BS

by Abe

On Friday afternoon, Brit Svenska burst into her boss's office. "Denele," she said, "I want an increase in salary, double what I make now."

"Really? Why?"

"I deserve it.  I built this company.  I built the web site.  I wrote the software to handle orders. Without my work, Sisters' Beauty Supply wouldn't exist."

"That's what I hired you to do. You seemed satisfied with the salary I offered when I hired you, and you have had a raise since then. There are a dozen employees, mostly single mothers, who get paid from the profits of this company. If your salary doubles, it's less for the others. I created Sisters' Beauty Supply with money from my late husband's life insurance. I spent the money to hire you and pay you until everything was running right. If need be, I suppose I can hire someone else."

"You need me. I'm irreplaceable."

"Suppose I pay you the same as I make?"

BS laughed. "You think I don't know you only pay yourself a dollar a year? I want twice what I make now."

"The answer is no."

"OK, I quit."

Denele pressed a hidden button under her desk. In twelve seconds, Jesse was there.  Jesse, a six foot-two army veteran with some disabling mental quirks, did the heavy lifting and doubled as a security guard. "Jesse," said Denele evenly, "Please take Miss Svenska's badge. Escort her to her office and give her five minutes to gather her personal items. Then escort her out of the building."

Denele hoped it wasn't racial prejudice, but she was almost relieved to see Brit go. Brit really rubbed her the wrong way. Brit was tall and sturdy, a competitive swimmer, backstroke, of course, and a vicious volleyball player in college, a kind of female Viking, a natural blonde with a body to envy but a face like a man's, sort of caved in with a jaw too big.  Denele had no formal dress code. She ran an internet mail order company. Customers never came to the former appliance store in a grubby section of town, so her employees could wear what they wanted. But Brit didn't fit in. She never wore a bra.  It would be sexual harassment to remark on her ample breasts or on her display of cleavage or on her short skirts.  Denele thought that if you choose to look like a whore and swagger like a whore, then you should be a whore. Brit was a hypocrite.

It seemed she was also vengeful. When they opened on Monday, the incoming e-mail contained hundreds, then thousands, of replies to queries which Brenda had not sent out, and the phones rang continuously. The calls and e-mails came from lawyers: You ask if we handle bankruptcy filings... can defend against a suit for fraud... can defend you against a DWI charge. Insurance agents responded: fire, flood, malpractice suits, etc. There were ads for drug rehab centers, retirement homes, cancer cures, etc. Then there were the responses to postings on dating sites made in Denele's name: "You are submissive. I'll spank your ass until you cum." She left the phones off the hook or disconnected them, but she couldn't just delete the e-mails, because in all that trash there were incoming orders for beauty products. Soon snail mail began to arrive, credit cards applied for in her name, bills for magazine subscriptions she had never ordered. One letter came from a P.O.box: "Do I get the raise?", signed BS. The reply was, "Hell no!"

Denele visited the police. They shrugged and declined to get involved. A lawyer said that she could not get a restraining order unless there was a threat of physical violence, and if she did get one they would not be able to serve it, since BS would be hard to find. Trying to sue for damages would be futile and wastefully expensive. Denele wrote a letter to the FBI, addressed, "Attention: Cyberterrorism Unit."

Her employees had to work overtime sorting out the e-mails and filling the legitimate orders. Then things really went to hell. Someone, BS, of course, had got onto the web site and posted spurious notices: "80 per cent off on orders over $99 dollars." "Free shipping and handling on even the smallest orders." "There is an immediate recall on all hair straightening creme. If you continue to use it, your hair will fall out and your scalp will be blistered. Throw it away. We will send you a refund." The phones and e-mails were disconnected, and, when the web site could not be fixed it was shut down. Sisters' Beauty Supply was out of business.  When Denele called her employees together to explain that they were out of a job but would receive some severance pay, Jesse, snapping to attention in his military manner, said, "Don't you worry Ma'am, I'll see it fixed for you."

