Thrilling Rape Fantasies - Illustrated

CHAPTER NINE- A NIGHT OUT

It is Slate, accompanied by his hulking bodyguard-chauffeur Tony. Fiona stands aside at the door, admitting the two men. “And how is my little trainee doing today?” the boss asks breezily… “I trust she has been fitted with her new jewelry… has she been a good girl?” “Everything's gone more or less according to plan…” the brunette replies. “We're a little behind on our plug training, but other than that…” “Well, that can easily be remedied…” the saturnine exec comments as he stands before Alison where she sits on the couch in her white vinyl with her manacled hands twisting around in her lap, staring down at his shoes, suddenly too afraid and/or ashamed to look up at his face. “She certainly looks like she's ready for her coming-out party…” Slate reaches down to cup her chin in his hand, forcing her to look up and meet his gaze. “Tell me, how do you like your new accessories, Alison… How does it feel to wear my rings in your cunt, you little whore?” “Well, it still hurts a little, Sir…” the cowed submissive admits humbly, staring up at him with her eyes wide and pleading… “Sometimes it hurts but I guess you know it kind of feels exciting too… especially the one… you know… in my clit… it… it keeps throbbing all the time… I can't seem to forget about it… Sometimes it almost makes me come just having it there… deep inside me… knowing you had it put there… it's kind of like having you always inside me right there…”

Slate grasps the girl's two braceleted wrists in one strong hand, pulling her upward and getting her to stand up on her feet, where she teeters before him a bit unsteadily on her very high heels, weak-kneed with apprehension. Keeping a firm grasp on the willowy blonde's wrists with his left hand, he reaches down with his right hand to feel underneath her skirt, cupping the moist warm softness of her recently-pierced twat. Alison moans and lets her mouth hang open, her eyelashes fluttering, her knees shaking… “You just needed a strong man to put you in your place, Alison… and that place is down on your knees, worshiping my cock…” Slate tells her coldly. “Those rings in your hairless little cunt are there to remind you always that you belong to me totally, body and mind. You're going to be a good girl for me now aren't you, little one? I intend to make sure of it… Of course you'll still be punished anyway, you dirty little fucking whore. Tell me… how many times did you come today? Did you come when Spider and his monstrous friend fucked you? Did you enjoy having fifteen inches of cock shoved up your ass?”

“Yes, sir…” the pierced blonde answers meekly, absorbing this diatribe like a little girl being lectured by an angry father. “I… I can't remember how many times I came today… maybe five or six times… Is that bad? I really couldn't help it…” “There will be a special punishment for that later, Alison…” answers Slate with a menacing grin. “For the moment, lets just get you ready to go. Fiona, have you packed all the stuff she'll need?” “You bet, boss…” the brunette answers quickly. “I've got plenty of drugs and syringes and stuff, and I brought some of those extra-long needles… It's all in my shoulder bag.” Slate abruptly lets go of Alison's moistening slit and commands her to turn around, bending her over at the waist with her hands down on the couch in front of her. “I'm going to plug and tie you now for the ride across town…” he announces. “Fiona bring me that size fourteen butt stretcher and some lube…”

Alison remains there half bent-over, her face red with embarrassment and shame and her palms sweating as she waits submissively to be impaled. She doesn't move but whimpers nervously as Slate pushes the skirt up over the cheeks of her shapely ass, which is still marked with the dark purplish welts of his crop, and pulls her wispy panties down. In the corner of her eye she can see the stolid Tony standing behind his boss with his arms folded staring down at her impassively. Does he have to do this in front of the chauffeur? It's so humiliating. She struggles to control the impulse to rise up and pull her skirt back down over her hips, protecting herself from the bodyguard's prying eyes. Of course Slate is aware of this, and enjoys making her humble herself like this in front of others. It's all part of the fun.

The innocent-looking blonde squirms and bites her lip anxiously as Slate toys with her hairless pussy, drawing in her breath sharply when his teasing fingertip touches the head of her swelling clit. Meanwhile in the background Fiona has greased up the fourteen-inch black rubber butt plug with the three little chains that will hold it in place attached to its flaring base and is standing there with an applicator full of lube in her hand. The thing is two inches thick and made to closely resemble a human penis, veins and all. Slate takes his little trainee's newly-installed clit ring between his thumb and forefinger, sending a hot jolt of pain and arousal up the trembling slave girl's spine from her suddenly throbbing little joy button, holding her steady so she cant pull away as Fiona inserts the applicator full of lube into Alison's nervously twitching little rectum. The beautiful young blonde squeaks with anxiety as she is penetrated, knowing what comes next. Alison whimpers as he fists the long black shaft of the rubber dildo with his other hand, bringing it up to her quivering back opening. “If you push back against it, it won't hurt so much going in…” she can hear Fiona comment as if from a million miles away. That's easy for her to say…

Still Alison does her best to cooperate, standing there bent over the couch with her knees shaking, leaning on her manacled hands and closing her eyes in shame as she obediently opens herself for him, pressing her shapely backside back against the head of the rubbery phallus now slowly working its way into her hairless pink ass hole. Alison fills her lungs, holding her breath and then letting it out with a whoosh as the head of the thing finally pokes past her anal ring, pushing past the tight entrance into the softness of her insides. The lovely blonde shifts her weight restlessly from one foot to the other, her soft white buttocks jiggling as a low whining moan emanates from the back of her throat, but she makes no struggle, no word of protest… She wants so much to be a good girl for him… Relentlessly, Slate bores the thing into her, twisting and turning it to force inch after inch of thick rubber cock up her spastically twitching rear, his tickling finger at her clit making her jump and rise up on her toes, her useless vagina gushing with her sweet secretions.

Alison's mouth is open and gasping as the whole fourteen inches of rubber dingus finally sink into the depths of her helplessly quaking rectum, making her insides ache with fullness, once more totally impaled by her Master. She squirms and whines with discomfort as Slate reaches up under her belly to fasten the chains tightly to the little rings at the bottom hem of her corset. One chain runs up either side of the vee of her crotch, the third one drawn up tightly in the crack of her buttocks. Now that the big rubbery butt plug is firmly locked up the trembling slave girl's compliant rear end, he pulls the sheer white panties back up over her shaky legs and helps her to stand back up, pulling the tight white skirt back down over her hips to hide the whole installation from outside view.

The plugged and pierced blonde stands there unsteadily, half supported by Slate's hand on her arm, her nostrils flaring wildly and a stricken look on her face as she struggles to adjust herself to the penetrating presence of fourteen inches of rubber dick up her ass. Her shapely buttocks clench and jiggle reflexively underneath the white vinyl of her short skirt, her bowels involuntarily pushing against this rubbery invasion but of course it's not going anywhere. She's just going to have to wear it until he decides to take it out. The trembling submissive is almost faint with strain and fearful excitement, her eyes wide and her knees trembling as her lord and master refastens her cuffs behind her back, making her even more totally helpless.

“I think we're ready to go now…” Slate announces. “Fiona, get the lady's wrap.” In a moment, the brunette returns with a long but lightweight cape of white satiny material, which she throws over the cuffed girl's shoulders and ties with a bow at her neck, hiding Alison's shackled hands from outside view. To a casual observer, the lovely young woman looks almost normal, a stunningly attractive uptown party girl dressed up for a night on the town, probably headed for some pricey exclusive disco or private club. Slate, dressed in his conservative handmade dark suit, appears to be her sugar daddy, with obvious underlings Tony and Fiona tagging along behind.

The two men take Alison by the elbows, escorting her out the door of the apartment and down the hall to the elevator. The massively plugged blonde can barely walk, teetering along on her fetishistic ultra-high heels and taking little short steps due to the extreme tightness of the skirt, the long dildo shifting around inside her bowels with every step as her inner thighs brush against the rings in her cunt lips beneath the moist crotch of her panties. Fiona follows along with a large black bag slung over her shoulder containing her drug paraphernalia and god knows what else… The lovely blonde walks along down the hallway flanked by the two men in tense silence, her heart pounding in apprehension as she wonders where they are taking her and what will be demanded of her when they get there. As they enter the elevator the silence hangs heavy in the air. Finally, Slate begins to explain as they begin the long descent from the penthouse to the street.

“We're going to spend the evening at a very private, very exclusive club of which I am a member and part owner. Now that you are properly dressed and at least partially trained I'd like to introduce you to some of my friends and business associates. There will be other young women there not unlike yourself who either have been or are being broken into servitude. You will not speak to them, or indeed to anyone else unless you are questioned directly by one of the men, who you will address as “Sir”. The only time you will open your mouth will be to answer a direct question, to eat or drink, or to service one of the members or his guests at my discretion. Yes, it's that kind of club. Although gentlemen sometimes gather there to eat and drink and conduct their business, its main purpose is a kind of secret society for the use and subjugation of little whores like yourself. Once you enter the door you will obey the instructions of any of the members without hesitation, or you will be punished. And believe me, some of the punishments can be quite severe… Do you understand?”

“Yes… Yes Sir… I understand…” the pierced and buttplugged young blonde answers submissively, her hairless pussy coming alive with the knowledge that soon her soft and slender body will be handed over to the dubious mercy of a bunch of sadistic and demanding male strangers. She knows she is going to get fucked plenty tonight and her obedient little cunt is already getting defensively wet and ready for it, her clit stiffening and throbbing around the burning metallic shaft that skewers it. She can't help it… the muscles of her bowels flutter and squeeze around the thick black rubber device that impales her, her mouth hanging slightly open as she responds to its penetrating presence, keeping her always open and in a state of total domination. With fourteen inches of dildo up her ass she has already surrendered, however embarrassed she might feel at the thought of being exposed and humiliated publicly in this way. Beneath the cape her hands squirm nervously in the cuffs as she tests her bonds, reveling in their implacable grip. Once again she realizes how exciting it is for her to be bound, helpless… Finally the elevator doors open at the elegant lobby and Tony and Slate march the unsteady girl across the marble floor, her high heels clicking on the tiles as they guide her out the door to the street and Fred the doorman tips his cap to them. “Evening, ladies… Mr. Slate…”

Alison tries to avoid the doorman's eye, stepping past him as he holds the door and saying nothing, wondering what he knows or might guess about her condition as Slate nods to the guy in an offhand way. A waft of her cunty-smelling perfume floats in the air behind her, sending a hot rush down to the old rummy's withered groin. “Snotty little bitch…” the uniformed lackey mutters to himself as he opens the door to the long black limo, helping the two women into the cavernous rear compartment before closing it again after Slate. Meanwhile the stolid Tony goes and gets behind the wheel.

