by Nightshade


Chapter 16


Marcy stripped down to a tiny yellow bikini and danced around the cowering executive.  For the past week, the routine the two had gotten into had changed quite a bit.  This was yet another change in their routine.


Harold's erectile problems had continued when he went back to Marcy.  Seizing the opportunity, she had added a few variations.  First, she had doubled the dose of Viagra in his morning coffee.  Second, she didn't strip down now.  Harold did.  She wore a lot of leather things and carried a whip and a paddle, part of her standard hooker gear.


When Harold was naked, he kneeled at her feet, licking her boots until he was hard.  That took a long time, sometimes, especially on the two days when she cut out the Viagra altogether.  She loved to torment him, cruelly punishing him for being lazy and incompetent.  And impotent.  He would cry when she said that.  When he was finally hard and she was satisfied with the shine on her boots, she would allow him to lick her cunt until she came.  That also took a long time, almost always.


It wasn't long before she had Harold gagged -- when he was through licking her, of course -- and handcuffed as part of the routine.  He accepted most anything she did now.  And with the gag in his mouth, she didn't have to listen to him complain all the time.  What a whiner!


She introduced him to cock bondage and whipped his balls with a little flogger.  He had squealed and fought until she pointed out just how much bigger he was and how much longer he could stay hard.  He didn't know, of course, that she had reintroduced the Viagra that morning.  After that, it was an easy sell.


He hadn't liked the leather paddle she had used on his ass or her riding him like a horse, but she just stroked him once on his puny cock and he had actually turned around and offered his ass to her again.  He had become, in just a few short days, a total wuss.


Thank God, Mr. Smith had called.  Finally!  In three days they were going to be headed for the British fucking Virgin Islands.  BVI!  She was wearing her new bikini to celebrate.  She only hoped Harold wouldn't slobber all over it.  She did look hot and her big tits were obscenely exposed by the tiny swatches.  She didn't care.  She was going to be rid of this lump for good!  Or if not, at least she knew how to effectively control him.


Marcy had been toying with the germ of an idea to double-cross Mr. Smith.  She knew the whole plan for the insurance scam from bits and pieces she had heard.  Harold couldn't keep his mouth shut, anyway, so they must have trusted her if they wanted her to keep him quiet and out of circulation.  They were sure paying enough.  She knew where the weak spot in the plan was.  Someone had to withdraw the money as soon as it was deposited and move it to another account.  That's why Harold was going down to the islands


She had heard of these places down in BVI, places where you could buy and sell people.  People who could disappear and wouldn't be missed.  An ex-boyfriend had told her about snuff films and how they got the 'actors' for them.  When she called him last week he had given her a name to contact when she got down there.  With her hold over him, it wouldn't be hard to convince Harold to be an actor, especially in a sex film.  He would jump at the chance.


That would happen after, of course, he had withdrawn the cash.  Marcy, with her newfound power over the wimp, had no doubts she could get the cash transferred to her own account.  She had already set one up in the same bank as his was.


She saw Harold's eyes light up as he heard the news they would be leaving soon.  The greed was almost palpable as he, too, thought of the islands.  She mentioned acting in a sex film and he got hard without the Viagra.  She smiled to herself, knowing her plan would work.  Harold was a very good licker that morning even if he did slobber a little.  And she could get a new suit.  She could afford it.


Mr. Smith's attitude at the table the next morning was a radical departure from the abusive man of the last three days.  He smiled and chatted with her, letting her eat uncontrolled and even stroked her cheek.  She began to relax a little but was still wary.  She always got hurt when he was nice.


She was allowed to work unbound but naked in the apartment and upstairs in the club.  One of the smaller areas was having a private party tonight and the bar needed to be stocked.  If her nakedness bothered her she didn't show it.  The other staff, both male and female, were wary of her because of her special relationship with Mr. Smith.  They could see his mark, his brand on her.


For the most part, they tried to ignore her nudity, but for some of the men, it was awkward to walk when she was around.  The women, dancers and waitresses, were nice to her.  When they had a break, they chatted a bit and Alex listened to them.  Once she chanced a few questions.  Mostly, she kept to herself and worked hard.  The others respected her for that.


By the early afternoon, Mr. Smith came in and got her.  He led her back down to the apartment.  There he told her to get ready for an evening out.  He laid her clothes out on his bed, selecting and caressing each article of clothing as she dressed.  He had laid out the naughty underwear, her hosiery and heels, and her sexy dress.  She now knew what was going to happen.  In a way, she was glad.  He had accepted her.  And she was ready.


He helped her with her makeup and hair, fussing with it until it was perfect.  It was perfect.  He stood behind her, his arms wrapped around her, looking in the mirror at their image.  They made a stunning couple.  He smiled at her and she melted.


Almost as if he didn't want the ruin the moment, he hesitated before picking up the clipboard with the forms that he wanted her to sign.  But he did, and she shook her head 'No.'  The look that flashed across his face was murderous but it was gone in an instant.  She could almost pretend it hadn't been there.


He took her up to his office and poured her a generous glass of whiskey while they waited.  She was kneeling in her familiar spot by his desk.  She tensed until she saw both of his hands were empty.  She remembered how he had helped Lewis with his coughing after giving him a drink.  He hadn't gone near the cognac bottle, either.  She had watched.


In fact, she had been checking on that fake bottle nearly every day.  At least, every day when they let her do cleaning or other work.  Even on those days when Alvin had let her sleep, she had made him bring her in here so she could check.  The syringe and the small vial of drug were still there, untouched as far as she could tell.  One of her jobs was to clean and stock the bar in the office, so she had arranged the bottle so that she could tell at a glance if it was out of place.  Just like she had arranged her dollies on her bed at home to catch Benny snooping for her diary.  He never did figure out how he always got caught.


The cognac bottle was turned so that when she knelt by the desk in her usual spot, the label of that bottle and the label of the bottle in front of it were perfectly aligned with the seam in the mirror.  Basic geometry; three points make a line and from here she could sight along it.  Since you had to move the bottle in front to get to the bottle with the syringe, the chances of both of them being put back perfectly aligned was unlikely.  In a hurry, or when Mr. Smith or Alvin were in the room, all she had to do was check on the alignment.  A quick glance and Alvin could take her downstairs.


She took the crystal glass from him.


"You don't need to get me drunk, Sir."


"Why should I get you drunk?"


"I know what to do tonight, Sir."


"Really?  Are you going to be a slut tonight?"


"I'm not a slut, Sir."


"Then tell me, why are you going to do this?"


"For you, Sir.  Because you want me to."


"And you?  Will you enjoy it?"


"Yes, Sir.  You have trained me to enjoy it."


"I've trained you to be a slut!  And tonight I'll prove it to you."


"Yes, Sir."


After a moments thought, she tossed back her drink, the strong whiskey burning her throat.  She looked up at him, grinning derisively down at her.


"May I have another, please, Sir?" she asked, holding out her glass.


He handed her the whole bottle and laughed cruelly at her, letting her drink five more large tumbler's full of the conscience-numbing fluid before leading her out to the private party.  You could barely notice the wobble in her step.


Mr. Smith took her to a part of the club she had only been in a couple of times before, backstage in one of the smaller rooms.  She could hear the noise of the party on the other side of the heavy curtain.  Mr. Smith looked around and pulled up a stool.  He knew just where to put it so that he would remain just at the edge of the shadows.


Mr. Smith didn't say a word to her.  When the music started and the curtains opened, he moved to sit on the stool, watching her.


She danced.  She was drunk and she knew it, but she danced.  With all her new-found skills and more, now that her few remaining inhibitions were damped by the alcohol.  She was beautiful.  The bright lights shining down on her caught the brilliant colors of her hair.  As it moved with her, it looked alive, flashing and flowing, caressing her face.


She had wound the black cord around her neck, not too tight, but in a narrow band so that looked like she was wearing a collar.  The silver bands at the end of the cords were tucked in under the windings.  It wouldn't come undone until she wanted it to.


With her hands free, she floated in the lights.  The party-goers, sensing something special, hushed.  The reverent silence added to the effect, letting her dance for one man alone.  The man she wanted.


He was there in the shadows, watching her as she moved.  She reached for him and he knew.  He nodded and the first strap of the shoulder fell, baring the top of her breast.  Then the second fell.  Her nipples held up the dress, even through her skimpy bra, until she shrugged her shoulders and they gave way letting it fall to her hips.  Only a wisp of lace covered her breasts, barely containing them.  She unclasped the bra and it fell away from her orbs like a nuisance.


The crowd gasped, and, the silence broken, called for more.  Whistles and cat-calls, clapping and cheering.  She looked to the shadows and he nodded.


With a wiggle, the dress melted from her hips and the room erupted in a cheer.  She danced around the circle of light, teasing them, teasing the man in the shadows, her creamy buttocks flashing, her legs sensuous, promising and hiding the treasures between them.


She moved her arms, caressing her body, teasing it, arousing it and exciting the men in the crowd.  But always pleasing the man in the shadows.


The final wisp of lace was teased down her thighs and over her calves.  After the first help over the flare of her hips, she had managed to lower them without the use of her hands, leaving them free to pinch and pull her nipples, wetting her fingers in her mouth and touching herself.  No one seemed to mind the time it took for the panties to reach the floor.  The room was in a constant uproar, by now.


With a shake of her head, the ends of the cord were freed and, again without using her hands, shook and wiggled as the cord unwound from her neck.  She caught it as it fell free.


If the room had been in an uproar before, the noise now escalated to a full riot as they watched her work her body with the cord.  They knew what the significance of the cord was.  They knew by the brand that this dancer was one of the special ones, the owner's private stock.  They knew.  It had had been a long time.  They had waited.  The owner had set a premium on this party, triple the usual cover charge.


The girl was worth that and more.  They were mesmerized by her beauty, her sensuality, the juxtaposition of raw innocence and raw sex.  This was a once in a lifetime event and they all knew it.


