled back for another thrust.  And when he slammed into her again, her anus would reverse and almost disappear inside her body.  It felt like heaven to be buried inside a tight, teenaged ass like this.  

He didn’t think she’d realized it yet, but he still had at least another inch she hadn't yet had the pleasure of “enjoying”.  He’d let her get used to being his toy a little longer before he went fully deep on her, what he called “bone deep.”

He slow-motioned the girl's ass for a couple of minutes before methodically increasing the length of his stroke again.  This brought out even louder groans from the blonde teenager and at this point she grunted or groaned or cried out on every thrust he made into her.  Despite the stress on her lower back, which he cared nothing about, the position that he’d made her assume over the end of the bed ensured both that their bodies were perfectly married at the hip and allowed maximum penetration of her body.  Bashir hoped that someday when she had more anal experience, she would be more appreciative of his great attention to detail.


Linda continued to cry out in disgust and pain; she knew she could never learn to enjoy allowing a man doing this to her, even though she was reluctantly willing to force herself to accept it for the sake of others.  But even as she agreed to this horrible part of the act, she was filled with hate for the man---and what he did.  

She wasn't a puppet and Linda hated her responses.  She remained aware enough to know that the sounds she made were a rhythmic “Uhnnn, uhnnn, uhnnn,” which were perfectly synchronized with this unknown man’s driving lunges into her---but she couldn't help herself.  Even more, she hated the fact that he could make her grunt upon his command, that he could make her groan this way with any move he might choose to make with her body.  

His penis felt huge, it was too long and too thick to fit inside her.  And even though she now worked at not trying to expel him because it hurt her too much, her anal sphincter continued to try to lock onto him with each thrust and then hold him immobile.  But it never succeeded and she could feel the greasy sensation on the insides of her butt cheeks as his erection slid out and then just as easily was buried between her flesh and in her flesh again and again and again.  

Suddenly, somehow, he went even deeper inside her body!  First there was an almost unbearable sensation of fullness now in her lower body now.  This was followed by a giant arrow of pain piercing her belly and hips.  Linda’s back involuntarily arched under rapist as cramps ripped through her belly.  At the end, he was penetrating to unimaginable depths inside her body and all she could do was to try to control her emotions and the awful pain, gritting her teeth in an attempt to last through whatever he chose to give her.  But it was so hard, and tears of pain and humiliation began to flow from her eyes again.  


After an eternity, the man began to move more quickly, demanding much from her body but always taking even more.  Finally, he was buried in Linda up to his balls, his cock had completely penetrating her most private of holes.  

Then he froze in stillness, perhaps to both to enjoy the feeling of being buried so deeply in a helpless young teenage female or maybe it was to give her time to recover....even he wasn't sure why he did this for he was reacting to his most primal desires at this point, there was no conscious thought.  

The pain obviously eased a bit for the helpless teenager as he just stood there without moving, his hands maintaining their proprietary grip on her hips, his splayed fingertips digging deep into her young, firm flesh.  


Even though he kept her body filled in a way it was never meant to be, Linda began to hope that her living nightmare might be coming to an end and she began to pray that he had done all that he had wanted to do.  Linda continued to softly cry into the fold of bedding that she had forced into her mouth once the towel gag had been removed and her face was wet with the tears that now soaked the bedding.  

Linda was finally able to look at him out of the corner of her teary eyes and Bashir smiled back at her; God help her, he smiled at her!  Then she felt the rapist begin to pull out of her slowly, so slowly, his withdrawal allowing a wave of relief to wash over her poor, broken body.  She felt the man pull out until all but the blunt, uncircumcised head of his erection had been removed.  

He pulled out until the ridge around the tip of his erection remained just inside her body where it could be grabbed by her anal sphincter…..and it was.  This was the thickest part of his erection, and it hurt her more than had the narrower diameter at the base.  But if this was all he wanted now after everything else he'd taken, Linda knew she could somehow accept this, that she could give him this.  She was so glad that he was done, that it was all done for now.  

She could finally breathe again.

The rapist froze and held this position and he held it…….…for what seemed like forever………and then he brutally rammed the whole length of his erection back inside her again, all at once.

The makeshift gag of wadded bedding could not contain her wailing scream.  The man dug his fingers hard into Linda's hips once more and began to fuck her wildly, filling her rectum and bowels, pounding her poor ass with his big, hard cock---taking her in a brutal anal rape that went on and on and on.  He held onto her waist and began pumping like a madman, in and out, long full driving thrusts into her rear, in and out.  

Linda twisted her hips in agonized distress, but it didn’t help because it felt like he kept her nailed to the foot of the bed with his erection.  Linda tried to move her legs to ease the depth of his penetration, but quickly realized that her moves were actually exciting him even more.  Shrieking for mercy into her self-imposed gag, Linda heard herself giving muffled screams at the top of her lungs.  

He rode her harder and harder, no change of pace, no goodness, no kindness, no mercy and no finesse; his only weapon one of sadistic anger and brutal triumph that smashed her insides like a pile driver, pushing deep into her like a fist pounding at her colon.  He was like a piston implanted in her flesh, a piston that was going in and out at a hundred miles an hour, a piston gone berserk, distending her flesh, splitting her in half.  

“Ohhhh God, no use.”  Linda's legs and ass couldn’t fight him any longer.  She collapsed, but the end of the bed still kept her hips raised high enough that they remained positioned for his needs.  She was choked with humiliation, filled with pain, blinded by tears of indignation, resigned acceptance and hatred.  Her, of all people, it had to happen to her!  Of all the women in the world---she was now a victim, after all of the years of protection by her family, enjoying their safety and security.  

This sort of thing always happened to others, to non-believers and wicked people who deserved this because of their behavior, not to God-fearing people her.  To have believed that she was safe, protected by her beliefs, always beyond this type of degradation---and now to be smashed and shattered and destroyed by primitive animals like this---“Ohhh God, please God; let me die, let me die forever.”


The Man Had A Fine Understanding of Feminine Psychology or Please Meet Linda, Everyman's Toy

The kidnap victim continued to squirm weakly under his belly, but against the tight grasp on her hips all it did was excite the him to see her slim young body writhing as she was sodomized.  The man felt this more fully than almost anything else he’d ever done.  He heard the moist slaps of his loins striking hard against the girl’s ass-cheeks, heard her breathless screams of pain and whimpers of humiliation, felt not only the tight, hot friction of her asshole gripping and rubbing his slickly lubricated cock, but the gentle softness of her shaved and naked pussy against his ball sack each time he rammed home to the hilt.  He knew he was hurting her and he couldn’t help himself—actually he just didn’t care.  His fingers bruised her waist and hips as his grip locked tighter, pulling her onto his cock harder and faster.

He’d tried to stop when he pulled almost out, but…….the temptation was too great and he was too weak.  He’d ravaged her at the end even though that had not been what he’d originally planned.  His erection was now buried up to the root when he began making the small, jerking movements of his hips that told all three of them the end was near.  His fingers were digging deeper and deeper into the muscles of her thighs and hips, and when it was time, he let his load go deep in teenage blonde’s ass and proceeded to cum for what seemed like hours.


Suddenly Linda's body seemed filled to bursting, a rushing, burning malignancy caused by the fluids that had been so deeply injected.  His flesh was splitting hers apart---she was screaming her agony in horrified defeat, but could not be heard by her maddened rapist.  

Linda felt his body suddenly go rigid against to hers, then she felt him lean over as he sighed from the depth of his soul; a sigh that became a long drawn out gasp of victory and release, his breath burning the back of her head and his rotten, flaming-hot pollution fouling every private crevice of her being.  


Finally, he was done.  Gasping for breath, the man fucking the captive young blonde dropped the full unrelieved weight of his body upon the girl, who herself was wheezing and puffing too, both of them sucking for air.  A half minute, a minute more, time passed slowly for him while his penis slowly lost its size and eventually slipped out of his victim’s body.  This was soon followed by a thick trail of his milky white semen as it lazily dribbled out of the kidnapped teenager, wetting the insides of her thighs and staining the tops of her stockings---and then almost with disgust, he pushed his weight off of her.  

He was finished…exhausted…temporarily drained of seed.  



The man slowly recovered from having taken her so hard—she regained her breath before him.  Finally, he released the rope that had held her bound at the foot of the bed.  Linda could barely stand upright at first because of lower back and abdominal pains, so he used a handful of her hair to jerk her erect before removing the handcuffs.  

Her lower back felt tight, almost broken, her shoulders felt torn from their sockets, her legs were shaking and without strength.  Worst of all, she ached terribly where she had just been assaulted.  It was an ache that was so much more than physical, it filled her emotionally and spiritually too.  

He used her hair to drag her to the side of the bed and throw her on it.  She bounced once, then lay with her legs crossed at the knees to protect and cover herself, even as her hands cupped her breasts and hid them from him.  It was stupid, for he had seen everything, enjoyed everything she was.  But she knew she couldn't have stopped this reaction if her life depended upon it.  


Bashir looked at her and snorted in disbelief.  This one was so odd.  Okay, she was about to learn the rest of the lesson.  He walked over to the door and opened it, allowing five of his men to walk in.  He looked at Linda for a second, then at the men.

“You have,” he said, “four hours with her.  Do whatever you want.  If you five can't take up the whole time, you can get others in here too.”

With that he turned to leave.  Linda had a horrified look on her face as she said, “No. NO!  You promised.  If I cooperated.  You PROMISED.'

As he left, he looked back one time and could see the five men on her like a pack of wolves, one on each wrist and ankle, and one already taking his pants off.  As the door closed, he could hear her screams suddenly cutoff.

“You promised.  You PROMISED!  YOU PROMIS.........”


It Was A Long and Torturous Night For Linda, AKA Sweetcheeks or When They Finally Departed They Left Nothin’ Behind But A Cream-Filled Tart

Years passed for her in only a few slow hours.  The last of their blows had been so strong that Linda found it hard to move.  There was a strange, piercing sensation in her cheek bone and her legs refused to obey, refused to move, refused to kick in defense, refused to run.  Her body would not respond anymore.  A tiny part of her brain raced with the urgency of the situation, but it seemed overwhelmed by everything that had happened, as if it had been submerged under a sudden burst of floodwater.  Her body seemed to be moving in slow motion, as if wading through molasses.  She felt so tired, so mentally exhausted, as if every one of her limbs were surrendering to numbness.  

She sat on the last man's lap where they had placed her, with his knees thrust up between hers forcing her thighs far apart.  Her knees pressed tightly against the outsides of his and her eyes were tightly closed as she squeezed her fingernails into her palms.  That tiny touch of pain was her only connection to what otherwise seemed a monumentally horrific, alternate reality.  

They no longer needed to hold her wrists or ankles; there was no fight left inside her.  She was spread wide and felt the hard bone of his erection against her vulva.  Her position allowed him to take his pleasure from underneath and she could do nothing to stop him.  His hips, his lap, his groin moved beneath her again and again, slowly, methodically, tirelessly…..expertly.  Except for the explosive pain that had initially consumed the lower part of her body, it felt in a way like she was at an amusement park, riding a merry-go-round pony in slow motion, weaving and plunging on his lap in a way that turned her stomach in addition to the other aches he brought.  

Shivers and bone-wracking tremors ran the length of her body and then settled somewhere inside her brain.  They had nothing to do with cold, not these tremors.  It hurt so much, what this man did to her.  And the others, they watched and laughed at her shame......it was so humiliating.  She felt so dirty.  

So terribly, terribly dirty inside.  

So lost.  

So totally unworthy of either forgiveness or grace.

Hours later.  They had finally finished and she was alone in the room now.  Linda lay on the rumpled, sodden bed facing the wall.  She heard the door open behind her, but refused to look.  Her body felt so heavy now with fatigue.  Linda was disgusted with herself; she felt like she was covered with a thick patina of filth, a hardened glaze of dirt and disgusting bodily substances.  Anything except blood that could come out of a man, had.  She was exhausted and didn't want to move----what more could they do to punish her, to hurt her?  But after a long pregnant silence, Linda was finally compelled to look up.  

Bashir.  

Bashir?  

Bashir, the monster.  

Bashir, the monstrous bastard.

She looked at him with emotionless blue eyes, eyes as blank of emotion as death itself.  She looked into eyes as dead as hers as Bashir hooked his leash to her collar, pulled her without resistance off the bed and led her, limping, to a chair next to a small table.  There was no fight left in the quiet teenager, all rebellion had been crushed.

He offered her a small drink.  She accepted after a moment then asked simply, "Why?  Why me?"



"I’ve already told you once, you're not a real person anymore, not an I anymore," he said harshly, as if speaking to an exceptionally stupid student.  

"You are not free.....you're an object like any other of our master's possessions, like any of the other women who have been taken over the years.  You're no better than them, but you're also no less than them either.  The only problem for you is just that it's now YOUR turn now.  Well, that's truly unfortunate, since the person you thought you knew for so long doesn't exist anymore.  She hasn't been around for a couple of days now.”  

The teenager looked up at him, tears of horror and resignation filling her eyes again.   

He only smiled and said, “The only identity you'll have is what we choose to give you."  

He continued in a cold tone.  "All you are is something that will be offered to men for their pleasure.  You may get another identity someday, but you'll have to earn it.  

"NO!"

But her brief show of resistance crumbled as the door opened and another man walked in.


He stood a little over six foot tall and weighed at least 270 pounds.  It wasn't good weight, for his midsection was soft and soggy; deep lines crossed his face like he'd fallen asleep on chicken wire.  His hands were rough and calloused, the hands of a manual laborer.  Two of his knuckles were bleeding from some previous activity.  He looked mean, like he hadn't slept in days.  


The new man ignored her, then finished by tying Linda’s ankles to the corner bed posts.  He now pulled out various items that had been stored in the bottom drawers of the nearby dresser and laid them neatly on the bed next to Linda; different vaginal speculums and spreaders, medical pliers and serious-looking clamps.

Her tears stopped as she looked at what he exposed.  Her body still aching and bodily fluids cooling on her flesh, her mind fluttering as it tried to incorporate this new reality, Linda kept reminding herself, cooperate and obey or the others would be hurt.  Soon she couldn't help herself as she suddenly screamed in pain, but still somehow tried to force herself to remain motionless.  But that effort was useless for the pain was soon so shocking that she tore at her bonds in agony.  But she'd been tied to the bed so well that the only possible release were her screams for his mercy.  

Bashir remained deaf to her pleading.  She told him how much she wanted to cooperate with him, how she was willing to do anything to make him stop hurting her, but she'd been tied in such a way that she couldn't move as he demanded.  

Her begging seemed to have annoyed him….  And so he hurt her even more.  

Her exhausted, sweat-slick body sagged after ten minutes, her muscles bound too tightly to give him the pleasure he seemed convinced she still hid somewhere in her body.  Her pain was his aphrodisiac, and he continued to demand more from her and then even more after that.  Writhing, Linda struggled to open herself to him, her only sound now gasps of discomfort, moans of pain and grunts of effort.  

He leaned in and whispered in her ear, “Shut up.”  

Linda couldn’t bear to look at him, yet somehow, her moans quieted to a soft whimper.

He leaned back away from her with a smile, “Thank you.  Now, I think, we begin once more.  You agree?”  

She croaked an unnecessary assent and he began all over again.  The fat, out-of-shape man finished with Linda in another fifteen minutes and she cried in true anguish when he was done; it was the sound of a broken spirit.  They had her now and everyone present in the room knew it.  She had complied in everything, submitted in all they'd demanded and more.  

Humiliated by her weaknesses, in the end she was worse than dead..........she was owned, body and soul.

As the other man released Linda, Bashir turned her moist, rapidly blinking eyes toward him.  Her lips quivered and the long silence between them was deafening.  Then he finally said, “This last was what you Americans call an object lesson.  It was to ensure that you understand your obligations to us and the results of betrayal or failure.”  

He stared into her yes like a man demented, “Your friends are weak and you should thank me for using you for this lesson instead of either of them.”  

He did a waving motion like one might use on an annoying fly, “Okay.  You can leave now.”  

Trying not to cry, her body aching and her mind overwhelmed by what had just been done to her, she turned towards the door.  It clicked as it unlocked and then opened at her approach.  Abruptly, the old man commanded, “Wait!”  

Linda stopped, hesitated and then turned to face the old torturer.  Her shoulders drooped with a despair she could not contain. He walked over to Linda with her thong in his hand, put it to his nose, sniffed one final time and then silently handed it to her.  Her eyes immediately teared up again, but she somehow held onto it as she limped slowly from the room holding the fat man.  


They had finished with her but she had been informed at the door to her cell that it would begin all over again tomorrow.  Linda ripped the sodden and torn lingerie from her body and threw it on the floor.  Naked, she sat on the bed, legs drawn up to her chest and arms locked around her knees, rhythmically rocking back and forth, brokenly crooning to herself.  

Her bruised and pummeled mind was gone, temporarily taking her far away from her cell, far from the hell she had experienced, far from what she knew she faced in the future.  Yet, it had broken free too of a somehow soothing haze which threatened to claim her forever, a fog which opened up like a black velvet blanket as it covered her, transported her, told her it had saved her.  The fog beckoned.  It would be so easy, so desirable to just float away to that world where there would be no more worries, no more threats, no more physical and emotional pain.  Even as a few dim memories of the far past sparkled like starlight, for the most part, she was a blank slate, not a part of reality and not a part of the fog.  

It was fifty-fifty: either her mind did a reset or she would be lost forever to reality.  

Her chest sharply ballooned.  The world seemed both dream and reality as she still fought against a reservoir of unlocked grief.  The only sound in the cell was her soft voice and the grinding of her teeth.  

She thought of home.  Linda wanted to go home so bad.  Her mind had blanked in self-defense, but Linda knew her home all too well and a picture began to form.  The familiar smells, the sounds she knew so well.  Even though her mind was pitch-black at the moment, for one despairing moment she could still have painted the colors of the landscape from memory, forming the shapes of her home like a sculptor molding clay.  She wanted to go home so bad, to be comforted by her mother and to be held by her father.  

She looked up at the ceiling.  God, why are you testing me so?  

She just wanted to go home.  Within seconds however, the thoughts of home faded and her mind was blank once more.  Linda began rocking back and forth again, her head empty of everything good and bad that had ever happened, her mind trying to heal itself one more time.

Suddenly she felt an eerie calmness.  She was aware of the change, of the bizarre sense of detachment in which she existed, as if watching everything unfold on TV as much as living it.  Her senses sharpened temporarily and she saw the room with this newly-honed sanity, data flooding her mind, sharper than it had ever been before.  And it seemed as though everything moved in honey while she alone remained free.  

She was enlightened with sudden understanding.

God had no power here to save her, to save anyone.  His enemies had won, Satan had won.  


Bashir’s Really The MAN or What The Fuck Are These People Thinking?

Sexually exhausted, his cock aching, Bashir just wanted to sleep after finishing with the last blonde.  As he slowly walked through The Club some of the men who had been drinking whiskey while watching his techniques with the first two girls congratulated him on his success.  Many of these people were afraid of him and the crew who served under his direction.  There was a lot of ego-boosting to be had here, men and a few women who barely knew him going on about how they admired his work with the young, untutored females.  He remained quiet as to his questions regarding their motives.  

Bashir was a normal man in many ways and he wasn't immune to such flattery, though he always felt a kind of puzzlement about those who told him such things.  Why were these soft men and woman saying it?  Did they really like his work?  What did that even mean?  Were these ridiculous sycophants actually referring to what he did to these poor, kidnapped unfortunates?  Or was there have some other motive or thing to which they referred?  If so, what?  Did they even begin to understand the cultural ramifications of what his master was doing to them?  

Even though he felt no emotions towards his new canvas—well, certainly there was disgust--he knew he really was, in a way, an artist of sorts.  As an artist, and given the opportunity, he would have worked on women like these for this cause even if he didn't make a dollar from it.  He wouldn't have considered what he did real work anyway, it wasn't like being a carpenter or a medic or a programmer.  

He smiled to himself.  Man did not live by bread alone, he knew that.  Even so, it was still amazing to him that he could get paid ---- well paid ---- for doing something that, while it didn't give him as much pleasure anymore, it was something that he needed to do.  It was just that it didn't seem real anymore somehow.

Memories remained undiminished of his early days here.  He remembered with brilliant clarity the fever that had burned then, when everything around them was so unsure, when they were just beginning and the dangers from the authorities of this country were everywhere.  He remembered the earliest urges to bend all of these women belonging to these weak-chinned men, to bend this country itself to what he and the camouflaged invaders with him had first seen as the perfect truth.  He remembered the splendor of their first perfect victories over the flawless women, how the glossy and civilized American females had been inevitably turned despite themselves to the service of the old man.  The moist, velvety-tight feeling of every one of them was burned into his groin and his memory, how each one's body had felt as it had clamped itself to him as they were being broken to their new harness, accepting him and his need and their new future.

Eventually though, with each conquest had come increasingly diminished expectations, a slight reduction each time of the fundamentalist fever that had burned inside him.  Each woman first had to be raised to the knowledge of her future duties, cultivated with exquisite care like trees raised from seedlings, trees whose limbs had to be tied and twisted and shaped so that they would present perfection to each client.  And like trees, while the European females generally proved quite malleable, many of the American girls had to be pruned hard; pruned with whips and fists and ropes, their individuality annihilated with blows that exploded against their bodies or they slowly wasted from the inexorable decline that came from starvation.  The labor had been immense, the burden enormous, the early results often uncertain.  But they had continued and learned from their mistakes, finally succeeding beyond their wildest expectations.


Michelle awoke with a long, pleasant groan, feeling almost good.  It was a feeling that slanted uphill against the odds and lasted only a moment.  Like any normal teenager, she loved to sleep in.  It felt like it was about two in the afternoon.  She knew she'd have to get up soon and grab a bite to eat before working out...the master insisted that his women keep themselves physically fit.  

She stretched out across the bed, curling her toes, enjoying the feel of the cotton sheets against her body.  She kept her eyes clamped shut at first, trying to hold on to the feeling, which was a challenge considering the aches that wrapped her body.  The hurting that suddenly appeared in various parts of her body brought a frown to her face as she realized what he'd done to her last night.  But after a few moments, she knew that it was mostly surface stuff, not from any specific injury.  And that was a good sign.  

Her “client” had allowed Michelle a couple of strong drinks after he'd used her so hard last night.  Unused to alcohol, they'd gone to her head.  But now, it was time to get up.  For five long minutes, she explored the velvet throb on the back of her eyelids.  She wanted to wait awhile, get real prepared before she opened her eyes.  First she moved her tongue around her mouth and found that all her teeth were where they should be.  Then she moved her fingers and toes; then her neck, her arms, and her legs.  Finally, she tensed her buttocks and the insides of her thighs.  She ached a little at that last, but there was no major hurt so she was pretty sure she'd come through last night reasonable unscathed.  

Except for her memories.  

Michelle thought of her parents often and of how they would hate the fact that she'd become this skeptical about life, so cynical, so experienced with men that she now routinely welcomed the darkest sides of humanity, easily accepting and expertly navigating its worst desires.  Only a few months ago, she'd been young and stupid.  But thanks to The Albanian and the tender mercies all of his abducted females experienced, Michelle had quickly learned the realities of her new life; she knew beyond doubt now that no goodness remained in the human race.  Her mother would cry if she knew how Michelle felt, for that left her daughter only the shallowest of goals, the pursuit of pure physical pleasure.

Last night hadn't been nearly as bad as some, but it'd been worse than others.  Probably about par for the course if she were to be totally honest.  It was never a young man who leased her for the evening, they were almost always older.  Young men couldn't afford what the old mobster charged for his best women.  She wondered how much longer he'd consider her among his best.  The teenager knew that he moved his women around a lot, demoting the ones that had been around for a couple of years in favor of the new talent that was continually being acquired.  

Some of the men that paid for a night with her were too old to get it up.  She hated them with a passion that surprised even her.  About half only wanted to play some dumb-ass dress up game with her, and she'd been surprised at how many wanted to dress up for her.  But the remainder of the really old ones just liked to hurt their temporary women.  They weren't allowed to hurt her like they did the girls that worked in the basement, but still, it was bad enough.  

Her remaining clients were into heavy fucking, with perhaps a dish of serious anal humiliation on the side.  They were only concerned about themselves and how much pleasure they could obtain from her body.  Michelle recognized and accepted the hard, familiar, and overwhelmingly whorish edge to her memories as she fondly thought back in time.......every now and then, a true lover came around.  A man young enough to get wood up right away, yet old enough to last pretty much as long as he wanted, they were the best ones.  They were the ones that waited to cum until they'd given her as much pleasure as she could stand, until she was practically dying from it and begging for their mercy.  

Her proud father would die of shame if he knew how much she had learned to look forward to lovers like that now.