Alison, sitting in the middle of the back seat between Slate and Fiona, leans back and does her best to make herself comfortable, if such a thing is possible with your hands cuffed behind your back and fourteen inches of dildo shoved up your ass. Slate puts an arm around her shoulder, leaning over to kiss her deeply as the car pulls off. The beautiful young blonde lets her mouth open for him, her tongue dancing and twining around his as she feels her body melting in his arms. He reaches up to squeeze her tits through the thin white vinyl of the minidress, sending a shocking charge of pain and arousal from the rings in her recently-pierced and hardening nipples up and down her spine, making her moan into his mouth and squirm anxiously in the seat, rubbing her stockinged thighs together.

The man reaches down to insinuate his hand between her legs, roughly pushing them apart and forcing her skirt to ride up high onto the tops of her thighs, revealing the soft vee of her pierced and attentive cunt beneath the very sheer white panties. He cups her in his hand, feeling her wetness and warmth through the thin fabric as she lets her head fall back, her eyes closed and her mouth open as she shifts her hips to press back against him… She loves it when he holds her like this, her stiffening clit tingling and pulsing hotly around the steel that pierces it. The limo stops at a red light and a couple of teenagers crossing the street stop dead in their tracks as they get an eyeful through the car's side window. Alison is oblivious, her attention riveted on Slate's probing fingers as he toys with her gushy pink hairless twat.

She feels herself spinning down a vortex of fear and desire, lost in a swirling sea of sexual and deliciously feminine sensation. In spite of all that she has endured, or perhaps because of it, she has never felt more tinglingly alive or more happy to be a woman. Even knowing that in a matter of minutes or hours he will pass her around to others to use as a receptacle for their perverted and brutal lusts only adds a certain poignancy to the emotion. She is eager to be prostituted, used, defiled, degraded, if by doing so she can please this man, making herself more desirable in his eyes and proving her obedience. “First I'm going to give you to others…” he announces, as if divining her thoughts… “Then I'm going to punish you for it, you cock-hungry little whore… or maybe I should punish you first… What do you think?…” Alison squirms in his grasp, unable to answer… shamed by her wetness, her complicity…

Tony's voice on the intercom breaks into the reverie as the long black limo glides to a halt… “We're here, Boss…” After a moment Slate lets go of the bound blonde and withdraws his hand from underneath her skirt, allowing Fiona to help the girl compose herself and arrange her clothing. Tony comes around to open the door and Alison sees that they are in front of a well-appointed brownstone with an awning out in front on an uptown side street in a ritzy neighborhood. A discreet bronze plaque beside the front doors reads “The Caligula Club” with the same design of crossed whips that adorns Alison's collar. Suddenly it feels tighter around her neck as a fresh tingle of fear runs through her, making her weak in the knees. Slate has promised to whip her nightly. As the two men help her out of the car and Slate notices the panicked look in her eye his grip tightens around her arm. He looks at her mockingly, as if daring her to rebel. The street is deserted. For a moment Alison thinks about screaming bloody murder but before she can gather the courage to do so the two men have hustled her up the stairs and the massive carved wooden doors swing open before them, admitting them to a tiled vestibule with another set of doors at the far end and an intercom on the wall.

“I think I can take it from here, Tony…” Slate announces. Tony takes the hint. He knows the Caligula Club is not for such as he. The muscular bodyguard/chauffeur goes back to the limo, leaning back against the fender and lighting a cigarette. It's going to be a longish wait. Fiona grasps the hesitant Alison's other arm as they stand there in the entryway. The doors before them are intricately carved with scenes of Roman orgies and tortures and they are flanked on either side by pedestals holding small marble statues of naked and bound maidens. Hidden security cameras pan over them, ascertaining their identities for ten seconds or so. “Just remember to keep your mouth shut, honey…” the brunette hisses to her captive roommate… “Otherwise we'll just have to gag you… I've got a nice thick penis gag right here in my bag to shut you up with and I'm just dying to put it on you…”

They can faintly hear the sound of hidden bolts being withdrawn electronically as the heavy doors in front of them swing open, revealing the figure of a young and beautiful brunette dressed up as a French Maid as interpreted by John Willie. Like Alison she is evidently tightly corseted and her dress is very tight, very short, and her heels about four inches too high to be practical for housework. No doubt she serves in other capacities.

“Good evening, Sir…” She murmurs deferentially to Slate, as the suddenly reluctant Alison is firmly escorted inside. Behind her she can hear the locks sliding back into place. This is not a place one can just walk out of. “May I take the lady's wrap, Sir? Would you like to check your bag?” the young maid asks as they pause for a moment in the opulently paneled lobby. “Thank you, Lisette…” Slate replies familiarly as he reaches up to untie the bow of the trembling blonde's cape, whisking it from her and handing it to the servant girl to hang in the nearby cloak room. “I think we'll just carry the bag with us… there are some things in there that might come in handy…” If the maid sees anything unusual in Alison's now evident bondage she makes no mention of it. The lovely blonde stands there pinned between her two captors who still grasp her none too gently by the arms, her hands twisting around helplessly in their long white gloves where they are cuffed behind her as she squirms with embarrassment and anxiety. The maid returns in a moment, handing Slate a little numbered check tag which he pockets. Meanwhile a white-haired older gentleman in formal attire and a young woman with her hair bleached platinum wearing a low-cut evening gown approach them from down the richly paneled and carpeted hallway.

“Dorian, how good to see you…” the man greets Slate effusively, shaking his hand warmly and putting a hand on his shoulder… “This must be your newest little acquisition…” he comments, giving Alison an approving glance and smiling broadly. “Good evening, Judge…” Slate replies in his gravelly voice, the hard lines of his face creasing into a quick grin… “Young Alison here is still in training, but I think tonight she's ready for her coming-out party…” The plugged and bound blonde stands there awkwardly as the corrupt-looking older gent blatantly eyes her up and down, practically rubbing his hands together with delight. She feels like a piece of meat about to be thrown into the lion's cage.

“Do you have a seat for us in the Club Room? I thought we might enjoy a drink or two, soak up a little atmosphere…” Slate inquires. “Perhaps you would care to join us…” “I regret that I have other business I must attend to…” the elderly grafter replies, “But our lovely young hostess Andrea here will be happy to escort you and attend to your needs. Perhaps I will see you later upstairs.” “Yes, indeed…” Slate declares as the Judge turns away and walks briskly back down the hallway, disappearing behind a door marked “Private.”

“If you will follow me, sir…” the young woman introduced as Andrea says quietly, turning to lead them down the hall. On closer observation, Alison notices that like herself she wears the collar and cuffs of a slave girl, her thin waist tightly belted and evidently severely corseted as well, and as the statuesque blonde turns around to walk ahead of them she sees that the skirt of her long satin gown and the slip she wears beneath have been pinned or fastened up in the back to reveal her long stockinged legs and the bare flesh of her rear above them, framed by the white lace of her petticoat. She wears no panties and like Alison her well-formed buttocks bear the reddened welts of a recent whipping. She leads them in silence down the hall, swaying gracefully, her extremely high heels making no sound on the soft carpet underneath their feet. She comes to a set of double doors off to the side of the hallway, opening one of them inward.

Immediately the sounds of a number of people in quiet conversation and the clinking of glasses and silverware can be heard over the piped-in music of a string quartet playing some baroque sonatas. They enter a large and ornate dining room, intimately lit, with a bar off to one side at which a number of suited men can be seen in conversation. At one end of the room is a kind of raised platform or stage, which is at this moment dark and empty, the red velvet curtains drawn. At the four corners of the room and beside the double doors six tall and muscular men dressed in black tee shirts embossed with the logo of the club and black tights stand with folded arms. They wear black executioner-style hoods, heavy black boots and black leather gloves on their large strong hands, and from their wide studded belts hang an assortment of whips, cattle prods, etc. Around the room a number of other scantily-clad Maids similar to the one that greeted them at the door are quietly bussing the tables. The entire room is furnished in black and red. Black lacquered chairs with red velvet cushions, etc.

At the twenty or so round tables that dot the room and on couches off to the side with coffee tables set in front of them sit several groups of people, the dozen or so affluent-looking men all dressed in dark suits and ties, and a number of young women silently attending them who appear to be wearing the same hostess gown as Andrea. Only Fiona and perhaps two other women in the room seem to enjoy a different status from the rest, wearing more or less normal street attire. Several of the other hostesses also wear their dresses pinned up in front or behind, and as they circulate from table to table it is evident that like Andrea they wear nothing underneath their skirts. One of them glides by close enough for Alison to reach out and touch and she is shocked to realize that like herself the girl's mound is closely shaved or depilated and she catches the flashing glint of silver where the girl has been pierced and ringed.

Alison is mortified to realize that she is hardly unique in this environment. What, indeed, does she have to offer that any of these other girls do not? They are all young and beautiful and obviously readily obliging. Downcast, she allows herself to be guided to a table up near the stage, sitting down as decorously as possible. The heads of several of the men swivel to follow her as she walks across the room, wishing herself invisible. Slate unclips her bracelets from behind her back and refastens them in front of her. Andrea leans over the table to take their drink orders, revealing plenty of cleavage. A carafe of white wine and a Glenlivet. Would they care for some hors d'ouvres with that? Sure, why not.

After a moment, Andrea returns to their table bearing a tray with their drinks and some canapés, serving each of them their drinks before sitting herself down at the fourth chair at a signal from Slate, folding her hands in her lap and patiently awaiting further instructions. Alison takes a sip of the wine, holding the fluted glass carefully between her cuffed and gloved hands, feeling very strange. Fiona offers her the tray of appetizers. “No thanks, I'm full…” the uneasy blonde replies, thinking of the fourteen inches of rubber dick still stuffed up her ass. The brunette smiles archly, knowing exactly what her little roommate has on her mind. Meanwhile the lights begin to dim and the music fades. Evidently some sort of show or performance is about to take place.

