Chapter 11

When the cage door closed and Mr. Smith walked off without even saying 'good night', Alex cried for a while.  Then, mentally shaking herself, she got a grip and forced herself to stop feeling sorry for herself.  She wondered if those other girls had cried in here when they were left alone or after they had displeased Mr. Smith.  Silly, of course they had.  But she wouldn't cry over such a silly thing.  She would just have to try harder to please Mr. Smith.  She wasn't sure what had gone wrong tonight, but she would try hard not to do it again.  Whatever it was.

She had some thinking to do, anyway.  Those boxes in the storage room, the ones with the documents.  She hadn't thought anything of them at first, but the names on the files had haunted her and drawn her to look through them with more care.  Each file had contracts, releases and other legal papers as well as notarized Powers of Attorney.  She knew what those were.  Cathy, her best friend in high school, and she had worked in the office of the town clerk.  Actually, her friend had the job and got paid.  Alex just shared it with her and took her place for a couple of months when Cathy had to leave town for a while to have her baby.  That way she had the job when she came back.  Alex was glad to help.

But these were the same kinds of documents they handled there at the courthouse.  Estate stuff.  Guardianship and Wills.  As boring as most people think these things are, she had been fascinated by them, especially after a big local scandal involving a race horse had been in all the papers.  She had asked a thousand questions to anyone who would stop by her desk to flirt with her.  At first the lawyers and judges had been amused and given her short answers, trying to be cute.  But she kept asking and the questions got harder and soon, one or two of the adults had taken her seriously.  They had spent time with her and she had learned and asked even more questions.  If she hadn't gotten married right after high school, she had wanted to go on to the community college and then Law School.  But Harold had changed all that.

Still, she knew what a lot of those papers were.  And in the back of each file were the personal ID cards.  Driver's license, Social Security Cards.  Some had passports and credit cards.  Thinking about it, she wondered why Mr. Smith had them.  Didn't the girls need them anymore?  She couldn't think of any reason she would give up her driver's license.  It puzzled her for a long time and she fell asleep, her first night as a pet.

She awoke in a cold sweat.  She knew why.  If she hadn't been shackled to the floor she probably would have bolted out the door of the club and never looked back.  But the list of names on the bottom of the shelf stared at her.  The same names in the files.  They were daring her to stay.  Challenging her to join them.  To please him, their Master.  It was what she wanted.

As the long night passed into morning, she found she had resolved to play the game to the end.  She knew it could be dangerous.  She would probably end up like them, the other names on the list.  But with her marriage over she had nothing to look forward to from Harold.  In the last few weeks, she had seen too much to ever just go back to the farm.

She had seen a different side of herself now.  She liked how she felt when she was with Mr. Smith.  She knew she needed it, too, a strong hand that let her be free, to be herself.  She knew she needed to feel like she had that night again, to be so overcome with emotions that even a brutal whipping on her pussy by a maniac would send her into the abyss.  Most of all, Alex knew she needed to be owned by him.  To be allowed to call him 'Master.'

It wasn't just for those selfish reasons, though.  Alex knew that Mr. Smith was probably going to mess with her head, and selfish reasons weren't going to be strong enough to keep her on course.  But they could.  She could do it for them.  For the names on the bottom of the shelf.  And for Petunia.

Alvin came and freed her in the morning.  His eyes searched hers as he worked on her wrists, rubbing them and then her arms to stimulate the circulation.  She almost said something to him, but his brusque manner made her hesitate.  She liked him but she didn't know which side he was on.  He had been nice to her, but so had Mr. Smith, for the most part.

Alex started to stand up, but he shook his head and got her to her hands and knees.  He fastened and locked on her collar and leash and led her to the breakfast area.  Her bowl was ready.  On the floor.

She looked up at him and gave him a wry grin.  For an instant, he grinned back, then went deadpan.  She started to reach for the bowl to pick it up but he slapped her hands away and handcuffed them behind her back.  So that's the way it was going to be.  Well, shy hadn't had a pet pig named Petunia to have pig eating contests with for nothing!

She ate her breakfast with gusto, her face deep in the bowl.  She belched loudly as she sat back up, her face a schmeer of eggs, jam and mush.  She tried licking as much as she could, but her tongue wasn't designed for that.

"Alex!  What do you think you are doing?"  Mr. Smith had come in while she was finishing her breakfast.

"Belching, Sir.  And trying to clean my face, Sir."

"Don't get smart with me.  I don't want to hear anything like that from you again."

She didn't see Alvin pleading silently to keep quiet.  She probably would have ignored him even if she had.

"Then don't feed me like a pig, Sir.  Pigs belch because they eat from a trough.  Have you ever heard a hog let one loose, Sir?  You can--"

"ENOUGH, bitch!  You are NOT an animal and you aren't on your precious farm anymore.  I expect you to act appropriately!"  Mr. Smith was out of his chair and towering over her, his fists and teeth clenched.  Alex had no time to react, he moved so fast.  Thundering over her, he turned without touching her, tossed his napkin, still tucked in his belt, on the table and stormed out, grabbing his coffee and a piece of toast as he left.

Alex grinned stupidly over at Alvin, who stood there petrified, trembling at Mr. D's anger, his large eyes two white circles in a mask of black fear.  If Mr. D had struck at her just now, Alvin would not have stopped him.  He couldn't have.  Not yet.

He had seen him in just such a rage, about 18 months ago.  The girl had made a mistake, spilled his coffee or something, then made a small joke.  Mr. D had flipped out.  Alvin had left as Mr. D was beating her with his fists.  He couldn't stop him and he couldn't watch.  The girl had been helpless to defend herself, cuffed, just like Miss Alex.  He had never seen the girl again and Mr. D had never mentioned it.

Alex, watching as Alvin laboriously got his breathing back under control, slowly grasped that she might have made a serious misjudgment in sassing back to Mr. Smith right then.  She would have to watch herself.  She was making too many mistakes because she didn't know the playing field or the players.  That would have to change.

Without a word Alvin spread a damp towel on the floor for her to wipe her face on.  She did so with relish, refusing to be humiliated by the beastly act.  It wasn't until he had had her crawl into the bathroom on just her knees that he had said anything to her.  She wasn't sure she had heard correctly, but if she had, she was lucky Mr. Smith had stormed out instead of beating her up.

He had made her pee and poop in front of him.  With her arms bound behind her, she couldn't clean herself.  The giant lifted her up, gently, and set her down on a bidet.  While the toilet flushed and the water was gurgling up cleansing her privates, Alvin had leaned next to her ear, trying to reach the knobs behind her.

"Please be careful, Miss Alex.  He beat his last pet to death for sassing him, like he was about to hit you this morning.  Watch what you say.  To him and to me, too.  He's listening and he's watching us," he had whispered quickly.  At least, that's what she thought she heard him say.  He did seem honestly frightened.  So she went along with him, for now.

Alvin had her crawl to the elevator on her knees and took her up to the club level.  It was the first time she had been off the apartment level since Mr. Smith had taken her shopping.  That seemed like such a long time ago.

Just before the doors opened onto the club level, Alvin let her stand up and uncuffed her.  Stepping off the elevator, Mr. Smith was waiting for them.  He was holding her latex panties and bra.  He handed them to her.

She still felt a little cocky, so she grinned widely at him as she fitted the thick crotch piece in place, making sure he saw her contented sigh as the knob settled against her asshole.  She also fitted her nipples into the iris clamps.  Then she presented herself for his inspection.

Mr. Smith just rolled his eyes at her childish enthusiasm, but he did give a grudging smile.  At even that small sign of recognition, Alex giggled and hugged him like a little schoolgirl.  She felt his hands slowly go around her and give her an answering hug, if grudgingly.  She let loose of his firm body reluctantly as those wonderful hands pried her off of him.  On impulse, she took one of his hands and kissed his palm as she sank to her knees obediently by his feet.

Her head bowed, she couldn't see Damon's face.  Or the total disbelief on Alvin's.  Damon stared down at her for a long moment, then at his palm.  He fought to control his breath.  None of his pets had adored him like this one, yet he couldn't understand her.  She was out of control, everything was out of order.  He needed to get back into control.  This silly little farm girl never let him get his balance.  He tried to convince himself that what she had just done meant nothing.  Nothing.  Everything.  Fuck!

He had to get away, get back in control.  Of her and of himself.  He couldn't understand why he was upset with her.  All she had done was find a bug that had gone undetected for years and innocently, ignorant of what it was, told him about it.  All she had done was everything he had asked of her.  And then some.  All she had done was adore him.

He had yelled at her.  He had almost struck her in a rage this morning.  Yes, of course that's what pets were for, but she wasn't ready yet.  He hadn't taken everything from her yet.  Besides, the plan wasn't in place.  Not yet, but she was already so much more totally devoted to him than any of the others had been.  He needed to get away from this bewitching vixen, catch his breath.

Patting her on the head, then leaning down and kissing her softly on the cheek he told her he would see her in a couple of days.  Alvin would work with her, but she was to stay in her old apartment.  He would call her when to come back.

She beamed up at him and wished him a successful trip and a speedy return.  She rubbed her cheek suggestively over his crotch, letting him know wordlessly that she would be waiting for him when he returned.  He broke out in a sweat thinking of her soft mouth --  Stop!

She stayed where she was as Damon and Alvin walked to the front of the club.  He gave his club manager his list of strange instructions, but didn't tell him why.  Let the SOB figure it out on his own.  He had no doubt that if there had been one bug planted, there were others.  It would also be a good test of Alvin's loyalty.  The bug from downstairs had been in his office.  If he had been doing it, he would have arranged a backup or a replacement by now.  He thought about the painful effect the transmitting devices had on Alex.  He was almost sorry for her.  Almost.

The limo was waiting to take him to the airport.  He had been called to give an account of The Dungeon's P&L statement to the Board.  His expenditures had been a bit higher than normal this last quarter.  So had his profits, but to this Board that was never a justification to spend more than necessary.  He tried not to think about Harold's and Marcy's accumulating expenses that were already fucking up this quarter.  If that insurance money didn't come in within the next 90 days or so, he was going to have to hide those costs in the operating expenses, and he hated to do that.  It screwed up the averages.

He wasn't going to tell the Board about the insurance scam until the money was in his hands.  It was safer that way.  Better for them to be surprised and pleased when it came in, than disappointed and pissed if it didn't.  Not that it wasn't a sure thing.  He didn't deal with anything else.

Still, he wasn't worried about the meeting tomorrow.  He ran the top club in the syndicate and he had for years.  He had earned a little latitude.  He wondered how he was going to get them to spring for the added security measures he was going to install.  He was now convinced they were necessary, but how could he explain his sudden about-face without admitting the security of his own club had been breached.  Then again, the bastards probably already knew.

He'd suspected for a long time that Alvin was reporting to them.  He hadn't had proof that anyone was bugging him until last night, and it was actually a sign of their respect for him that they spied on him.  Either that, or it was a competing club wanting to steal his secrets.  Thank God his telephone line was scrambled and secure.  Regardless, they'd let him squirm a little, but he'd get the money for the security measures.

***

"Shit, Miss Alex, what's wrong with you?" boomed the deep voice above her.

They had been walking around the bar for three hours, just like Mr. D had told him to.  Taking a break they were sitting silent at the bar, sipping Cokes, when he had said something and she had collapsed, flopping around on the floor.  Alvin was now crouched over the thrashing figure, concern in his voice and his posture.  He just needed to know which way to strike out and he would try to save her from her torment.

"Quiet.  Please," she whispered.

"No, it's OK, here.  He can't hear us here," he said in normal voice.

Alex continued to thrash around and finally managed to put her finger over his lips.  He seemed to understand she needed silence and slowly she was able to get herself under control.  She crawled away from the bar area until she was a good twenty feet away.  This little bugger was even stronger than the one downstairs.

Alex stripped off the latex panties to Alvin's amused gaze.  She stuck her tongue out at him.  It wasn't as if he hadn't seen it all before.  He'd just have to deal with it.  The pain on her inflamed and unfulfilled cunt was just too intense to keep them on.  She would leave the bra on and grit her teeth while they found this new transmitter.