What Is A Beautiful Female’s Worth or Time To Stack ‘Em and Pack ‘Em For Their Trip Back Home

He was pleased and he knew Missy would be pleased too.  The cheerleaders had arrived about two hours ago and the shipment had turned out to contain some truly outstanding product.  Missy’s ranch hand had arrived half an hour ago pulling the horse trailer that the ranch always used for these kinds of pickups and deliveries.  They’d filled the driver’s pickup truck with diesel, cleared a trail clean of horseshit to the front of the trailer and given him a sandwich and a coke to prepare him for the long trip back.  Right now, the two horses that had originally been in the twenty-foot long trailer had been led out and tethered off to the side while the main items had been prepared for shipment.  

The Albanian stood near the back of the seven-foot wide trailer and watched as the two older, dark haired women were led on first and taken to the front of the trailer along the narrow shit-free trail.  Each limped on bare feet and seemed to have trouble walking.  There was no fight left in them, and he well understood why after the team leader told him what she’d allowed the other two team members do to the women earlier that morning.  

While he normally didn’t allow product to be treated in such a harsh manner prior to delivery, Missy had no real problems with it and so the mistreatment had been acceptable—this time.  He’d just have to ensure that the team members understood the rules and didn’t inadvertently cross boundaries that couldn’t uncrossed.  

Wrist bound together in front, each heavily sweating woman was naked except for a gag, ear plugs covered by earmuffs and the heavy cotton hood pulled over her head.  They were patiently led into the trailer by his men one at a time and then on into the unlighted front.  Once there, the wrists of the first one were separately shackled to the roof of the horse trailer, while her ankles were spread wide and tightly bound to the floor.  The second hooded, unresisting captive was then brought in so close to the first that her breasts pushed into the back of the woman in front.  Belly pushed up against the first one’s ass, the second one was then shackled to the trailer in the same way.  

Next, the three newly acquired teenage cheerleaders were brought out and loaded into the trailer.  There was a little more fight here, but nothing the cowhand couldn’t take care of.  The old man understood that these would be what Missy called her playponies.  Finally, his gift to Missy, the big, now stoic trouble-maker cop, Lena, was brought out and bound in place as the last of the ponygirl coffle.  Perfectly proportioned, yet significantly larger than the others, she looked like nothing more than an Amazon Princess, or perhaps a female trooper out of some fantastic science fiction war movie would have been a better description.  

The Albanian looked into the trailer from the back.  It was dark at the front of the trailer and all that could be seen were the silhouettes of a line of women chained in a row, all tightly pushed against each other.  Four of the six cried and sobbed into their gags under the hoods, two did not.  The two made of stronger material were the first of the older women led into the trailer and the last one, the big one named Lena.  

Long shapely legs, all spread widely apart, formed two sturdy rows of columns where ankles had been bound to the floor.  Firm buttocks and tiny waists seemingly repeated endlessly into the darkness as if leading off into some kind of infinite feminine geometry in a funhouse mirror.  Rows of slender arms were seemingly raised in supplication while bound to the roof.  

Even in the shadows and darkness of the gloomy trailer, it was a starkly beautiful and incredibly erotic scene, and he reveled at the pure sexual beauty of the six naked and hooded females, all chained in place in the same way and in the same position in the trailer.  

Finally, Missy’s ranch hand entered the trailer and began putting up the false front that blocked in the sound-insulated compartment in which the enslaved women would travel.  Cleverly positioned mirrors helped make it appear to the casual observer standing in the back of the trailer that there was no hidden compartment in front.  After the trail leading to the front of the trailer was finally obliterated, the two horses were led into the back of the trailer and tethered there.  The positioning of the horses made it much less likely that anyone would ever be inspecting the inside front of the trailer.  

He liked Missy as much as he was capable of liking any American.  Yet, while The Albanian would never have admitted it to anyone, he really did feel a sense of relief as he watched the truck and horse trailer depart his compound on its journey back to the Hill Country.  He had enough concerns of his own.  And if anyone of importance or authority had seen a horse trailer arrive at his club, the questions could have been rather embarrassing.  


She Was In A Nasty Business Now or A Parent’s Pain Is A Terrible Thing To See Even If He Did Do A Terrible Job Of Raising His Daughter

On the fifth morning after having been “recruited,” Dana was taken the white room, the very same room in which the unfortunate Lena had first met the great white light.  The room had nothing visible that could lead back to The Club for it was sound-proofed and painted all in white.  Even more on the Plus Side, it was set up for making professional-quality videos.  The only difference from before was that instead of the metal chair Lena had ridden, it now contained a wooden chair that had been modified specifically for this occasion.  

As usual, no one located near where any of the recent acquisitions had come from raised their head from watching one type of reality TV show or another; they clearly didn’t give a shit what had happened as long as it hadn’t been one of their children taken.  So, overall, things were going pretty well in the areas from which his latest girls had been taken.  

The Oklahoma state police were going in circles, nothing there for them to find regarding the cheer leaders, and the parents of two of the three girls from Louisiana were still relying on the local police.  That too was fine with the old man since there would be precious little for those incompetents to find either.  And the Florida cops still had no real clues regarding the female from their missing patrol.  

But one problem still remained; Dana’s father had just intensified his search for his daughter since he had enough money to hire his own detectives.  And while private investigators weren’t getting anywhere close to tracking his organization, it was still not too early to have Dana send her dad a few pictures and a nice, homemade video to reassure him, just to let him know she really was “okay.”  

To this end, she’d been given a script earlier this morning and told to memorize it.  They would have her go over it a couple of times all the while they were recording.  Once finished, they’d decide then just exactly how to package the final product for her old man.  As an added incentive, Bashir had also told her what they would do to her father if he didn’t stop, if she wasn’t convincing enough.  From the way Bashir had described her father as well as their home, left unsaid but made perfectly clear was the fact that his men had not only investigated her family, they had actually been inside her home.  


Dana was exhausted.  Even though her makeup was perfect, she was blinking with lack of sleep from her previous night’s efforts.  She’d serviced a very…..enthusiastic…client until 3 AM and he’d worked her body for hours.  As a result, Dana had a few bruises on her upper arms and she’d been heartily spanked.  But nothing too serious.  

Bashir had ordered her to clean up and then dress conservatively.  Not enough to make her father alarmed or curious, but enough to cover the bruises of her labor.  Thus, she currently wore a knee-length dress with half sleeves and a high collar that opened a little down the front, while she wore low-heeled designer sandals on her feet.  As usual, she had been given no panties, but the solid, well-designed bra she wore actually felt quite comfortable.  

When Dana was first brought in to the room, she had stared around in wonder.  And when his man had persistently begun tugging on her bruised arm, she had slowly obeyed his unspoken command.  But the closer she came to the chair, the more reluctant she was to continue.  

When they finally reached the chair, she stared down at it in fearful astonishment.  A polished wooden phallus emerged vertically for over six inches from the back-center of the seat, making the chair look like it had a blunt erection.  Worse, there was another hole in the seat about two inches in front of the first.  It was empty....at the moment. 

The teenager turned to look at Bashir, her eyes wide and staring.  He just stared back at her in silence, while the two men with him looked around the room in boredom.  Suddenly, Bashir arched one eyebrow and nodded towards the chair.  Realization struck after a second and she began shaking her head no, no.  Dana then tried to say something but her comments remained unsaid for she began to resist him and the two others as they pushed her towards the chair.  Unfortunately, she was a tiny thing and they were big men; soon she hovered helplessly over the immobile wooden cock.

"It's been well lubricated," Bashir said as he lifted the back of the traditional looking dress to bare her uncovered bottom, "And it's not too thick for you or that long.  One other thing too, it's also certainly going to hurt less than the punishment you've already earned yourself unless you begin behaving immediately."

But the young girl didn’t seem to hear him at first and continued her struggles.  Soon, however, it became obvious even to her that penetration by the wooden tool was inevitable.  Dana finally gave up fighting the monstrous old man and his horrific minions and gritted her teeth in an obvious manner before wiggling her hips in self-defense as part of the process which resulted in full and deep penetration even before her bottom had fully settled on chair’s seat.  The small girl proved to be tough, for once she had accepted that this would happen, the total act of being impaled anally was accompanied with just the slightest groan of discomfort along with a series of deep, almost hyper-ventilating breaths.  At the end she sat quietly--six inches of wooden dowel filling her rectum with extreme discomfort—looking around her with jerky, almost bird-like movements.  

She really had come a long ways in only a few days.

Two more men entered the room now; both men stood behind the girl, pinning her arms to her sides, forcing her to maintain an upright posture on her extremely uncomfortable seat.  The old man, who no longer needed to assist restraining the her, reached into his pocket, pulled out a second thicker wooden dowel and waved it front of Dana’s face, “No doubt you know exactly where this one goes too, don’t you my dear?”

Dana looked at him with huge, beseeching eyes and silently begged him to let her leave this room of horrors, but she could tell there was no pity in him.  This terrible man felt nothing, for Dana was sure that for some reason, she was the one he most despised.  He knelt, flipped her dress up onto her lap and began to strap her ankles to the chair.  Dana struggled briefly to keep her ankles together, but it was useless.  In seconds, her ankles were strapped wide apart to the chair legs, leaving her thighs open and her vagina defenseless.  

Going in at an angle from beneath the chair seat and with only a moment’s difficulty, the old man now easily slid the second lubricated wooden dildo almost eight inches inside Dana’s vagina.  When it had gone as deep as it would go, he locked it in place by attaching it to the chair with two long thumb screws that went into pre-assigned holes.  

Next, he pulled the dress down to her knees to make it look as presentable as possible and then and removed the straps which bound her ankles to the chair.  Finally, he slid his hand under her dress, pulled straps from each side of the seat and fastened them around the tops of her thighs.  When he had finished, he arranged the dress once more into the conservative position he could.  

As he did, he looked into her eyes and said, “The whole time you are doing this, think about your father and how your sincerity may save his life.  I want you to remember and think about where you are, about what you are now.  Never forget, not for a moment, that you belong to us for the rest of your life.  Your family has lost you.  It’s now up to you to make sure they don’t lose him too.”

Deeply impaled as if by double pommels, Dana sat frozen throughout all of this.  The old man rearranged her dress on last time and then stepped away from her.  Helpless, Dana’s body and the chair were as one now.  Trapped and defenseless, there really was no way she could move from the chair until released by another.  With her dress gathered around her waist like it had been earlier, both wooden phalluses were rather obvious.  But when these were hidden beneath the skirt, when the dress was smoothed out and hanging loose to the floor as designed, and with the ankle straps removed, there were no obvious restraints.  

Like the director of some mad film, he took his time settling Dana’s dress over her knees one last time, ensuring she presented a calm, safe picture to her father.  Finally, he took her hands and crossed them demurely in her lap.  

Standing back, he said, “Go ahead.  Speak your part now.”  

Dana looked at him with huge eyes which glittered with unshed tears and the impatient old man almost slapped her face for delaying the video session.  Pulling himself together, he instead had one of the maids come down and fix her makeup again.  When she was once more ready, he repeated his command for her to begin.

Dana looked into the camera and after swallowing several times finally said, “Dad, I decided to go away for a while.  I don’t know yet when I’m coming back, but I wanted you to know that I’m happy and I’m safe.  I’m doing now what I was born to do and I don’t want you messing it up.”  

She smiled gamely into the camera lens as she had been ordered to do in the script.  “I don’t need money and I’ll continue sending you these updates if you want me too……but only if you stop looking for me.  I’ll also know if you give this to the police, so please keep it private, keep it just between the two of us.”

Dana stopped for a second, visibly swallowed one more time and then continued.  “Dad, you always go straight to the bottom line, so here’s the bottom line with me.  I love you but you’ll never find me if I don’t want you to.  And I don’t.  I feel free to be me for the first time in my life.  So just stop.  Please.  Dad.  Just stop.”  

She began to lean forward towards the camera, but sudden abdominal pains and certain aches between her legs make her think better of doing it.  

After a moment, she started again.  “I heard about the other girls disappearing, and it’s terrible.  But I’m not part of that.  Hopefully they’ll be found and they’ll be okay.  But you’ve got to believe me, my leaving town at the same time was just a horrible coincidence.”

Dana looked down into her lap for a second and then looked into the video recorder once more.  “I really love you, Dad.  I’ve grown up a lot over the last few days and I just wanted you to know how much I appreciate what you did for me.  I truly regret taking you for granted like I did.  And…..I…I…regret a lot of things that I did.  I love you dad.”  “Good bye for now.”

It took four more tries before Bashir was completely satisfied.  

It was very convincing.


PART Ten: Exhausted Dana at the end of her first two months, she’s had a terribly arduous day

Eight Weeks Later

DANA

Celebrating Her Youth or Her Last Illusions Being Taken

Everyone says that mirrors don’t lie.  But the truth is, we only see what we want to see.  Sometimes, what’s reflected back is awesome.  And other time, it’s downright scary.  
-Dani Santino, in Necessary Roughness

There are no good girls gone wrong, just bad girls found out.  
-Mae West

The air was warm in the locked room as Dana prepared for the upcoming tryst with a man she’d probably never before met—what would he want from her?  Oh, she knew what he wanted, but what would he want specifically?  What would he want her to do?  

Dana looked at her reflection in the mirror, then cocked her head fractionally closer to inspect her eyes.  She bared her teeth, checked them for lipstick.  As usual, one of the old Indian women had helped with her make-up.  And she looked good, very, very good.  Better than she’d ever looked in that one horse town from which she’d come.  It was fucking amazing how some of the women around her just seemed to bloom in some ways.  

Things weren’t too bad here; it could have been a lot worse.  Dana had learned to live in her new life remarkably well.  She had full access to various magazines that allowed her to keep up with fashion trends.  That’s how she knew that lots of pinks were on the palette right now on the outside.  So a lightly tinted moisturizer went first, then a touch of mascara followed by a great frosty-pink shade of lipstick and lip gloss, everything then finished off by a shimmery touch of sun provided by Global Goddess’s Glow Bronzer.  

Dana knew she looked stunning; even more, regardless of what might happen tonight, she just felt stunning too.  She knew she’d been chosen again by one of the old man’s customers when the clothing the client desired she wear was delivered.  

She had no idea who had purchased her for the night or what he wanted, and that could be a problem.  But mostly, the men who paid for her were almost all winners.  It had only taken her a month of feeling sorry for herself to realize that always before she had surrounded herself with boys and weak, ineffectual men, men who had allowed her to dominate them.  But then, Dana had learned things about herself over the last two months that she never would have believed a year ago.  

That she was attracted to power in certain physically incorrect ways, that she mostly did not mind being hit nor did she mind submitting in all ways to a powerful man, that she actually liked being used by men like these, that she enjoyed sex more than she could have ever imagined--when it was with strong, physically controlling men.  

A few of her customers, only a few, had been weak men given their fortunes and portfolios and positions.  But most were hard men who paid for the best and were used to taking what they wanted.  Their casual acceptance of the rightness of doing things their way, of this way of taking a woman, was almost exhilarating.  Being taken by a man like that, the predominant physical impression afterwards was almost always one of pure shock.  A jolting shock she had absolutely come to welcome.  The forces which penetrated and moved her body seemed often out of human scale with these men, and her nervous system sometimes didn’t know how deal with them then.  

It was sometimes like being in a car accident over and over again.

She and the other two girls had been here for more than two months now.  A physically scaled up Ursula had finally accepted her fate and now worked through her nightly encounters with a minimum of tears.  Sometimes, Dana wished it had been her rather than Ursula that had been operated upon.  Of course, she was too small to carry the monsters they’d given Ursula…but still, it might have been fun for a while.  

A lot of men liked a truly big breasted woman and Ursula certainly filled that bill now, along with both cups of the gigantic bra she now had to wear.  Linda had adapted less well, but there were a lot of men who enjoyed taking a still-shy, seemingly reluctant woman and she too was in great demand.  At least, Linda wasn’t quite so certain about the existence of her God anymore.  Neither Linda nor Ursula talked to her much anymore, but she was okay with that.  After two months, she was okay with many parts of her life now, surprisingly enough.   

No one had talked to them at first when they had been put into the exercise room with the other girls.  But a fairly intimate process had taken place among the earlier abductees; a bond formed out of the unfamiliarity and unfairness of their new lives.  The three new ones were quickly invited into the group and it was the start of a new phase of their lives; a group identity emerged in which the more experienced girls took care of the younger new ones.

It had not taken the old man’s men long to break her, not long at all.  The experience had been like burning or drowning over and over again.  It had gone on and on, becoming unbearable really at the end.  She had wanted to die, to somehow leave her body behind.  But she had learned a really important life-lesson.  When you can’t bear something, but it goes on anyway, the person who survived wasn’t you anymore--you’d changed and become someone else, a new person, the one who did bear it after all.  

The pain had totally saturated her body and she had changed because of it.

She’d spent endless hours, thinking hopelessly about how she’d changed and been changed.  Dana realized she now wanted things of which she’d only dimly been aware before.  Men’s sweat and their hard muscles, the feel of friction as they lay upon her and she upon them.  And while they always controlled the timing, she continued to dominate more than a few of them in her bed.  The men were all clean and so she wanted them inside her now all the time, their fluids inside her, changing her psyche, changing her body.  She was different now, and she was beginning to see it in her eyes when she looked in a mirror.  

The men saw her as young and innocent.  They enjoyed the act of corrupting her innocence.  What they couldn’t see was that she already was corrupted, that she had become addicted to the sex with them and to being sexually degraded.  Addicted to the pain and to being sexually abused and despoiled, to being treated with contempt and used as a vessel.  A part too of Dana knew she should hate what she had become and where it would take her…and yet, the reality was that she gloried in it at the same time because of the weird kind of power she perceived it giving over most of these assholes.  


Woman is not born: she is made.  In the making, her humanity is destroyed.  She becomes symbol of this, symbol of that: mother of the Earth, slut of the universe; but she never becomes herself because it is forbidden for her to do so.
-Andrea Dworkin

I have a care free attitude, and I remain happy no matter what.  If that includes acting like a slut, then so be it.
-Anonymous

There was still a lot she didn’t understand.  Rational thought and memory didn’t work that way, at least for her.  It didn’t reel off like in a movie.  Instead, only jigsaw puzzle parts came back, never the whole.  Sometimes she understood pieces of the way she felt, fragments of the way she’d been raised or her genetic make-up, or perhaps of some insoluble mystery of her past.  But the one true fact was that she’d adapted well to her new life, certainly better than the other two girls--Pandora’s thighs may have been forcibly pried apart at first--but her box remained forever willingly open now for public use.  

Dana suddenly realized she was still looking at herself in the mirror and she flushed.  This was it, she thought.  This was how it happens, how you become another person, how you were forced to grow up.  

She sat for a while just holding a sheer red teddy, finally letting it slide and pool in her hands.  It was soft in some places and stiff in others, where extra lace had been added.  Dana stood up and slowly, deliberately began to dress.  She still was not used to the lingerie and it seemed absurdly over-complicated for what there was.  Finished, she stepped back to inspect the results.  She looked like the person she had forgotten about years ago.  

Her freedom had been taken away, and she knew her life expectancy was measured now in weeks and months instead of years and decades.  But a perverse sort of rebellion flooded through her blood like a tidal wave.  She liked fucking a new man every night; she liked the wonder, the mystery…being treated like a thing…she liked the pain.  Dana knew the men that paid huge sums of money for her body each night felt this in their bones and raging blood.  They could tell; which is why they all wanted her.  STD’s or AIDS were the least of her worries now, for her owner ensured the men were clean.  

She liked fucking and being fucked without protection, hated the store-mannequin plastic feel of the white and flesh-toned condoms.  She craved the experience of the quick explosion of wet heat between her legs and in her belly she felt every time she finished one of them off.  

And this was just…how…she…felt.  Regardless of how crazy it sounded, in bed, she almost always felt more in control of the situation.  And then, for most of her customers at least, at that very moment in time, it was always her finishing them off, not the other way around.  

When she thought of the girl she used to be, that naïve person was a stranger now really.  Dana realized how little she missed her and how girl had never really been happy in the first place.  Dana still didn’t know why she’d done half the things she had while growing up.  Spoiled and bored, she guessed.  But now, maybe, just maybe, Dana’d become what she’d needed to survive.  She had fought these men for control, but any form of real control had been far beyond her ability to acquire.  

The choices she’d been given instead had been to fight to the death or to surrender totally.  She understood that to some she’d always be considered shallow.  Well, fuck ‘em.  They weren’t here, hadn’t experienced what she had.  Nothing in her life, honor or righteousness or freedom, had been that important to her and so she had surrendered--totally.  Thankfully, she had.  And only through true surrender had she achieved, at least what was for her, true liberation.  For when she had finally stopped fighting them psychologically, she had begun to experience everything else directly, openly and unfiltered.  

She may be shallow, but she wasn’t stupid.  She’d made herself look at everything here through a lens of unreality.  It was magical thinking, for what she’d had to convince herself was a magical time.  A time when sensations superseded rational thought.  When wonder displaced wondering and her beliefs became more important than the facts which surrounded her—it was her mind’s way of surviving this…existence.  

When the space occupied by her new life continued to expand, it had continued to grow until Dana became only what she could physically experience.  And in the end, Dana was left with nothing but a final image of herself inside – she had become an undulating sexually electric sea that stretched to infinity in its search for more males.  It was a sea over which she could only look out over in wonder…and experience with sensuous pleasure.

She did miss a few aspects of that initial girl though, and Dana wished she could tell her that.  That girl had been hurt and had not been nice as a result.  Dana had been waiting a long time for her to be okay again.  She knew that girl had never dreamed she would be doing the things she was now, and Dana wished she could instead tell her that she would grow up free and do strange and wonderful things.  She’d probably feel better about herself.

But that would be a lie.  

She was a captive and a cock hound and a slut who liked fucking men and who liked being fucked by men in return.  That’s all she’d ever be now.  

And at least part of Dana was exactly where she wanted to be.


The door to the room swung open and Dana quickly stood as two men entered her room.  When she saw who it was, her heart sank a little—actually more than a little.  These two had become regulars of hers of sorts, and she didn’t particularly like them.  Actually, she didn’t like them at all.  They liked to hurt her and they had control issues.  But they had paid for her tonight, and she had no choice about that.  So she pasted an obviously fake smile on her face for them.  

“Good evening,” the man smiled in return at her.  Behind him loomed his ever-present shadow, a huge slab of muscled bodyguard she knew only as the “Tank” because that was the only name she’d ever heard him called.  The leader had the body of a middle-aged man who was starting to let himself go.  He was a little overweight, but not yet fat.  And while he was beginning to go bald, the massive bodyguard looked like he shaved his head every morning.  

They had developed a protocol of sorts, a routine in which the Tank always indulged himself first while his boss watched.  The boss liked to watch a lot and only participated after his man had warmed her up a little….at least that’s what he called what the big man did to her.  The big man scared her with his physicality, while the boss man’s proclivity towards painful degradation scared her a lot.  The welcoming look remained on her face, but became increasingly difficult to maintain.  

The massive man approached her with a predator’s smile, and as usual, Dana was suddenly filled with a nameless dread.  These were unpredictable men, not like most of the one’s who fucked her.  Most men who wanted her were for the rough sex and she knew that from the very moment they stepped into her room—but not these two.  The worst part with these two was usually the beginning, because she didn’t know how they felt, what their mood was, how they would act and react, what they wanted, what they had planned.  

These two generally hadn’t been too bad in the beginning.  But the last time had been a little rough, in fact more than a little rough.  In fact, the reality was that it had taken her several days to recover afterwards.  Not like she had the flu and just needed a few day.  Like she’d been in a car wreck and had been physical disabled for a while.  

Dana shook her head and surprised even herself as she blurted out, “No…no, not again.  Not like the last time.”  

A shiver of apprehension ran down her spine.  Even as she pleaded, Dana knew that begging was no use.  They’d probably been made to pay extra for what they wanted.  Which meant the master already knew and was probably watching even as they did whatever they wanted to her.  

The Tank’s eyes slowly traveled up and down her body.  They made a cold journey from the cheap, sheer red teddy she wore down to her tiny waist around which was cinched a red garter belt over which a minuscule red thong had been donned.  His pupils dilated then until his eyes looked almost black…she knew he liked what he saw.  Once more, it proved the old adage that smaller was better, at least in that department.  

From there, his eyes slowly ranged over her beautiful legs, from the top of her sheer cinnamon stockings to the red pumps with five-inch stiletto heels.  They lazily wandered back up her body to the teddy once more, and then concentrated on the freely hanging teenage breasts which lay unhidden beneath.  It was obvious that the big man really liked what he saw.  

“Come on, baby,” he chuckled hoarsely.  “You know you can do it and you know you like it.  And that’s definitely what we paid for.”

“No,” she shook her head.  “The last time…I…”  Her words were cut off when the big man slapped her face.