The curtains part and the lights come up slowly. In the center of the stage is a dentist's chair to which has been strapped an obviously terrified girl, naked except for her pale blue satin corset, sheer stockings and high-heeled ankle straps. Her hands and feet are tightly belted to chair, stretching her taught with her legs widely separated to reveal and open her shaven pussy, which has been pierced through both lips from side to side with a number of silver tie-bars which rivet them tightly together. These tie bars have D shaped rings hanging from their ends and similar but smaller device skewers the trembling girl's clitoral hood. The girl's head and neck have been also been strapped tightly to the chair, holding them rigidly immobile. To one side of the dentist's chair is one of those wheeled cabinets you find in doctor's offices which has already been laid out with a selection of nasty-looking glittering chrome dental tools.

The pastel blue corset which constricts her waist is cut low in the front, the half-cups of the bra part lifting and presenting the girl's ample breasts but leaving the nipples exposed. Like Alison her largish pale pink paps have also been pierced in a similar way, with D rings hanging from the tie bars that impale them from side to side. Her auburn hair is long and flowing, her face immaculately made up although already her mascara is starting to run as her chin quivers and she struggles to hold back tears of fear. Two of the forbidding-looking guards stand on either side of her, whips in hand. The white-haired gent who Slate referred to as the Judge strides onto the stage, accompanied by a balding middle-aged guy in a white doctor's coat who is evidently the dentist. The Judge's face, which was earlier beaming with fatherly good humor, is now set in a grim mask of outrage and condemnation.

“Good evening ladies and gentlemen…” he begins, gesturing towards the girl strapped to the chair… “This is Josephine. I'm afraid she has been a very bad girl, quite rebellious, as a matter of fact. Earlier today, when called upon to service one of our esteemed members orally, not only did she refuse to swallow his semen, but actually attempted to bite him and spit it out in his face when commanded to do so. Such insolence cannot be tolerated. Therefore, it is my regretful duty to see that she is punished severely enough so that she will never again think of indulging in such behavior. Therefore, in an effort to make the punishment fit the crime, it has been determined that all of her teeth will now be removed. Since her face will be rendered too unattractive by this procedure to be appealing to our guests, her mouth will have to be put to other uses for the next few days until we arrange to sell her off to some Mexican whorehouse where their standards are not so high. Therefore, she will be fitted with this mask, which as you can see will cover most of her face

except for the eyes. You will note the funnel-like arrangement at the mouth hole. This will facilitate her new role as a human urinal.” One of the black hooded guards holds up the black rubber mask so everyone can see it. “Our friend Dr. Tormentov here is a well-respected oral surgeon and has generously consented to perform this procedure for us.

The stacked young woman squirms in her bondage there in the chair as the white-coated dentist steps up beside her, the two black-clad enforcers moving in close on either side to act as his assistants. “No… no, please… I didn't mean to…” she starts blubbering as Tormentov leans over her with a clamp in his hand. For a moment all you can see is arms and elbows as the clamp is forced into the whimpering girl's mouth and fixed in place there. The doctor turns the screws at the two sides of the device so that Josephine's mouth is forced to gape open widely. She is panting with terror now as the dentist deftly inserts an IV into her arm where it is belted down to the chair. “Just be grateful that I have been permitted to anesthetize you for this surgery. It was agreed that your uninterrupted screaming through the whole procedure would perhaps be too wearing on the nerves of our assembled guests, not to mention my own. Perhaps it was felt that just knowing that you will have to live with this for the rest of your life would cause you enough suffering at this time. And of course there will be ample time in the future for us to hear you scream…” Opening a clip attached to the IV he starts the drip and in a matter of seconds the girl's eyes glaze over and her face falls slack.

This is hardly the first time the good doctor has used his dentist's implements to inflict pain and suffering. As a matter of fact, back in the bad old days before he was able to come to America there were those in his native land who found that he knew how to use his drills and picks as a very useful tool in interrogation. No doubt it was through these kind of connections that he was able to arrange to emigrate here in the first place. Certainly he finds his present surroundings a step up from the dank stone cells in the basements of eastern Europe where he had sometimes worked in the past.

Without further ado the white-coated oral surgeon sets to work. He quickly opens the girl's gums with a scalpel to make it quicker and easier to pry her teeth out. One of the black-hooded guards acts as dental assistant, suctioning off the blood as one by one the doctor methodically pulls the semi-conscious slave girl's teeth out. The room is so quiet that you can hear it each time he takes a tooth that he has removed with his pliers and drops it into a little chrome cup with a clink. All attention is riveted to the events taking place on the stage, the chatter and clinking of glasses has stopped dead. Alison sits there at a ringside table, her stomach churning with the brutality of what she is being forced to witness. Even Fiona seems subdued. Certainly discipline here at the Caligula Club can be administered with frightening severity and ruthlessness. “I… I have to go to the ladies' room…” she whispers hesitantly to Slate, who sits there impassively sipping his drink. In fact the sickening fear that consumes her as she identifies with the tortured girl on stage fills her with a burning need to urinate, as well as a desire to escape having to witness any further punishments. “No…” Slate declares flatly. “Sit here and watch this. I think you may find it educational.”

Alison inwardly resolves to make every effort to never put herself in such a position and obey every command with alacrity, no matter how humiliating or disgusting. Of course, the show on stage is meant to produce just such an effect, making an example of poor Josephine for the benefit of the other girls as well as for her own punishment and the entertainment of those in the audience who enjoy witnessing such things. She burns with humiliation and helpless frustration at having to ask permission to go to the bathroom like a little girl in grade school and then having it denied, squirming uncomfortably in her seat. Meanwhile, up on the stage, Doctor Tormentov has finally finished his work with the pliers and is busily sewing up the punished slave girl's gums. Although it has seemed like forever, the whole operation has taken no more than fifteen minutes.

Once Josephines's gums have been sutured, the other of the two enforcer types steps up with the funnel-mask contraption in his hand and quickly forces the thing into the still groggu girl's mouth as the doctor removes his clamp, buckling the mask securely in place around her head. A stiff rubbery tube perhaps two inches wide and three or four inches long is now firmly wedged into the girl's toothless mouth, keeping it open and ending in the flaring funnel on the outside. All that can be seen of the girl's face now are her eyes, which continually stream with tears. Dr. Tormentov removes the IV from the girl's arm and steps back as she slowly begins to regain full consciousness. The two black-suited goons then unbuckle the still-wobbly young woman from the chair she has been strapped into and force her to her knees there on the stage facing the audience. Her hands and elbows are bound behind her back and then her wrists are tied to her ankles so that she is forced to remain in that kneeling position. The rings in her tits and cunt are hung with heavy weights to make sure she remains in constant pain. The Judge shakes Tormentov's hand and thanks him for his excellent work as the doctor steps off the stage.

“You can put her in the Men's room right there to the right of the bar…” the Judge instructs his two underlings, who pick the girl up from under each arm and carry her off the stage as lightly as a box of feathers. No sooner is Josephine carried through the door of the room marked “Gents” then two of the guys who have been standing at the bar drinking beer head in there after her. I will skip over the details of subsequent events there in the Men's room. Suffice it to say that Josephine will be forced to swallow many gallons of urine in the next few days as she waits to be shipped off to some third-world brothel. The Judge turns back to face the onlooking crowd, who have pretty much been sitting there in attitudes of rapt silence and/or shock through this whole ordeal, and wishes them all a pleasant evening as he walks off the stage and the lights in the room come back up.

“Holy shit…” Fiona mutters… “I see that they haven't relaxed their discipline any since the last time I was here. Gee that judge is strict. I sure hope I never come up before him with a speeding ticket or something.” Alison sits there stunned by the bizarre tableaux she has just witnessed, shaking with fear and revulsion, amazed that her roommate can make light of the sickening spectacle up there on the stage. “You can take Alison to the bathroom now…” Slate announces to his female minion… “She looks a little pale. Maybe she could use a booster shot…” “You got it, boss…” Fiona rises to obey, helping the ashen-faced blonde up from her seat and taking her by the elbow to escort her to the ladies room. Andrea gets up to bring Slate another drink and once again the sounds of glasses clinking and quiet conversation can be heard around the room.

Once in the powder room, Fiona walks her shaken roommate over to an open stall, watching in wry amusement as the blonde struggles to hitch her skirt up and pull her panties down over her hips with her cuffed hands. Alison notes that the toilets have been fitted to double as bidets and that a douche/enema nozzle in a plastic wrapper dongles from a hose and spigot attached to the wall. How convenient. “Don't take it so hard, cookie…” the dark-haired dominant advises. “Stuff like that happens here all the time. You'll get used to it. Just be glad it wasn't you. Besides, you have to fuck up big time to earn that kind of treatment. Just be a good girl and you won't get anything you can't handle. Here… I've got a little something here in my bag to cheer you up.”

So saying, pulls a syringe and one of those rubber-stoppered bottles out of the bag she has been toting around with her. As Fiona carefully fills up the hypodermic, Alison squats down on the toilet. Imagine her surprise when, just as the pent-up urine is about to escape from her body, one of the dark-suited male guests strolls casually into the room and stands there leaning against the wall, peering openly into the doorless stall where the lovely blonde sits with her panties around her ankles, her face flushing a furious crimson. “There's no such thing as privacy here, honey…” Fiona observes. She should have known. “Don't hold back, Alison… let it go…” her mistress advises. “Some guys just like to watch. Go ahead and piss, you stupid little cunt, before you make me impatient with you.”