Walking back to Alvin bare-assed she giggled at his expression.  Maybe she ought to let him wear the panties and see how he reacted when she shouted in the transmitter.  That made her giggle louder and she detected the first stinging pains on her breasts that indicated the chip was active.

Using the same technique she had worked out yesterday in the storeroom, she sang a nonsensical nursery rhyme as she quartered the bar, triangulating the source of the stimulus.  What she did was mark the floor with a match torn from a matchbook, laid down by her toes where she first felt the tingles.  Then she would move away and try from a different approach.  It was simple, once you figured it out.

Alvin sat silent, watching her with interest.  He didn't know what she was doing, but he recognized a triangulation search pattern when he saw one.  After watching her mark three spots, he had already figured out where the point of focus was.  Miss Alex marked two more spots on the floor.  She was either new at this or very careful.

Alex reached for a glass from the bar and carefully placed it in the estimated center of the five points she had marked.  Her chest throbbed with pain, but she fought through it.  She looked puzzled.  There was nothing there where something was supposed to be.  Underneath the bar was just empty space, not even the big bucket of ice was there now.  She ran her hand over the bottom of the solid wood bar.  It was smooth and natural.  She looked at Alvin.

An enlightened smile flashed across her face as she continued to look up, past his face, and up the hanging shelf above the bar.  There were recessed lamps in the bottom, one directly above the glass.  With as squeal of triumph she hopped up on the bar and pulled the fixture loose from the hole it was set into.  Grinning proudly, she plucked the tiny transmitter from where it was taped and laid it on the bar.  She replaced the fixture and looked expectantly at Alvin.

She didn't know what to expect from him, but horror wouldn't have been high on the list.  He just sat there, staring at the little silicon chip.  Thankfully, he was silent.

Making a snap decision, Alvin reached past her and grabbed one of the bar aprons.  He quickly bundled it around Miss Alex, covering her nakedness, though she was still showing a lot of leg and ass.  He headed for the door of the club and hustled her outside and down to a small neighborhood diner a block further down past the club.  She hadn't even known it was there.

Alvin was silent, thinking furiously.  He was trying to recall all of the conversations he had had within fifty feet of that light fixture.  He had swept the place himself several times and had never found that bug.  It was one of the few places inside the club he had thought Mr. D couldn't hear.  The bug wasn't the latest technology, so he had to assume that it had been there for a long time.  It would be too easy to make the mistake that someone had bought it cheap and recently.  The people he dealt with didn't buy cheap.  Neither did he.

Then, the more he thought about it, the more he guessed Mr. D didn't know about the bug, either.  Maybe, just maybe this would save his neck.  If Mr. D thought there was a rogue third party or even the Feds, and he could convince him by showing him everything, just maybe he could get out of this alive.  He eyed the girl across the table from him.  He had a sudden hunch.

"Miss Alex, I'm sorry about grabbing you so hard."

"That's OK.  What's for lunch?  I'm starved!"

She grinned up at him.  Being an interracial couple, and her practically naked besides, they were causing quite a stir in the little diner.  She didn't think he even noticed the stares of the blue collar men surrounding them.

"Huh?  Oh."  He turned to the man behind the counter.  "Hey, Louie!  Two specials and two strawberry shakes," he called out.

"Comin' up," came the answer.

Being friends with Louie was apparently the key here, as the lunch crowd grinned knowingly and turned back to their sports pages and lotto picks, leaving the new pair alone.

"Miss Alex," he started.

"What's the special, Alvin?"

He glared at her.  "How the Hell should I know?  I've never been in here before."

"Well, then how do you know Louie?"

Rolling his eyes, he pointed at a spot above his heart and waggled his finger back and forth.  Looking as the man behind the counter and squinting, she could just make out his nametag, which proclaimed him "Louie."

"Oh."

"May I talk now?"

"Are you going to ask me what happened yesterday and last night with Mr. Smith and me?"

"Should I?  I'd hate to pry into anything too personal."

"Yes."  She ignored his sarcasm.

He growled at her in exasperation and she giggled.

"Miss Alex, what happened last night?  Please tell me the whole story.  I promise not to interrupt."  He gave her a sweeping gesture, as if she now held the floor.  He ended by cupping his chin in his hand, the picture of rapt attention.

She stuck her tongue out at him for being a spoilsport.  She was having fun teasing him.  Then, in a surprisingly concise and serious manner, she summarized the events of the previous day, only leaving out the part about the names and the documents in the box.  He listened intently, keeping his promise not to break in with questions.  When she was done, he just stared at her.

She realized they were both in the same predicament.  Could they trust the other?  She hadn't really told him anything he wouldn't have figured out eventually.  But she didn't know which side he was on either.  He was probably wondering what the Hell she was up to, as well.  Even she wasn't sure of that herself half the time.

They were still eyeing each other speculatively when Louie dropped the huge plates with the specials in front of them.  It turned out the special was the most expensive item on the menu and at full price.  It was a private joke among the regulars.  Regardless of the practical joke, the food was not laughing matter.  The thick steaks were tender and cooked to perfection.  The piles of hash browns and heaps of tender buttered corn were also tasty.  They attacked the plates of food with gusto.  He finished off what she couldn't eat, spearing her meat from her plate without asking.  In retaliation, she stole the rest of his double-thick shake just as he was reaching for it.  He paid, and they left.

Now knowing what to look for, they searched the rest of the club level.  They found two more bugs planted in the public areas, both near the satellite bars.  Whoever had placed them wanted to hear what was said at the bars.  It didn't make sense.

On a whim, Alvin took her into a large storage area in the back.  Two more bugs were found in some fixtures they hadn't had a chance to throw out.  But that table and lamp set had been the one where Mr. D always sat and watched the crowd.  His private table.  Alvin didn't say what it was but she saw the shiny brass "Private" sign fastened to the edge of the table and suspected that was what it had been.

Mr. D's new table was clean, at least as far as this type of transmitter was concerned.  Undaunted, the pair meticulously disassembled and inspected the entire area.  It was Alex' tiny fingers that discovered a tiny ultra-modern chip in the leg of the table.  She showed it to Alvin, who just grinned.  Now he knew who was bugging the place.  The Feds may contract out for the research on this stuff, but they would never throw away that kind of money on an operation like this.  Only real money could afford gadgets this good.

She was surprised when he made her put it back exactly where she had found it, but she did it.  They reassembled the table and went to finish searching in the office area.  As they walked down the hallway, Alvin leaned over and whispered in her ear, "If you find one in here, can you pretend there isn't one?  If the answer is 'yes', trip on the carpet going in the room."

Alex squealed as she tripped going into Mr. Smith's office.  Alvin barked at her to pick up her sorry ass and get to work.  She quartered the office, mentally cursing him every time her tits throbbed.  She had found three.  One in his desk lamp, one near the bar and one in the chair Lewis had sat in the night Mr. Smith injected him.  Whoever was listening had heard Mr. Smith threaten Lewis, too.

Alex used a series of obnoxious delays and gestures to let Alvin know where the bugs were.  They got pretty good at 'yes' and 'no' by rolling their eyes.  He was smiling at her when they were finished, but they both knew it was now a deadly serious game they were playing.

Chapter 12

Harold came back to his old apartment frustrated and pissed off.  He looked around at the dump he had left his wife in and he couldn't believe how he had managed to survive all those months living like this.  Or how that bitch who called herself Mrs. Wilson could call this 'home.'  The place was a fucking disaster.  A squalid, vermin-infested sty.

They had laughed at him today.  At Suzie's Whorehouse, out on Route 117.  When he was living here, he'd been going there every fucking Wednesday for almost a year before he came home to his cold wife.  He'd never been laughed at before.  It was humiliating.

He couldn't figure it out.  For more than a month now he'd been putting the wood to Marcy like John Henry drove railroad spikes.  All fucking day long, day after day.  He felt like he had been reborn, come into his own, his virility greater than when he had been a pimply-faced teenager.  Then today, when he had strutted in and slapped down his new Gold Card, he had taken three of the most expensive whores upstairs, booking them for two hours.  They had fucking fallen asleep waiting for inspiration to strike him, but only after they made sure the whole establishment had heard of his flop.  Inadequate, they had called him and then made him sign the charge slip, including a huge tip.

To add insult to injury, he couldn't even get a twitch in the vertical direction for his loving wife, the cold bitch.  It didn't even help to remember her bending over the couch like last time, her tight little asshole squeezing him dry as he humped her ass.  There was nothing.  Nada.  Zip.

He had to be so fucking sweet to her tonight, too.  He had hoped to get her in a good mood by balling her.  Then he could have gotten her to do anything.  Sweet talk the cunts and fuck them good.  Then they'd do anything for you.

He'd managed the sweet talk but she seemed cool, distant somehow.  Oh, she was very polite and smiled at him, but she seemed sad.  Probably that time of the fucking month.  Just his luck.  There was no way was he going to stick his dick in that smelly swamp of a pussy, so maybe it was just as well to give his pride and joy a well-deserved rest.

He had to get her to sign those papers.  He had shuffled them in with a lot of health insurance forms and general information stuff from the company.  There wasn't a ghost of a chance she would even notice it was there.  Marcy had marked all the places for her to sign with an "X" and highlighted it in a neon pink color.  All she had to do was move the fucking pen with her hand.

He watched her as she waded through the forms.  She was fucking reading them!  What did she expect to do, understand Corporate America?  She was from fucking Hicksville, Minnesota, for Chrissakes!

He had to think of something else.  He had to keep cool.  He-- they needed her cooperation for the plan to get put into effect.  Oh, God!  She was reading the life insurance policy and was checking the fucking actuarial tables and projected payouts.  He was an accountant and he had trouble with those fucking things.  ...  Oh Shit!  ...  No, thank God!  It looked for a second like she was going to ask a stupid ass question.  ...  There!  One signature.  ...  Oh, for fucking shit.  Just sign the damn things.  ..  Oh, Christ!  Don't look back at what you've already done.  We'll be here all fucking night and this place in giving me the creeps.  What a rat-infested shit-hole.

Alex finished signing the stack of forms and placed them in a neat pile.  They were an interesting assortment of nonsense, almost enough to make her want to breeze through them without reading them.  But Daddy had taught her to never sign anything without understanding it.

"Should I take these to the post office and mail them for you, Harold?" she asked.  "I think I have enough money for stamps."

"Oh, no.  Don't bother.  I'll have Marcy drop them in the outgoing mail when I get back.  As an executive, I get free postage from the company.  It's one of the special perqs."  Fucking bitch just wanted more money.  Well, now that she had signed the forms, he was done with her.  She had gotten the last dime she was getting from him.  She could get a job and make her own money, like he did.

Alex heard the name 'Marcy' and her heart broke in two.  She died a little more inside herself, even though she had known it was over between them for a long time.  She had known, since she had overheard the telephone call.  True, Mr. Smith had not used Harold's name, but she knew.  A woman knows.

Hearing Harold speak the name of the 'other woman' so easily in her presence was the hardest thing she had ever heard.  Yet she didn't cry.  They still had to spend the night together.  He wondered if he would be able to tell the difference in her, her increased sensuality and her increased sexuality.  She was still his wife and she was not only obligated, but ready and willing to give him whatever he demanded.  She hoped and prayed he wouldn't take her mouth, but she would sacrifice even that for her husband if that was what he wanted.  In her heart, she hoped he wouldn't, and she wasn't going to offer, either.  She was saving that for, for, well, she didn't know what to call him.

Yes she did.  She wanted to call him 'Master.'  With all her heart and soul, that was what she wanted.  It shook her to her core as that became so clear to her, yet it calmed her.  Grinning wryly, she now understood her first misunderstanding of what he said he preferred to be called.  He had told her, from the very first time they had met.  "Master Smith."  He had instinctively known about her need then and had been so patient with her.

Unbelievably, Harold didn't want sex from her.  He didn't even undress before he went to bed.  He acted like the sheets were dirty or that there were bugs or rodents crawling around the apartment.  Soon enough he was snoring and Alex was able to get back up and re-examine those insurance papers.

She found them very interesting and vaguely familiar as she read through them.  If she was reading all the paperwork correctly, what Harold was involved in was a variation on a huge scam that a race horse owner had pulled off back in Wisconsin.  Or nearly pulled off.  He got caught and everyone knew about it.

