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Katie Billingsley shifted in the hard, uncomfortable chair. It had been
hours since she had eaten, and she was exhausted from the sleep-deprived night.
Nothing she had been through could ever have prepared herself for this torture.
She was beside herself. What could have gone wrong? She asked herself this
question over and over, pointlessly.
“Mrs. Billingsley, the president will see you now,” the young, buxom
receptionist sneered, not bothering to look up from her computer screen.
“Th-thank you,” Katie stammered, inching her way to the gargantuan set
of walnut doors that enclosed the decorative entrance hall to the office of
Forrester Davison, the richest man in Mulvane County, Tennessee.
Davison had grown up in the same, small town as Katie, but had never
gone to the local schools. His father, Tyler Davison, was a violent snob and
had sent young Forrester away to school at an early age. While his massive
wealth would have been enough to ostracize Forrester from the rest of the town
of
Following the death of his father, Forrester had returned to Bigelow to
purchase all three of the county’s savings and loans. The small,
geographically-obtuse acquisition was a source of irritation to the board
members of Davison Magnafunds, the nationwide chain of financial institutions
that Davison now commandeered as a CEO. It mystified Wall Street and the
financial press as to why a man of wealth and Ivy League education would choose
to not only purchase a few rural farming banks, but also decide to --- god
forbid --- live in
After traveling down the long wood-paneled corridor, Katie found
herself in an ostentatiously palatial office, nearly twice the size of her
small tract home. At the far end of the room lounged Davison, looking vaguely sullen
behind the same pair of rimless spectacles he had worn through his childhood,
small as they were on his face. Like the rest of his body, his jowls had
retained the heaviness that had made him such an object of mockery long ago.
Even though the desk was a good one-hundred feet away from where Katie
stood, she could hear the sumptuous creak of expensive leather as the short,
fat executive slowly rocked back in a large desk chair, so tall and elaborately
carved that it looked to be a throne. His face was a rosy pink, and that was
all that was remotely appealing about the man, Katie thought. His wispy blond
hair was thinning and she wondered if he wasn’t wearing a toupee, the front of
his hair not remotely matching the color or shade of the strands at the back
and sides of his skull. But what he still lacked in physical beauty, he had
obviously attempted to compensate for with expensive clothing: he was outfitted
in a superbly-tailored black three-piece suit adorned with a flashy gold watch
fob that dangled from his vest pockets. A lustrous dark-red patterned silk
necktie peeped elegantly from beneath his dark chest, and she could see something
shimmering brightly on the cuffs of a crisp white dress shirt that was barely
visible from his sleeves and collar. He hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his
lapelled vest and glowered at her greedily, as she slowly approached.
“I don’t recall giving you permission to advance,” he declared, in a
familiar, irritating high-nasal whine that jarred Katie’s memory.
“Wha…I don’t….” Katie fumbled, desperately not wanting to insult the
man, but wondering where he intended for her to sit. She didn’t see any chairs
within many feet of his hand-burnished cherry-wood desk, which looked to be at
least twenty feet wide.
“Sit over there!” he commanded glibly, lowering his eyeglasses to
peruse a sheaf of paper that was piled in front of him.
Katie turned and saw a small wooden chair three feet back from where
she was standing. She moved hesitatingly toward it and attempted to sit,
annoyed that it seemed to sport legs mismatched in length. Upon attempting to
shift the chair to a position at least a bit closer to the executive, she was
amazed to find that the thing was nailed into the floor!
“This chair is…” she started, but quickly abandoned the argument as she
noticed that Forrester’s head was still lowered.
“…exactly where it should be,” Davison finished for her, in an
imperious tone. “Leave it alone,” he said, with a small smile on his lips. He
continued to turn the pages of the document on the desk, still ignoring her.
“Mr. Davison,” Katie began, softly, a small seed of dread welling in her
stomach at the already suffocating airs emanating from the pompous little man.
“Silence!” he thundered, whipping off his glasses and glaring at her.
“Mrs….Billingsley, now, is it?” he asked perfunctorily. “You are in enough
trouble with this institution as it is. Do not make things worse for yourself!