The mortified young woman closes her eyes, trying to block out the man with his staring eyes, forcing her body to relax. Her water splashes loudly into the commode, her pink hairless rectum clenching around the plug that still fills her in time with the jets of urine that shoot from her pierced pussy, which is again starting to throb and ache. She wonders if the guy watching her can see the shiny little chains on either side of her belly that hold the big butt-stretcher in place, and if he knows what they are for. She wipes herself furtively, doing her best to conceal the impaling instrument from his eyes. “Don't be shy, Alison…” Fiona admonishes her. “Stand up and let the gentleman here have a better look at you…”

Trembling in shame, the submissive blonde stands up in the stall, leaving her panties down around her ankles and her skirt hiked up over her hips. “Very nice… very nice…” the weasely-looking thirtyish guy compliments her. She's not sure if he's referring to her, her shaven pussy, or the piercings that adorn it. He looks like the son of some wealthy industrialist or banker, spoiled useless and obviously thinking highly of himself. “Turn around, Alison…” her mistress commands… “Give us a little pirouette…” The young woman has no choice but to obey, with the drama that was just played out on stage still very much on her mind. “Ahhh… I see she's still in training…” the man observes as her plugged condition becomes readily apparent… “How delicious… I do like them fresh and unspoiled… perhaps I could arrange to borrow her for a while…” “You'd have to talk to Mr. Slate about that…” Fiona suggests. “He's back there in the Club Room…”

The wormy-looking guy takes his leave, promising to see them both later. “Will the Master really give me to him?” Alison asks with distaste. “Maybe…” Fiona answers…”But I doubt it. He hates that little queer. If it wasn't for his father's money and influence he wouldn't be mooning around here at all, but hanging around the schoolyard trying to stare up little girl's dresses. Still, we've gotta act like we respect him. Now come over here and bend over. I'm gonna give you a shot…”

Alison hesitantly bends over the counter in front of the brightly lit mirror that runs from wall to wall above it, putting her cuffed hands cool pink marble and leaning her weight on them as Fiona swabs off a spot on her white buttocks, her panties still down around her ankles. She winces slightly as the needle sinks into the muscles of her ass, her face once more losing its tension and becoming relaxed and dreamy as the drugs get flowing through her system again, spreading a melting warmth and tingling electricity through her over-worked nervous system, easing the painful throbbing that has returned to her pierced sex organs and relaxing her bowels around the impaling dildo that fills her. Fiona helps her to straighten herself out, removing the sheer white panties from her legs and stuffing them in her purse, stripping the blonde for action. After smoothing down her skirt, the captive receptionist reaches into her clutch purse and with an unconsciously habitual feminine gesture takes out her lipstick to touch up her makeup and powder her nose. Fiona smiles to herself. Even at this moment and after all that has happened and been done to her the delicate young miss is still concerned about her appearance, wanting to always look her best. She's a sweet one all right. Slate will be pleased.

They exit the ladies' toilette and walk back down the hall to the Club Room, entering the double doors to see that everything is more or less as they left it. Slate is still sitting there at the table calmly nursing his drink. However, the place beside him at the table has been taken by another man, and Andrea sits there perched on his knee, looking like a bird in the grip of an ugly bear as he idly fondles her tits and ass. The man is fiftyish and grotesquely overweight, the rolls of lard sagging from underneath his triple chins. His face is coarse and unrefined, with broken capillaries reddening his potato of a nose and he looks like he always needs a shave in spite of the thousand-dollar suit he wears. His mean little piggish eyes light up as the women approach.

Slate speaks up as they near the table…” Alison I'd like you to meet Mr. Accardo… he and I go back a long way together, all the way back to the old neighborhood in the Bronx, as a matter of fact. No… don't sit down… I think it's time we go and explore the rest of the Club… Shall we go upstairs?” “Fuckin' A…” says Fat Sal gruffly… Pleased to meetcha…” “Alison just stands there, unsure how to address this unsavory apparition. He looks like a gangster straight from Central Casting, right down to the diamond pinky ring. “C'mon, blondie…” the heavyset older man commands Andrea, pushing her off his lap as he huffs and puffs to get up out of the chair.

Meekly, the satin-gowned hostess leads the way, walking gracefully out of the room and down the hallway to a staircase leading to the second floor. Slate takes Alison's arm and guides her along behind, with Fiona bringing up the rear hauling her black bag of tricks. Andrea's naked and welted buttocks jiggle and bounce within the frame of the folds of her skirts that cascade down around them as she mounts the carpeted staircase, Fat Sal following their every movement with his eyes. “Follow the bouncing balls, folks…” he jokes as he laboriously heaves his bulk up the stairs, grunting with every step. “We gotta put an elevator in this dump…” he complains.

Stepping out onto the second floor landing, they find themselves at the end of another long paneled hallway with a set of double doors on one side and a number of smaller rooms on the other. Muffled sounds can be heard from inside. “Let's check out the action in the Game Room first…” Fat Sal suggests, grinning with sweaty anticipation. Andrea leads them to the double French doors, sliding one of them aside so that they can enter the room. Inside, they are confronted with a bizarre spectacle.

The room is cavernous, the same size as the dining room/stage which lies directly underneath it and is also decorated in the same opulent style, all in red and black with richly paneled walls, subdued lighting and piped-in music. All along one end of the room are a group of low couches and hassocks, upholstered in red velvet plush, on which may be seen a number of men and women in various stages of undress. All of the women have removed their gowns and are dressed similarly in variously colored pastel satin corsets with matching stockings and high heeled strappy pumps. They are obviously slave girls, all young, beautiful and well-built, cuffed and collared like Alison and also similarly shaved and pierced in various configurations. The slapping of flesh against flesh can be heard, along with the moans and cries of the girls as they are being penetrated and the grunts and growls of the men working them over. One group is especially vocal, a young woman being doubly impaled fore and aft by two of the suited gentlemen, who have removed their pants and shorts but kept their jackets and ties on.

All along one of the side walls are racks of whips, chains, dildoes and bondage equipment. Jars of lube are scattered around the room mounted on little brass pedestals like ashtray stands. At the other end of the room from the sitting area stand a number of whipping posts, X-shaped crosses, bondage benches and suspensory apparatus, looking rather like the rows of machines at a health club except for their obviously more sinister purpose. One of the girls, a stunning redhead with long Shirley Temple curls, is currently being whipped at the post, her hands hung from a hook high above her head as she writhes under the relentless blows of a long black leather cat being wielded by one of the Masters. The smacking of braided leather against flesh echoes throughout the room in time with her gagged and muffled screams.

The only other female in the room besides Fiona who is not similarly corseted and pierced is a middle-aged brunette beauty in a dark business suit who sits back regally in an armchair, the head of one of the kneeling young slaves buried in her lap as she languidly flicks a four-foot braided whip out to lash the girl's upraised behind. “Faster… faster…” she commands breathlessly. One of the other slave girls is also down on her hands and knees, her hands fastened behind her back as one of the men face-fucks her forcefully, holding her head by the ears as he hammers his dick down her throat. There are no male submissives here. It is not permitted. Those looking for that kind of action will have to go to another part of town. Perhaps it is felt that to allow such things would create too much confusion.

Allison's heart pounds in her chest, her pulse quickening and her hairless pussy awakening with the knowledge that soon now, in fact any minute, she will be called upon to provide similar services. The fresh dose of drugs that have been administered to her have left her once more breathlessly expectant. “Take your dress off, Alison…” Slate commands her… “Fiona will assist you…” Andrea has already slipped out of her gown, carefully folding it and laying it aside on a bench near the door, where a half dozen others already lie. Fiona undoes the buckle of the wide white leather belt around her roommate's waist and unzips the back of her dress, helping the blonde to shrug herself out of it with her hands still cuffed in front of her as they have been since they left the apartment.

Aside from the color of their hair, Andrea and Alison could almost be twins. Both are similarly dressed and made up, both classy, vulnerable and delicate-looking, slender and leggy with oval faces, full breasts and narrow shoulders. Andrea's corset and stockings are of pale pink, rather than white, and her shaved slit is ringed differently. In fact, a row of five silver circlets extends the length of her horizontally-pierced clitoral shaft, with five more down the length of each of her inner labia. The enslaved receptionist notes with horrified fascination that the other girl's soft white hairless mound above her slit has been tattooed prominently in black and bright pink-magenta with the same design of crossed whips that adorns her collar, with the letter R in scrolly script inscribed in the middle of the symmetrical design. No doubt Spider will be returning to tattoo her own sweet quivering mons with a similar monogram, labeling her indelibly and forever as the property of her Master and his secret society. Andrea's longish nipples, too, have been multiply skewered, with one set of larger rings set close to the base and another thinner set of rings set through the tips of her bright pink buds, both clearly visible above the lacy half-cups of the pink satin corset that grips her tightly around the waist. Slate reaches over to touch them, intrigued, as the platinum-haired babe forces herself to hold still and keep silent as he flicks her hardening little nips with his finger.

“Look at this, Alison…” the granite-faced construction exec commands her. “I think I'll have Spider make a set like these for you. I like what they've done with her clit, too… really makes it stand out and beg for attention, don't you think? Make a note of that, Fiona…” Alison stands there with her eyes downcast facing Andrea from two or three feet away, her hands shaking in their bracelets as she trembles with the sudden memory of sharp needles probing within her feminine anatomy and the sure and certain knowledge that soon she is to be pierced again. It makes the silver shafts already embedded in her flesh throb with renewed intensity as their presence is once more brought to the forefront of her mind. Her rectum contracts and flutters around the thick phallic intruder still locked up her bowels as she quivers in fear. Now everyone can see it, and it is readily apparent what it is and what its purpose must be.

Slate fastens Alison's white leather leash to the ring attached to the silver shaft that spears vertically up through her suddenly stiffening clit and leads her and the rest of his little party over to the lounging area, finding an open spot in a circular grouping of modular couches and low cushions. Some of the men looking on from across the room fall silent, watching Alison mince along behind as Slate leads her by the cunt. Fat Sal holds Andrea by the arm and huffs and puffs along behind, with Fiona bringing up the rear.

“Lay down on that cushion over there…” Slate orders, nodding to Andrea and indicating a rectangular red velvet hassock about three feet by four and maybe three feet thick, the seams of which have been set with a number of rings, convenient for the fastening of girls. “Let's make these hot little bitches eat each other's cunts…” Fat Sal suggests, his eyes glittering as he steps over to help fasten the girl down on her back, each of the men taking one of her slender wrists and fastening it to a corner of the cushion. They then repeat this procedure with her ankles so that the platinum blonde is spread-eagled on top of the cushion with her knees up and her smooth white crotch spread open. “Let's let Alison warm Andrea's twat up a little…” says the overweight Mafioso coarsely… “I love to watch two girls going at it…”

Slate refastens her hands behind her back and walks Alison up to the foot of the red velvet cushion, pushing down on her shoulders and forcing her to her knees. She looks up at him anxiously. “You know what to do, Alison… get your tongue in there…” Slate commands her coldly, pointing with his finger at Andrea's open pussy with its array of glittering rings. With an inward sigh of resignation, Alison bends to her work, hesitantly sticking out her tongue as her face nears the hairless moist slit of her sister in servitude. Slate shoves her face down into the submissive hostess' sweet young cunt, mashing her nose up into the girl's wet crotch and smearing her face with her juices. “G'wan get in there…” he instructs her roughly.