The only difference was that in this case, Harold was the horse.  Back home, the guy had used a trumped up, worthless old nag with a false, but documentable track record.  An altered ID tattoo here, a few charred remains in a barn fire there, and the insurance company was paying out a couple of hundred thousand bucks for what amounted to a pile of overcooked dog food.  Too bad the guy couldn't tell a gelding from a stallion.

Harold's life insurance policy was too big.  That's what made her suspicious.  That and the off-shore bank account.  Why did they need one of those?  She thought long and hard about telling Harold of her suspicions.  She had started to say something when she first saw the policy stuck in among all the other crap.  But she hadn't.  He wouldn't have listened to her, anyway.  He was too excited about this, too involved.

She wondered how they had suckered him into doing this.  She figured they had made it seem like his idea, his scheme.  Now, he thought that this was his big break.

Alex sighed.  She was his wife and he needed her help to pull it off.  That made her an accomplice to it, sort of, plus she was the named beneficiary.  She figured that that explained the off-shore account.  They wouldn't be likely to check if he was supposed to be dead.  All he needed to do was match the signature card.  Still, it was a risk and he was putting them both in danger, but if he was willing to take it, she would support him.

She did, however, make a couple of changes to the policy.  Minor checkboxes that wouldn't add much to the premium, but added tons to the benefits as well as splitting the deposit accounts into two accounts.  Just in case someone else could get access to the account.  Like Marcy.  She doubted Harold would notice.

What kept nagging at her was Mr. Smith's involvement in the scam.  What part did he play in all this?  That was what she couldn't figure out.  She had already witnessed his ruthlessness.  Alvin had warned her Mr. Smith was involved with something to do with Harold.  But maybe Alvin was just saying that to confuse her.  He had tried to scare her by telling her Mr. Smith had beaten a girl to death.  She didn't think he could, but, well, maybe.  He had been very angry that day.

She was confused, pulled by her longings one way and her gut the other.  She so wanted to believe in Mr. Smith, wanted him to be the Master she was longing for that it was hard for her to believe anything bad about him.  She was even beginning to doubt he had really killed Lewis.  Maybe he was just scaring him.  There hadn't been any police asking questions or anything.

Alex went back to bed and didn't sleep.

Harold left at first light.  She had his coffee waiting for him, made just like he liked it.  He had sipped it and tossed it out, said it tasted funny.  Marcy's was better, he had told her, smirking.

She didn't say anything to him about the scam.  Now, she didn't care.

Alex waited for Damon's call for three days.  She wasn't used to being idle, so she made use of her time.  She borrowed one of her nicer neighbor's sewing machines and made some alterations in the few clothes she had.  If she had learned anything from the past couple of weeks, it was how to look sexy and how to make clothes look as sexy as possible.

With quick and sure stitches and snips, she altered her one remaining blouse, modified Harold's one silk shirt that he had left here when he moved out and then completely redid her Sunday dress.  The white one with the little flowers.  When she was done, she stood in front of the cracked mirror on the closet.  She'd probably best not wear this to church anymore, she giggled to herself.  She could see clear through it and it fit a lot tighter now.  She brushed her thumbs over her protruding nipples and watched as they stiffened to their full height.  They were always aroused now, and it made her feel sexy.

The slits up the side of the skirt had gone a little higher than she had intended, but with the high waistline the long skirt bound her thighs too much.  She could have cut the bottom off and hemmed it up, but she rather liked the sexy effect of the slits.  When she twirled around the material flew up and you could see her dark hair between her thighs.  Oh, she felt wicked.  Wonderfully wicked.

Damon came back from his meeting late and furious.  It had not been the meeting he had been prepared for.  Someone was feeding them all the wrong information.  He was convinced now it was Alvin, and that made the bastard expendable.  He had just the thing, too.  He had picked it up from an untraceable source, but it was delicious revenge.  It was un-fucking-believable.  Give the guy a break, help him make something of himself, and how does he repay you?  Fucking stabs you in the fucking back, that's how!

As soon as he had got to the resort he had sensed something was wrong.  First, the bitch was there with her sniveling toadies.  She never came to these boring business meetings.  What was she doing here?

How a female had gotten on the Board in the first place was a topic of much discussion, but Damon leaned towards the inheritance theory.  He had heard that she got on after her husband had died, leaving all the blackmail evidence he had accumulated on everyone else in her fucking little hands.  Others said she fucked her way onto the Board, but even 50 years younger she would still have been ugly.  Damon didn't buy that one.  The most ridiculous theory, however, held that she had fucking outperformed every other director the company had ever had and had earned her position on the Board.  Like that was fucking possible for a woman!

Right from the first reception she had not avoided Damon, as she usually did when they met.  She had several male 'secretaries' and attendants to care for her needs and she wasn't really his type.  Too wrinkled and ugly, though he had only expressed that opinion in his office.  Privately to people he could trust.

Waggling her finger at him, she motioned him over to her.  Smiling and silently cursing her and her fucking mother who gave birth to her, he made his way gracefully over into her sphere of influence, edging out some of the lesser toadies.  She made him stand by her, smiling and laughing.  The directors were constantly judged by their grasp of social graces, and this bitch was the one Board member you didn't say 'No' to.  Not if you wanted to keep your job, much less your head.

By the end of the reception, an interminable length of three hours, she had maneuvered him so that he was somehow kneeling at the foot of her chair.  Like a fucking slave!  Impossible, but she had done it.  Everyone there saw him kneeling, smiling and laughing up at her.  Sucking up.  They had to have seen him, as she had made several general announcements from her chair, her fucking throne, her sharp fingernail digging into the soft tissue over his carotid artery.  The message was clear: If he stood he would be committing suicide.  In more ways than one.  No one but her sycophantic secretary could see her lethal grip and that cocksucking bastard just giggled until he peed his pants.

His public humiliation could have been mitigated by his success at the business meeting, but he hadn't been there.  A junior flunky he had never heard of from headquarters gave his report and was promoted on the spot.  The bastard had been one of the bitch's toadies and as a reward had gotten the new club in South Beach.  It wasn't that Damon wanted to move down there with all that money and beautiful women, it was the principle of the thing.

He hadn't been at the meeting because he had been tied up at the time.  Literally.  For the first time ever.  Elizabeth fucking Farnsworth had commanded -- Commanded! -- him back to her room after the opening reception.  For a quick little private chat.

When he got to her suite, she had roofied him.  The date-rape drug of choice.  When he came to, he was naked, sore and confused, with several days growth on his face.  He couldn't move.

There was a slide show running on the hotel TV channel complete with sounds, flashing through the pictures one by one by one.  A hundred or so.  All of him.  Over and over, it just kept playing.  Everyone in the resort would see them and he was sure they would have been e-mailed or posted on a web site as well.  He would have, if he were in her shoes.

There were pictures of him sucking the bitch's cunt, white semen running out of it and over his tongue and down his chin.  Others were of him kissing her wrinkled ass, his tongue stuck way up inside it.  One series showed her pissing on his face, flabby thighs straddling his head, his mouth open and a chunk of brown shit on the tip of his nose.

Those kinds of pictures he could have lived down.  And live with.  Given enough time.  The photos with the faggot secretary he couldn't.  How could he explain having an erection while sucking the guy's cock?  And those groans of passion, obviously in his own voice, urging the fat cock deeper into his own ass, all while pictures of him being sodomized by the little fucker, who, incidentally, wasn't so little, were being flashed on the screen for all to see and hear.

He had been bound with wire hangers and left for the cleaning crew to find.  They found him wearing a pink lacy padded cross-dresser's bra and pantyhose with enough lipstick and mascara to paint a small house.  He wondered where the pictures of him dressed like this would show up.

He had been thoroughly humiliated.  By the time he was freed, everyone had left the resort and his chartered jet had been sent home without him.  At least he hadn't had to face his colleagues and see them laughing at him.

There had been a ticket in coach class on a no-name airline waiting for him at the desk, along with a huge room-service tab.  He knew better than to change the reservation or upgrade.  He would take it, take all the shit she could throw at him.  He had seen others run the gauntlet.  The directors were tested.  He'd never seen a test quite like this one, but he was sure it was a test.

There was a note waiting for him, too.  A warning.  The bitch wanted a five million dollar increase this quarter or the local police would get a tape that would make them reconsider a recent suicide in his little town.  Make it happen or else.  His blood ran cold when he saw the amount she was demanding.

She knew everything, even to the exact amount of the insurance scam.  And she knew about Lewis.  Only one person could have helped her.

That person had met him just inside the club.  Alvin had obviously been waiting for him in the small security office by the front entrance.  He'd probably been viewing his copy of the shit eating pictures from the meeting.  He wondered if he had copies of the cross-dressing session, too.

The big man took his arm, gently, but firmly and ushered him back outside the club and down to a rundown diner a block down the street.  The place was deserted and it was no wonder.  It was a fucking dive.

What his club manager told him stunned him.  The place was bugged and had been for years.  Years!  He had thought they'd find maybe one or two hidden mikes, but almost ten devices had been found.  He was even more stunned when Alvin told him about the ultra-modern devices only recently out of R&D from the spy shops.  Very trendy, very powerful and almost impossible to detect.  He didn't mention Alex' help in the search.

Damon found he had to reconsider his previous assessment of Alvin's loyalty.  He had expected there to be a bug in his office and that he would tell him about it, but that he had probably already replaced it with two more he wouldn't tell him about.  Alvin had had no reason to tell him of all three they found or of the newest ones at his reserved table.  The one hidden in the chair explained how fucking Farnsworth knew about the little shit's fake suicide, too.

He could tell Alvin was worried about the bugs.  He probably had some things to hide, as well.  Any good club manager did a little business on the side.  The question was; Who was Alvin afraid of?  The obvious answer was the Feds.  He didn't usually like the obvious answer, but this time he was going to go with.

The reason he did was that Damon already knew the bugs weren't the Feds, so that meant Alvin wasn't working for them.  Convoluted logic, but it fit.  The big guy had his faults.  He was ethical, he had too much integrity and couldn't stand the sight of blood.  He was just a teensy bit dirty on the side, and even that worried him.  Damon could live with that.  He could work with that, too, and make it work to his advantage.  He filed that information away for future use.

He felt better than he had in days.  Much better.  He felt even better when he got his phone messages and heard that the life insurance policy on Harold had been filed.  The agent had already received a favorable reading from the company's underwriters, too.

Alex answered his call on the first ring and was in his office with a small overnight bag within the hour.  He had asked her if she wanted to continue her training -- he had used that word specifically -- and she had readily agreed.  He said he wanted her to stay with him at the club until she was ready.  He didn't say for what or how long she would be here and she didn't ask.

He noticed she was more subdued than when he had left.  He wondered what had happened, but didn't pry.  All that mattered to him was that it was a move in the right direction.  He would just keep her moving rapidly along that path.

He kept her standing in her new white blouse, sexy short skirt and bare feet for about 30 minutes.  He wasn't busy and she knew it.  He just wanted her to wait.  He was pleased to see she did so without fidgeting or complaint.  Things were coming together.  She seemed to be back under control, and right now she was the key to his future.  He'd show that bitch Farnsworth, then shove his humiliation down her throat.  Then he'd rip out her heart.

Alex sensed a change in Mr. Smith, too.  He had no humor about him now, no sense of joy.  He was still very polite, but he was cold.  It wasn't that he was just calm, he seemed like he was dead, or something.  Her heart ached for him, and she vowed to please him as best she could.

She looked carefully around the room.  Several things had been changed, including the chair she had been using for her education.  Her training.  The chair was missing and the monitors had been moved back against the wall.  The security cameras were active in each of the separate screens, showing the various views of the club.  They were empty and still, except for the ones that captured Alvin moving about the club.  He was using something that looked like a metal detector and was working methodically around all the floors, walls and ceiling of the club.  Every once in a while he would put a small mark on a large floor plan of the club.  He would look at it and shake his head.

She saw Mr. Smith watching her watch the screens.  He smiled at her nice, like he meant it and it set her heart racing.  She chided herself for reacting like a schoolgirl then let her feelings go.  It was what she wanted, to please him.  He was happy, and that made her happy.

