This is a work of fiction by a twisted mind.  If you are
offended by graphic descriptions of natural and/or unnatural
sexual acts, if you are underage, or if this type of
material is illegal where you are, don't read any further.

This is a fantasy.  You will have to loosen your clench on
reality a little when you read it. This is a tale in which
physical acts and human responses are not limited to, nor
necessarily based in, reality.  Some acts and responses in
this story may be physically impossible and/or
physiologically improbable.

Also, as is the case with most of the stories in this
newsgroup, all the women in this story are beautiful;
gorgeous, even.  Gravity has not caused their breasts to
droop nor have wrinkles creased their unblemished faces.
The men (the leading men, at least) are hung like bulls.
They can get it up and keep it up often and at will.  In
this special little fantasyland, there are no STDs, morals,
or unwanted pregnancies; and guilt is a four-letter word.
But most important of all, no amount of strength of
character, courage of convictions or moral beliefs stand a
chance against an erotic stimulus.  This can be as benign as
an accidental glimpse of a bared ankle or as stimulating as
a whipping on the genitals.

For those of you who didn't understand the preceding
statements, GO AWAY!

This story is intended for the salacious entertainment of
consenting adults.  Do not try to do any of the things
described in this story.  You will injure yourself or your
partner.  Or be arrested, or shot by her father....

If you are under 18 years of age, GO AWAY!  This story will
burn your eyeballs and fry your brain.

If material of a strong sexual nature is prohibited where
you are, GO AWAY!

By continuing, the reader accepts all responsibility for any
disgust, revulsion, jail sentences, or pleasure that results
from reading this story.  If you don't, GO AWAY!

You have been warned!

If you enjoy this story and feel the urge to post it on a
<free> site, at least give me (NightShade) credit for it.

So, stick your tongue firmly in your cheek and enjoy the


by Nightshade

Chapter 1


Mrs. Alex Wilson wasn't a stupid woman, but right now she was having serious doubts about the exact level of her intelligence.  She had been walking down this trash-strewn deserted street in a rundown part of the city for more than 20 minutes and the building numbers just weren't changing very fast.  What she had assumed was only going to be a walk of a block or two had been four blocks so far and now looked like it would be another four or five blocks at least before she found the specific number she was seeking.  The longer she walked, the further she was getting from the relative safety and security of the main thoroughfare.  She hadn't had much of a chance to start any closer, however, as the city buses stuck to the main roads.


It was a testament to her determination that she kept on walking, despite her misgivings and growing uneasiness.  It was 10:00 on a weekday morning and Alex stuck out like a sore thumb in this seedier industrial part of town.  She was wearing her Sunday best, not knowing exactly who she was going to meet, if anybody.  Her silky print dress, the bright one with the tiny little blue and yellow "Forget-Me-Not" flowers on a white field reflected the bright sunlight.  The reflecting light gave her an angelic glow as she walked down the gloomy street, though she seemed unaware of her striking appearance.  Her sensible shoes, her nicest flats, clicked loudly on the concrete, echoing off the solid stone walls of the buildings that lined the sidewalks.  Twice so far she had turned around to see if anyone was following her as she heard her own echo.  She had not seen anyone behind her, in fact, she had seen no one at all, but Alex couldn't shake the growing feeling she was being watched.


White cloth gloves with a lace ruffle clutched her white leatherette purse to her chest.  It wasn't clutched to her in fear, but in embarrassment, sort of.  She had decided, at the last minute, to wear her combination slip and bra with the dress, rather than her usual sturdier undergarment.  She hadn't worn this slip since her honeymoon, and it really did look better under the dress.  It didn't support her like her other heavier bras did and the subtle bouncing of her breasts embarrassed her to no end.  Only Harold had ever seen her breasts bounce around and that was when he had her do a 'hootchie' dance for him one night last month.  Secretly she had been pleased he had gotten so excited watching her boobies bounce, but their unrestrained motion still bothered her.  This morning her nipples were clearly visible, too, and that was another reason she was carrying her purse like a shield.  Her other bras were thick enough to prevent them from showing so obviously, but what she was wearing now just wasn't up to the task.


A white pill-box hat with a blue rim set at jaunty angle completed her outfit.  The white hat set off her red hair nicely, though it wasn't really necessary.  Her lustrous hair was her best feature, she thought, and she spent hours every day brushing it.  It wasn't Lucile Ball red, that orangey color that looked like it came from a bottle.  It wasn't a dark red or brunette with red highlights, either, but somewhere in between.  It was definitely red but not the hue typically associated with a hot temper.  Hot sex, maybe, though that suggestion would have made Alex blush fiercely.


She still wasn't used to all the attention the men in this new city gave her.  Those men lucky enough to have caught a glimpse of her wouldn't have disagreed that her hair was a nice feature.  But her best one?  To a man they would have said it was her body.  When pressed, however, there would have not been any agreement on specifically why they thought that.  There wasn't any one part of her body that was more outstanding than the others, but none of them were anything to sneeze at.  Her breasts were normal sized or maybe a bit larger and very firm, but nothing outstanding, like the whoppers on the women had that Harold was always staring at in his magazines.  For the casual observer, it was hard to tell what their shape and size truly was, as Alex tended to "dress down" to de-emphasize that part of her body.


Her ass was well rounded and pert, but again, nothing to draw attention away from anything else.  Those boys from her high school who had seen her in a bathing suit would have argued perfection or nearly so, but Alex avoided tight-fitting clothes so not many people had a chance to see for themselves.  Like a fine wine, Alex had improved with age.


Her legs were long and shapely, but not exaggerated.  Her waist was thin and her tummy flat, but still, just about what you would expect.  All in all, she was very well put together, but seemed neither ashamed nor aware of her attributes.


To her family and the few friends she had, her bright green eyes captivated your attention, drawing you to her with dancing amusement.  Her intelligence and curiosity were evident in those expressive eyes.  She always seemed to be laughing inside, too, and when she wasn't hiding her mouth and nose with her hand, you could see a persistent smile, sometimes impishly teasing the corners of her lips.  Her face was usually devoid of makeup, part of the reason the women in her new neighborhood tended to be jealous of her.  She had a naturally striking beauty without any artificial coloring or enhancements.


Alisson 'Alex' Wilson had been married for only 9 months.  Her husband, Harold - not Harry! - was an accountant for a local Accounting firm and was several years older than she was.  Actually, he wasn't certified yet, so most of his jobs were more bookkeeping than accounting, but Alex knew that one day he would make it.  It was just a matter of finishing his degree -- well, actually, he had to start first, but that was going to happen as soon as he could get his next promotion -- and then he could get certified.  Which Harold said was almost automatic.  Harold had such big plans!


She had graduated from the county high school last June, ranked third in a class of 27 when Harold had come into her little town.  She had dated a little in high school, but most of the guys there were more like her brothers or cousins and it didn't feel right.  Besides, with all of the chores everybody had after school and during the summer, there wasn't much time for socializing.  These days, the survival of their farms and their families depended on everybody pitching in and working hard.  Alex had not been looking for an escape from her life, but what with graduation and falling madly in love with a mysterious older man, Harold, her life had been turned upside down.


Harold had proposed to her on their third date and they were married in a small ceremony before the local Justice of the Peace.  Only her mother and two of her best friends had been able to attend.  Everyone else had had to help with the first harvest, but they sent their best wishes.  Alex wasn't disappointed, but Harold was surprised at all the produce they received for wedding gifts.  It was as if he had expected money or something.  Folks in these parts had big farms and were considered millionaires because of the property values, but money was always tight.


Alex had been a virgin on her wedding night, a fact that Harold had not expected nor appreciated.  Alex had known what to expect as her mother and aunt had prepared her, but even then she was disappointed.  It was over so fast and really, she couldn't see now what all the fuss was about.  Harold had got on, grunted, rolled over and snored.  Big deal.  She didn't let her disappointment show, however.


Daddy was thrilled when Harold agreed to help on the farm.  There was sort of a mix-up, because Harold had thought he would just handle Daddy's money.  He wasn't prepared to handle the pitchfork Daddy handed him.  Harold didn't last an hour.


Harold was also surprised to learn that the farm wasn't going to be broken up between Alex and her older brother.  Farmers had learned that lesson the hard way a long time ago.  The land stayed intact and in the family.  Alex' brother, away at college getting his Ag Degree, was getting the farm.  Alex wasn't getting anything and didn't expect it.


Two weeks later Harold had decided to get 'a real job,' as he put it and moved his new family out of state to a small apartment in a big city.  There was no question that Alex would move with him, even though she was needed on the farm, as wives were supposed to support their husbands.  Since the move, Alex had been trying to make the small two room apartment a home for them, but time was beginning to weigh heavily on her hands.  She was not used to having so much idle time and Harold didn't want her to work.


In his newest job, the third new job since they had moved, Harold traveled across a 5 county area doing the books and payroll for several small businesses.  His travels kept him away from home four nights a week, two nights to the north, home on Wednesdays, then two nights to the south and home for the weekend.  In a way, his schedule was what brought Alex to this part of town.  She was looking for one of businesses Harold visited on Wednesdays when he was in town.


Blushing even now as she thought about why she was here, Alex couldn't suppress a soft sigh.  She knew she was not experienced sexually, having had no experience prior to Harold but watching the animals on the farm.  Watching barnyard copulation was different than actually doing it herself and she had been a bit disappointed in the experience.  However, she had noticed that recently, about once a month, Harold would come home on Wednesday evening and, well, the best way she could describe it was that he 'ravished' her.


He would be more forceful and demanding than usual, asking her to do new and, for her, imaginative things.  He had even had her touch and stroke him with her hand one time.  She had felt so naughty and tingly doing it that she wasn't even that disappointed when he rolled over after he had messed in her hand and started snoring softly.  Alex had lain there for a long time that night rolling the sticky residue between the tips of her fingers, reveling in its texture and smell.  It never crossed her mind to taste it.


The anomaly of her new husband's Wednesday night behavior had been quickly apparent the following Saturday night.  It was back to normal with Harold and when it came to sex, Harold was clearly uninventive, unimaginative and uncaring in his love making.  Not that Alex would ever dream of complaining or of discussing anything so personal with anyone for comparison -- not ever her mother! -- but even as inexperienced as Alex was, she could tell that Harold was, well, pretty dull in the bedroom.  Downright boring, in fact.  He was so predictable, that with only a couple months' experience Alex had noticed the pattern of the odd Wednesday nights.