Swiftly, her face burning with humiliation, the buttplugged blonde thrusts her pink tongue as far as she can get it between the ringed inner labia of the other girl, licking it upwards to slurp underneath the hood of her multiply-pierced clit. Andrea sighs and wiggles her hips around underneath Alison's mouth sensuously, her breath catching in her throat as she feels her little bud caught in a long sucking bite that makes her buck her hips and moan deep in the back of her throat. Alison licks her smoothly shaved pussy fervently, beginning to enjoy the way she is making the other girl respond to her, wanting to please her Master and prove how obedient she can be. She can taste the sweet honey that pours from Andrea's open slit as she thrusts her stiffened tongue as far as she can get it into the other girl's squirming cunt. The platinum-haired hostess strains her belly up into her, mashing her pussy against Alison's face eagerly now as she seeks for her orgasm, shuddering and gritting her teeth as the hot spasms overcome her.

Slate walks over to a rack on the wall and selects a black leather riding crop, walking back over to a spot just behind Alison. He reaches down from behind, rubbing it up and down the length of her slit. Alison whimpers responsibly as he touches her down there with his whip. She presses her bottom back against the shaft of the crop, riding it as her tongue continues to dance over Andrea's captive cunt. “She sucks a pussy pretty good…” Fat Sal admits… “Let's see how the other one does.”

The two men raise Alison up by the armpits and walk her around the ottoman so that she is facing downwards at the head of the thing. They boost her up so that her knees are on either side of Andrea's shoulders and she is squatting over the girl's face, pushing Alison down onto the other girl's squirming torso so that they are sixty-nining each other, fastening Alison's ankles to Andrea's wrists and vice-versa. Alison feels something hot and wet and squirmy parting the tender inner lips of her pussy, fastening on the throbbing tip of her pierced clit, making it dance, stroking it soothingly, delightfully… it seems the least she can do is reciprocate. She feels the leather of Slate's whip caressing her naked butt cheeks, feels herself straining against the harness that holds the whole fourteen inches of black rubber dick locked up her ass, her buttocks clenching as she mashes her crotch down on Andrea's submissively licking tongue.

Alison gently pulls at the rings piercing the platinum blonde underneath her with her teeth, tugging on the hairless nymph's clitoral shaft by the silver circlets that impale it, reaching out with the tip of her tongue to touch the hardening bud at the top of the other girl's shaven slit. She can feel the tongue working underneath her redouble its attack, making her squirm with arousal, encouraging her to further efforts. She knows that this is what the men want her to do, will have her do. She's not really a lesbian or anything, but she knows what to do and how to do it. She's been getting plenty of practice on Fiona lately.

Alison slurps and sucks at the bound girl's quivering mound beneath her, as her own pierced pussy is in turn by Andrea's sucking seeking lips, inflaming the hardening shaft of her straining clit. Alison oohs and coos and bucks her hips up and down responsively, her insides melting and coming to a focus there at the point where Slate's ring in her clit throbs under the tongue lashing of the squirming slave girl beneath her. Slate stands over her, reaching down to unfasten the chains that hold the butt plug inside her, slowly pulling its length free from the hot confines of her stuffed up bowels. The submissive receptionist groans as the last couple of inches come popping out, her aching ass channel squeezing and spasming reflexively on empty air.

She will not remain empty long, however. Her Master already has his dick out of his immaculately pressed trousers, sticking out of there as hard as a fence post. She stares determinedly down into the open cunt of the slave girl she straddles as she feels the fat head of his cock prying at her anal dot. He's going to fuck her now. Hard. Up the ass. Just like he said he would, tonight and every night from now until forever… Fight in front of all these people. Now everyone will know what a little whore she is. Alison gulps, her eyes closed and her mouth open as she prepares herself obediently for a deep anal reaming at the hands of her Master, her heart pounding like the wings of a frightened hummingbird.

The wavy-haired construction exec sinks his rock hard throbbing tool smoothly into Alison's well-stretched and receptive rear, stretching her pink sphincter membranes like rubber bands around its massive girth. After a couple of hours of plug training she opens easily for him, taking it happily to the hilt into her slick hot back tunnel. The girl squirms and squeaks and wiggles her butt around furiously as he sinks deeper and deeper into her quivering recesses, penetrating her relentlessly until the delicate ring of her rectum is stretched tight around the veiny hairy base of his manhood. Andrea's tongue reaches up to inflame her clit, making her bowels flutter sweetly around the dick that penetrates them. “OOOOHHHH… OOOOOOHHHHHH…” Alison moans in ecstasy as she thrusts herself back onto the shaft of Slate's sodomizing dick, letting his hands on her hips dictate her movements as her pussy quivers madly beneath Andrea's determined oral onslaught. “OOOOHHH YESSS MISSTER SSSLATE…” the buttfucked blonde whimpers subserviently… “FUCK ME… PLEASE FUCK MEEE… FUCK ME HARDER UP MY ASSSSSS… I… I'LL MAKE IT GOOD FOR YOU… I'LL BE GOOD… I'LL BE GOOD…”

Her voice trails off into a lingering moan as Slate starts pounding his thick tool up her ass with sledgehammer force, knocking the wind out of her lungs, leaving her panting and her head spinning. “Shut up and suck that cunt…” he commands her shortly. Meanwhile, Fat Sal has decided to get in on the action. He drops his trousers and steps up between Andrea's legs at the bottom end of the cushion, just above Alison's slurping face. She can feel his flabby belly pressed up against the top of her head as he rudely thrusts his stumpy old dick up to the sweet shaved lips of the other girl's shaved pussy directly in front of her face. Slate is giving her the length of his dick now in low gear, taking his time and making her feel every millimeter of it as he slowly works it in and out of her straining squishing rectal orifice from behind and above her. Alison sighs and lays her head down on Andrea's heaving belly as the blonde beneath her begins to respond to the fucking motion of Fat Sal's stumpy dork. It's… it's going to be a long one, Alison thinks to herself gratefully as she adjusts her soft buttocks around Slate's stiff manly member, excitedly making room in the pit of her bowels for the pounding of his cock.

Her hairless and pieced slit quivers as Andrea's dancing tongue as it works its way up and down between her slippery and ringed inner labia, making her fuck slot gush and cream itself as she feels her clit caught between the other girl's sharp little nibbling teeth, gently bitten and teased until she's writhing and squirming, bucking her hips back hard on the long thick cock that sodomistically impales her. “OOOOHHH… OOOOHHH… OOOOHHH…” she coos in submissive delight, her stretched-out rectum milking docily on her Master's rigid tool so deep up her ass. “OOOOHHH… OOOOHHH… OOOOHHH…” Alison moans as Slate pounds his dick up her tightly stretched pink up her tightly-stretched pink poopchute mercilessly, fucking her as if she were an experienced whore instead of instead of a fresh young girl, battering the insides of her bowels with his rampant cock head, stirring it up inside her, controlling every fiber of her being with his driving dick.

She feels a hand at her hair, pulling her head up, pulling her face back until her mouth hangs open and gasping and she is staring at the fat pecker of Sal Accardo, wet with the juices of the pussy it has just vacated. Tentatively, she reaches out with her tongue to tickle the little hole at the very tip. Fat Sal smiles, stepping forward another step and leaning his fat belly into her to pop the length of his swarthy fat pecker into her bow-shaped mouth. “Yeahhh… blow me, blondie…” the oafish-looking gangster demands, pulling at the silken strands of her hair like reins as he rams his flabby belly into her face. “GLRKKK… GLRKKK… GLRKKK…” Alison responds, sucking and slurping eagerly but gently on the dick that gags her as she opens and surrenders to her Master's hard-driving cock, wanting to please him with her obedience as she polishes Fat Sal's fuckknob between her lips, tickling the underside of it with her wickedly flicking tongue, making it twitch and ooze clear liquid from the tip.

Slate bounces his hips off her upturned buttocks with a steady smack smack smack as he relentlessly powers his burning thickness up her aching clutching anus… tying her insides in a knot that seems to get tighter and tighter as it coils and gathers within her belly. Her open wet pussy rubs shamelessly up and down on Andrea's licking tongue, sending thrills of sex electricity up and down her spine to jolt in her stiffly upstanding little clit right where the silver shaft pierces it. The dick in her mouth tastes and smells of the slave girl's hot pussy that it recently came from. Alison's head is spinning, lost in a whirlwind of sensation as her guts convulse around the Master's driving dick, shuddering and rigid as she comes from deep in her ass…

Slate just keeps fucking her… fucking her on and on and on as her body involuntarily relaxes, then begins to respond anew… fucking her on and on as Sal grows shaking and rigid in her avidly sucking mouth, his stumpy grizzled dick popping free of her oral embrace to spray hot jism over her cheeks, her nose, her lips. Her mouth hangs open and gasping, her eyes closed submissively as her Master still reams out her rectum tirelessly with his long thick fuckpole. She's getting all breathless, anticipating the hot spurt of come in the depths of her seething bowels. She wants it… wants to feel that sticky hot goo all up inside her… she meeps and coos under him, silently begging him to shoot his hot load in there, right now… right now… right now…

As if connected by an invisible thread, Slate seems to know just what to do to bring her to the most dizzying heights of arousal. He pounds her upturned butt furiously now, his thick pecker jerking and twitching as it spews its thick white juices and he churns them into the depths of her squirming ass guts. Alison is jerking and flopping around like a fish out of water, enchanted with the hot glow of come that fills her spasming bowels. Finally, Slate pulls away from her naked tush, his slime-coated dick popping out of her reddened and sore sphincter, a thin dribble of come dripping down the prone and helpless slave girl's crack.

Fiona is there quickly to mop up the mess, first cleaning off her boss and his friend with moist towels like baby wipes as they button themselves back up and finally wiping the cooling rivulets of jism off of Alison's face and hindquarters. “Should I untie ‘em, Boss?” she asks the recumbent Slate, who has fallen back onto a nearby chaise. “Nah… leave ‘em like that…” Fat Sal suggests, pointing with the stump of a fat smelly cigar at the two half-naked slave girls still fastened to the ottoman. “It'll give the other guests a good chance to look ‘em over. This is Alison's big debut… don'tcha want to show her of a little?” Slate nods indifferently. Alison lays there mortified, already embarrassingly aware of the stares and comments of a number of the other guests who have gathered around the periphery of their little group. Undoubtedly they have all witnessed her recent performance. God knows what they must think. Now that the action has slowed down she is once more cognizant of the display she has made of herself and burns with shame. If her status was not clear before it certainly is now.

