Bethany's Sins

(Pride and Greed in too great a measure)

Bethany knew beyond doubt that she was the best. Today, she had waltzed out of her low-paid job with the DeMoeira Investments Company with a cool half a billion dollars to her name (or rather, names, for she used several to claim it all), and to really prove how good she was, she even managed to carry ten million in notes right past the security men. Not all the hundreds of millions had come from this one operation, of course: she had pulled similar frauds five times already, but this one gave her the figure she had dreamed of for so long. Just the very first job she had done would have been enough to set herself up for life, of course, but discovering how well she could do it, and just how good that money made her feel, made the thought of hitting other companies seem even more enticing. She set herself the target of 'earning' $500,000,000 and now she had done it. As she abandoned the city that morning, she wondered briefly if she would stop now, or if she would try to make even more the next time. 'Why not go for the billion mark?' she asked herself as she drove.

Bethany's features took mostly after her Italian father's side of the family, with dark, flashing eyes and stunning black hair; her lips, though, were entirely her English mother's influence, small and rosebud, and incredibly sexy with bright red lipstick against the Mediterranean complexion of her skin.

Night was drawing in, and she realised she had lost her way somewhere, or else had not made as much time as she had expected: she was in some tiny town in the middle of nowhere, and with nowhere to stay.

As she left the petty dwellings and shops behind her, she found that she was passing a church and, to her surprise, the reverend seemed to be just closing up. Deciding that Christian charity might just work in her favour here, she pulled up and got out of her car.

"Excuse me, reverend?' she called out.

'Yes, what is it?'

'Can you tell me if there is anywhere to stay the night nearby? I think I must have missed my turning somewhere and I seem to be lost.'

'I'm sorry, but there is nowhere very close by, but I could put you up in my spare bedroom if you like. There are some things I have to sort out here first, but I will show you the way in a minute. Why don't you wait inside and have a nice hot drink?'

'Coffee, milk and two sugars please, that would be lovely!' replied Bethany.

The vicar quickly boiled a kettle in the vestry and made up her drink, before going outside to do – whatever it was that he had been planning to do before Bethany, poor, needy soul, had arrived at his gate. As he went, Bethany reflected that, had he not been a man of the cloth, she would have already tried to hit on him. He was much taller than Bethany's 5'7", maybe even over 6' tall, and he looked fit and athletic beneath his outfit. He had gentle blue eyes but short, dark hair and something slightly European about his manner. In a movie, he might have played a smooth, sinister and seductive bad guy – just the characters after whom Bethany lusted most when she watched a film.

Bethany was quite thirsty after driving for so long, and gulped down her coffee quickly. At first, she thought the wooziness that she felt was just the effect of not giving herself a chance to breathe properly between gulps. By the time that she realised that it might be a little bit more serious, she was unable to move her limbs at all, and slumped sideways on the chair. Seconds later, and her consciousness was gone completely.

When she awoke, Bethany realised very quickly that she was in serious trouble. She was naked, and her limbs were spread wide, tied to some sort of metal frame by leather cuffs attached to chains. Judging by the aches in her arms she had been asleep like that for some time. She was in a vertical position and could see a large wooden table in front of her. At first, she noticed only the fact that her clothes were in tatters, piled on the table. Then she noticed that her briefcase was open, sitting beside them and facing her. Ten million dollars in various denominations stared mockingly at her from their stacks within the case.

The vicar must have been some sort of pervert, and goodness knew how many women he had already captured and imprisoned here. He must have thought it was his lucky day when he had discovered the money as well.

She heard the door open behind her.

"Hello?' she called out.

"Ah, good, you're awake!' came a cheery response from the vicar. When he came around in front of Bethany, she saw that he was no longer wearing the dog-collar or anything else that would have identified him as a member of the clergy.

'By now, you will have deduced that I am not, in fact, anything to do with this church,' he began, and Bethany nodded despite not having reached that conclusion yet, 'This room is just behind the pipe organ that is the pride of the whole town, I think they had to remove some of the stops for maintenance or something, and never managed to pay to put them back. The pipes used to be in here. Which made it perfect for my purposes.'

'What are you going to do to me?' Bethany managed to ask, dreading the reply.

'I propose to punish you for committing two of the seven deadly sins, in particular, Greed and Pride. These two are especially close to my own heart, as I tend to commit them quite often myself. I, however, have never been caught.

'I work for the DeMoeira business family, from whom you have stolen well in excess of one hundred million dollars. Your pride enabled me to catch you: it was the work of moments to figure out who had taken these ten million, and why, and where that person would be heading. The rest was simply lying in wait.

'The DeMoeira business family consists of much more than just the DeMoeira Investments Company, but also have some rather darker connections, stretching back to King James the First of England, and his witch hunts. More recent customers included General Pinochet and Saddam Hussein. I am sure you can guess what their speciality is from this information.' Bethany opened her mouth to speak, but the – bounty hunter? – held up his hand to stop her.

'The directors of DeMoeira have always been more interested in punishment than redress. They know that most of the money you stole is lost to them. They just want you to suffer for having had the audacity to try stealing from them. In fact, this money here is my payment for making sure that this happens. I have also been given some rather good gadgets recently developed by their sadistic researchers. This is something of a field test for them.'

'Look, you know how much money I stole from your employers, and they weren't the first. I can pay you twenty times as much if you just let me go!'

'Ah, you have been paying attention. But, while pride and greed worked together in your criminal activities, in my job I often find that they work in opposite directions after a while. My greed would say, "Accept the offer!" but my pride wins out every time. I enjoy my work and want to do a good job every time I am commissioned. So, thank you but fuck you!

'Speaking of which, it's Tuesday night now, and since choir practice is on Mondays, we will have the place to ourselves for some time. I have licence from my employers to do whatever I wish to you so long as they have proof of your extreme suffering by this time next week. They already know that I have caught you, by the way. I informed them while you were sleeping off the drug.' He paused to set up an industry-quality digital video camera on a tripod the other side of the big table, making sure that he had the framing absolutely perfect. He started it recording

'Now, that explains what we're doing here, so let's get down to business, shall we? I know I talked about fancy gadgets earlier, but I thought to start off with, we'd have a nice bit of traditional flagellation – after all, this is a church, and you are atoning for deadly sins!'

On either side of Bethany's frame, he released a brake and now the whole thing rolled free so that he could turn her through 180˚. Then he locked the frame back in position. Bethany could now see the wall that had been behind her. It was much less substantial than the solid brick of the opposite wall, and the door was a similarly temporary-looking structure. But, if nobody was going to be using the church until Sunday, then screaming would have no effect anyway. Bethany resolved that she would not give the sadistic bounty hunter the pleasure of her cries.

Her resolve lasted right up until the first blow landed across her lower back and she jerked in her restraints.

"Ah!' she cut off the cry as it began, but already she was doubting her ability to deny her captor anything.

'How do you like my flail? An old-fashioned implement, but even this simple device has benefited from the research done by DeMoeira Correctional Industries, devising new materials and the optimum configuration. Let's try that again.'

This time the flail landed between Bethany's shoulder blades, but she managed to keep her pride intact and although it took its toll on her lower lip, she remained silent.

'Unrepentant, huh? We'll soon see about that!'

The flail landed across the top of Bethany's well-shaped buttocks, making her jerk even more than before, but she clung to her self-respect and would not cry out.

The whipping began in earnest then, no pauses between the blows landing on every square inch of Bethany's flesh between the back of her knees and the back of her neck. Bethany panted to keep control of herself, because biting her lip would be futile now: it was a constant barrage, not a set of discrete impacts that she had to survive now. She could not stop her body bucking and heaving under the assault, and hated the lewd effect that this had, even if the thin wall was for now the only witness to the way her C-cup bosom swung and her crotch wriggled.