Alex had been raised since birth to please her husband to the point of suppressing her own needs and desires.  She had come to assume that that meant sexually, too, as it never seemed there was anything for her when he was pounding away on top of her.  She didn't mind when he was forceful.  In fact, that was what had drawn her to him in the first place.  He had been so forceful on their first date, touching her titties and stroking her behind.  She hadn't been as shocked as she had pretended and when she went to bed that night, she found her panties were still soaked.


She had no idea if her mother was ever satisfied by her father, but hearing them in their bedroom late at night or on Sunday afternoons hadn't been difficult.  Her mother had, from the sound of it enjoyed it more than Alex was, but apparently, it wasn't important enough to discuss with her daughter.  Her mother's upbringing had been terribly old fashioned, she knew, so it was hard for her to talk about breeding cows, much less human sexuality.


Even Alex, raised in the '90s, but in a rural area, often felt at odds with the often prurient topics of discussion when she watched TV talk shows or when she talked with the other married women in her apartment complex.  So she kept the TV off most the time and kept to herself rather than gossiping with the neighborhood women.  It was how she had been raised.


What was important to her was to please Harold.  This was becoming her sole objective and so far, she felt she was failing.  They were still newlyweds and he was losing interest in her.  And she wasn't pregnant yet, either, a fact that her mother had not failed to mention.  Alex was willing to try anything to please Harold, and besides, except for the first time when he frightened her with his aggressiveness and those strange demands, she found she liked being 'ravished.'  It made her feel tingly, almost like it was leading to something bigger, but never quite got there.


Not being stupid, Alex had soon realized that ravishing her was clearly out of character for Harold.  So she began keeping track of where Harold went, trying to discover what was prompting him to act in this aggressive manner.  In the back of her mind was the unconscious idea to see if she couldn't somehow find a way to encourage this behavior.  It obviously pleased him, so, in her mind, she was justified in her actions.  That she liked him to be forceful was just an extra benefit.


In typical female fashion she didn't ask him what she wanted to know directly.  No, that would make him too suspicious.  Instead, she questioned him everyday about how work went, pretending more interest than she felt in what he was doing.  She wanted to know what happened in the offices he was in, what he had for lunch, where he ate, who he talked to, and so on.  Two months of sly investigation had given her a lot of information, but not the answers she was looking for.


That called for more drastic measures, so Alex began snooping.  Each evening he was home, Harold would shower immediately after walking in the door, recently, even before he kissed her.  Every night, like clockwork, he would drop his overnighter for her to re-pack, drop his coat, pants, shirt, socks and dirty underwear for her to pick up and headed for the shower.  So each evening, while Harold was in the shower, Alex would go through his pockets.  She had to pick up his pants anyway.  When that failed to yield anything but lint, she turned to his briefcase.


The second week of snooping she got her first big break.  It was in the bottom of his briefcase that she found a corner of a matchbook cover.  There was a name "George" scribbled in pencil on the back.  And on the front were the letters "DUNGE."  The rest of the letters were torn off.


That night, Harold had ravished her.  Twice.  The next week as she did her snooping, the torn matchbook cover was gone.  It was her only clue.  Those five letters, the name "George" and the place where Harold had said he had had lunch that day.  He said he had eaten lunch in a dilapidated old diner, a greasy spoon.  It was the kind of place Harold seemed to favor, and it was located down on Main Street, about a block from the bus stop where she had just gotten off.


Searching the telephone directory for that part of town yielded only one business with the letters "DUNGE." in their name.  Only one business that would have a matchbook cover, too.  But Harold had never mentioned to her that he was doing any work for a nightclub.  It was his complete silence on the subject that convinced her she was on the right track.  Why wouldn't he have told her about working at The Dungeon unless he was secretly excited about what he saw while he was working there?  Especially if he was secretly ashamed of being excited about it, too.


So, undaunted in the midmorning sunshine, Alex walked on until she reached the nondescript door of the club.  There wasn't even a lighted sign to advertise the business, just a small bronze plaque above a bell.  She tried the door and found it locked.  Chagrined, she suddenly realized that it was a nightclub and probably closed during the day.  After mentally kicking herself for missing something so obvious, she almost headed home.


But first, what the Hell, she pushed the buzzer.  She had come this far and it was a long walk back.  With a solid click, the electronic lock of the door buzzed.  Giddy with her surprising success, she pulled open the heavy door.


The cool stale air assaulted her senses, confusing odors of smoke, incense, sweat, beer and something else captivated her, luring her onward to the second door.  It was a heady, seductive aroma to the naïve country girl.  This second door was an elegant door, shining darkly in the dim interior.  It was covered in black leather with polished brass fittings, very ornate.  There seemed to be a lot more fittings than were necessary, so Alex assumed they were for show, as well.  Overall, it gave the door a rather medieval look, somehow befitting the name of the place, The Dungeon, without being blatant.


A small but powerful halogen light overhead created a small spot of light on the wall, highlighting an electronic keypad.  Alex had only seen one like it before and that was on the vault at the local bank back home.  She was impressed and depressed at the same time.  Without an entry code, she had no hope of getting inside.  Then her hopes soared.  The cleaning crew must have been expecting someone to come in later as the door was propped open with the deadbolt extended.


She frowned.  The extended bolt was marring the perfect finish of the doorframe.  It was a careless act, but it would explain the buzzing of the lock on the outside door, if they were trying to get someone inside.  Regardless, she had come this far.  Alex dug her fingernails into the edge of the door and pried it open, opening the door to a new world


Chapter 2


"Hello?" she called out.  "Hello?  Is anyone here?"


Her light soprano voice seemed to disappear into the cavernous space before her.  In the dimness she could make out tables with chairs stacked on top of them, like they did at the pool hall back home when they put down fresh sawdust.  Over on the left was a bar with a single glowing neon sign advertising the product of an upscale local brewery.  In the light of that sign she could see the diamond-like reflections of hundred of glasses of all shapes and sizes.  Row upon row of them, shining and spotless.


Alex had taken about three steps into the darkened room when she was stopped short.


"May I help you?"


Even before she whirled around, surprised by the sudden sound of his deep voice, Alex knew what the owner of that voice would look like.  He would be tall.  He would be young and dark.  And he would be handsome.  Very handsome.  Turning, she gasped audibly as she realized she had been both right and wrong in her prescience.


The man standing before was dark.  Wuthering Heights dark.  Heathcliff in the flesh.  Wet your panties dark and handsome.  He was young, too, she saw.  She estimated by the lack of grey and the smooth unlined skin on his face that he was only a couple of years older than she was, but he could have been older, too.  What took her aback, what surprised her was just how tall he was.  He was well over six feet tall, maybe even two inches over.  Alex had thought Harold was big at five feet, seven inches, as tall as Daddy.  But now, Alex had to tip her head back to just to look at this man's face.  His beautiful face.  His gorgeous face, looking at her with a curious expression, as if waiting for an answer..


Alex jerked herself out of her reverie, blushing as she felt the unfamiliar moistness between her thighs.


"George?" she queried, hopefully.


"I prefer Mr. Smith," he replied.


Alex nodded, trying to place his accent.  Or maybe it was just his pronunciation of the word 'mister.'  It had almost sounded like he had said 'Master Smith.'  She shook that thought from her mind and, having found what she assumed was her quarry, launched into a complete explanation, minus the ravishing, of course, of how she had come to be here.  She didn't notice in her rush to get out her explanation just how comfortable he made her feel.  Nor did she find it strange that she was telling him much more about her life than she had intended.  All she knew was that when she looked in his eyes, she felt like she belonged here.  She wanted to belong here.


The man's name was not George.  Or Mr. Smith.  His name was Damon Arquette, though few, if any people in this country were aware of his real name.  He answered to 'Mr. Smith.'  He had no idea who George was, nor did he care beyond the fact that there was no one named George who worked here.  That made him suspicious of the pretty woman standing in front of him.


Damon was, by nature and by necessity, suspicious.  It was how he had survived in this business and how he had been as successful as he was.  His immediate reaction upon seeing this pretty young woman standing in his club was that the Feds had sent in yet another undercover agent.  True, he had been expecting a new dancer this morning, but this innocent young thing in front of him was obviously not her.  No makeup, no attitude, no piercings, no leather, no whip marks or scars.  This was definitely not a girl from one of the other clubs owned by the syndicate.  And the dancer he was expecting, was, by the way, two hours overdue, and therefore, was not coming.  She had probably not survived her last dance.  It wasn't unusual, in this business.


Damon kept a pleasant smile on his face, nodding occasionally at the babbling woman, pretending to listen.  He could listen to the tape later, if he had to learn anything from the story she was telling.  She was good, he had to admit.  But was she Narcotics, ATF, IRS or from some RICO-type committee?  He had found the best way to find out what the bastards were after was to let them think he was cooperating.  But not quite fully.  He had learned the hard way, as several dead agents could have told you, that if he kept them thinking that if they only looked a little harder or let him get a little closer, the evidence they needed would be found.  By digging more than they intended, they inevitably tipped their hand and let him know what they were after, and, thus, what to hide.  None had survived.


Damon ran a straight club.  On the surface.  No drugs, no minors, no prostitution.  That still left a lot of opportunities to profit from the weaknesses in others.  It was his club, by its very existence, however, that grated most often on the moral self-image of the community.  Sanctimonious hypocrites.  No one wanted to admit out loud that there was a market for his kind of club, the kind of club that let men and even some women explore their darker sides.  The self-righteous bitches that squeezed their legs shut after the honeymoon and one kid couldn't stand the fact that it was their husbands' money that kept him in business.  And highly profitable.


Hell, he just provided a service.  They provided the demand.  Supply and demand, that was true market forces at work.  Somehow, in the tiny little minds of those frigid bitches, because he supplied the services they wouldn't or couldn't, that made him the 'bad guy.'  Well, they weren't far off, but it wasn't for any of those reasons.


The woman, 'Alex' she said her name was, was still yapping away.  He wondered what 'Alex' was short for, but he suspected it wasn't for brevity.  It didn't look like she was winding up anytime soon, either.  Damon allowed himself an assessing glance of her body, taking a calculated risk that her eyes would still be held by his when he looked back.  He effected some women that way, and she seemed to be susceptible.


His eyes drifted down over her chest, noting the generous swells capped by the obvious protrusions of her nipples.  Her waist was slender, her hips flared nicely.  What he could see of her legs showed a shapely calf and ankle, even with the flat shoes.  Already Damon was imaging her legs in stiletto heels and the wonderful effect they would have on the shape of her legs and buttocks.