The cord sang between her legs and the girl moaned her own arousal.  As if on its own, it bound her legs, teasing her.  It twisted around her perfect breasts, making a figure '8', the black cord a clear contrast to the whiteness of her skin.  The softness of the silken cord tantalized her, tickling her, driving her to the edge.


The man in the shadows signaled her over.  She went, dancing, teasing, hoping he would take her away and ravish her.  It was what she wanted, to please him, to make him take her and ravish her.


He bound her hands and then used a ballgag to bind her mouth.  The crowd held its breath.  No one could use it, but neither could she.  She could not call out for him to stop them.  Their blood ran hotter.  She was theirs to use.  All but her mouth.


Mr. Smith urged her back into the lights.  She knew what she would find.  It was there, large and angry looking.  Waiting for her, standing upright, the man's hand holding by the base with two fingers.  It was so large it couldn't stand up on its own.  Watching the shadows, she straddled the supine figure.  Weaving back and forth, teasing up and down but always lowering her core towards the man below.


Finally she touched the glistening head and a cheer went up from the ones not lucky enough to have been chosen to go first.  It was beginning and she felt the fullness of the man as she let herself sink down, finally resting on his hips.  She had never taken her eyes off the man in the shadows.


Another man approached her from the rear and got on his knees.  He had been lubed and his thick cock probed and pushed at her rear.  The man in the shadows nodded and she relaxed.  The thick head and shaft surged into her and she screamed into the gag.


They fucked her hard and fast, knowing she would be available again later when they could last longer.  And again after that, if they could get it up.  Within minutes she came.  All the buildup and tension of the past weeks flooded her senses.  She blacked out for a moment, but the men pounding into her never noticed.  They didn't stop.


When she could think again, she looked anxiously at the man in the shadows.  He was gone.  The stool was empty.  Even in the state she was in, aroused, horny and more than a little drunk, Alex felt a pang in her stomach, like her heart being torn out.


The twenty men at the party had never had a night like this before and they were not inexperienced in this sort of thing.  They had the owner's private girl, all night long.  They discovered why his girls were so special, in such demand and so well worth the price he charged.  Even without the use of her hands and mouth she had outlasted them all, and was begging for more.


The big black manager finally had to drag her away.


Alvin drove Miss Alex to her old apartment.  Mr. D had given him specific instructions.  He had also given him permission to fuck her, if he could stand it, he had said.  Alvin had seethed at that comment.  He knew then that Mr. D was finished with Miss Alex, and that meant her time was short.  Wherever he had sent those others, she was on her way there shortly.


The other pets Alvin had known had all done a couple of private parties, then they had disappeared.  Word had it that the pets were all living in luxury somewhere, pampered and well taken care of.  Alvin suspected something different.  White slavery, maybe.  They had never found any bodies, so it made more sense for them to be shipped out of the country.  That would explain them not needing their driver's licenses.  But he had never found a link between Mr. D and any of those groups.  All it would take would be one, though, and then only once in a while.


He knew Alex was being tossed out.  As far as Mr. D was concerned, she was used up.  Alvin tended to disagree.  The exclusive private party was the first sign.  And he had more, less selective parties scheduled in a couple of days.  Alex was to be told to stay home and wait for a call.  Then she would dance for everyone, taking on all comers, a common dancer.  That would be the end, for her.


Surprisingly, they had found her dress and underwear folded neatly on the side of the stage.  Her expensive stockings were ruined, one missing and one badly laddered, but she had kept her heels on the whole night.  The men had loved it.  He had been told not to let her clean up, but to take her straight home, 'smelling like a slut.'  Those were the bastard's own words.


Alvin had watched the whole evening.  He had seen her stumble going down the hallway to the stage area.  It was a familiar stagger to one with his experience.  Mr. D had gotten her drunk.  But he had watched her performance and knew that it hadn't been necessary.  This was what she had been trained for and she was good.  For a moment during her dance, he thought she had seen him, standing there in the back.


Alvin realized that night for the first time how much he wanted Miss Alex.  The way she moved, the way she danced.  She was beautiful.  Even as the men took her, over and over, as she had drawn them out and excited them to more and more excesses, he had wanted her.  Like he had never wanted a woman before.


It didn't matter to him that she had been used and abused.  Sitting there next to him in his car, smelling like an orgy, she was more woman than any he had ever known before.


At the apartment building, Alvin walked up with her, holding her firmly to him, like a lover.  The elevator was broken again and she had had a long night.  This early in the morning, they met no one on the stairs.


Inside the tiny apartment Alvin felt a pang of homesickness.  He recognized the setting if not the exact furniture.  Poor, but hardworking people lived here.  Proud and honest.  It had been in another city, but the ethnic smells of cooking, the burned out lights in the stairwells, the clean floors in the small rooms and the neat but worn sofa and chair.  He would bet the TV was a black and white model.


He started to talk to her, to tell her his feelings for her.  His heart was aching.  He wanted her to run away from the club, but he knew she wouldn't leave yet.  She still needed something from Mr. D and the bastard was still trying to take something from her she wouldn't give him.  He'd said as much, but not what it was.


Miss Alex stood frozen in the middle of the floor, staring at something.  A floor lamp.  He started to talk and she whirled on him, her eyes wild, not knowing what he was going to say, but sensing from his attitude that it was probably something he would rather others not know about.  Something she wasn't ready to hear from him yet.  If she did, she would have to tell him she felt the same way.


She stopped him, her finger on his lips.  Her other hand pointed to her ear, then the lamp.  He looked again at the lamp.  It was out of place, designed more for an office than a home.  Even used, it would cost more than any other single piece of furniture in the place.  And it scared the shit out of Alex.  She wasn't safe.  Not even here.


As he left, he kissed her hand.  She leaned up and kissed his cheek.  She approached, coming close to him.  He heard her whisper, "Oscar," and she held up three fingers.  Then she cried.


She started to say, "I'm not a..." but he held up his fingers over her lips to stop her.  They could hear any sound in this room, even with old equipment.  He nodded that he knew what she was going to say.


He gave her the cryptic instructions Mr. D had given him.  She was to wait for a call.  There wasn't a timeframe.  She said she understood.  As he closed the door behind him, he heard the first heart wrenching sob wrack her slender frame.  She was going to have a long night.


Chapter 17


Alvin picked Alex up the next morning as she walked back from the market.  It was so exciting, like in a James Bond movie.  She was grinning like a little girl again as she slid smoothly into the car seat, smiling up at the handsome face of her friend.  She giggled.


Early the next morning she had heard a scratching at the door.  It was odd, but she thought maybe one of the neighbor's cats had the wrong apartment.  Cats weren't allowed but almost all the tenants had either a cat or dog.  She opened the door, but didn't see anything.  She almost missed the tiny slip of paper on the floor.  It hadn't been there earlier when she had mopped the kitchen.


"Market. Red car."  The note was puzzling.  There was crude diamond at the bottom, and suddenly she knew what who it was from.  She threw on her old house dress and her flats and hurried to the market.


The tiny Mom and Pop shop carried a lot of ethnic foods for the changing population in the surrounding neighborhoods and Alex had always enjoyed the simple pleasures of the smells and the strange labels.  It made her imagine the lives of the people in those countries, how different they were, yet how much the same as people were everywhere.  She wandered the isles for a while, then, with a wave to the owner, headed out.


The shiny red car pulled smoothly in front of her as she was crossing the street.  The door popped open and she slipped in.  To anyone watching, it would appear as if she had vanished into thin air.


No one was watching.  The quiet little man who had been her constant companion before and who had bugged her apartment was now watching another woman.  The new one was more of a challenge.  She was sneaky and up to something.  She had security worthy of his skills.  He was excited, or as excited as a non-descript quiet little man could allow himself to become.  Finally, a worthy adversary.


"New car?" Alex asked after they had driven for a while.


"Rental," came the one-word reply.  Alvin was focused on the rearview mirror, looking for a tail.  It was unlikely, but he was taking no chances.  He rarely did.


"Oh.  Is your car in the shop?"


"Sort of.  It had a few bugs in it."


"Oh.  What kind of bugs?"


Alvin threw her a disbelieving look.  How could she not know?  She had been the one to tell him about the ones in the bar and then the one last night.  He held up his hand and cupped his ear.


"Oooooh," she said understanding.  It was just like James Bond.  She slouched down in the seat, below the level of the window.  She saw him look and then grin at her new seat on the floorboards.  She watched him drive, watching backwards constantly.  They made a lot of turns.


Alvin pulled into a deserted parking area in one of the many parks in the city.  She had heard about the beautiful parks in this city but had never been in one before.  Harold hated parks.


"Miss Alex.  We need to talk."


"Can we walk, too?  I love parks.  There's no one here, not even the joggers.  Please?"


He nodded and they got out.  Without asking him, she took his hand in hers.  She heard him make a small choking sound and she knew.  She had known last night.  She had seen him in the room.  He had watched her dance.  She had seen him watching her, and knew.  She felt it, too.


They couldn't talk about it now.  Not now.  Later.  When the voices stopped, when she was done with the insurance thing.  When she was free from this craving, free from her marriage.  When Mr. Smith let her go.  She had always known he would not keep her.  Last night had confirmed that.  She felt it would be soon.  Then she would be able to talk about this.  About love.  But not now.


"Did you ever find out what happened to that man, the one that attacked me?" she asked, diverting the conversation to another area.


"Lewis?  Yeah.  He got depressed and drunk, went home and committed suicide.  Can't say as I feel real sorry for him."


"Did he leave a note?" she asked, her breath held in futile hope.  She knew.


"Yeah.  Cute one, too."


"Oh God, oh God, oh God," she muttered half to herself, half in prayer.  "'Fuck the bitch, Fuck the bank'," she quoted.


"Yeah!  Hey, how'd you know?"


"He wrote it in Mr. Smith's office.  Just before he killed him."


"No way.  I saw him alive, leaving with two guys."


"Vinnie and Max."


"Right.  They take a lot of drunks home."