“You little whore; you really need to learn when to shut up.  It doesn’t always have to be this way every time, does it?”

This was how it always started with this man.  And Dana knew pretty much how it was going to end now.  After all, what was this, the fourth or fifth time?  She knew very well what this one liked in his women.

“This won’t take us too long,” the man continued reasonably, as if nothing had happened.  “Unless you want it to……”

“I’m……” She began and another slap, stronger than the first, cut her off again.  Neither had ever hit her very hard before and the blows this time weren’t that bad, but they were always just hard enough to remind her of the violence of which they were both capable.  And in this he was successful.  For despite the experience she’d gained over the last two months, Dana suddenly felt trapped, helpless and hopeless, and she knew they liked her feeling that way.  

She shuddered, trying playing along as Tank grabbed at her top.

“Please…” she looked up at Tank’s boss, whose face had gone flat and expressionless.  “Please, don’t let him hurt me.  I’ll be good to you”

“Shut up, bitch,” the one in charge ordered.  “You know you like it.  Hell, you’re one of those bitches that likes it all.  So just shut up and be the good, little whore that we all know you are.”  

Dana didn’t resist as the Tank pulled her in next to him.  She didn’t scream.  No one would hear her and nobody cared anyway.  Besides, as long as she played along, the violence never really got that much out of hand.  Dana was a big girl now and the violence was part of her life—not only a part of her life, but a part that she often liked.  So, if it got a little out of hand, she’d just taught herself to try to contain it as best she could.  

Yet, even so, another stray thought flitted through her mind as she warily looked up at the contorted face of the big man holding her so tightly against him.  How incredible, she thought to herself, that she had so quickly learned to measure her behavior by the aggression it provoked from the males she was with.  

Tank bent her backwards over the end of the couch and then held her there with a massive hand on the back of her neck while his other hand began stroking and touching her flesh.  The position wasn’t that uncomfortable yet, but she cried out softly, as she normally would in this situation.  Suddenly, he brutally bent her over further and his explorations of her body became harder and more intrusive.  

Her position had just become more painful.  This was rapidly spiraling out of control as far as she was concerned.  As she’d feared might happen, Dana’s whimpered protests, perfectly calculated to just excite most men, had inflamed him towards even more towards the pending violence.  Then she felt his hand slide under the waistband of her thongs and she whimpered again.  

Tank tore her panties off with a jerk of one hand and then his fingers were between her legs, fingering her pussy, probing her roughly.  Dana closed her eyes and gritted her teeth for what she knew came next.  The older man always had liked watching her face while Tank did these things to her and he had paid for that right.  But still, she hated seeing him enjoy it so much.

A thick finger thrust up inside her, and in spite of her vow, Dana’s eyes popped wide open and she squealed her protest.  She heard the middle-aged man who watched the two of them chuckle with amusement.  Dana understood her role in everything going on.  Her role was to please them, and part of what she did to please them was to protest their crude brutalities, but only up to a certain point.  After that, her role was to accept them, to accept the pain and the bruises and the unmercifully stretched flesh.  

As part of this play, the Tank kept fingering her and she continued to struggle uselessly until he removed his finger from inside her body and smacked Dana hard on her bare ass cheeks.  As they expected from her, she jerked and yelped at the blow and the man snorted with humor again as his bodyguard kept her back and buttocks pinned against the edge of the couch.  

The big man’s hand snaked around then and Dana found herself sucking on the finger with which he’d penetrated her.  Dana looked coquettishly at the older man as she sucked on the finger as sexily as she could.  Suddenly, her finger slipped from Tank’s mouth as he kicked at her ankles, making her spread her legs for him.  Dana gave up struggling at this point since if she took it any further now, she risked real injury.  This was an important lesson for the new girls to learn—how far to take it before quitting.  

Clearly, he was going to have his way with her again.


Ignoring the low, softly moaned pleas of the whore he had pushed against the couch, Tank paused for a moment to stare into the young girl’s beautiful face, then he caught her long, slim nylon-covered legs as they scissored out to either side of him and his hips fell perfectly between her fully splayed thighs.  His groin was pressed against her groin, his bulging cock pressed against the lips of her hairless, unready vagina…and it felt so goddamn good to do this to her!  With this single move he had pinned the bitch’s desperately jerking ass tightly to the back of the couch.  

The slow motion images of the young whore's coming ravishment entered and left his tortured mind one after the other as he pushed inexorably closer to achieving his goal.  It was only through fucking a woman like this, more a girl really, that he reduced the rage he felt inside.  Where did this fucking foreigner get so many good looking, young, teenage whores?  It was only by fucking her, by degrading and abusing and using her and the fresh and innocent one’s just like her, that he ever achieve a measure of peace.

His strong knees kept forcing her luscious thighs further apart and he was grinding his erection hard into her squirming, defenseless crotch.  The feel of her stockings on the outsides of his thighs as they rubbed against his legs was incredibly erotic to him.  The bitch, he thought to himself, must still think she was in high school or something, that there still remained something of value to save, for she continued to erupt, fighting him occasionally, unpredictably.  She pulled back, pulled away as best she could.  Her silky-soft, yet remarkably firm flesh of her inner thighs seemingly trying to deny him his need, attempting to prevent him from achieving victory, from fully entering between them.  That she tried to stop him did not bother Tank at all, for she was his goal and he would not be denied.  

This bitch had never yet been able to deny him, and the place for which he was searching to bury himself as he strove to reach that which had eluded him for so long.  Then suddenly…..without warning...he had brutally found it and she cried out as best she could in response.  

Tank liked this young whore.  Her beautiful, shapely legs were spread obscenely wide apart now and he began burying his extraordinarily long and heavy cock into her vagina even though she was really not yet wet enough.  Almost nine inches, an ungainly, ungodly amount, it was enough for any whore, and this young one had already taken him four times before tonight’s pleasure.  

It felt so damn good as he supported himself with one hand while he jammed the huge, blood-filled head of his cock between the teenaged girl’s velvety-soft, fleshily-moist lips once more and into her body.  With a groan of pure pleasure, he shoved it up and into her quivering belly with one prodigious thrust of his hips.  She stiffened and froze for just a second.  He still was not all the way in, but the young whore must have liked it, because she finally squealed like a stuck pig and kicked her legs out wildly in the air to either side of his hips.  

He could tell that her first long groan was truly heartfelt and not faked, for it was quickly followed by rapid, desperate panting as he kept going, pushing and driving into her tight, hot, wet pussy.  Finally, he felt his ballsack racking up against the taint between her legs.  At that point, he had full possession and so he moved his hands up to her shoulders to get a better, more controlling grip on the young whore’s body.  This little bitch liked to bounce around a little more than other, more experienced cunts while taking his pole.  

Through experience though, he had determined that this was the best way to keep her remarkable ass pinned exactly where he wanted it.  He pulled out and drove home again as her gorgeous legs scissored wildly off the floor once more--if she wanted to escape his attentions, kicking like this was a futile attempt.  

He snorted at that thought.  Unfortunately for the whore, her windmilling, slickly nylon-textured, high-heel clad legs only made her position more inviting to him and more intolerable for her.  Nothing was going to stop him from enjoying this gorgeous young pussy now.  In the distance, he could hear the soft, guttural cries of additional pain which occasionally tumbled from the young whore’s throat.  And the never-ending moans which emanated from deep in her throat and which rose to higher and higher octaves as his massive, rock-hard cock battered deeper and deeper into the reluctantly welcoming cavity within her warm, yielding teenaged flesh.  

At last, his pelvis had smacked hard into hers, signaling that she’d taken it all once more.  His rigid, steel-like column had been buried all the way inside her quivering belly and the warm, wet, very tight walls of her amazingly fresh cunt pulsed around him with each beat of her heart.

It was like being in heaven, filling this young girl like this.  He didn't stop what he did to her even though he knew he had to be hurting her, he couldn’t stop.  He didn't even give her a chance to adjust to his sudden, all-commanding presence deep in her belly.  He just began to fuck the young girl, ramming in and out of her like a dog gone mad.  He had only one thought in his mind, and that was to spew his aching, hot, sticky load of cum deep inside her beautiful body, exactly where it belonged.  

Sensitive preliminary’s, indulgent foreplay and soft preludes out of the way, Tank started to fuck her now in the way that was most thoroughly satisfying to him, slow and hard and deep, possessively, irresistibly and permanently.  She’d never forget him, no matter how long she lived.  The teenage whore whimpered and moaned, clenched her hands into fists and pounded everything, the couch, his shoulders and back, even the back of his head as she cried out in pain and disbelief.  But he never noticed.  After claiming her body for over ten minutes, during which her blows had slowly ceased, he actually began to pick up speed, grunting with the effort of every soul-satisfying hip thrust that went into each gigantic power stroke.  

Her fists remained balled, but now lay uselessly by her sides or rested lightly on his upper back.  He knew his fingers dug into the girl’s shoulders, and the way her back arched told him he had to be hurting her but… he… just…. didn’t… fucking…. care.  The little whore had finally begun grunting at the end of each of Tank’s final power strokes as he bottomed out inside her, even as the breath was being driven out of her lungs each time by his pile driver thrusts.  He liked the soft, yet firm sounds of a woman being sexually claimed, of a woman being totally, irresistibly dominated by a big cock…by his big cock.  


Profanation and violation are part of the perversity of sex, which never will conform to liberal theories of benevolence.  Every model of morally or politically correct sexual behavior will be subverted by nature's daemonic law.
-Camille Paglia

Dana had been taught by the current, politically correct arbiters of patriarchal society to be offended by this sort of casual assumption of sexual domination and male superiority.  But here—hidden away in this awful place--it was an accepted thing and she had quickly learned to both accept it and to go along with it.  

The truth though, was that a part of this awful…..lifestyle…..it excited her too.  

Even worse was the way her body always seemed to respond to rough treatment more than it did to gentleness.  Her arms felt too weak to hit at him anymore.  At the same time, she could feel herself growing wetter and hotter around the Tank’s big cock, her pussy rhythmically contracting around him, generating more pure pleasure inside her than she’d ever experienced before even as her body massaged his erection and gave him just as much pleasure as she took from him.  She didn’t want him to understand how much pleasure she got from this, so Dana closed her eyes and tried to bite back the moans of pleasure that threatened to escape from deep in her throat.  


It seemed to go on forever, but in the end Tank was overcome by waves of pure pleasure as he vented his muscle-clenching hunger against her and inside her.  When he finally came inside the young whore’s groaning body, he came in floods and gushes, in jetting, uncontrolled spurts and unending strings.  It was one incredible deluge of semen after another, showering her womb again and again with the white hot liquid of a man’s need until finally...it was all gone and she had once more emptied him of his lust for the moment.  

He remained pressed against the front of her body for over a minute after he’d finished, just catching his breath.  

Still without saying a word, he pulled out of her and pulled her away from the couch at the same time.  Then he roughly pushed down on one shoulder until she was on her knees in front of him.  


Here comes the worst part.  Dana opened her eyes and looked at the Tank’s glistening cock in front of her face.  Dana was draining from her vagina and she hesitated--he was suddenly angry at delaying what he wanted next.  One strong hand remained on her shoulder while the other was on the back of her head, tangled in her hair.  The big man pushed her face towards his groin as he growled, “Blow me.  Blow me good and make me happy.  Suck on it, bitch.  You know what I want, so get started.”

Although she did not particularly care to perform this with either of these two men, Dana had been quite well-trained over the preceding two months and the thought of disobeying one of the master’s clients never crossed her mind.  Dana knew she had no choice but to comply, for even if one discounted the house rules, the way the huge man held her head made fighting him impossible.  

And biting any of the clients was unthinkable.  

The Tank's long cock dangled softly before her eyes.  Even after having sated himself upon her, even in his limpness, he was still bigger than a normal man.  And the whole length of his large shaft still glistened, wetted by her love juice while a long, pearly-white string of his semen hung down from the tip.  It looked like a spider at the end of strand of silk and swayed crazily, hypnotically, with each move of his hips.  

Refocusing her eyes away from the tip of his cock, Dana obeyed the hand pushing at the back of her head, impulsively grabbing Tank's long, continually softening cock with both hands and massaged it as she worked up the courage to take him in her mouth.  After another obvious hesitation, she brought it to her lips and licked the thick, semen coated head with her tongue.  His cum tasted salty, not as good as some men’s but better than others.  

In two months, she’d become an expert on how a man’s semen tasted.  Finally, she opened her mouth and tentatively began to accept the head of his penis.  


The only thing Tank hated about this particular whore was the way she sometimes delayed…she probably thought it was a turn-on, that she was being sexy or something.  All it did was piss him off though.  "C'mon bitch, you know you want it, so do it right.  Clean it off.  Lick it clean.  You’re young enough that you remember how to lick a lollipop.  Now get to it!"  

Slowly the young whore he so liked began at first to tentatively lick and suck on the top two inches of his big meat.  He knew he was a big man and most of the whores he took like this began the same way.  With only a couple of inches in her mouth, his once more slowly hardening erection appeared monstrously large next to her wide-eyed, beautiful face.  Sometimes he just couldn't imagine how these small cunts took it down the throat like this—but they all did somehow.  

This one sucked it in and out some more, but Tank knew she wasn't going to take it in any further, at least not without some encouragement.  But he was hard and ready once more, so he pulled out of the whore’s mouth and dragged her on her knees around to the side to the sofa.

"Please don’t hurt me.  What are you going to do to me?" The young girl begged of him, but he knew by the look in her eyes that it was all an act.  He knew that despite her protests of ignorance and innocence, she knew exactly what was coming next.   

"Just shut up and lay still.  Down!" he yelled as he propped a couple pillows on one end of the sofa and forcibly positioned her on them, laying the whore on her back with her head hanging over the arm of the couch.  As Tank walked around to the side of the sofa again, the man watching could see that Tank’s cock was now at the same level as the whore's head.  All three of them knew what Tank had in mind, for he had done it to her four other times previously.


Dana watched his face as the big man grabbed her head and tilted it back, then pushed the head of his massive cock between her protesting lips and into her mouth.  Once firmly seated there, he began pushing forward.  The man never noticed Dana’s hands as her fists began hitting the couch cushion while accompanied by the staccato beat of her high-heels.  

It felt like his erection plunged into Dana’s mouth and deeper down her throat than she had ever before taken a man.  Of course, with a really big man like him, it had felt like this the four previous times too.  It never got any easier to satisfy this man, and her mind did its best to forget.  Dana's jaws were locked wide open now and her mouth totally filled with his hard, steaming hot cock.  

Still beating the couch with staccato blows from her fists, a fearful Dana tried to cooperate by relaxing the muscles around her throat as he pushed deeper.  He continued pushing until it became obvious that Tank was experiencing some resistance as he passed the back of her mouth and actually began to go down her throat.  

She gagged some at that, but worked hard at finally getting it under control.


His erection felt renewed by her mouth.  He always kept her head pulled down and back using handfuls of her hair.  Undistracted by the young bitch’s beating fists and the suddenly kicking high-heels on her feet, Tank looked down at the his whore’s bulging eyes and puffed out cheeks as he continued massaging her stretched out neck for another moment…anything that helped get him a little deeper down her throat.  Then he gave another quick little push of his hips and another two inches of cock quickly disappeared into her mouth and down her throat.  Her eyes bulged unattractively even more in surprise—fuck her, he thought to himself, if she couldn’t take a joke.  

He was used to women pounding on couches and beds when he mouth-fucked them, along with the kicking feet.  Right up until that last two-inch surprise, her fairly routine acceptance of his meat was accompanied by, to him, little more than a few soft, wet gurgles and moans.  With his little hip thrust though, he’d taken her from pretty much total acceptance to I’m dying here, what the fuck?  He pulled back a little, enough for her to breathe again, and after waiting a moment and within sixty seconds it had all gone back to normal.  His little teenaged whore was breathing just fine again.  

Every now and then though, he pulled down on her hair to improve the angle for another accompanying deep hip thrust—it just felt so damn good not to do that.  For as young as she obviously was, it was unbelievable to him just how much an already experienced whore like this one could take down her throat.  

Oh sure, they cried out a little, moaned here and there, beat a tattoo on the couch cushions or the mattress and kicked some just like this one was doing right now—that was pure drama.  But he knew that was always an act, for the proof was in front of him; his nine-inch nail was pretty much going down the small whore’s tiny throat just fine.  

For their benefit he kept it simple at times like this, he didn’t really demand they suck on him too when he throat-fucked them.  For all he really desired was just another dark, moist, warm hole to stick his cock into and then fuck it like a goddamm Manitou.  


The middle-aged man watching thought he could actually see the front of her throat expand as it was stretched by the giant tool being pushed down inside, and her lips worked desperately around his meat as if she were trying to help by swallowing what look like a donkey cock.  Tank continuously, steadily pushing inch after inch of hard meat, making it disappear down the whore's tight throat and then reappear again, it all was a real fucking turn-on for him.  


Finally, Tank’s massive erection was long gone, totally buried inside the teenaged whore's throat.  He backed off a little then for a couple of seconds by pulling out maybe four inches.  He hesitated for a few seconds to give her a chance to breathe and then pushed back in.  Finally, after a couple of minutes of some more really good-feeling throat fucking, Tank forced himself to slowly withdraw his tool most of the way out just to give the young girl a chance to some uncomplicated breathing.  

He hadn’t wanted to stop at the moment but he had to for the way she had frantically pounded on his hips and ass told him she was completely out of air from the deep throat-fucking she had just received.  He looked down as she heaved for air around the tip of his cock and saw that his giant tool in front of the young whore’s face glistened from her saliva.  He liked the look of his cock glistening with a woman’s saliva and the scared look on her face.  

As the girl finally caught her breath, Tank grabbed his tool and lifted its extreme length in one hand so that he could push his balls into the girl’s face with one move of his hips.  The slut immediately knew what he desired for she’d already satisfied him this way too four times before.  Without making a sound, she began licking the big sack that hung from between his legs.  

He was pleased with her quick response.  She was doing so much better on this than the first time they’d taken her.  But it never hurt to motivate a slut like this.  "Suck ‘em softly, you sweet little bitch.  Do me like you know I want it," he ordered and the beautifully trained whore obeyed without hesitation.  

The to him tiny slut sucked his balls into her mouth one at a time as Tank closed his eyes and tilted his head back in pleasure.  Then he went up on his toes to pull his nut out of her mouth and moved his hips forward, forcing her open mouth under his balls and further between his legs, all to make her lick behind his balls and then his anus.  Her tongue slowly probed between his legs, licking towards his asshole.  Finally, she reached the ultimate target and he groaned in pleasure as the young slut worked him there for another couple of minutes.  

It was time to finish her off.  He moved away from her, allowing the girl still lying on her back on the couch to take a few deep, uninterrupted breaths.  Then ordered her to open wide so that he could push his cock down her throat one last time.  There was a familiar look of fear on her face, but she obeyed anyway without hesitation.  He was a man of his word; Tank drilled her mouth in one long smooth motion and again the whore swallowed his massive erection accompanied only a few gagging sounds.  


The middle-aged man looked at the beautiful young whore lying on her back on the couch with his bodyguard’s huge piece of meat shoved down her throat.  His man wasn’t smart enough to enjoy the subtleties of abusing a young girl like this; rather he just got off on the coarser animal pleasures of sex.  But he appreciated the immense pleasure of using sex to abuse and degrade women.  

He looked at the beautiful girl, her gorgeous legs spread wide on the couch, sheathed in near flesh-toned stockings; he drank in the lustrous glow the nylons imparted in the subtle lighting, the differing shades and the erotic shadows which so beckoned to men.  He looked at her firm, bared breasts, the nipples erect within the small, dark chocolate aureoles.  He looked at her face, as best he could see it under his man’s erection for just the root of the massive cock showed once more, since all else had been buried inside her face.  It was time and he was ready.  

The older man nodded at his bodyguard to keep her attention on him as he knelt on the couch between the girl’s knees.  He pinned her left leg with his right knee, while he kept the weight of his body on her right leg.  He could see her trying to look at him through her tearing eyes, but Tank kept her head pretty much pinned in place.  Ready for something new, he was going to surprise this little whore.  He slowly moved between the slit's wide open legs and fingered her clit for a moment and then her vagina while his man repeatedly stuffed her throat and raped her mouth.  The girl’s cunt was quite juicy at this point as it coated his fingers.  

His left hand continually stroked the top of her satiny, stocking-clad thigh---he loved the glossy look and the slick feel of a shapely young woman’s firm legs encased in nylons.  The middle finger of his right hand went back inside her vagina while his thumb repeatedly rubbed against her clit, pulling it up towards her belly button as he finger-fucked her.  Her hips worked his fingers, lunging towards them again and again.  Finally, he was hard enough and she was ready.  

He moved his hand and she started then, her hips jumping just a little as he slipped a finger into her asshole and pushed it all the way in to the final knuckle.  Her hands unsuccessfully grabbed for him then as he slid in a second finger and then he tried for a third.  The teenaged whore’s hips were quivering and bouncing on the couch cushion now as she struggled to close her legs to keep this new threat out.  But his man kept her head immobilized with his cock, while he leaned in and kept her legs spread with the weight of his body.  

Despite the girl’s increasingly frenzied reactions, he continued working her anus in an easy yet still decidedly focused manner with just his three fingers.  He casually slapped her frantic hands away with his free hand whenever they threatened to disrupt his efforts.  Soon he had his three fingers buried deeply inside their little slut.  He continued worked her like that for minute to get her continually more dilated--now it was time to try for two fingers from each hand, pulling and stretching her in opposite directions…..

He looked up at Tank—there was no way on earth he’d be fucking a mouthful of teeth when another guy was ripping the whore’s asshole apart—but that was just him.  And of course, that was why he was the guy with a goddamn fortune and Tank was the guy who worked for him.  

Unsurprisingly, the little slut’s struggles suddenly became remarkably more urgent at the double two-fingers of death move he’d just put on the bitch—he liked Chinese marital arts movies from the 70’s--but he didn’t know if the little cunt just needed air or whether she was just getting a little upset with the way he had decided to begin playing with her tonight.  He continued stretching her out for another couple of minutes, pulling with hooked fingers from both hands.  For as small as she was, he was quite amazed at how strong the whore was—that is, until her strength just seemed to suddenly run out.  Regardless of cause, regardless of what she wanted or didn’t want, of what she needed or didn’t need, none of her desires mattered tonight….  

It was then that he switched back to just using the fingers of one hand, locked tightly together in a spear shape.  

What mattered tonight was that his four fingers were finally going inside her, but it was getting tight, real tight.

There wasn’t much struggling on her part anymore despite what he was doing to her--probably running out of air with such a large cock filling her airway.  Her widespread knees pinned beneath him only trembled, her hips occasionally bucked against his weight and then stopped again when she found in useless to fight his smothering weight.  

He continually looked up to check out her face, trying to see into her eyes, trying to see some real emotions, looking for the pain and humiliation he was causing her.  The older man had finally succeeded in driving four fingers inside her asshole up to his knuckles and he was working hard to force them even deeper when his bodyguard momentarily pulled his cock from her mouth to let the whore breathe again.  

For the first time tonight he felt a thrill of satisfaction run down his spine.  He was convinced now that she’d been faking it with his man all night, all the dramatic fists and kicking feet.  But now, for the first time she had let her voice express some real emotion.  The bitch had finally let out a scream of real pain and fear as he continued forcing her asshole to accept his pleasure.

"Stop!  Pleeease.  Oh God, no more!  PLEASE!!  No more.  You’re really hurting me!!."

It didn’t seem she’d needed much air as he’d first thought she did.  Tank noticed this too, for he drove back in once more and filled her mouth to the brim and then just maintained his presence without face fucking the girl.  No more talking out of that hole for a while.  

As smart as this little cunt thought she was, she probably did not realize just how much her screams actually turned him on.  Oh, maybe she had the tiniest notion that the more she reacted to the pain with which he gifted her, the more the beautiful young slut aroused him.  But she had no real idea of how far this excitement could take him.  And if he had her someplace else, someplace a little more private, if it’d been just a little less expensive proposition, he’d show her exactly how much she turned him on.  

But, for the moment at least, that was off limits with this particular whore.  

This thought, in turn, took him back to the room and the girl spread so wide under him, and he immediately began to ream her asshole once more with his free hand.  He pulled almost all of the way out of her ass for a short second and then immediately pushed in again with all four fingers still pointed into a spear.  She bucked now, again and again under his assault, her hips thrashing as she tried to avoid him, tried to evade what he had for her, but he kept her legs spread wide and her lower body trapped while Tank kept her head pinned to the arm of the couch.  

He looked up into her shocked and terrified, wide open eyes, and he smiled as he forced his fingers into her anus ever harder, stretching it wider and wider.  The closer his knuckles got to her asshole, the wider it stretched and the more her eyes bulged with horror.  The man thrust hard into her anus one last time and watched with pure sexual pleasure as it slowly stretched to where he had wanted it from the beginning, opening just enough despite her wishes to receive the totality of his speared fingers.  