Looking back at her green eyes, Damon was surprised to see the flush of pleased embarrassment that colored her neck and cheeks.  She had noticed him checking her out and it pleased her.  Odd.  He gave her his most disarming smile, as if was only natural for him to inspect her bodily attributes.  He gave no sign of noticing her subtle shift in posture, as she moved her cheap purse behind her back and thrust her breasts out at him, as if in invitation for a greater inspection.  Had it not been for the unconscious blush, that move would have convinced she was an agent.  As it was, he wasn't sure what he thought she was.


"So.  How can I help you, Alex?" he asked her when she finally wound down her lengthy explanation.


She looked up at him in dismay.  She couldn't just come out and ask this stranger that she needed to know what made her husband horny and how to turn him on.


"I -- I -- Uh, I guess I want to learn, to know...." she stumbled badly and ended weakly.  This part of the conversation had gone so much easier when she had had it in her mind.  George, Mr. Smith, was supposed to know what she needed.


"You want to learn what?  How to tend bar?  How to serve drinks?"


Alex shook her head.  She felt hot.  She knew she was blushing and it wasn't all from embarrassment.  She was strongly attracted to this man.  It must have been the long walk to get here, she rationalized.


"What?  Do you want to learn what we do here?"


The look of relief on her face as she nodded almost made him laugh.  That, however, would have been a mistake, and Damon didn't make many of those.  Not when it came to women.


Damon pursed his lips, thinking.  For the Feds, this was a novel approach, but he wouldn't put it past them.  Still, the girl's reactions seemed to be genuine.  She looked to be too young to be that good of an actress, but even that wasn't outside the realm of possibility.  It had been a while since he had had the opportunity to break in a new girl, and he had never tried to train one that was this naïve.  It might be fun.  The thought of having total control over this diminutive redhead was extremely tempting to him, and that set the hairs on the back of his neck on end.


"Well, I think I can give you an idea of what goes on here.  But tell me this, Alex: Are you interested in learning about it or experiencing it for yourself?"


She looked up at him, her green eyes dancing in excitement.  "Is there a difference?" she asked him.


Damon gave a short laugh.  Naïve and beautiful.  This girl, agent or not, had just delivered herself into his hands.  At least until he could find out who she worked for.  Regardless, he was sure he could turn this into a profit somehow.  It was an opportunity he couldn't resist.


Taking the girl gently by the arm he led her from the bar area down a long dark hallway to his office.  The soundproofed door closed behind them and he led Alex over to a large wooden chair.  He turned it so that it faced a bank of nine TV screens set in the wall.  Normally, these screens were set up for viewing security and the observation of all key points in the club.  It wasn't unheard of that the occasional blackmail tape was produced here, as well.  But with the club now empty, this would make a good educational center until he could get the other room set up with the special 'training' equipment he had designed.  It hadn't been used for a while, but it wouldn't take much.


"OK, Alex.  If you would please sit here."


Alex sat in the chair.  She was obviously nervous but she was unaccountably excited, too.


"I don't know what your level of experience is and I'm not going to be able to sit and watch you while you watch these tapes.  In addition, some of the things you see or hear may disturb you.  If they didn't, though, you wouldn't learn anything, would you?"


Alex shook her head silently.  She had been captivated by this man, his actions, his voice.  She was trying hard to get a hold of her feelings, to control her heart rate.  It felt as if it was fluttering and racing in her chest.  Her breathing was erratic, as well, and she didn't trust herself to speak.  So she dumbly nodded her assent.


"Not only that, but this is my private office.  I have things in here that I wouldn't want any stranger to look through, contracts and things, you understand.  So, we're going to play a little game."  He produced a roll of masking tape.  "Place your arms on the arms of the chair if you would, please."


He said it so nicely, she didn't object.  She laid her arms, palms down, on the arms of the chair.  She watched silently as he took a length of the masking tape and wrapped it around her wrist.  Another went just below her elbow.  The other arm was taped in the same manner.  Each loop was just a single band, easily broken.


She giggled a little when he did her ankles and knees, taping them to the front legs of the chair, as the tape tickled her.  Damon grinned up at her conspiratorially and gave her a friendly wink.  He could smell her arousal and it amused him.  Her dress, normally below her knees, had ridden up above them.  Her upper legs, however, were still modestly covered, so she wasn't threatened by this minor exposure.


Damon pulled off a long strip of tape and centered it across her chest above her breasts.  A second long strip was centered across her stomach below those swells.  With delicate firmness, Damon slipped the ends of the two lengths of tape under her arms and taped them to the back of the chair.  He did this without copping a feel, and Alex was almost disappointed.  It was getting more difficult for him to keep a straight face, she was so obvious.


"There.  That should do it.  If at any time you wish to stop watching the tapes, all you have to do is stand up and walk out.  However, if I come back in and any of the tapes are broken, you must leave and not come back.  Do you understand?  This is, of course, only to protect myself and my business.  Do you have any questions?"  He had spoken with authority, forcefully.


Her heart was racing.  She could feel the pulse pounding in her throat.  Alex shook her head.  She had a thousand questions, but couldn't ask them.  She could barely manage a nod.


Damon went to his desk and began setting knobs and punching buttons.  It was a simple multi-media presentation he was setting up, a mixture of still photos and video clips.  He had some difficulty filtering out the harder core folders.  On the off chance this girl was genuine, he didn't want to scare her away by exposing her to too much the first time out.  As it was, he had a feeling she would be shocked by what she would see.


The center screen came to life.  The images that changed every 5 seconds or so showed a beautiful young girl smiling at the camera, lying by a pristine swimming pool.  There were a series of poses, gradually more daring as she removed her bikini top, coyly covering her naked breasts with her hands.  Damon liked this model because she exuded a joyfulness and impishness that came across on film.


The next model was posing in a kitchen with an apron and heels and little else.  Again, her playfulness was obvious and even after the apron had disappeared, there was nothing of her nudity to see.  The pictures were risqué, but not pornographic.


The first video showed the first model dancing.  The music was haunting and there was no playfulness in the dance.  It was, however, sensuous and sexual.  The girl's hands slowly caressed her body as she writhed in time to the strong beat of the music.  Damon watched the video closely and as she began removing her dress, he moved to another set of still pictures.


Having set a bookmark in the digital video, Damon created a loop of the dancing model up to the point of her shedding the top part of the slinky dress she was wearing.  He put that video loop in one of the other monitors and let the loop play continuously.  The sensuality of the music added to the 'educational' value of the total experience.


>From the first glimmer of light on the screen, Alex had sat as if paralyzed, her eyes riveted to the screen.  She had never seen such beautiful women before.  It was obvious to her they enjoyed what they were doing, and that they were comfortable with removing their clothing for the camera.  Their bodies were perfect, they were young and beautiful.  Why shouldn't they take off their clothes and let someone else appreciate their beauty?


Her breath caught in her throat when the video started.  The girl moved so gracefully, so easily.  She imagined herself moving like that for Harold and what his reaction would be and began, within the limits imposed by the weak tape, to move her body in harmony with the dancing girl.  She noticed the first shoulder strap slip off of that smooth shoulder and felt a pang of disappointment when the video was interrupted at that point.  When the dancing appeared in another screen, she was torn between watching the swaying graceful movements and the vivid images in the center screen.


After setting up the first couple of loops for the mesmerized girl, Damon sat back and observed the effect of the images on the girl.  She was flushed and aroused.  The tape strips above and below her breasts had pulled the fabric of the dress tight against her undergarments.  There was now no doubt that her nipples were standing erect.  Already he could see the track of sweat as it trickled down between her heaving tits.


Her breathing was erratic, especially when she focused on the videos of the girls dancing.  She was rhythmically squirming her bottom on the hard seat of the chair, as if she were clenching and unclenching her thighs and groin.  He worried about the weak tape and hoped she wouldn't squirm too much and break it.  But she appeared to be in control of herself, for now, anyway.


Damon smiled, remembering.  The first dancer had been one of his favorite pupils.  She had come to him not much more experienced than Alex and had been an eager and willing student.  It was only later, when she had acquired a jaded edge that she had betrayed him.  She was gone now.  Only her pictures remained.


He quickly set up other picture series, some in sequence of the photo sessions with one or two pretty models gradually disrobing and showing tasteful nudity.  For later, he prepared some individual random photos to be interspersed with the others of a mildly sexual nature.  Mostly these were pictures of two women together, touching, kissing, fondling each other.  Then, for near the end, some random pictures of a stronger sexual nature.  Sapphic erotic poses, with and without sexual appliances.


There was an audio track that he pulled up, mostly groaning and grunting of exuberant sexual acts, but also some narration of some of the pictures, the models describing exactly what they were doing to one another.  There were a pair of small speakers directly behind the girl's head and the volume was set low.  She would have to strain to hear it.  He could also talk to her through a microphone, but he would see how it went.  It was a crude system, but in the short time he had it was the best he could do.  He hoped it was enough.


The random shots were sprinkled throughout the presentation, hopefully just enough to titillate and tease, to whet the appetite for more but not enough to scare the tender young girl away.


She remained enraptured, absorbing the images like a dry sponge soaking up water.  He waited until the first couple of racy random images had been screened.  Seeing her total concentration on the screens, Damon silently slipped out a hidden door into the next room where he could monitor her education unobserved while carefully reviewing the tape he had made of their initial meeting.  The girl would either leave soon or would be there for hours.


Alex presented him with an interesting situation.  He hadn't had a sub in a long time and the need for that special release was building.  That she was married was not a problem to him, but an opportunity.  He could think of several scenarios that would resolve the situation, all profitable.  It depended to a large degree on the husband.  What he needed now was information.  Most important, was she for real or was she a government agent?


He picked up the telephone and after a moment's thought, dialed a number.  The scrambler device was activated and he gave his lengthy instructions to the silent person on the other end of the connection.


Having set the wheels in motion, he took the opportunity to considered the irresistibility of Alex' offer.  It frightened him more than a little to think that someone out there might know him well enough to bait him with this girl.  It was the most damning evidence against her and, if not for the genuineness of her reactions, would have been immediately fatal for her.  To his mind, however, her reactions couldn't have been faked.  He would have to watch this girl closely.


Chapter 3


Alex hardly remembered the walk back to the bus stop that evening.  It had not seemed possible that she had sat for seven hours without breaking the tape.  Not one strand had been broken.  Mr. Smith had seemed surprised and, she thought, somehow pleased with her.  Alex couldn't explain the rush of pride and those other strange emotions that that thought caused her to have.  It was almost sexual.