You will speak only when I address you. Is that clear?” His voice had the edge
of a razor, and Katie dropped her head, humiliated almost to the point of
tears.
“Yes,” she said, barely audible.
“Yes, what?” Davison fired back.
Katie looked up beseechingly, and then sighed. “Yes, sir, Mr. Davison.” A smile brimming with
evil pleasure twisted the banker’s face only momentarily before he returned to
his browsing.
After another minute of making her squirm, Davison flung the final
paper to his desk with a disgusted grunt.
“Your credit is a disaster! It’s no wonder you haven’t been able to
make your mortgage payments, carrying this kind of debt around,” he huffed. He
took a white silk handkerchief from his breast pocket and primly began to polish
his eyeglasses.
“I beg your pardon!” Katie blurted, unable to contain herself at the
man’s rudeness any longer. “We’ve made our payments on time for the past
fifteen years!”
Davison sniffed haughtily. “Really? Well, we haven’t received them for
the past two months. Our attempts at collection have been unsuccessful due to
the fact that your phone has been out of service, and you obviously aren’t in
the habit of checking your mailbox either.”
Katie’s mouth dropped open and she felt herself almost shaking from
rage. “Those payments have been
mailed! I’ve spent countless hours on the phone with your endless voicemail
systems and arrogant customer service people telling them just that…on my phone Mr. Davison, the one that
works. And I’ve been checking my mail too! The foreclosure notice your fine
institution sent me yesterday was hard to miss.”
Davison’s smug, condescending expression returned, larger than before.
“Ah, you did receive that, eh? How wonderful! Then you know exactly what you
are up against, my dear, if you and your deadbeat husband don’t start paying
the piper!”
Katie’s breath quickened and she fumbled around in her purse for her
checkbook. “I’ll write you those checks right now,” she said sharply, eager to
be free from this awful place and this wretched man.
“No, I don’t believe you will,” Davison purred smoothly. “We don’t have
the facilities to properly process them here, as this branch doesn’t do
mortgages. You will have to send them to the address provided on your coupon
book. You are familiar with your
coupon book, are you not, Mrs. Billingsley?” he chuckled derisively.
“But how will I know they’re received?” Katie wailed in frustration,
throwing her hands in the air.
Davison looked amused, almost happy with himself and the distress he
was causing her. He clucked to himself and removed a fancy ebony cigarette
holder, over a foot long, from the inside pocket of his suit coat.
“It’s much too late for that now, anyway,” he said, waving his hand
cavalierly in the air, while twirling the empty holder around with the other.
“The appropriate foreclosure papers are being drafted as we speak, even now….”
He fixed her with a victorious expression.
Katie watched in shock and anger as the man leisurely removed a cigarette
from a small ivory chest on top of his desk, and gently nestled it in the
golden tip of his elegant holder.
“NO! You…you can’t do this!” she cried, desperation rapidly overtaking
her anger.
“I can do whatever I want,” he tutted, mildly incensed at her protest.
He rapidly lit his cigarette with a large crystal lighter resting on his desk,
leaned back in his chair, and blew a luxurious plume of grey-blue smoke toward
the golden-inlaid panels of his ceiling. “I am the boss, after all!” he
reminded her gleefully.
Katie glared at the fat man as he pulled meditatively on his cigarette,
waiting for an acknowledgement or reaction from her, a cat hungrily sizing up
the canary that he is about to make his lunch.
“What do you want from me, Forrester?” she spat out, finally.
He raised his eyebrows in surprise at the use of his first name, then
blew a few smoke rings lazily from his lips and swept the holder in her
direction.
“Beg,” he stated simply, pointing down at the floor with a polished
fingertip, a malicious grin enveloping his pudgy features.
“You smug little tyrant!” she shouted, standing up indignantly. “I’ll
not beg you for anything! I’m taking this to your board of directors, and then
to every newspaper who will listen. You can’t get away with bullying us
anymore, Forrester. The people of this town know exactly what you’re up to, why
you’re here….”
“Oh, I think you will beg me,” he sighed, looking bored out of his
mind. He punched a button on a console in his desktop and a door opened from
behind Katie. Two huge goons in suits appeared and stood on either side of her
chair, causing her to freeze in terror. “Now, shut your mouth and come forth on
your hands and knees like a good little whore.”