In the end, the young whore was gargling wildly, incoherently, around Tank’s immense cock while he held her down and violated her asshole.  She was beating at Tank’s body for real, frantically, flailing incompetently at him, never doing any damage.  

Abrupt silence.  She had nothing left to hide from either of them.  What she had wished so strongly to avoid had already happened.  The young whore’s screams suddenly stopped and were replaced by the wet, grunting sounds of acquiescence and the helpless moans of acceptance.  The whore’s struggles quickly diminished now and at the end of the evening, she just lay there, spread wide on the couch, accepting everything.  

What he was doing to her had excited Tank and it looked like he was ready to cum.  As his man mistimed pulling out, cum still spurted out of the single hole at the end of his cock.  Even he was surprised at the amount which remained in his big bodyguard, especially after having already cum once inside the slut.  The middle-aged man then spread his fingers apart and closed them into a fist multiple times.  Her whole body shook, shuddered again, and he thoroughly enjoyed the spasms and convulsions of pain he caused the teenage bitch even while his bodyguard Tank was still pistoning in and out of her throat.  

He looked up and smiled into her fluttering eyes as he fisted her ass again.  Youth was wasted on the young, except when there as an adult in the room.  

Tank finally finished cumming down her throat, coating her throat with the last strings of seed remaining in his balls and then he left her motionless body lying on the couch.  He soon became bored after that with playing with the sobbing girl and torturing her asshole—there was no fight left in her—none at all.  He’d still not cum though and his nuts ached like a motherfucker, so he finished her off five minutes after that.  The way he finished her off was by jacking off onto her face, his shit-smelling hand stroking his cock and then aiming his shooting cum at her eyes and nose and hair.  

The Tank had already cleaned up and resumed his professional bodyguard persona.  When he finished cumming on the whore, he too walked over to the tiny bathroom and washed his hands and then his cock using a lot of soap and water.  They left the girl still lying on the couch in the rape room, and had a celebratory drink together in the bar.  Expensive stuff for a night well-spent.  


The details of the room whispered in and out of Dana’s mind.  Regardless of the pain they had left her in, she’d reached an almost metaphysical plateau that evening, for the need to struggle had become increasingly useless since her throat was still plugged most of the time.  Air to breathe had almost seemed to become less and less demanding of a need at the end the longer Dana had gone without oxygen.  

They had done this to her before.  With certainty, she knew what she was, what she had become.  She could argue about how she’d actually become a whore, but Dana knew her proclivities, her ways of thinking, her ability to accept, to even enjoy many of the thing which happened here.  Yet, despite this…acceptance of her new life, there still remained certain times that a woman just didn’t want to think about what happened here.  

Without a doubt though, this sense of helplessness ranked among the worst part about being sold to men over and over again.  Tonight, one monster had destroyed her body, maybe permanently, while the other had tried to kill her softly, choking her with that monster cock of his.  

She’d felt the meat in her mouth begin throbbing and Dana had known he was pumping his hot cum deep into her throat, pumping it so deep that it completely bypassed her mouth on its way to her stomach.  But the bodyguard had suddenly ejaculated his final spasms into her waiting mouth in several heavy spurts that consisted of long, white, thick velvety strings.  Then, the other man had torn up her insides with his fist for another few minutes before he too had cum on her face.  

She felt torn, figuratively and literally.  Dana turned her head to the side and choked again on the semen that had been left in her throat and mouth, she coughed a couple of times as the yet undiluted cum bubbled over her lips.  At the same time, she felt like her body was on the verge of going into shock from what the other man had been doing to her rectum.  Dana was sure that she was bleeding from where the man had torn her flesh with his fingers and hand.  

But at the same time, a far-away part of her mind went over again and again the way the big man had finished cumming.  He’d cum on her face; it’d been in her mouth, it had covered her lips and had begun to run down her chin.  Tank had held his massive cock directly over Dana's open mouth and milked the last few drops at the end with heavy strokes of his hand, forcing out the last few dribbles of hot, thick cream.  

Dana had been blinking rapidly at that point, her face velvety slick and covered in cum as she opened her mouth like a baby bird waiting to be fed, just to show the big man the quantity of his sperm she had captured.  Dana had no choice but to swallow or choke at the quantity of sperm he had just ejaculated in and on her.  And so she’d swallowed convulsively deep in her throat without swallowing any of the load in her mouth.  But her tongue had made a small amount dribble over her lower lip as a particularly painful cramp had seized her rectal muscles.

"Swallow it all, every drop," Tank had barked out.  

Dana remembered closing her eyes, then she’d closed her mouth as she swallowed his cum in one gulp.  She was a whore now and she’d done what whores did.  Using her tongue, she’d tried to lick as much as was possible from her lips and face.  The Tank had helped in a way by using his cock to smear his cum around her face and then he’d pushed most of the cooling, now gelatinous mess into her mouth so that she could swallow that too.  

Then Dana blushed as she remembered licked Tank's shrinking cock clean.  Finally then, the older man had taken his time before finishing too by cumming on her face.  

Laughing, the two men talked about sports and work as they dressed and rearranged their clothing.  Finally, the door opened and the two left without saying a word to the nineteen year old girl that they left on the couch.  Just like the four other times.  

The bodyguard always like to choke her with his cock, she’d learned how to handle that.  It wasn’t fun, going without air like that, but she could handle it.  Her anus ached terribly now.  That rectal thing was new, they’d never done that to her before.  

Dana groaned aloud again.  As much as she hated this next part, she still could never seem to avoid it with these two.  She let herself slide down off of the couch and landed heavily on all fours on the floor.  She stopped to let a moment of dizziness pass and to catch her breath.  After a moment, she began to crawl around to end of the couch and pulled herself up on it.  

She knew that men would arrive very soon to escort her back to her room, taking her on the long route through the meat market.  At first this trip had not bothered her.   But now she had come to hate the overt display of control it represented, so Dana took the few seconds she had to clean herself up and to cover herself.  She pulled the torn thongs up around her waist again and draped the ripped teddy over her shoulders.  She staggered into the tiny attached bathroom and wiped her rear end gingerly with toilet paper…there was blood on the tissue.  She stole another moment and cleaned her face with a wet wash cloth.  There was nothing she could do about her hair.  It was a mess.  

Finished, she found that her legs were weak and her knees trembled.  Finally, Dana stumbled back into the room.  Regardless of how painful it might be, she sat down on the couch, for she was too shaky to do anything but sit while waiting.  

The door opened then and two men were framed in its shadows.  It was time for the long, slow walk back through the Meat Market to her room.  


PART Eleven: Pity Ursula at the end of her first two months, it’s been a really bad day

URSULA

Her Aim Was Just To Survive or She Truly Was Forever A Changed Woman

The girl who seemed unbreakable, broke.  The girl who seemed strong, crumbled.  The girl who always laughed, cried.  The girl who never stopped trying, gave up.  She dropped a fake smile as a tear rolled down her cheek and she whispered to herself, I can't do this anymore.
-Anonymous

Your world is nothing more than all the tiny things you've left behind.
-Clint Eastwood, in “Gran Torino”

The young woman still felt she was a survivor despite her bouts of depression and anxiety attacks, despite everything they’d done to her.  When her mind was working well and her life wasn’t controlled by some fog of depression, she was practical and responsible.  But most importantly, the sense of innocence she carried was remarkably resilient considering everything she’ been made to accept.  

Maintaining a seemingly calm exterior during the first few weeks of her recovery after the enhancement surgery, in actuality she’d been afraid of losing her mind.  Surprisingly, there were few oh-my-god-now-I’m-a-monster moments.  But only because she’d actually begun trying to puzzle her life back together around her augmentations.  She’d finally begun to cope a little better with the despair and awful demands of what they expected of her on every day in which she wasn’t on her period.  Surprisingly, the earlier appointments with men had helped keep the hopeless desolation at bay—she always hated herself afterwards, but doing anything had somehow actually been better than just sitting in a room twenty-four hours a day doing nothing but thinking about her horrible new life.  

They had tried to take away everything she held dear and turn her into a timid, big-breasted puppet whose only drive was to avoid displeasing her new masters.  But that brain washing had not taken for the most part.  It was her natural confidence and her inherent ability to rebound from personal pain and terrible misfortune that had pulled her back from the very edge after three weeks of almost madness.  

She was a survivor.  Ursula told herself this a thousand times a day.  Sometimes it even helped her get through the day.  She’d survived by denying her emotions, denying the horror she felt.  But nothing in her life had prepared her for anything of this magnitude.  

Ursula had once thought her existence was a neat package wrapped up forever in a small Louisiana town.  Then she had watched that bundle explode.  She knew now that life was never the tidy thing she’d always imagined it to be, that she had only just observed it that way.  She’d come to learn that terrible things could happen, and when they did, there were things more horrible still that could occur.  But when the power that ran the universe, whatever it was, had decided to lay her low, it had reached out and touched her, it had singled her out and become intimate with her.  She understood that even if her existence had become warped and misshapen, it was still life of sorts nonetheless, and it was still worth everything even if only to her.  She now knew that anything was possible.  Maybe she’d even survive this too.  


I can’t eat and I can’t sleep.  I’m not doing well in terms of being a functional human, you know?
-Ned Vizzini, in It’s Kind of a Funny Story

It was after 9 PM and Ursula sat alone in the room waiting for the client who had purchased her for tonight.  Her mind felt fuzzy, fuzzier than normal.  And she felt a bout of depression coming on again.  She rarely slept very well now, her stomach always burned with acid and she felt tired all the time; not an expert, she automatically assumed she was clinically depressed.  

If anyone had the right to be depressed, it was her.  Ursula didn’t think she was depressed, but the other girls did.  Plus, she felt her emotions stirring in an odd way tonight.  Emotions she’d denied for eight weeks.  It had been over two months since the three of them had been taken.  Not close friends when it had started, she did not talk to the other two much at all now.  Ursula thought they were doing better, certainly better than she was.  She felt so terribly alone, and there was no one to talk to, no one who understood how she felt.  

Being kidnapped and raped over and over was horrible enough, but it had been the obscene breast augmentation which had hammered her mind and emotions like nothing else ever had ever before—this was what most made her want to give up.  Ursula hated what she looked like now.  She was embarrassed at what they’d made her look like and she was humiliated every time someone she’d known from before saw her in this new way.  

She still felt a frightening emotional numbness every morning when she woke up after a less than refreshing night and saw herself in the mirror.  It was always a battle after that to put on her happy face and try to pretend that nothing had happened.  To Ursula, it was literally devastating to see what they’d done to make her more physically appealing in their eyes and she pushed that desolate sense of personal wreckage down and to the back of her mind all the time.  

But Ursula was a fighter and after the initial despair, she had come up with other ways to survive than just ignoring reality.  She customarily spent more time now than was really necessary just to ensure she looked her best; the unthinking beauty routines she’d invented were all that kept her sane.  A beauty consultant in her former life, she had finally allowed familiar habits developed over a short lifetime to somehow sooth her and help her cope with the horrible uncertainties of her new life.


She knew that most men would say that even with the oversized breasts, or perhaps because of them, she looked fabulous in the low cut, short black dress that had been delivered an hour and a half ago.  It was a minimal silk sheath with a skirt which flared out below her hips and emphasizing the exquisite shapeliness of her long legs.  The dress had been tight on top and she’d had to wiggle a bit just to shimmy into it and get her ample cleavage positioned for the maximum desired effect.  She’d frowned down at her chest at first, hating the over-endowment she been given and remembering the times she’d just felt normal there.  

Underneath, she wore sheer black stockings held up by garters and a pair of black evening pumps with five-inch stiletto heels.  She felt ungainly, for in these shoes she towered well over six feet in height.  Add in her Frankenstein breasts and she felt out of balance, making it that much more difficult to walk in the ridiculous high-heels.

Surprisingly, a tiny, silky black thong and black see-through bra, size 36 FF, had been included as part of the ensemble.  They rarely allowed her panties of any type, but Ursula’s eyes became sparkly with unshed tears at the thought of the extra-large bra she needed to wear most of the time now.  

She continued to wait in silence.

Finally, a tall, Caucasian body-builder type entered the room and stood in silence as he looked at her.  Unusually, he left the door open.  As dictated by training and the master-pimp’s customs, she’d jumped to her feet when the door opened.  The man just stared with cold eyes at her long, perfectly shaped legs revealed by the short dress.  She shifted uncomfortably as his eyes boldly traveled up her body from her knees to her waist, finally freezing on her chest.  He licked his lips greedily.

Ursula smiled tentatively, hoping he would not be too rough tonight, but he just continued staring at her over-developed breasts.  After half a minute, a second man entered the room.  This man was just as muscled as the first, but was black and about four inches shorter.  The forced smile of welcome left her face as the door whispered shut behind them.  


The tall man looked appreciatively at the big titted whore they’d rented and then gave her a simple gesture to turn around.  The bitch finally obeyed him, but took her sweet time doing it.  He’d been here several times with Lennie, but this was their first time with this particular whore.  She was new and the almost dead look on her face was not at all what he had expected.  He knew immediately it would be fun to bring this one back to life.  

He’d checked her bio and it fit.  Young, maybe nineteen or twenty, with a surprising air of…of innocent acceptance of her role…that was the only way he could describe, especially considering her profession.  He loved that look of innocence.  Long blonde hair, classically beautiful face, pouty lips, huge tits, great ass and long, exquisitely shapely legs that went from the floor up to her armpits.  She wore a nice black dress that went from mid-thigh to scooped low at the top and which emphasized her tiny waist.  Black stockings that were so sheer they looked almost light grey in color and sexy assed high-heels that left her standing as tall as him.

Along with the surprising aura of…. of….. virtuousness, he sensed an unexpected hint of what seemed like well-hidden arrogance too.  Bitch was pretty good at keeping her face blank, but she’d slip every now and then and you could see it in her eyes.  A look that almost seemed to brag and say, I haven’t been tamed by any man yet --- and I dare you to try.  

He felt his groin stir appreciatively; oh yeah, he was going to enjoy this slut.  They’d spend the whole evening with her.  Tie her up at first just like the others and teach her some humility.  And when she’d reached that perfect point, when she was ready to crawl on her hands and knees to him, ready to beg his forgiveness, to grovel like an animal on the floor in front of him, then he’d untie her and ensure she participated in the ensuing gang bang to the best of her rather ample abilities.  

Lennie wasn’t too smart, but he’d be right there with him, fucking the shit out of this whore.  Together they’d fuck this bitch over and over, keeping her stuffed with cock until her arrogant head collapsed.  

And they’d end up the evening with him giving her one last fuck that she’d remember for the rest of her life.  

She was in for the long ride tonight and he could hardly wait to begin.  


Ursula frowned to herself.  There had never been two men before.  This was new, Ursula thought; this was more than new, it felt…..ominous.  The first man continued to view her in silence for a moment more, then made a twirling motion with one hand.  Ursula hesitated and then rotated slowly for his admiring gaze.  He must have approved of what he saw for a tiny smile quirked his mouth.  

“Time to start,” he said in rough voice.  The second man walked up to her, turned her roughly by the shoulders, grabbed her wrists and began to tie her hands in back with a length of cheap twine that cut deeply into her skin.  She did not attempt to struggle even though the smell of expensive whiskey on his breath was a little alarming.

These were not good signs at all.  Trying to set some kind of ground rules before it went too far, Ursula said quickly, “Please.  You don’t need to do this.  I’ll cooperate.  I’ll do whatever you want.  But you don’t need to tie me.”  

She had always obeyed the rules up to now, submitting to every indignity that rented women could be expected to endure.  While degrading and certainly humiliating, her instant obedience to every command any man had previously given her had been instrumental in keeping the rapists and wolves from harming her too much physically.  

The men said nothing as they finished tying her wrists.  This definitely was not a good sign.

In the relatively short time Ursula had been held captive, she had realized that all of the men who came here wanted power over women in some way; every one of them was a rapist, and they all got a perverse pleasure out of using her and the other women in sexually degrading ways.  But some of the other men she’d been forced to spend the night with were relatively gentle cowards, wanting nothing more than to have extended sex with an unwilling, young and attractive woman and then be able to walk away the next morning feeling no responsibilities for what they had done.  

Others were a little rougher, but they too had always stopped short of causing significant pain or any real damage.  These men usually enjoyed the power of inflicting extreme sexual humiliation over the women they considered unlucky or unworthy or as coming from an inferior class.  

Finally, there were a few men that were truly sick bastards.  Luckily, she’d only had to endure this last type once, and it had taken her two days to recover and he had not damaged her breast implants.  She wasn’t yet sure where these two fit on the continuum of “good” guys to bad guys, but she didn’t like being helpless with her hands tied like this.  

Along with the all-consuming sense of emotional numbness she felt regarding her fate, the one thing that all the men had in common, the one thing she had never let anyone of them see was how much she despised them all.  That was still another emotion she had learned to bottle up.  

Suddenly, she was pushed face down onto the bed making her short black dress ride up the back of her thighs.  Ursula rolled over and tried to sit up, but was pushed back down on her back.  She almost jumped when the black man’s breath caressed her ear.  Hot, meaty breath, far too humid to be comfortable.  He was breathing on her on purpose, and her flesh crawled in concentric waves of revulsion.  Gooseflesh rose up hard and pebbled, scales of fear spread across her skin.

“Here’s the deal.”  The words pressed obscenely warm against the naked skin of her throat.  Something brushed her hair and a light kiss touched her ear.  Oh God, she almost choked on bile.  Swallowed it and held still, every muscle in her body screaming at her to move, to get away from these two.  His tongue, hard and rasping, flicked out and brushed against the hollow behind her ear, pressing past a few stray strands of hair.  

“We’re going to fuck, babe.  You and me.  And while we’re fucking you, you will be enjoying it.”  The man paused and cold air hit her ear.  A soft rumbling chuckle brushed against her cheek, but Ursula kept her mouth shut.  It had taken awhile, but she was quite well trained now.  


The Albanian watched Ursula and her two visitors on several monitors.  The black man’s name was Leonard.  The big tall white guy with the tattoos was James.  James was the brains of the two, although how much he had was debatable, and he was the one who organized the visits.  He was also known, at least to his whores, for having a quick temper to match his gigantic cock.  Most of his women did not like the pair; they did not like them at all.  

But both men came from wealthy families and both men liked to double-team his women.  He’d let them do it before, but never with Ursula.  Of the two, Leonard was the follower while James was the leader.  James was also pure evil and had to be watched closely to ensure he didn’t hurt the women too much.  Of course, if he did, he would just have to pay more money, a lot more money if he wanted to come back and do it all over again.  But the old Albanian would still be quite annoyed, for he did not yet have a suitable replacement for any of his remaining big-titted cows.  

And so far, the two had behaved.  The Albanian had allowed this kind of behavior because of the wealth and power controlled the two men’s families.  But still…as the protector of his women, he had to set certain limits on how much a man could hurt his whores without having gone too far.  

He would watch them closely.  

His new whore Ursula lay silent on the bed as the two men slowly dropped their pants on the floor, and then removed the rest of their clothing.  The old man watching felt a touch of amusement as the girl’s face showed real shock and horror when she first saw the exceptionally large erection dangling between James’s legs.  It must have been at least ten inches long and he needed to hold it with one of his hands before he could do anything with it.  It looked devastating, like something out of a porn movie, but it must have been a pain in the ass to carry around something like that most of the time.

He turned the volume up on the professional quality sound equipment hidden in the room and it was then that she shook her head in horror and he heard her crying out, “Please, no.  NO!  No way.  Not with you.  NooOO!”

The Albanian watched James smile grimly as if he appreciated the young woman’s fear.  But this was still nothing more than a whore could expect.  He watched as the black man grabbed her shoulders and began to grope her giant breasts through the thin dress, while James pulled her dress up, exposing the tops of her stockings and the tiny thong that covered nothing.  

Despite her initial horror and fear, the young woman knew better than to try to fight off clients by now, and instead closed her eyes and lay on the bed submissively while the men spent at least ten minutes groping her tits and ass, sliding their hands over her legs and body, manipulating her clit through the thongs and finger-fucking her.  She cooperated fully, lying on her back with her eyes closed and her beautiful knees willingly spread wide apart, taking even, deep breaths that unfortunately further expanded her already magnificent chest.  Although new, she had quickly learned to docilely accept whatever any men did to her.  

Suddenly bored, the two roughly pulled the girl to her feet, then between them they first pulled the short dress over her head and then down her arms so that it hung off her bound wrists in back.  The old man watching frowned as he saw Ursula struggle against the two in a weak attempt to fight them off.  He made a mental note; tomorrow she would be punished for lacking the appropriate…submissiveness……and then she would undergo more training in being accepting of her life and its demands.  It seemed that Bashir liked this girl and he would be pleased to see her again doing what she’d been altered by surgery to do.

The removal of her dress left the young girl standing with spread legs, wearing only her huge, peasant-sized, boulder-holder bra, thong, garter belt and stockings and high-heeled pumps.  The dress was nothing more than a bundle around her wrists at the small of her back.  Although The Albanian knew the girl was one who always tried to control her emotions--there was sort of a shocked look on her face and her eyes slid around the room, rarely meeting those of the two men.  They could tell she was humiliated by having been stripped and it amused them.  The old man also knew the girl had been shamed to be stripped like that in front of the two men.  In fact, he hoped she remained that way forever, because he mined that freshness and it was this which he offered to his clients—here, take this one’s innocence…..

Again and again.  

But she was helpless in that room and the old man knew there was no need for the violence, other than the fact that the two men enjoyed it so much.  Even standing well over six feet tall in her heels, his whore was helpless against the men with her hands bound behind her back.  


Ursula remained frozen.  A part of her wanted to fight the two men, she really did.  But they moved around her like hyenas fighting over a wildebeest carcass, and she just froze.  Leonard suddenly grabbed her thongs and pulled them off her hips at the same time that James began to work on her bra snaps in back.  

For some odd, unknown reason, Ursula was even more horrified at this last act.  She hunched her shoulders forward in an unsuccessful attempt to cover he chest as she begged a man for the first time in two months with a faltering voice, “Please don’t take it off.  I swear, I’ll be good and do whatever you want.  Just leave the bra on.  PLEASE.  I’m begging you.”  

The big white man stopped for a second and then replied, “You really are fucking stupid, aren’t you?  We paid a lot of money for a whore with tits like yours.  With tits like melons, why the fuck would we let you keep them hidden away?”

He now released the snaps on her bra strap and pulled it down off her chest to expose her firm, massive breasts and small, brownish-pink aureoles.  He ignored her pitiful sob of anguish as he continued working on the surprisingly wide shoulder straps and suddenly the bra fell apart and down to the floor.  

She felt him push against her shoulders.  It was difficult for Ursula to move her feet with the thongs looped down around her ankles, but in her awkwardness, the move had exposed her stunningly erotic, neatly trimmed pubic area for the first time.  The men started to grope and fondle her huge, naked breasts again even as Ursula uselessly tried to hunch her shoulders to protect the gigantic swinging globes.  She moved slowly, awkwardly, like she was moving in a room filled with molasses up to her chin.  

Compared to what had been done to her over the last six weeks since she’d recovered from the forced surgery, this was not that bad.  Men had raped her the whole time and somehow she’d lived through it.  Always before, Ursula had been emotionally numb about the rapes—maybe that was how she’d survived so far.  There was little emotional energy left to help any of the others, she needed it all herself just to survive.  Despite the unfairness of it all, she’d had tried to be stoic, tried to accept her fate—she’d told herself from the very beginning that there was little she could do avoid it—and she believed that.  

But now, the dam she’d built was leaking.  Ursula knew that, the way she felt right now, she wouldn’t be able to handle much more of this horror that was her new life.  For the first time, Ursula’s forced role as a prostitute was hitting her in a way which was--emotionally, psychologically and physically—just too much for her handle.  

Especially physically.  

She felt light-headed, yet oddly emotional tonight too, for the first time in two months—and it wasn’t about the forced sex.  That…that was awful, but somehow she’d developed this ability to encapsulate it emotionally for short periods of time during the actual act, to wrap it up and clamp down on her horror for at least for the evening.  Then, afterwards, she faced the brutal emotions alone, in the solitary cell in which she lived.  

But Ursula’s new bodytruth was one thing she’d just never been able to accept.  And, as always, the part of Ursula’s body which seemed to be triggering her emotions tonight were her breasts.  Ursula had become fixated by them in her mind, had been humiliated by them from the very beginning when she’d first awakened after the surgery.  She felt so stupidly cow-like now, there was just no safe space for a woman here with tits like hers.  She was self-conscious about what she’d been made to look like, embarrassed about what they represented to her, humiliated by the laser-focused lust of the men who purchased her just to obtain access to her chest.  