She had seen so much today!  The dresses those girls wore seemed to be designed to show off more than they covered up.  They were so beautiful, too.  And happy.  What she really liked, however, were those other pictures, the ones that popped up so suddenly and then disappeared.  The ones that showed the women together, or alone and touching themselves.  She had never done that, or even thought about doing it by herself or with a girlfriend, but it looked so natural.


Her head was buzzing with new words and ideas.  Words like 'cunt' and 'fuck' and 'pussy'.  What was that thing they used on each other?  Oh, yeah, a dildo.  It had been enormous, eight inches long, at least!  She couldn't believe that such a thing existed much less that it would fit up inside a woman.  Sure, Daddy's stud bull was bigger, but that plastic thing had been so much bigger than Harold.  The women had enjoyed it, even when one of them wore it strapped around their waist and fucked the other one.  Alex blushed crimson as that naughty word came effortlessly to her mind.


The best word though, the best thing that she had seen was cunt-licking.  She had completely soiled the back of her dress with her fluids when that had popped up.  She had never been so wet, so excited, so unfulfilled.  It was like she was striving for something, needing something, stretching, yearning to get some release, but couldn't quite reach it.


It was going to be another day before Harold came home.  A very long day and it wasn't time for him to ravish her.  She wished there was some way she could excite him to make him take her more forcefully.


Her mind on other things, Alex didn't notice the quiet little man who followed her at a distance from the club to the bus stop, then copied her transfer at the downtown station and got off with her at her stop.  It would have been odd for her to notice him, as he made his living by going unnoticed.  Even the neighbors he talked to over the next three days wouldn't remember him.  If they did, no two would be able to give the same description of him, should anyone have asked.  No one would ask, however, as nothing had happened.  Yet.


Harold was surprised when he came in the door late Saturday morning.  His wife had taken one of his old undershirts and slit it up the sides almost to her armpits.  When he came out of the shower, she was standing there wearing that and a big smile.  He supposed she was trying to be sexy, but all he could see was straw coming out of her ears.  Not really, but her fucking family were just a bunch of ignorant hicks.  But, if she wanted to try to be sexy, he was willing to let her jump around.


She had found a radio station that had some dancy-type music and she was swishing around.  It was pretty bad and Harold had a flashback to the stripper he has fucked last night.  Shit, the bazoombas on that bitch had been fucking huge, and could she shake them.  Not like Alex.  Oh, they were jiggling around, but he liked them to flop around, slapping him in the face.  You'd need a vice to titty-fuck Alex and that was just too much fucking work.  He laughed out loud at his own pun


Still, she seemed to get the hang of it a bit, and Harold felt that familiar urge.  Standing up suddenly, he ripped the fragment of cloth from her body, leaving her barefoot and naked.  She squealed in pleasure, smiling up at him, inviting him to do more.  He did, and ten seconds later he, rolled off her and started snoring.


The buildup and planning for her dance had been exciting for Alex.  More than the actual event, but still, he had responded to it.  They had never fucked in the morning and never on the living room floor.  The tingling between her legs, though not as intense as when she had been with Mr. Smith, lingered for a long time.


Later that evening, Alex had danced for her husband again, only this time, she stripped off his old shirt more quickly.  It had been ripped that morning and she had simply tied it together in back.  With a hard tug, it had come off in her hand.  She had been so excited, as had Harold, at her dancing around naked, that she had touched herself.  That seemed to excite him, especially seeing her pinch and pull on her nipples.  When she did it hard, it took her breath away, a feeling she didn't understand but loved.


Harold had pitched her over the end of the couch in the middle of her dance and pumped her for a long time.  Well, a long time for Harold.  Ten, fifteen strokes, at least.  Then he grunted, as if he was in pain, and headed for the bedroom.


As she lay in bed next to her snoring spouse later that night, Alex allowed her hand to steal down to that aching place between her thighs.  She was still sticky from Harold's cum, another word she had learned, and the slippery fluid aided her fumbling fingers.  She had never done this before, had never thought of it until she had seen those pictures, and just touching it lightly felt so good.  There was another reason for the dampness, though, and the secret she had discovered about herself tonight had extended her pleasure far longer than the pain in her nipples had lasted.  It wasn't Harold's face she was thinking of as she tenderly massaged her vaginal lips and squeezed her breasts.


Touching herself as she had seen those other women touch themselves and each other, Alex felt the tensions within her body building.  If something didn't happen soon, she would snap.  Gently at first, then with increasing urgency she struggled towards that void in her mind, her fingers stroking and plunging, torturing the newly discovered nubbin of sensitive flesh that had been throbbing non-stop for the past two days.  Pushing it back and forth, pinching it, trapping and rolling it between her thumb and forefinger.


Not to be ignored, her other hand joined the first, abandoning her chest, burying first one then two fingers in her throbbing cunt.  Her thumbnail grazed across the sensitive area around her anus and she moaned in frustration.  It was almost enough, but for what?


Faster and faster her fingers moved.  She was lying on next to her husband doing what her mother had always taught her was dirty, naughty and nasty.  She didn't care.  She needed this.  She needed something.


Alex was never sure if she reached her decision immediately before she discovered what all the fuss was about, or immediately after.  Either way, whether the thought of going back to the club and seeing the mysterious Mr. Smith sent her over the edge, or whether the thundering experience of her very first orgasm convinced her to go back, it didn't matter.  All that mattered right then was how she felt.  Like she had never felt.


Later, sitting alone on the tattered sofa in the living area of the tiny apartment, Alex thought what Mr. Smith had told her, those delicious words he whispered in her ear as she had watched those beautiful women.  He had told her what she was supposed to wear the next time.  He had instructed her to practice those moves of the dance she had watched over and over.  She grinned to herself as she thought how proud he would be that she had done that.  She was even more thrilled that he wanted her to come back.  He said he would teach her.  He said he would train her to please him.  Of course, he had meant to say to please Harold.  She was married.


Alex didn't like to admit it, even to herself, but that had been when she had really soiled her dress.  The thought of pleasing him made her really wet down there.  When she thought of him she tingled.  If anything, Alex was a practical girl.  She knew she was attracted to Mr. Smith, but it was just sexual.  She was married to Harold, and that meant a commitment.  They were a team.  She was only trying to please him, her husband.


Harold watched football all day Sunday starting as soon as they came back from Mass. Uncharacteristically he splurged on a six-pack on the way home from the neighborhood church and got a little drunk.  Alex was disappointed.  Sunday afternoon was always such a special time for her parents.  During the two weeks they had lived with her parents, Harold had even commented, if somewhat crudely, on the amorous sounds coming from her parent's bedroom on Sunday afternoon.  Nothing she did that day, however, could pry his interest from the ball games.  He didn't even look twice when she served his beer topless.  Or bottomless.  She finally felt silly throwing herself at him like that, so she just went to bed.  He came to bed late and was gone by the time she got up.


Monday and Tuesday dragged by for Alex.  She found if she spent time practicing for Mr. Smith she would become so aroused that she would have to touch herself.  If she thought about Harold, she would usually end up sad and cry uncontrollably.  She knew she was avoiding the truth about her marriage, even with the interest he had shown in her on Saturday.  She was just not pleasing him as she ought to.  It had to be her fault.


Wednesday Harold didn't touch her.  In fact, she smelled a strange perfume on his shirt when she picked it up off the floor.  There was a smudge of red, too.  Despite the hole in her stomach, Alex tried to excite him.  She had fashioned a new outfit, two pieces that didn't hide hardly anything, but Harold wasn't buying.  Worse, he wouldn't even talk to her.


Not one to be so easily discouraged, Alex decided she would simply have to learn more from Mr. Smith about how to be exciting for Harold.  Thursday morning, bright and early she prepared for her next visit to the club, to the handsome Mr. Smith.  She reviewed what he had told her to wear when she came back.  She didn't have many clothes, but the ones he had requested she did have.  A simple white blouse and a pleated skirt.  They were clean and pressed to a fault.  The white blouse she had was old and a little tight through the bustline, but it buttoned down the front like he wanted.


She didn't have to wonder why he had requested those items of clothing.  She didn't have to imagine because he had told her what he was going to do to her.  In lascivious detail, whispering in her ear, describing the touching, the stroking, the pain and pleasure he would give her if she returned.  The whisper had stayed with her all week, teasing her, arousing her in her dreams, making her toss and turn all night in restless slumber.


She had been driven to masturbation several more times since that first time.  Her hunger for gratification was increasing, becoming an obsession.  She was constantly wet between her thighs, her clit proudly and prominently erect.  At times, the slightest pressure on that sensitive tissue would set her off, the electric shocks coursing from her groin to her boobs to her brain, overwhelming her senses.


With giddy schoolgirl excitement she boarded the cross-town bus to the central terminal, then waited impatiently for the next departure on the Main Street bus.  After an interminable delay to change a tire, she was headed for the industrial part of town and the club.  Alex couldn't recall ever being so happy or excited in her young life.  She arrived at the club and was buzzed in.


The second door was locked this time, but Mr. Smith had given her a special code.  As she punched in the numbers she blushed.  He was teasing her with the code, making fun of her innocence.  She suddenly understood why he had said it was an easy one to remember.  "6-9-6-9" she entered and the door popped open like magic.  Alex gave a little squeal of delight and went in.


Damon was not displeased to see Alex' code show up on the security alert.  After the reports he had gotten back about Harold's activities of the last week, he was a little surprised she had shown up, but not totally.


Damon knew a lot more about Mrs. Alisson Wilson and her deadbeat husband now.  He knew about her family and that Harold didn't have any living relatives.  He knew Harold was on his last chance at his job, having cost the company more money than he could hope to repay.  And, if things went as planned, he also knew Harold's luck was going to turn for the better.  For a while, anyway.  He knew Alex had stripped for Harold and that he had fucked her.  He knew she had masturbated afterwards and then several times after that.  He even knew what brand of beer Harold had had and the name of the stripper he had screwed on Wednesday.  The same one he screwed every Wednesday before he came home to his little wife.


In fact, there was very little of significance that Damon didn't know about these two or their families.  He wondered what Alex would say if she knew there had been four other Mrs. Wilsons before her, all destitute now and all glad to be rid of the SOB, even without the alimony.  'Life was too short to live it with a big prick with a little dick,' one of them had told his agent.