In the 'hood, more than forty per cent of young men were unemployed.  Jesse found it was easy to recruit his"A-team", Leroy, Trion, and Muhammad, and former Sisters' employees, Aisha, Gwen, and Serena and Yvonne, who lived on the second floor of the old building, collectively caring for five children between them. The women staked out the PO box BS had used and the studio apartment  she had listed as her address.  It was three days before BS was spotted. She was at the apartment, loading her belongings into a van. Serena sent out a text message, and before BS had finished loading the van, Leroy and Muhammad were ready to pounce. As BS got in, ready to leave, they staged a car-jacking, threatening Brit with a Glock automatic while they duct-taped her hands and feet and mouth.

Jesse and Trion were at the former appliance store when Leroy drove the van into the warehouse part in back, and the women arrived soon after. They closed the overhead door, then carried Brit to her former office and tore the tape from her mouth and wrists but left her ankles bound, so she couldn't run.  BS looked up sullenly and waited. Aisha slapped her face and hissed, "Listen, Bitch Slut, you are not leaving here until you have undone the damage you have done. The web page and ordering software will be fixed, and you will answer all those e-mails with apologies and explanations."

BS smiled and said, "No. No, you can't make me do that. Perhaps if the price was right I might remember how to fix it, but right now I haven't a clue."

“Sit down at your computer and get to work,” said Jesse evenly.  The computer was on and ready to go.  Brit smiled and calmly tried to reformat the hard drive.

Jesse lost his temper and went into his "Incredible Hulk" mode, pulling Brit's chair away from the computer before she could make the fatal keystroke.   In seconds, he ripped Brit's blouse off, except for one sleeve which slid down her arm to the floor as she toppled off the chair, unable to keep her balance with her ankles taped together.  Seconds later, Jesse reached down, grasped the waistband of her skirt, and tore it off, leaving her lying naked but for her thong panties and running shoes. Wisps of blonde pubic hair escaped the crotch panel of her panties, and her breasts lay on her chest like dropped melons on a road.

The A-team looked on entranced.  All four cocks went to attention.  Aisha had a suggestion: “She's fucked us out of a job.  She should get fucked.”

"I think," said Jesse, "that we have here an enemy combatant, and, as such, she has no rights. Enhanced interrogation methods are OK."  They lifted Brit to her feet.  Muhammad grabbed the thong at the back of her panties and yanked, pulling the triangular cloth in front until it folded between her cunt lips.  He jerked it a few times, jamming it against her clit.  Then he lifted sharply, so her feet came off the floor and the panties tore away, dumping her again on the floor.  She looked at them like a cornered animal.  Jesse took command and directed the team.

There were sturdy shelves on the wall, a grill of  steel rods.  At Jesse's direction, the team taped Brit's wrists to a shelf, her arms apart, almost like a crucifix.   Someone found some strong string.  The tied a length to each big toe and cut the tape binding Brit's ankles.  Then they lifted each leg and tied the strings to the  shelf, so her legs were spread in a wide vee, her cunt and asshole upturned and accessible, her weight distributed between her arms and legs.  It was a humiliating position to be in, but Brit was too prideful to be humiliated.  It was, however, uncomfortable.

“Muhammad,” said Jesse, “you fuck her first, because I want to send you on an errand.  You should use a rubber,  'for disease prevention only' as they used to say on the  package.”  Jesse went into the warehouse and returned with a box of   Sisters' Special Ticklers and some tubes and jars.   Muhammad dropped his jeans and dressed his stiff cock with a tickler, which had little fingers sticking out, sort of like a bottle brush.  He applied some Sisters' Special Hot Stuff Muscle Relaxer to the upturned asshole and shoved his prod against pink target.  It took several seconds of thrusting until he could penetrate deep into his victim's bottom, grinding against her ass cheeks and mashing her back against the shelving.  Her mouth opened, and she gasped for breath, but she wouldn't scream, even as her ravished bumhole burned.  Muhammad didn't care that the others were looking on, and one of the women actually clapped when he unloaded into BS.

“Nicely done,” said Jesse.  “Now, when you get your pants on, I want you to go find Jose, the computer nerd, and bring him back here.  Tell him we need him right away, and he can fuck a stunning blonde as much as he wants.  Can you do that?”  Muhammad nodded and was gone, out the back door.

Jesse made a phone call to Joey, the artist.  His shop was still open.  “Joey, have I got a deal for you!  You can fuck a blonde and then use her as your canvas.  Bring your equipment over to Sisters' Beauty Supply ASAP.  OK?”