Her situation had become intolerable, her enhancements impossible to accept.  And the fact that, as usual, these men tonight seemed to be concentrating on her hugely inflated breasts was particularly depressing.  

For only the second time since she had been kidnapped, Ursula tried to stop the men who had purchased her for the evening, “Please stop.  I…..I know you can do what you want to me.  But please, you don’t want to do this to me.  For the sake of God!  Please stop.”  

But her pleas fell on deaf ears as four hands groped and pinched her naked flesh.  From standing next to the bed, Ursula was pushed down on the edge of it, and just like that, Ursula felt like the room had instantly become filled with an overwhelming grey-brown fog and any energy she’d had was suddenly gone.  For the first time in her life, Ursula felt like she had been encased in concrete—her hands rested on the bed, her arms were literally too heavy to raise.  

Overwhelmed by depression, shoulders hunched, she sat quietly, trying not to cry as her breasts were handled like something belonging to another person.  Her knees were positioned demurely together but no one touched her legs for the moment.  Her shoulders shook with emotion and finally, Ursula sniffed back her tears……it was time to try to be brave once more through the fog which threatened to shut her down.  


They sat next to her, one on either side.  Now that the tall whore was off her feet, Jimmy suddenly grabbed one of her bound wrists and pulled it up and back with one hand.  Bitch cried out in pain as the stress on her shoulder forced her head forward and a little down while her knees were suddenly spread wide apart.  His other hand came around, filled itself with her hair and guided her head towards his lap.  

James presented his fearful penis to her eyes from between his legs.  Not quite fully hard yet, it still lay on the bed cover looking like a semi-soft baseball bat.  She groaned as he pushed the young woman’s unresisting head down until her lips rested on his cock.  “Kiss it woman, show me how much you want to be with us.”  

After a second, he released the pressure on her shoulder allowing her head up again.  One hand went into her hair and forced her blank face towards him.  He kissed her hard on the lips while he groped her huge breasts with his free hand.  The girl reacted almost in a coma as she faced him and kept her eyes closed and her face devoid of emotion the whole time.  Her lips remained immobile as they kissed and he stroked and rubbed her huge breast.  It was almost like he was kissing an inflatable doll and his already quick anger began to stoke.  

On her other side, Leonard had been stroking her long, gorgeous legs.  He touched the silky soft skin of the whore’s inner thighs just above the tops of her stockings.  She’d still been looking at James, but now she jerked her face away from him and looked wildly at Leonard as she cried out softly in pain when he pinched her.  He pinched the inside of her left thigh again and then used that tiny sliver of soft flesh to pry them even further apart, and she made another soft sound of pain.  

After a moment, Leonard jumped to his feet and said, “C’mon.  I’m getting impatient.  Let’s get rid of it all and open her up like we both know she needs!”  

Jimmy ignored him as he leaned forward and began sucking on the kidnapped girl’s right nipple.  One of the big man’s hands had gone back to her wrist, just enough to control her.  The young woman’s head shot up at the first suction and as she issued a child-like cry of distress, there was a momentary wild look in her eyes.  She closed her eyes then and dropped her head to her chest after feeling the initial moment of drawing pressure--clearly she trying to pretend that none of this was really happening.  


I miss me.  The old me, the happy me, the bright me, the smiling me, the laughing me, the gone me.
-Anonymous

My body and heart weren’t made for this. I’m tired of being tired and I’m tired of being sad.
-Anonymous

It was suddenly so hard to breathe.  Ursula felt trapped, like the walls were closing in.  She’d always felt so competent before, but now she felt like she was losing her mind.  She understood the rules, what was at risk with her family, and she wanted to cooperate but found herself reacting without thinking, reacting in ways that were impossible to understand, impossible to explain.  

She knew these men had paid for her, but for some reason, Ursula struggled to keep her knees closed as her black thong was brutally dragged from around her ankles.  Ursula literally had no idea why she reacted like she did, for she had been almost naked from the beginning with these two.  All she knew was that at the moment, it was important that she not submit to these two like some cow being led to the slaughter house.  

Suddenly, Leonard stepped between her legs, pushed back on her shoulders as he grabbed her feet and draped both her ankles over his shoulders.  As Ursula’s feet went up in the air, the other man let go of her arms and she found herself lying flat on her back on the edge of the bed on top of her bound wrists.  She cried out once uncontrollably as, like a wild animal the black man’s head savagely descended towards her shaved groin, his face pushing past and spreading the muscular thighs which belatedly made a futile attempt to protect her vagina from his mouth.  But she couldn’t stop him.


At this point, James pinned her head with two handfuls of her hair and then rolled onto his knees so that he loomed over her face.  He tried to make her suck his thick cock, but she kept her lips closed, at least until Leonard’s mouth finally found its target.  Her clitoris actually throbbed as the black man finally captured her there…and she gasped in shock at the overwhelming feeling of suction between her legs.  Worse, as he sucked on her clit, he finger fucked Ursula in both the pussy and the ass at the same time.  

Unable to stop him, she actually blushed at the almost crippling intensity of the sensations between her legs.  Ursula wasn’t in any real physical discomfort, but she felt completely frozen psychologically, shamed emotionally both by her helplessness and by what he was doing to her.  A part of Ursula’s stuttering mind told her she had done nothing wrong, so she should feel no shame.  Yet, it was just so hard to fight the overwhelming embarrassment at feeling like such a worthless human being.  

Her eyes were tightly closed and she grimaced at the overwhelming concentration of sensations as Leonard continued his double finger fucking.  Suddenly Ursula opened her mouth to take a breath and this gave James his chance to force the very tip of his fat cock between her lips.  When the large purple knob finally went in her mouth, Ursula immediately jerked her face to the side in an attempt to spit it out.  

Ursula knew she could have hurt him then, but she also knew better than to seriously injure one of the old man’s customers.  The white cock kept chasing her face and her mouth finally opened just a little more to accept it.  For the first time in many nights, Ursula finally felt like some of the fog had lifted, almost like she was almost ready to begin the journey of reclaiming her old self.  

The one called James was suddenly furious at her obstinence and choked her with both hands even while his friend never stopped manipulating and masturbating her.  The big man finally let her breathe when she was almost unconscious, but now he pulled a handful of her hair hard enough to make her scream in pain.  With that single scream, he then forced her mouth back onto his cock once more.  "That's better, now suck it, bitch."  


The woozy bitch tried not to cooperate, but his hand forced her head up and down on his cock like he was mouth-fucking a life-sized marionette.  After a minute, James growled with frustration.  Together James and Leonard picked the young girl up, turned her over and draped her waist over the end of the bed.  Positioned so that she stood on the floor with her legs spread wide, her bound wrists lifted high to ensure her face had been driven into the mattress, it left her gorgeous ass sticking up into the air, just begging for attention.  

Leonard located himself at her rear while James sat on the bed near her head and cradled her face in his crotch.  Their whore was squirming and wriggling, but the two men held her so that they could fuck her pussy and mouth at the same time.  James looked up at the camera with obvious annoyance—bitch wasn’t cooperating and it wasn’t that much fun having to fight her the whole time.  Maybe it was about time to trade her in on another big-titted whore.  

The black man pulled her thighs apart and fingered her asshole again before pushing his thick black cock between her legs.  Their woman lifted her head slightly and cried out in absolute loss as he pushed the head of his erection between her dry labia and slowly worked it up and down her slit, trying to find the smooth, tight opening which led him to her very own, personal heaven.  As she did, James stuffed himself in her mouth once more.  

To Leonard, she was as tight as bark on a tree, but the combined sweat of their bodies provided a natural lubricant and he soon slid all the way into her tight, young body with one slow, irresistible push of his hips.  The girl he had just entered arched her back and gave a belly-deep, muffled groan of despair around the white cock filling her mouth, but that only turned him on even more.  He kept on pushing as James lifted her arms even more behind her back.  

Still weakly sucking on the massive, semi-hard erection, she took more and more of the black man between her legs until his flat belly was finally buried tightly against her pelvis and ass cheeks.  A healthy young woman, there was plentiful natural vaginal lubricant quickly available deep inside the whore’s body and the wet heat and tightness of her pussy as she surrounded and engulfed his black cock setting his lust for her sex absolutely on fire.  

At the other end, James reefed up on her wrists again and forced Ursula’s face even deeper into his crotch.  Now James let go of Ursula’s wrists, grabbed double handfuls of her hair and began a rhythmic pile-driving thrust into her mouth as he rhythmically pulled her face up and down, towards his hips and then away.  After a moment, she didn’t seem to need any more motivation, so his hands wandered lower to maul her tits and pinch her hardened nipples as she sucked him off.

But the rented cunt begged him in a strangled voice even as she gave him pleasure.  “Nu-uh, ‘lease, nu-uh”, she pleaded in a muffled and barely understandable voice around the three or four inches of hot fat cock that had already filled her mouth to the brim.  Saliva drooled out of her mouth around his cock and she gagged as James buried a particularly successful hip thrust down her throat.  

At the same time, Leonard grabbed her hips and began feeding his steaming black meat inside her still tight, hot slit again and again in full pile-driver thrusts.  She was helpless to stop him--his straining legs kept her knees and thighs stretched wide apart, and her cunt was suddenly so wet and accepting of his need now that it offered no resistance at all to his big black cock.  


She tried to calm herself.  For Ursula, this was pretty much the way every night began and ended now, with her pussy and mouth alternating between being filled with men’s erections.  But while she might have arrived at the identical location as her previous nights, her route here had been through a totally different part of town….

“Do a better job of sucking it, you whore or I’ll rip your arms off,” the young white man angrily threatened.  Finally, very reluctantly, she opened her mouth and took maybe an inch more in the mouth from James.  But Ursula could still feel everything that his partner was doing to her at the other end.  She groaned once without meaning to as he purposefully banged hard against her cervix….


The sound from the young woman’s mouth and tongue vibrated against his cock filling her mouth and gave James even more pleasure.  He and Leonard, they both were punishing the bitch, treating her just the way she deserved!  

The young woman’s mouth felt real good wrapped around his cock, but it still wasn’t enough.  A suddenly infuriated James said, “Fucking suck it the right way, you bitch!”  Then he pulled up on her arms again as he pushed the back of her head onto his cock, forcing it deeper into her mouth until she gagged once more on it.

“That’s better” he sighed in contentment.  “That’s more like it.  You’re a pro, suck on it the right way.”  

As he said this, he released her hair, then grabbed her tits and twisted her left nipple hard between his fingers.  The pain was such that for once, the bitch eagerly complied.


The one named James came first, holding the back of Ursula’s head as he fucked her mouth and finally shot a small load of his warm, silky-thick cum into her mouth.  As he groaned with pleasure and finally withdrew, she turned her face away and unobtrusively let most of it dribble out of the corner of her mouth onto the bed.  She swallowed convulsively then, not because she wanted the rest of his semen in her stomach, but because of his weight on her chest.  

James caught his breath after a minute but had not missed the touching little scene.  “Don’t like the taste of my cum, huh?” he asked in a relaxed, satisfied tone.

“No,” she gasped.  It was clearly hard to breathe with him sitting on her chest, while Leonard continued fucking her pussy.  “I…I…please, no more."

“You’re a whore; you’re getting paid to do it.  But it doesn’t much matter bitch, because one thing I can tell you for sure.  You're going to get a lot more of that shit before we’re finished with you…..so you'd better get used to it, cunt.”


By nature I will find hope in everything.  Even if it's the most incredibly hopeless situation or circumstance.  That's just me... I'll never be able to see things any other way.
-Michael Stipe

Ursula knew she would never get used to being treated like this.  But at the same time, she also knew she had to cooperate a lot more with these two or one of them might go too far and really hurt her. Plus, she knew that she had probably already earned some kind of punishment from the master.  She had learned from the other girls how things could very quickly get out of hand when the men were sexually aroused but had not been satisfied by the girl they’d purchased.  

And if something did happen, regardless of who was at fault, Ursula knew that she would the one be given to Bashir for remedial punishment.  She shuddered at the thought of seeing him in the basement again.  Finally, her hands were already numb, and if someone had been going to stop these two from hurting her any more, they would more than likely have been here before now.  

It was up to her to sooth them, to get herself out of this.

She was still being fucked hard by the black man, and as much as she hated the act, it also made it so much more difficult for her to think.  As James cradled her head in his lap, she looked up and begged, “Please…”  

She involuntarily gasped once as the man bottomed out inside her again with another deep and unnecessarily vicious thrust into her pussy, “Untie my wrists.  My hands and shoulders really hurt.”

“I’ll think about it…if you cooperate a little more.”

“I’ll do whatever you want,” she promised.  “I’ll be whatever you want me to be.  You know you want me.  I'll be all yours.”

The black man who filled her vagina was hip-thrusting faster and faster now.  His hands clenched her hips painfully hard and as he not only just pulled her onto and off of his erection time after time, he was also occasionally brutally thrusting into her as well.  Suddenly he groaned softly with pleasure; Ursula closed her eyes and tried to control a grimace as she waited for the inevitable.  

What she had been dreading now happened once more.  She hated men like these two but still tried to hide the sudden tears of disgust which quickly filled her eyes.  Ursula felt the black man shoot load after load of lava-hot cum deep inside her vagina, right against the tip of her vagina.  She rubbed her face on the bed cover between the white man’s legs to wipe away her tears.  After a moment, she tentatively looked up at him with a wan, yet still hopefully seductive smile on which she had spent hours practicing in the mirror.  He looked back suspiciously but said nothing.  

After a moment, the two men silently switched places, but she obediently remained as they had positioned her.  Amazingly, Leonard was still erect and he aimed his long and wet, purple-black tool at Ursula's mouth.  Her eyes had filled with resentment now and the suspicious black man could see it.  He grabbed her hair and pulled her face up toward him, “You don't like black men?  You won’t treat me like you did him, bitch.  You’ll suck it now and suck it real good if you ever want to get your fucking ass untied.”  

Ursula put her head down for a second just to blank her face of emotions and then looked up at him with the hatred she felt now hidden in her eyes.  She put a tiny, falsely eager smile on her face and then reluctantly accepted most of his thick black cock in her mouth and began to suck once more.  She closed her lips around his firm black meat and sucked as hard as she could.  It was necessary if she was ever going to get out of this.  Her hands felt like blocks of wood and she would do almost anything to get the rope off her wrists.

Starting out like a disaster, this had turned out to be one of those nights where after about an hour, her body and skin seemed almost super-sensitive.  She felt everything they did, every little touch of their fingers now, every little puff of air over her body, every sensation between her legs.  

The white man James was standing in back of Ursula and she felt him stroking the back of her long, nylon-clad legs.  She even felt Leonard's cold and sticky cum running in slow, honey-thick rivulets down the insides of her upper thighs as James slid his hands between her legs to push open her labia.  Ursula forced herself to helpfully raise her hips and spread her knees obscenely far apart, ready to accept him.  Anything to make them think she was cooperating.

James chortled in surprise, “She don’t like your black cock.  She only wants white cock.  Picky whore, ain’t she?”  

After a moment, she felt him untie her wrists.  God!  It was working!


The old man watching the monitor nodded in approval as he watched an Ursula who no longer seemed quite so repulsed by Leonard.  She’d earned herself some serious reprimands, but maybe she’d be able to work herself out of some of them now.  He watched her cry as the blood once more began to circulate in her hands.  But after another moment, she began to carry out her part of the bargain as she actually tickled Leonard’s hairy balls with her tongue and sensually licked his blue-black, heavily veined shaft.

The Albanian watched with interest as the big tattooed white man nudged his huge tool against her well-fucked hips.  Regardless of how sloppy her pussy might be, his penis always looked way too big as he pressed it against his woman’s pink hole.  Her face showing determination, the young female kidnap victim took a deep breath and then as she had been previously taught by the whoremaster, waggled her hips against the white man’s groin.  

Her face was still pushed against the black man’s groin, but the old man snorted with amusement as her eyes first opened wide at the man’s first push against her slit.  Then there was an even funnier moment when they almost popped and her eyes bulged even wider as the rather dim-witted big man slowly began to push the apple-sized knob of his cock into her still wet and well-fucked pussy.  

He snorted in amusement.  This beautiful young woman of his was in a predicament.  It was clear that as one of his girls, she was a woman who wanted to cooperate as she‘d been taught.  But the look in her bulging eyes told anyone watching that she feared it might beyond her physical capacity to accept all of the now preparing to fuck her pussy.  

His woman shook her head as she urgently pulled the ignorant black man’s cock from her mouth, “No!  Stop!  Stop please!”  But he grabbed her wrists and pinned her arms above her head at her first complaint.  The young woman finally stopped struggling and after a moment, he released her as she dropped her face onto the mattress.  


Ursula was a big girl; this meant that besides her enhanced tits, she was also the whore of choice for many of the really big men.  Ursula was intimately aware that she had taken some truly big cocks in the last month and a half, but even she wasn't so sure about this one.  Still draped over the foot of the bed, she felt him split her labia and push forward hard.  It was clear the man wanted what he wanted from her and could have cared less about being gentle.  

As if in a bad porn movie, she heard herself crying out in panic, "No, wait!  It’s too BIG...No, I can’t handle it...NO."  


In a classic moment of perversely terribly timing, her strength just seemed to melt away and her whole body suddenly felt like it was ready to shut down.  Without warning, at that moment her legs suddenly went all wobbly with the massively overpowering vaginal sensations shooting up into her belly and her knees began to collapse.  A humiliated Ursula was forced to grab Leonard just to stop from falling off of Jame's huge cock.


Without thinking, the blonde captive grabbed the black man’s hard penis as James began shoving himself into her again.  “I can’t take it!  You’re too big, you’ll rip me apart,” Ursula squealed in obviously pained alarm as she held the black cock in her hand with a crushing grip.  

Leonard cried out at the pressure, but nothing could stop James as he kept on pushing against the back of the big woman they’d bent over the edge of the bed.  It was with great apparent pleasure that the big white man watched most of his massive erection slowly disappear inside Ursula’s once tight pussy.  The Albanian watched what looked like some stupid pornographic American television comedy in the monitor as the girl got fucked by a huge cock she could not accommodate and at the same time crushed another man’s cock, while that man, obviously in pain, was trying to extricate himself from her grip.  

It was obvious to the old man that his whore was in pain, but the black man didn’t seem to care either as he pushed her face down once more and, finger-by-clutching-finger, began to unwrap her hand from his aching penis.  

“Please stop, please, no more!” the girl gave muffled screams into Leonard’s lap.  But Leonard had other concerns at the moment and had no plans to stop for her.  

The young captive female was biting her lips now, first gripping then pounding the bed covers as Jame's cock filled her insides like none had ever done before.  Having recovered after a moment of tenderly massaging his dick, the black man now began to furiously masturbate at the same time.  James fucked the big woman for over three minutes until suddenly his black partner came all over Ursula’s face, leaving strings of thick white cum dripping from her eyebrows, nose and mouth.

James had finally pushed every inch of his cock inside her pussy at this point, which tore even more squeals of pain out of the whore.  He laughed, “I think I can feel the top of her belly.”  


With that non-answer, he started thrusting hard into the young whore’s pussy; long, slow satisfying strokes at first, slowly building speed until he was slamming himself against her hips from the rear, driving his glistening, light brown cock deeper and deeper.  Ursula had unwillingly, finally taken his full length--not one inch remained unburied.  As his balls banged against her clit the first time, he said, “We both knew you could take it all!  Didn’t we, you whore-slut?  Didn’t we?  Answer me, bitch!"


Ursula couldn't answer.  Her face was sticky with drying cum and her eyes were almost glued shut; she made soft grunting noises as James continued to rock and shake her gorgeous body with every massive thrust.  The mental fog had never really left.  It was just so difficult to think rationally while being pounded like she was, but Ursula understood that he wasn’t really talking to her, that she didn’t need to answer his question.  

Rather she just had to cooperate by remaining bent over, allowing him to fuck her as much as he wanted or it would never end.  At least he wasn’t playing with her breasts.  Other than that, the most humiliating part to Ursula now was how with every push by James, she could feel the muscles of her vagina involuntarily contracting around his massive cock, locking onto the full length of his shaft each time it bottomed out in her pussy.  And each time her body clamped down on Jame's rod, he would groan with the sheer exquisite pleasure of the sensations while at the same time she was left filled with disgust at herself and how weak she had become.  .  

Careful to not move her hips away from James, Ursula slowly raised herself off the mattress and rested on her elbows, head still hanging down.  She faced the mattress, her mouth open for every wheezing intake of air, long hair hanging down, covering her face and sticking to it because of Leonard’s drying cum.

In an amazed tone, Leonard said, “Look at those bouncing tits, will ya?”  

Ursula barely heard him, but she hoped they were nearing the end as she instinctively went into protective mode.  She actually felt herself withdrawing, embracing the all-encompassing fog.  Her body almost on auto-control, her back remained provocatively arched while her massive breasts still almost hung down to the bed cover and swayed back and forth like church bells with every thrust of his hips.  


James closed his eyes and finally flung his head back with a groan of pleasure as he gave the deepest thrust yet into the loosened cunt of the young whore crouching beneath him.  His last lunge drove a long, loud gasp out of her.  He held her hips immobilized in front of his groin with a grasp of iron; it was time and they both knew it.  

Bitch’d really been stretched out, but it felt like was she still trying to clamp onto him like a fucking pro.  Whore’s mouth hung open and her eyes were like saucers as James finally emptied his massive load inside her steaming hot pussy.  

After remaining motionless for almost a minute while he pressed hard up against her firm, tight ass and kept her cream-filled snatch fully speared, he slowly withdrew his long, thick shiny-wet cock.  The motionless bitch lay draped over the end of the bed now as a flood of semen drained out of her suddenly uncorked pussy and down the insides of her thighs.  


Physically, her body still remained available for use by these men, but her mind spun uselessly, it just refused to work.  In the small protected part of her mind which remained, all Ursula could think of was that they had the faces of men but the minds of animals.  

She hated men like this.  They’d used her purely for physical relief and to obtain a woman over whom they temporarily had power and could freely abuse.  She’d been trash to them from the very beginning—disposable--nothing but a throw-away woman who was to be left in the gutter once they’d finished with her.  

Ursula stared blankly at the ceiling and tried to control her breathing.  Both men were done for now and allowed her to lie on her back on the bed.  They lay on either side now, fondling her.  She closed her eyes and tried not to shudder with revulsion at the touch of both men as they continued to fondle her body.  


The old Albanian smiled as he watched his whore play the game she been taught while the black man, in his relaxed ignorance, grinned in total victory.  

"I love white bitches who love niggar cock.  You like my black cock don't you?" Leonard asked as he leaned over her face and slapped her with his still dripping cock.  

"You can't get enough of it, can you?"

"No," the young woman whispered in reply.  

The old man leaned in closer to hear her soft, almost unintelligible reply.  When he heard what she said, an even bigger smile crossed his face.  The young woman had been a concern—whether or not she would even survive.  He felt a real sense of relief, she was finally doing what she’d been trained to do as one of his big-titted women.  


"What?" Leonard laughed as he smeared his cock again through the tracks of cum on their whore’s face.

"YES!" the bitch replied softly after only a moment’s hesitation.  "I love sucking on your black cock!"  

He let her suck him off for another couple of minutes, then slapped and beat her face with his dick for another thirty seconds to show the cunt how little he thought of her.  Finally, both men relaxed, James draped in the single, overstuffed chair in the room.  Leonard lay on the bed, his arms crossed behind his head.  Their rented woman sat on the edge of the bed or spent her time in the tiny bathroom.  They allowed her to put her hair back together and fix her makeup.  Then, with a dead face, she just waited for them to begin again, her time was theirs for as long as they had paid for.

After thirty minutes, both men were relaxed and had recovered much of their strength.  Leonard had the young woman climb on the bed, then turned their whore over so that she was crouched on her hands and knees, her ass facing the edge, her knees on the edge of the bed.  Leonard parted her cheeks and then pushed the bitch’s head down when it rose up almost in resistance.  But their whore reluctantly cooperated by spreading her knees as far apart as she could.  Both men visually inspected her anus and even the old Albanian could see on the monitor that her pussy was red and swollen, gaping and raw, amazingly stretched by James monster cock.  

James pushed two stiffened fingers into her nasty, gaping, sperm-filled pussy.  There was so much room left over there that he pushed four fingers in next.  

"That feels good, doesn’t it?" he asked.  

She moaned, seemingly out of control with pleasure as her labia wrapped tightly around his fingers, almost reaching James wrist.  He pushed again and then wiggled his fingers inside to let her know he was in all the way.  He couldn’t resist her beautiful ass, so he stuck a finger from his other hand into her asshole and finger fucked her rectum.  Then he made a fist inside her vagina and slowly worked it back and forth. pulling it almost out and then pushing it back all the way.  The woman became wet around his hand and wrist, but not from any kind of excitement.  Rather, it was just the normal response of a healthy young woman.  