"Come in," he answered to the soft knocking at his office door.


Alex barely opened the door enough to slip through, then closed it quietly behind her.  Following Mr. Smith's pointing finger that directed her to his side, she shyly stood, waiting for him.


He started inspecting her from the top down.  His first touch was on her cheek, turning her head to see the unblemished purity of her face into the glaring light of his desk lamp.  She wore no make up and he was surprised at her ability to arouse him.  Normally he like painted ladies, tastefully and artfully made up.  It was something about the artificiality that attracted him, he supposed.  This girl, beguiling as she was, would be devastating when she learned the cosmetic arts.


Apparently satisfied she was pretty, he continued his inspection.  At least, that's what if felt like to her.


"I see you're wearing the blouse and the skirt I suggested," he stated.


"Yes."  She didn't know what else to say.


"And you're wearing pantyhose and a brassiere?" he continued.


"Yes."  Somehow, it seemed she should be saying something more.


"And just exactly what was it I suggested you wear today?" he asked, his voice suddenly menacing.


"A- a blouse that buttoned down the front and a pleated skirt," Alex responded.


"Did I say anything about pantyhose and a bra?" he queried her.


"No.  But I thought --"


His hand moved so fast she didn't even have time to flinch.  After a couple of seconds she wondered why she hadn't felt the pain from his slap.  Or heard the sound of it echoing off the walls of the spacious room.  Then she realized that his hand had stopped so that just the barest touch of his fingertips on her lips halted her words.  Just that barest touch excited her, yet she wasn't embarrassed.


"I don't' need you to think, my Pet.  You are here to learn, right?"


Not trusting herself to speak, she simply nodded.


"You may take them off."


"Here?" she asked.  "But I'd be naked and you'd see me."


"Does the thought of me seeing you naked bother you, Alex?"


"No.  I mean, Yes.  Oh, No.  Yes.  I don't know!" she answered.


Grinning at her obvious discomfort, Damon pushed button on the bottom of his desk and a door in the wall hissed open.  Behind it was a bathroom.  "You may change in there, Alex, if you wish to stay."


Grateful for the privacy, Alex slipped off her heavy duty bra and her new pantyhose.  She had been saving this pair for a special occasion and now Mr. Smith was upset with her.  It seemed nothing was going right for her today.  Carrying her clothing she stepped back into the room barefoot.  He hadn't said anything about shoes, either, and she just wanted to be safe.


Damon noticed the shoes in her hands.  A very good sign.  He hadn't told her to wear them, but she looked good barefoot.  Primitive and innocent.  Unspoiled.  Well, that was about to change.


He was pretty sure this young woman was what she claimed to be.  Either that or the Feds had gotten a lot better very fast.  Still, he liked the challenge Alex Wilson presented him.  She was intelligent and able to think, even when she thought he was upset with her.  Which he wasn't.  In fact, he was extremely pleased with her at the moment, but she would probably never know that.  He had found that it was best to keep them guessing.  That way he could stay in control.  And control was what it was all about.


He took the clothing she had removed and her shoes and, folding the clothes neatly, placed them in a drawer in his desk.  The shoes were on the bottom, thoughtfully placed there so as not to get the other cloths dirty.  Alex watched him handle her undergarments, still warm from her body heat.  He didn't show any of the usual male phobias for touching the delicate garments, like her father and Harold did.  Like most men she knew, in fact.


When he stood up and moved to her, her breath caught in her throat.  With only the slightest touch on her elbow, he guided her over to the chair in front of the screens.


"Dance for me, my Pet.  Show me what you have learned."


This was what Alex had been dreading and hoping for all at the same time.  He had told her, whispering in her ear, to watch the videos carefully and to practice them at home.  He had told her to stand in front of the mirror, naked, and to move a sexily as she could, as she would for him.


Her first awkward attempts in front of the bathroom mirror had ended in tears.  Her arms didn't move right and her hips wouldn't wiggle that way.  Besides, the jiggling and bouncing of the other parts of her anatomy aroused her too much and she usually ended up jerking off on the cold tiles.  But the dance for Harold had been OK.  At first, anyway, then he had lost interest.


Now Mr. Smith was waiting.  Waiting to see her move.  Waiting for her sexy dance.  Closing her eyes she tried to imagine the girls in the videos.  She managed to get one hand motion sort of, but the other just flopped around on the end of her arm.  It wasn't a bad attempt, but nothing like what she could see in her mind.  Even with all her practicing she felt clumsy


Suddenly, she felt him behind her, guiding her movements.  A touch here, a tug there and her arms and hips were moving in a semi-coordinated manner.  He was whispering naughty things in her ear and she was wet between her thighs.


When he moved away, she continued to dance for several minutes, gently swaying with her eyes closed.  She could still smell his scent, hear his whisper, feel his touch.  Her heart pounding, she slowed and stopped dancing, sweat beading up on her skin.  When he had her sit down, he made her lift her skirt up and sit bare-assed on the hard chair.  It was uncomfortable only in that if felt funny, but she was glad he had suggested it.  She couldn't afford to dry clean her good dress yet, much less this skirt, too.


This time he didn't use masking tape to tie her to the chair.  He used a light twine, almost a string.  He had her test it first to show her she could break it, but again reminded her that if any of them broke she would have to leave and not come back.  He was doing this protect himself and his business, he said.


Alex nodded her agreement, even though she didn't follow his logic.  She was impatient for the pictures and the videos.  She wanted to see more, to learn more.  She wasn't disappointed.


Damon had spent the last week preparing for her continued education.  Last week had been a slapdash affair, thrown together at a moment's notice.  He was surprised at how effective that presentation apparently had been, judging from her eagerness today.  But from now on, nothing would be left to chance.  Every slide had been reviewed and the insidiously progressive level of debauchery was so gradual as to not be noticed.  The videos had been prepared, each step of the intricate striptease dance routine presented in segments, easy to learn, easy to practice on her own.


Alex didn't notice the room lights dimming, accentuating the contrast of the screens.  She couldn't look away now.  Her eyes were riveted to the glowing images on the screen, one after another after another.  They were different this time, hardly in sequence at all.  Beautiful girls, hundreds of them, possibly.


The pictures of them touching each other came earlier this time.  There were more of them, too.  And the costumes they were wearing were more exotic.  More leather and shiny latex.  More chrome chains and buckles.  More dildos and penetrations, once or twice of the anus.  It was just a tease.  There were corseted ladies and even a gag or two.  Ropes and whips were introduced towards the end, but just as a playful hint.


The first penis made its appearance in this session, too.  Damon grinned as he heard the audible gasp coming from his mesmerized pupil as she viewed the model's proud and hard cock.  She would see many erections in the coming weeks, all of them sizable, particularly when compared with her husband's equipment.  Soon she would come to think of anything less than ten inches as small.  Harold's four inches would seem totally inadequate.


The videos played continuously to one side, constantly coaching her, teaching her.  The dancing seemed simpler this time, the movement clearer, the theme more erotic.  She could see now where one movement would flow into the next or a different move could be inserted.  The help Mr. Smith had given her earlier had gotten her started and she imagined in her mind the subtle and graceful movement of her body.  She could be sexy.


The videos now were not just dancing.  Couples were in them and doing things she had never imagined possible.  Nor had Harold suggested them.  Exciting things, arousing her.  Soon she wasn't concerned with Harold anymore, but only with the building need within her loins.


Helping to boost her confidence and undermine any resistance she might have later, Damon had carefully planted hidden messages.  It was not just the progressive nature of the photos and videos, but he used subliminal messages as well.  He had found that simple commands worked best, mostly to obey her master, but also commands defining her view of herself in a subservient role, playing off the theme in an increasing number of the pictures and videos.  He had picked up on her need to please her man.  He was simply instructing her that she was there to please him, a message not far from the way she had been raised.  It just needed to be twisted a little.  It wasn't hard.


At the end of six hours, Alex sat with glazed eyes, watching a blank screen.  Her mind still re-played the vivid and exciting images she had seen.  The chair was soaked, even some of it running along her thighs and dripping onto the floor.  She was puzzled later that she hadn't been more embarrassed with the mess she had made.


The quiet little man followed her home again, though this time he stayed a little closer to her.  Before, he had been there to gather information.  This time, he was there to watch out for her, to make sure she got home unmolested.  She was rather vulnerable after these sessions and would be until she had an identifiable Master.  She never noticed the quiet man, even though he sat beside her twice.


Chapter 4


The next week was agony for Alex.  All night Thursday and all day Friday and Friday evening she had practiced the moves she had learned.  Over and over, stopping only to frig herself off, which was happening with increasing frequency.  It was harder for her to make herself come, too, as if she was building up a tolerance to the feelings.  She was still horny as Hell, her nipples and clit sticking out even in sleep.  It amused her, sort of, but it was distracting.


Still, she worked hard.  For Harold.  Shit, who was she kidding?  She was only working this hard because of Mr. Smith.  She would have quit days ago if it was just Harold.


When Harold came out of the shower Saturday morning, he found he had no clothes to wear.  She had taken them all and hidden them.  Playfully, she sat him in one of the kitchen table chairs and proceeded to give him what she had learned was called a 'lap dance.'  With her on top, a first for her, and Harold, too, apparently, she was more in control and he lasted for several minutes before spraying his goo all over the inside of her thighs.  As he was still semi-erect, Alex tried to re-insert him, but Harold pushed her off of him, dumping her unceremoniously on the floor.  Almost.  She had almost managed to come.  She was elated.  She was on the right track.


Harold went out early Sunday morning, foregoing the early Mass they had been attending together at the neighborhood church.  He didn't come back for Sunday lunch and Alex carefully wrapped the expensive roast she had prepared.  When he came in he threw down some betting slips and cursed her, as if it were her fault.  He had gone to the race track and had lost heavily.


The rent was due this week and Harold left Monday morning without leaving any money for that or for groceries.


Harold was in a piss poor mood when he came home on Wednesday night.  He had been passed over for the new position.  In fact, Jeremy Hobbs, the son-of-a-bitch, had managed to take away his best clients as well as snatching the job he had wanted.  He was either going to have to find more clients on his own for this fucking company or go on part-time.  The Goddamn fucking ass-holes.  Then, to top it off, Jeremy fucking Hobbs had shown up in his favorite bar to celebrate, so the bartender knew Harold hadn't gotten the new job he had been bragging about.  The jerk couldn't even find his own bar, but had to take that away from him, too.  Then the fucking bartender had made him settle up his tab, taking most of his fucking paycheck.