Suddenly, the whip stopped and, before she realised what was happening, Bounty Hunter reached around her and pinched hard on her left nipple. Her scream filled the chamber before she could stop it escaping her lips, and she was rewarded by the low chuckle of her captor.

'You just can't stop sinnin', can you, missy?' he told her, 'You are already being punished for pride, so why make it worse for yourself? I think I need to move up a notch and go for a real whip!'

'Please, no! I can't take it!'

'How I wish I could believe that this new humility was genuine! But I think you will find that you can take it well enough for me. Are you ready?'

Sobbing, 'No!'

A second later, 'Argh!' Bethany's scream filled the air again as the whip tore a searing path across her back.

'No more!' she gasped, 'I beg you!'

'Five more, actually, sinner. You need them.'

Another stripe of fire landed across her back, and once again she screamed. Tears rolled down her cheeks. There was no point even trying to brace herself, she thought, as she sagged forwards (or as far forwards as she could in the tight cuffs and chains that held her). As soon as she rested still after each lash hit home, the next one came. Bethany had no hope of keeping count of even such a small number as the Bounty Hunter had named, and simply was glad when the addition of new pain stopped. Her back seemed to be ablaze. The whip's marks continued to burn just as fiercely after they had stopped and Bethany was left sobbing helplessly in the aftermath of the punishment.

'You starting to feel repentant yet?' he asked, and Bethany nodded, relieved that it was over.

'In that case, I think we can adjourn until tomorrow. Just a couple of things to sort out first, though.' He exited the room briefly, and came back with what looked like a black doctor's bag. From it he drew a tube with a curious nozzle at one end, and at the other a bag of fluid like those often seen in hospitals, which he laid on the table.

'What is that for?' Bethany asked, petrified by the sight of obvious medical equipment.

'Well, we don't want any accidents when I'm not here, so I'm taking a sensible precaution,' replied her captor. He stood behind her, beside her thighs, and almost casually reached out with the hand that was holding the nozzle before pressing it between Bethany's asscheeks.

'What the hell...?' yelled Bethany, but the question was rendered redundant as the nozzle was firmly pressed into her anus and the Bounty Hunter opened the valve on the bag, which he held high above her. The fluid immediately started to pour into her bowels.

'No, stop, it's barbaric!' screamed Bethany as she felt her innards starting to flood, 'Please, stop!'

'To coin a phrase, "I've started so I'll finish"' quipped the Bounty Hunter as he waited patiently for the bag to empty itself into Bethany's behind, 'Relax, it's only three pints!' Bethany didn't care, she was sure that her abdomen was going to burst from the liquid pressure building inside her. Cramps in her bowels told her that she needed to get to a toilet very soon.

Finally, the bag had emptied itself. Rapidly, the Bounty Hunter produced a large bucket. He quickly undid Bethany's feet hands, confident that she would not be trying to escape with her guts full of enema. He helped her to squat over the bucket and held it in place. Bethany felt a horrible combination of utter relief and total humiliation as the liquid gushed forth from her back passage.

Once the foul stream had ended, the Bounty Hunter moved the bucket safely out of the way.

He stood behind Bethany, forcing her onto her belly, and with one arm he took firm hold of her legs. He used the other to fit a leather sleeve over her feet. Once it was safely in place, Bethany found that it sheathed her feet in a close fit, immobilising them very effectively. The Bounty Hunter tightened them further by a strap around her ankles and another one around her calves that would hold the sleeve firmly in place. All the while, Bethany flailed her arms uselessly, but once he finished he quickly turned her onto her back and her wrists and hands were cocooned just as her feet had been, bound together in front of her.

Bounty Hunter lifted her and left her on the table, face-up, and tied the cocoons of feet and hands to the ends the table, stretching Bethany lengthways. Then he turned off the camera, and Bethany realised at last that he had positioned the bucket directly in the camera's view, so that it caught every moment of her evacuation.

'Good night, sleep tight!' called the Bounty Hunter, and he departed leaving the battered, bruised and disgraced Bethany to contemplate the error of her ways. She was glad she had not had much to drink: at least there was little chance of wetting herself in the night. She decided to try to sleep despite her uncomfortable position. Eventually, she succeeded.

There was no way of telling what time it was when she was woken by the return of her captor. Instantly, she felt the stiffness from lying in her bound state on a hard, flat surface. She also felt the urgent need to pee. Bounty Hunter had a bucket for this very purpose, but first he activated his camera again. He undid Bethany's feet only, and positioned her so that she was tipping over the side of the table, her urinary tract aimed directly at the bucket on the floor below. This was not enough for the man, however, and he produced a funnel attached to a tube. On either side of the top of the funnel were some elasticated straps with which he fastened the funnel between Bethany's legs, which he could now use both hands to hold apart.

'I know you must be desperate, Bethany,' he said, 'so you had better take the chance while it is on offer. If you don't, I have a neat device made by my employers that can very effectively prevent you from peeing for as long as I wish – and then guarantee that you let go instantly the moment I decide that you should. It would be a pleasure to fit it to you and leave it there for the duration of your stay here, if you give me a reason to.'

'Please don't do that!'

'Why?'

'I really do need to go, but I can't with you watching me!'

'Tough. I ain't turning my back on you with two of your limbs free, not yet. If you're too proud to do it, you deserve the punishment! Either go in the next thirty seconds, or you won't go at all until I say so, understood?'

Bethany nodded mutely, and tried very hard to block out the man's presence, the discomfort of having the funnel tied between her legs and all the other problems there were. She was so relieved when the long stream of yellow fluid finally emerged from her body that she gasped audibly with the emotion. Bounty Hunter smiled at her, but waited until she had finished before patting her on her thigh and telling her, 'Good girl!' Her cheeks flushed red behind the tanned complexion as her humiliation at having peed in front of a complete stranger outweighed briefly all other emotions at her captivity.

The next thing that Bounty Hunter revealed was a 3 feet long spreader bar. Bethany, lying on her back with her pelvis dangling over the edge of the table, was not well placed to see what he had, but could guess its purpose would to restrain her in some way.

Taking advantage of the natural spreading effect of the funnel, Bounty Hunter easily clamped the cuffs closed. No leather straps or chains here, these were hard steel bands held closed with sturdy pins, and welded firmly onto the pole so that there was no chance of play or flexibility. Bethany's ankles were three feet apart, and they were staying there.

Now he undid her wrists, but only briefly. He made sure that she had no use from her hands by tying them behind her back, and adding a second bind around her elbows, pulling it tight so that her shoulders were forced right back and her chest jutted forwards making her bosom seem even more impressive than it really was. He positioned her so that she was seated on the edge of her table, her stretched legs hanging over the side. She faced the camera directly, wile he moved behind it to address her, making sure that his secondary microphone could hear him well.

'I have decided that today I will collect the other part of my payment. I should warn you, I tend to be very greedy about payment, and you are the sort of woman who inspires a great deal of greed. A nasty, thieving, criminal bitch with a gorgeous body – there is so much that I would like to do to you, and the contract says that I may do anything I want to you.'

He softened his voice, 'Is there anything you wouldn't like me to do?'

'Please, don't rape me. I'm a virgin!'

Bounty Hunter did an impression of some game show host, 'That's where we'll start then, folks – popping the bitch's cherry!'

'No! Please!' cried Bethany, and she began to struggle against her bonds, heedless of the futility of her efforts.

'Relax! If you do, you might even find that you enjoy it!'