He opened his fist and then slowly eased his hand from her widely stretched slit.  His hand glistened from her fresh juices, so he showed her his hand and how wet she was inside.  She glanced at his hand and then turned her head away.  He pushed it all the way back inside her again and it went in so much easier the second time.  Bitch felt so amazingly wet and so hot to his skin.  James pulled out and pushed back in again, fucking her repeatedly with his hand and wrist as she knelt before him like he was some kind of god to her.

"That feels good, doesn’t it?" He her asked once again.  


Feeling like she still in a fog, filled with total disgust at her life, Ursula nodded her head once quickly as she inhaled and then pressed her hips down and somehow swallowed his hand up to the wrist once again.  She’d known as soon as she had seen the size of the tattooed guy that he would hurt her with that thing, but even Ursula was amazed at how much he had stretched her out down there.  There was little discomfort remaining now, certainly nothing she couldn’t handle.  In fact, she’d never done this before and was amazed at how little it really did hurt once he’d stretched her out.  

The only true emotion Ursula was feeling was absolute disgust at having to do what she was doing at this moment.  She gritted her teeth and out of nowhere, her original feeling surfaced, whatever it takes to survive, I’ll do it.

"Come on, bitch.  Does it feel good or not?" He asked again.



James was a full-bore sadist who had gotten into fisting what he viewed as his little darling.  She was his personal property for the evening and he didn't want to stop because she wouldn’t give him the emotions he wanted, wouldn’t show the reactions for which he was looking.  He held her around her tiny waist and drove his powerful forearm even further into her pelvis.  Both men watched their whore bounce up and down on his fist, almost taking it even deeper on her own.  Her head was shaking back and forth.  She was making tiny sounds.  There were sudden tears in her eyes.  

James casually remarked as he shoved what felt like another inch deeper, “You're a nasty little whore, aren’t you?”

“I am, I am,” she slowly agreed in a voice choked discomfort.  At the same time, she half-heartedly wiggled her hips once more against him.  

"That's right, take it up that big, beautiful cunt of yours."

He pushed hard and her soft, sloppy pussy gobbled up even more of his wrist as it disappeared inside her body.


He was amazed; the beautiful bitch’s body had swallowed his fist again.

"You're such a nasty slut!  Aren’t you, bitch?" James grunted as he tried to push his arm in even deeper into her spongy cavity.  

Despite the stricken look on her face, James continued whispering into the slut’s ear, "Don’t even try to fight it, bitch.  I'm going make you cum only using my hand, you fist-fucking whore."

Finally, he started fucking her moist hole with his hand like it was a piston.  In and out, then slamming it back inside her again almost as hard as he could, he truly enjoyed the moist warmth of her body, the pain he gave her.  The bitch was so hot, kitchen stove hot, that the inside of her body felt like it was on fire.  

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!"  "Uggghhh!!!!!"  "Oooohhhhhhhh!!!"  The whimpers were continuous from this woman as he fist-fucked her moist, scorching hot cunt over and over and over.

His closed fist probed and explored deep inside the whore’s pussy, feeling her moistness, absorbing the heat from the soft flesh of her innermost body.  After five minutes of ravishing the moaning whore, he sank his fist deep into her body one last time, then leaned down and rubbed her throbbing clit with the thumb of his free hand.  He withdrew his hand, and as he did, James crudely licked his thumb just to get a taste of her.  The young woman he’d been abusing blushed furiously as he did this.  


I was truly flabbergasted, they should not be teaching sodomy to our children.
--Elizabeth Johnston

You know, I go the theatre to be entertained….  I don’t want to see plays about rape, sodomy and drug addiction…  I can all that at home.
--Peter Cook

If I didn’t specifically speak against something even though it had been specifically spoken against everywhere else in the bible, then it must mean that I am okay with it and you feel free to use that as an argument to live a sinful lifestyle.
--#THINGSJESUSNEVERSAID

James was hard as a rock again.  But this time he wanted more, wanted to force her even further down the path of compliant humiliation, wanted to fully measure that distance in her pain and shame.  And he knew exactly how to do that.  

He forced her to lick his hand clean of her vaginal fluids, then pulled on her hips to draw the whore back onto her hands and knees once again.  She gasped in fear as he quickly moved behind her.  Taking the cum still draining from her stretched-out pussy rubbing it on his cock for lubricant, he pressed the fat head of his huge erection against her puckered anal ring.  

The young whore froze in shock, suddenly panting with fear as she looked at him over her shoulder with eyes which looked as wide as saucers, "No.  NO!!  No, I don’t do that.  No!  Not with you!  Please, not there."  

He’d expected her to go off on him like that.  In fact, most whores he took in the ass said the same things.  But somehow, this one didn't sound too convincing to him, and he smiled in anticipation of hearing the bitch squeal and beg some more.  After all, if the bitch didn’t like it, she shouldn’t have taken up the profession.  In fact, if she was anything like the rest of them, she’d be squealing like a stuck pig with fake pleasure in about thirty seconds.  

He looked up at his partner and nodded.  He’d need a little help keeping down where he needed her, at least for the next couple of seconds.  

Leonard suddenly grabbed the bitch’s wrists and leaned back in a pulling motion while at the same time he put his feet on top of her shoulders on either side of her neck and pushed with his hips.  It was an MMA move he’d seen on TV.  The whore’s face fell to the mattress and she cried out in surprise and fear as he both stretched her body out good and tight, getting her ready to be ass-fucked, and immobilized her at the same time.  Even better, the way he’d placed his feet against either side of her neck allowed him to cut off the whore’s access to air too.  

He’d gotten a lot of practice with this move on various cunts that Jimmy wanted to ass-fuck…it just seemed they always preferred to be somewhere else at the time and his job was to make they didn’t stop his main boy from having his fun.  The woman struggled uselessly, like an animal trapped by some kind of a snare.

Her hips were still moving and James stabbed at her once.  He could hear her babbling in fear even though Leonard kept her face pushed down on the mattress, pinned like a fish on dry land.  Like every whore he’d ever fucked this way, she was so tight he couldn’t get in at first.  

A little frustrated, James pulled back and then forced himself to be a little more patient.  Guiding the very tip of his hard cock with his right hand, he jabbed into her resisting asshole again, but harder this time.  Despite Leonard’s assistance in keeping her body motionless, the whore’s head somehow struggled and then popped up in absolute panic.  It had to be a strain to keep her head erect and James knew she wouldn’t be able to keep it up long.  

As the slut tried to steal a quick glance over her shoulder, her eyes were bugged out in horror and fear.  He kept pushing and unsurprisingly, her moan rose in pitch and she wailed with terror through clenched teeth as John finally forced the bell-end of his cock past the tight, gristly ring that protected her rectum.  

Having done this before to many women, James knew exactly what he was doing now.  Knew he would be shredding the girl’s rectum to pieces.  Knew that as her tight glory hole strained against his cock, her flesh was literally ripping in places just to accommodate the head of James's giant tool.  

She faced forward and screamed once more as she took another inch of meat—there was a moment in which both of them froze, and then she groaned loudly in defeat at that point.  He stopped then but only to lubricate his shaft with more of the excess cum that was still squeezing out of her battered cunt.  Her head was wobbling on a weakened neck framed by two feet and Leonard pulled even harder on her wrists.  

All hope at avoiding being sodomized now gone, the slut’s face was filled with utter despair as it went compliantly, tamely, went back down into the bed cover.  James snorted in humor.  Like all the other sluts he’d turned into ass-whores had discovered before her, it really was better if the slut actually couldn’t see what was coming her way.  

Now that James had her asshole opened up just a little, he kept his thighs inside of hers to keep her legs from moving back together.  He just remained hunched over the back of the whore’s hips and with a smile of victory and groan of anticipation and sheer pleasure, he leaned forward into her now, slowly, easily impaling her and smoothing driving more than nine inches up the bitch’s ass.  He took it slowly at first just to ensure that he didn’t perforate her colon, but the butt-fucked whore now let out a continuous string of muffled cries and screams as for the first time that evening her bleeding rectum was filled with James giant cock.

The girl’s strong screams were muffled by the bedcovers at first, but as she quieted a little, Leonard let her face up, allowing her to breathe.  There was pained silence for just a moment, then suddenly the whore made her distress quite clear as she began her continuous shrieks and cries for mercy again.

"Oh my Goddddd, it's tooo big!!"

She shrieked again, "Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh Godddddd!!!  Stop!!  Please stop!!!”


Her shoulders and head driven into the mattress, her arms stretched out in front of her and restrained by the black man, her knees spread apart, her hips and buttocks pinned by the man in back of her, Ursula found herself helpless to prevent what was happening.  No longer a virgin there since the first day she was taken by her captors in this way almost two months ago, she still had never before been so violated by anything like this, by anything quite this thick or so long.  What she felt was indescribable.  Ursula’s body was literally frozen by what had been done to her as a sequences of abdominal cramps shuddered through her in awful waves.  Unable to move, unwilling to move because of the intense pain and penetrating sensations, her mind had been blanked of anything but the sodomy taking place.  

The rapist rested for a moment while buried inside her, allowing Ursula take a few deep breaths and try to regain just a little of her composure.  Her anal ring spasmed in a series of ripping, tearing sensations as it painfully tried to dilate to a circumference which could more easily accept him in a place her body had never been designed to accommodate a man.  

When she tried again to look back over her shoulder again, the man holding her wrists pulled even harder and she failed.  But even as Ursula finally understood she had almost ten inches of cock rammed up her rectum, the rapist almost completely withdrew his tool.  Regardless what had should have been a relief, Ursula now ached with an awful, yet somehow empty intensity, knowing she still remained temporarily stretched open by his massive intrusion.  

All she had left was her voice, for it felt like her body no longer worked.  Despite the horror of the ongoing sodomy and the panic it caused in her, Ursula nonetheless felt the onset of a creeping paralysis as a dreadful feeling of total helplessness took complete control.  She couldn’t fight them anymore, almost didn’t want to fight them now.  Her limbs were dead, motionless, foreign and useless things which seemed to belong to someone else, not her.  The man’s control of her body was so complete now, his penetration inside her had been so profound that she did not feel like she could even blink her eyes anymore.  

Ursula was making desperate and pitiful sounds, but was only dimly aware of that fact.  Worst of all, by far the worst of all, he had penetrated her so deeply it seemed she could not even fill her lungs with enough air anymore.  Her body was immobilized and she was suffocating!  Ursula panicked as she tried to work her lungs, struggled to draw in enough air.  But it was almost like drowning while lying on her knees on the bed, only worse.


The beautiful young whore beneath him was sobbing in agony, just like most of them did.  But James didn’t really care as he once more spread her firm asscheeks apart just to admire the wet pink of her still gaping asshole—gaping, but still not big enough yet to comfortably take him.  As a man not yet fully satiated, as a brutal man who enjoyed hurting women, he wanted more of this slut’s body, much more.  

James positioned himself at the hole which inviting him so strongly and wedged her body full of his meat again.  But this time, he felt an unreasoning anger.  She’d cooperated in her rape, so the anger had no basis in reality.  But he felt it anyway.  So now, the assfucking was for real, now he wanted to destroy her body with his.  And like some kind of a frenzied machine he brutally pistoned all nine inches of his stiff, hot meat in and out of the increasingly hospitable asshole.  

James knew he was hurting her as the whore cried out over and over, letting Lennie and him know how much it hurt and that she couldn’t take any more.  Well, fuck her!!  

Well, actually he was fucking her, but he didn’t give a shit what she said or what she did.  He’d paid for her ass!  Bitch was pinned, her goddammed gorgeous, big-titted body was available and he was taking what he wanted.  

He pulled out and hesitated.  "Oh God,....... please stop."

He pushed in, totally drilling her ass with the full length of his cock.  "I’m begging you, please.  Take it out!!!"

He pulled out and then….

He fucked her asshole again.  "GodGodGod!  You’re too big.......please take it out."

James continued to drive on, filling the slut’s ass one inch at a time with his stiff, lubricated meat just as easily as he’d filled her cunt.  Bitch was bored out now, right-sized for a big dick just like his.  The whore’s body shook all over and she still gave out muffled screams despite taking his cock for at least two-three minutes now.  


Ursula felt like control had returned to her body again, just a little.  She jerked again but the way she was being controlled was still too much to overcome.  Ursula gave up again and rested on her knees once more, with her face driven into the mattress.  Despite her neurotic fixation on her enhanced breasts, Ursula hated anal sex more than almost anything else a man might want from her.  It was painful, it was dirty, it was meant by men to be demeaning and shameful from the very beginning.  Her rational mind knew this, her subconscious knew this too.  And while she’d been anally raped fifteen or twenty times in the last two months, Ursula found that it never got easier, never became more acceptable, never became less painful or shameful.  

But she wasn’t a rational woman at the moment though, she was a female in agony.  The horrible, cruel man was so big that he was tearing her up inside.  Ursula could feel her flesh continue to give way before his overpowering will and then continue to rip as he pushed even harder.  And it felt as if her rectum, as if her whole body were being split into two burning pieces of sexually contaminated filth.  Worst of all, it never seemed to end, there was always more of him being shoved inside her.  

Openly crying, Ursula’s face still rested on the bed as the black man still loosely held her wrists now to prevent her from moving or avoiding James giant need.  Ursula knew now there was no escaping what felt like a fiery, white-hot fire hydrant being driven again and again inside her lower body.  The man in front kept her immobilized, the man in back shoved himself in her like a maniac, continually pushing his groin against her buttocks so hard that her knees could hardly support her hips any longer.  

Almost as if from a distance, she heard him say in a satisfied, almost conversational tone, “That’s it, brothah.  She’s got it all now, and she’s taking it nice and deep…real deep.  You know what they say, man; big woman, big pussy, small woman, all pussy.  Oh mannn, you know what though?  It’s different with their asses.  Give me a big woman for ass-fucking every time.”  

And still he lunged into her, pulled almost all the way out, then drove all the way back in again, making her abdomen and bowels cramp miserably.  He hurt her so much at the end of each thrust that he forced out scream after muffled scream as she bit into the bed cover.  Over the rushing sound of blood in her ears, she heard the black man laughing uproariously, "That's it, fuck the bitch's ass.  Harder.  Faster, man!  You KNOW she’s loving it now.  BANG that white ass!  Make the whore scream!"

Ursula no longer begged him to stop since the man sodomizing her had shown he was pleased to oblige his friend as he shoved the full length of his iron-hard cock into Ursula's back hole again and again. He worked her, split her, reamed her, drilled her like he was a machine created only to bore out huge tunnels in feminine flesh.  Suddenly, he wrapped his arms around her waist, lifted and pulled her hips abruptly to him, at the same time that he savagely lunged against her abused body.  


James froze then as he held her luscious hips tight against his groin; he refused to allow her to collapse and maybe escape his need.  The way he held the whore, there was nothing she could do to avoid what she had coming, the bitch just had to endure.  The man pulled out, then she involuntarily screamed again into the bed cover as the rapist once more buried his hard cock deeply, stabbing himself all the way into her asshole again.  

The momentum of the rape slowed down then yet James continued to bang the bitch slowly while Lennie kept her wrists pinned.  The whore raised her head and screamed once in blind pain as he pushed down on her hips a little and went up on his toes, completely changing the angle at which he was penetrating the bitch.  He groaned in total satisfaction at the still tight, yet nicely altered sensations.  Whore felt really, really good on his cock and everybody knew a little pain never hurt any of these cunts…all these whores deserved to be hurt some…after all, that’s what they were being paid for.  

Probably the most satisfying part was that no matter how hard he tried to hurt the bitch, the fucking whore crouched in front of him never really moved much.  She’d been immobilized by Leonard and was too well trained to attempt to either stop him or escape his grasp.  And despite all the screaming she was doing, in the end, she was just like all the others too.  Like every other bitch he’d taken like this, they all fought it at first but after a few minutes their heads were rocking from side to side in what he assumed was sexual ecstasy….just like this one was gonna be doing.  He knew it must be that’s what they were doing because of the way he was manipulating her clit as he ass-fucked her.

Because he'd already cum a couple of times tonight, he knew he was going to be banging on her back door for quite a while; it already seemed to James he’d been ripping her nice, tight hole forever.  Still, she felt really good, planted on his cock like this.  

She wasn’t making a lot of noise anymore.  Leonard still held her arms and still pushed down on her shoulders with his feet.  But now he looked at the bitch’s partially exposed face and saw that her bulging eyes were pretty much unfocused.  Her eyelids were fluttering as if she were riding the crack train or maybe on the verge of passing out.  Her beautiful, innocent face was beet red, covered in sweat and cum, and her pert little nose was running with snot.  Not an altogether beautiful picture, but a surprising number of the whores Jimmy ass-fucked ended up this way.  She wasn’t in any shape to fight them anymore.  Leonard finally let go of the bitch’s wrists and rolled away from her on the bed.  

They were done with the fucking cow for tonight except for Jimmy finishing himself off in her ass.


Ursula felt as if she were only partially conscious.  Even so, she almost laughed hysterically as the rapist fingered her clitoris and stretched out her vaginal lips once more.  Given the circumstances, his acts could not have been more ludicrous.  

The man continued to slam his belly and groin against her buttocks, driving his massive rod deeper, always deeper into her bowels.  Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he groaned in ecstasy, then grabbed her hips with one hand while he kept the other around her taut waist and lifted her body.  He grunted and jerked almost spastically as he came, pumping the thick remnants of sperm into her body for the last time this evening.  

Ursula almost fainted with relief at the pleased sounds of the man cumming accompanied by the awful feeling of thick wetness down the back of her thighs….that meant it HAD to be just about be over….  

Her muscles felt like spaghetti after what he’d done to her; she sagged in his arms and was kept from falling to the bed only by his iron grip around her waist.  She felt James rest his head on her back and gasp for breath as his erection eventually softened enough after a couple of minutes that Ursula’s painfully stretched rectum finally expelled him along with much of his load.  

He backed away from her then and slapped her on her butt cheek as if she’d been nothing more than a horse he’d just ridden rather hard.  He said, “Nice ride there, bitch.  I like you, babe.  You’re young and haven’t got a lot of miles on you yet, but I like you a lot.”

What horrible, hateful men!  Ursula’s eyes filled with tears again at what they had done to her.  But they were apparently finished with her now and she was at a loss…what should she do?  Ursula slowly climbed to her feet and stood unsteadily at the foot of the bed.  She ached everywhere!  Every part of her hurt in some new and foreign way.  

Suddenly, she was aware of a spreading wetness between her legs.  Ursula knew she was a new girl, fresh to the old man’s stable.  But this was the first time she’d felt this…bad.  Looking down, she saw that her labia and the insides of her thighs were covered with a thick pearly-white coating.  Even the tops of her stockings on the insides of her thighs were soaked with the same thick, white silky-smooth fluid.  Further back on the insides of her thighs, a reddish sheen of what could only be blood mixed with semen could be seen wetly glistening on tops of her nylons in back.  


The old European refused to allow his girls birth control pills for it went against his religious beliefs.  Most of his clients paid the standard price, which did not allow unprotected sex.  But for those men wealthy enough to not care about getting a whore pregnant, and who trusted enough in the cleanliness of the old man’s women, taking them this way had over the last few years become a badge of honor of sorts, an act that separated them from the rest of the clients.  

And this meant that the girls became impregnated on a regular basis.  

Thus, after only two months, Ursula had already gone under the doctor’s abortion probe once.  She hated the thought of the odd little man always dressed in a white shirt, white pants and–a detail that was always unsettling to her for some reason, white shoes with white clasps and soles.  His face stretched unnaturally tight, his wrinkles looking more like hairline cracks and fingernail scores than skin folds…she despised everything about the man who had enhanced her chest.  But, as she looked down at what had been left between her legs, she knew would be seeing the quack once more in only a day or two.  

Eyed glistening with unshed tears, Ursula folded her arms protectively over her improved chest.  She suddenly realized the extent of damage while in the hands of the two awful men tonight and the far-reaching consequences of the few minutes of pleasure they’d extracted for themselves from her captive, unwilling body.  Thinking of how naïvely insane she had been over the last couple of months not to have seen this more clearly, the shock of truly understanding exactly what she represented to all of these men, it all finally cut through the fantasies she’d built to protect her mind.  

Ursula couldn’t help herself; tears ran down her cheeks at this ultimate realization of her mortality, for all that she had lost and for what had been taken away.  But this time, it wasn’t the sound of a female in pain; it was the sound of a human being who had just become aware that she’d lost most of her soul.  


James abruptly grabbed her by the arm and looked at the silently sobbing girl’s rear end.  He looked at Lennie then and demanded, “Hey!  Get me something to clean the bitch up.”  

James looked closer at the sobbing Ursula’s lower body as his partner tried to find something with which to wipe her clean.  Obviously feeling good about himself after what he’d just done to the defenseless young woman, he looked up with a grin of satisfaction and said, "Yeah, I guess I really did leave a mess there.  Looks like I filled this cow to the top and fucked her up pretty good while doing it."  


They talked about her in the third person in a way which made Ursula understand she wasn’t even human to them anymore.  It all played into her plummeting confidence and self-perception, for Ursula now, for the first time in her life, felt herself to be helpless and stupid, ugly and ungainly and huge.  She remained quiet as she listened.  She was something of little value to be mocked and used and then discarded.  And her new udders didn’t help, for she really did look at herself as being something like a rather stupid cow now, just mindlessly waiting to be taken to the slaughterhouse.  

Just then, the black man handed her rapist the thongs that Ursula had been wearing.  Ursula blushed, grimacing in pain and disgust as the big white man pushed her knees apart and roughly wiped the insides of her thighs clean with her tiny panties, rubbing and wiping up into her pussy and then ending his impromptu hygienic efforts by swabbing her still draining, terribly aching bottom.  

Then he held the tiny piece out in front for her to see, and Ursula couldn't believe it—she suddenly felt sick to her stomach.  The tiny triangle of her silky panties was absolutely covered by a mass of white and brown streaked, slimy goo which had a lot of dark particulate matter in it.  It was a huge wet, sticky, stomach turning mass.

He arched one eyebrow and looked at her expectantly.  She tried to turn her face away but he slapped her lightly and continued looking at her keenly.  Suddenly, she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply as she raised her face to the ceiling.  She’d recognized the look on his face and it made her feel sick to her stomach.  Taking a deep breath, she knew her only chance to end this horrible charade was play along just to get them to go away.  

Ursula just wanted to be left alone in her misery, but knew exactly what he expected of her.  "Oh my God," she exclaimed softly, acting the innocent recently violated girl as she played out the demeaning, unwritten script, "that was all in me?"

"Yup," he replied boldly, obviously feeling rather good about what he’d just done to her.  "Look at all the shit we put in your pussy and ass."

Ursula was still recovering from having been taken in the rear by the huge man.  But the reality was that she was mesmerized with horror too, looking at the mess in her panties.

Still in a pained daze, she suddenly could hear him saying something in the distance, like he was in an echo chamber and at first it wasn't real.  Then his words suddenly registered in her mind, "Eat it."

She looked at him in disbelief.

"Tongue it, baby.  Lick it.  Taste it.  Swallow it."  He boldly pushed the sopping piece of cloth into her face and held it firmly pressed against her nose.  It was an arrogant, challenging, demeaning demand which left no room for compromise, no room for negotiations.  The degradation he desired was total, the humiliation meant to be irreversible.  Leaving her left arm still protectively covering her chest, Ursula tried to push his hand away.  

But he was too strong.  

No longer playacting, Ursula’s mind refused to work as she tried to hold her breath, the same refrain clicking through her mind over and over again.  God, no; this…this…he can’t be for real.  He didn’t really want her to do…that?  She tried to look at the thick, cold creamy stain that covered her panties and which was being smeared on her face, but he held it too close and she couldn’t even get her eyes to focus.  Please, let this be a nightmare.  

Finally, he pulled the panties away a couple of inches, far enough so that she could stare at them.  See them in every revolting detail.  And breathe again.  God, please let this be a nightmare.  Please let me wake up.  Please, please, pleeeeassssss.  She thought about where this terrible substance had come from and what they’d done to her.  She thought about the taste she remembered from other men.  Then her world caved in.  This is so disgusting….it has to be real; she thought, God, why me?  This monster can't have raped and sodomized me, and then wanted me to do this too?  

She felt sick to her stomach and couldn't say a word, but her mind was screaming, No.  Why are they doing this?  No.  No.  What am I doing here?  Why am I here?

Then James pushed the piece of lingerie into her face once again and this time she could feel the cold, dead sliminess touch her lips.  Ursula felt her stomach flip, the precursor to vomiting.  She inhaled the strong scent, the overpowering mannish odor that now emanated from her panties, and the smell made her strong legs almost collapse.  And on the inside, her body and being were suddenly crying out, No, refuse them!  This so dirty…it's too dirty and demeaning; too vile a thing to do.

