VICTORIA'S SECRETS
1.1
Temptation
Dr. Victoria Denning was intelligent, beautiful, successful.., and utterly
depraved. But she did not share her perverted pleasures with everyone. She kept her
darkest, most secret desires from everyone who mattered among the wealthy liberal
cocktail set with which she associated. She preferred to use these pompous, self
appointed elite's in other ways and freely employed her exquisite body to advance her
own ends or distract anyone who asked the wrong questions. Between the physical
bribe of her body and the psychological double talk she could so glibly spout, the fools
loved her. That was how she had wangled her jobs as an abuse counselor and as a
consulting psychiatrist for the California parole board. It was perfect. She got to meet
people so warped that even a state famous for its lunatics had to lock them up. And
that was exactly what she wanted. She was particularly interested in the ones who
enjoyed torturing women.
You see, Dr. Victoria Denning was a rabid sado-masochist. Pain turned her
on, inflicting it, receiving it. She particularly enjoyed inflicting pain, especially when
exercised as practice for depravities that might be visited upon herself. The sight of
another woman writhing in torment made her pussy cream as she imagined herself in
the victim's place. The prospect of being forced to endure the most perverted acts of
torture and rape aroused and excited her. The best part was knowing that the reality of
submitting to such acts was always far more painful than the fantasy. Even more
arousing was knowing that the fantasy would eventually lure her into suffering the
painful reality. It was necessary; the fantasy would not work if there was no threat of
actually succumbing herself. Yet so warped was she that there occasionally were
those supreme moments when her perverted mind overcame her pain and transmuted it
into glorious ecstasy. Such moments fueled the fantasy and made the dreadful,
screaming, reality inevitable.
Along with her job came the power to recommend freedom, freedom for
these people who liked to hurt women. They were an important part of her fantasies,
and her plans for her future reality.
Her interview records were full of descriptions of women brutally tortured by
her patients. She had recorded and cataloged a wide variety of imaginative torments
as confided to her by these twisted people. While maintaining her pose as a concerned
professional she often orgasmed during the sessions as she listened to lengthy recitals
of rape and torture that would horrify most people. But Victoria Denning was not
most people. She often visualized herself in the cruel hands of her perverted patients,
being forced to endure the same horrid ordeals as had been perpetrated upon those
anonymous victims, some of whom were not even cases on the books except as
missing persons. The fate of some of these missing women was extreme indeed,
including mutilation and slow deaths in ways so horrible that even Victoria preferred
to only use the tales as masturbation fantasies, though those fantasies were dark ones
indeed.
Still, some of the individual techniques she picked out of these confessions
were inspired in their cruelty and Victoria was sometimes tempted to try them out.
She had a place where such experiments could be carried out in privacy. It was not a
place her society friends would care to visit, though Vicky often fantasized about that
too. She was certain she could make the experience a memorable one for them.
The most stimulating stories to be unveiled in her office concerned several
victims who were still alive and in the clutches of some of the inmates un-incarcerated
cohorts. Revealed under deep hypnosis, not even the inmates knew they had further
incriminated themselves and others as yet unknown to the authorities. It was all so
delicious. To know that she was the only one who knew about these women's
miserable plight was an incredible rush. It felt godlike having the power of life, death,
or continued torture and captivity over them.
She was their only hope and that meant no hope at all. They might as well
have been her personal sex slaves. At any time, at any place, all she had to do was
conjure up an image of these women suffering some baneful torture and she brought
on an instant orgasm. She could do it while shopping or driving or doing any number
of boring little chores that made up daily life and, pow, instant pleasure.
The best part was the irony of it; those captive women would do anything to be
free to perform those same boring little chores. But they could not be free because she
would not free them. It was a mental game that provided too much of a kick to ruin by
letting anyone know. The mere thought that while she was free to enjoy her privileged
life they were at that same moment suffering the most vile tortures was a tremendous
turn on. It was fun to sun herself at the beach and tease the men ogling her
magnificent body while contemplating the hopeless situation of those women.
At the same moment that she arched her svelte golden torso to the sun's caress
and caused men to drool at her perfect breasts she imagined these women hanging in
someone's hidden cellar like slabs of meat, their naked bodies sweating and lurching
in response to the rude embrace of a whip across their bare tits. There was something
poetic about that, she thought, especially at the beach where the contrasts were so
vivid. She often came until her tiny patch of a bathing suit bottom was thoroughly
soaked without her ever going near the water.