Bethany had never cried since she was a young girl, but now the tears were flowing again for the second time in 24 hours.

'Please, I'm begging you!' she sobbed as he placed his hands on her shoulders. He ignored her, pushing her onto her back, her arms trapped beneath her. She closed her eyes: 'Please stop!' she choked again through her tears.

He took hold of her hips, and pulled her towards him, so that once again she was hanging over the edge of the table. He stepped over the spreader bar and into the triangle it formed with her legs. Bethany's chest rose and fell with her panicked breathing, her fear of the imminent event too great to be controlled. She felt his penis nuzzle against her nether lips, his firm hands on her hips guiding her body unerringly onto the pillar of flesh that would impale her, taking from her something that she had always dreamed of giving to the man of her dreams.

'Nooo!' she moaned, as he forced it into the mouth of her vagina, almost tenderly easing into her at first.

'Aah!' she wailed as he steadily increased the rate of advance, pushing against and bursting her hymen in a single smooth action, and then he was buried deep within her. Her fingers clenched beneath her as the pain of the invasion mingled with the explosion of other new sensations, in a region of her body that had never been touched before. But it was pain, and it was humiliation and helplessness!

'Ooh! Oh, noo! Argh!' she moaned and grunted as he started to run his cock in and out of her too-dry alleyway: but it was not remaining dry, and the friction seemed to fade as he increased his tempo, pounding at her until his balls were thumping against her, his cock ramming into the deepest reaches of her pussy, her body entirely belonging to him. Her vocalisations became neither protest nor response, but mere physical reaction to the violence of his actions and the subtlety of the sensations they provoked.

'Oh God, oh God, oh God!' she wailed as his pounding seemed to crescendo, and then, as she felt his sperm pumping into her body, a final despairing, 'Nooo!'

He pulled back, and looked at her.

'You know, I think you were beginning to enjoy that, you slut,' he said, 'I'll bet that last "No!" was more because you wanted me to continue than because you have finally been defiled. Maybe I should add Lust to your list of sins?'

'No, no, please, I never want to go through that again!' pleaded Bethany.

'Okay, but you still have Greed and Pride to atone for. I have some things to sort out, but in the mean time, I am going to have you stand right here and think about your crimes, and what I could do to you.'

Bounty Hunter lifted Bethany from the table, and he set her on her feet, still wide apart from the spreader bar, facing the camera.

'Just a few little bits to focus your mind...' he commented, and he produced yet more paraphernalia. Clips, in fact, that he fastened to her body. First, he took three of them and used them to clamp shut Bethany's labia minora. She winced and barked 'Argh!' each time he added one, but made no further sound. Then he took two more that were linked by a chain. As he approached her breasts with the first one, she began to writhe and wriggle to try to escape it, but Bounty hunter used his free hand to hold her by the throat and she froze just long enough for him to tighten the clip as tight as it would go around her left nipple.

'No-argh!' she cried as he did so, 'No, I can't bear it! Take it off!' But he was already attaching the second of them.

He turned away briefly as she continued to plead with him to remove the vile instruments attached to her body. He turned back, and Bethany saw the lead weights that he held, with hooks on one end. She knew what he would do with them, but her mouth dried up with terror and she was unable to protest when he suspended them from the chain that linked her tits.

'Be a good girl, and don't go anywhere now!' he told her cheerily as he left her there, displaying her privates in a most lewd manner to the camera.

* * * * *

It was hours before Bounty Hunter returned, and Bethany begged him instantly, 'I need to pee again, please.'

'Do you think you can do it like that?' he asked her. Desperately, for her bladder seemed about to burst, she nodded, and he went and once again fastened the funnel as before, letting the tube run down to his bucket. Weeping for the shame of it, she let herself go as soon as he had finished positioning the apparatus.

'Beautiful!' he told her as she was in mid-flow, 'You are at last beginning to learn the error of your foolish pride.' She ignored him, closing her eyes to shut out the horrible situation, and let herself finish. He swiftly removed the funnel and tube, and shifted the bucket out of the way.

'Tell me, Bethany,' he said, 'Have you ever sucked a man's prick before?'

She hung her head at the personal question, and shook it: no.

'Then I will take as payment a second cherry of yours, and so apt a name for such small, sweetly formed lips! You will suck, and you will choke, and you will swallow every drop. Is that understood?' Meekly, Bethany nodded.

He helped her to her knees, which were forced wide by the spreader bar and the fact that knees do not bend very well except in one direction. He gently caressed her hair, kneading his fingers into it so that he had a very firm grip on Bethany's head, and his raging cock now hovered inches from her nose and mouth.

'Come on, open wide!' he said, 'And remember: your only chance of leaving here is when I decide to let you go, so don't try anything!'

Bethany licked her lips nervously, and opened her mouth to accept Bounty Hunter's torpedo. Softly, so softly at first, he slid it into her buccal cavity, she could feel the shaft reaching ever further back. She closed her lips around it, and felt him slide backwards again, the rough texture against her lips like some electric touch. The taste, exotic and strange to her, unpleasant and yet enticing. 'What is becoming of me?' she thought, 'How can I be enjoying the fact that this rapist has his cock in my mouth?' Eagerly, as his rod slithered back inwards, her tongue sought it out, exploring the repulsive and yet compulsive flavour of Bounty Hunter's manhood.

'Oh, you slut!' moaned Bounty Hunter, 'You're a natural!' With that, though, everything changed. His hands gripped Bethany's hair tighter, and suddenly he was not sliding in an out, but thrusting forcefully, aiming not for the sweetness of her lips but the recesses of her throat. Gagging, choking, Bethany tried to object, but with her hands and legs trapped, and her mouth blocked by the shaft, there was nothing for her to do except gasp for every available gulp of air. Then, briefly, it was over, his cock was only in her mouth, not her throat, and she could taste him again properly. But she could sense it coming, she braced herself, and felt the cock jerk and spasm, spurting hot semen into her mouth, flooding her tubes, forcing her to swallow desperately, frantically, to clear an airway. The taste was foul, but her tongue would not leave the diminishing penis alone, Bethany compulsively seeking to consume everything she could of the man's seed.

'Hmm, it seems that, though you may have forsaken Pride, Greed remains just as strongly in you!' remarked Bounty Hunter, 'I have much to do tomorrow.' Only then did he remove the clips on Bethany's pussylips and tits.

Once again, he forced Bethany to take an enema, and he laid her in such a position as to prevent circulation to any part of her body being cut off completely if she slept. Then he left her in the dark, and once more she struggled to sleep.

* * * * *

'Good morning!' cried Bounty Hunter, waking Bethany once more. Instead of needing to piss, Bethany only felt a raging thirst today. Bounty Hunter seemed to have anticipated this, and he lifted a bottle with a straw in it to her lips as she sat up on the table. She sucked on it eagerly.

'That is your own, partially-distilled, urine,' commented Bounty Hunter in a chatty way, 'The taste should still be there, but it should work to re-hydrate you rather than the opposite effect.' Bethany didn't really notice the taste, but had a worrying feeling at the back of her mind, that if she ever tasted it again in less desperate circumstances, then she would drink it just as greedily because of the intensity of the relief that she now felt.

When she had finished its contents, Bounty Hunter took the bottle away.

'Today, I am going to compose my magnum opus upon you, but first I must exact payment for my services. Since you were quite so slutty when I used your mouth, I must find some other way of taking my payment...'

'Please, don't do it again!' cut in Bethany.

'Oh, how I hoped you would say that!' he replied, 'I shall do something different this time!'