Alex proceeded to tell him what she had observed and overheard that night.  How Mr. Smith had gotten him to write down those sentences, dictating them to him.  She told about the strong drink and Lewis choking.  How the needle had been hidden, first in the bottle of cognac then in his palm.  She told about the pat on the back and the injection, the twitch and the rolling eyes.


Alex explained as best she could how the paralytic agent worked, like the drug the Amazon tribes used to kill monkeys. Curare, or something.  Lewis couldn't move, but Mr. Smith had known he could hear him.  She related how he had told Lewis that they were going to drive him home and close the garage with the car running.  She had said Vinnie was wearing gloves.


Alvin walked beside her, silent during her story.  He sensed there were things she wasn't telling him, but didn't push her.  What she had told him was more than enough for him to think about.


"Miss Alex?  The names on the list.  The one you showed me."


"Yes.  The girls.  I hear their voices."


He turned to her, alarmed.  He wondered if she was losing it.  If so, how much of what she had told him about Lewis' death would hold up?


"I'm not crazy.  I don't hear them now.  Only when the pendulum swings.  I can't help it.  I started to talk to them to keep from going crazy.  Then, when I was really tired, they started talking back.  Hallucinations."


He nodded.  He had experience with that.


"Do you know where he sent them?  The girls?  When he was done with them?"


"Oh, sure."


"Where, Miss Alex?  It's very important."






"Nowhere.  They're in the basement.  But you won't find them.  But that's where he took them."  She hesitated, begging him silently to understand.  "They told me," she said quietly.


Now he was scared.  For Miss Alex.  He had hoped to get her out, but if what she said was true, he would never know when Mr. D took her down to the basement.  It would happen when he was gone, sent to his own apartment for the night.  He was absolutely positive about that.


"Tell me about the girl you knew, Alvin."


The big man closed his eyes and took a deep breath.


"We were in high school.  Sweethearts, though with the racial differences, we had to be careful.  But it was love, or as close as any two hormone-addled kids can get.  Her parents disapproved, my mama disapproved.


"Mama took me down and enlisted me in the army the day I graduated, even though I was only 17.  I was just a big skinny kid then, six and half feet and just over 200 pounds.  If the Army had known I was going to grow another five inches, they might have not taken me.  You could say I was a late bloomer.


"The day I left for boot camp was the last time I saw Terry.  I drove by her house to say 'good-bye.'  Her father met me at the door with a rifle.  I saw her on the steps behind him.  She had been crying.


"They liked me in the Army.  Even though I got too big for Special Forces, they made an exception.  I had passed all the intelligence tests with the highest marks they had seen."  He blushed, not wanting to brag.  "I was too late for 'Nam, but the older guys, the officers, opened up to me.  They told me what had happened to them in captivity, to their buddies.  You've gone through a lot of that here, Miss Alex.


"My squad's first mission was in Africa.  I can't tell you where, but we weren't supposed to be there.  I was the only survivor, and it took a long time for them to get me out.  I lived in the jungle for months.  I killed a lot of people, Miss Alex.


"When I got back home on leave, I found out what had happened to Terry.  Her father had sent her off to a private college.  Some ritzy girl's school back East.  Terry was the kindest, sweetest person I had ever known.  She was still a virgin the last time I saw her, but her father would never have believed us if we had tried to tell him that.


"She got hooked up with some rich kid her first semester there.  He got her hooked on cocaine first, then some other shit.  I know she would never have taken any dope if she knew what it was he was giving her.  He got her drunk at a party, then held the straw up to her nose, four other people holding her down while she took her first snorts.  After that, it was easier, though she still fought him.  He kept her high for a week, day and night.  Then he fucked her.  Then he dumped her.


"I suppose I should tell you that I learned all this stuff using some interrogation techniques I learned in Special Forces.  Well, they were unofficial, sort of, but effective.  There aren't any witnesses left behind, if it's done right.  The last thing the rich kid who did this to her told me was that he had just done it for kicks.  Then he laughed.


"Terry was high when the police came and arrested her.  She had shoplifted some jewelry and hocked it for a fix.  They took her to a local precinct.  This fancy lawyer shows up.  She thought her father had found out and sent him, so went with him but the guy takes her here, to this city.  She was set up.  She was out of State and a fugitive.  The perfect victim for Mr. D.  Alone, scared and beautiful, she would have fallen right in.  No offense, Miss Alex.


"I never found the lawyer, so I suspected a set-up.


"Her parents were devastated when she disappeared.  So was I when I came back home on leave.  They Army had offered me an officer's commission, but I asked for a discharge.  They didn't like it but after they had fucked up my mission, they couldn't really make me stay in.  I resigned the Army, moved here and started asking questions.


"Terry had used a credit card for a hotel here in town.  Then all traces of her disappeared.  The last clue led to the club, The Dungeon.  One of the dancers in another bar recognized her picture.  She'd seen her here, with Mr. D about a year before.  That was just a couple of months after she was arrested.  The dancer had called her a 'Pet.'


"That was two years ago.  I got a job here.  Then, about a year ago, when the previous manager developed a sudden case of cement shoes, I was made the manager."


He paused.  "Uh, Miss Alex?  I have to tell you that I have certain connections.  I can find out things.  I can't say more than that, but believe me when I tell you that you are in danger.  I want you to leave.  Now."


"I can't, Alvin.  I can't explain it but I just can't.  I need something from him, Mr. Smith.  It's, it's like there's a hole inside of me."


"Give it up, Miss Alex.  Please."


She just shook her head, squeezing his hand tightly.


"I guess we both have a few secrets left, huh?" he said after a while.


Nodding, she wondered if he knew that she knew how he felt about her.  If that was one of his secrets.  She wondered if he knew she felt the same way about him.  Looking at his worried face, she thought he did.




Marcy and Harold checked into a fancy hotel in the city where he had lived with Alex.  No way was he going to go and stay in that slum again.  Besides, with Marcy here, Alex wouldn't understand.  Things were different now.  He had to move on with his life.  He was on his way to the top.


He had to meet the insurance guy at this exclusive club down in the warehouse district to sign the final policy.  He didn't need his wife's signature this time.  Everything had been approved, the insurance company just needed proof that the policy had been delivered.  The last piece in the plan, then they were off to the islands.


The location of the club told him it would be an exciting place, exclusive and discriminating.  A little over the line.  In fact, the guy had told him not to bring Marcy down here.  This was going to be a man's night out.  Harold agreed.  Marcy was getting a little demanding lately.


Marcy was soaking in the tub when he left.  Surprisingly she had made no effort to stop him.  She said she was going to soak and then order room service.  She'd see him later.  Or tomorrow before the plane left for Miami.  They already had the tickets in false names.


The club was fancy.  A little kinkier than Harold was used to, but the patrons were obviously well heeled.  He recognized a State Senator from a nearby state sitting three tables down.  There were several other well-dressed men in expensive suits at the other tables.


The insurance guy must have known somebody, because they were sitting at the owner's table.  The 'Private' placard gleamed in the dim lighting.  Harold knew he had it made.  He could feel it.  The drinks were flowing, the food was great.  'On the house' the waitress had said.  Only the best scotch, too.  Their table was ten feet from the stage with a clear view.  No one was in front of them.


He'd developed a taste for scotch.  Marcy had been teaching him about how rich people lived.  She said that that way, he wouldn't stick out when he had his money.  She had said 'their money,' but he knew she was just excited about the trip.  It was his money.


The insurance guy had him sign the receipt for the policy, then said he'd send it in for him.  The actual policy would be delivered to his apartment in the next week or so.  He knew Harold wouldn't want the receipt to get lost tonight, with all the celebrating and all.


Two friends of the insurance guy joined them.  He must have been expecting them.  Vinnie and Max, they introduced themselves.  They apologized for being late.  They had just delivered a package downstairs and said it had taken a little longer than they expected to put everything away.  They all laughed and Harold joined in.  He was really one of the guys, now.


There was some sexy music starting up and the room got dark.  The floor show was about to begin and they had the best seats in the house.  The insurance guy had hinted that this was going to be a special show, not one you would normally see, at least in the US.  Very sexy, very private.


The show was amazing.  These three gorgeous young girls put on a lesbian act that couldn't have been faked.  They went at each other for a good half hour.  Then, when there wasn't a limp dick in the place, they went to one of the tables and pulled this guy up on stage.  When they got him up there they proceeded to suck him off.  One of the girls stayed with him and the other two went back into the audience.  Another guy was taken up on stage and they dropped his pants and two of them sucked on him.  Then the last girl went out and got a guy from the crowd, who by now were hooting and hollering.


Soon all there of the girls were busy sucking on these guys' pricks.  When one guy finished they just pointed, and wiggled their finger, calling up another lucky bastard.  It looked like they were going to take on all the patrons with their mouths.  Even the State Senator had a go at it.  Several of the men around the room went two or three times.  Harold wanted to go up, too, but with Vinnie on one side and Max on the other he couldn't get out.  They didn't seem to want to go.  That's when they started kidding him.


"You married, Harold?" Vinnie asked him.


"Yeah, the ol' ball and chain," he replied, holding up his ring finger with the band.


"So, you must get this all the time, huh?" he nodded at the stage.


"Oh, it's not that special," he'd said.  How did they get on this?  He was too drunk to lie about it.  "Besides, my ol' lady is so frigid, we don't need a cooler in the house," he joked.


"You mean she never sucked the weenie for you?" asked Max.


"That's not her thing.  She just doesn't like shex."  He was starting to slur his words.  He felt great, though.


"'S that so?  I know a guy that can get a girl to do anything.  In fact, he's the owner of this club.  I seen him do it with a movie star once.  Five minutes and the bitch was putty.  She took on a big dog up on the stage," put in the insurance guy.


"You're shitting all over the table, man," said Vinnie.  "I'll bet he couldn't get ol' Harold's wife to put out.  Waddya say, Harold?"