"I have you to thank for that, Alex," he said, nodding at the screens.  "Thank you."

"Sir?"  She didn't know what he was referring to.

He seemed puzzled that she didn't know what he was talking about.  Then it struck him.  She probably didn't know what a bug was and had never seen one.  He remembered her reaction to the latex training clothes.  She had thought it was a game, a contest.

"Never mind.  Are you ready to continue your training?"

"Yes, Sir!" she said eagerly.

He took a collar from his drawer, the same one she had worn before, and fastened it around her neck.  He attached the chrome leash.

Without a word, he tugged on it and led her out of the office.  She followed obediently.

Chapter 13

They took the elevator down to the third level.  It was cooler down here and she could hear the thrumming of big machines in some of the rooms they passed.  The doors were labeled for maintenance, furnace, HVAC, and a huge freezer.  There were also some huge vats of water with pumps and filters running.  They looked like huge aquariums, as there was some sand and plants in them.  She didn't see any fish, but she assumed the tanks were used to keep live lobsters for the special banquets they held upstairs.  The tanks were big enough to swim in.

Mr. Smith turned into a room about in the middle of the building.  There were only a couple more rooms further down and then the hall they were in opened up into a big space.  It was dark but she saw some equipment scattered around the darkened space.

The darkness seemed to draw her to it, calling to her.  It was such a brief feeling, then Mr. Smith had unlocked the door and tugged her out of the open hallway.  She wasn't sure that she had felt it.  She shook her head.  She didn't believe in such nonsense and superstition.  It was just her excitement affecting her.  And being close to Mr. Smith.

The training room was Spartan but spacious.  Two large screens, a locked cabinet, and an apparatus made from steel tubing, mostly.  There were some rings set into the floor and some wires hanging from the ceiling with hooks on them.  The sight of them made her shiver in anticipation.  There were wires running from the cabinet to the apparatus.

That ominous frame was what drew her attention.  It was fashioned from tubular steel and was set firmly into the floor.  The body of the frame was a single tube in an 'L' shape about two feet tall and one foot long across the base.  From the top of the 'L' shape a centered crossbar extended about a foot to each side, like a 'T'.  A post from the center of the base was embedded firmly into the cement of the floor.  There were two protrusions sticking up at different angles from the top of the base, angled slightly towards each other.  Alex had an ominous feeling where those were supposed to go.

Below the base, attached to the base were two extensions pointing forward and out.  They reminded her of the stirrups in the OB-GYN office.  All of the parts were adjustable, polished and gleaming in the bright spot lights focused on it.

"How do you like the chair?" he asked.

He called it a 'chair.'  Now she knew why those knobby things had filled her with dread.  No, not dread.  Uneasy anticipation.

"It looks uncomfortable, Sir."

"HA!" he burst out, as if that was the least of his concerns.  When she thought about, she supposed it was.  It pleased her that he wasn't concerned with her comfort, in a perverse way.  She wanted to experience, to feel to the fullest whatever it was he had prepared for her.

Unsnapping her leash, he directed her over to an open area.  He opened the cabinet and she could see an assortment of electrical equipment.  He pushed a button and music flooded the room.  Music with a strong seductive beat, music that went straight to her pussy and tickled her.  It was the same music that she had heard on the videos.  The videos with the girls dancing.  Beautiful, sensuous dancing.

He watched her as she moved to the music.  Her programming was already taking effect and she didn't know it.  Her moves were much improved from just a month ago.  He found it hard to believe that that awkward housewife was the same person as the sexy vixen moving in front of him now.

After a while he moved behind her and let her feel his arousal.  Soon he would satisfy his lusts, but first she had to be his and his alone.  He moved his hands to the top button on her blouse.  It came undone.

He could feel her shudder as the cool air brushed across the slight opening in the blouse.  He moved his hands to the second button and her hands interrupted his.  Turning to face him she slowly and sexily unbuttoned the entire blouse.  Teasing him a little, she turned away and bared one shoulder, pulling the blouse off that one side, laughing as she looked back over her shoulder at him.

Damon smiled at her playfulness, encouraging her.  Soon she bared the other shoulder and turned to face him.  She was holding the blouse to her chest, but not to hide from him.  She was teasing him with the infuriatingly slow descent of her hands.

One hard nipple popped into sight and for a long agonizing moment stood alone.  It was joined by its twin eventually and the blouse fluttered to the cold concrete.

If anything, the sensuality of her movements increased as she danced topless.  She caressed her body without touching it, teasing both of them with the promise of pleasure withheld.  Her hips moved on their own accord, the short skirt flipping up, flashing her charms at him.

Damon looked pointedly at her skirt.  She wasn't moving too slowly, he was becoming impatient, needing to see her nakedness.  Her fingers fumbled from excitement as she worked with the closing button.  She finally opened it and slid the zipper down.

She made no pretext of teasing him this time.  She had dreamed of this moment from the first time she had seen the videos.  She had wanted to dance naked for him, to arouse him, to please him.  She hadn't been conscious of her longings, but now she knew.  This was what she wanted.

Damon let her dance and was pleased.  He took a black silk cord from his pocket, smooth, soft and very strong and handed it to the writhing girl.  The four foot length wasn't short, but wasn't overly long.  It was the final piece of the dance.

Alex accepted the cord without breaking her movements.  The cord hung motionless, trailing on the cold floor.  Then it moved with her, to her, caressing her as if it had a life of its own.  First it wrapped itself around her left leg, curling slowly from the thigh down to her ankle.  She stopped momentarily, as if surprised at its soft embrace.  Then, in a trance, she pulled the end in her hand upwards, letting the length of the cord rub against her aroused center.

She repeated the move with the right leg and then pulled it up so that it rubbed her inflamed clit.  She was moaning and sweating now, fully aroused.  She was aware Mr. Smith was in the room, but she was dancing for the love of the dance now, totally immersed in the sensuality of her body.

The cord found its way between her thighs, held by one hand in front and another behind her body.  Back and forth it sang, making music like a bow on a violin.  Faster and faster, grunting with the effort.

The music stopped.  She hung there, on the edge.

"Stop!"

The command came like a slap in the face.  Wild-eyed she looked up at the man who controlled her, manipulated her.  Her breathing ragged, her senses dulled for everything but the fulfillment not achieved.  Aching, she turned to him, her controller, moving to him as he directed her.

Damon took the silken cord from the trembling figure and drew her hands behind her back.  Starting with her wrists, he bound them tightly, winding the cord up higher and higher on her forearms, pulling them together until her elbows touched.  The girl groaned but did not complain.  The pain kept her on the edge and, as she had sought pleasure, she now embraced the pain she was feeling.

It wasn't enough to push her over, however, though he would have allowed it without punishing her.  This time, at least.  He wanted her to experience as much pleasure as possible during this phase.  In fact, he wanted to drive her crazy with lust.  From this moment on, his little project would never be without some sort of insidious stimulus.  In a short time, she would be putty in his hands.  Totally.

Damon led her over to the apparatus and backed her up to the center bar, her legs straddling the base.  He lifted her bound arms over the crossbar at her back and urged her to sit down, gently pressing on her shoulders.  She knew without looking where the knobs were aimed and, in her present condition, was looking forward to them invading her.  Perhaps they would provide her with the relief she so desperately sought.

She screamed as they impaled her, front and rear.  They weren't long but they were much thicker than Harold was.  Unbelievably, he was still all she had to compare anything to, although she had seen the pictures of those beautiful men.  And she had felt the hugeness of Mr. Smith.  Alex moved her hips back and forth, forcing the thick knobs to touch every part of her throbbing tissues.  She came again and then again, finally slowing in her frantic motions.

The crossbar lay comfortably between her upper arms and her back.  Well, almost comfortably, but Alex relished the awkwardness of it.  It kept her sitting very upright and Mr. Smith seemed fascinated with the effects this position had on her breasts, making them rise and protrude.  She had done something similar with Cathy, her best friend from high school.  They were vamping at a sleep-over, pretending to be sexy models or something.  Then, she was exploring all the aspects of her newly developed boobies, and the feelings she had then were nothing compared with those that were coursing though her body now.

Her legs fit naturally into the stirrups below the chair, her knees splayed outward.  Thick leather straps just below the knee and again around the ankle kept them firmly in place.  The chair was actually much more comfortable than she had imagined when she first saw it, but then, she was hornier now than then.

Damon moved to the cabinet and pushed a button.  The training chair was already programmed.  Four sessions in it and she would be a mindless automaton, seeking pleasure, pain or oblivion, at his command.  He watched for a while then left the room as the deeply imbedded vibrating and throbbing probes sent the first shocks through her lower body.  In later sessions he would add the electrodes for her nipples, navel, toes and tongue.

The shocks today would build through pleasurable levels to painful ones, increasing in strength until she lost consciousness.  When the chair sensed her collapse, the program would pause automatically as she recovered, then start in again at a lower, more tolerable level.  It would build again, forcing her to accept greater and greater stimuli, until that line between pain and pleasure were forever blurred in her mind.

The visual and audio cues were designed to complement the physical feelings of vibration and electrical shock.  He had spent thousands of dollars developing this training machine and the programming for it.  It had paid for itself many times over.  He used it not just to train his pets, but practically every dancer that came through the club spent time on it.  After being trained, there was never any problem getting them to do those lucrative private parties.

Lots of dancers wouldn't do the private gigs.  Word got around.  It wasn't all uncommon at these orgies that the dancer would be 'accidentally' snuffed in the drug-induced debauchery, but more often they would be permanently scarred or disfigured, but dancers were easily replaced.

Pets were another matter.  They were not only the most beautiful women, they fed his need for total control.  They would be pampered, coddled, used, and abused, at his beck and call, totally subservient.  When he was sated, tiring of them, he would share them, with only a select few at first, then with any who could pay the price.  It was a very high price, as his pets were always the best of the best.  There were many who would willingly pay the price, however, and the pets would rush to do his bidding, begging for more.  When they were of no more use to him than a common dancer, he would put them down, gently and with care, with the respect they deserved for having served him, as a good master should.

Damon's plans for this pet were a little different, though.  He needed her total subservience.  It was just his perverse nature and mostly greed that make him want to get as much out of her as he could, while he could.

Watching her in the chair, he resisted the nagging little tug he felt at his heart as he thought of the exuberant and free spirit she offered so willingly to him.  He stamped out the faint nudge that said this one was special.  That she was the one.

In a rage, Damon envisioned Elizabeth Farnsworth's wrinkled cunt hanging over his face, her piss running into his eyes and mouth.  He shoved any thoughts of reprieve for the girl in the chair out of his mind.  Pets were replaceable and cheap.  He had a deadline approaching and five million dollars to make.  It was her fucking tough luck she was in his way.  He had to win, whatever the cost.

Alex was lost in a sea of raging emotions.  She was cleaning the bar in the afternoon, naked, after her first training session.  Everything she touched, saw, heard or smelled reminded her of a hard cock or a steamy cunt.  She had cravings she had never felt before.  She wanted to lick a woman and suck up her juices.  She wanted a cock up her ass.  Not just any cock.  A big, hard one.

She had had trouble getting out of the bathroom.  Urinating tickled her clit.  Shitting was so pleasurable she screamed in orgasm.  The bidet made her shudder several times over before Alvin had found her, her genitals looking like wrinkled prunes.

She had seen the dance for the first time.  The whole dance.  She knew what he wanted, now.  It didn't surprise her that it was what she wanted, too.  With her whole being, it was what she desperately wanted.

The girls in the tapes had danced.  Oh, they had danced.  Moving, touching, flirting, their clothing dissolving into the darkness.  They moved in a brilliance of light, on a stage, a man on a stool in the shadows, watching.  Not a man.  Their master.

They danced for him.  Only for him.  She could hear the shouts, the whistles of the others, but there was only one man for whom they danced.  The shoulders would bare, then the beautiful breasts.  The shouting would increase as the dress would tease its way over the grinding hips.  Then the wisp of lace, so fragile, so futile in its attempts to cover or protect.  Then that, too, was ripped away and the girl stood naked.  Proud.  Excited.