He reattached the spreader bar to her legs, and lifted her off the table. He placed her at one end, facing lengthways down the table, before forcing her to bend right over. He quickly fastened her outstretched arms at the other end, having left them tied in front of her to let her sleep in the night. Now he ran his fingers across her bottom. He was pleased as the soft, tight orbs danced away from the feather-light touch.

'What are you doing?' Bethany begged to know, but he remained silent, and repositioned the camera to gain the best possible video of the event. Then he advanced, and finally Bethany realised what he was doing.

'No, for God's sake, not there! That's impossible!' she yelled at him, but his hands were pulling her cheeks apart, and his cock's head was already pressing into her puckered anus.

'Now, I can be sure that this hole is virgin!' he remarked in a cruel voice, as he started to use his weight to press harder against Bethany's helplessly trapped behind.

'Ooow!' wailed Bethany, as he overcame the reflex that tried to eject him even before he entered, 'Nooo!'

'Relax!' he said, 'It will hurt less.'

Bethany could not relax. Her darkest, dirtiest hole was being raped by his cock and there was nothing she could do about it. It burned and scraped and tore at her insides, and she was powerless in his grasp. His hands were on her hips, forcing her body further down to be impaled on him. But through the agony, something else stirred, her hands clenched not in anguish but in pleasure. 'How can I be enjoying this?' she thought desperately. 'Oh, God, please don't let him realise!'

But it was too late: he had felt down to her pussy, and detected the unmistakable wetness of her arousal. He stopped, and pulled out, plunging his cock into her vagina, ramming harder than ever before, and it went straight in, right up to the balls, ramming and pounding.

'You slut, you lousy whore,' swore Bounty Hunter, 'you just love to be abused! And I love to abuse you!'

'Oh yes! Yes, yes, yes!' cried Bethany, grinding back as much as she could, rubbing her clit on the edge of the table with each thrust he made, and with each push back that she gave. 'Oh, oh, augh!' she came, her whole body flooded with ecstasy. As she did so, she felt Bounty Hunter pull out, and then he was back in her ass, and though it hurt just as much, it was indistinguishable from the joy, and he was frantically pounding, filling her rectum with his cum.

'Payment accepted in full!' he concluded. After a few moments to recover himself, he said, 'But now I must finish the job.'

He dragged Bethany back over to the frame on which she had been suspended when she had first woken in this room, and he methodically placed her back into it. Then he revealed several pieces of apparatus that he carefully applied to Bethany's body. A smooth metal collar went around her throat. Clamps fastened onto Bethany's breasts. A dildo and butt plug were held in place by a harness. A ring gag forced her lips wide, and attached to it was a curiously shaped device that rested on Bethany's tongue. Two circular bands of metal went around the base of each breast.

He then set up a TV set behind the video camera, where Bethany could see everything it showed. Right now, it was blank. Then Bounty Hunter disappeared.

The TV screen suddenly came to life, and showed Bounty Hunter sitting at the keyboards of the organ. There was no sound from the TV screen, but when Bounty Hunter pressed a key on the organ, Bethany screamed as the sound filled her chamber: one of her breasts felt as though it had been struck by lightning. Bounty Hunter played a chromatic scale: all twelve notes in sequence. Each one had a different effect. The first seven all sparked electric shocks: left and right breasts, dildo, butt plug, tongue holder, collar, breast-collars. The last five had different effects: dildo vibrates, butt plug vibrates, left breast-collar tightens, right breast-collar tightens, neck collar tightens. The collars grew tighter the longer the note was held, as Bounty Hunter made clear with his playing. He left his spy camera activated, and came back to see Bethany one last time.

'There are two services on Sunday: the Eucharist and the Evensong, and they like a good, long service in these parts. When they sing to praise God, you will suffer for your sins! I have seen which hymns they are using, and every one of these items will be activated many times. The video camera is set to switch itself on and record everything that happens on Sunday. I am very proud of this poetic justice. Now you can wait for God's own people to punish you!'

He went over and switched off the camera, and headed for the door. Just before he went, he came over to Bethany.

'I have committed the same sins as you, dear: Pride you know. Greed? Well, if you're still alive after Evensong,' he whispered to her, 'I will make you mine alone.' As he left, Bethany dreamed of a time after Evensong.

Part 2

For days Bethany waited, growing weaker and weaker, her aching, spread-eagled body in need of sustenance. Until finally, Sunday came and in her forgotten corner of the church she went through Hell. She had not realised that the devices attached to her would be triggered in concert, as the organist played several notes at the same time. For many long seconds at a time, she was without air, her breasts were squeezed until she was sure they would be torn from her completely. She screamed, cried and begged for it to stop, but nobody could possibly hear her pleas behind the massed sound of the pipes and the singers. Each service lasted for hours, sometimes with long intervals between hymns, sometimes with several in quick succession. Bethany had no way of knowing when the music, and her pain, would start again.

It was at some point during Evensong that, despite her dilapidated state, her body tipped over into an orgasm. She was almost surprised by the sudden intensity of sensation as it rolled across her body. Bethany was not consciously aware of what triggered it, and with her weakened body was sure that she was dying. She did not die, but she did not have any life left in her either, a haze falling over her senses and, to anyone watching the video later, it would have seemed that she had expired.

* * * * *

Midnight, and a dark figure moves through the churchyard, and steals inside. Bounty Hunter has returned. He shakes his head as he sees the ruined beauty upon her frame, wishing that he had adjusted the settings slightly. It seems such a waste. He packs away the video recorder, knowing that his employers will be satisfied with the material he has produced. What will happen to it, and whether it will be used in some underground commerce, he does not care. Now he has to remove the equipment he brought here.

He lies Bethany on the table, still believing her dead, and quickly dismantles the frame and other devices, packing them away and carrying them to his waiting van. He returns to collect the smaller items, and something alerts him to the fact that Bethany has not expired after all. Some subtle shift in her body, some movement that could not be chance, or maybe a swirl of dust above her face to show she is breathing. He does not know what it is, but he realises that she needs water and food if she is to be brought back from the brink.

He is careful. He fetches a plastic bottle of water from his van, prepared for just this eventuality. He spills a little on her lips and is gratified to see her tongue instantly lap it up, instinct driving her, for she is not yet conscious. He does it again, and her eyes open, focussing only on the source of water. She has no strength to reach for it. He puts the bottle to her lips, and she gulps urgently at it, but he does not want to give her too much in case it has an adverse effect. He puts the bottle out of reach, puts her into the recovery position and continues his work. Every time he returns from the van to the church, he lets her drink a little more and he sees that she is gradually regaining her awareness. He does not know how she will react when she realises who he is, but she will not be strong enough to resist him.

Soon everything that could link the Bounty Hunter or DeMoeira Industries with the church is removed to the van, and only Bethany herself remains to be moved.

He lifts her to her feet, and though she staggers she is able to support herself with a little help. Bounty Hunter ties her wrists behind her back, and though she shakes her head limply, she does not resist – maybe she cannot find the strength, yet. He puts his arm around her, to support and guide her, and walks her to the van. Inside the back, there is a coffin, lined with soft materials to give its living occupant a very easy ride. Into this, he places Bethany, and he provides a drinking tube attached to a litre bottle of a water/nutrient mix. It will give her what she needs to stay alive. The lid closes, and Bounty Hunter returns to the driving seat of his van, starts the engine, and takes ownership of Bethany.

Part 3

Bethany existed in a daze. She could remember walking from the church in someone's arms, someone whom she felt that she should hate but ho felt so warm and right as though she had shared some wonderful experience with him. She was vaguely aware of a hideous torture in her recent past, but in her weary and dehydrated state it was impossible for her to piece together her own past. That she had stolen half a billion from various companies around the world was buried so far down that it might have seemed lost forever, though this was really only a temporary state. She knew that she was lying on her back in a closed box, with a tube that gave her sweet-tasting water. She knew that she was safe for now, that she could rest and let herself recover from whatever horrors she had endured.