The final straw was his fucking wife, wanting to fucking do it.  Again.  Well, he had showed her.  He had slapped the bitch a couple of times to shut her up, then ripped off her fucking granny panties and thrown her over the back of the couch.  He was so drunk he was going to last a long time tonight, he knew it.


Her sopping cunt was so loose and sloppy he couldn't get a good grip.  Spying her tiny asshole winking up at him he pulled out and positioned his mighty cudgel at the virgin entrance.  It only took a thrust or two in her dried orifice and he was finished, leaving her sobbing on the hardwood floor.  Best fuck he'd had out of her yet.  More than the bitch deserved.  She hadn't even made him his fucking dinner on time.


Alex had lain on the floor until she heard Harold snoring.  He had come home two hours late and drunk.  She had tried to keep his dinner warm, but had finally given up.  Excited to finally see him, she had been playful, hoping to excite him.  He had rebuffed her advances at first, then had suddenly struck out and slapped her.  Hard, across the face.


On the one hand it had hurt, terribly, and the bruises on her face would show for weeks.  Mostly she had been surprised by his violent reaction.  On the other hand, his roughness had sent a thrill through her, at first.  Even after he hit her and tossed her carelessly over the couch, it hadn't been that bad.  The anal intrusion had burned a little, but when he had emptied himself in her bowels she had cum with him.  For the first time, ever, with him.  It hurt that it was in anger.


What had hurt more had been the words he had tossed at her this morning.  When he was sober.  He didn't love her.  She was a burden to him.  He was going to leave her.  In one ugly moment, her beautiful dreams of the life she thought they were making together were shattered.  There could be no more delusions.  There was also no money on the table.  The rent was due tomorrow.


She lay there weeping after he had gone.  It was as if that part of her life was over.  Dead.  Just like Aunt Shirley's and Uncle Roger's marriage.  Mom said they only stayed together because no one else would fight with them.  It was a loveless relationship and painful to watch, especially at Thanksgiving.  It filled her with dread to imagine her life like that.


It never entered her mind not to go to the club today.  To go to Mr. Smith.  She would not have understood if someone would have tried to explain to her that she was simply replacing one man for another.  All she knew was that she needed to see him.  Mr. Smith.


Alex dressed in her blouse and skirt and went to the club.  The reassuring click of the ornate door as it opened to welcome her almost made her cry.  She belonged here.  She had her own code.


Silently she walked down the hall to the office.  The building was empty, but his deep voice called her into his presence.  She closed the door behind her.  She was trembling.


Damon wasn't surprise to see Alex show up.  He would have bet money on it and he hated to lose a bet.  He had a complete report from last night's activities.  He should have.  He had arranged the whole thing, except what happened in their shabby apartment.  And thanks to Harold, that had been predictable, as well.


It didn't surprise him that she was trembling.  If he wanted, he knew could fuck her right now.  That wasn't what he wanted.  No, he wanted to control her, totally, with her consent, then squeeze the life out of her, one day at time, to use her up.  Then toss away the empty carcass.  It wasn't anything personal.  It was what drove him, his internal demon.  Some men got off on cars, or skydiving, or other thrills.  He got off on control.  Life and death control.


He pushed the button to the bathroom and Alex went in without being told and removed her undergarments and shoes.  She brought them back to him and he again took obvious pleasure in touching her still warm clothing.  She didn't know it, but she was surrendering herself, her will to him.  Even her body heat and the fresh moisture on her panties.  Bit by bit, he would take control from her.


She stood before him, her head bowed.  Touching a finger to her chin, he tilted her face to the harsh light from his desk lamp as he had before.  This time her face wasn't perfect.  The swelling had gone down a bit, but the discoloration had started.  Without makeup the bruises were very visible.  Harold had backhanded her across the cheekbone and most of the damage was from that.  Damon was sorry she had been hurt, but it had been one of the risks he had to take to break her emotional bond with her husband.


He had learned a lot about this woman.  Divorce didn't seem to be an option in her family.  He couldn't find one dissolved marriage ever, and he had looked a long way back.  Loveless marriages, yes, but no divorces.  So she was used to total and irrevocable commitment in relationships, exactly the kind of commitment he wanted from her, but in a slightly different type of relationship.


What would surprise him would be if Alex asked him for money today.  He knew about the rent being due and that Harold didn't leave any money.  Harold didn't have any money to leave and was already borrowing at the race track.  Yes, he had learned a lot about this intriguing woman in the last few weeks.  Other women would have prostituted themselves for the money in a heartbeat, but he didn't think she would even have considered it.


When she danced for him today, he stood close behind her and let her feel his excitement.  She cried as he pressed himself against her moving buttocks, but she kept up the dance.  She was doing much better and in the next couple of weeks would proceed to actually removing her clothing.  Damon found he was looking forward to that.


He tied her into the chair this time with wide Velco straps.  There was no pretense of her getting loose on her own.  The game was now serious and they both knew it.  When he tightened the last strap around her chest she looked up and him.


"Thank you," she said simply, a final tear falling down her cheek.


Nodding understandingly he took a small rubber ball from his pocket.


"Open your mouth please, Alex."


She did.  He pressed the ball behind her teeth.  It was not a tight fit, but it was large enough so that she would not be in danger of swallowing the ball.  It was also large enough to show the material of the ball between her teeth and the bright red color leapt out at him.


"You look pretty tied up and gagged, Alex.  Do you enjoy it as much as I do?" he asked her.  He had knelt down beside her.


Her green eyes were shining brightly as she vigorously nodded her assent.  He leaned over to her and she tilted her head towards him.  He kissed her forehead and felt the tremors passing through the bound girl.


"If you wish to quit today, simply spit out the ball.  I know you are in pain, but I would really like you to get through this for me."  God, he was good.  She wouldn't leave now if he pulled out her fingernails.  He knew.  He'd done that once.


The pictures started, and with no fear of breaking the bonds, Alex let herself go.  She worked her butt on the chair as much as she could and forced her nipples up and down against the rough cloth of her blouse, straining for even the slightest amount of stimulation.  She grunted and groaned, the sweat soon soaking her blouse and making it transparent.


Damon sat where she could see him, perched on the edge of the console.  Her attention was riveted to the screens for the most part, but when her breathing would turn ragged and her body would shudder, she would focus on him.


She was progressing nicely, he thought.


Alex found the envelope on her kitchen table when she got home that evening.  The rent money was inside and even a little extra.  Harold must have felt guilty, come back and left if for her.  She felt a twinge of guilt, too, about visiting the club today, but not enough to change her mind about going back again.  And again.


Harold had made his decision, too.  Alex could still see the evidence of it every time she looked in the mirror.


Being called into the boss's office on a Friday night had never been a happy experience for Harold.  He already had his cubicle cleaned out and packed into boxes, the stolen office supplies hidden at the bottom of the cartons, before he stepped into the fucking asshole's office at five minutes before 5:00.  He walked out two minutes later in a daze.


A promotion!  A temporary transfer to a sister company and in another state.  But a Goddamn, shit-eating promotion.  Finally, those fucking assholes had recognized his talent, if not his genius.


Harold celebrated heavily before arriving home that night.  Alex sat quietly at the dinner table waiting for him to come back out from the bedroom and his shower, but Harold had fallen asleep cross-wise on the bed not leaving any room for her.  Alex slept on the couch.


The next two days were a whirlwind of packing and buying new clothes for Harold on credit.  Credit they didn't have, as near as Alex could tell.  Harold kept referring to a new promotion or something, so Alex finally quit asking.  She didn't quit worrying.  Sunday night Harold packed all his belongings into the back of his Chevy and left for his temporary assignment.  He would be gone a month, then he would be back for a brief meeting, then he would be gone another month.


He never made arrangements to send her any money.  Worse, he seemed to have forgotten about their anniversary coming up.  Their first.


In the silence of their now half-empty apartment, the only sounds were those of tears falling onto the cracked linoleum floor.  Alex wept bitterly at the loss of her hopes and her dreams.  She had been abandoned.  But she was not alone nor was she defeated.


Tuesday morning, Alex dried her tears and never looked back.  Harold was gone.  She had to survive.  She needed money.  She needed a job.


In a very organized and systematic fashion Alex began to canvas the local merchants.  First in the immediate neighborhood, then in increasingly greater distances from her apartment.  Amazingly, she found nothing.  She would probably have not been so amazed if she had noticed the quiet little man who followed her into each store and had a few quiet words with the management.  No one called her with a job.


Two weeks later, on a Friday afternoon, exhausted from her fruitless job search, she discovered an envelope shoved under the door of her apartment on her return.  There was no postage on the envelope and no return address.  Just her name.  Inside was a wad of cash with a note from a stranger to the effect that this was Harold's per diem money that he had forgotten to pick up.  It was enough to pay the rent for several months and to pay off all the credit charges Harold had run up.  First, she cried.  The she went out and immediately paid off all the stores where they owed money.  She felt no need to tell Harold about the money.


Back in her apartment, freed from the immediate necessity to earn money, Alex realized she had not gone to the club for a long time.  She had not seen Mr. Smith this week or last and she felt a pang of regret.  More than that.  She felt a pang lower down, between her thighs.  With a sudden start, it dawned on her that thinking of the mysterious Mr. Smith made her horny and happy!  She laughed for the first time in two weeks.  It felt good.  Better, she decided to go to the club.  She needed to see him.  Desperately.


Without stopping to plan what she was going to do, she grabbed her coat and headed for the bus stop.  She caught the bus, transferred downtown and in the gathering gloom of twilight arrived at the deserted doorway of the club.


Damon had set the security system to notify him whenever Alex' code was entered.  The pager went off just as he was finishing a telephone call.  He was very satisfied with the way things were working out, and Alex' arrival couldn't have been timed more perfectly.


She entered his office at his brusque command.


"I missed you this last two weeks, Alex," he stated.  "Were you too busy for me?"


"Yes.  Uhm, no."






"Say 'Sir.'  For now, you should always address me as 'Sir.'  Do you understand?"


She looked at him, her eyes wide, brimming with tears.  "Yes.  Uh, Sir."


"Does that upset you, Alex?"


"Oh, no, Sir!"


"Then why the tears?"


"I'm so happy, Sir.  And a little afraid, too, I guess.  Sir."


"That's good, my Pet.  You should always be a little afraid," he said with a sad smile.  He looked at her clothing.  She had not thought about coming here for a session, only to be with him, but she was still wearing the blouse and skirt.  And undergarments.