The girls would dance in their hosiery and their heels, the only thing left from their apparel would be a black cord.  Her cord.  She knew it was the same one.  She could sense it, feel their sensuality flooding through her as it bound her arms.  She watched as they let the cord touch them, caress them, binding it around their breasts, spanking the ends teasingly on their throbbing nipples.  Then winding it around their bodies, twining it in their hair, teasing the master, begging him, seducing him.  The cord would wrap around their necks, sensuously sliding, tightening, frightening in its grip, willing to give even this to their master, their very breath, then slowly relaxing, shuddering in climax the cord would sink, lower and lower, touching the private area, the master's garden.

At a sign from the master, the dancer would move to the shadows, swaying, pleading for his touch.  The hands would move, touching, caressing, reassuring the girl.  The cord would once again wind around her body, this time at the control of the master.  Binding her wrists behind the back, elbows touching.  It was what he wanted.  His soft lips on her nipples, possessing her soul, then urging her back to the stage.

Looking back at the master, the dancer would dance once more, seeking his permission.  She needed release and on the floor was a pillar of flesh, an erection, a tool for her to use.  For her master.  Lower her hips would sway, lower and lower, balancing on her high heels until she would scream, impaling herself completely on the phallic organ.  Looking always at the man in the shadows.  Seeking to do his pleasure.

Another man, then another would join her on stage, filling her cunt, fulfilling her needs as she looked at the man in the shadows.  She was pleasing him, dancing for him, fucking for him.  Man after man, in her cunt, in her ass, in her mouth.  Alex was jealous of the dancers who could take a man between their breasts, tittie fucking them.  She felt inadequate, somehow, incomplete.

When the dance was done, the master would be gone.  The shadows dark, the stool empty.  The lights faded and the dancers slept in a pool of fluids, sated.

Over and over the videos had run that day.  Over and over the probes had driven her slowly insane, filling her with strange desires and cravings.

It was hard work cleaning the bar.  When she didn't do it right, Mr. Smith or Alvin would lean her over a table and whip her.  Never in the same place, so she never knew where she would be whipped.  The lashes across her bare feet hurt as she limped back to the bar.  Mr. Smith had done those.  Strange, the lashes from Alvin didn't hurt as much.  But he was very eager to punish her until finally Mr. Smith was able to leave, knowing Alvin would do a good job whipping her.

Alvin breathed a deep sigh of relief when Mr. D finally left.  Miss Alex was in bad shape, dazed and totally pliable.  Those blows the bastard had landed on her feet hadn't fazed her loyalty to him one bit, but they would hurt for days.

He knew the program she was going through and had participated in it before with others, dancers mostly.  Never at this level, and never with one of Mr. D's pets, but since the business meeting, Mr. D had been different with him.  Friendly, almost, and that scared the shit out of him.  That man was an explosively dangerous mix of psychotic and intelligence.  But keeping close to him meant keeping close to Alex and right now, he was all the friends she had.

Alex presented herself to Alvin, the bar sparkling.  He inspected it carefully.  He would punish her for any infraction.  He had to, if he wanted to keep Mr. D from doing it.  Finding none, he leaned her against the bar and whipped the backs of her thighs anyway, as instructed.  Not surprisingly, she accepted the beating and didn't complain.

He knew Mr. D was in his office.  "Go down and clean the apartment."

"The whole floor, Mr. Alvin?" she asked him innocently.

Something in her question struck her as not quite so innocent.

"Of course, Miss Alex."

The look she flashed at him for the barest of instances made him wonder what she was doing, but if was obviously the answer she had wanted.  He hoped she wouldn't get them both killed.

Alex went downstairs and immediately got out the sweeper and the feather duster.  The apartment was still pretty clean from the last time she was down here.  Mr. D came down once and slapped her tits, making her ears ring.  She was beginning to like the pain when he gave it to her and she didn't mind.

Then Alvin came down and would give her more reasonable, if unwarranted punishments.  Keeping an eye on the clock, she timed his visits.  As soon as he had left for the third time, she made a bee line for the storage room.

It hadn't changed since she had been in here with Mr. Smith.  Going directly to the boxes she rifled through them and pulled one item from each of them.  It only took her two minutes and another two to secrete the items where she can get them.

Alvin came back down and she was sitting on a chair playing with her pussy, fingering herself towards what appeared to be a tremendous climax.  That is, until he saw her eyes watching him.  She was acting.

He stormed over to her, and taking his lead from the nod on her head threw her against the buffet table against the wall.  He saw her hand snake out and grab something behind the center piece, but only because he was watching for it.  Playing his part, he beat her severely, until she fell to the ground, grabbing his feet and kissing them, begging for mercy.

Her last words, as she collapsed were "Why?  Tell me why?"  She wasn't acting.

Mr. D met him as he came off the elevator.  With a nod, he simply said, "Good work."  As he had suspected, he had been watching, or at least listening.  He stood there as the doors closed, watching Mr. D.  He was afraid to move.  Whatever it was Miss Alex had shoved inside his instep on his shoe was slipping out.

Bending down and retying his shoe, he palmed the stack of plastic cards in his big hands and went to the front door.  He called down to the apartment and told Mr. D he was going home, and what time did he want him in the morning?  Getting an early hour, he said 'Good Night' and left.

Damon nudged the faintly striped figure on the floor with his foot.  He had watched every encounter between the two and was pleased.  The black man was almost as ruthless as he, but the marks would fade in a few hours.  Very skillful, almost as good as himself.

He was satisfied that Alvin could take over this part of the training, the constant breaking down of self-esteem and infliction of pain for no reason.  She would learn to accept it, expect it, crave it.  But with Alvin here, that would mean he would have his afternoons free for the next three days to do his own investigations on the source of those damn bugs.  Well, not the source.  But who was listening.  And who had planted them.  With Alvin cleared, he was fresh out of suspects.

Leaving Alex on the floor, he remembered something he had meant to do earlier.  Since she was going to have free rein of the club and the apartment for the next few days he would need to lock that storage room.  He took a key out of his pocket and went to the room at the end of the hall.  On an impulse he opened the door and peeked inside.

Everything was as it should be.  He shook his head.  He really shouldn't keep that stuff.  Oh, he was probably safe, as the pets had never been reported as missing or shown up dead.  It was in here that he kept the memories of them.  These were the mementos of their time together, as a boy with a dog might keep a treasured photo of the two together at the beach.  Or the nametag on the collar.  Well, he had his videos and his pictures.  And in here, in the boxes he had their papers, their identities that they had surrendered to him.  That he had taken from them.  They were his now.  No one knew those names but him.  He was the only one who cared about them.  Those were his pets, his, in those boxes.

He stepped back out and locked the room.  He pocketed the key.

Chapter 14

Alex soon realized that Mr. Smith had not been idle while she was working in the bar upstairs.  It was, if she had been able to admit it, quite clever.  Diabolically clever.  It was, she decided, driving her insane.  Sweetly and pleasurably insane.

She watched the big armature stop at the end of its long arc, then slowly gather speed.  Gritting her teeth to keep from screaming again, Alex watched the pendulum sweep towards her crotch, then begin to rise just as it was about to touch her at the bottom of the arc and lift away, slowly decelerating.

Alex had woken from the beating she had forced Alvin to give her to the dripping of cold water on her heated and inflamed skin.  Mr. Smith was standing above her holding an ice cube.  The melting icy drips were creating small shock waves within her, striking with as much effect as the crop had earlier.

Immediately she had rolled over on her knees, head to the ground and groveled, begging, pleading for mercy.  He had laughed at her pleading and nudged a bowl at her.  It was slop, but she was starving.  She placed her hands behind her back and bowed to the bowl.  As daintily and lady-like as she could, she ate the contents.  It was watery and weak.  Near starvation was one of the keys to a successful brainwashing.  He held life and death in his hands, not just pain and pleasure.

She tried to crawl, but collapsed.  Weeping from her inadequacies, she used her arms to crawl into his bedroom.  He had pushed her a little too hard the first day, anxious to break her and she wasn't done yet.  He waited for her by the cage door, patient but heartless while she used the bathroom and crawled to his feet.

He helped her put on the latex panties and the latex bra.  She watched as he had unplugged them from the charging unit next to his bed.  She was to make sure they were charging when she wasn't wearing them, he told her.

Then he let her lie down and he shackled her to the sleeping mat.  Looking up at him and then past him, she saw something out of an Edger Allen Poe story.  Only no big blade.  Just a pendulum.

At the moment, she was wishing it was a blade.  Something to put her out of the torture.  Mr. Smith had taped one of the sensors to the end of the armature.  As it swung towards her, the shocks and vibrations in her cunt, ass and tits would strengthen.  As it moved away, they would weaken and then stop.  Then start again.  And again.  And again.  With her last sane thought, she looked to the bottom of the shelf and promised them that she would help them.

She wasn't sure if she slept, but morning came.  Finally.  Mr. Smith released her and let her use the bathroom.  Then he took her into the kitchen and, while he ate a breakfast of bacon and eggs, toast and coffee, she sipped the water that was in her bowl.  She didn't complain.

Finishing his meal he tossed her a crumb of toast.  She snatched in mid-air and kissed his hand.  He seemed pleased with himself and she cried from happiness that he was pleased.  Her emotions were totally skewed, as intended.

Again, they took the elevator to the third level and went to the room.  Alex heard the voices coming from the dark space again.  They were stronger this time.  She shook her head.  She was going crazy.

She danced for him.  He made her dress first, then take the clothes off.  She didn't mind.  She saw his eyes looking at her.  He wanted her.  She wanted him to want her and moved as lewdly and wantonly as she could.  She caught the teasing little smiles he gave her and she floated in ecstasy.

He bound her again with her black cord.  She rubbed her breasts on his chest and he stopped to appreciate their firmness.  She mewled and purred to him.  Gently he lowered her into the chair.  The probes that invaded her were larger today, thicker and longer and filled her uncomfortably.

Mr. Smith retrieved a small stainless steel bowl and a towel from the cabinet.  He laid the towel over her leg.  In a small jar, he whisked a frothy foam with a stiff brush.  He took an ivory handled razor from his pocket.  It was an expensive tool, extremely sharp, just like Daddy's straight razor.

Daddy had had a strop hanging out on the back porch.  Alex would love to watch him caress the gleaming blade up and down the thick leather strap, the hiss of the blade the only sound in the cool morning air.  With a foamy grin at his favorite daughter, he would start the process of scraping the follicles from his face.

Just like Mr. Smith was scraping her bare.  She fought against her climax hard, trying to remain still as the razor caressed her mound, cleaning, baring her.  She screamed, the tensions and feelings culminating in an orgasm approaching the best ever.  Drained, she watched him finish, skillfully cleaning her, leaving only a narrow wedge of pubic hair, just a former hint of her womanhood.  She hadn't been a hairy woman down there, but now she felt salacious, free and delightfully wicked.

When Mr. Smith lowered his head to her privates, she squealed her joy, over and over.  Cunt-licking was every bit as wonderful as she had imagined.  Again and again he brought her up to and over the edge of sanity, pushing her harder and harder into the fathomless abyss of mindless pleasure.  He was deliberately cruel in his manipulation of her, teasing when she needed to be fulfilled and she craved more stimulation and then tonguing her relentlessly as she fought for her breath.  Finally, she relinquished her body to him and was swept away into oblivion.

Sensing her complete surrender to his tongue, Damon's eyes coldly assessed the convulsing figure.  She was easier to control now, easier than he had expected, given her earlier surprising strength and resilience.  No matter, she would still get the full training, if somewhat accelerated.  He still had to try to make some profit from this investment, and, if all went according to plan, she would have a rather short profitable period.  And he needed to slake his desires, too.  His needs were building.

Just before he turned on the chair for the day's programming, he attached electrodes to her clitoris and her nipples.  He pushed the button and dimmed the lights.  She would be alone with her nightmares for the next four hours.

Alex fought to keep sane.  She was tired and the experience of being shaved had thrilled her beyond anything she had imagined.  And he had touched her.  It was the first sexual touch her had given her.  Her heart was singing while her body craved for more and more and was demanding, insistent.  She fought the darkness for a few minutes.  She had to remember.