So she drank the water and waited, drifting into a deep and dreamless sleep.

* * * * *

When she awoke, Bethany thought she was in hospital. An IV feed had been placed in her arm, and she was lying in a hospital bed in a clean environment surrounded by curtains, just like in a hospital ward. She tried to move, but couldn't. Sensations began to register more fully. She was strapped to her bed, across the shins, thighs, waist and chest. Her wrists were buckled separately to the sides of the table. She could see none of these arrangements, because she was well wrapped in sheets and blankets to keep her warm enough. She knew that she was naked, but somehow that did not seem strange any more. She had not worn clothes for a week now, and was used to nakedness.

Her fall into the hands of Judgement, in the form of the Bounty Hunter, was once again fresh in her memory, etched as though impossible to erase, before it had only been covered by the sands of the desert of dehydration. The humiliation of cumming as he filled her rectum returned and swamped her just as the curtain was swept aside and there, once more, stood the man she knew only as Bounty Hunter.

"Good morning, my sweet thing," he said, but his was not the familiar American tones she had heard before, but a curious mix of European accents, most notably French and English. Unable to move, she waited in dread for whatever would come next, and clearly it showed in her face.

"Do not fret, little one," he said, "Do you not recall how I promised to own you if you survived my employers' cunning devices? Would I really wish to harm so precious an item as yourself? But come, you must wish to know who I really am! I am your owner, of course, but I will allow you to know a name that you may never call me. I am Bernhardt Herrault, and all this is mine." He gestured around the room, and slowly encapsulated Bethany's body in his gesture.

"When you are well, we will begin training you properly. But for now, are there any questions you wish to ask?"

"Yes, please. Where are we, and what's going to happen to me?"

"Wrong questions!" Bernhardt sounded angry, "You will find out the answers in due time. There are just two things you need to know for now, and you had better ask for them because I will not tell you."

Bethany trembled in fear, but thought frantically: "Err, you said I could not call you by your real name, so what may I call you?" she asked.

"First question correct, good girl. You will call me Master. If others whom I command you to call Master are present, then I will be Master H. The others will have their own letters. What is your second question? I will give you a clue: it is like the first..."

"Ah, err, I don't know...you can't mean...what am I called?" Bethany's disbelief and fear at her obvious fate was showing through, despite her desire to remain calm and focussed. This was so far beyond anything she had ever expected in her life that panic was just a few seconds away at any time.

"I do mean that, yes. The answer is that you have no name any longer, though for the time being you will be called 'sweet thing', and you will need to know that until you are well, because many instructions will come your way but you should only follow those directed to you. You will certainly suffer if you do not, and might suffer if you follow those which are not intended for you."

"Please, Master, I would dearly like to know where we are," Bethany tried again, hoping for a clue, something that might tell her what would happen next.

"You are in a bed. I might as well be everywhere, for the power I have over you. I will leave you now." Bernhardt Herrault turned and stalked away, closing the curtains behind him. With nothing to occupy her mind, and still very ill after her physical trials, Bethany drifted back into sleep.

* * * * *

She was woken by the sound of a heavy soup plate being placed on a table across her bed. She was pleased to find that her hands were free now, although she was still strapped firmly down across her legs and body. The bed folded to allow her to sit up, as the nurse (or, young woman dressed as a sexy nurse, it appeared) operated a control.

"Eat this!" were the only words exchanged, and greedily Bethany obliged, in her hunger ignorant of the smirk that crossed the nurse's face.

About half an hour later, Bethany felt as if she was being consumed from the inside. Her stomach seemed to be trying to claw its way out of her by any means possible. She could not curl up or writhe as she would have done normally, and perhaps that was a good thing. She was left in her sitting position, unable to do anything but weep and scream and beg for somebody to help her. In her hellish torment, it seemed like forever until Bernhardt Herrault arrived, but in fact he only let her suffer for twenty minutes or so before revealing the cause.

"Alas, how quickly are the important lessons forgotten, sweet thing. You ate the soup, did you not? You were not told to do so, were you?"

"The nurse...she ordered me to eat..." The pain was making Bethany stammer

"No, she did not. She gave an order to eat, but she did not address it to you, did she? She did not use your identifier. Who are you?"

"I...I...am Bethany..."

"Wrong. You are nobody, but I call you sweet thing, and only orders directed at sweet thing are to be followed by sweet thing, understand? I warned you that you would suffer if you forgot this simple rule, and now you are suffering for forgetting it. And you forgot the other simple rule. Who am I?"

"M...Master. You are Master."

"You do know, but you neglected to use my title correctly throughout our conversation. For that reason, I am withholding the antidote to the poison that has you wracked with pain. You will endure another ten to twelve hours as a result. Good day, sweet thing!"

Bernhardt turned swiftly to leave.

"Master, please, I'm sorry!" wailed Bethany, desperation at last making her words clear, but from behind the curtains, she heard the door close and she was alone with her agony.

Part 4

Bethany could not know it, but only three hours had passed by the time the pain began to fade. Any greater dose ran too high a risk of killing her, but it was long enough coupled with Herrault's comment, to give the illusion of a much longer period of suffering. Herrault had Bethany's wrists strapped again, and the bed tilted back so the time seemed to pass even slower.

Almost as soon as the pain stopped, she was aware of other needs: although she had not eaten anything solid for several days, she had recently taken in a lot of fluid. The kidneys did not stop working even when she was dried out, and now her bladder was full again.

The situation had been anticipated, and another "nurse" appeared almost as soon as Bethany became aware of her problem. This woman was much stronger, and clearly here to control Bethany if she should try anything. Bethany had no such ambitions: she still felt too weak to stand, let alone fight her way to freedom. And she was unsure if that was after all what she wanted. the whirlwind of events and sensations that had landed her here had not allowed her to settle, or to understand fully what she was feeling.

"Sweet thing," said the nurse, "Time to pee!" She provided what looked to be a bedpan modelled closely on those used in centuries gone by. The nurse cautioned her, "Take your chance now, or you won't get another."

It felt so humiliating to have to urinate with this woman standing over her, into a brass pan beneath the sheet. But there was no other option, and her bladder was feeling the strain. Reluctantly, but also with a sense of relief, Bethany let go.

When she was finished, the nurse inspected the pan, and remarked, "Well done, sweet thing! You'll be just fine." Then Bethany was alone again. She tried not to think about what might be done later with the contents of the bedpan. The notions that came to her were shocking, and she wondered if her captivity and treatment by Master H. had already turned her into the sort of filthy-minded person who would leap to those sorts of ideas. Then she realised that she was already thinking of him only by the title he had claimed, and she began to cry. Somehow, the life of wealth and luxury that had awaited her just a few hours away, seemed like a mere fairy-tale and her chances of reaching that particular happy ending had never been so remote. She thought she was feeling her belief in any other life but hellish servitude to Master H. slip into nothingness, and she mourned that passing.

Once she stopped crying, the boredom that followed seemed to be the worst torture she had faced. All the hours under Monsieur Herrault's vicious attentions, she had always had sensation, and change and something to occupy her mind. In her bored state, it seemed to her now that she had enjoyed every moment of his punishment of her, and that she would dearly welcome the sting of his violence on her skin. She hated herself for thinking such things, she tried to remember how pleasant and joyful it would be once she was free again and able to use her ill-gotten gains to build the life of which she had dreamed so long.