All she had to do to rescue the poor bitches was pick up a phone. But she did
not. Every day she thought about it and every day she condemned these women all
over again, sentencing them to continued agony and despair. It was intoxicating. It
fueled another fantasy; that she might one day fall victim to one of these merciless
sadists. No games, no safewords, no respite or rescue, just pain. What delicious irony
that would be. What ironic justice. She imagined herself, naked and bleeding, near
mad with pain as she reminded herself that she actually deserved her grim fate. Just
thinking it made her cream. No, her 'patients' grisly secrets were safe with her.
Besides, Victoria would never think of passing on any such privileged information to
the authorities. She had her professional ethics to observe, after all.
***
When Victoria walked through the front door of her remote Montana ranch,
she was never sure what she would find. A faint scream greeted her as she walked in
and she arched a curious eyebrow. With a few notable exceptions where loud and
incoherent lamentation was de rigueur, Nick, her ramrod, got his kicks watching
women squirm and mutely beg with their bodies. He had the most inventive collection
of gags, masks, and hoods. She knew. She had sampled most of them and done her
share of speechless begging and writhing for Nick. Not that the hard core sadist ever
responded with kindness, but sometimes, if one wriggled long and lewd enough he
might be distracted into taking a little rape break from his torturing.
The shrill octaves were familiar, it could only be her favorite 'guest': Jane
Keller. Jane was a cute little vixen with a face of elfin beauty which belied the evil
mind behind it. With a wasp waist and a bust like twin torpedoes she attracted men
like flies. Little did they know just how like flies they were to this murderous little
black widow. Using her petite body to good effect she made a convincing nympho sex
slave, but once she had a man's cock between her teeth she bit. Hard. Then this
twisted bitch would thoroughly enjoy getting the shit kicked out of her. She would
take the abuse thus meted out by her outraged lovers defiantly, feeding on a warped
sense of martyrdom as though she were an undeserving victim and letting her inner
rage simmer until her abuser grew careless or confidant of his mastery. That was
when Keller took her revenge.
But something had gone wrong the last time. The drunken, overweight bar fly
might have seemed an easy mark but she had seriously miscalculated the mismatch in
body mass between her and her latest victim to be. Howling with rage he had knocked
her to the floor and began to pry her teeth out with his belt buckle. She'd been rescued
by the police when the neighbors heard her screams and called for help. Unaware of
her dark history they naturally treated her as a victim.
Victoria had no worries about such embarrassing interruptions. Her nearest
neighbor lived more than ten miles away, well out of screaming range. Keller was
proof of that. Despite her small stature she was a good screamer and had been given
many opportunities to test out the ranch's isolation and soundproofing. Ironically, she
had been referred to Victoria for help at public expense and became instead one of the
ranch's first acquisitions.
It did not take long for Victoria Denning to figure out that the buxom little
waif was a homicidal maniac. The kinky psychiatrist quickly spotted what the
sympathetic cops had not suspected when they referred their aggravated rape and
abuse case to the psychiatrist; The foxy little cunt was a serial killer. Even the
disappearance a few days later of the ad hoc dentist did not stir the suspicions of the
pea-brained bureaucrats who were so concerned for their poor little "victim". With
access to police records Victoria quickly discerned a pattern of missing men in Jane's
travels. Jane would first provoke the men into abusing her then she would have her
"revenge". The men would disappear never to be seen again.
After milking the case for all it was worth financially (the state paid top dollar),
Vicky had Nick kidnap her client and bring her to the ranch. There, she was
interrogated, her confessions noted (and confirmed), "tried" and convicted to a life
sentence of torture in Vicky's dungeon for her wicked deeds.
It was so delicious to have a prisoner who actually deserved every heinous
punishment they could inflict on her. So far she had screamed and writhed her way
through three years of her sentence with Nick seeing to it that each new day of her life
was more miserable than the last as she ground through her endless round of torments.
Hearing the scream as she entered, she frowned at her foreman in disapproval.
"Sounds like you let the door open again, Nick. I told you about that. What if
I were the cops or some nosy neighbor or salesman."
"Ah, hell, Vic. I knew it was you. Saw you coming through the gate on the
monitors. And I know how that sound is music to your ears." As if on queue, a rapid
series of short, desperate shrieks erupted below and he smiled with wicked
satisfaction.
"Good lord, Nick," Victoria exclaimed. "What'd you do? Leave her in a cage
full of hungry rats?"