Today there were photos.  She didn't recognize all of them, but some of the models now had names.  From the photos on the driver's licenses she had taken from the storage area.  It was now locked, but she had been in time.  She had studied the small plastic cards in secret, memorizing the names.  She recognized all of them.  Now, as they flashed on the screens, happy, gay and beautiful, she talked to them.

She heard their voices, dubbed over the photos that showed them being whipped or fucked with dildos by a big leather-clad woman, begging for more and more.  She knew how they felt.  They just wanted to please their master.

Alex wondered if he was their master yet, when the pictures were taken.  They didn't use that word, or at least not all of them.  Maybe some of them held out, maybe some--- Ahhh!

The electrodes on her clit and nipples, sensing her lack of a proper  and full response to the other stimuli, got her attention back.  The machine, designed to break any and all resistance, whipsawed the bound girl between agony and ecstasy for the rest of the morning.  It was easier not to fight the machine and Alex surrendered to the demands made of her body and spasmed her way to oblivion.

Mr. D took her up to the bar when she was done and left Alvin in charge of his project, saying he would be back by 5:00.  Alvin knew the routine.  But he broke it.  As soon as the door closed he curled Miss Alex around his feet in the small security room and told her to sleep.  She was out before he stood up.

He had seen the devastating results of the same type of methods of brainwashing that had been used on veterans captured in 'Nam.  He had been luckier.  In Africa, they just killed you, eventually.

Miss Alex was experiencing sleep deprivation coupled with starvation, beatings, loss of identity and humiliation.  He knew about that machine in the basement and had no doubt it was many more times more effective at 're-educating' when the victim was totally helpless to resist any suggestion or demand.  He was worried about this innocent little farm girl at his feet.

Alvin had gone home last night and spread out the worn and expired driver's licenses on his kitchen table.  He had known three of them in his time at the club.  Another he had known in another life.  A knife went through his heart.  Again.  He thought he was over her by now.  It had been almost ten years.  Ten years since...

Miss Alex had given these to him.  Why?  She had risked, had begged for a severe beating to pass them to him unobserved.  Why?  That was the question she had asked.  Why?  Why?

He was asleep when it hit him.  Why, indeed?  Why did Mr. D have them and not the girls?  Why, unless they didn't need them anymore?

What the Hell had Miss Alex found?

Alex woke up screaming, in another part of the bar, a glass of juice next to her on the floor.  Alvin was standing above her, bellowing at her to clean up that juice.  The whip that had woken her slashed down once more, landing solidly on the floor by her hand.  He missed her completely.  Throwing him a quick smile, she gulped down the juice.  She could taste the raw eggs mixed in it.  Not her favorite, but it was nourishing and full of proteins and vitamins.

Alvin beat her soundly after she had finished the drink, making her body look as if she had been thrashed regularly all afternoon long.  She even rolled over on her back to let him have easy access to the front of her naked body.  She held her hands by her side, defenseless.  Their eyes met and his hand with the whip faltered.  She willed him to continue with her eyes.  They both knew the risks he had taken by letting her sleep and feeding her.  He didn't look away as he lashed her repeatedly.

She glanced down at his crotch as he stood.  Interesting, she thought to herself.  He enjoys it, but not this way.  His consternation touched her and she realized she had made the right decision.  The other pets would be safe with him.

That night after the watery gruel, the pendulum swung and Alex screamed until she was hoarse.  She looked at the shelf of names and they laughed at her courage.

Damon opened the soundproofed door to his pet's room to a nicely deranged cunt.  He didn't like to hear them screaming, so he even took the risk of not bugging this tiny room.  There was little he would learn in here anyway that he didn't already know.

Today she would start the next phase.  He would begin to ask her to sign the papers giving him control over her.  Up until now all of his pets but one had given him ownership by the end of the third day.  The pet that had hesitated had come screaming to him on the fourth.  He had made her pay dearly for that delay.

After a breakfast of water and another tossed scrap of toast, Damon led Alex back downstairs.

It was a repeat of the prior day.  She dressed, she danced, she stripped.  He bound her and tied her to her chair.

"Pet, you know I want to this to be special between us.  I want to make this relationship permanent, to keep forever what we have."

"Sir, I'd like that, too, but I'm married.  I can't give myself to you until I am free from my marriage vows, Sir."

"Don't be ridiculous, Pet.  No one takes those vows seriously anymore.  And I'm not asking you to marry me.  Not yet, anyway," he added.  Some cunts needed the carrot, some the stick.  He tossed out a carrot.

"But, Sir, if I don't take my marriage vows seriously, how will you ever trust me to take my commitment to you seriously?"

"Pet, I don't want to be your husband.  I want to be your Master."

"M- master?"

"Yes.  You'd like that, wouldn't you?  To call me 'Master'?"

"Oh, yes, Sir!  With all my heart, Sir!"

"Then sign the papers, Pet.  Then you could call me 'Master'."

Alex looked at the top page.  They were the same documents as the ones in the boxes.  She wouldn't just be giving up her freedom.  He was taking, demanding her whole life, even her name.  She wept bitterly and Damon knew he would have to work on her more, to soften her up.  Oh, well, it had been worth a shot.

As if forgiving her her intransigence, Damon leaned toward the bound figure and kissed her forehead softly.  He dried her tears with his fingers and whispered in her ear.

"That's OK, Pet.  Maybe later."

He walked over to the cabinet and took out a small leather packet.  He always enjoyed this part.  He had always considered this the beginning.  >From here on, there was no backing out.  Smiling contentedly, he went back to the waiting girl.

He laid the leather packet on her thigh and unrolled it slowly.  He could sense the dread as the gleaming needles, hooks, blades and pliers were gradually revealed.  He took a sharp blade and drew it softly across her breasts.  Even that light touch left a bright red line in its wake, occasionally spotted with a droplet of blood.  He licked the droplets and kissed Alex on the mouth.  She eagerly accepted his tongue, tasting the sharpness of her own blood.  She sucked hungrily for more and he broke away, laughing cynically.

He took out a large needle and she whimpered in excitement.  She had no fear.  She didn't trust this man, but she had given him control over her.  It was an odd disconnect when she had time to think about it, but she was finding she was less able to focus lately.  It seemed that her senses were being assaulted constantly, even in her dreams, or was she dreaming now?  She was becoming less sure, able only to give into to the constant demands of her body.  For pleasure, for pain, for anything this man would take from her.

Damon traced the needle over the smooth surfaces of her breasts.  They weren't as large as he preferred, and, if he had intended to keep this one for long, would have had her fixed already.  Tittie fucking was such a selfish release.  He almost preferred it to real fucking.  But still, her tits were amazing in their firmness and perfection.  The point of the needle rested against the nipple and he pushed gently.

A low sound escaped from the girl.  Damon let loose of the needle and it hung there, pointing cockeyed at the ceiling, wavering with each breath she took.  Another needle joined the first, just slightly inserted through the first layers of skin.  He didn't want to do deep tissue damage.  At least, not yet.

When one breast looked like a porcupine, he started on the other.  The girl's eyes were glazed, but never wavering from watching each and every move he made.  She didn't protest once.

With the last needle, a curved one used for stitching wounds, he lowered his aim.  Placing the sharp tip against the dainty flap of skin, he force the needle through and left it protruding, an obscenely gleaming crescent on a field of human flesh.  The pain from the penetration brought a mournful wail from the girl, but no protest.

Slowly and painfully he removed the needle, and while the wound was still fresh, he inserted a small stainless steel loop.  The soldering iron had been preheating and it was a simple and practiced task to seal the loop permanently with silver solder.  The smell of singed flesh filled his nostrils and he shifted his huge erection to a more comfortable position.  The girl had climaxed from the pain and passed out.  Good.  Right on schedule.  The belly-button ring was his first mark of ownership.

The girl still needed to be wooed, so he lowered his head to her cunt and licked gently until she regained consciousness.  Had he left her alone, she would have fallen into a deep sleep, something he couldn't afford at this point.  But she responded to the salacious demands of her body and, within the confines of her bondage, frantically urged her hips forward as much as she could to meet his wonderful tongue.

Today he teased her, bringing her to the edge, then twisting and wiggling one of the needles.  At first the pain broke the flow of the feelings of pleasure from his tongue, but after a while they combined.  The feelings were different, but complimentary in her mind.  Both were from him, the man she wanted to please, the man she had to please.

She was screaming, begging for release, for more as he attached the electrodes.  Today she got them all.  Toes, nipples, clit, and tongue.  He liked the one for the tongue.  When it was stimulated, the airways clamped shut, making it impossible for her to breathe.  He would control her very breathing from now on.  She was almost his.  He could feel it.

Before he left, he gave her one more chance to sign.  She refused, politely, firmly, sadly.  Fuck her.  He pushed the button.  She would not enjoy the session today.  Today she would learn what real control was.

Alvin gave her a glass of juice with several eggs when she first came up that afternoon and again when she woke up several hours later.  He didn't whip her today.  Mr. D had given him instructions not to mark her at all.  Verbal abuse only.

Alvin said several things after Mr. D had left, but under his breath and none directed at the soundly sleeping girl at his feet.  He was worried about her.  Her look today had been furtive.  The sparkle was leaving her eyes.

He had made some careful inquiries about the missing girls.  He was waiting for word back.  He wished at times he could just go into a police station and get their attention.  But he couldn't.  So he had to work carefully, through a 'friend of a friend' and wait while these things went through the back channels.  He hoped Alex would last.  She had one more day to go.

Damon was persistent the next day, cajoling her, bullying and demanding that she sign.  She refused.  He shouted angrily at her and refused to let her call him 'Master'.  It was only right, she was just a slut.

She danced for him, putting her whole being into pleasing him, but he refused to be mollified.  Her energy at an end, she collapsed naked on the floor at the end of her dance.  She had nothing left to give him.

Alex awoke to a new sensation.  Her shoulders were on fire, her head hanging forward on her chest.  She jerked up her head to see a girl in the screens.  Hanging spread-eagled from the ceiling hooks, her feet bound by ropes tied to the rings on the floor, her feet off the floor.  The girl's body was taut as a bowstring.

Alex saw Mr. Smith on the screen moving behind the girl, then in front, just as he came into her own vision.  He was holding a glowing rod with a wooden handle.  Alex had seen them on the farm, only bigger.  Branding irons.

Without another word, Mr. Smith knelt in front of her and pressed the incandescent brand into her flesh, just above and to the right of her vaginal slit.  The pain was so intense, so brutal she screamed, the pitch rising as the pain lingered, burning.  Then the pain changed and she struggled, her brain refusing to accept how her body was reaction to that horrible, glorious pain.  Copious fluids flowed from her center, her breasts swelled and ached, her nipples were painfully hard.  Her cunt flowered, blossoming with the influx of blood.  Her clitoris snapped to attention with an almost audible sound.

Alex was in agony.  She was aroused as never before in her life.  From the pain.  She was ashamed.  She was ashamed because she knew she loved it and would seek this out, regardless of the consequences.

The man she called Mr. Smith, the man she longed to call 'Master' didn't realize it, but he made his first critical error in judgment in the process of totally subjugating Mrs. Alisson Wilson.  He didn't ask her to sign over her life after the branding.  He was too angry with the stubborn bitch.

Mr. Smith whipped her lightly as she watched the girl in the videos get whipped.  Her body was so sensitive that even the light blows he gave her felt like lightning bolts.  She didn't notice that her skin was not marked or that Mr. Smith was using a suede strap, the soft leather caressing and slapping her skin more than cutting and biting.  She developed a lovely rosy hue as the blood rushed to the stimulated surfaces.  Alex climaxed once early on and never seemed to stop after that.

It took her a while to realize that the girl in the video was her.

Damon fitted the electrodes and probes from the chair to the hanging girl.  She was still babbling, incoherent.  Angry, he jabbed the button without trying a final time to get her to sign.  It was his second error in judgment.

He sent Alvin down to clean her up and left for the day.  He came back late that night and checked on his recalcitrant Pet before going to bed.  She was screaming nonsense as the pendulum swung back and forth, as if she were conversing with someone.  Satisfied she wouldn't get any sleep, he shut the sound-proofed door and went to bed.  Tomorrow or the next day, signed or not, he had to take her.  He couldn't wait any longer.