She opened her mouth, about to retort, but Davison’s thugs pushed her
roughly to the floor. She crawled slowly over the plush carpet, slinking toward
the CEO, as he puffed pleasurably behind his desk, watching with amusement and laughing
softly.
When she was no more than a few feet from the banker’s desk, Davison’s laugh
began to take on a harsher, more insinuating timbre. “I don’t hear you
begging,” he hissed sadistically. “It would be most unfortunate to be removed
from your home a few weeks before Christmas, wouldn’t it? I imagine a holiday
in the homeless shelter would not have the same warm ambiance, eh?” He held his
plump belly with one hand, vile raucous laughter peeling from his mouth.
Katie began to sob, and lifted both hands, folded, to Davison’s leering
face, which was hovering over the desktop like the visage of some disembodied
wizard.
“Please, please…Mr. Davison, sir…please don’t do this to us!”
Davison paused superciliously, as if to consider her appeal, and then
casually snapped his fingers, twice.
The goons lifted Katie by her armpits and brought her around the desk
to kneel before the cruel executive.
“Pleasure me, and I’ll consider giving you another month,” he said, in
a whimsical tone.
The henchmen pushed her forward to Davison’s crotch as he unzipped the
soft folds of his dark suit trousers. He drew his cock out with little effort,
and Katie was appalled at how large it was.
“Bigger than you remember, eh, my dear?” Davison cackled lewdly.
Katie felt two sets of hands on the back of her head and she was moved
forcefully toward the little man’s huge penis. As she opened her cherry-red
lips, the thing seemed to rise to meet her quivering mouth. She could see his
cock was moist with pre-cum, and she was enraged at seeing evidence of the
pleasure he had been getting by tormenting her from behind his big desk.
Her mouth was thrust on the cock and her head began to be moved back
and forth by the two goons. She could barely make a sound, her whole body
seeming to be filled by the evil that was Forrester Davison.
“Do you remember our last date, Katie, hmmmm?” he whispered.
Katie looked up at him with dread and she became truly frightened for
the first time.
It had been so long ago.
The homecoming game had been finished for almost half-an-hour as Jackie
and his friends continued to goad her toward the small, partitioned box that
was always reserved for Tyler Davison and his family. While his father was busy
reveling in the accolades by various officials of the town and school, from his
recent donation that had allowed for the purchase of a new scoreboard, Forrester
was sulking with some sort of small electronic device his father had no doubt
purchased. The boy was dressed in a blazer, tie and poplin pants, looking as
out-of-place as his father among the rest of the now departing stadium crowd.
She hadn’t wanted to do this, but she knew that Jackie would give her
hell if she didn’t. At that time, her only wish had been for him to ask her to
the upcoming Christmas dance. But, she remembered, a part of her had thought
the joke would be fun, as well. The Davisons ruled Bigelow with an iron
hand…many of their parents, including Katie’s own, had homes and livelihoods
only because they were indentured to
She had made small talk with Forrester, asking him questions about the
prep school he was attending and how it was different from her own, listening
patiently, attentively, as his mouth struggled to form even the simplest of phrases,
spit bubbling from the corners of his mouth in grotesque, spasmodic fits. The
boy’s eyes ravenously scanned her tight cheerleader’s outfit, and he seemed
ready to pass out when Katie had softly touched his plump little hand.
“Meet me in the locker room, Forrester,” she crooned. “Meet me there
tonight.” She had winked at him, flounced her pom-poms, and pranced off.
That night, the gawky, fat boy met the lovely, nubile cheerleader in
the darkened locker room near the football field, which had been left
discreetly unlocked. She drew him in, and in the blackness coaxed him to remove
his ridiculous dress clothes, while she teased him, rubbing her hands gently
over his lumpy, flabby ass.
“Kiss me, Forrester baby…” Katie sighed, and leaned toward the nude boy.
At that moment, the lights in the locker room snapped on, and the
laughter began. Jackie and five of his footballer friends were there, uniforms
still on, beers in hand, roaring obnoxiously, pointing at the boy, who appeared
to be in a state of shock. At first Katie thought she would be having as much
fun as Jackie and the rest of them, but somehow actually seeing the pathetic
boy standing all alone, looking down in shame, tears rolling from his eyes, did
not give her any pleasure.