"Nope.  She's tighter than a rushty - hic - bolt on a Peruvian shteamer."  He didn't know what that meant exactly, but he'd heard that line before.


"This guy could do it.  $50 bucks says she's sucking his cock in 5 minutes."


"You're on," laughed Vinnie.  "I'll take that bet.  Here's my $50, on the table.  Harold, you in?"


The drinks had done there job.  "Damn straigh'.  Easy-ess 50 bucksh I made tonigh'," Harold laughed loudly, digging in his pocket for his wallet.


"So give her a call! Get her down here!"


"Wha'? Now?"


"Sure.  Here.  You can use my cell phone," the insurance guy said.  "Just press the button.  The number's already dialed."  Then, as an afterthought, "Oh, and tell her to wear something nice, too.  When you're done, I'll call a cab and have her picked up in, say, oh, twenty minutes.  'S that good?"


Harold didn't see the set-up heading at him like a Mac Truck.  He pressed the 'Send' button.


"Hey, Alex.  It'sh me, Harold, your hushband.  ...  Uh, yeah, jus' a li'l bit.  Jus' a few with the boysh.  Lishen, I need you to meet me down at this here club.  The Dungeon.  What? ..."


He listened to the whispered instructions from the insurance guy


"... Oh, yeah, I'm shupposhed to tell you, wear that nishe dressh.  You know the one, wi' the li'l flowersh.  A taxshi will be pickin' you up in tw-twenty minu's.  Oh, and jus' go meet this guy in the club offish.  ...  No, that'sh it.  Shee you, babe."


For the next half hour, Harold was put on a ration of hot coffee.  Orders.  Mr. Smith wanted him as sober as possible.  Harold didn't notice.  They were all drinking coffee, joking and laughing.  He was one of the boys He watched the floorshow with hungry eyes until they all got up to use the john.  It was just about time.  He knew he couldn't lose this bet.


Chapter 18


Alex stared at the phone.  It was only about the fifth call that had ever been received on this phone in the eleven or so months they had lived here, other than the ones from the credit card companies who always called at dinner time.  There was no question in her mind that this was the call she was supposed to be waiting for.  It had come sooner than she expected, but not soon enough, either.  She wanted a resolution to her internal conflict.  She needed to have only one man, not two.  She needed a master.  Harold had made his choice.  So had she.


Alex dressed in the white dress she had altered.  Harold had sounded pretty drunk on the phone.  She wondered if he would even notice the changes she had made to it.  Probably not.  He hardly noticed anything when he was sober, but he would need to be nearly blind not to.


A pair of hose and some make up had arrived by messenger.  No note.  Just those items.  Alex could take the hint.  She applied what little make up she needed, but heavy where Mr. Smith liked it.  Around the eyes and around her mouth.  Her green eyes were flashing in the mirror.  The lipstick color was new.  It was brighter than she had worn for the photos.  The makeup man had explained to her that a shade this bright would draw attention to her lips.  He'd said that in her case, with her beautiful mouth and lips, that wasn't necessarily a bad thing.  The only downside, he' said, was that the observer would miss the rest of her gorgeous face.  He had said the nicest things to her.


She felt foolish pulling on her virginal white gloves and the little pill box hat.  A look in the mirror confirmed her feeling.  A hooker going to church.  That's what it looked like.  She laughed, and it felt good to her.  She had laughed yesterday, too, with Alvin.


She was waiting outside the apartment building when the taxi pulled up and it was early.  The cabbie knew exactly where to go and wouldn't take any money.  He also couldn't keep his eyes on the road.  They were glued to the mirror.  To her face.  Her lips.


She entered her code at the front door and walked into the now-familiar club.  In her regular street clothes, the bartender, who had worked with her only three days ago when she was naked, didn't recognize her.  Alvin did and he gave her a little hug.  He had been told to keep her here, at the front for a few more minutes.  As they were speaking, she thought she saw Harold with three guys.  They were going into the men's room.  But it couldn't have been Harold.  She knew two of the others.  Vinnie and Max.  They were real losers that hung around here and did things for Mr. Smith.  No way would Harold get mixed up with those two.


Even seeing them together with Harold, Alex' alarm bells didn't go off.  She was too intent on seeing Mr. Smith.  It had been two days and she was, well, horny.


Alex waved to the lady from the photo session, the beautiful lady that had posed with her.  The lady seemed surprised to see her, but came over and chatted.  Alex mentioned she was supposed to see Mr. Smith in a few minutes.  Would she have time for a drink later?  Alex really wanted to thank her for the other day.  She had been so, well, kind to her.  And stuff.


The lady just smiled and said that she'd wait for a while.  She had some girls working here tonight and needed to take care of them.  But if she was still here when Mr. Smith was finished with her, they'd have that drink.  She was a nice lady.


Alvin pulled her inside the small security office, away from the crowd, away from the floorshow.  Alex had already seen what those girls were doing on stage.  She thought it was cute that Alvin was trying to protect her.  They stood in silence, side by side.  She wondered if Alvin had a hard on every night, like now.


They didn't see the four men walk down the hallway to the room just past the club office.  The one with the one-way mirror.  They didn't see the trim figure of the pretty lady that followed them into the room.  Vinnie, Max and Harold were so intent on the one-way mirror, they didn't even notice her.  The insurance guy thought she was part of the Mr. Smith's plan.  Vinnie reached forward and flipped the toggle switch under the mirror down to the 'On' position.


Damon saw the tell-tale go on and called the front security kiosk.  Alex was waiting.  He told Alvin to send her down.


Damon's first thought as she walked into his office was that she was the perfect picture of an innocent slut.  It was the gloves and hat.  No.  It was her.  It's what she was.  It stirred him and he was glad.  When she was kneeling in front of him, he wanted to be so hard that he wanted it to spring out at her.


"Hello.  You must be Mrs. Wilson.  I'm Mr. Smith.  Harold has told me so much about you."


If anything, he was counting on her quick mind at the moment.  She had demonstrated that she was quick enough in the past.  She didn't fail him.


Coming forward, she extended her hand.  "Hello.  It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Smith."  She copied his inflection and used the 'master' pronunciation.  He grinned at her and winked with the eye the hidden observers couldn't see.  She had noticed the telltale light was on when she came in.  She knew this was for show.


"So Harold was telling me a bit about you two.  I'm afraid he was a little drunk at the time, and he said some things that were perhaps a bit indiscrete."


"Oh, my.  I hope that didn't cause you any discomfort."


She was looking right at his crotch.  She had noticed the swelling and was licking her lips.  Damon wondered how much they had told her on the telephone.  Or how much she had guessed.


"No, no.  Nothing I can't handle.  But there was some talk of a bet, a silly man's thing.  It's nothing really..."  He let it hang, hoping she would continue to pick up on his cues.


"Oh, a bet?  Those aren't silly.  That's serious.  It's a matter of honor.  Is that why you wanted to see me?  Is there anything I can do to help?"


God!  She was perfect!


"Well, as a matter of fact there is.  I don't mean to be crude, but Harold bet that you had the softest lips in the city."


She smiled brightly at him.  "Oh, he was being silly.  Would you like a kiss to prove it?"


"Well, I would like you to prove it, but not with a kiss."


"Then how, Mr. Smith?  The only other way I know about is like this."


With that, Alex knelt in front of Mr. Smith and put her hands to his belt.  He didn't stop her this time and she smiled up at him.  It was a joke on Harold, and she didn't feel guilty at all.  His zipper followed and Alex lowered his pants down past his knees to his ankles.  His shorts followed.


"Oh, Mr. Smith.  It's so beautiful.  May I kiss it?"


"But of course, Mrs. Wilson.  Tell me, do you do this often?"


"Oh, no.  Never."


"Do you know how?"


"Well, I've seen pictures and I've heard stories, but I'm not real sure.  Would you teach me, Sir?"


Looking down at those twinkling green eyes, Damon almost changed his mind about his plans for her.  Almost.  She'd pissed him off by not signing the ownership papers.  No one had done that before.  He still had to get that taken care of.


"Sure, I don't mind.  See that drop of clear fluid.  Lick that with the tip of your tongue."


"Ummm.  That tastes good.  Is there more?"


With a laugh, Damon began instructing this novice fellatrix in the joys of cock-sucking.  He groaned as she applied herself with great enthusiasm, only needing to be warned once to watch her teeth.  Soon her head was bobbing, taking more and more of him into her mouth.


He felt her gag as his fat cock reached the back of her throat, but she was prepared for this.  She had watch the videos and seen those impossibly long cocks slide all the way down the girls' throats, completely swallowed by the girls.  Deep-throating, the audio had called it.  She had felt him in her body and knew he was large.  As large as the plastic dildos the pretty lady had used on her if not bigger.  For the last two days, she had practiced with a sausage she had gotten from the market.  Her cheeks had burned when she had gone though the checkout line with just the sausage in her basket.  She knew that everyone would guess what she wanted it for.


Staring at the wonderfully hard cock in front of her, Alex was a little afraid she had not gotten a big enough sausage to practice with.  She would try to swallow this monster, but it would be a stretch.


When it hit the back of her throat, he had pushed a little.  She hadn't been ready for that.  The sausage hadn't been as anxious as Mr. Smith.  It felt like he was trying to jump down her throat all at once.  That was what made her gag.


"Am I supposed to swallow the whole thing, Sir?" she asked, taking the glistening cock out of her mouth.


"Yes, if you can.  All good girls swallow the whole thing."


"OK, Sir.  I'll try," she said and dove back down on him, this time relaxing her throat muscles and swallowing as the head plowed past her constricting epiglottis.   She buried her nose in his pubic hair.  Then she hummed.


Damon felt the vibrations of her vocal cords and the sensation surprised him.  His cock swelled and his jism burst deep into her throat.  Feeling him cum, she slowly backed off, keeping just the head of his prick in his mouth.  She sucked him dry, swallowing it all.  She wanted to be a good girl.  He was amazed.  For a first time blow job, that had been one of the best he had ever had.