"You may change in the bathroom, Alex," he said dismissively.  He pressed the button under his desk and the door hissed open.


"But --," she began, then stopped as he looked up at her sharply, daring her to continue.  She headed for the bathroom.


"And Alex?"


She turned just at the door.  "Yes, Sir?"


"You may leave your blouse unbuttoned when you return."  He turned to some papers on his desk, leaving the wide-eyed girl to make her own decision.


It was several minutes later when a trembling figure stood beside his desk, her head down.  She was frightened, but there were no tears.  Damon finished reading the memo, signed the appropriate line on a contract, signed off his computer and cleaned up his desk, putting all the sensitive material in a locked drawer.  Standing, he perched himself on one butt cheek on the edge of his desk in front of the silent girl.


Silently he took the clothing and shoes from her hands and went through the ritual they had established in the sessions prior.  The neatly folded garments were put away in the drawer.  The silence weighed heavily in the room.


"I missed you, Alex."


"Yather."  Her head was so far down she was mumbling.  Damon took a finger and placed it under her chin and raised it up until her eyes met his.  She hadn't flinched when he touched her.  Her bruises were faded, a memory.  She didn't look away now.


"What did you say?"


"Yes, Sir."


"Were you busy?"


"Yes, Sir."


"Too busy to see me?"  He let a note of exasperation creep into his voice.  Actually, he was very pleased she had not rushed to him, begging for money or a job.  And he enjoyed making her squirm.  She did it so nicely.


"I was looking for work, Sir."


"Oh."  He was silent for several seconds, as if he was thinking.  "Did you find a job?"


"No, Sir."


"So, is that why you're here?  You need work?  Money?"  He threw the accusation at her, knowing it was false.


A horrified look crossed Alex' face.  "Oh, NO, Sir!"  She looked at him, pleading with her eyes for him to understand that that was never her intention.  Her near nudity was forgotten.  "I should go, Sir," she said finally.


He let her get almost to the door.


"How will you get home?"


"Sir?" she asked, turning back to him.


"The last bus left ten minutes ago.  There won't be another one until 5:30 tomorrow morning."


It didn't surprise her that he knew she took the bus.  She just stood there, defeated.  It wasn't too far to walk.  She had grown up in the country and had walked farther than that many times.  But not through a dark and dangerous city.  Not a pretty young girl alone.


"Should I call you a taxi, Alex?"  His hand was on the telephone.


"No, Sir.  I can't afford a taxi.  Sir."  She didn't even think of asking him for cab fare.  Damon smiled.


"Well, then.  I guess I could take you home after work if you like.  You did want to see what we did here, right?"  Tonight a special group had reserved the club.  It would be an eye-opener for the innocent girl as well as establish some other precedents.  "What do you say to that?"


Alex' eyes were wide with excitement.  Her feelings were reeling from the emotional whiplash Mr. Smith had just put her through, but right now she was elated.  "Oh, yes, Sir.  That would be wonderful.  Sir."


"Well, then.  Let's get you ready, shall we?"  He pulled the questioning girl into the bathroom.  With practiced skill he gathered her luxurious hair into several bundles behind her head.  In short order, he had plaited her hair into an attractive braid that fell, perfectly centered down the back of her neck.


After the first moments of uncertainty, Alex relaxed as she felt his knowing hands working on her hair.  More than anything that had happened between them before, this quiet moment cemented her trust in this strange and wonderful man.  This man who was perfectly comfortable with women's undergarments and had the skill of a hairdresser.  Yet there was no doubt at all in Alex' mind that this man was all man, especially if that was what she thought it was pressing into her back.


She shifted slightly, edging back into Mr. Smith and watched him smile briefly at her in the mirror.  Blushing, she saw she had been caught.  But she didn't pull away.  Neither did he.


"Tonight is a special party," he said as he finished her hair.  "There will be some women there, but it wouldn't be safe for you to be out there on your own.  Sometimes the people at these parties get a little carried away and it gets a little rough.  So, what we'll do is make sure that everyone knows you are spoken for, OK?"


Alex nodded.  She hadn't moved from her spot in front of him, her back was pressed against his abdomen.  She could feel his swelling.  It took her breath away.  Mr. Smith let her stand there until she began to grind her hips against his groin.  He pulled back just a bit and she let out an unintended moan.


Taking both her shoulders in his strong hands he guided her back into the office.  From a drawer in his desk he took several items and laid them out for her inspection.  She tentatively reached out her hand and traced their gleaming surfaces with the tips of her fingers.


"For me, Sir?" she asked him.


"Yes.  Do they frighten you?"


"Will you be with me while I am wearing them, Sir?"




"It will please you for me to wear them, Sir?"




"Then I will wear them.  But, Sir?




"They do frighten me.  Sir."


Damon laughed a deep booming laugh.  He enjoyed this woman.  She surprised him and pleased him.  That was rare.  He saw her looking up at him, a worried look on her face.  "Don't be alarmed, my Pet.  You will never leave my side tonight.  You will be perfectly safe."


Taking the heavy steel handcuffs off the desk he stepped behind Alex.  She gave him her hands without hesitation.


"Are they too tight?" he asked.


Alex stood there, working her shoulders and arms, testing the strength of her bonds.  She wasn't struggling, trying to escape, but simply pulling her arms this way and that.  Her face was a study in concentration.  He watched her for a while.


"Alex?  Are they too tight?"


The expression on her face was priceless as she looked up at him.


"I - uh, I'm - " She started, then stopped.  She just looked perplexed.


"Are they too tight?  Do they hurt?"  Damon was beginning to get worried and stepped behind her to check.


"No, Sir," she answered.  "They don't hurt.  But I don't know if they are too tight.  I'm sorry, Sir, but I have never worn them before.  I don't know how they are supposed to fit.  But, no, they don't hurt."


He gave a short guffaw, followed by a longer laugh.  He laughed so hard that he had to sit down in his chair.


"Did I say something wrong, Sir?"


Drying his eyes with his fingers he looked up at her and gave her a warm smile.  "No, my Pet.  But thank you for reminding me just how much I have to take care of you.  I will try to explain everything that happens tonight so that you will know what is going on.  Some things that I take for granted will seem very strange to you.  I don't want you to be frightened."


He picked up a thick collar.  Stepping behind her he fastened it snuggly behind her neck.  It locked on and he pocketed the key.  He attached a chrome leash to the D-ring in the front and let it hang down between her breasts.  The cold metal raised goose bumps on the bare flesh.


That left one piece of equipment left on the table.  He picked it up and held it for her to see.


"Do you know what this is?"


She looked at it closely.  "Do you whip me with it?"


He grinned.  "No.  But if you forget to call me 'Sir' again, I will whip you, Alex."


"Yes, Sir.  No, Sir.  I don't know what it is for."


He stood up and held it up to her mouth.  "The ball goes in your mouth.  The straps are tied behind your head to keep it in.  At some point tonight you will wear it."


"Yes, Sir."  Alex continued to look at the ballgag.  "It is very large, Sir.  Why must I wear it?  Have I displeased you, Sir?"


Damon smiled down at his nubile pupil affectionately.  "You will wear it because it pleases me to see you wearing it.  I told you that you are beautiful when you are bound and gagged, remember?  Do you need another reason?"


"Oh, no, Sir!  Would you like me to wear it now?  Please, Sir?"


"No, not now.  Don't be too eager, my Pet.  There will be a certain discomfort involved.  It is a big ball."  He slipped the ballgag into his jacket pocket.


He stood looking at her.  She met his gaze, not wavering from his eyes even as his hands reached towards her and opened her unbuttoned blouse.  The spread halves of the shirt exposed her naked breasts to his gaze for the first time.  Tearing his eyes from her sparkling green ones he allowed his dark ones to feast on the unblemished vista.  Alex closed her eyes, her breathing rapid and shallow.


She moaned and shook with a small climax as his thumbs lightly caressed her twin nipples.


"Perfect," he said to no one in particular.


Then, with just that simple caress, he took the tails of her shirt and knotted them firmly under her tits.  The cut of her shirt with her arms bound behind her and the adequate size and firmness of her breasts made the opening gap widely, leaving ready visual access to her charms.


He stood and studied her for a moment.


"I like it," he said.  "It's a good look for you."


"You'll get a good look, too, Sir, as will everyone else," she quipped back.  She had to look down her nose to see what everyone else would be able to see.


"Does that bother you, Alex?"


"No, Sir.  The question is, Does it bother you, Sir?"


He laughed happily this time at her remark and, in answer, picked up her leash and slipped it over his wrist.


With a gentle tug he led her out into the club.


Chapter 5


The first person Alex saw when they entered the club was a huge man standing by the door.  True, there were only the various staff people in the bar areas getting ready for the evening shift, but this man would have stood out in a crowded room.  He almost seven feet tall and stood solidly on his feet as if he was a part of the building, yet Alex got the impression he was capable of explosive and lethal speed.  As they got closer to him, she could see the reflections of the various spotlights in the smooth and shiny skin that covered his head.  His upper arms were the size of trees, thicker than Alex' thighs.  He seemed to be naked, but she realized that his skin color was so black that in the dim light of the bar, she could only make out the transition between the black leather clothing he was wearing and his bare skin when she was almost standing right next to him.  He was wearing a black leather vest and black leather pants that seemed to be painted on his lower extremities.  His broad chest was smooth, hairless and gleaming in the dim light.


Mr. Smith was leading her directly toward this mountain of Nubian muscle.  The man solemnly observed their progress across the club, his eyes flicking between the two of them and the various activities around the club.  There was a hands-free communications device in his ear and he spoke softly into the mike as they approached.  Alex' eyes widened continuously as they neared, her head tilting further and further back to be able to look into his handsome face.


"Alvin, I'd like to introduce Alex to you.  She will be with me this evening.  I want you to keep an eye out for her.  Alex, Alvin," said Mr. Smith, completing the brief introduction.


"Hello, Alvin," said Alex, grinning up at the face towering above her.


"Hello," came a deep growl in return.  He flashed her an ear-to-ear grin, his white teeth dazzling against his dark skin.


Alex gave a spontaneous and hearty laugh when she saw his smile.  Alvin had a gleaming gold front tooth.  A sudden flash of brilliant rainbow colors indicated that he had a diamond set in the gold.  It stuck her that this huge bouncer had done that as a joke, something so cliché as to be beyond stereotypical.  His laughing eyes caught hers and a look of silent understanding passed between them.  They had said three words to each other, yet there was a connection.