But his unyielding face and hard eyes told the captive girl that there were to be no compromises, no negotiations tonight.  Ursula suddenly found herself blushing with total shame under that cold, predator-like stare.  Overwhelmed by a feeling of total humiliation and embarrassment, Ursula knew instinctively that this had always been his goal from their very first minute together that evening; that like a psychic vampire, the feeling of total loss and degradation was what he had always wanted to experience from her.  

Understanding something, however, is not necessarily the same thing as being able to do something about it.  Ursula looked up at him once more directly into his eyes, and then with tears running down her cheeks, she slowly, obediently, began to lick away the thick layer of semen that coated the crotch of her fouled panties.  

Suddenly, the idea of the terrible foulness accompanied by the very real accompanying stench overwhelmed Ursula’s stomach and she moaned as she scrambled for the tiny bathroom.  Barely making it to the toilet, and to the two men’s obvious amusement, Ursula remained on her knees for a couple of minutes as she periodically vomited into the toilet bowl.  She would never forget the evil she had been forced to taste and that wicked, immoral smell would stay with her for the rest of her life.  

The strong, independent girl who had always felt pride at being able take care of others was not even capable of taking care of herself at that moment that night.  


The two men stayed in the room for another half hour to clean up and finish off a couple drinks, never speaking another word to her.  Finished with abusing her body and spirit, their brutal needs were fully satisfied for now.  They ignored Ursula as she lay on her side on the bed near the wall, as far away from them as she could get.  


The two rapists finally departed, leaving her alone in the locked room.  But before he stepped through the doorway, the big one turned and said, “Hey, babe!  I like you a lot!  You’re a big girl that can take a lot of meat, and I especially like the way you can take a good fucking and keep on going.  Save that good lookin’ pussy and ass for us; we’re coming back for some more with you again, honey.  Count on it, we’ll be back for some more with you.”  

He knocked on the door and it quickly opened to let him exit.  Just before walking out of her life, the one that he had just devastated, he turned, smiled and winked at her like she was his girlfriend and then closed the door behind him.


The old man nodded at the monitor; another satisfied set of customers.  The American whore had performed well under, shall we say, difficult circumstances.  And she would perform well once she had recovered and the day after and the day after that.  Until he had to get rid of her.  

He cleared his throat in disgust at his weakness, then spit on the floor in embarrassment.  Ever since he had heard the extremely odious James say he would be back for Ursula, a gentle sort of peace had come over him, descending like the veils of Mohammed wives.  It was a blasphemous thought, one he did not share with any of his men, but it truly was comforting.  


The door closed as a cold chill ran down Ursula’s back and the hairs on the back of her neck literally stood on end.  Her eyes threatened to overflow as she suddenly realized she was alone and did not have to continue her act anymore.  

Ursula rolled off the bed.  There was pain she ignored as she quickly put on her dress without first putting on the bra.  She was getting used to pain as a part of her new life, but as soon as she tried to take a step, Ursula still cried out in agonized surprise.  

She had been through a sexual hell over the last few hours.  Every part of her body confirmed this.  Her vagina ached and throbbed terribly.  Her rectum throbbed and ached where didn’t it burn and sting; Ursula was sure she had suffered awful rips and tears in her flesh there.  Her pelvis felt bruised, and hips didn’t feel like they were working right so she couldn’t walk normally because of that.  Her huge breasts were mottled and bruised and really, really ached from having been pinched and pulled and twisted so much.  Her throat was sore from having a giant dick rammed down it and she could barely talk.  Her abdomen and stomach were still cramping from the rough, forced anal sex.  Overall, she felt sick and just ached everywhere something awful.

When the escort showed up after a few minutes, the two of them slowly walked along the hall and then through the Meat Market.  She wore only her thin dress and stockings; the huge Russian peasant-sized bra and the tiny black thong were draped over her left forearm as required.  Even though she walked awkwardly, slowly limping in a rather bow-legged manner, despite the way her huge breasts now jiggled and swayed under her dress with every move she made, despite the barely held-back tears that sparkled in her eyes, Ursula made sure to hold her head high and looked neither left nor right as she ignored the open snickers of contempt from the men who rented her and others of her sisters in misery.  

But internally, the embers dampened and almost extinguished by the two men who had taken her earlier in the evening once more began to burn, and she raged inside.  If she had as much time with them on her terms as they had with the girls here, she would make sure they’d never again laugh or take advantage of a helpless woman.  

That thought of vengeance made her feel better.  Sometimes she just didn’t know if she could hold on and continue being so submissive.  

But, somehow, Ursula knew she would survive.


PART Twelve: Once a believer, Linda struggles at the end of her first two months

Linda

Having Really A Good Day or Keeping The Devil Satisfied During Her Time Of Confinement

If you want to dramatize the evils of prostitution, corrupt a virgin, not a whore.  
--Blake Edwards

Life-the way it really is--is a battle not between good and bad, but between bad and worse.
--Joseph Brodsky

Nothing really mattered to Linda anymore.  She should have been humiliated, applying makeup to her eyes and lips and nipples, cinching in her waist, and pushing up her breasts, then sitting in her room, posing on video with all of the other girls while each customer took his time, deciding exactly what he was going to do to one of them, to her.  But she felt nothing now.  The truth was that she wanted to feel something, anything, a sense of humiliation, even excitement, but the reality was that she did not.  The closest she came was the wanting itself.  

What drove her now was purpose and survival.  Not survival in the traditional sense -- she’d already lost control of everything that concerned her body -- but her mind was still aware.  She knew she’d been considered attractive once.  Men had stared at her, at her breasts, compelled by their curves.  But now these things were just so much meat…and the men who took her night after night now did not care about her emotions.  

Her memories of a previous freedom stirred like embers, a field of lights tagged and catalogued.  Her memories were of two different types now: those formed before being taken and those formed after.  A laser line cut between them and it was there that she had lost her purpose.  There was no purpose in her life anymore, except to please the men who took everything.  


The time of her choosing had come and gone.  The beautiful, nearsighted young woman faced the elderly client and asked what he wanted.  He just looked at her without answering.  

“Are you going to hurt me?” she asked hesitantly, her voice dead of emotion.

The old man roared with laughter.  “No, no, my dear.  You are going to hurt me.  Take your clothes off.”

Linda didn’t know what to say at first.  Finally, she took a deep breath and then slowly and deliberately slid the right strap of her dress off her shoulder, followed by the left.  She pulled the zipper down the back of her dress and the gown fell to the floor with a soft whooshing sound, lying like a white satin puddle around her ankles.  Stepping over it, she stood in front of the now mesmerized old man, wearing only the white lace underwear and stockings that had been so calculatingly provided.  

Linda prayed this would be enough, but he motioned her to continue undressing.  She did so with great reluctance and distaste.  This innate response of hers was something Bashir was still working on, but she couldn’t help how she felt.  She kicked off one heel and then the other.  When she was completely nude except for the garter belt and sheer stockings, she lowered her head and covered her private parts with her hands as best she could.  Linda felt cold but wished she was emotionally complete enough to still feel abject embarrassment instead.

The man motioned her to come closer and to drop her hands.  She did so.  Standing very straight, like she was about to be shot by a firing squad, Linda faced him squarely and let him run his eyes over her naked body.  

“Put the heels back on,” he said hoarsely.  

She slipped her feet back into the high-heels as the old man licked his lips and smiled in appreciation.  

She watched in dread as he lowered his trousers down around his knees.  He removed his baggy blue boxer shorts and his dress shirt which barely covered his still limp penis.  He turned his back to Linda and faced the bed.  Kneeling on the floor, he hunched over the end of the bed, placing his chest on it.  Arching his back, he wiggled his wilted buttocks high into the air.  She was so repelled by the sight that she felt physically ill and squeezed her eyes shut.

“Now,” she heard him say in a whisper.  “Spank me, my dear.  Spank me as hard as you can.”

Absolutely horrified, she couldn’t move.

“Come on,” he said.  “I am waiting.”

Finally, Linda swallowed hard and gathered her courage.  She walked over to the kneeling old man and timidly raised her hand.  She hit him once on the backside very lightly.  It was like touching a cold, scaly reptile.  Awful things had been done to her over the last sixty days, but even this brief contact with his flesh made her cringe.

“Harder, my dear,” he muttered.

Linda raised her hand again, took another deep breath and struck him a second time.

“Harder,” he cried again.

She slapped him again, this time out of anger and humiliation.  His sagging old skin rippled under the sharp blow.  

“Again!” he cried.

Suddenly, Linda couldn’t stop herself and she began to slap and spank him uncontrollably.  Her high, firm breasts swayed and bounced with her efforts, but the old man could have cared less about her sexuality.  Finally, she stopped herself.

“How many times do you want me to do this?” she asked with disgust, her naked chest heaving for air.

“Until I tell you to stop.  Again!  Hard!”

Linda struck him repeatedly, shutting her eyes, trying to block out the terrible image of the old man and herself in this monstrous act.  Oddly, the more she hit him, the more humiliated she felt.  Her humiliation led to anger, which eventually built into a pounding rhythm.  The old man responded by emitting little cries of ecstasy after each whack.  His hideous buttocks grew redder as she hit him over and over again, with increasing fury.  She saw him reach down to his penis, to masturbate as she administered the blows.  

Soon the airless chamber felt like an oven and her naked body was covered with sweat.  Her arm was becoming tired and her hand sore.  The old man whimpered with pain and Linda prayed he would ask her to stop.  But the more she hit him, the more it excited him.  She felt nothing but abject shame at what she had done.  

Finally he cried out one last time.  He stiffened all over, then went limp.  She was about to strike him again when he hollered, “Bitch!  Enough!  ENOUGH!!” and keeled over the end of the bed, breathing hard.

Linda sank to the floor, exhausted and trembling.  The old man rose to his feet slowly after a moment and pulled up his undershorts and trousers, and tried to make himself presentable.  He went over to her dress, picked it up from the floor, wiped his wet penis off on it and then threw it to her.  Disgusted, Linda nevertheless put it on immediately, even though it was soiled and she wore no undergarments.

“You are a good girl.  Now that was not so terrible, was it?” he asked.

She looked at him with a suddenly calculating gaze.  She had nothing to gain from the truth, yet determination to tell it filled her.  “Yes it was,” she replied softly.  “But you know I had no choice; I…I’m finally becoming used to the things men want to do to me.”

He roared with laughter at her courage.  “I appreciate your honesty, even as I am sorry you feel that way.  Nevertheless, I am grateful to you, to your youth and beauty.  Even though I had to pay for the privilege of having you.”  He sat in a soft chair in the corner of the room and waited without saying another word.

Linda exhaled fiercely as she waited for her escort, then fought unsuccessfully to stifle a sob as she realized with horror that her response had been true.  Even now, her lingering feelings of humiliation and disgust seemed to recede almost entirely.  She felt confused as to what was worse; ending each devastating day by being forced to have sexual relations with a strange man and then wearing his ejaculate back to her cell as she was paraded through a roomful of gawking voyeurs who laughed at her pain and humiliation.  Or being intimate with an unknown man and playing to his perversions, causing some pain and giving others pleasure, but in each case not having a second thought about what she’d just done to him.  

She was depressed all of the time now.  Most of the girls were, and she guessed that it was a pretty common state for any woman held by these monsters.  And, of course, there was a sort of post-traumatic stress, but none of them were ever able to avoid the stress or leave the stressful environment.  

She had flashbacks too, images so burned into her brain so that she had no choice but to revisit them, torturing herself each and every time as she re-lived over and over again the rapes and sodomies and brutalities in detail.  These were nothing like dreams which faded with time until they were forgotten.  These were endlessly locked sequences that never changed, never developed, never revealed any of the other layers which lay hidden beneath their horrific surface.  

These were the scarlet and blue and black chimeras that visited her during the day when she was awake.  She’d become obsessed with the hallucinations that singed and burned and scorched her ability to maintain even the pretension to a semblance of normality.  

When Linda saw herself in the mirror now, she blanched.  Her smile didn’t work right anymore.  The lines in her face had deepened seemingly overnight.  But the worst was in her eyes, as if someone else was in there with her, waiting to get out.  

No matter what awful things had been done to her, for some stupid reason Linda had early on convinced herself they would release her, release all of them after a while.  She had come alive with desperate hope, lived for and through those moments.  She just couldn’t conceive of any modern woman existing as a sex slave who had been kidnapped in the middle of America…it just couldn’t be happening to someone like her.  

Then, when the truth became clearer, just as quickly she was plunged back into the deepest despair it was possible for a woman to know.  She could no longer see the faces of her parents or friends in her mind, all was blackness.  No one had spoken her name for weeks, and she could somehow feel herself aging, her flesh decaying and brain cells going rotten, no longer able to think.  Even her soul was beginning to fester.  She was living in a fog and it felt like she was going mad.  

Even worse, Linda feared she had lost much of her anchor in life.  Linda had felt the ties to her faith loosening over the last few weeks, slipping away from her daily life.  Her mistake had been imagining freedom for herself again.  Before that, the holy mother had protected her, cocooned her.  But Linda knew she had betrayed her God and herself by her acts of submission, and that she had not been forgiven.  

Regardless, she spoke briefly now each day as best she could with the other girls as they worked out.  They came to her, talked with her because of her obvious beliefs.  The kidnapped and enslaved girls, all forced to become whores, came to her for advice, for comfort, with questions about the ultimate meaning of life.  All of the typical things a person might ask their priest when their world had been turned upside down.  

And it forced her to face the fact that she had her own doubts…..no matter how strong her inward doubts about God’s existence, about the possibility of even a sophisticated notion of moral good…all of these doubts were, in the end, really irrelevant to her life here.  

It was the strangest thing.  She still had the doubts and fears; she still felt like a wavering reed inside.  But when she was confronted by a frightened young woman or a worn, despairing female, she somehow found the fortitude within to give them what they needed.  She had even found that admitting her own doubts and fears and weaknesses proved to be no doubt when ministering to the forsaken females around her.  


These were the post-traumatic flash-backs or psychotic episodes which shook Linda to her core each night; they were the torments that overpowered her, that now made it impossible for her to return to the world she’d known before being kidnapped.  The world which Linda was convinced to the bottom of her soul would now see her as unclean and unworthy should she ever be released.  Her faith had been the only constant in her life, and now she thought in anguish, she was in mortal danger of losing even that.  

Just then the door to the room opened silently and a man waited to escort her back to her cell.  Face expressionless, she looked at the old man for a moment, then draped her bra and panties over her left forearm and departed the room without a backwards glance.  All she had to do was make it through the Meat Market and she was done for one more evening.  

And then she could begin her evening prayer for forgiveness, even though she wasn’t really sure she could count herself as a Christian any longer.  The reality she’d found was that God and the Devil existed in a symbiotic relationship, and that without evil, there could be no God, just…..boredom.  She could not honestly say that she even believed in a just and loving God anymore after everything she’d seen and everything that had been done to her.  

But she couldn’t tell the others that, for then, no one would have any hope.  

Maybe there really was no God…or maybe he was a monster.


A Cynical Bastard With An Over-Developed Sense of Justice or Giving The Taken A Voice

In the fight against terrorism, national agencies must keep full control over their police forces, security and intelligence agencies and judicial authorities.
-Gris De Vries

If this war is not fought with the greatest brutality against the bands both in the East and in the Balkans then in the foreseeable future the strength at our disposal will not be sufficient to be able to master this plague.
-Wilhem Keitel

Outside of Houston, Texas

FBI Agent Nathan Will was getting closer to the source of everything that had gone wrong over the last year…it was all tied together, the terrorist attacks, the kidnappings and disappearances of the young women, even the missing cops.  He could sense it; he could feel it in his gut and his bones.  And the more he learned, the more he knew something still remained hidden below the surface.  Everyone he’d talked to had secrets, motives that were hidden like the underwear of an unfaithful husband or a card cheat’s extra ace.  No one said anything of seeming substance, but the intelligence community was convinced that a new overseas terrorist group was responsible for the ongoing attacks in the southern U. S.  Worse, it seemed a good possibility, at least from all that he could dig up, that there was a Muslim somehow involved in the disappearances he was investigating.  

Will hated coincidences.  He didn’t believe in them, couldn’t believe in them and still do his job as a lawman.  

Will hated the idea of having of what his instincts were telling him become truth.  He knew his experiences had colored every other aspect of his life since then.  He’d had more than his share of interacting with Muslims in the Middle East while in the Army - two were very honorable men who were still very good friends of his.  But like anything else in life, nothing was simple, nothing was black and white.  There were good ones and there were bad ones, but he knew that the only thing they all respected was force.  If Christian Europe had turned the other cheek at the Battle of Lepanto or at the gates of Vienna, it would have resulted in a much different world now.  But little had changed since then, for even though Christianity had come a long way since then, they hadn’t.  

To paraphrase Churchill, individual Muslims showed splendid qualities, but Islam’s fanatical frenzy was as dangerous in a man as hydrophobia was in a dog.  It had been over a hundred years since the Prime Minister had spoken those words and there still was no more dangerous retrograde force in the world.  Will refused to talk about this subject anymore for he hated arguing with uneducated idiots about how only fundamentalists had perverted the faith, for the truth was that a religion had to stand or fall on its own writings and holy books.  

To Will, it was the world’s peaceful Muslims, the majority of the religion’s followers, who had perverted the faith.  They had strayed.  He felt that without a doubt that if Mohammed could come back today, there would be hell to pay.  The old man would be lopping off heads left and right.  And he’d have a lot of help because the largest killers of Muslims in the world were not the filthy infidels, it was other Muslims.  

Worse, aside from the pitiful few who could see what was going on, the Europeans were a lost cause.  And now it seemed with the last election the U. S. was following that course too.  Although Europe was much further along the path, it seemed that rather than fighting the Islamists in their midst, both sides of the Atlantic had chosen to commit cultural suicide.  They starved their law-abiding citizens with higher taxes in order to gorge an invading army on massive social programs.  Europe’s steadfast devotion to the failed religion of multiculturalism and political correctness not only emboldened its enemies, but encouraged more attacks even as it hastened its downfall.  

As much as he tried to keep his opinions to himself, Will just hated where this investigation seemed to be leading.  




EPILOGUE
The Man Wanted A Big, Fine Woman or There Was A Darkness In Him Forged By Need

What we’ve got here is a failure to communicate.
-Strother Martin, in Cool Hand Luke

Women have very little idea of how much men hate them.  
-Germaine Greer

One month later, a gleaming white limousine pulled up to the entrance of The Albanian’s quadrangle.  The driver hopped out and opened the left rear door for the occupants.  The first man out was a thin Asian.  Grunting, a second, but much heavier-set Chinese man climbed out and stood with his thick legs spread, looking up at the building.  Turning to the chauffeur, the first Chinese said in English, “Come back tomorrow morning.  He should be done then.”  He turned back to the building just in time to see The Albanian come down the steps with his hands open wide as he greeted the heavy set man.  

“General,” he said.  “Welcome to my humble establishment.”

The General looked at him suspiciously for a second and then at his interpreter.  The man quickly talked to the big man in Mandarin for a second and then replied to their host, “Thank you.  You have promised us an extraordinary time and we are most looking forward to it.”

“Come this way, please.”

Leading the General gently by the elbow, The Albanian preceded both back inside the club.  


She had been chosen without even being aware of the lineup.  Ursula was led into a room by one of the old man’s men, but this time they had been accompanied by a slender Chinese man.  

“You were requested,” the thin Asian man said unnecessarily.  

The tall, brown-eyed blonde with the massive breasts had been The Albanian’s property for over three months now.  In this time, she had done things she never before could have imagined doing willingly and things had been done to her that would have been heretofore unthinkable.  Not a religious person, while the trauma of that night a month ago with the two brutal men had changed her irrevocably in many ways--at least in one aspect rather than killing everything inside it had fanned the dying remnants of what could only be called a spiritual reawakening.  But, despite how she now felt, Ursula was not an idiot and so had not yet acted as she wanted.  

While Ursula told herself she had cooperated in her continuing degradation out of good sense, her common sense told her otherwise though, that it had been out of cowardice.  This brought her no end of new guilt, for if one strongly felt one way but continued to cooperate by allowed others to defile and degrade just to avoid physical punishment, then she truly was nothing more than a whore.  

While she couldn’t control what men did to her, this internal conflict ensured that she had become much more careful about what she did with men and how she responded to their…. motivations.  So, Ursula remained quite conscious of how she was dressed; stockings, heels and lingerie which left her totally exposed to any man’s view…and of how this conflicted with the tiny piece of personal honor that still remained.  

She entered the private room and then stopped, confused at the presence of another man there accompanied by another of the old European’s women.  Ursula had thought her time, her body, had been purchased by the younger man.  Rarely had she been given to two men.  And certainly not along with another woman.  

Then, the younger man spoke, “The gentleman sitting across from me is a very important man.  Once a Corps commander in the People’s Liberation Army, he was dismissed for reasons I cannot discuss.  He speaks very little English, but he’s here on business.  Business is over now.  He wishes to relax and has chosen you to help him do this.”

He looked vaguely Chinese, not nearly as ethnically pure as the younger man, and seemed to be at least in his mid-50’s.  While his moon-shaped face was flat, it was dominated by prominent cheek bones and a wide, thin mouth.  Other, more sophisticated men would not have been proud of the gray, rumpled and ill-fitting suit he was wearing now.  

The woman in the room was one of The Albanian’s other high-ranked women, one she’d seen before.  One of the best of the interchangeable whores who had been forced into any number of round or square holes.  With both shock and embarrassment, Ursula realized that she too now fit that description.  

The man inside motioned her closer using the hand that was still filled by a champagne flute.  Ursula closed her eyes and then opened them after a moment, matching this with the blinding smile she’d been taught to give all of the club’s paying customers.  She moved slowly, consciously maximizing the eroticism of her walk towards the man who owned her body for the night.  Suddenly the chubby hand of the general touched her hand and then closed on it.  He smiled and tried his English.  “Never ever American girl.”

His teeth were stained and it looked as if he’d had some dental work which incorporated stainless steel caps.  Whether the ex-general meant he had never before met an American girl or perhaps never had sex with one, she could not tell.  Ursula could guess, but chose not to.

“He means,” said the younger man, “that he’s heard all kinds of rumors about the vitality of American women.”

The first girl that had been sent to sit with the Chinese general caressed his cheek and guided his hand to her breasts.  He spoke sharply to the younger man.  

“He doesn’t want her.  He wants you to sit with him.”

“He has purchased me…us…for the night,” Ursula agreed that his evening included the other female.  But then she continued with carefully controlled calm, hiding the increasing desperation she felt inside.  ”I am not sure what he wants.  But I prefer to not do other women.”

The thin man translator hesitated for a second.  “Please be careful.  First, you are free to him for tonight.  Your owner is trying to impress him, so he has given you to the General until he becomes bored with you.  Second, he could buy you if he desired.  You would then become a lot of things you don’t want to be…..if he insisted.  So.  I have warned you now.  He is a powerful and dangerous man, accustomed to having his way.”

A chill ran down her spine.  Ursula left the General’s side to refresh his drink…and to gain time to think.  Suddenly, the door to the suite opened and she saw The Albanian enter the private room behind her.  The General rose to shake the old man’s hand.  They talked for less than two minutes through the interpreter and then he left the room.  As he passed Ursula this, her master gave her a small smile and nodded.  Ursula thought the General truly must be important to the old man for him to have acknowledged her this way.  

Ursula had her back towards the General as she began to open the new bottle of champagne that now was ready.  The General said something in Chinese apparently addressed to her as she took a fresh glass from the tray; Ursula pretended she had not noticed.  When she finally faced the room again, and him, he looked up at her and left no question but that he was speaking to her this time.

The young man translated.

“He has heard of you.  He is a blunt man who wastes no words.  He wants to know if you will spend tonight with him.”

When she hesitated, he continued, “More so than any woman here that he has met, the General thinks that you are made up of two distinct and different existences, physical and emotional beings.  The Yin and the Yang of being what you are…and of where you are.  One side has been made public.  The other, you have kept locked away, caged deep---this side is the sexual woman.  To know and experience the first, he says, a man would never, ever have guessed the existence of the second.”  

The thin young man stopped for a second as he listened to the General.  “He wants to experience the second side.  The sexual side of you that emerges voluntarily or involuntarily.  But when that woman appears, he thinks it will be like a creature set loose.”


Ursula suppressed an involuntary shudder.  After all that had happened to her in this terrible place, tonight, now, for this evening only, somehow she still felt like she could make a choice here.  The Albanian desperately wanted to impress this man, but it seemed this man urgently wanted her voluntarily.  Could she use this?  