Her desire for freedom was piqued by a growing sense of hunger. The soup had, of course, had almost no nutritional value; its purpose was only to trick her into ingesting the torturous poison. Now she was desperately hungry, and though nutrients were provided by her drip feed, her stomach yearned to be filled.

She was filled with delight when a nurse arrived with a large sandwich and offered it to her, saying, "It's okay, Bethany, have something to build you up." Without thinking, Bethany said, "Oh, thank you so much!" and opened her mouth to receive the food. Just before she bit into the sumptuous looking sandwich, she recalled what she should be called if it was to be safe to eat. Feeling sick already, she reluctantly turned her head away instead of closing her teeth on it.

"Well done, sweet thing. But it is safe to eat, honest!" cooed the nurse and Bethany wondered what could be the case. Was she now to be ordered to eat something that would leave her wracked in pain, or had she voluntarily refused a sandwich that was safe to eat, waiting for the correct trigger words?

"Eat up, sweet thing, or Master will be angry!" the nurse added. That was enough to make up Bethany's mind. If she did not eat it then she would be punished – and the last comment had definitely been meant for her. Therefore, she had only one way to avoid pain, and that was if the sandwich was safe and she ate it. She bit off a small chunk, savouring the flavours for as long as she could before swallowing. It shocked her to realise how long she had been without solid food, without tasting anything at all. She decided that, if she was about to suffer for eating, then she would take as much joy from it as possible first. If it was safe, then savouring it would cause no problems.

The nurse waited patiently while Bethany took her time over the food, and then when the sandwich was all gone, she silently turned and walked away. Bethany waited in dread for the familiar stomach pains to develop.

Nothing happened, but eventually she began to feel the need to pee again. She had no way of knowing how much time had passed since her last opportunity, so she could not guess how long she might have to hold it in before the nurse arrived with the bedpan again. By the time that the bedpan did come, she was absolutely bursting to go.

"Okay, honeypie, just let yourself go," said the sweet-voiced nurse, another different face, after she had positioned the pan beneath Bethany. Bethany did so, and only when she had finished did she realise what she had done, and what the nurse had called her. She quickly realised what her punishment would be when she saw the nurse pouring the contents of the pan into a drinking bottle.

"Oh, please, no," she begged, "Please, I just had to go, I couldn't hold it any longer, please don't...!" But the nurse had transformed from the sweet and friendly medic into a cold, heartless automaton. She forced Bethany's head back onto the pillow and forced the drinking tube from the bottle between Bethany's lips. The urine was dark, as Bethany's body was still compensating for the recent dehydration, and consequently it was pungent. Bethany's mouth was soon flooded and the taste hit her like a terrible mouthful of warm, salty water with other flavours mixed in. She had no option but to swallow, and keep swallowing as the nurse carefully squeezed the bottle at a steady rate that only just gave Bethany time to swallow each time without spilling any down her cheeks. Bethany was sure that she was going to throw up, but she did not dare to do so. She could only gaze into the pitiless eyes of the sweet-looking nurse and keep swallowing her own piss.

Finally, there was no more of the vile fluid. The nurse explained succinctly, "Sweet thing gets to pee when the bedpan is brought for sweet thing. If sweet thing fails to wait for her turn, then she must take back her pee and wait for her turn." Then Bethany was alone again with the aftertaste still in her mouth.

Bethany knew that she would always listen for the magic words, "sweet thing", before she did anything in future. For two days she lay in her bed, sometimes adjusted so that she was sitting, occasionally with one or both hands free to allow her to eat or drink more easily – although there were just as many times when the nurses seemed happy to feed her themselves. It left her confused and she did not know what could be planned for her.

Part 5

When Bethany awoke on the fourth day of her captivity, she found herself bare and exposed. Her blanket and sheet had been removed while she slept. She made to cover herself with her hands, but of course she was still cuffed to the sides of the bed and unable to make any movement at all to hide her nakedness. She was strapped down much as before, but now her ankles were pulled apart by separate cuffs. The straps across her shins and thighs were broader, too. She was spread wide for anyone who came in to see her most private areas. Panic overtook her, and she began twisting and turning against the straps across her body, futile though it was for all that happened was that they dug deeper into her flesh rather than achieving any sort of give at all in them. She was breathing rapidly and shallowly, her body giving in to the useless release of adrenaline.

The curtains around her bed were thrust aside.

Bethany wanted to melt into the thin mattress beneath her as the eyes of a doctor and Monsieur Herrault gazed at her in open clinical appraisal of what they saw.

"You say that she is well enough to be used now?" Herrault asked the doctor.

"I would say that, except that I believe that she should be given a few more days' rest to be sure that she can take such vigorous intercourse as you have been known to provide. She could not take the pounding of flesh so well, I think."

"That will be fine for what I have in mind today, doctor. Remember, I have seen first-hand how this woman reacts. Please, leave us so that I may renew our acquaintance undisturbed!"

Bethany whimpered as the doctor withdrew, closing the curtains behind the bounty hunter whom Bethany was now sure intended to fuck her literally within an inch of her life.

"Please, Sir, don't hurt me," she whined, and instantly regretted opening her mouth. His strong hand gripped her throat and her muscles spasmed against her bonds in a vain reflex to try to free herself from this threat to her life.

"Stupid sweet thing, what is my name?" Herrault growled.

Bethany swallowed, gasping for breath, wracking her brain for the right answer. Then she realised what she had done wrong, and that this was a test like all the others she had passed or failed before.

"Master..." she croaked, and instantly the pressure on her trachea was lifted. She heaved great lungfuls of air as Herrault gazed pitilessly into her face.

"And furthermore, if I want to hurt you I will, regardless of what you say. I have learned over the years that if you wish to please a woman, never listen to what she says she wants. Observe how she shows her true desires in her actions, and you will find the path to success.

"You wanted to be caught. This is obvious from the foolish and insane way in which you made your brazen exit from the DeMoeira offices. Therefore, I caught you. In punishing you for my employers, I found also that I could observe another of your desires. You love being abused and hurt, and so I will do that for you also. The more you protest that this is not so, the more I will have to do to prove to you otherwise. And you must remember how we spent our time at the church together..."

Bethany's cheeks glowed red as she recalled again how she had climaxed with this man brutally assaulting her behind. She wanted to deny his words, but she did not dare to speak for fear of what he would do to her if she did.

The same hand that had so recently threatened Bethany's life now gently stroked her cheek.

"But today I do not wish to aim to hurt you. I will aim to give you pleasure, though you may find it painful also. I believe that will enhance the experience for one such as you, so to me it seems a good thing." As he spoke, his hand wandered from Bethany's cheek to her breast, where it gently stroked around the fleshy orb, his fingers just lightly brushing her skin.

Bethany knew that she should hate this intimate contact, that she should rebel against everything this man did to her, but somehow it was not in her spirit to do so. What should have been a wail of protest proved instead to be a sigh of pleasure as the delicate touch stimulated her. Herrault made no sound except the steady, measured beat of his breathing.

Smoothly, almost so that Bethany did not notice it, he transferred his attentions to her other breast. He simply toyed with her with one hand, calmly and precisely placing his strokes as he gently fondled and cupped her breast.

It was almost hypnotic, it seemed, Bethany could feel herself, her will, melting as he shifted occasionally from one to the other breast. It seemed that every outward breath she made was a quiet hum or purr of pleasure, and she could not find any will for it to stop, no urge to ask him to cease, no wish that she be set free. Everything in her world was encompassed in his hand on her breasts.