The submissive receptionist's heart sinks within her as Slate and Fat Sal walk off with Fiona to the bar across the room, leaving her and Andrea fastened there to each other on the big red rectangular cushion with the conveniently mounted rings. Alison winces inwardly, unable to shrink away as a group of interested guests walk over to inspect the tableaux so obviously left there for their enjoyment. She feels strange hands on her smooth swelling ass cheeks, caressing the dark welts that still crisscross her finely shaped rump, admiring her tightly corseted waist and fingering the silvery rings that dangle from her damp inner lips. She closes her eyes in resignation as a blunt forefinger probes her slippery pink rectum, dipping into her, feeling her hot smoothness. “What is your name, child?” a deep voice resonates in her ear. “A… Alison, sir…” the blonde stammers, pushing back involuntarily on the fingers that now are probing her ass and pussy simultaneously, trying to accommodate herself to their penetrating presence.

“You're going to be very popular around here, Alison…” the unseen stranger behind her assures her as he stirs up her pussy and poopchute with his bony fingers…“Very popular indeed…” Several other dark-suited gentlemen subject her to a similarly intimate inspection, although none actually go so far as to fuck her. Not yet. She is still Slate's property, and still under his direct authority. By the unspoken etiquette of the club, he must decide when and by who she may be taken, at least until she's been passed around enough to become common property, as Andrea evidently has. She already has her lips locked around the swarthy unit of another of the Masters… a dark curly-haired arabish-looking fellow in a dark square shiny suit, an evil grin on his salt-and-pepper goateed face, his fiendish curly eyebrows knit and his stern black eyes glinting like an ayatollah's.

The slender platinum blonde's throat works subserviently on his hairy dick as it pokes out of his unzipped fly. Alison looks back over her shoulder at him uneasily, terrified that he will take it into his head to penetrate her exposed nether parts. There is little to stop him, other than the unwritten rules of the club. For the moment that is enough. The scary-looking arab guy walks away muttering, attracted by the sounds of a whip striking flesh across the room, not bothering to zip up his pants. He looks so comical with his fat dick hanging out that Alison can barely suppress a nervous giggle. “What's so funny, slave girl?” she hears a gravelly voice behind her.

It is Slate, standing there behind her with another man, tall, broad-shouldered and erect with white hair, looking sort of like an older airline pilot or TV newsman. Sort of a Peter Graves type, if you will, but serious and reserved in demeanor. Fat Sal has wandered off to pursue further adventures elsewhere. Fiona sits herself down on one of the couches around the circular grouping as Slate introduces Alison to Mister Goodwood, who stares gravely down at her bare white ass poking temptingly out of the bottom of her tight corset. Slate reaches down to caress her flanks, petting her like a horse tied up in a stall, making her wiggle around nervously as he points out her piercings and describing in glowing terms the sweet receptiveness of her behind. “And you say that you already have her trained to the whip?” the silver-haired gent queries. “She can't keep herself from coming on the post…” Slate laughs… “Take my word for it… this little slut needs a good whipping now and then, just to keep her pussy percolating. She needs to be punished.”

Alison gulps in anxiety as her nether parts are vented and inspected carefully, knowing that Slate isn't just talking. She's gonna get it. “It's a little too public here for my tastes…” the serious-looking gent indicates to Slate… “Why don't we retire to one of the private rooms along the hall to pursue this discussion further. I'm sure we'll find whatever instruments are necessary conveniently available. The two men agree, setting about to unfasten Alison and Andrea from the ottoman and helping them to rise. Taking the two women by the arms, they march them off out the double doors of the Game Room and down the darkly paneled hallway with Fiona as usual bringing up the rear, lugging her satchel.

There is a sort of gallery of bondage art running along between the doors of the hallway, each picture dramatically lit by a small spot. Women in tight leather or latex and rubber gear, bound and ringed, penetrated and tormented through all ages of history. Scenes of Roman slave girls, medieval inquisitors and heretics, etc. etc. Alison marches along reluctantly with Slate's hand on her upper arm. They pass the solid-looking wooden doors to a number of smaller rooms on the other side of the hallway from the Game Room. The Blue Room, the Red Room, etc. Discreet lights indicate whether the room is occupied. Finally they stop at the door to the Black room.

Goodwood takes a small key from a ring in his pocket to unlock the door, stepping aside to usher them in. The two corseted slave girls go first, with Fiona and the men following and clicking the door shut solidly behind them. As in the Game Room there are a number of low couches and large cushions of black velvet scattered about the floor of the medium-sized room. At one wall of the room is mounted a bondage horse and a whipping post, also done up in black. As a matter of fact, everything in the room is black, except for the glints of silver from the many rings and hooks which have been mounted on every piece of furniture, in every nook and corner. Black wallpaper, black carpet, black lampshades on the black lamps, black drapes and black lacquered chests of drawers filled with whips and chains and clamps and plugs. Black enema bags with big black balloons to hold their shiny black nozzles in place.

Fiona and the two men in their dark suits blend right into the blackness, Alison and Andrea standing out startlingly white amid the darkness that surrounds them. “Fiona, why don't you fix these girls a little pick-me-up…” Slate orders… “We wouldn't want little Alison here to poop out during her premiere performance, would we? I think Mr. Goodwood here would like to see them take it anally. Take out some long needles. We want to give it to them good and deep…” As Alison hears these words, her knees start shaking and her belly turns to water, knowing that in a matter of moments she will no doubt be tightly tied, holding her breath and feeling the glittering cold point of the lance poised to probe within her sensitive pink rectum.

Trembling and almost faint with fear, the breathless blonde nevertheless allows Slate to arrange her on one of the square ottomans so that she is up on all fours with her hands and ankles fastened to the four corners of the cushion underneath her. Goodwood fixes Andrea into a similar configuration. Alison looks back over her shoulder apprehensively, listening to the clink of glass and metal as Fiona prepares a series of injections for the two girls. Three 5cc syringes for each, with one, two and three inch needles. Alison closes her eyes, unable to watch as Fiona approaches her exposed hindquarters with the glittering hypo already in hand. She cries out as the shining surgical steel shaft penetrates her soft anal membranes, making her wince and a fat tear squeeze from the corner of her eye.

“OOOHHHH…” she sighs as the warm numbness and tingling excitement start to radiate and flow from the point of the needle where it is buried inside her. ‘OOOOOOHHHH…' she moans as the needle moves deeper within her, probing, spreading its glow up inside her ass and her suddenly wetly receptive cunt. Alison lets her head hang down limply between her arms, her whole being focused on the point of Fiona's shining hypodermic as it probes around inside her quivering rectal entrance, spreading a helpless liquid trembling wherever it goes. By the time Fiona empties the first of the hypos into her, she is already pretty spaced out, her mouth hanging open and her eyes getting glassy. Fiona goes over to repeat this procedure on Andrea as Slate picks up a second and longer needle and syringe and leans over Alison's behind, placing the flat of his hand on the small of her back to hold her still. “I'll take over now…” he says.

For a long moment, she can just feel the tip of the point poised at the very center of her anal dot, tickling her. Slate scrapes it around there, teasing her with it and pricking her gently, making her whimper and whine in the back of her throat, before he suddenly thrusts the whole length of the two-inch needle directly down into the sidewall of her slick pink rectum up there behind her cunt. Alison cries out as she is suddenly speared, then melts again into quiet acceptance as she feels more drugged warmth blossoming deeper and deeper into her belly and up her hot ass. She moves with Slate now, unconsciously pushing herself back against the needle to get it deeper inside her as he probes it around, pulling it back only to sink it deeper and higher up her asshole. “I've got her trained to the needle, too.” Slate remarks to his companion, who is completing a similar operation on the platinum blonde tied up before him.

“She loves it when I give it to her up the ass…” the saturnine exec gloats as he finally pulls the empty syringe from the pink clinging flesh of Alison's inner walls. Liquid tremors of delight flutter though the blonde, making her arms and legs feel rubbery. She lets her head sink down into the cushion beneath her so that only her rear is raised up in the air, her face down on the pillow sideways and her mouth hanging open. Slate walks around in front of her to show her the wicked-looking three-inch needle on the syringe he carries in his right hand. “You know what I'm going to do with this?…” the cruel-looking construction honcho taunts her.

“Yesss… yesss, Sir…” the frightened blonde confesses… “You're going to put it in my ass… way down deep inside…” doped-out blonde admits, shamed but anxious now to feel another syringe full of liquid pleasure even deeper up her spasming asshole. Slate circles around again to her hips, satisfied with this confession. He sticks his finger up hr quivering pink rectum, stretching it out around his stiff digit and then using the tip of his finger to guide the point of the three-inch needle up into the girl's anal canal. He threads it up there carefully, pushing the smooth glass barrel of the syringe up and into her well-lubricated asshole at the same time, not stopping until two inches of its length are gripped inside the whimpering slavegirl's slick pink rectum, with another three inches of needle buried in the inner flesh of her ass. Thus the point of the needle is now buried in her squishy ass guts about five inches up inside her. Alison sighs and moans, pushing back with her inner walls on the steel shaft of the needle as jolts of hot wet electricity and liquid warmth blossom inside her, wanting to feel it deeper now, deeper… “OOOOOOHHH… AAAAAHHHHHH… OOOOOOHHHH…” She coos, totally lost in the waves of warm gushy sensuality and anxious desire that wash over her trembling body. Still, she remains carefully motionless, totally transfixed by the steel shaft of the needle that penetrates into her feminine core from behind.

Meanwhile, Goodwood looks on in grim satisfaction and fascination as Fiona administers to Andrea in a similar fashion. Alison's whole lower belly and tush now feel as though they are filled with liquid heat from the cumulative effect of all these injections. Her head is spinning and swimming with fearful excitement and drugged-out docility, lost in some dreamy never-never land. On the couch next to her, her sister in submission is in a similar state, tossing her head around vaguely and moaning as the drugs take their effect upon her. Slate empties the last of the syringe inside the trembling slave girl, stepping back and setting down the syringe, which Fiona picks up and packs away.

“Yeah, a little speedball up the ass is all these bitches need…” Slate comments to his serious-looking companion… “Then they lose their fucking minds… ready to do anything and love you for it…” “Sad but true…” the taller man agrees, wiping his fingers fastidiously. “They're all such fucking sluts… they deserve a good whipping…” “Indeed…” Slate agrees… “…And I'm betting that you're just the guy to help me give it to them!… Why don't we get my little trainee here over on the bondage horse and Andrea can go cuddle up to the whipping post. Then we can see which one of them comes faster under the lash. My money's on Alison here, even though she's not as well-trained as the other babe. She's just a natural… I'll bet I can have her creaming and popping her cookies by the twenty-fifth lash.”