When he had softened he pulled himself from her mouth.  Her red lipstick smeared its length and had come off on her white gloves as she lovingly caressed the slowly deflating organ.  It was an erotic sight.  She kept sucking him until he pulled out.  She wanted more.


"Did I do good, Sir?" she asked, looking up at him with an impish grin.  She was proud of herself.


"That was very good, Mrs. Wilson.  Perhaps you'd care to do it again sometime?"


"Oh yes, Sir!  Now?"


He laughed, peeling her hands away from his groin.  This had gone much better than he had hoped.  Much better.  He could just imagine the little bastard in the other room.  Probably going out of his fucking mind.  Well, now to put him out of his misery.


She remained kneeling as he pulled up his pants, whispering "Thank you, Sir" as their heads were together.  It had been a wonderful game to her and she felt elated.  She helped him buckle his belt, leaning forward as she finished and kissing the leather that had strangled her earlier in the week.  He shook his head, stiffening again at her willing subservience.


"If you can stay for a minute, Mrs. Wilson, I have some business to attend to.  Do you mind?"


"Oh, no, Sir.  I'll stay right here."  She moved to kneel in her spot beside his big desk.


Damon busied himself at the bar for moment, handing her a drink as he left the office.


Harold had smirked when Alex had walked into the office nest door.  What a fucking prude.  A good looking prude, he corrected himself.  There was something different about the dress.  It looked, well, sexier, somehow.  Or was it the way she walked.  She looked, well, sexier than he remembered.  But she was wearing her silly little hat and those stupid gloves.  Who did she think she was, the Virgin Mary?  She sure as fuck acted like it.


Vinnie and Max had been ready when Harold had jumped out of his chair when Alex had knelt in front of Mr. Smith and started to undo his pants.  Or, at least, he tried to jump up.  The insurance guy had his hands just above Harold's shoulders, too.  He didn't have a chance.  They tied his arms to the arms of the chair he was sitting in.  In a touch of irony, it was the same chair Alex had first been bound into when she had come to the club searching for a way to save her marriage.


The two men on each side of the enraged husband used wide nylon bands that wouldn't leave any marks to bind his arms.  They did his legs, too.  Too many of these guys kicked like girls.


Harold had accepted the ties, eventually.  It had been a bet, after all.  He shouldn't be a sore loser.  But that Mr. Smith!  That fucker was deformed!  Huge!  No one could be that big.  He had started yelling through the mirror when she had licked the tip of that huge schlong with her tongue.  He was going to fucking lose.  That couldn't be his wife.  It was an actress, a double.  This was all a joke.  He tried to make them understand.  That wasn't Alex in there deep-throating that guy.  It couldn't be.


The three men had laughed with him.  Or laughed at him.  He wasn't so sure.  It sounded sort of cruel.  Alex, if that was Alex, was carrying the joke way too far.  She couldn't have taken him that far down her throat.  It was an optical illusion, it had to be.  The mirror was a trick mirror.


The guys weren't laughing any more.  They were as fascinated by the sight in front of them as he was.  It wasn't fake.  They weren't faking it.  Oh, God.  Alex.  That could have been him, taking her mouth.  It should have been.  That cunt Marcy couldn't hold a fucking candle to that beautiful woman in the other room.  That was his wife, damn it.


Harold heard the man's groan and saw his wife gulp and swallow the copious ejaculate.  She kept his prick in her mouth far longer than necessary.  Come on.  Stop already!  It was just a fucking little bet.  Get off your knees!  Get up, go home.  I'll be there as soon as I check out of the hotel.  I'm coming, darling...


Damon strolled into the next room.  He felt rather proud of himself.  He saw the red-faced balding paunchy man.  That had to be Harold.  Then he saw the Dom standing in the corner, clapping sardonically.  He was surprised to see her, but it gave him a thrill, too, to have been seen to be so masterful, especially by his next pet.  It would make it all the more sweet when she was on her knees.  Oh, life was good.


"Hello, Harold.  I'm Mr. Smith.  That's OK, don't get up.  I won't keep you long.  I just stopped in to thank you for handing me your wife on a silver platter.  I couldn't have asked for a better parting gift."


Harold sputtered but was speechless.


"I wanted to thank you for participating in our little insurance scam, too, Harold.  Without you, I have to say it wouldn't have been possible.  And since you were such an integral part of the plan, I wanted to share with you just how it's going to go from here."


Damon walked over to the man strapped in the chair.  For a second it looked as if he was going to put his hand on the man's shoulder in a comradely gesture.  Then at the last minute, his hand darted towards the man's neck and the syringe was emptied into his neck.  It happened so fast that three of the observers never saw it happen.  The Dom did.  She had seen his cupped hand when he had come in the door.  The same way she cupped hers to hide a needle.  She had lots of practice.


Harold gave a sudden twitch and his eyes rolled up into his head.  Slowly they rolled back down, unfocused, but still seeing.  Damon knelt in front of him and started undoing the straps that bound him.  The three men were surprised when Harold didn't try to get up.


"I'm going to tell you your future, you little piece of shit.  You're going to sit here and watch while I go back in that room and fuck your wife.  Then she's going to suck me hard again and I'm going to fuck her again.  In the ass.  Just for you, asshole.  When that's done, you're going to go get ready for your trip to the islands.  Vinnie and Max here are going to take you downstairs and put on your swimming trunks.  Then they're going to put you in a big tank of salt water.


"You're going to drown, Harold, in the basement.  But don't worry.  We're going to take you to the islands.  We still have to collect on the insurance, now, don't we?


"Oh, you were so fucking smart.  You had it all figured out.  You thought you couldn't lose, didn't you.  Well, you little fuck, you lose."


On his way out, the Dom caught his arm.  "You want some help in there with the little bitch?"


Damon eyed her.  "You'd like that, wouldn't you?  Are you after her cunt or my cock?"


"A little of both, I guess," she teased him.  "But I'd settle for your cock."


"Stick around, then.  You can stay and watch if you like, but it won't be anything fancy.  I imagine you want to see to your girls.  Thanks, by the way, for letting us use them.  I didn't know lesbians were such good cock suckers.  How'd you do it?"


"Oh, I have my secrets, too," she said, drawing a sharp fingernail down the side of his face.  "I'll see you later.  I promise."


She grinned.  Unless that bitch kneeling in the other room was totally out of it, the perfume she had just scented him with would cause her some serious doubts.  Guys had no clue when it came to aromatic warfare.  This dick was no different.  She settled in to watch for a while.  She was impressed.  Now she really wanted the girl.


Alex was kneeling in the other room.  She had been euphoric, basking in Mr. Smith's praise.  It had been a fun game.  A little cruel, maybe, but Harold already had another woman.  Marcy.  She hoped they would be happy together.  It was the way she was.


She had sipped a little of the strong drink Mr. Smith had given her, but it wasn't what she needed.  She liked the salty, manly taste of him in her mouth and the flavor of the whiskey burned that out.  She reached up to put in on his desk and nearly spilled it.


The bottle.  It had been moved.  It had been aligned when she came in.  Oh,God.  Harold!  With a sickening knot in her stomach, she knelt and clutched her arms around her body.  She didn't know for sure, but she knew.  She knew.  It had been Vinnie and Max with him before.  Vinnie and Max had taken care of Lewis.  Oh, God!


This wasn't a game anymore.  She didn't want to play.  She was going to be sick.  She grabbed her arms, pinching herself.  Get a hold of yourself!  You knew it was dangerous.  So did Harold.  From the time you saw the size of the policy.  Harold's a big boy.  He can take care of himself.  He knew the risks.


And she didn't really know for sure that Mr. Smith had the needle.  Maybe he had just bumped the bottle.  Of course Harold was alive.  He had to be.  He couldn't pick up the money if he wasn't.  They still needed him, and she had protected him by changing the accounts.  That was it.  He was OK, laughing in the next room.


Alex talked her way through her panic.  It was too late now, anyway.  And she still needed something from Mr. Smith.  Now more than ever.  She had willingly started to severe her ties with Harold.  Maybe a divorce wasn't impossible.  Her family would understand.  Daddy would.


The scent of that woman struck her as Mr. Smith walked into the room.  She looked behind him for her, hope in her heart.  She wouldn't have minded her being here.  She wasn't behind him, but she had been in that other room.  Watching her.  With Harold.  More to the point, she had been in there with Mr. Smith.


"Come, pet.  Dance for me."


The music started and as if drawn into its seductive beat Alex danced.  She tossed her parochial little hat and her catechism gloves across the room.  She was done with that part of her life.  Gone.  It was gone forever.  She could never go back to her church.  She would be a tainted woman when the divorce was final.


Her silky dress was off in a hurry.  There was an urgency, a desperation to this dance.  Alex wanted to get naked and get fucked.  Now.


Mr. Smith threw her the black cord when her bra and panties were gone.  She looped it around her neck and handed him the ends.  Then lowering herself to her knees, she began stripping him of his clothes.  He let her remove her clothes then turned her around and tied her arms behind her back.


He lifted her onto the large desk and set her on her knees.  Then he got on the table himself and lay back.  In a flash she was poised over his loins, capturing the tip of his cock in the mouth of her vagina and impaling herself on his hardness.  She forgot to ask permission and he didn't correct her.  Her need was infectious.


Alex screamed and began sobbing, the sexual release immediate and continuous.  She thrust her body up and down his length, now working for his pleasure.  She screamed as he slapped her tits as they bounced up and down with her efforts.  He was not gentle and she egged him on.  More, she demanded of him.  More, harder.


He came inside her and she wept.  She had pleased him.


Mr. Smith urged her off of him.  Suck, he said.  Clean me and suck.


Alex complied eagerly.  He would give her more!  Her tongue laved over his semi-hard organ.  She sucked his testicles into her mouth and cleaned them.  He gave no response to her efforts.  It wasn't until she chased a trickle of her fluids down the crack of his ass and licked his asshole that he showed further signs of life.  Seeing that twitch, Alex buried her face in his ass, urging his knees up and out so she could get in and lick.  Finally, when it was almost hard, Alex took it once more into her mouth and down her throat.  Then she hummed.