She never noticed exactly when it was that he moved his focus from her breasts to her areolae and her nipples, teasing and stroking them just as gently as he had been before. It was impossible to deny now hat he was gradually stoking fires within her that she should seek to extinguish if she was the sort of woman that she believed herself to be. But it was apparent that she was not, for she only vocalised her desire for more as a satisfied moan. Now at last Herrault's second hand joined the first, providing stimulation for both breasts at once. Herrault was not merely fixating on those central nodes, but regularly transferred his hands back to their stroking of the breasts themselves, and then again to the nipples and their halos. Several minutes more of this Bethany had to endure and enjoy; she knew that she was beginning to lubricate herself and tears filled her eyes with the humiliation of being brought to such a level of arousal by her hated captor, but also at frustration that he was not moving any further forwards with his provocation of that same arousal. Each time she opened her mouth a moan or wail emerged, but what emotion each of them was supposed to signify, nobody could tell, least of all Bethany herself.

There was no doubting the pleasure that her cry conveyed when at last Herrault moved one hand to her clitoris. Bethany was at last in his power completely, and could care no longer for the shameful responses she gave. She tried again to twist her body, but now she wanted his hand on her, even in her. But he simply hovered it over her, using his middle finger to lightly tickle the sensitive bead of erectile tissue.

As he teased his captive so, he gradually moved his other hand to her pussy. She whined as he slipped two fingers into the waiting orifice, and simultaneously adjusted his other hand to provide a closer, firmer pressure upon her clit.

"Mmmmmmmmm! Ooooooh! Please..." Bethany only wanted him to keep going, she needed to cum after he had stoked the fires within her to such a state, but as she vocalised her desire, he froze. He looked at her with a question in his eyes, almost mocking her.

"Please...Master....please..." she gasped, and at the word "master", he continued, and introduced a third finger to her sopping cunt and shifted again. Now he was also gently teasing her clit with two fingers and his thumb, lightly squeezing and rolling it between them.

As he continued with this massage of Bethany's sensitive organ, he gradually withdrew his fingers. She was so totally in the power of his hands that she was not looking and did not see as he formed his hand into a tight torpedo. She only knew of it as he drove inwards once again.

Suddenly she was focussed entirely on what was happening in her pussy. As each successive row of knuckles passed between her labia, she found herself stretched more and more, and she could feel the hand becoming larger and larger in the entrance to her secret tunnel. She was gasping and panting, and as Herrault had promised it hurt her, but it felt so good. As she felt her pussylips close around his wrist, she breathed out heavily, only to gasp again: the fingers and thumb working at her clit had suddenly taken a less gentle tack, and pinches more severely, pummelling, even tugging, where once they had caressed and teased. She was panting, and despite the painful attentions of her Master (how wrong she felt she had been ever to doubt him) she knew that she was on the threshold of a crazy, unrestrained orgasm – only possible precisely because she was physically tied down.

Then she felt with a tremendous climax of pain and pleasure, Herrault's lips and tongue on her clit and at the same time his hand forming a fist inside her body. It was too much, and she cried and screamed in ecstasy as the orgasm swamped her senses, taking her into a cascade of pleasure. She barely noticed as she came down from her high that Herrault had already departed from her room.

Part 6

Bethany no longer knew who she really was for sure; she was sweet thing, she was the girl once known as Bethany, she was Master's little toy, she didn't see any distinction between these identities.

A week after her coming here, she awoke to find her legs free. Only her arms were still bound to the bed. Herrault stood there.

"Good morning. I have decided to give you a name. You are going to be 'slave Bea' from now on. Of course, you should also answer to 'sweet thing', and any other thing I wish to call you. But your name is Bea. Only those meals, drinks and facilities provided for Bea or slave Bea may be used by you. Understood?" Bethany, now Bea, understood all too well after the training she had received when Herrault told her she was "sweet thing". Now, though, she felt as though she had an identity. The name Bethany was gone. It was nice to keep the initial, and she did not mind being "B". Then she saw it written, and realised that she was not a letter, but a real name. A slave. After what had gone before, both parts felt like a wondrous gift. She had a name and an identity again.

And, she was allowed out of bed. The doctor had declared her recovered from her ordeal, and Herrault was eager to demonstrate some things to her.

He unbound her arms from the bed, and made her sit up, holding her wrists firmly in his hands. She looked at him with nothing but uncertainty in her eyes. She did not want to be a slave, she suddenly found, now that she was free of those restraints, and yet she did not want to escape either. She wanted to know what he would do to her next.

His next move was to bind her arms behind her back. He used leather straps around her wrists and elbows, pinning her arms tightly back and thrusting her chest forwards. He stroked her hair and then lifted her to her feet. She was surprised and almost sank to the floor immediately, but he caught her and steadied her. She was surprised at the tenderness of his touch, and the fact that instead of squirming away from his hold as he continued to keep his hands on her, she actually moved slightly closer to him. Then she was stable again, and he released her, pausing a moment to admire her shapely body and her outthrust breasts. Then he ordered her to follow him.

"Yes, Master," was her unthinking response. Herrault began to lead the way, to his car, Bea assumed. As she stepped from the hospital room, however, she was surprised all over again. It was too compact and too plush to be a hospital, or anything that she had ever seen before. Except...

She realised suddenly that she must be on some sort of luxury yacht, and she had been kept in the sickbay for her entire time on board. She knew that it must be quite big, because otherwise she would have noticed the rocking of the waves and recognised much sooner that she was at sea. The hopelessness of her situation dawned on her: there would be no way that she could escape this floating slave dungeon. She followed her captor down the corridor towards whatever part of the ship he wished to show her.

In the end, it was the deck to which he was taking her. There was a lift in place that meant that she did not need to use a ladder, but could ride effortlessly to the open air, with no need for Herrault to allow the use of her arms at any point. She had, of course, been correct in deciding that it was a yacht; and now she could see the wide expanse of blue water that surrounded it. The sun was blazing in the sky, its heat pouring down on her naked skin. She didn't know where in the world she was, nor what time of day it was, but she guessed that she must be somewhere near the tropics, and that it was within a couple of hours of noon.

"Ah, your latest acquisition is up and about, eh, Boss?" The strange male voice suddenly brought to mind Bea's nakedness, and she flinched, wishing that she could use her hands or anything to hide her body from its owner. She looked along the side of the vessel and saw the man approaching. He wore a captain's hat, but was otherwise dressed for the climate in a casual manner. He clearly knew Herrault well, but his accent was unmistakeably Australian. Herrault had clearly built up whatever crew his yacht carried, from trusted men and women from all corners of the globe.

"Indeed, and a treasure to behold, is she not? This one is really special, I can tell you."

"Nice one! Your other beauties are all on the front deck waiting for you! I'll just watch from indoors with the Doc, Sammy and Nige..."

"Don't get too excited, Lou...this is just to get her introduced. There'll be plenty more later, though."

Bea was totally ignored as the two men discussed an imminent sexual encounter between herself and either Herrault, or possibly one of his "other beauties". Helpless as she was, it did not occur to her to interject in the conversation, even, but she simply followed it as best she could. The two men parted, and Herrault guided his "latest acquisition" towards the front of the vessel.

"There are currently five men and six women on board," Herrault explained to his slave, "Myself, Lou, whose experience at sea I find invaluable, the Doctor who cares for anyone on board, Sam who looks after the engines, and Nigel who is a jack of all trades, and an invaluable assistant to me in my work. The women come and go as they please, sometimes there are more and sometimes there are fewer, but they know that they are here for one reason only, and that is sex. They like it, enjoy it, and get free rides around the wealthy pleasure zones of the world. You are the only exception. You are here because you are my slave."