Jesse said,“You realize, Brit, that we can keep this up indefinitely and make you more and more uncomfortable.  We won't let you go until everything is fixed, so it may be a while.”

Aisha said,”Please, me next?”  Jesse nodded, and Aisha squeezed about half the tube of Hot Stuff into Brit's upturned cunt.  The others remarked at the expression on Brit's face as she squirmed as much as her bondage would allow but still said nothing.  Aisha picked up a wooden ruler and slapped the flat of it down on the shiny labia, right over the clitoris.  That evoked a bit of a squeal.  She did it three times more, putting a lot of muscle into it, leaving Brit's labia bright red and burning with Hot Stuff.

“Me next,” said Leroy.  He rammed his tickler clad prick into  Brit's well lubricated twat, pumping vigorously while Brit gasped for air and grimaced.  It didn't take long before he pulled out, and Trion took his turn, grinning as he moved his hips in circles, stretching Brit's vagina as he screwed her.

Gwen said, “Your turn Jesse,” but Jesse said she could go first.  Gwen took the wooden ruler and swung it so the end hit the left side of Brit's left breast, which joggled like a water balloon.  She continued for a dozen or so more strikes, both sides of both breasts, then a dozen for the tops and bottoms.  When they were blotched with bruises, she approached from the side and sliced downward, as with a sword, so the edge of the ruler caught both nipples.  BS screamed, but quickly regained her composure. She did not want to give them the satisfaction of  hearing her  respond to their efforts to hurt her.

Serena took sheet steel binder clips, the kind that can clamp together several sheets of paper.  She squeezed the wire handles together,  opening a gap, and planted one over each nipple, watching with satisfaction as the steel flattened the flesh, and Brit ground her teeth to repress a scream.  Then Serena used the ruler on the inner sides of Brit's thighs, up and down, until they glowed pink.  “Jesse, are you going to fuck her now?”  Jesse shook his head.

“Give me a minute,” said Leroy.  “Damn, she's a hot fuck.   I'll be ready again in a minute.”

Yvonne came downstairs.  “It's OK; the kids are asleep.   It looks like y'all have the bitch under control.”  Serena allowed as how Brit still wasn't very cooperative.  “You know, I ain't never seen blonde cunt hairs like that.  Let's pluck them out and put them on display.”  With Sisters' Eyebrow Tweezers the women made short work of pulling out the blonde pubic hairs, despite Brit's squirming.  Yvonne put the hairs on the sticky side of tape and hung the tape as a trophy for all to see.

Muhammad and Jose arrived back, and Jose lost little time in plugging the now hairless cunt.  “Now,” he asked, “what do you need me for?”  They explained how BS had fucked up the web site and generated too many e-mails.  Could Jose fix the computer?  “I figure she must have used her own computer, not the company's.  Do we have her personal computer?”  Leroy went back to the van and returned with a laptop.  “OK,” said Jose, “Let's get started.  Bitch, what's the password to log on?”

Brit stayed silent.  “Just a minute,” said Jesse.  “One thing I learned in Iraq is how to get information.  Hold on a minute.”  Jesse went out and returned with a home-made device in a Sister's box, with wires and knobs and electrical meters.  He took the binder clips off Brit's flattened nipples and put one between her nude labia, pinching the clitoris, and the other as far back as it could go and still pinch the inner labia together.  “Bitch, tell Jose everything he wants to know.   Three, two, one, zero!”  Jesse flicked a switch.  Brit heaved her body and sprayed urine as a shrill scream burst from her lips.

Jesse had a strange look on his face, and he started screaming at Brit in Arabic, as he increased the intensity of the shocks, until Brit told Jose everything he wanted to know.  Once she was broken and compliant, the shocks weren't necessary, and Jesse went into a sort of trance, almost as if he was taking a nap.  Brit had kept a copy of the original web pages, so the site was up and running in only a few minutes.  Jose added a notice that the site had been hacked into: there was no product recall, no sale, no free shipping.  In about an hour, they had the sent mail files, to call off the lawyers and all,  and  the records of hair straightening crème customers on the company computers.  They would honor the promised refunds by sending new jars of straightening creme. 