Jackie’s mates rushed at Forrester and gripped the shaking, crying boy
from behind, as Jackie smeared a half jar of Icy Hot all over his pubes. They
forced him on a locker room bench, face down, while the other boys filled a
Gatorade jug with water and opened the boy’s ass, shoving a plastic tube into
the boy and attaching it to the jug. Katie had fled after a few minutes, unable
to watch any longer.
It had been a long time…twenty years, almost. None of them had gotten
in trouble. Everyone had forgotten...everyone, except Forrester.
Forrester removed his now-limp cock roughly from Katie’s mouth and
slapped her across the mouth with it, snapping her cruelly out of her dream
state.
“So this is the best you can do, you worthless bitch?” he screamed at
her. “I don’t imagine your big bad hillbilly husband would stand for such poor
performance!” He raised his hand and slapped her viciously, one, then two
times. He put away his cock, which was now beginning to swell again, with a
frustrated snarl. “There is still the matter of your late payment penalty which
I must address. Hold her to the fire!” he commanded, as his thugs yanked Katie
to her feet, bringing her to a wood paneled wall with a fireplace, directly
behind Davison’s chair.
“Please Forrester, you don’t have to do this…I’m sorry about….” Katie
trailed off, not able to even refer to the cruel trap she had set for him as a
girl. “I’m sorry,” she muttered, helplessly.
The little man sneered at her hatefully. “Not as sorry as you will be, cunt!” he spat at her.
She was made to lean into the cold marble surrounding the large
fireplace, her hands held in place by one of the goons. The other jerked her
crepe wool skirt down around her ankles and then joined his partner, taking one
of Katie’s hands and pressing it down with an inhuman force.
Forrester slowly poured himself a snifter of brandy, took a sip, and
then opened a drawer that was set into the opulent, engraved wooden bar. He
produced a wisp-thin bamboo cane. Katie moaned with protest, but the goon to
her right told her quickly to shut her mouth. She was pressed forward, and she
felt the crackling heat of the fire bring forth sweat beads that rolled down
her exposed abdomen and into her pussy, which was baking in the relentless heat
of the fire. She watched with dread as Davison luxuriously puffed alight a long
cigar. He began to waddle toward her shaking form, eagerly stroking the
fearsome cane with one hand, a look of murderous anger clouding his face.
He stood behind her for a long while, taking in her unmarked,
ivory-white ass with an expression of deranged contentment. He took a few slow
tokes on the cigar and swung the cane down viciously.
Katie let out a short, sharp cry, and she heard Forrester chuckling happily.
“Boys, gag her. I would love to hear her cries, but I don’t want to attract
undue attention either.”
After Katie’s mouth had been wrapped with a black silk scarf, the
beating continued as ten cuts were dealt to her trembling rear.
“You’re bleeding, my sweet kitten,” Davison laughed merrily. “We can’t
have that….” He leaned into her and cupped his meaty hands over her shaking
breasts. “Do you have any idea how much pleasure this is giving me? There are
many evil things that I can do to permanently mar that lovely body of yours.
And, there is nothing you can do to stop me. Who do you think the police will
believe? Me, an esteemed executive, or your drunken lout of a husband: a man
with a record of assaulting you in your own home? My, my, what little
self-esteem you have! But why should you have changed? You always needed to
hide behind others to make yourself feel better about your own worthless life.”
He leaned over her shoulder and billowed foul clouds of cigar smoke into her
tear-streaked face.
Katie struggled to say something to him, but nothing but incoherent noises
came from behind the gag. Davison nodded indulgently to his henchmen and the
scarf was removed.
“You wished to speak?” he demurred.
Katie panted with fury. “As if you
had self-esteem!” she cried. “You’re no different than Jackie! You’re a coward!”
Davison licked her ear obscenely. “No, you’re wrong, my little pussycat….”
“Stop calling me that! I’m not some animal...to be used for your sick
pleasure….” Katie sputtered, her anger tapering off quickly into shame at the
degrading manner in which he condescended to her.
