15
The room in which the City Council gathered on this particular evening
was not the large, ornate chamber in which they usually conducted their
business. That was considered too public, too accessible for their present
purposes. The room into which Collins led Joyce was a simple meeting room,
curtained and carpeted but relatively plain. There was a long table at one end
of the room, and behind it sat the seven men who made up the Council, with Alex
Trifford, the Council president, in the center. Their ages ranged from forty to
sixty, and they all had the look of men who knew what they wanted and had few
scruples about how they got it. This was not the way they looked when they were
in public; there they appeared friendly, or jovial, or serious, or
concerned--whatever the situation demanded. They were, after all, politicians,
and shrewd ones. But here, now, they could be themselves, and their faces were
hard and showed little expression, except for a certain amount of irrepressible
anticipation at the sight of the full-figured blonde girl as she came through
the door.
"Gentlemen," Collins said, somewhat triumphantly, "this is Miss Gordon."
She was wearing the same sweater and skirt she had worn in Collins'
office. This was because she had not left that office until this evening.
Collins had kept her there for several days, locking her in at night, having
food sent up when necessary. During most of that time she had worn no clothes at
all. The delay had allowed the marks on her body to fade somewhat, and had
allowed Collins time to train her. She had learned a great deal about how to
please a man. Not that she'd exactly been inexperienced, but he had taught her
things she'd never dreamed about. Some of them were disgusting, some were
painful, but she did them. If she expressed the least bit of reluctance, just
the threat of being put back up in the air--just the suggestive lighting of a
cigarette--would set her shaking and moaning, and she would do what he wanted.
So she crawled for him, and she debased herself, and she learned, and she
listened when he told her exactly what she was to do when he took her before the
City Council.
And when, finally, he let her get dressed again, he made her leave her
bra and panties off. So she was wearing nothing under her outer clothes. The
sweater molded her breasts tightly as they rose and fell with her rapid,
frightened breathing; the shapes of the nipples, hard with fear, could be
plainly seen against the straining cloth.
"How do you do, Miss Gordon," Alex Trifford said. His voice was
pleasant, but his eyes were hard. "It's certainly a pleasure to see you. I think
I can speak for all of us when I say that we have been looking forward to this.
Yes, indeed. We've certainly been looking forward to this. Haven't we,
gentlemen?"
There was a murmur of assent along the table. Every eye was focused on
the girl, who was trembling visibly.
"All right, Joyce," Collins said. "You know what to do."
She hesitated for just a moment. Then, very slowly and rather
unsteadily, she walked to the middle of the room and stood facing the council
table. She did not look at them, but kept her eyes cast down. She was very pale
now, but the pallor did little to distract from the loveliness of her face. She
darted a quick, nervous glance at Collins, who nodded his head to her, his eyes
hard. She swallowed, and then went down on her knees.
She knelt there before them on the floor, her eyes still down, and then
her mouth opened and she tried to speak, but could not. She had to swallow
again, and when she tried again her voice was barely audible.
"Gentlemen," she said faintly, "I--I wish--"
"Louder, Joyce," Collins said. "We want the council to hear every word."
This time her voice was louder, though it quivered and faltered. But she
said what she had to say.
"Gentlemen--I'm--I wish to apologize to you for--the things I've
written. I know--I know they were false, and I most humbly beg your pardon. I
know that--" She began to choke, but cleared her throat and went on. "I know
that I've done you a great wrong, and--and that no apology can make up for it.
I--I will do anything I can to--to compensate you for--for what I've done.
Anything you wish. I am--I am at your service. My body--my body is yours to do
with as you will. I give it to you. I--you may use it for your pleasure. At any
time, in any way, and for as long as--as--" She was crying now. They watched her
crying as she knelt there.
"All right, Joyce," Collins said. "Now show them."
Slowly she got to her feet. And slowly, still facing them but not
looking at them, she took off her clothes. She pulled the sweater up over her
head, and several of the men gave low whistles at the sight of her naked,
perfectly shaped breasts. Then she opened her skirt and let it fall, and stood
naked in front of them.
"Gorgeous," one of them said. "Absolutely gorgeous."
"What are those marks on her breasts?" another man said. "Looks like
burns."
"As you know, I had to do some severe training," Collins said. "It took
a great deal of--persuasion--to prepare her properly for you gentlemen."
"That's no problem," Trifford said. "They don't take anything away from
that sexy body. In fact, I like them. They give me some terrific ideas."
Joyce shuddered visibly, and made a tiny moaning sound.
"She's all yours, gentlemen," Collins said. "We've arranged for Joyce to
take a two-week vacation from her paper. For that time she has nothing to do but
to serve your pleasure."
"Excellent," Trifford said. "Why don't we start right now?"
Nobody objected.
Some of the Council members wanted her to suck them off first, all of
them, one by one, just to degrade her as much as possible, this uppity woman
who had dared to try to expose them, show her what kind of a crawling slave slut
they could make of her, now that she was in their power. Others wanted to start
by fucking her, spreading her right across the long table and taking that
luscious body there and then. So, like good politicians, they took a vote.
Sucking won.
So she got down on her knees again, and she crawled to one end of the
table, as they opened their trousers, and she sucked them off, one by one,
moving down the line under the table; and she did it well, because she knew she
had to do it well, because Collins had made it clear to her that if there were
any complaints about her, if she performed badly or objected to anything she was
told to to or showed any sign of rebellion, he would have to take her back to
his office and start training her all over again, only more severly this time.
She couldn't imagine what could possibly be more severe than what he had already
done to her, but she had no desire to find out; the only desire she had now, the
only thing she knew with absolute certainty, was that she had to avoid any more
of his punishment. She couldn't endure it again; the very thought of it made her
start to shake and sweat and feel sick. So she did it well, she made it good for
them with her mouth and her lips and her tongue, and when they came in her mouth
she forced herself to swallow it all, just as Collins had told her. When she
finished with one she crawled to the next, and when she felt like gagging on
their come she took deep breaths through her nose and suppressed the instinct.
And when she had finished the last one, she stayed there on her knees and waited
for further orders. Tears ran down her face, but she couldn't help that.
Besides, they wouldn't mind her tears. They would enjoy seeing her cry, it was
part of their vengeance, their debasement of her.
When they told her to get up and climb onto the table and stretch
herself out on her back, with her legs spread wide, she did it. The men she had
sucked first were ready again, and the others soon after. Some of them took off
most of their clothes, some of them didn't bother. But they all took her there,
crushing her body under them, squeezing her breasts roughly, pushing themselves
hungrily into her softness. Some of them kissed her tired mouth as they battered
eagerly at her, some grunted obscenities, some just grinned with evil triumph
into her tear-filled eyes. Through it all she felt Collins' eyes on her, and
again she did what she had to do. She arched and squirmed, she met their
thrusts, trying to match their rhythms, she kissed them back with passionate
tongue, she wrapped her legs around them, she did everything she could to give
them pleasure. And she never stopped crying.
"The bitch is good," Trifford said to Collins, when they had all
finished with her. "You did a good job on her."
"Yeah," one of the others said. "But this is just the beginning. We've
got a long way to go before we're done with her."
"I don't think she'll give you any trouble," Collins said. "But if she
does, just give me a call. I guarantee I'll take care of it."
Joyce started to shake.
"That's good," Trifford said. "But I think maybe we'll be able to take
care of it ourselves, you know? I wouldn't mind putting a few marks on her
myself, if necessary."
"Sounds like fun to me," another man said.
"Well, I'll leave her to you now. But remember--when you get through
with her, I want her back. She has a date to keep with my assistant. Right,
Joyce?"
"Yes, sir," Joyce said.