Nick just grinned. Victoria slowly broke into a smile.
"OK. I guess I have to see what you've been up to. Obviously poor Jane is
enduring something special just so you can show off that fiendish imagination of
yours again. Well, let's go see what deviltry you've come up with this time."
Throwing her bags in a corner, she headed for the basement.
Jane's predicament was both appalling and exciting. She was naked, of course
(in fact, in three years of captivity, not a stitch of clothing had come between her
cringing flesh and her captor's implements of torture). In a bit of a departure for Nick
(no doubt done for Vicky's benefit) her mouth was held open by a stiff wire cock
training gag which allowed her to vocalize her enchanting assortment of screams and
shrieks without letting her articulate the fervent pleas for mercy which she was
doubtlessly trying to express to her heartless captors. She had good cause as she was
hanging by her fulsome tits. Or nearly so, and here Nick's vicious imagination was
evident.
The condemned murderess stood atop two short, blunt, pyramids carved from
four-by-fours set in the floor. Her spread legs were trembling, the bare arches of her
delicate feet painfully taking her full weight. She was forced by the intense pain and
cramping to periodically lift her aching feet from the posts, yet she could not step
down to the ground since her generous tits were tightly sandwiched between two
spiked boards , immobilized at a fixed height. With her hands cuffed behind her, Jane
had no option if she stepped off the foot destroying supports but to hang from her
brutally imprisoned jugs, her legs kicking and spasming, toes stretching vainly for the
floor that lay just one heartbreaking inch too far for them to reach. But that was just
the beginning of her predicament.
Her chafed and bleeding ankles were cuffed to a spreader bar by short lengths
of chain which allowed the bar to bounce and jerk about in response to the victim's
desperately flailing legs with a lot more action than if it had been fastened tightly to
each ankle. Besides allowing Jane's tormented feet to more easily slip off their cruel
'supports', the weight of the dangling bar actually served to make it even more
difficult for the screaming bitch to place her bruised and tender soles back on the
blocks. But the torture's refinements did not end there. To the bar was attached a
vertical cunt reamer which twisted about and rammed up and down in the captured
vixen's pussy with every motion. Last, fishhooks embedded in the lips of that
thoroughly reamed hole stretched downward and outward, held by fine but strong
chains fastened to the jiggling ends of the spreader bar. The chains were (naturally)
just a bit too short so that with every erratic motion of the bar the hooks tore and
contorted the horribly over-stressed cunt lips.
Jane's desperately twisting wrists were cuffed to the ends of a short, spiked bar
that banged and scraped into her ass with every motion, gouging the screaming girl's
well abused buttocks. From its center a curved steel rod ran down the crack of her ass
and back up into her bung hole, The whole arrangement served to keep the hapless
Jane unbalanced as it unnaturally but delightfully arched her back and presented her
chest and belly for admiration and torment.
Even her fingers contributed to her torture as each one was tipped with needle
sharp steel claws so that she constantly scratched and stabbed her hips and thighs with
each clutching motion. This was a particularly poetic punishment since these refined
'Freddie claws' were duplicates of a set Jane had used in several of her killings.
Several of her victims had been slowly sliced to ribbons before they died. Their
current employment as part of Jane's punishment was a little side benefit of her
therapy sessions with Victoria.
Having gained Jane's trust by allowing her to make love to her, Victoria was
then able to hypnotize the girl and learn much that was now coming back to haunt her.
Jane's sunken and fatigue rimmed eyes showed every agonized minute of her thousand
day ordeal. There was no hope in them at all; only the empty certainty of thousands
more of the same unending, unendurable agony for the rest of her life: a life sentence
in the living Hell of Victoria Denning's secret dungeon.
This was one prison from which there was no hope of parole. By a queer twist
of fate Jane's murders had ended up bringing her to the very people capable of meting
out the doom she most deserved. It was a doom Victoria suspected Jane had always
secretly sought for herself. In fact, the murderous vixen had often confessed to such a
desire in this very chamber while undergoing Vicky's stringent questioning.
The spate of screams that greeted Victoria had obviously marked Jane's most
recent surrender to the satanic clutch of the spiked tit clamps as her tortured feet and
fatigued legs gave in to the inevitable once more. In the intervening minutes since the
first screams Vicky heard upstairs, Jane must have kicked and struggled until she had
resumed her shaky perch. But she could not maintain it. Each new position brought
new pain and her desperate writhing search for relief caused her to lose her balance
and pitch backwards until her motion was stopped with an abrupt jolt to her squashed
and skewered breasts, her legs swinging wildly, and her whole body pivoting on her
diabolically racked boobs.