Alex heard the door shut through the tiny fraction of her mind that was still grasping reality.  She hadn't heard it open, or she would have told the voices to be quiet.  They had started calling her last night.  She was one of them now, she had the ring.  And now she had his mark.  She belonged with them now.

Alex argued with the voices, she was married.  She still had her wedding ring.  She had committed herself to another man.

The voices laughed at her.  What man?  That worthless failure?  He couldn't even satisfy you.  If he was such a good man, where are your children?  He left you for another woman.  Marcy.  Why waste yourself on him any longer?  Give in to the Master.  Let him own you.  You can join us, belong.

On and on they would argue as the pendulum swung, the constant shocks to her erogenous zones now almost unfelt.  Almost.  She couldn't sleep with them, nor could she think.  But she could talk to the voices.

This afternoon, to placate them, she had insisted that Alvin leave her alone in her cage for an hour.  She had asked for a knife, or even a fork, but he had refused her, concern in his face and voice.  She laughed madly at him.  What did he think she was going to do, kill herself?

But he had left her alone and she had carved in the soft pine with her fingernail.  She had left her mark.  She wasn't owned nor had she had her first dance so she left the first and second dates blank.  Drawing her finger over the names, she forced herself to envision their faces, the awful pictures from the small plastic cards and the beautiful and sexy models in the pictures and videos.  She cried for them.  They had been silent, for once.  She was joining them, bit by bit.

Alvin had let her sleep for almost eight hours and had given her three drinks of juice and eggs.  Even with his help she was beginning to look thin.  Her cheekbones were coming into high profile and her breasts seemed over large compared to her sunken stomach.  He told her he wouldn't be able to see her tomorrow.  It wouldn't be allowed.  He didn't know when he would see her again.  He sounded more afraid than sad.

The sleep was a help but not enough to fully restore her grasp of reality.  It had only taken three sweeps of the pendulum before she heard the voices in her head.  They had still been talking to each other when Mr. Smith had looked in on her.

Chapter 15

The next day, the fifth of her training, marked a change.  The first thing she noticed was that he let her walk.  On her feet.  And shower and get clean with warm water.  He even helped dry her off.  She cried.  Everything made her cry now, if it didn't make her cum.

She stared at the food on her plate.  She was sitting at the table with Mr. Smith.  She kept her hands in her lap until he said she could take a bite.  He allowed her to use the fork.  She chewed the savory food slowly, relishing the texture against her tongue.  It was the first solid food she had had in four days.  She cried as she swallowed and thanked him.

He allowed her to eat the entire meal.  If she had taken one bite without permission, it would have been the last.  He didn't say that, but somehow, she knew.

Instead of turning off into the training room, Mr. Smith took her to the large room at the end of the hallway.  The one where the voices were.

There were lights on today and people bustling around, setting up things and moving big lights.  She was naked and didn't notice.

Mr. Smith led her to a chair, a real one, and had her sit.  She felt awkward, not being bound.  She looked at him for reassurance and he smiled at her.  His smile felt cold on her skin, but at least he wasn't angry with her.  She would try to please him today.  Maybe he would forgive her for not signing, but she couldn't.  She was married.  She stole a glance at the cheap narrow band Harold had given her.  It was almost a year.  It was a part of her, yet it wasn't.  But it was a symbol of her commitment to Harold, whether he kept his or not.

She didn't judge Harold harshly anymore.  How could she?  Look at her, a married woman, sitting here naked and without shame.  Lusting for another man, willing to give him everything he asked for.  Everything but what she didn't have.

She was pampered that morning.  Washed and oiled with glistening oils, her hair was washed and set.  The lady trimmed it a little, just like in a beauty salon.  Then the man came and worked on her face, adding a foundation and then some color.  He used eye shadows that made her eyes stand out.  All the time he was explaining what he was doing, showing her how.

Alex watched the transformation of the pretty girl in the mirror into a sexy siren.  Her green eyes and red hair were stunning.  When the make-up man was done he stood looking at her for a long moment.  He looked almost sad.

Mr. Smith was pleased with her, she could tell.  She saw him staring at her, as if he had never seen her before.  She smiled at him as sexily as she could and he licked his lips.  She laughed and stopped suddenly.  It had been so long she couldn't remember when she had last laughed.  When had she stopped?

Then the man with the cameras took over.  Mr. Smith was in charge, but she followed the directions of the photographer.  All the time, in her mind, she was posing for Mr. Smith.

They started out with tiny swimsuits.  By now Alex knew the routine.  Start with it on, then it comes off, as sexily as possible.  The camera man showed her the first proof.  There was a reflecting screen that had different backgrounds.  The pictures looked like she was at the ocean.  She was posing, just like the others had done for Mr. Smith.  She posed in three different suits before she stumbled.  She felt dizzy, tired.

Mr. Smith gave her a pill and a glass of water.  She didn't know what it was.  She looked at him and he told her to take it.  It was safe, he said, just some speed.  Alex didn't know what speed he wanted her to go.  The water tasted good.

In a couple of minutes, Alex felt better.  Not good, but better.  Like she was nervous and antsy.  She couldn't stay still.  The kitchen she stood in looked funny with just the counter.  They made her put food on her body.  Then she was in shower, then a bathtub with bubbles and a long narrow bar of soap.

The lingerie that she posed in next deteriorated from an elegant, if transparent gown, to ludicrously obscene pieces of lace that had no practical purpose but to expose and excite.  They rolled in a bed for her to lie on and she was naughty for Mr. Smith and for the camera.

It was about this time that Alex noticed that there seemed to be a change in the people in the room.  Most of the gaffers set up the lights in a fixed position and left.  The makeup man that had been giving her touch ups all morning long left her with a soft kiss on the cheek and a large bag of cosmetics for her to use.  She thanked him.  He looked so sad when he left.

Soon it was just Alex, Mr. Smith and a new photographer.  He wasn't as nice as the first one and was touching her privates and making her do things she didn't like.  Mr. Smith saw him and didn't stop him, so she let him, even sticking things inside of her anus and opening herself up when he told her, holding her pussy open so he could take pictures.  Mr. Smith looked like he was waiting for someone.  He kept glancing at his watch and walking up and down.

Alex had never before seen the woman who finally came in, but she knew who she was.  She was beautiful.  Tall and elegant, perfectly made up and covered from head to toe in black leather.  She looked so sexy.

Without a word from Mr. Smith, the woman took over the photo shoot.  The costumes Alex modeled now were made of leather, latex and chrome.  She was corseted and the woman put her knee in Alex' back and pulled it tighter than she had thought possible.  Then the nipple clamps were put on and Alex didn't think much more.  Between the pain, the pills and the constant arousal, she was lost to her feelings.

A month ago this would have seemed strange, to be so free, wanton and wicked with a total stranger, but now, it felt right.  Mr. Smith was there, and it was all right.  Alex watched him the whole time, watching his eyes, wanting to please him.

He watched this part of the photo session much more intensely and Alex was thrilled.  She did everything she could to please him, looking to him constantly for reassurance.  She did things she had only recently been dreaming of.  Even then, she only knew of these wicked things because he had shown her pictures and videos of the other girls doing them.  Now she was doing them to please him.

She was bound and laid on a low table.  The woman licked her and Alex climbed for the sky.  But she stopped too soon.  Mr. Smith was telling the woman something.  'Not to come' was what she heard.  But the lady was already here.  How could she not come if she were already here?

The pretty lady had smiled at Mr. Smith and showed him a small vial from her black bag.  A doctor's bag.  The vial was different than Mr. Smith's, bigger.  She injected Alex with something in her cunt and around her ass and then under her nipples.  In about five minutes, they felt like her mouth did when she went to the dentist.  Like they were dead.

When the lady straddled her face, Alex knew what to do.  She had never done it before, but she licked and sucked the woman with gusto.  The pill Mr. Smith had given her helped keep her going.  She knew she was exceedingly tired.  She could feel it in her bones, but the pill helped her.  She pleasured the woman and the woman had kissed her.  She had sucked Alex' tongue in to her mouth, then explored Alex' mouth with her own.  Alex liked that.

They kissed a lot after that, passionately, wantonly.  The photographer kept taking pictures from every angle.  The lights were hot, they were sweating, slippery.  It was sexy and the two women giggled and laughed, sharing little secrets only women can share.

Alex was almost drawn to the woman, feeling she was being torn between this strong woman and Mr. Smith.  It was wrong, her mind told her.  She wanted Mr. Smith, but the woman was so soft and comforting.  She understood Alex' needs.  She wasn't demanding.  Alex had never kissed a woman before and found it thrilling.  It was different, softer.  The woman pushed her further and further until Alex was left gasping for air.

The toys were next.  At least, that's what the woman called them.  She was almost naked now and so was Alex.  They strapped Alex over a bar that pushed her butt way up in the air.

Alex didn't scream when the lady rammed a huge plastic dildo into her pussy.  She could barely feel it because of the numbness.  She did feel the fullness of it pressing against her diaphragm but the usual feelings the nerves sent to her brain were blocked.  She felt cheated.  Her body knew it was getting fucked and the juices were flowing, the tensions building.  Unfortunately for Alex, her brain was sitting this one out and refused to allow her to climax.  It was very frustrating.

That frustration grew as the afternoon wore on.  The beautiful woman had used a huge strap on dildo and had fucked her for what seemed like hours, then had switched to her ass.  They had finished the session by the woman putting her whole hand up inside Alex' pussy and pumping in and out.  She did that for a long time.  They had been excited at those shots.  They called it 'fisting.'

The numbing from the shots hadn't worn off yet.  Mr. Smith was impressed and told her they were getting some great shots, that she was doing great.  She was thrilled that she had pleased him.  Alex thanked him and pleaded for release.  Not from the bondage.  From the sexual tensions.  He held up the clipboard with the papers.  She cried.  The Dom saw that exchange and looked thoughtful.

She began to get hopeful towards the end.  The numbness left her nipples first and the millions of tiny prickles that preceded full sensation almost set her off.  The beautiful woman, having used the drug before, was watching for this and left Alex hanging on the edge.  Now that her brain was back and willing, the woman toyed with Alex, teasing and tormenting her relentlessly but never letting her go over the edge.

At the end Alex was strung up on a portable frame spread-eagled.  She was naked, sweating, her new makeup a wreck, her hair in straggly clumps.  Her breathing was ragged and in her mind the thin sliver of reality she had remaining was fading.  She was screaming hysterically at them.  The woman and Mr. Smith, standing there together, too close together.  The photographer was gone.

The woman was holding a belt with two huge vibrators.  They plugged into the wall.  Mr. Smith said he was planning on leaving her all night wearing it.  The woman said not yet, it would set her off, ruin the whole effect.  Mr. Smith agreed.  They waited.  He touched the woman on her breasts, right in front of Alex.  The woman let him and snuggled her butt into Mr. Smith's erection.

They got tired of waiting for Alex to cool off and left her hanging there, forgetting to put in the vibrators.  Alex screamed at them for a long time, then the urgency passed.  The effects of the pill finally wore off, too.  Without stimulation, Alex slept.

She dreamed for the first time in many nights.  It was them.  All of them.  And Petunia.  Why was Petunia here?  In her dream, Alex was awake, but was hanging just as she actually was, like they had left her.  Or was she really dreaming?

She looked around.  Without the bright lights on, she could see into the other half of the room.  The studio was only on the left side.  The voices were coming from the right side of the room.  Alex wanted to walk over to them and pull them back.  They were in danger but they didn't know it.  They were calling her to join them.

Then she saw Petunia, as she had last seen her.  Hanging by her legs, head down, her blood flowing into a large square drain on the floor.  Like the one in the floor on the right side of the room.  The big dark drain there under the block and tackle hanging from the ceiling.

Alex called out for her Daddy.  She was back in the barn at home.  Daddy would save her.  Her voice echoed back at her.  There weren't echoes in the barn.  She knew.  She had tried over and over as a child but had never found an echo in there.

It looked like the barn.  Over there was the butcher shop.  There was the big drain that had that funny acrid smell of old blood that tickled her nose.  There was the big grinder for the sausages.  And the neat row of the silvery little ear tags that Daddy cut out of the slaughtered animals ears to identify them, eight of them, all lined up, but the rings were too small, somehow.