“Well, I've been known as a pretty fair hand with the lash myself…” Goodwood muses. “Perhaps a little wager would make it more interesting… let's say a thousand bucks?…” “Done…” says Slate… “One thousand bucks says that I can make Alison come with my whip before you can do the same with Andrea. “Oh no…” says Goodwood… “Let's switch girls, and then see who comes first. No doubt Alison has special feelings for you which may give you a certain advantage…”

“Alison's special feelings extend to any man who whips her ass…” Slate declares roughly. “I'll still bet she comes before Andrea does…” Goodwood agrees to the terms. “Just don't cut her up too much…” warns Slate. “I don't want her injured… just punished…” The two girls' ears burn as they listen to their fate being decided casually by the two men, looking at each other helplessly as they hear their fate being decided casually by the two men and hearing that they are about to be flogged, but it seems to Alison as if the words are coming from a million miles away. Andrea tries to smile encouragingly at her, as if to say I know you can take it. Of course she can take it… she has no choice but to take it…

She feels the strong hands of the two men taking her by the arms and legs, unfastening her from the black velvet cushion beneath her knees and elbows and carrying her limply unprotesting and stoned-out body ober to the bondage horse in the corner of the room, laying her down on her belly and fastening her arms and legs straight out and down to the legs of the device. She is now draped over the top of the sawhorse-like contraption, its padded top bar pressed tightly into her shaved and pierced crotch. A little clip mounted on the top of the device is fastened to the ring in her anxious little clit, making it impossible for her to raise her hips off the bench without tearing it out.

As the two men walk off to hang Andrea up at the obsidian whipping post, Fiona scoots over to Alison. “Here… bite on these… it will help you to not to scream too much…” the dark-haired girl suggests, stuffing the blonde's whiffy white panties into her open and gasping mouth. “Goodwood doesn't really like it when they scream too much. Just pretend to come for him and everyone will be happy…” “Yerffs mifftreffsss…” Alison garbles, her mouth full of her own cunty-smelling sheers. Meanwhile, Slate and Goodwood have gotten the other girl fixed to the post on the other side of the room and are both selecting their instruments from off the rack on the wall. Two heavy cats of black leather with knotted ends are chosen, along with a couple of heavy straps and studded leather paddles, sufficient to cause severe reddening or even blistering of the flesh but not to leave permanent scars. Of course, with these objects it is possible to beat a girl for much longer than with a crop or whip, since you don't have to worry so much about breaking the flesh of the victim. Goodwood gives one of the straps an exploratory swing, feeling its heft. Evidently a long, drawn out session is planned.

Alison hangs her head, chewing on her own soiled panties, resigned and breathless with fearful anticipation as her counterpart hangs there ready at the post and the two men take their positions up behind them. Her well-fucked and multiply-injected asshole still throbs and aches pleasantly with the afterglow of the many orgasms she enjoyed under Slate's driving dick, and the load of drugs swirling though her bloodstream has her every nerve tingling in anticipation. Even though she knows it will be painful, she looks forward to her whipping, knowing that when it is done she will feel cleansed, purified, and with a redoubled dedication to her Master.

The truth is that she needs it, she realizes… needs it to wash away the foul taste of her own complicity in this affair, the nagging guilt she feels at having surrendered herself too easily, too willingly. Slate had promised to make her his whore, then punish her for it. To the spaced-out blonde on the bondage horse, it seems somehow fitting. You can't have one without the other. No doubt the other slave girl hanging at the whipping post undergoes a similar mental process as she prepares herself to be beaten, or perhaps she is too accustomed to such events by now to even think about it any more, merely accepting and submitting to whatever is demanded of her without question.

In any case, the two men are now ready to begin, looking at each other with a nod to signal that the time has come. Each of them has taken off his jacket and tie and rolled up his sleeves to the work. Meanwhile, Fiona has withdrawn to a low couch in the corner and is busy giving herself a fix, pulling aside the crotch of her black panties to empty a syringe inside one of her fat pussy lips. A sensual relaxed glow suffuses her womanly features as she lays back on the black velvet couch, watching.

CRACKCRACK! The two paddles fall almost in unison. The two bound submissives cry out, not so much in pain as yet as in startlement. It has begun. CRACKCRACK! CRACKCRACK! The heavy leather instruments impact the white ass cheeks of the two young women loudly, making them ripple with the energy of the blow. CRACKCRACK! CRACKCRACK! The wide paddles distribute the force of each smack more or less evenly over the surface, spreading a rosy pink glow and building heat all over each of the two sex slave's soft girlish butts. “I'd say twenty five with the paddles, followed by twenty five with the strap and another twenty five with the heavy cat…” says Goodwood. “Agreed…” replies Slate, grunting slightly with effort as he slams the paddle into Andrea's sweet and vulnerable-looking backside, earning a gasp and the first trickle of a tear that forms in the corner of the platinum blonde's doe-like eyes. She involuntarily bucks her hips up against the pole between her legs with the impact and sends a lightning bolt of arousal shooting up from her multiply-pierced clit to her dope-addled brain.

Andrea bites her lip, looking back at Slate imploringly. Of course, this only incites him to paddle her harder. CRACKCRACK! CRACKCRACK! But there will be pleasure mixed with the pain. She grinds her naked pussy up against the whipping post in rhythm with the paddling of her butt, her eyes closed and her mouth open as she whimpers in pain and arousal. Meanwhile, Alison is undergoing a similar apotheosis. CRACKCRACK! CRACKCRACK! Every time the paddle falls on her, her hips jerk and wiggle in response to the blow as the heat spreads through her rapidly reddening ass cheeks. This causes her to pull and grind herself down on the ring that fastens her distended clit to the pad of the bondage horse underneath her belly, sending jolts of fearful excitement and melting submission up and down her spine, somehow mixing delightfully with the painful burning of her rear. Alison realizes that what Slate had said is true. That it doesn't really matter who beats her, that she will still experience the same surrender, the same abandon…

CRACKCRACK! CRACKCRACK! CRACKCRACK! On it goes, the only sounds in the room the cracking of the paddles, the men's heavy breathing and the whimpers and sniffles of the two slave girls, who are both now starting to cry as they helplessly grind their pussies against the bondage devices between their legs in an effort to block out or at least make bearable the sizzling pain in their paddled asses by stimulating their hot pierced little clits. Alison bites down on the come-soaked panties in her mouth, resolved to try not to scream or beg this time. CRACKCRACK! CRACKCRACK! CRACKCRACK! As if divining her resolve, Goodwood redoubles his efforts with the paddle, resolved to break her will. CRACKCRACK! CRACKCRACK! CRACKCRACK! The two men suddenly stop, turning to look at each other. “Was that twenty-five? I must admit I lost track in the heat of the moment.” Goodwood asks. “I dunno… I think so. It doesn't matter. These little sluts are in no position to complain…” Slate replies. “But let's move on… do you have those straps handy?”

“Of course…” agrees Goodwood, walking over to the rack on the wall to select a black leather belt about two inches wide by four feet long. He doubles it over and wraps the end of it around his strong=looking hand, handing a similar object to Slate. “Let's see how they respond to this…” he announces as the two men walk around to examine the faces of their suffering slave girls, both now streaked with tears with the mascara running down their smooth cheeks as they helplessly await further punishment. Their asses glow a bright shade of pinkish magenta all over. “You've got to get past the stage of tears…” Slate announces… “Until they're screaming and begging for mercy. That's how to really put ‘em in their place.” “My thoughts exactly…” replies Goodwood, limbering up his arm and planting his feet wide apart as he resumes his position behind Alison's red-hot posterior, giving himself enough room to swing the strap freely.

SSSWACKK! SSSWACKK! The straps fall with sizzling impact, raising darker reddish welts two inches wide across the two bound girls' quivering rumps. SSSWACKK! SSSWACKK! SSWACKK! SSSWACKK! Alison is sobbing and sniveling again as her hips resume their dance on the bondage horse between her legs, unconsciously seeking relief in orgasm from the sting of the strap. She burns with humiliation, knowing that Slate has planned it this way, and that she will not be able to keep herself from responding in the manner he has designed. Already she feels her belly beginning to tighten up and coil, a knot of tension forming up there behind her super-sensitive pierced clit in the depths of her sweet hairless cunt.

SSSWACKK! SSSWACKK! SSSWACKK! SSSWACK! SSSWACKK! SSSWACKK! Both girls are crying freely now, their bodies shaking with sobs and their bosoms heaving. Furiously Alison grinds her open crotch into the black leather pad to which her clit is fastened, pulling and stretching on her delicate feminine erection, sending lightning bolts of pierced pain and shocking arousal through her tight little belly as she desperately tries to lose herself in a slutty sexual reverie and channel the pain of the relentless whipping into hot cunty excitement, letting the lash of strap drive her to new levels of submissive delight. SSSWACKK! SSSWACKK! SSSWACKK! SSSWACKK! The two blonde slave girls are getting into it now… their cries of shock and hurt with each blow blending into grunts and moans of arousal, no longer wanting the whipping to stop just yet… Just a few more strokes and she'll be there, Alison thinks to herself as she feels her come gathering in the pit of her stomach, shivering with unreleased sexual tension, her throat thick as she whimpers and whines.

SSSWACKK! SSSWACKK! SSSWACKK! SSSWACKK! The helpless blonde writhes in her bondage, chewing on the wadded-up and come-flavored panties in her mouth. Suddenly a bomb explodes inside her, her body shivering and shaking violently on the horse as wave after wave of hot wet ecstasy shoots through her, making her grind her teeth and almost tearing the ring from her excitedly twitching clit where it is locked to the leather pad pressed up between her legs. Goodwood never stops his relentless strapping of her behind. SSSWACKK! SSSWACKK! SSSWACK! SSSWACKK! Her body gradually fades into a sort of numbed afterglow, hardly even feeling the crack of the strap now on her welted posteriors, temporarily beyond responding to anything.