Entering the torture chamber, Victoria was just in time to witness this latest
performance and her squeal of delight merged with Jane's abject ululation of agony as
she hung like a worm on a hook, arching her glistening body back and forth in
indescribable torment. Clapping her hands in pleasure, Vicky walked over to observe
Jane's agonized throes more closely.. Even a worm had more hope that its pain would
soon end. There was no hungry fish to come along and end this worm's misery. Nick
watched as a hooded look of obscene introspection crossed his employer's exquisite
features
"Marvelous," she breathed. "A masterpiece of the torturer's art. How long has
she been like this?"
"Since this morning." Nick shrugged indifferently. He was watching her, not
the long suffering Jane. "I didn't know exactly when you would show up. Her initial
reaction to the situation was quite amusing, though. It's on tape, of course."
Walking around the screaming, squirming meat, Vicky laughed wickedly. "I
can imagine. I'm sorry I missed it, must've been fun. We'll have to do it again with
some fresh meat while I'm here. I'm planning a long stay."
Nick grinned nastily. "I think we will be able to come up with something to
entertain you."
Victoria caught his leer and frowned, her eyes darting back to Jane and her
frightful predicament. She stepped back a moment, a delicious little shudder of fear
running through her. Her arms folded themselves across her magnificent bosom,
hugging the sensitive mounds protectively. There were limits, after all!
"Just remember who pays the bills around here when you feel like indulging
yourself, ramrod," she cautioned with an arch look. He returned her stern gaze
innocently.
She returned her attention to Jane, who had by now settled down to hang
almost silently, head back, drool running down from the side of her open-gagged
mouth. Little squeaks and stuttering gasps were all the trapped bitch uttered as she
squirmed slowly in the air, her legs pumping spasmodically, sending the agitator up
and down and back and forth in her raw cunt.
"And you, my deadly little vixen. I suppose you would find Nick's thoughts
amusing for a change, wouldn't you?"
She hugged her breasts more tightly as she studied Jane's extravagantly
violated paps. She felt Nick's eyes boring speculatively into her back even as she
could not deny the seed he had planted in her warped mind; Victoria could feel her
nipples rising under her arms and the pleasurable tingle in her crotch as she considered
the unspoken thought she had read in his mind as clearly as if she were telepathic.
Dreadful images flashed through her imagination and she shuddered again. But was
there not a little thrill in that shudder as well?
Seeking to throw off the obscene train of thought before she succumbed to the
fearful temptation growing in the darkest recesses of her mind, she laughed and
punched Jane hard in the belly just as she found her support once more. The blow sent
the girl howling as she tried to bend over only to slip from the posts as her knees came
up instead. Jane's arms twisted in agony, drawing the spiked restraint bar bloodily
across her already well furrowed and shredded ass globes and grinding the studded
hook around in her bleeding asshole.
Spasming, her fingers raked her bare hips with the sharp tips of the 'Freddy
Kruger' gloves, adding to the damage there as well. In response, Jane's legs flailed
again, once more reaming her raw pleasure pit with its searing steel massage. The legs
straightened in convulsive response and the chains and hooks took their toll of the red,
swollen flesh of her tormented pussy lips.
Losing herself in her sadistic side, Vicky smiled when she noticed a bottle of
her own special 'salad dressing' on a stand nearby. It was her own concoction;
vinegar and red hot crushed cayenne peppers in an oil base to make it all adhere to
flesh with lingering effect. It was the perfect thing to rub onto scratched and abraded
skin. Jane's slender body glistened with a generous coating of the incendiary blend.
Vicky tisked in mock concern. She had used the stuff on her own silky skin on
occasion and usually found herself running for the shower. Bound, with no recourse
but to writhe and suffer, the torment it inflicted was like being slowly burned with
acid, even to the point of raising blisters. What the stuff did when it got to an open
wound or the delicate tissues of a cunt or asshole was indescribable. Vicky noted
clinically that poor Jane was literally pumping the fiery liquid into both orifices, since
so much of it was dripping down onto the devices pronging both ends of her crotch.