“While we wait for Joey,” said Jesse, “feel free to express your feelings for Brit.”  Serena took a pint bottle of  Floral Shampoo and rammed it into Brit's burning cunt until only an inch or so showed between the stretched lips.  She took another bottle, Juniper Bubble Bath, took the cap off, and then forced the bottle into Brit's bum hole, pushing until it slid all the way inside, and the wrinkled opening half closed over the bottom of the bottle.

Gwen stood smoking a cigarette.  She deliberately tucked the filter into Brit's cunt, above the shampoo bottle.   Brit looked down at the burning cigarette, realizing that it would only be a short time before it burned down enough to cook her tender membranes, already burning from the Hot Stuff.  Aisha found some heavy rubber bands and put them around the base of Brit's tits, so they bulged out like balloons.  The women took turns abusing the tits, squeezing them, pinching the nipples and stretching them.  Brit stayed silent until she let out a loud groan, as the cigarette burned itself out against her moist pink membranes.

Joey, the artist, arrived after he had closed his shop.  He was a tattoo and piercing artist,  and he had brought his equipment. “We want some tattoos done, Joey.  You can fuck her all you want, but we'll have to pull that bottle out of her cunt before you do.”  Joey didn't mind the short wait, and then he applied himself to raping Brit with great enthusiasm.

Leroy took Jesse aside while Joey was stuffing Brit's cunt.  “Jesse,” said Leroy, “that cunt could bring in more cash than any three of my girls.   I need to put her to work on her back.  Don't spoil her with tattoos.”  Jesse nodded and went to put duct tape over Brit's eyes, so she could not see what was being done to her.

“Slight change of plan, Joey,” Jesse whispered.  “I want you to use invisible ink.”  He handed Joey a bottle.  “It's formic acid, what ants sting with.  Use it instead of your ink, but let her think she's being permanently disfigured with tattoos.  Now, here's the plan,” Jesse said loudly enough for all to hear.  “She likes to show off her tits, so you should make it so she won't.  I figure a penis on her cleavage.  Use black ink on her nips and around them.  Satanic pentagrams, Nazi swastikas, things like that all over her  tits.  Then, just below her navel, in big, bold letters, “HIV POSITIVE”.

“Draw teeth around her twat,” suggested Gwen.

“A snake crawling out of her ass,” contributed Yvonne.

“Bed bugs and roaches on her belly and  inner thighs,” said Serena.  “She won't dare wear a bathing suit.  Maybe 'fuck my ass' across her butt.”

Brit could stand temporary pain, but the thought of  losing her good looks had her next to panic when Joey applied his needle between her breasts, drawing out a penis with his needle, 60 punctures a second.  Instead of real ink, he was injecting formic acid, stinging, burning, raising red welts, but knowing that the marks would fade in a day or so.  The women made comments, like, “Oh, Joey use green ink on her clit.  Make it look like pus on her pussy,“ followed by giggles and a horrified  expression on Brit's face.  For two and a half hours Joey decorated his human canvas.  They had to turn her over and tie her belly down across a chair to decorate her butt: a snake, fuck here signs, bugs and such.  The sum of all those acid injections caused as much pain as being tied on a hill of fire ants would have.

When Joey tired of his work and ran out of good places to decorate, the men took turns fucking her cunt doggy style as she was tied down.  They couldn't fuck her asshole, because it was plugged by the bottle.  Leroy assured them a dose of castor oil would get it out.  When they untied her and let her stand, still blindfolded, the girls had one last humiliation to offer.  They tied a rope around Brit's waist, then led the ends back between her legs, and tied her hands together behind her back, with the rope so short her back was bent backwards and any effort to straighten up would drag the rope tighter between the inner labia.  “What are we going to doe with her now?” asked Gwen.   “We can't just turn her loose, naked on the street.  What if she calls the police?  What if she has friends who will come back for revenge?”

“Don't worry,” said Jesse. “Leroy will take care of her.  He has career plans for her.  Since she moved out of her apartment, no one will think to report her missing.”  There was a collective sigh of relief as Leroy pushed Brit, her back bent back and her legs apart, ahead of him out the door.  “OK,” said Jesse, “let's all get some sleep.  Were back in business, and there's work to do tomorrow.”