SSSWACKK! SSSWACKK! SSSWACKK! SSSWACKK! On the smooth black post set up for her correction, Andrea lets out a muffled screech, bucking her smooth hips up and down to the limit of her ability on the pole that separates her long nyloned legs, rubbing her denuded crotch shamelessly on the phallic obelisk as she finally gets herself off, just as Slate is laying the twenty-fifth lash upon her well-welted rear end. “I guess you win…” Goodwood remarks ruefully to the other man as Slate carelessly tosses the strap aside. “For an amateur, your little Alison is certainly well-trained to the whip. She can't keep herself from coming, can she?” “No she can't, the little whore…” Slate replies darkly. Alison overhears this conversation with some anxiety. She feels the disapproval in Slate's voice. Maybe he didn't want her to surrender herself quite so easily to the urging of Goodwood's strap, she wonders confusedly. Still he did brag to the other man about her responsiveness… is it possible that he could be a little bit jealous? The thought secretly pleases her. How silly he is. Doesn't he know that for her there can be no other, that Goodwood or Spider or any of the other men he has handed her over to are really just extensions of himself? She belongs to him in a special way, no matter who may take or use her body in the meantime.

“Let's switch places…” Slate suggests. “I think I better remind this little fucking whore who her real Master is.” Alison feels a thrill of terror run through her. She is going to pay in pain for Slate's little flash of jealousy. The game's not over yet. Meanwehile, Goodwood has no such emotions. He just likes to beat the asses of naked slave girls. One girl or the other, it doesn't matter much. It just makes his dick hard to make them cry. So even though the bet's been won, he's always ready to dole out some more punishment.

As a matter of fact, the tall older guy has yet to show any emotion at all, other than a certain straightforward determination. He never smiles or looks angry, never shows much of anything on his bland poker face. He has yet to even take his cock out of his pants. In a way, his cold aloofness is even more scary than Slate's crude zeal. At least Alison knows that Slate takes a certain savage joy and satisfaction in the things he has done to her. She wonders if Goodwood feels anything at all. At any rate it doesn't matter now. Now she must deal with an aroused and angry Slate who is determined to make his mark on her. He approaches her with the heavy black leather cat in his hand, drawing a bead on her already reddened and welted tush as the other man takes position behind Andrea, who is still strapped up there straddling the pillar, squirming and shifting her weight anxiously from one high-heeled foot to the other.

WHAPPPPP! The nine braided leather thongs of the cat whistle through the air, meeting the tied-up blonde's upraised buns in an explosion of burning pain. Alison jerks in her shackles, her eyes popping open, too shocked to even scream for a second. WHAPPPP! Without pause, Slate lets her have it again. Alison lets out a muffled shriek, still chewing on the soiled panties. She panics, trying to spit them out… WHAPPPP! This hurts much worse than the strap… WHAPPPP! There's nothing erotic about this beating… it's sheer pain. WHAPPPP! Finally she manages to push the wadded up panties out of her mouth with her tongue, letting loose with a full-throated scream… WHAPPPP! Before she can catch her breath, he strikes her again… She gulps for air, wanting to plead, wanting to beg… WHAPPPP! If he knew how badly he was hurting her… WHAPPPP! “PLEEEASSSE… MASTER… PLEEEASSSE…” she implores him… WHAPPPP! “PLEEEASSSE STOP… PLEEASE… OHHH GODDD…” WHAPPPP! By the tenth stroke she is begging and pleading shamelessly for him to stop, if even for just as minute… The five black scars of the crop on her bright red behind have opened and are starting to ooze blood again.

WHAPPPP! WHAPPPP! WHAPPPP! Time seems to stretch out forever with the intensity of her suffering and the flaming agony in her butt. After a few more lashes she gives up begging and pleading and just screams… Screams and shrieks and screams some more as the whipping continues relentlessly. Twenty… twenty one… twenty two… Alison counts the lashes silently in her head, knowing it must end, hoping it will end… Twenty three… twenty four… twenty five… Finally! There… he must be through, she imagines thankfully, her chest heaving with her sobs.

WHAPPPP! He gives her another, provoking a fresh outburst of screams. She thought he would stop at twenty five… They said they would stop at twenty five… WHAPPPP! Alison sobs brokenly, realizing that Slate could go on beating her all night, if he feels like it. WHAPPPP! She screams again in helpless frustration and self-pity, knowing that there's not a damn thing she can do about it. WHAPPPP! She moans low down in her throat, an ugly sound born of torture and despair… WHAPPPP! With a flourish, Slate tosses the cat aside, finally stopping at thirty. Alison lies there heaving and sniveling and totally miserable, her chin trembling, feeling totally lost and in a world of hurt, convinced that Slate must hate her now to treat her co cruelly. She could bear almost any punishment more easily than his disapproval.

“It always helps to give them a few extra at the end…” Slate remarks conversationally… “Just when they think it's over. It really breaks their spirit when they have to take some more…” Indeed, Andrea is in little better shape than Alison, still hanging from the whipping post exhausted by her ordeal and nearly unconscious. “I guess these two have had enough for tonight…” says Goodwood. “There's no point beating them senseless.”

“I agree…” Slate replies… “But surely you could use some relief from your shall we say tensions…? Fiona, get your lazy ass up and come over here… Mister Goodwood requires you to service him…” the hard-faced construction exec commands. “Uhh… Yessir, Boss…” the brunette mumbles, shaking herself out of her drug-induced haze. She's not all that surprised to find she might still be called upon. To tell the truth, she has been getting a little frustrated at being Alison's nursemaid and seeing the cute little blonde get all the action. After witnessing so many acts of sadomasochistic drama, her tightly-trimmed little pussy is ready for a good solid fucking. She'd already been thinking of how she could lure the ever-stolid Tony upstairs at the end of the evening. Maybe he's not long on brains or imagination, but he does have a nice thick prick. But now maybe she won't have to wait so long… Clad only in her black bra, panties and nylons she walks over to the two men and kneels down on her knees. She looks up at Goodwood questioningly and he nods impassively.

With his permission, she reaches up to unzip his fly and pull out his dick, already hard with the excitement of previous events. Her sensual bright red lips fasten greedily on his knob, sucking the grave-looking gent's white pecker into her throat, working up and down on it. Goodwood's face never changes its expression, although his prick is jumping around like a snake with its head cut off. Slate kneels down behind Fiona, pulling her black sheer panties down over her ample ass cheeks and loosening his belt to ease down his pants. The brunette leans forward, wiggling her butt to grant him easier access as he brings his solid cock up to the wet lips of her pussy. She grunts with satisfaction as his massive thickness batters past her labia and sinks easily into her hot wet squirmy cunt, the apple-sized head bumping hard against the back wall of her vagina as he fucks her like a dog.

The brunette slurps and snorks loudly on Goodwood's hot pecker, dribbling her saliva down onto her breasts as Slate fucks her hard and fast, not wasting any time on preliminaries. Good thing for her she was already pretty well warmed-up, she thinks, mewling and shuddering with pleasure as her wet and receptive pussy starts clamping down on her boss' driving dickmeat. Meanwhile, a tiny tic has appeared at the corner of Goodwood's right eye, the only indication besides the tightening of his nuts that he is about to come. The sonofabitch is hardly even breathing hard. “GUHHH…” The air explodes from his mouth as his throbbing twitching member spurts its hot slimy load, filling Fiona's eagerly sucking throat with sticky come that bubbles out of the corners of her mouth and drips down her chin as he thrusts himself in and out of her.

Almost simultaneously, she feels Slate's dick exploding inside the depths of her slippery wet cunt, making her toss her ass around wildly as her spasmodically working pussy muscles suck the come right out of his balls. Slate pats her rump affectionately with his hand. The kinky dark-haired vixen just sits there on her heels, demurely wiping her chin with a tissue. Goodwood takes a few steps back, gathering himself as he reaches down to zip his fly back up. “It's getting late…” he says… “I must excuse myself. I'll send one of the security guys to collect Andrea…”

In fact, the platinum-haired hostess is completely passed out on the whipping post, down for the count. Alison is not in much better shape, exhausted and sore from her ordeal and beginning to come down from her drug-induced euphoria. Slate commands Fiona to pack up her bag and get dressed. It's time to go. Quickly, the brunette bitch gets herself together, pulling on her jumpsuit and gathering up their belongings into her capacious bag. She wipes the drops of blood from the oozing welts on her roommate's severely beaten buttocks. “Do you wanna try and get this dress back on her, Boss?” Fiona questions, indicating the half-conscious blonde with a movement of her head. “No… don't bother… We'll just wrap the cape around her…” Slate responds… “Ring for some help, will you? I think we're going to have to carry her to the car.”

In a matter of moments, two of the hulking black-suited guards are at the door, lifting Alison from the bondage horse, wrapping her in the white satin cape and carrying her out the door and down the stairs as if she were as light as a feather. She whimpers slightly as they lift her but other than that she hardly stirs. In the hallway downstairs, they prop her up on her feet, the black-hooded enforcers supporting her as they wait for Tony to bring the limo around. As the car pulls up to the curb they are buzzed out the double doors and back into the August night. It is looking dark and stormy. As they half-walk half-carry the girl down the stairs to the sidewalk a sudden gust of wind blows Alison's cape open. A couple of young revelers passing by on the sidewalk across the street get a good look at her naked pierced cunt and long nyloned legs, making them whistle and point. Quickly the two goons hustle Alison into the big black car, propping her up between Fiona and Slate in the back seat once more as outside it begins to rain. She moans at the contact of her bruised rear end with the car seat, then sinks into a semi-conscious daze as Tony pulls the car out into traffic.

Slate leans toward her to talk softly into her multiply-pierced ear, putting an arm around her caped shoulders. “I know you can hear me, Alison… I wanted to tell you that you were a very good girl tonight. You made me proud of you. I don't hate you the way you think I do. Your punishment was really more for your own good than mine. A necessary part of your training… you'll understand that better in time…”

The lovely blonde leans her head back against Slate's shoulder, comforted and somewhat reassured by his soft words, although her savagely abused bottom tells a different story. She is surprised to realize that she doesn't feel any anger towards him, in spite of the fresh pain and humiliation he has inflicted upon her. Rather, she feels a renewed devotion and grateful acceptance of her enslaved state. Relaxed and at peace with herself, the luscious if slightly shopworn blonde drifts into a doze, lulled by the sound of the limo's wheels on the wet city pavement.

THIS ENDS THE FIRST BOOK. STAY TUNED FOR THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF ALISON IN A SECOND VOLUME.