No wonder her face held such a fascinating rictus of pain. As if she didn't have
enough inflamed nerves already to keep the pain centers of her mind occupied! In
addition, it looked like Nick had been busy applying some decorative touches of his
own to the quivering white flesh of his helpless, naked victim with a second pair of the
'Kruger gloves' and the resultant angry red streaks flared all the more hotly with the
encouragement of the blistering concoction.
"Ooooh... those look nasty." Victoria stepped up to stare the desperately
flailing Jane in the face, thrilling to the plaintive, mewling sounds the girl was now
making. The wretched wench was so absorbed in her anguish that she completely
ignored her newest tormentor. The muscles of her neck stood out as she strained to
bring her head forward, her wide, horror filled, eyes locked on the floor as she sought
to guide her feet back to the agony of the posts in order to relieve the agony in her
breasts. Vicky loved the look of pain filled concentration she saw as Keller dangled
by her simultaneously squashed, pierced, and stretched boobs and struggled to place
her raw soles back on the pointed posts.
Victoria's hands went out, her fingers delicately tracing their way up the slick,
squirming curves of Jane's writhing nude torso, relishing the feel of the trembling,
tortured flesh. As she did so, a pair of powerful male hands swept around from behind
and cupped her breasts, squeezing them callously through her blouse. The strong
fingers rolled her nipples, already hard with arousal, back and forth with brutal force.
Victoria closed her eyes in ecstasy and groaned, arching her own body and rolling her
silky auburn tresses against the powerful male chest behind her.
"Would you like to join her?" Nick whispered huskily in her ear.
Victoria shuddered slightly even as she smiled at the thought. Nick was a
persistent bastard and dedicated to his craft. Even without her training he knew as
well as she the value (and rewards) of understanding a victim's psyche. He knew hers.
Truly, it was a temptation, but she shook her head and pushed the strong arms
down. They resisted only a moment before letting go, drifting down to gently but
firmly caress her waist . Nick knew when to play his line and when to set the hook.
Oh, did he know how to set a hook! Victoria's lips quirked at the thought and she did
not let him see her face as she replied. "I'm warped, but not quite that far gone...
Yet!," she added as she played with the squashed, discolored nipples protruding from
the spiked boards before her, mimicking the treatment her own nubs were getting.
Jane let out the cutest little stuttering groan in response to the manipulation and her
exotically inscribed and bruised torso squirmed with enchanting daintiness as the
captive sought uselessly to minimize her pain without intensifying any of her many
other woes.
Vicky licked her lips. Damn him. She * was * tempted, though this was quite a
bit more extreme than she had planned for. Trust Nick to come up with something so
horrifyingly enticing. It was the very extremity of Jane's plight that made it so
appealing to Victoria. She imagined her own gorgeous body undergoing such extreme
torture and shuddered once more. Nick was an absolutely merciless sadist. Pleas for
mercy only encouraged him to indulge his nastiest impulses.
She knew from experience that to even roll ones eyes piteously was enough to
elicit that evil grin and bring on even more horrendous torments. Only the fact that
she made this dungeon (what he considered a dream come true) possible, protected her
from his most excessive inspirations. Those he reserved (so far) for the murderess,
Keller. Yet the thought that he might exceed his charter some day was a perverse turn-
on. Certainly he was capable of the crime. His dangerous presence and uncertain
control were part of his attraction to Victoria.
What might it be like to be in Jane's position? Vicky giggled inwardly at the
pun even as she considered the absolute despair that the girl must feel knowing that
Nick's hellish talents were free to unleash themselves on her defenseless body at any
time of the day or night, day in and day out; without hope that any torment he could
imagine would be spared her. What was it like to be forced to endure the most
perverted desires of a criminally insane sexual maniac? To be raped, tortured, and
degraded for months on end with absolutely no hope for respite or mercy? Jane was
ample evidence that Nick was capable of doing to a woman the most loathsome things
he could imagine, and do them with inhuman enthusiasm.
Feeling his hands on her, and knowing the appalling things they were capable
of, she felt that moth-like temptation to fly into the flame, but still she resisted, though
her tremble was not entirely one of fear. She knew that eventually her fatal attraction
would overcome her and she would surrender her flesh utterly to the same sort of
endless screaming red hell that Jane endured, but not yet. Jane's fate was not to be
hers. At least not today.
Such extravagant agonies ought to be reserved for that special moment of final
despair, not offered as some sort of mere door prize. Soul wrenching torment such as
Jane now suffered deserved a certain amount of anticipation. A proper build up was
needed. Besides, there was room for improvement here. Changing the subject she
swept her hand across the dangling girl's bare midriff and dug a fingernail into the
suffering girl's belly button for emphasis.