She hummed the song she had hummed when Petunia died.  The one she hummed when she was looking for the bugs in the storage room.  It was a nursery rhyme.  She didn't remember the words.  Just the tune her Daddy had hummed, over and over to her at night.


Mr. Smith pulled her off of him when he was finally hard.  The humming had worked again.  He positioned her on her knees and pressed her head against the desk.  With only her spit for lubrication, he stood on the floor behind her and rammed his hard cock up her asshole.  She screamed, in pain now, the pleasure burned from her mind.  That hadn't happened before.  Now she could tell the difference.  Now it just plain hurt.


Then her body betrayed her once more.  The rhythmic filling and emptying of her body, even in that cavity stimulated the basic core of her brain.  Endorphins flooded her blood stream and she became aroused, despite the pain.  But not because of it, this time.


Mr. Smith lasted a long time before coming in her ass.  He used his bare hands to strangle her to help him cum, leaving deep bruises in her neck.  Alex came, too, at the end.  She cried when he pulled out.


She cleaned him and he untied her.  He put the black cord in her special drawer in the desk.  Her old cast iron bra and granny panties were still in there.  It seemed such a long time ago when she had surrendered them to him.  So long ago.


She knelt, waiting because he had told her to wait.  Someone would come.  She hoped it was Alvin.


Vinnie and Max carried Harold downstairs to the third basement.  Once there, the paralyzed man was stripped and dressed in his own swimwear.  They laid him in a large tubular frame that could be hoisted up and over the big tank of water.  The frame had a lid that could be closed, trapping whoever was in it.  The frame was still wet, but Harold hardly noticed.


The two goons hoisted him up and over the large saltwater tank.  He was lowered in, without visible protest.  The only sign of life he gave were the bubbles that were his last breath.  On his next breath, Harold inhaled sea water.


For all intents and purposes, Harold had just drowned in the ocean.


Vinnie and Max waited the half hour the boss had said to wait.  Then they hauled the dead man back out of the tank.  Splashing in the water that pooled on the floor, the two lifted the lid of the frame and heaved the deadweight into a sitting position.  Max held his arms out while Vinnie fitted and fastened a bright orange life vest on him.  The words "SS Big Break - Miami, FL" were stenciled in fresh black ink on the fabric of the new jacket.


Dragging him by his armpits and his ankles, the two men butt-bounced Harold over to the huge walk-in freezer.  Max got the corpse in a fireman's carry and staggered under the deadweight into the depths of the huge freezer.  Vinnie took a meat hook and slipped it through the loop in the back panel of the life preserver.  Max eased down, out from under Harold, letting the meat hook take the weight of the man.


The two looked at their handiwork.  They were satisfied.  The body was lying like it would if it were face down in the water.  Not straight up and down, but with the torso at a slight angle, the arms and legs dangling straight down.  Any postmortem lividity studies would show he had died in this position.


They closed the freezer door, leaving Harold swaying gently in frigid repose next to a smaller, big-titted bikini clad figure.  She had put up a good fight, but Marcy was going to the Islands with Harold after all.


Chapter 19


"Ooooh, lover, that was good.  I didn't think you'd have anything left after servicing your little bitch."


They were lying in Damon's bed, still panting from the exertions of their latest combative coupling.


"You just bring it out in me, I guess."


"So, where do you keep her?  I can't see you letting something that needy out in the world.  She'd fuck every pair of pants between here and there and still want more."


"Yeah, she is a demanding little cunt.  Kind of like someone else I know,"  he joked


The Dom gave a low laugh.  "Flattery will get you anything you want.  So, where is she?"


Damon nodded with his head at a door she had assumed was a closet.


"Really?  Is she in there?"


"Yes.  At least, she should be.  I told my manager to put her down for the night."


"Oooh, goody.  Can I see?"


Damon looked at her.  "Why? You want some cunt?  Don't you get enough with all those girls you have?"


"No, silly.  I just want to see how you keep her so hot and pliable.  I just want to steal your trade secrets.  You are the best, you know."


He didn't catch the sarcasm.  She knew he wouldn't.  After a good fuck, a man's ego didn't let him think.  He had fulfilled his God-ordained task of procreating.  And just like God on the seventh day, the fuckers shut down and rested.  Just like a man...


"In that case, OK.  But no touching and keep quiet.  I'm still working on her."


The beautiful, if bedraggled lady stepped gracefully out of the bed, using her nudity as a weapon.  She knew she excited him.  All was fair in this war and love had no part of it.  She opened the door to Alex cage and the girl's plaintive wailing filled the bedroom.  Her cries vacillated, quiet to loud, quiet to loud, in coordination with a large swinging pendulum.  The lady saw the girl was nearly insane with frustration.  A cruel smile of satisfaction crossed her lips.  It was amazingly simple yet diabolical in its effectiveness.  A true slut-making machine.


She recognized the latex clothing.  Her girls each had their own, too.  But the swinging arm, now, that was genius.  Sheer genius.


Silently she shut the door.  If it all worked out like she planned, she would get this little bitch for her own.  Oh, God, what she could do with her.  Such devotion.  Such loyalty.  Such a fucking waste on this prick.  He didn't even know how to break her.


And the idea was planted and grew.  It was brilliant.


"I can't believe there would be anything more you could possibly get from her after observing her performance today," she started, making the opening gambit.


"The bitch is stubborn."


"Oh, come on.  She's dying to serve you.  It couldn't be that hard."


"You have no idea."


Damon was opening up to this lady.  His guard was down.  She was easy to talk to.  He had never had someone he could talk about his work with, someone who understood.


"Anything I could do to help?" she asked carefully.  This was the make or break point.


"I don't know.  I can't get her to commit, sort of."


Yes!  She was in!  Two moves and Checkmate!


"I'll bet you I can get her to commit to it, whatever it is, in three days.  If I win, I get you for a week, in my parlor."


"Ha!  Sure, after I softened her up for you!"


"Are you making any progress?"


"Well, no."


"So?  How about it?"


"And if I win?  I get you for a week?"


She didn't even hesitate.  "Deal.  Shake?"


"Done.  So.  What's your brilliant plan?  What do I do?"


The beautiful woman leaned back in his soft bed and grinned.  Game, Set and Fucking Match.  God, he was going to look cute on his knees sucking her cunt.




"Huh?  Nothing?"


She sighed, like a trainer realizing they had a really stupid dog to work with.  "Yes.  Nothing.  I'd suggest you turn off that ingenious machine, too.  And then, you ignore her."


"Ignore her?"


"Yes.  Give her the 'silent treatment.'  Be there, but don't be there.  Let her see you, but as far as she can tell, to you she doesn't exist."


"It'll never work."


"Then you'll have me in your sexy clutches for a week.  And you'll only have lost three days.  Sounds like a good deal to me."


"You're pretty sure of yourself."


"Let's just say I know women.  I know that woman."  She grinned, "At least, I sure the Hell hope I do."  She paused.  "As long as we're in this together, you mind telling me what it is she won't give up?"


He looked chagrinned.  "A divorce," he said finally.


"You're shitting me.  You married that little cunt?"


"No, not me.  You met him earlier.  Harold."


"Oh.  I see.  It could be hard to get a divorce from a dead man.  Hmmm.  That may take a bit longer than I estimated."


Damon looked at her, his interest piqued.  He had swallowed the hook and she had just set it.  Hard.


"You want out?  Too rich for you?"


"No way, lover.  Come over here."


Giggling as her newest victim attacked her with renewed vigor, the Dom salivated over her plans.  This Mr. Smith liked to use drugs to his advantage.  She had seen that at the photo session and again earlier tonight.  He had one drug, apparently, that he liked to use with a very lethal effect.  She didn't recognize it by its effects, but was very good.  He was very good at using it, too, and covering up the bodies.  She had never suspected him of it and the police had obviously never connected him to anything.  She had never had much use for actually killing people, but it never hurt to have it in her arsenal.


What Damon had forgotten about was her arsenal, her medical bag of tricks.  Her newest little pharmaceutical helper was a Central Nervous System (CNS) drug that had failed spectacularly in the clinical trials.  It had been intended to help severely depressed individuals by making them more open to suggestions, allowing therapists to alter their thinking patterns.  If anything, it was too successful.  The patients were so open to suggestion that their entire moral code could be influenced.  A normally harmless person could be made to do the most reprehensible things imaginable without the slightest remorse or guilt.  And all with only one dose.


Obviously the military was interested in guilt-free killing machines and had tried to hijack the project, but the company and the FDA had thought better of it and shut it down.  She, of course, had a very good contact in the lab.  All the samples that were supposed to have been destroyed had ended up in her vault.  Her first three subjects, normal heterosexual college freshmen two weeks ago, had put on an outstanding performance tonight at his club as lesbian nymphomaniac cock suckers.  They still attended college, but they served totally at her whim and without question.


As would this prick and his 'pet.'


Damon got out of bed and opened Alex' cage after their latest mating.  He stopped the pendulum and she opened her eyes, glazed and unseeing.  Staring down at the delirious girl, he wondered if she knew what was going to happen to her.  In three days, he would have his 5 million dollars or he would have that bitch in his bed under his control.  Either way, he couldn't lose.


He didn't even notice he was using the same words he had used earlier with Harold.


The next two days were pure torture for Alex.  Alvin would get her up, feed her and walk her through her day.  She was now a considered just a regular worker at the club.  She cleaned the bars and waited tables.


She didn't dance.  She had to tolerate the none-to-subtle pinches and advances of the club patrons.  She did so stoically.  While on the outside she was calm, inside she was a tightening coil.


She hadn't quite figured it out the first day.  She told herself that Mr. Smith was just busy.  He had a lot of important things to do.