Forrester laughed, genuinely tickled. “Au Contraire! We are all animals, my lady,” he rebuked her,
with an insinuating smirk. “And as you know, some are more powerful than
others. It’s simple biology. As for your other comment, the difference between
your loser husband and me is that he only pretended to play the part of the
lion in this small jungle of ours. He had no right to his power. I, on the
other hand…well, it is, and always has been, my birthright!” he snapped. “Gag her!”
Her mouth was sealed once more with the spit-drenched silk and she
watched as lazy clouds of smoke drifted from behind her body. Davison then
raised the tip of his cigar over her shoulder and gave it a small tap. She
watched the ash descend to the marble, shattering apart with a light hissing
noise.
She heard Davison’s pants being unzipped and removed. She closed her
eyes in misery. More smoke billowed around her as his big belly heaved into the
crevice of her spine. Then she felt the heat…the heat from his cigar…moving slowly
toward the welts that were now pulsing from her marked-up ass, radiating pain.
As the heat became almost unbearable, the sadistic tycoon’s foul laugh started
up again. The first poke from the cigar tip felt like nothing more than a hot flick
of ash, but as it sizzled into her flesh, her head almost exploded from the
pain. It felt as if she was being branded with a hot iron! Her pussy was virtually
melting from the smothering heat of the fire. She was alive with pain from all
sides. She gritted her teeth, screaming with fury and pain, but producing
nothing more than low humming noises under the silk.
She could barely tell if he had removed the cigar or not, such was the
agony that continued to sear into her back side for several minutes afterward.
This sensation was quickly augmented by a sharp swath of agony as Davison
speared her ass with his cock, burying it up to what seemed like a whole foot,
though Katie was sure it was only half of that length, if anything. As his vile
henchmen held her down, the cruel little man barreled furiously into her,
higher and deeper, every second.
“Not so stuck-up now, are you, bitch?” he growled into her ear. “Think
of this next treat as added interest to your current loan. A pity it’s not tax
deductible, though, eh?” He roared with laughter and continued his violent
assault.
Finally, after what seemed to be another hour of unrelenting rape, he
slapped both hands to her hips and unleashed a mighty load of come into her
distended, raw asshole. Katie heard him retreat briefly; fumble with his pants,
and watched him stalk from the room, adjourning to a nearby bathroom. “Boys,
continue!” he ordered from inside, before shutting the door.
The henchmen giggled gleefully and spun Katie around to face Davison’s
desk. She began screaming insanely as both goons took turns thrusting their
steely cocks into her ass, riding her back like cowboys.
Davison returned from the bath wrapped in a silk robe and ascot, seated
himself in a large leather club chair, and began to enjoy the festivities, a
fresh cigar and snifter of Brandy in his massive hands.
A few weeks passed, and Katie began to feel as if she could handle the
situation, as horrendous as it was. She had no other choice, after all.
She didn’t have doubt that Davison would have her killed if she made
any attempts to get the police involved. Everyone in Bigelow knew that he had
the local force so closely under his thumb that they squeaked whenever the
little tyrant made a move. Besides, most of them had mortgages with Davison Magnafunds,
as well. She had been able to keep the scars from her husband, as he never
appeared to be interested in her anymore, even when he wasn’t camped out at the
local tavern.
All she had to do was keep coming to the bank office each month, in
order to “continue her payment plan,” as Davison had smugly explained, after
her first session of torture had finally finished, late into the evening.
“Kaaaaa-tiiiiiieeeeee!”
Katie clenched her eyes at the sound of Jackie’s furious bellowing.
What had she done now?
“Where the fuck’re the cheese curls, bitch? We’re outta them agin?”
“They’re right in the pantry, dear,” she said, rushing toward the
cabinet door.
“No they’re not! We’re outta them agin’! How many times I gots to tell
yer lazy ass…?” He slapped her brutally in the face and she stumbled back
against the crumbling drywall that the half-finished kitchen was enclosed in.
Jackie clenched her shoulders and began to shake her. “What the fuck’s
the matter with you?” he shouted.
The phone began to ring, and Katie’s husband’s attention turned with
irritation toward the sound. He snatched up the receiver, growling “Yeah?”