Over there were the coiled hoses for cleaning the floor and flushing all the ground up guts, hooves and other useless parts down the drain.  The sharp knives were hanging in order on the wall, not on a big bench like Daddy's.  The knives were for skinning and the saws were to cut through the thick bones.  Gleaming and sharp.  But not old, like Daddy's.  These were new.  Of course.  This was a dream.  Petunia was here.  Petunia was dead.  And the girls.  All his pets and Petunia.  Calling her.  Come join them.

In spite of the discomfort, Alex slept.  And dreamed.  In the quiet of the third basement, no one heard her pitiful wailing for the dead girls.  And Petunia.

The cold water blasting at her from a high pressure hose woke Alex the next morning.  Damon was pissed that she had slept.  He had been too needy and had allowed that fucking lesbian Dom to seduced him.  In retrospect, though, it had been a good pairing of almost equals.  It had been a dangerous but exhausting dance they had done, and it had taken longer than he had planned.  They had dallied and dallied again.  He had forgotten the girl.

The damage wasn't too severe.  She woke nicely, and the look of terror that had crossed her face brought a twitch of life to his cock.  It was about time she showed some fear.  He had dragged her over to the other side of the room and positioned her above the drain.  That was after he had slapped her several times trying to wake her.  He wasn't surprised she was dead to the world.  Four days of constant stimulation without sleep will do that to you.

When that had failed he had spied the hoses.  No sense making a mess, so he moved the frame she was bound to over here and turned the hose on her.  She had come to with a start, looked down, and voided herself from terror.  Good thing she was already over the drain, he congratulated himself.  He hated to clean up shit.

Mr. Smith released her.  Her terror abated and he led her, dripping and stinking up to the apartment and let her shower.  She was beginning to feel almost human again.  The only problem was that she was still hypersensitive.  Everything aroused her.  She decided she needed to be fucked.

When she went through to her cage to get dressed, she noticed his room smelled like sex.  The sheets were messed up and there were some leather garments that weren't his size.  She remembered the beautiful woman from yesterday.  She was happy for Mr. Smith.  She hoped the woman had pleased him.  Alex automatically changed his sheets and cleaned up the room.  She folded the leather vest and chaps neatly and put them in a paper bag.  Going into the dining area, she set them by his plate without a word, without a glance.

He was watching her to see if she was jealous.  It would be interesting to see if she was.  He could use it.  He was disappointed.  Her eyes looked at him as they always had.  Clear and open, willing to give, wanting to please.  Not judging him at all.

He had had her dress in her skimpy skirt, her blouse and high heels.  He told her to go back and put on some make up, like the man had showed her yesterday.  She had to go back three times before she had it right.  First it wasn't enough, next it was too much and the last time, he was just being ornery.  She could tell.

They went upstairs to the club.  Except for Alvin, it was empty.  Mr. Smith turned on the music, the music the others had danced to.  She knew what he wanted.  She wanted it, too.

It was her best dance yet.  He was pleased.  He was aroused.  Even in the shadows she could see him, see the swelling that indicated his arousal.  From the dark corner of the club she saw a glint of gold.  Alvin was watching her dance, the first time, from a corner where Mr. Smith couldn't see him.  It made her feel safe, knowing he was there.

She danced over to his stool and he bound her.  She was ready, needy.  Hot.  She pleaded with him to take her, use her.

Damon looked down at the shivering bitch.  One more chance, then it was gloves off.  He held out the clipboard with the forms for her to sign.  She begged for understanding with her eyes.  She had explained to him, to the voices.  She couldn't give him what wasn't hers to give.

He was displeased.  But she was there, begging for it and he had waited patiently.  He pushed her down onto her knees.  She went willingly, bending her head towards his groin, anxious to take him as she had received no other man.  Damon slapped her and she went down, ass high in the air, wanting him.  She lay there, waiting, whimpering, begging.

He dropped his pants, his need suddenly impelling.  Without warning he thrust into her sopping cunt.  The fisting yesterday had convinced him he needn't worry about her accommodating him, not that he would have.  He held her head pinned to the floor while he pulled the belt from his pants.  It was good quality leather, smooth and supple.  He looped it, holding both ends in one hand.  With the other hand, he grabbed a handful of her red hair.  He yanked her head up roughly and slipped the belt around her neck.

Slowly he withdrew from her depths, watching as the folds of her pink flesh clasped at him, trying to keep him inside of her.  With the same slow speed he moved back into her, pushing in to the maximum depth, nudging against her hard cervix.  Her body eagerly accepted him.

Damon was glad now he had spent the time with the Dom last night.  The urgency was gone and he would last a long time.  He wondered idly, as he fucked slowly in and out of the bitch under him, what it would take to break the Dom?  She would make a challenging pet.  How could he get her on his machine?  What lure could he use?

Slipping his hand down he tightened the belt around her neck.  He wasn't close yet.  He wanted to give her a thrill.  He heard the rasping of her breath as her airway was closed, then there was only silence.  Regardless of the training, when threatened, instinct takes over.  It was what thrilled him, watching the poor bitches fighting their own instincts for survival.

As expected, his new pet fought for air.  With her hands tied behind her and him pinning her down with his weight, she couldn't do much but buck up and down  As she fought for her life, her cunt muscles tightened and shuddered so pleasingly on his hard cock.  He could feel the fight, the need, the hunger for air.  He was in control.  He felt the familiar rush, the thrill of this one moment, like none other.

He held the belt tight until she stopped struggling, then waited a beat more.  Then, releasing the pressure of his hand on the back of her neck he let her breathe.  In a great gasp, the bitch filled her starved lungs, gulping for several moments.

Damon saw Alvin standing by the stage.  He looked at his new friend and grinned.

"The slut gives a good ride," he said.  "I felt her cum when I strangled her.  The little slut.  She loves this."

The black man just stood there.  He was an enigma.  Why was he watching?

Damon pulled out of her cunt and the pet moaned, begging for more.  She had thanked him when she could talk again, when she had air.  What a fucking slut!

He knew she had been in a constant state of orgasm from the first thrust.  He had felt it.  He placed his tool against her tight sphincter and pressed in.  There was only a slight hesitation and then she relaxed, allowing him easy entry.  She really was a slut.  He told her she was.

He pumped faster now, his own need building.  The belt tightened around her neck again.  It would stay there this time until he came.  His pet bucked and thrashed, fighting for air.  It was so good.  She quit fighting but her ass was still clenching at him, pulling him.

He exploded into her.  As he came down from his wondrous release, he slowly let the belt loosen.  The pet lay still under him.  He looked up at Alvin and shrugged his shoulders, a heavy lethargy settling over him.  No great loss, really.  But what a rush!

With a sudden gasp, the cyanotic girl started to breathe.  Oh, well, just as well she was still alive.  He'd have had to forge the signatures and that wasn't an easy thing to do.  They tended to check those things very carefully for a five million dollar payout, especially on a sudden death so soon after the policy went into force.  They wouldn't like it at all.

He got off the gasping figure.  He didn't notice the big black man, wound as tight as a coiled spring, relax slightly or see him slip the deadly blade that was hidden in his huge fist back into his pocket.

"Here.  You want a piece?  On the house.  The slut likes it and likes it rough.  Just not her mouth.  Clean her up and put her away when you're done," he tossed off carelessly, got dressed and left the club.  He had an idea how to get the Dom into his clutches.

It was early evening when Alvin finally lay her gently down in her small room.  She had clung to him on the stage after he had freed her, still needy.  She would have given herself to him willingly, if he had wanted.  But he didn't take her.  He wanted her, and he let her know that he did.

She had needed that reassurance right then, and it would have been hard to lie, anyway.  She had her head in his lap and she would nuzzle him, bleating softly, cooing against his thickening member.  But this wasn't the way he wanted her.  He let her sleep, holding her, crying with her until she fell asleep.  She was still catching up from the deprivation and stress of the last four days, gaining strength, but she was still susceptible to Mr. D' manipulations of her.

Alvin what it was she was holding onto so tightly that let her survive this long.  He couldn't imagine going through all of this and still being able to refuse to sign those damn papers.  As she had cried herself to sleep, she had repeated one thing over and over.  He had trouble catching the soft sounds as she mumbled into his chest.  The words were almost a mantra, said over and over.  Finally, just as she was nodding off, he heard what it was.

She was repeating three words to herself as she rocked back and forth, "Not a slut, not a slut."

She woke as he laid her down on the low sleeping mat.  Her hands were still free.  With a lurch she grabbed his neck and pulled him down.  He was off balance and landed, with an effort, beside her and just managed not to crush her beneath him.  Giggling, she made him roll over onto his back.

He thought she would get on top of him and initiate sex, but she didn't.  If she had, he wouldn't have stopped her.  She turned her head toward him and motioned with her eyes.  It took him a couple of times before he understood.  Turning his head away from her, he looked up.  All he could see was the bottom of the shelf above his head and some writing.  A list.  Some carpenters had used this little plank for some notes or something.  Probably a lunch order or a football pool.  When they needed a piece of scrap for the shelf, they had used the good surface on top, leaving the scribbling underneath.  It was done all the time.

He looked back at her and frowned, questioning her.  What was there?  She again motioned with her eyes.  He looked again.  There was nothing in that direction but the shelf.  As he was looking back at her, a name from the past jumped at him.

He gave a strangled cry.  It scared her as he started shaking suddenly, sobbing.  In a complete reversal of their roles to this point, she was now the one giving comfort to him, holding his bald head in her arms as the bitterness and frustration of all those years poured out.  They were rocking together, crying, their tears mingling on the floor.

It was a struggle, but he got himself under control.  All these years.  He had known in his gut it was here.  The trail had run cold, but he had stuck it out.  Against all evidence and no evidence, he knew she had been here.  And now, finally, here was the proof.  She had been here, in this room.  He had seen her driver's license, but had not understood.  The memory of their tender love flooded over him again.  He felt like he had just been kicked in the nuts.  He rolled in pain, then groaned and knelt over the teary-eyed girl.

He leaned over her to shackle her down for the night.  As his ear was over her face she whispered to him.

"Think I'd get an Oscar, now?"

He looked quickly at her face.  Her eyes were clear, focused.  She was looking up at him steadily and sanely.  They both knew she would soon be lost for the night when he started the pendulum.  But right now, she was here with him, in control, if only for the moment.

He nodded at her, grinning.  He held up his fingers.  Two.  She laughed.

Closing the door on her, he said a prayer for the brave little girl.  One thing puzzled him.  The list of names.  He knew the name of the last pet Mr. D had here.  He had seen her name on the list.  But not on the bottom.  He had expected to see Miss Alex' name there at the bottom, but it wasn't.  The last name was just a single name.  A flower.  Petunia.

The next two days were repeats.  Mr. Smith would have her dance.  He would ask her to sign the papers and she would refuse, as politely as she could, knowing it would anger him.  He would then verbally and sexually abuse her, strangling her with his thick belt.  She never failed to cum when he did that to her.  She never failed to cum when he did anything to her, anymore.  She began to question if she was a slut.  She never failed to thank him when he got dressed and left the club.  He didn't hear her.  His plans for the Dom were coming together.  And in a couple of days he would start the last phase of the plan for Harold and Marcy.  The sooner the better, too.  They were costing him a bundle.

By the end of the third day, she saw Alvin's worried face looking down on her.  He didn't know what the program was Mr. Smith had her on now.  She wasn't aware of it, but none of the other pets had gone through what she had been put through the last three days.  Those pets had been cherished, pampered women, had the finest of everything.  Beautiful, sexy, obedient.  None had been abused like Alex was being abused.  And it was abuse.  He had no doubts about that.

She was tired but managed to grasp his thumb and give him a reassuring squeeze.  He smiled at her, knowing what it took from her to think of him.  But it was a worried smile she saw.

She was frightened at first when he didn't start the pendulum.  But soon, the fright gave way to a restless sleep.  The voices were still arguing with her, but tonight they weren't as loud.  After a fitful start, she fell into the first peaceful sleep she had had in a long time.

In the back of her mind was the nagging worry that whatever Mr. Smith had planned for tomorrow must be very bad, if he was being so nice now.  But tomorrow was later.  Right now, she could sleep.