Then she got her first paycheck.  Alvin had handed it to her along with passing out all the other employees their checks.  At first she had been excited, even jumping up and down.  Then she saw the amount and asked Alvin why it was so much.  He said Mr. Smith had told him to tell her that he had given her the earnings for her dance.  Suddenly, Alex got sick to her stomach and had to rush to the bathroom.  She threw up and was sick all over again when she thought about it.


Pale and wan, she came back and gave the check back to Alvin.


"Please, Alvin.  Could you hold this for me?  I--  I don't..."


"I know, Miss Alex.  You're not a whore.  You did that for him, not the money.  It was a bad thing for him to do."


"But, why, Alvin?"


"I don't know, Miss Alex.  I don't know anymore."


Mr. Smith made frequent forays into the club, more than usual, stopping and chatting with Alvin and the other employees.  But never Alex.  It was as if Alex didn't exist.  He would see her and walk right by her.  By the end of the first day she was in tears.


The second day was worse.  She spoke to him, and he walked away.  Alex was an emotional wreck.


Each morning and evening Alvin would hand her the clipboard with the forms.  Each morning and evening she would shake her head and the tears would fall.


On the third morning Alvin handed her the clipboard.  Tears falling down her cheeks, she took it from him.  Alvin moaned, as if in pain.  She didn't hear him.


Alex took the clipboard into the dining area of the apartment.  She laid it carefully by his hand and then, on top of the forms, she laid her wedding band.


"I'll sign them, Sir.  I'll go out today and file for a divorce from Harold.  I need your advice, Sir.  I- I don't know any lawyers.  Could you help me?  I could use the money from the- the check to pay for it, Sir."


Damon stared down at the clipboard in disbelief.  The fucking Dom bitch had been right!  He'd won!  Five Million Dollars!  Yes!  Eat that, Elizabeth fucking Farnsworth!


"Pet," he said, "Don't worry about anything.  A good master takes care of all of those little details, like lawyers and money.  Tell you what.  Let's have a signing party tonight to celebrate.  That will give me time to get all the other papers drawn up and you can sign them all at once.  How does that sound?"


"Wonderful, Sir.  But, Sir?"


"Yes, my Pet?"


"May I call you 'Master' now?"


He thought for a minute, toying with her.  It had been a delicious fight, especially since he had won.


"Yes, Pet.  I think that would be a good idea."


"Oh, Thank you, Master!" she sobbed, kneeling to his feet and kissing them.  "Thank you!"


As Alvin was no longer necessary to his plan, he waved him away after giving him instructions for a small, quiet celebration in the bar tonight.  Employees only, then they could have the night off.  He and his new pet would be having their own celebration.  Alvin had a bad feeling about the whole thing.


For a celebration, it went well, even if the guest of honor was a bit subdued.  Alex was not bound or naked, but she was collared and leashed.  She stayed by her Master's side all night long.  Her Master was in a wonderful mood.  She had signed the papers, all of them, without glancing at a single one.  They were sitting in an envelope in his outbasket, addressed, notarized and with the proper postage.  It was all over.


Then they had gone to the party.  He was the center of attention and the life of the party.  He was witty, smiling and everybody's best friend.  It was a wonderful celebration.


Through it all, Damon was seething.  How could he have been so fucking blind?  Right under his fucking nose.  Right there, all the time.  Shit!


He had left Pet kneeling in the office for just a brief moment.  He had to make a call.  He probably could have done it from the office with her there, but better safe than sorry.  He stepped to the next room and dialed the four digit number for Vinnie.


"Hello, Vinnie?  Yeah, it's me.  All the papers are signed.  ...  Yeah, it's great news.  Listen, I want you to get those two out of here tonight, OK.  ...  Right.  Get them ready.  I'll get everybody out of here early.  ...  Yeah, him, too.  ...  You got the boats, right.  ...  Right, the 'Big Break.'  ...  Yeah, Vinnie, I got the joke.  Cute.  Was that your idea?  ...  Funny.  A good one.  OK, you get them ready and I'll let you know when it's clear up here.  Better safe than sorry.  It'll take what, about four days to get there?  ...  Yeah.  Well, Bon Voyage."


He hung up.  Then he remembered he probably needed to remind them to put the bodies in plastic bags and pack them with dry ice.  Those idiots would probably just let them thaw out in the back of the van.  Eight hours in this heat to Miami and there would be a big stink, in more ways than one.  After the five-day cruise to the islands, the entire plan would be fucked it they were rancid.


He picked up the handset and was puzzled.  He heard Vinnie talking.  But the light for the line wasn't lit.  Something was very fishy.


"Hey, Maxie!" he heard him yell, "It looks like Mama's going to get her $5 Million bucks.  Oh, happy shit!  Wait until I tell her."


Damon heard the familiar sounds of a cell phone dialing.  He hadn't known Vinnie carried one.  He had never given the number to him.


"Hello?  Mrs. Farnsworth, please.  It's Vincent."


There was a delay.  Damon was ice cold.  Everything was falling into place.


"Hello, Mama? ..."


That was all Damon had to hear.  He sank down in the chair and held his head in his hands.  He didn't see his new pet through the one-way mirror as she fixed him a drink at the bar.  He wouldn't have thought anything of it, anyway.  Then she straightened out the bottles, fumbling with a couple of them.  She was just being domestic.


It had all been too simple, so easy, when you thought about it.  He remembered the rumors now.  No one put any credence to them because there wasn't any proof.  The bastard kid was never with her at any functions.  No one could find it.


He had heard Elizabeth Farnsworth had had a kid before she married her husband.  Named Vincent something or other.  Pirolli.  Vincent Pirolli.  But no one had heard of him since.


He didn't call himself that now, and the bitch had managed to slip him in right under his nose.  Vinnie had obviously been bugging the club since the first day.  What was that, three-four years ago?  That was about right.  The phone in this office was obviously one of his listening posts.  Neat trick.  Dial an extension while a room is empty, or even when someone is there.  Let it ring or be answered, it didn't matter.  The connection would stay active, the handset acting like a microphone.  It would be totally untraceable, as there were no bugs to detect.


He made a decision.  He still had those gifts he had been planning on giving to Alvin.  That was, of course, before he had found out that Alvin was in the clear.  Damn, that would have been a terrible mistake.  But they were perfect for this occasion.  Perfect and appropriate.  A risk, but justified.


Steeling himself, he had gone into the office, collected his pet and gone to the party.  No one suspected he was acting a part.  Which wasn't unusual, if he had thought about it.  He was always acting a part.


Alvin had primed the staff to leave early.  After a rousing cheer and several well wishers kissing the bride, so to speak, the small gathering dispersed.  When the three of them were left, Alvin was shocked when Mr. D hugged him, in a manly way, of course.  Of all the nefarious deeds he had witnessed or heard of, that short physical contact disturbed him the most.  Something had happened to completely clear him in Mr. D's mind.  Either that, or Alvin was a dead man and just didn't know it yet.  He wasn't sure he liked either choice.


He also didn't like it when Mr. D sent him home, too.  He was specifically not to use his room downstairs.  Mr. D was clearing the building.  If Vinnie and Max left, he would know that Alex was in trouble.  He could only hope he could get into the building in time.


He had an uneasy feeling about tonight.  Too much was coming together.  People could get hurt in the stampede.  He hurt for Alex, too.  She looked beaten, defeated.  Oh, she was radiant and glowing, but her eyes were empty of their fire.  She had what she wanted.  He could tell.  Every time she said 'Master' he could hear the enjoyment in her voice.  She relished it, savored it.  But it was a hollow victory.  She had had to give up too much.  He had taken everything.


>From the office where he had taken her after the party, Mr. Smith sent Alex back into the club to get her black cord and she was to then meet him downstairs in the apartment.  He had an errand to run but would be right back.  She hadn't been bound with it tonight, but unquestioningly she had searched in the club for the cord.  She knew it hadn't been there.  Finally, she found it where they had left it.  It was in her special drawer in his desk.  It had been in his office all along.


Mr. Smith wasn't there when she had come back into the office to look in the drawer.  She was just about to leave when, out of habit, she checked the alignment of the bottles.  It had been moved again!  As she was alone, she checked the contents of the cognac bottle.  An icy hand gripped her heart.  The syringe was gone and the vial was empty.  Before the party, the syringe had been there and there was some fluid in the vial.


With growing dread, she made her way down to the apartment.  She didn't have to look to know, but she checked anyway.  She found the syringe in the drawer of the nightstand.  It had been open a crack.  He hadn't even bothered to close the drawer all the way or to cover the syringe with something to hide it from view.


Alex laid the black cord carefully on the bed.  He had never taken her sexually without her being bound.  She had one chance tonight.  If Master could be convinced he had completely won, there was a chance, a slight chance he would be magnanimous.  He might make a mistake.  Probably not, at this stage, but she could only try.  Otherwise, she was dead.  As dead as Petunia.  She had no doubts that he didn't need her anymore.  You didn't keep pets you didn't need.


Chapter 20


Damon left the apartment and took the elevator down to the third level.  As he suspected, the fucking dolts hadn't packed the bodies in ice.  They were sitting on the cart, ready to be hauled up to the service entrance when everyone was gone.  Vinnie's smug expression was almost enough to make him want to bash his face in.  But not yet.  They had to get the bodies to the Islands.


"Hey, guys!  Looks like you're all set, right!" he said with obvious delight.


"Yeah.  For a little guy, he weighs a ton, ya' know," said Max.  Vinnie just smirked at him.


"Say, Max, how long will it take you to get to the Marina?"


He looked up at Vinnie.  "Oh, dunno.  Maybe 8-9 hours.  Don't want to speed or nothin'."


"Yeah, that's good thinking, Max.  So, have you arranged to pick up some ice on the road?"


"Ice?  What for?"


"Oh, come on, Max.  Quit joking with me.  It's over a hundred in the back of the van and it will be even hotter in Miami.  You're not going to load them into the yacht in broad daylight, are you?"