He listened for a minute, and then said: “What in hell you mean,
movin’? We’re not movin’!” Then, to Katie: “These idiots are sayin’ we’re set
to move outta the house tomorrow!”
Katie began to tremble. She said quietly: “Give that to me.” She took
the phone.
“Mrs. Billingsley, you are set to vacate your residence tomorrow, are
you not?” a man with a deep voice asked.
“We weren’t planning on…” she stumbled. “I think this must be a mistake...tomorrow’s
Christmas….”
“No mistake, Mrs. Billingsley. The bank has repossessed your home and
has foreclosed on your property.”
“NO!” Katie wailed. “Please, I know the president of the bank very well.
He’ll listen to me. I’ll contact him and I’m sure we can work this….”
But the phone was dead even before Jackie slapped it from her hand.
In the glassed-in observatory, on the top floor of the Davison estate,
Forrester disconnected from the speaker phone he was listening in on and reclined
into an opulent velvet chaise lounge chair.
He snapped his fingers and jerked the leash violently, causing Carlotta
to yelp. “A few filberts, poochie, and make it snappy. Your Master requires
nourishment.” A brief look of disgust passed the woman’s face, but she still
scrambled for the nearby butler’s pantry, where various holiday fare ---
canapés, caviar, pistachio nuts, smoked salmon, brioche toast ---- had been
opulently arrayed, as she saw his bloated finger reach threateningly for the
remote.
He sighed with contentment, inserted another cigarette into his holder,
and continued to laugh.
At precisely 10 AM on Christmas morning, a fleet of ominous jet black
moving trucks emblazoned with the “DM Moving” insignia pulled up to the Billingsley
homestead followed by a sleek stretch limousine.
Jackie opened the door to find Forrester Davison wearing an immaculate
black tuxedo and top hat, cigarette holder clenched imperiously in his teeth.
“Ah, Mr. Billingsley! You don’t appear to be dressed for your move
today,” he giggled joyously.
“Who the fuck are you, the Penguin?” Jackie smirked. Then, realization
washed over his face as he stared at the remnants of the bespectacled boy he
had once tortured. “YOU! You
son-of-a-bitch!” the man roared. He charged from the doorway only to be met by
a swift punch to the face from one of Davison’s goons.
“I’ve dreamed of doing that for so long, Jackie my boy,” Davison
chuckled, flicking an ash from his cigarette onto the ex-quarterback’s body,
now doubled-up in only an undershirt and shorts, in the doorway. “However, I am
quite diligent about keeping my hands relatively unsoiled.” He brought his
holder to his mouth and inhaled deeply.
“Boys, thrash him for a bit,” Davison ordered, stepping over the man’s
body and searching around the small house with distaste for somewhere to sit.
“Stop that! Don’t hurt him,” Katie cried out. But she only watched as
the henchmen began securing her husband to a plywood-paneled pillar in order to
continue the beating.
Davison turned to face Katie, his nose in the air. “I sincerely hope
that wasn’t an order, my dear. I am the only one who gives orders in this
town!”
To Jackie’s shock, Katie dropped to her knees and began scraping at the
CEO’s feet. “Please! Please! Mr. Davison, sir! Don’t take my home from me. I’ll
do anything you want…anything!”
Davison’s malevolent smile seeped over his thin lips. “Hmmm,” he said,
puffing thoughtfully on his holder and looking around at what, to him, was a
truly disgusting hovel. “I think there may be something you can do for me,” he
said finally, gesturing to a uniformed footman in the doorway who began to
remove the long black opera cape that hung regally from the wealthy man’s
slender shoulders.
“Excuse me if I’m a bit overdressed for this occasion. I was on my way
to a charity function in
The wealthy banker pointed to the exposed stairwell that was inches
from the front door with a white-gloved hand, and his henchmen began to secure
Katie to the banister by her wrists.
“You little daddy’s boy!” Jackie spewed. “You cain’t even git a woman
by yerself, can ya? Never could!”
Davison wheeled on the bound man and struck him savagely in the face
with a gold-capped black cane. “If you value your balls, Jackie my boy, you’ll
shut your white trash mouth and enjoy the show.”