Herrault timed his speech perfectly, so that they opened out onto the front deck just as he finished explaining the yacht's complement. Here, the other five women were relaxing in the sun. None of them wore anything, and there was no need to do so. Although the yacht was at anchor and out in the sea, it was not currently at any of those places where the pleasure boats of the fabulously rich would congregate. There was a faint sliver of land visible at one point on the horizon, but the chances were miniscule that anyone not actually on the boat would see them. And, as Herrault had said, the women were there for one thing only, which was to give sexual satisfaction to the male crew members (or each other, if they so wished). Here, they were just laid out on an expanse of wooden (or fake wooden) decking, lying on towels or lounge beds and soaking up the rays. Bea had imagined that they would all be blonde with big tits, but in fact only one fit that stereotypical image. All were slim or athletic, with wondrous curves; but two were from the Indian subcontinent, it seemed, one was Japanese, and the last was black-haired and blue-eyed. Only the blonde and one of the Indian women sported breasts that Bea would have called large, the others tending to be in the C-cup region. Bea realised that she herself fit perfectly the image that Herrault seemed to like most in a woman. No wonder she had been chosen by him! She recognised that the blonde had been the one who brought her the poisoned soup, and a couple of the others had also posed as nurses during her treatment. The one who had seemed so strong was the taller of the Indians, a very athletic figure but still incredibly sexy. Bea recalled that she had forced her to drink her own pee. There was no doubt in her mind that these women were well aware of Bea's status on the ship, and that no amount of appealing to a sense of sisterhood could save her. After all, they had already collaborated so efficiently in her torture and confinement, why should they change now?

"Okay, girls!" Herrault called out, "Let's give Bea memorable welcome, just like we planned!"

Part 7

The women moved with admirable coordination and lay flat on their backs, except the strong Indian woman, who instead took hold of Bea's upper arms and roughly directed the captive to her station. The four women lying on their backs were arranged more or less toes to their neighbours' heads, so that their breasts and cunts were aligned in two rows. There was no doubt as to Bea's role in this, for the woman holding her wasted no time in forcing Bea to her knees beside this living bed of female flesh. Bea found her senses lost in a dizzying whirl of panic, confusion and embarrassment, which threw her all the more after what she had already endured and somehow assimilated into herself as pleasurable experiences. Yet, when she felt her arms being untied, she could not help but struggle. Her captor's grip on her wrists was implacable, however, and the Indian coolly forced Bea's arms up over her head and then pulled firmly until Bea found herself tipping forwards inexorably onto the waiting women before her. Bea could not prevent herself being drawn out and found herself cradled between the bosoms of the girls beneath her, her pussy resting on the belly of the first one, her breasts on the third, and her mouth perfectly placed over the navel of the fourth. Bea closed her eyes and whimpered as she felt Herrault grab her legs and force them apart. She quivered with terrible anticipation, for she knew what must be about to happen.

Herrault did not disappoint: he looped his arms under Bea's abdomen and forced her to raise her behind just enough so that he could insert his erect cock into Bea's waiting vagina. She hadn't noticed him stripping, but he was now naked and determined to fuck her here, with five complicit witnesses and four more peering at her through the windows. She moaned at her hated exposure to their lecherous gaze, and at the debasement that these women were so eager to assist in thrusting upon her – as if she could complain of any such thing after what she had already found enjoyable, but that had all been more or less private. Now she was easily the centre of attention as it took place!

She kept her legs wide for her Master's pleasure as he slid his manhood home. How was it that she had already lubricated herself down there? She soon found that she had no choice in whether or not to assist in the act of her being fucked. The four women beneath her were there to see to that as much as to be a living bed for the act. Each woman placed her feet firmly on the deck, and in unison they lifted and gyrated their hips using their bodies to drive Bea's body firmly onto Herrault's erect member, in time with his thrusts. The effect was that Bea was being slammed onto his body, and his cock into hers, with far more force than just two people could manage by combining their efforts. Bea could not help the grunts and cries that emerged from her throat with each impact, for the air was forced from her lungs. How it was possible for the girls beneath her to generate so much force she could not imagine, even afterwards when her head was clear once again, but in the midst of it there were only two things that were real: the pounding her pussy was taking, and the feel of the hot feminine flesh beneath her rippling and slamming her back and forth.

Oh, how she cursed herself as she felt the fires of her arousal searing from her loins, but, oh, how she desired desperately to be made to cum. She had no leverage to add her own effort to that of the girls beneath her, her arms were held firmly in front of her and her legs splayed for her Master's easy access to her body, and so it was with a wail of disappointment that she felt him climax, leaving his seed in her warm, moist cavity.

"Please, Master," she whimpered, but was met only by her legs being roughly pushed together and then she was lifted into the air by Herrault and the Indian, who between them proved strong enough not only to hold Bea's weight but also to resist her spasming struggles of frustration that she had not been allowed her own fulfilment. Instead, Bea found herself deposited face-down on the wooden deck. The Indian gleefully sat on Bea's back while Herrault demonstrated how well planned this exhibition had been. One of the watching men had arrived and handed Herrault a length of rope that Herrault expertly used to tie Bea's ankles together.

As this was happening, the Indian whispered into Bea's ear, "You know, if you don't do well now, I've been promised I get to play real nasty with you" and chuckled.

Herrault tied off his handiwork and the Indian stood, allowing Bea to obey the next order, "Kneel!"

Kneel she did, blinking up at the brown-skinned bitch who had taken such glee in threatening her.

"Now, listen carefully, Bea," Herrault commanded, "The last part of this tableau is a simple race. Savarna here will race you: the first of you to make two of your fellow female passengers climax, using your mouth, will be the winner. If Savarna wins, she gets to decide what you do for the rest of the day. If you win, then I'll play with you myself. Trust me, you want to win!"

The race was, of course, not fair. For one thing, Savarna was an expert at cunnilingus already, while Bea had no experience at all. Even so, Bea's first subject was already highly aroused and even as she bowed her head to the task, Bea found the scent and taste of her juices filling her mouth and nostrils. That meant that she was able to achieve the desired result with very little effort, and by focussing her tongue on the clitoris before her, she quickly brought the girl screaming to orgasm. Just a few seconds later, Savarna achieved the same result with her first partner.

Then the second disadvantage was revealed, for Savarna wasted no time in positioning herself perfectly to start work on her second partner, while Bea realised that her ankles were still tied and that to reach the second pussy for her attentions, she had to reach a long way across, or else shuffle all the way around the prone bodies. She almost wept with the unfairness of it, but carefully, trying not to hurt the women beneath her, she sprawled herself over to dip her lips and tongue to the second woman's cunt.

She had barely started by the time that she heard the cries of ecstasy from Savarna's second partner, indicating that Savarna had won the race. Even as the cries of pleasure started, she heard Herrault saying, "don't stop – these women all deserve their pleasure!" She also heard the woman reply, to the effect that could Bea therefore be repositioned to make it easier for her now that the race was over? Strong hands, Herrault's and Savarna's, lifted her and held her aloft, tilting her head towards the exposed genitalia of the woman. She had no choice but to lap hungrily at the wetness emanating from the girl's cunt, and she had no choice as to where her mouth was directed but had to follow wherever she was pointed by the two people holding her. As the girl grew more and more excited, the captors lowered Bea to the ground, and allowed her at last to direct her own efforts, or so it seemed at first. for, Savarna whispered instructions in Bea's ear that Bea by now could not help but follow, and guided by the expertise that Savarna possessed, Bea quickly achieved success in bringing off the last of the female crew.

"Thank you for your help, Mistress Savarna," Bea said, but received just a harsh slap across her backside for her words, "I just wanted you to finish more quickly, bitch, so I could get to play with you sooner!"