It might doom her, but she felt safely reckless somehow, as if she could carefully say things she knew would get her in trouble during normal times.  “Tell him that even though this club owns me, I am still a woman inside, not a whore to be used and discarded.  Tell him that it is too late for me to find love now, but that it would only be with a man I truly loved that I would be what you say.”  

The young translator’s eyes opened wide with shock, for it was obvious that the General always got what he wanted.  The General listened to a translation of Ursula’s pronouncement, and then spoke quickly.  Once more the young man translated for her, “He says that the rules of the Club will be waived if he asks.”

Ursula was glad that the old European was not physically present even though she knew he did not need to be to know what was being said in the rooms of his club.  Gathering courage she did not know she had, Ursula made the reply that she had been rehearsing in her mind.  “Tell him that if he’s interested in me as a whore, then I am sorry.  I am not available.  But if he is interested in me as a woman?  That is all he has to say and I will be as he has asked.”

The General spoke again and the young man translated, “I am sorry, but he asks---the Chinese words may be more polite.  He wants to know if the hair on your ÿu-men, which means your jade gate, is the same color as the hair on your head.”

Ursula drew in an audible breath.  “Please, tell him that’s not the kind of question that a gentleman asks a woman who is not a whore.  Remind him that tonight, for him, I am not a whore.”

Ursula heard the girl who had already been rejected by the General say under her breath, “Not yet, anyway.”  

But the young man translated and the General seemed to take the answer in good spirit, making Ursula wonder if he had really told his master what she had said.  The young smiled and said matter of factly, “He said he will take you to bed tonight.”

“Tell him to go to hell,” Ursula said curtly, surprising herself as she said it.  She stood and moved to the far side of the room.  There was brandy on the bar.  Ursula filled a snifter and then turned to face the room.  

“I didn’t translate what you said,” the young man told her.  “I told him that you wouldn’t do it for any price.”

“That is correct,” said Ursula.  “I will probably die for saying this, but I don’t care anymore.  I’ll only be a woman the way he wants when I’m with the right man; I may be a captive here, but I am not a whore to be taken like a dog.  Not by him, nor by any man.”

The other T-1 girl looked at Ursula with an odd expression on her face.  “Honey, I guess you have forgotten where you are---or what you are, for that matter.  Don’t rock the boat for the rest of us.”

The General interrupted as he pointed at Ursula’s breasts and laughed as he said, “Dai baw dai.”

“He says that you have beautiful breasts.”  

After a moment, the young man blushed and said, “Actually, he said that you have big tits.”

The general went on laughing, “Dai baw dai.”

The young man blushed again, “He’s being insulting now.  He could easily take you by force.  But since you won’t go with him voluntarily, he says that you have a big butt too.”

Ursula stood and faced away from the General and towards the door.  The General spoke angrily; she could hear a threatening note in his voice for the first time, though she could not understand his words.

“He forbids you to leave!  He says no, no.  He says that no one walks out on him,” the young man finished his translation.  “It is no longer funny to him.  Please.  The situation has become hazardous for you.”

The other T-1 had been watching this and now poured cognac into a snifter for the General to sip.  The General glared at the glass and then he spoke to the translator in a firm voice which no longer held the fury of a minute ago.  

“He says that he will forgive your impudence if you will drink a glass of brandy with him.”

“I---“

Ursula had meant to say that she could not, that it was against the rules and that she would be punished if she did; but that would have been all a lie and the anger in the room, once almost palpable, had begun to finally wane.  

The other T-1 had been making frantically subtle signals to the camera during all of this and now one of the club’s best female managers stood in the suddenly open door.  Still quite beautiful, she was a woman taken early in The Albanian’s efforts and one of the few allowed to stay at the club after being promoted to the expendable list.  Originally from France, she was pragmatic and quite capable of being a formidable figure to the other girl’s.  

The other T-1 explained everything to her, “This whore thinks she better than the rest of us.  He wants her to be with him, he wants her tonight.  She has refused him…and he’s been very insulting, very vulgar.”  

The young man interrupted, “He’s in a very bad mood.  Further, I do not need to tell you that having the general mad at this club will not result in a promising future.”

The female manager stared at Ursula for a minute like she should have been in an insane asylum.  “Have a drink with him,” she said calmly, even though it was clearly an order.  “Let’s smooth over all of this misunderstanding.”

The general spoke and it was translated.  “He wants this Ursula to sit down with him.  The other can go.”

Ursula looked stricken.  

The club manager spoke to the General in halting Mandarin Chinese.  Then she turned to Ursula, “This has gotten totally out of hand…..you know you will be severely punished for this.  More than likely given to Bashir for punishment, if not Prince Geoffrey.”  Ursula teared up and unsuccessfully tried to repress a shudder of disgust.”  

The manager had seen her reaction and smiled wryly, “Perhaps though, there is still hope for salvaging this situation.  I have just told him that it was your special time of the month and that you simply are not available for the night.  He had demanded you specifically, but I have also had to apologize for sending one of your…status…to him.  We have lost face to him.”  

The General spoke to the manager.  

“Alright,” the manager said to Ursula.  “It looks like it might work.  But he still wants you to drink with him, to tell him about America.”

“I don’t sit on the couch next to him.”

The manager looked coldly at Ursula, then turned to the translator and said, “This is between us.  Please do not tell him what I am saying to her.”  

Then she turned back to Ursula and demanded, “Just what do you think you are here?  You stupid woman!  You spoiled bitch!  I don’t why you think this, but this moron decided to allow you to talk to your client tonight as if you had some kind of a choice regarding what was going to happen.  You have not had that choice for three months, you don’t have that choice tonight.  Too damn much is at stake here for you to play saint—you still don’t get it yet, do you?  You don’t have that option anymore.  But this is stupid because you already know you don’t.  You are a T-1; you were chosen to be enhanced, and this only happens to a few.  You whore!  You spoiled, rotten whore!!  You will do exactly what I tell you to do or I will PERSONALLY give you to Prince Geoffrey…for this night and every other night.  Because you will belong to him then, not the club anymore.  And if you don’t cooperate and for some reason you remain at the club, you will regret it for the rest of your short, stupid, pain-filled life.  YOU and your family!  Do you understand me?  Am I being perfectly clear?”  

Ursula nodded miserably.  

“Good!”  The flushed manager took a deep breath, turned, bowed to the two Chinese men and then left the room, closing the door after her.

A shaken Ursula sat down on the floor next to the chair he occupied.  The General smiled like a benign idiot and then poured a snifter full of brandy that he pushed towards Ursula.  Next to it he placed a crisp five hundred dollar bill and a platinum watch.  

Ursula turned first to the other girl and then towards the translator.  

The young man answered after a moment, “The money and watch are yours when you finish drinking the cognac.”

She picked up the watch and inspected it as he continued, “The watch is a Rolex; platinum case and mother of pearl face.  Although not new, the watch is worth far more than the money he offers you.  But you can earn both.  And the game? This is a small game he has played at other clubs like this.  By getting a girl like you drunk, he thinks that makes her more compliant.  More willing…to do that which she might otherwise not normally want to do.”

Ursula was a big girl and she knew that it took a lot to get her drunk, far more than most men realized.  For ten minutes, the general asked questions about America.  Sitting at his feet, Ursula listened politely as she heard the young man’s translation of her answers, and an unending string of new questions.  

The General asked the meaning of the Cincinnati Reds and the Washington Redskins---did these names have political significance?  What did the average American make in a year?  What did the average union worker in an automobile plant in Detroit make—especially after the economic downturn?  What did they make now under the new president?  Why did U. S politicians keep borrowing so much money from China?  Did they not see that this was an economic trap from which they would never recover?  Why did these politicians keep getting elected, even as they spoke in vague terms designed to cloak and mislead the very ones electing them?  They used potent adjectives, wrongly directed.  Politician speak—the art of saying one thing and meaning another…..

But mostly, his questions were about sex in one form or another.  Was it true that only Mormons could have more than one wife, as he had seen in the TV show Big Love?  Was it true that most attractive American women only married for money or financially stability?  Was it true that most American teenage girls had had sex by the time they were fifteen?  He wanted to know if most American women had breasts as big as Ursula’s, but now he used the polite term hung rather than the vulgar baw he had first used.  

Ursula answered his questions as best she could.  She slowly drank the last of the brandy in her snifter, savoring it before she picked up the five hundred dollar bill and stuffed it in one filmy, extremely large bra cup.  Next, she slowly put the beautiful watch around her wrist.  

The crafty General was not done.  He filled her snifter again and laid a second five hundred dollar bill next to her.  

Ursula took one swallow and shook her head, pushing it away.  A woman of her status had no use for the money he offered.  She had been allowed this one night of freedom for some reason, and Ursula knew she would pay tomorrow for abusing this privilege.  Plus, her head was actually was buzzing a little—had he put something in it?  There was a fine line between euphoria and helplessness, and she was approaching it.  

The General spoke harshly once more.  His mood had obviously shifted again.  

The young man said, “The General says the game is now over.  He says that you will come to his bed now.”

Ursula looked into the angry man’s face.  The large drink gave her courage and she helplessly shook her head no.  But the General lurched quickly to his feet and lunged at her, grabbing first her covering teddy and then the bustier beneath, finally ripping both away to expose Ursula’s artificially huge breasts.  


Ursula did spend the night with the General and despite being told that it was her time of the month, he treated her as a whore, not a companion.  Not a big man as men are usually measured, the General still had good sized fists and wrists.  Once she had suffered through a less-than-mediocre fucking, the handcuffs and two assistants had been required to immobilize her for the next phase of lovemaking.  But he had not taken advantage of the available gag because hearing the arrogantly stupid American woman’s screams had given him even greater sexual pleasure.  

Even after fucking the woman in what looked like her suspiciously bloodless vagina, he had needed the lubricant at first because she had still been tight despite her profession.  However, eventually it had not been necessary since he had stretched her out, both front and back, to a size that was satisfactory for one like him.  He did so like the punishing aspects of what the Americans called fisting.  The woman had been a quite satisfactory screamer the remainder of the evening.  


She was still wearing his watch when The Albanian’s men came for her in the early morning hours.  Ursula’s hips hurt her so much that she could barely walk as she made her way through the meat market.  Ten minutes later, Ursula found herself in a punishment cell down in the cellar.  

Ursula wanted to struggle, she wanted to scream at them, you perverted bastards, leave me alone.  But she ached so badly that she remained silent except for softly begging for their mercy as they tied loops around the base of each of her artificially enhanced breasts and then tightened the loops until her breasts had turned purple and hung from her chest wall like shapeless bags of meat.  They did not care that this was a dangerous thing to do to a woman who had undergone surgery like hers for she was ultimately a relatively easily replaced commodity.  They bent her over a barrel and further used the two meat sacks hanging from her chest to attach her to the barrel.  

Ursula could not lift her torso from the barrel because of the way they had bound her, but one man still held her arms while another kept her legs from moving.  The third man ripped Ursula’s thongs down around her ankles, leaving her wearing only stocking and heels.  The brutal third man now began with her punishment.  

He worked her ass and lower back with a bamboo switch for what seemed like forever.  But Ursula knew in reality that he spent perhaps a contemptuous five to ten minutes on her, certainly no more than fifteen minutes.  He hit her hard and had shredded the tops of her nylons in back within seconds, and the pain was such that Ursula knew she probably suffer from shock.  As if from a distance, Ursula also knew that it would be weeks before she could sit down.  It wasn’t over of course, for next they took a long, six-inch wide hardwood paddle to her bruised, aching ass.  

And when they were eventually finished with that, they unbagged Ursula and left her crouching on her hands and knees on the cellar floor, shrieking and moaning, crying for what she finally knew she had lost.  Thirty minutes later, two new men retrieved the now silently suffering young woman from the cellar and paraded her through the Meat Market on the way to her next stop.  

All conversation stopped as she stepped into the room.  All eyes locked on Ursula’s normally beautiful body, now looking bruised and beaten and rather bloody on her ass.  The insides of her thighs were sticky with mostly dried blood, some from her vagina but most had leaked from her torn anus.  

The important men and imperiously beautiful women there all nodded their approval of the way The Albanian had properly disciplined his errant and disobedient property.  Perhaps the most insulting part was that a woman beaten as badly as this warranted no more than twenty to thirty seconds consideration before conversations returned to more important items like polo ponies, tennis scores and tennis bracelets.  

They took her into a small outbuilding that had been finished with a concrete floor, stripped her naked of the remaining rag fragments she still wore and forced her into a large galvanized steel laundry tub that had been bolted to the floor.  Too weak to fight now, handcuffs bound her wrists to opposing rings that had been anchored in the floor, while her ankles were locked together with leg irons and a rope run through the chain and tied to another ring at the foot of the tub.  Ursula could not move.

Two men dragged in a big fifty-pound bag of waxed brown paper filled with ice; small clear cubes made from distilled water and purchased from some nearby warehouse that supplied ice to restaurants.  They went out and brought in another bag.  She now knew what they were going to do, having heard whispers of it from two of the other kept women.  They were going to inflict great pain without leaving a mark on her…..or they were going to stop any additional bruising from the brutal spankings she had endured…or both.  One of the men whipped out an ugly knife and slit the first bag.  Laughing, the men poured the ice into the tub, covering half of Ursula’s thighs.  The next bag covered her thighs.  They began running water in the tub and soon it was mid-way up her breasts.  

She cried out softly as she shuddered and her body shook from the sudden chill.  But she knew that this was nothing compared to the pain that would follow.  

The leader of the two men stood looking down at Ursula.  “You were once a strong, resourceful young woman; we all knew this when you arrived.  Now you are a stupid, unthinking, big-titted whore who does not know even how to follow the rules she knows are meant for her and every other woman of your class.  We can continue beating you, and there are some here who would even pay for that opportunity.  I think that maybe you are too valuable for that at this moment…but this can change in a second.  And so we will leave you to a pleasant night.  You know that before morning you will have melted your ice.  Before morning you will have also pissed in your water, which will warm it.  Tomorrow you will be a more subdued guest, don’t you agree?”

Ursula hung her head.  The throbbing ache of the intense cold had already begun and it would only increase until she suffered in absolute agony.

The leader ordered the others to leave.  But he himself stayed, standing with his hands on his hips, smirking.  “Tell me.  Why do you disobey so obviously?  If you continue in this manner, he will get rid of you.  Are you so anxious to leave us?  Have we not treated you well?”

Ursula glanced up at him and could not keep a sneer from her lips. “You have kidnapped me, kept me here against my will, raped and sodomized me, beat me and tortured me.  You are torturing me now after giving me to another man who raped me.  Am I supposed to love you for this?”

The leader sneered, “You have no choice in the matter.  Women like you have always belonged to the strongest men.”

“I may belong to you now,” Ursula retorted hotly, “but your time here is coming to an end.  Nothing lasts forever.  Someday you’ll make a mistake and what will happen to you and your men then?”


Ursula shifted a little, but could not lift herself even two inches off of the floor of the tub and certainly could not escape the ice.  The ache, of course, was in her groin and buttocks, less in her genitals.  But even her navel rebelled against being immersed in the icy water and that caused a special nausea.  Her female parts throbbed.  She knew they would throb and ache all night, long after all this ice had melted and the water had been warmed by her body’s immersion in it.  

If they had used more ice, she would have died quickly from hypothermia.  But they only used enough to make the water icy and to suck her body heat slowly enough that she would survive the change in body temperature.  The pain hardened critically over the next hour.  It became concrete-like inside her vagina, which seemed to have swollen, though she knew that in fact it must have shrunken from when the Chinese monster had so hurt her.  

No, she felt overcome by despair.  It was not like concrete.  It felt like a pair of hands that squeezed every part of her body.  She looked down at her massive breasts now floating on the top of the frigid water.  It felt like being kicked in the breasts, except that a kick was one impact, one shock; but this feeling was an unending shock which both endured and tortured her.  

She ripped her head back and shivered wildly.  Oddly, her face was covered with sweat.  Ursula could feel it running into her eyes and she tasted it on her lips.  She groaned once more in despair.  The night was going to be an unrelieved horror.  But Ursula somehow knew she would survive this too.  That was why they had chosen to torture her this way, because they knew that it would not kill her.  However, that she would survive the years of horror that lay ahead, she was not so certain.  


Paroxysms of pain caused uncontrollable abdominal convulsions, shivering, muscle cramps that pulled her upright with a scream and caused her legs to scissor wildly out of control.  Ursula was lying in icy slush and shivering wildly, but the ice had not yet really begun to melt.  The constant shivering exhausted her.  Ursula was not sure that she was conscious when the old Mexican-Indian woman came in.  Maybe the body had a way of having mercy on itself.  More time had passed than she was aware of.  She knew because the ice was fully slushed now; the melting cubes jostled themselves in the increasing level of free water.

She was numb, but her body somehow felt like it was burning up…in a terrible cold burn.  The pain was worse, much, much worse now.  How could a person be in pain and be numb at the same time?  Suddenly, Ursula realized that icy water had penetrated where ice itself could not, and she felt a new ache in her terribly abused anus.  

The Mexican woman with the long black hair going to gray.  The one who delivered Ursula’s clothes and food to her cell was there; the one who helped her with makeup and getting dressed.  The woman had always before spoken only sparingly to her and now stood beside the tub, looking down at her thoughtfully.  Ursula’s eyes had adjusted to the darkness of the shed and she could see the intruder clearly.  Her glittering eyes were impossible to read and the expression on her dark face was curious; perhaps pity mixed maybe with a touch of arrogance.  Ursula wondered, could such a woman as this, a woman she had always before ignored, feel both these at the same time for one such as she?  Or did she feel only scorn for a woman who had managed to get herself into such a terrible situation through her own stupidity.  

“Help me,” Ursula pleaded weakly.

The old woman remained motionless for at least a minute, and then shrugged silently.

“Look on my wrist, my left wrist,” Ursula gasped softly.  “See the watch?”  She was talking about the platinum and mother of pearl Rolex the General had given her only hours ago.  If it was real, it had to be worth a small fortune to an Indian like this.

The old woman lifted Ursula’s hand and examined the watch.  “Ahhh,” she exclaimed softly as her eyes gleamed with sudden greed.

“It’s yours if you help me,” Ursula offered weakly.

“It’s mine if I choose to take it,” the old woman replied with a quick, fatalistic shrug.

“And what if I told the men that you took it?  They would kill you.  But if you help me, you can have it and I won’t tell.”

The woman thought for a long minute, and then finally pulled the watch off of Ursula’s wrist and put it on her own.  She admired it on her wrist for a few seconds and then set to work as she pushed an empty wooden tub across the floor and close to the laundry tub.  Then she used a bucket to begin bailing ice and freezing water from the metal tub into the wooden one.  

For ten minutes, the tiny woman used only the bucket and her hands.  Soon, Ursula shivered wildly as she sat quivering with only a little ice floating in the water around her navel.  It must have been painful to the old woman for she finally stopped to warm her hands in her armpits for a couple of minutes.  She began again and soon the water level approached her aching buttocks and now saggy labia.  After warming her hands a second time, the old Mexican Indian woman then put them between Ursula’s ice-cold, quivering thighs as she tried to cup her vagina.  The old woman clutched Ursula’s labia urgently, desperately transferring the warmth of her hands to Ursula’s aching organs.

“Thank you,” a groggy Ursula murmured in appreciation.

The woman continued to massage Ursula softly, but her ministrations hurt no matter how gentle she tried to be.  Ursula grunted in discomfort, but the woman continued.  Eventually beginning to warm a little between her legs, the woman exhaled on both her cupped hands once more as well as Ursula’s to warm them, and then cupped Ursula’s vagina again.  It warmed her a little more, but not enough to relieve the pain and she moaned again.

“Thank you,” Ursula eventually whispered once more.

For another twenty minutes, the old Mexican-Indian woman cupped Ursula’s vagina and the finally, her pain began to subside.  Eventually, the woman pressed Ursula’s inadvertently stiffening clitoris with her fingertips, and Ursula blushed.  The woman continued, conscientiously running her hands over Ursula’s lower body as she felt for additional cold areas.  In the end, she apparently felt that Ursula was now warm enough for the next step.  The woman removed the rest of the chilly water in which Ursula still sat, and finally hooked a garden hose to the drain at the bottom of the wooden tub, allowing that tub to drain outside far away from the shed.  She next drew fresh water into a bucket from an inside tap and filled the galvanized tub once more.  But this time, the water which would normally have been merely a little uncomfortable now actually warmed her body the dangerous levels it had been forced down to.  Finished, the old woman moved the wooden tub and the bucket back to their original place, stared at Ursula for a second and then slipped out into the night.

She had never had a chance to truly thank the woman for her help.  Ursula was alone now and too miserable to sleep.  She wondered if they would not just kill her now.  She shuddered once more and closed her eyes.  


Inside the compound and not far from the small building that housed Ursula, a man silently walked down a flagstone path.  He smoked as he looked out silently towards the lights that were Houston in the far distance.


The sun was shining when the two men returned to the room that contained the galvanized tub.  The leader carried a towel; he grinned pleasantly at Ursula as he pulled up a wooden bench and sat down by her side.

“So,” he said, “I trust you have spent a pleasant night.”

Ursula shivered uncontrollably once and then nodded hesitantly.

“Yes.  I am glad of this.”  He waited in silence for a moment before continuing.  “I am glad that it was most pleasant.  But really, you should not just give away expensive things.  And, if you wanted to do some good with your watch, you should have just given it to me.”  

The leader unrolled the towel to expose a severed hand, cut off just above the wrist.  Ursula’s Rolex was on the wrist, and she watched in horror as he pulled the watch off, dipped it in the tub to wash off the blood and then slipped it on his own wrist.

Ursula vomited then, covering her chest and groin with thin, acidy stomach fluid.  She couldn’t go on.  It was over now and she knew it.  They had killed the old woman just for helping her, and it was Ursula’s fault that she was dead.  She’d never even been able to thank her.  It was so obvious now that they would always being willing to go further than she, and do things she never could.  

Ursula just looked at him.  She wanted to tell him that he had won, but she had said that before with Bashir.  Now, she had caused the pointless death of an innocent person; Ursula needed to let him know that this had been unnecessary, but she couldn’t speak the words no matter how hard she tried.

The man leaned down and checked the handcuffs, but then he removed the leg irons and spread her legs wide, attaching each ankle to a separate ring in the floor.  Ursula looked at him, silently beseeched him with her eyes to be released, but she could not bring herself to beg…not this time, not after what he had done.  He removed the drain in Ursula’s tub and allowed the coolish water to drain onto the concrete floor.  He walked out then and two different men walked in, both carrying several more bags of ice.  After the tub had been drained, the new ice was once more dumped in and Ursula was covered as before.  This time they used more ice for they obviously did not care whether or not she survived the ordeal.  The two men’s eyes were as cold as the ice they had just delivered.  After pitilessly staring at her naked body for another second, they turned on their heels and left her alone once again.

Ursula’s body began shivered desperately again.  But this time, it had been immersed when its core temperature had already been depressed by the previous evening’s experience.  Seconds dragged on for hours and minutes lasted for days; the single day seemed to last forever.  Once more the ice eventually began to melt, but this time, without the assistance of the old woman the water actually remained frigid.  But now because of her spread legs, it was an all-encompassing fist of ice that explored the depths of her vagina and anus.  Nothing was left untouched or unexplored by the exquisitely frigid invader; nothing was left unscathed as the trespasser traveled to evermore private parts of her body.  

Soon her abdomen had become one with the ice, and even as she shook uncontrollably, Ursula knew from experience that when she had reached this point, her whole body was affected.  Assuming that she did not come down with a cold or the flu or pneumonia or something even worse, it would still take her days to warm her core back to where it should be and a week to be able to function normally, to digest food again and have a normal bowel movement.

But eventually, two men came in and began taking the handcuffs off of her wrists and ankles.  Slowly, Ursula grabbed the side of the tub; after several attempts and with a little assistance, she was able to struggle to her feet.  Her fine-pored skin was angry red from the ice and tightly wrinkled from being submerged for almost twenty four hours.  

Slowly stepping out of the tub like a ninety year old woman, Ursula finally looked up into the face of the leader and started crying.  The only thing she could say was a soft “No more, you win.”


She had been examined by the doctor and then taken to a new room, a small, higher-end single-woman cell on the first floor.  Ursula was alone in the room as she sat in another tub, but this one filled with hot water.  She sat in the tub and slowly rocked back and forth with her hands over her enhanced chest.  She had been pulled from the immersion tub slightly more than an hour ago; even though she now sat in much warmer water, her bones ached and her abdomen still felt heavy, like a lump of lead had somehow been inserted along with the ice bath.  She felt frozen inside yet somehow sweat still ran down her face in rivulets and streams.  

But her face was different now.

It was clear to all that Ursula had been a naughty, naughty girl.  And that she had finally learned her lesson.