Forrester strolled over to the tied-up housewife, and slowly lowered
the sweat pants she was wearing.
“Ah, you’re healing…nicely,” he said. “I’m sure you have missed the
velvet touch of my cane, however!” He thrust the end of his stick directly into
Katie’s pussy and began to savagely fuck her with it.
“Did you think I’d allow you to keep this house after what you’ve done
to me?” he fumed, continuing to pump the wooden stick up and down, panting
lightly with excitement. “I own this
town now, and all the scum, such as your family, that reside in it. I think I
need to re-establish my ownership.” He whipped the cane out of her, dropped his
drawers and plunged his ample cock into the poor woman.
Jackie watched helplessly as the fat little man hammered away for a long
time, silent, due to the open switchblades threatening his throat and cock. Davison
made a show of blatantly abusing Katie in front of him, sucking on her tits and
burning her nipples lightly with his cigarette. She took all of his abuse
valiantly, and Jackie’s mouth dropped open as she seemed to be almost getting
pleasure from the treatment. Davison teased her pussy lips with the cane,
resting the solid gold bulbous knob in her vagina and then withdrawing it,
causing Katie to moan frantically. “Just do it…take me…Forrester!” she finally
wailed.
He obliged her greedily. “Think of what your life would have been like
if you had come with me that night, instead of with this worthless piece of
garbage,” he said, negligently gesturing behind himself. “You would live in
luxury and enjoy limitless power over these ignorant bumpkins!” He began to
savagely thrust the cane further into Katie, and her screams began to mutate
into small cries and moans that were quite familiar to Jackie.
Finally, he turned, removed his cane, and pulled up his pants. His flunky
re-attached his flowing cape, and Davison swept it theatrically, as a villain
would do in a serial from the early days of silent movies.
“Now, before I take everything you’ve ‘worked’ for --- and I do use
that expression lightly --- I’m going to give dear Katie here one more chance
to save the day. I want to watch while she fucks that disgusting piece of
shit,” Davison said, pointing with his glove to Jackie. “Her other option is to
come with me, and leave you to your
death.” The tuxedoed fiend chortled decadently and stood back to wait for Katie’s
decision.
Katie was unbound and led slowly over to her husband, who was tearing
fruitlessly at the ropes binding him to the column, swearing vehemently at
Davison, Katie, God, and anyone else he could think to mention. She stood
before him, and then looked at Davison.
“You goddamn cunt! I’ll make you pay for this!” Jackie whined.
She finally turned and spat into her husband’s face. “Burn in hell!”
she said, and turned away from him.
Forrester reached out his gloved hand to Katie, and walked with her to
the door.
“Your chariot awaits, puss. It will take you back to the estate, where
my maids and seamstresses will attend to you. I’ll be by to pick you up for the
charity ball tonight around five. But don’t get yourself too clean, I want to
enjoy some of the sweat we’ve worked up in the car. It’s a long drive to
A small smile came over Katie’s face, as Davison salaciously licked the
knob of his cane, still lightly glazed with the moisture from her pussy. “Yes,
my lord,” she said, bowing submissively.
The goons were unscrewing cans of gasoline that had been brought in
from one of the trucks and were liberally dousing the house, its contents, and
Jackie.
Forrester waved his cigarette holder, capped with a fresh cigarette,
toward Jackie, who cringed when he saw the man produce a gold lighter from his
vest pocket. “Unfortunately for you, dear boy, no one looks twice at a wife
beater being burnt up in his own house anymore. And here you thought that ingesting
Farrah Faucett’s entire oeuvre of work was a waste of time!” He laughed crazily
and left the home with a flourish of his cape. “Jocko, bring ‘round the
Bentley,” he ordered, waving his holder at a nearby thug.
Katie heard the explosion only briefly as the posh limousine glided
smoothly out of town. Had she made the right choice? Maybe, but maybe not, she thought.
Though, if she was to be a prisoner, was there any crime in wanting to reside
in a comfortable prison?
That night, when Forrester’s limo came to retrieve her from the mansion,
she stepped into the elegant vehicle, sweeping a $4000 Dior gown underneath
her, onto the soft leather.
“Now, my kitten” Davison purred, leaning toward her, “how about that
kiss?”
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