Mr. Smith frowned at her, stifling her sudden outburst, and began going over the myriad details necessary to run a successful bar.  It was soon obvious to Alex that Alvin was more than a bouncer who watched the door.  He controlled the whole club for Mr. Smith.  The professional respect they had for each was obvious.  Alex didn't understand very much of what they were saying, but she could follow the tenor of the conversation.  She thought it was interesting that they respected each other, but didn't seem to like each other very much.


As they parted, Alex looked up at him and said, "It was nice to meet you, Alvin."


"The pleasure was mine, Miss Alex," rumbled from the smiling man.


Turning to follow Mr. Smith, who had tugged gently on her leash to remind her of it, she waved 'Good-bye' with her hands that were cuffed behind her back.  A quick smile over shoulder and she followed Mr. Smith into the bowels of the club.  She didn't see the smile fade on Alvin's face to be replaced by a look of thoughtful refection.  It was a dangerous look on someone as potentially menacing as Alvin was.  Then the first of the guests began arriving and the big man turned to his tasks.


Mr. Smith led her around the club.  It was bigger than she had imagined at first, with several areas that could be closed off for smaller private affairs.  Tonight, they were all open, each area with its own bar and staff.  In the main part of the bar was a dance floor.  The edge of a stage was visible behind a heavy black curtain, closed for the evening.  A four-foot wide section in the center could be extended out into the crowd area creating a short runway.  A dancer at the end of the extended runway would be in the center of the bar area, surrounded by the crowd.


There were smaller stages in most of the other sections of the club and odd looking equipment being assembled on them.  Mr. Smith explained what each piece of equipment did and demonstrated some of them for her.  She put her head in the neck hole of a set of stocks and he lowered the top bar.  She was totally restrained by the device and a thrilling shiver ran through her body.


Next Mr. Smith showed her a simple hook hanging from the ceiling.  He slipped the hook over the short link of her handcuffs and pressed a button on the floor with his foot.  The hook rose up slowly, forcing her arms up and her body down.  He left her dancing on her bare feet, walking around her wiggling form.  She followed him with her eyes, watching his face as he looked at her in this awkward position.  His obvious satisfaction with her sent yet another thrill through her body.


Mr. Smith uncuffed her and introduced her to the St. Andrew's cross, the Swedish Horse and several other mind-boggling devices of restraint.  Mr. Smith strapped her onto a large wheel and spun her around a couple of times.  They laughed as her boobs fell out of her wide open blouse that had come untied as she whirled around.  Although she was not handcuffed when he released her from the wheel, she didn't try to cover herself.  Mr. Smith replaced her handcuffs first, then re-tied the blouse.  Each new device sent shivers of excitement through Alex until she was literally quivering.  Had Mr. Smith touched her in the slightest, she knew she would have swooned.  After screaming in a tremendous sexual climax.


There were other devices, not so much for restraining, but for inflicting pain.  Mr. Smith seemed to take particular pleasure in detailing the effects of each of these implements.  There were large needles he said were used not only for piercing holes for jewelry, but also for inserting into various parts of the body, such as breasts, cheeks, lips (both upper and lower), the penis and large muscles.  There was a generous supply of disinfectant, and the needles were all gleaming and new.


Another section had a sturdy wooden device and a brazier that was glowing with red hot coals.  Mr. Smith leaned Alex backwards over the wooden bars and used two thick leather straps across her stomach and chest to hold her down tight.  Two more straps at her widely spread feet completed her restraint.  He explained that this was where slaves were branded, where they received their Master's marks.  It wasn't allowed to disfigure the slave, at least, here in the club.  He told her that several slaves had consented to be marked tonight.


With her still strapped to the wooden trellis, he stood there looking at her silently, the only noise in the room the white-hot hiss of the coals.  Alex' breath caught in her throat and a series of shudders convulsed through her.  A low moan escaped her throat.  Mr. Smith, watching her, smiled.


"Did you like Alvin, my Pet?" he asked her innocently.


Even in the aroused state she was in, Alex knew a loaded question when she heard one.  She decided the only answer was the truth.


"Yes, Sir.  He is very big."


"Why did you laugh?"


He didn't need to tell her what he was referring to.  He had noticed the instant bond between them and it had bothered him.  She stuck with the truth.


"He has a gold tooth with a diamond.  It makes him look evil.  But he's not.  Sir"


Damon had moved up between her wide spread legs.  She was breathing hard through her nose, her eyes wide.  He ran a finger up under her skirt and touched her thick patch of pubic hair.


"You got all that, did you?  Well, I suppose woman's intuition can be wrong on occasion.  I happen to know Alvin is a very bad man.  I'm not sure I trust him completely, but for now you will do everything he tells you, do you understand?  Or you could be hurt very badly."


"Yes, Sir."


He let his finger slip down along her moist furrow.


"You're married, aren't you Alex?" he asked, suddenly changing the subject.


She groaned from his touch.  She squirmed in the bondage, trying to make more contact with his roaming finger.


"Yyyyeesss, Ssssir," she hissed.


"So I suppose you're not a virgin here anymore, right?"  His finger slipped in to the second knuckle and she shrieked and shuddered in a hard and fast orgasm.


"N-n-nnnno, Sir ---- OH God!" she shouted, as his slick finger slid down and probed her nether hole.


"What about here, Alex?"


"N-n-no, Sir.  Oh, please don't take it out, Sir."


"So your husband managed to take you ass, yes?"


"Ooooohhh, Yes, Sir.  Once.  Only once.  Oh, more, please.  Sir!"


"And you liked it when he butt-fucked you?"


"Uhhhhhh.  No, Sir.  It hurt me a lot.  Sir."


"I think you did like it, Pet.  Tell me, did you cum when he was in your ass?"


Lost in the wonderful feelings of his huge finger in her ass and shamed beyond answering as she remembered that fateful day, she was silent.


"Alex?"  Damon jammed the finger completely up inside her ass.  She grunted, but didn't cry out.


"Yyess, Sir.  I came.  Sir.


"So, you have no more virginities to give to me, right?"


"Yes, Sir.  I mean, No, Sir."


"Well, which is it?"


"My mouth, Sir.  He never used my mouth."


Damon's eyebrows rose in sudden interest.  Now this was news.


"But, surely, your boyfriends in high school...?"


"No, Sir.  Never, Sir."


Pulling his finger from her rectum, he held it up to her mouth.  Without hesitation she opened her mouth and sucked in his stinking finger, cleaning her fluids and her feces from his finger.


"Well, then.  I want your mouth first, Alex," he said quietly, more to himself than to her.


He took the ballgag out of his pocket and held it up to her mouth.  She opened it and accepted the large ball.  It forced her mouth wide open and then kept it there.  He tied the two ends behind her neck.  Screaming into the gag, she orgasmed.


Alex didn't remember much of the rest of the tour.  She walked obediently behind him on her leash through the growing crowd as he continued to demonstrate to her some of the implements of torture and pain throughout the rest of the extensive labyrinth.  Each device that was strapped on her head, fitted to her bared breasts, or otherwise demonstrated simply increased the throbbing need she was feeling.  Being this close to this powerful man, being teased by the handcuffs and the leash and teased even more by the carefully orchestrated demonstrations was like torturing a starving man with the odor of fresh-baked bread.  Everything she saw, everything Mr. Smith did aroused her as she had never been aroused before.  At some point she stopped being aware of anything but her body and its sexual needs.


As the rooms started filling up with more and more people, Damon withdrew to a quiet section of the club, his own private table.  From here he could observe the crowd of outlandishly dressed people.  Some he recognized as regulars.  Some were even serious about the bondage scene and were known to him not only by name and sight, but by their level of skill.  These were all Doms.  He didn't waste his time getting to know Subs.  They didn't last long enough, as a general rule.


Those who knew him smiled knowingly and nodded to him as they saw Alex kneeling next to him.  They recognized the hyper-aroused state she was in, a novice overwhelmed by the sights, sounds and feelings of the scene.  No one who saw the state she was in would approach him, not if they wanted to live.  They knew the sensitive nature of training a new sub, and this one was obviously brand new.  They also knew the club owner as vicious and ruthless when crossed.  His hand caressing the neck of this sub was an obvious sign of his possession of the sub.  Discretion being the better part of valor, they stayed away tonight.


One of the bar staff approached his table and quietly whispered in Damon's ear.  A telephone call for him.  Urgent.  He had left instructions.


Cursing to himself, Damon urged the girl to her feet.  She had been rocking back and forth, shudders passing through her body continuously now.  She wouldn't notice his short absence, and he could park her over in the holding area where Alvin could keep an eye on her.


Alex stumbled after him on rubbery legs.  It felt good to get up off her knees, but the fluids running from her core were now dripping down below the level of her skirt.  Mr. Smith took her over to a better lighted area near the entrance.  At eye-level in the wall there were several hooks spaced about every three feet where Doms could safely park their Subs and get a drink or go to the restrooms or whatever.  It was a safe area, well lit and everyone knew that if it wasn't yours you didn't take it.


He looped her leash through one of them of the hooks.  He allowed enough slack for her to get back on her knees.  He whispered in her ear that he would be right back and that Alvin would watch her until he returned.  He wasn't sure she had understood him.  He spoke to Alvin, who had seen him coming, and hurried to his office.


Alvin saw the state Alex was in and smiled.  It wasn't a sad or sadistic smile, but one of recognition of what she was feeling.  He had seen it before.  As he watched her kneeing and rocking, he moved the other slaves parked there away from her.  It was a sign of his respect and admiration of her ability to achieve this level of arousal and he didn't want anything to infringe upon her experience.


The telephone call lasted longer than expected and soon Alex was kneeling alone in the holding pen.  She was still oblivious to most of what was going on around her.


A sudden beep in the earpiece Alvin was wearing, followed by a terse message alerted him to an over-riding danger to the club and its patrons.  A slave had broken free in the marking room and accidentally kicked over the brazier with the hot coals.  Without a second thought, Alvin was racing towards the area, a fire extinguisher and First Aid kit in his mammoth hands.


The crisis over, he returned to his post a few minutes later.  No damage to the club and only a few minor burns.  The bartender was handing out free drinks for the next ten minutes.  Everything should be fine.


A glance at the telephone showed the line for the boss's office was still lit.  He was still on that important call.  Alvin turned to check on the holding pen and froze.  It was empty.


Miss Alex was gone!


September 2002