"This needs something to keep it occupied," she observed.
Nick dropped his hands, spreading them bemusedly. "I'm not finished," he
replied. "A work of art cannot be rushed. Anticipation is important, as you well
know." He grinned. "Isn't that right little Janie?" Stepping around Victoria, he gave
Jane a sharp kick in the right shin just as the hapless girl once more found her footing
on the sole torturing pyramids. With a piercing wail, the victim jerked her leg up in
helpless response and dropped back off both supports, shrieking as the spiked tit
clamps once again took her weight with sudden, jolting, force.
Nick rapped on the boards with his fist, eliciting another shriek from Jane.
"I'm also thinking of setting this tit clamp up so it swings freely instead of being fixed
like this. It ought to make things even more shaky for the bitch."
Victoria grinned wickedly and nodded. "Yes, she will swing around in all
directions with every motion she makes. It will make it damn near impossible to stay
on the posts. Harder to find them again too, once the bitch falls off. Also you might
try using two sets of boards so that they 'lift and separate' as the saying goes. On the
downside there will be all that extra caterwauling and self indulgent weeping and
wailing too. You will no doubt have to discipline the whining bitch for such
bothersome outbursts."
"No doubt," Nick echoed
They laughed.
Vicky grinned, studying the victim. The girl had seemed too concerned with
her current agonies to pay much attention to their sadistic play acting. Pain had a way
of focusing one's attention on the present. But it had not been a wasted performance.
Having been shocked out of the endorphin numbed state into which she had
begun to retreat. Jane was certainly paying attention to her surroundings now. Her
eyes caught Vicky's, begging piteously. Victoria just laughed and stared right back,
enjoying the view as she once again pinched the trapped nipples between her fingers
and dug in with her fingernails. She watched the sick hopelessness creep back into the
victim's face. As a wail drifted out of the open cock training gag she said; "Yes, I'd
certainly like to see how that works before I leave. It ought to enhance the experience
somewhat." She chuckled at the thought. "And a stiff discipline collar to force the
cow's head back so she can't see what is actually happening to her udders. That ought
to keep her imagination lively and help her concentrate on her penance." She gave the
bare belly a meaty swat that left a bright red hand print. "And, like I said, see what
you can come up with for this too. It looks so ignored. Something nice and heavy, I
should think, with lots of prickly little spikes and things to keep the old blood
circulating."
Nick performed an elaborate salute. "Your every wish is my command, oh
Mistress of Everlasting Woe." Once again he caressed her with brutal familiarity,
steering the conversation back his way. "And now, what about you, my depraved one?
Can I interest you in a little stimulating molestation of your own? A gang rape before
dinner, perhaps? A little Inquisition to see what perversions you've been indulging
back in Sin City? Confession is good for the soul, you know." He eyed Jane's
battered feet and chuckled with malign humor. "Though a little hard on the soles,
perhaps." His hands found their way under Vicky's blouse to her bare flesh. His
fingers kneaded her sumptuous breasts once more. They were strong, cruel fingers,
and would leave bruises on her creamy skin.
Vicky groaned again at the pleasurable thought. A woman's body never
looked sexier than when it sported an interesting pattern of bruises highlighted by
nothing more than a thin sheen of pain sweat. And Nick was a Master of Bruises,
capable of applying them to a woman's body with ruthless enthusiasm. He was an
artist who could maul a woman's flesh until it became a living canvas that writhed
and moaned as it displayed his craftsmanship in the art of torture. It was performance
art that brooked no compromise. Pain was his perfection.
Stepping back into Nick's arms, Vicky eyed the beautiful pattern of angry
gouges, scratches, welts and multi-colored bruises criss-crossing the writhing nude
manslayer and licked her lips. A familiar tingling was creeping through her loins.
"On the other hand, the last few weeks at the office have been particularly stultifying
and I could use a little massage." She began unbuttoning her blouse. Her fingers
trembled a bit but she only worked faster, not letting herself think too deeply about
what she was doing. Remembering the suitcases upstairs in the hall, she sighed. She
really ought to give up packing all those clothes whenever she came out to the ranch.
She never did get to wear them much. As her clothes dropped to the floor so did she
shed her authority along with her reservations. In this place a naked woman was
nothing but a slave; just meat for the whip, and the thought thrilled her.