"Uh, no, boss."  His eyes were flicking over at Vinnie, who was no longer smirking.  Vinnie was supposed to be the brains.  It was a major screw up, the kind of detail Mama would have expected him to think of.  Especially when he took over this club from this faggot.


"We'll get some ice from the freezer, Mr. D," said Vinnie.  "I was planning on getting that out at the last minute, so it wouldn't melt.  And, oh yeah, we'll put it in plastic bags, so it won't melt all over, too."  With that 'save' his smugness returned.  He could do this job as good as that phony bastard.


"Well, look.  I'm sorry you two had to miss the celebration upstairs.  To make up for it, I saved two bottles of the best champagne for you.  Besides," he kicked at the largest lump on the cart, "it's his Anniversary next week, just about the time you get down there.  It would be a shame not to toast to his good health, right?"  He gave a big laugh, as if this was a great joke.


"Gee, that's nice of you boss.  Thanks."  Max took possession of the bottles.


"Remember guys, work first, play later.  This is the good stuff.  You'll probably never have any better.  So, get them in the water, arrange for them to be found, then party to your heart's content.  And drink one for me, too, will you?  I really owe you guys for your help with this project.  When you get back, I think it's time we talked about moving you up in the organization after this.  Finish this, then we'll talk."


"Hey, boss?  Any chance we'll get a piece of the new girl when we get back?  She's a hot one, she is."


"Well, Max, you know I don't like loose ends.  But I'll tell you what.  If she's still around when you get back, I'll arrange for you to have her for a while.  How about that?  I can't promise and I'm not sure how things are going to work out with her, but you're on, OK?"


"Gee, thanks, boss.  You're da best!"


"You, too, Max.  Vinnie.  Drive safe."


He managed not to ball up his fists as he turned away from them.  It was always the weakest links that fucked up a perfect plan.  All the idiots had to do was drive to Miami, wait until nightfall, load the bodies on the yacht and sink the sucker where it could be found.  It was all arranged.  They couldn't fail.  They couldn't.  Harold's body had to be found and in next week.  It would take a while for the insurance to do an investigation and then payout the money.  And time was running out.  He had to have the money in his hands in the next 21 days to make in on the books for this quarter.


He had all the signatures he needed from the stubborn little cunt to empty the account.  Powers of Attorney.  What a wonderfully legal way to steal.  Now all they had to do was find Harold's body a long ways away from here.


Damon was feeling slightly better when he got back to the apartment.  His new pet was waiting for him, naked and kneeling beside his bed.  Fresh sheets, freshly showered, her hair in the thick woven braid he favored.  She smelled of musk, a sensual scent she didn't usually wear.  He liked it.  It smelled familiar.


He called her into the bathroom and she scrubbed his body while he showered, thoroughly and with a refreshing delight.  She explored him, touching him, calling him 'Master' over and over as would a child with a new toy.  She dried him tenderly, his arousal evident as he led her to the bedroom.  She seemed nervous, a bride on her honeymoon.


Damon picked up the black cord.  It was a symbol of his dominance, his mastery over his pets.  He fondled the cool silk, remembering the many different pets that had been bound by this cord.  It had been passed from pet to pet, a link between them.  It was a legacy.


"Master?" his new pet asked, breaking his reverie.


"Yes, Pet?"  She kneeling, shivering.


"Master.  I would ask your forgiveness.  You were right.  I belong to you.  It was wrong of me to make you wait.  Please forgive me, Master."


"Not to worry, my pet.  All is forgiven."


"Oh, thank you, Master.  I would love to make it up to you, if I may.  And I have a request."


"And what makes you think I would grant it?"


"Because you are a wise Master.  If you don't wish to, I will never ask again.  But it would mean so much to me.  To us, Master."


This was intriguing.  He had always been attracted to her little mind.  It was her sexiest feature.  It kept things exciting.


"So what is your request?"


"Master, always before when you have given me the pleasure of your body, you have bound me.  I would like to give you, just once, I would like to give you myself as a complete woman.  I know I am your pet and unworthy.  But this night, on this special occasion, let me give you my whole being, my all."


He considered her request, weighing the silken cord in his hands.  It would be a novelty to have a free pet.  He had had to be so wary with that Dom last night.  She wouldn't let his hands near her throat.  And with her hands free he hardly could let himself go either, but it had been nice.


There was no rush tonight.  The needle could wait.  Now that those two idiots had finally taken the cart up the elevator, the building would be empty until tomorrow night.  He had given instructions.


He coiled the cord in his hands and set it on the nightstand.  Later.  He would put it on her later.


He was not disappointed with his choice.  His pet exceeded his expectations, which were very high indeed.  She gave of herself completely, teasing him, exciting him over and over.  The passion was mutual and frequent.


The long night passed by, cry after exalting cry filling the silence of the darkened building.  Time and again his pet urged him to a new hardness he didn't think he could manage.  Still she urged him on, demanding, giving herself to his pleasure.


No, it hadn't been a mistake.  It was a memory he would always cherish.


When he could give her no more, his pet slipped from his side.  He heard the water running into the bath, her silvery voice humming a child-like melody.  Then she was urging him up again, but to his feet this time.  It was as if she couldn't get enough of his body, she was touching and caressing him constantly.  It was her only chance to do so and he indulged her.  He was a good Master, after all.


He eased into the steaming water.  It felt so good, so relaxing.  Her hands were on his chest, her lips on his face.  Like a good pet, she was kneeling beside him, outside the tub.  Her hands found his masculinity and softly caressed him.  It was not to arouse him, but to worship his superiority.


He drifted off under her calming touch.  His eyes slowly closing.  Just for a minute.  Then he would finish his important project.  It had been delicious, thrilling.  She had been more of a challenge than he had thought.  His greatest achievement.  Turning a chance encounter into five million dollars.  This was a just reward for his hard work, this delightful little pet.  Too bad about her.


Mr. Smith hardly felt the prick of the needle in his neck, but he knew what had happened in the next instant.  He struggled to get out of the tub, but the drug's effect was fast acting.  Her aim had been true and the needle had found a blood vessel leading directly to his heart.  Ten beats, fifteen at the most and his arms collapsed.  Then his legs buckled under him as his body shuddered, his brain having lost control of all of his voluntary muscles.  Only the smooth muscles, like those of his heart and diaphragm still functioned.


He could live for hours before his lungs filled with fluid and he drowned in his own plasma.  Long, terror filled hours with the blood coursing through his brain, keeping him alive, letting him wonder what had gone wrong.


Slowly his eyes rolled back down and Alex turned his head so he could see her.  She wasn't crying, neither was she jubilant.  The pet had turned on her master.  She looked at him and caressed his face softly.  He was confused.  What had gone wrong?  How had she known?"


"Master, I have done a terrible thing.  I know you can hear me and I don't want you to die wondering what went wrong.  I owe you that much.


"I knew you weren't who you said you were.  I suppose I had always known it, but by then, all I wanted was to call you 'Master.'  I knew for sure you were not Mr. Smith the night of the party, the night I was attacked.  So much happened that night.  I tried to ignore it, but tonight I couldn't any longer.


"I saw you sign your name on some contracts.  You made me wait by your desk.  You didn't sign it 'Mr. Smith' or even 'George.'  You signed it 'Damon Arquette.'  That's your name.  That's why you let Alvin call you 'Mr. D.'


"That same night, I saw you kill that man, the one who took me into the club and beat me.  You killed him, just like Daddy killed Petunia.  I saw him write the suicide note when you were pretending to help him.  I watched you get the needle from its hiding place and hold it just like Daddy did.  I saw you put the needle in his neck and watched him twitch like Petunia.  I heard you telling him how he was going to die.  I saw the look in your eyes as you watched his terror.  It excited you.


"Finally that night, I heard your call to Marcy.  It wasn't until later I found out she was Harold's lover.  It was then, though that I realized you were planning something big that had to do with me.  Alvin had told you I would be out for two weeks.  You told Marcy there would be a two-week delay in your plans.


"Then later, you sent me home to be there when Harold came home.  He thought I wouldn't read all those forms, but I know about insurance policies.  And insurance scams.  Your plan was coming together.  Harold, big dope that he was, was your race horse.  And the race horse always died.


"I understood the genius of your plan when I saw my paycheck two days ago.  It was drawn on the club's account in an off shore bank.  The same bank you had arranged for Harold and me to have a joint account.  The account where the money was to be deposited in the event of a payout.  Did you ever find out that I changed the deposit instructions?  Only 10% of the payout would go into that account.


"I wonder, too, what happened to Harold.  He called me from the club.  He was drunk.  I thought you were playing a game, teasing him.  He had hurt me and I wanted to hurt him, too.  I wanted to please you more, so I went along with your game.  It was exciting.  Until I saw the bottle with the needle had been moved.


"You were so good with accidents.  Like Lewis' suicide.  I hope Harold's death will be an accident.  Did you know I changed the insurance payout on that, too?  Accidental death pays double.  Ten million dollars.  Tax free.


"I would have been a very rich widow.  I would have given it all to you, willingly, gladly.  But you had to take it from me, like my marriage.  You had to have it your way.


"I know about pets.  I know about your pets.  Pets are put down when they're used up, when you're through with them.  Like Petunia.  After Daddy butchered her, he put her ear tag up on the wall of the butcher shop.  Just like you put the belly button rings on your wall downstairs.  I didn't understand it at first.  The rings weren't broken.  They had been cut off.  All the pets were dead downstairs, butchered.  When you were through with them, you ground them up and washed them away.


"You were through with me.  I knew.  You already had your eye on the next one, a challenge.  I smelled her in your room.  She put her scent on you after she watched us in the office, the night I gave you my last virginity.  She wanted me to know.  I found her perfume and used it tonight.


"I saw that the syringe was missing tonight when I looked for the silk cord.  That's when I knew for certain.


"I would have given you everything, Master, even my life.  All I ever wanted was a Master, to be allowed to call you 'Master.'  I would have given it, but you wanted to take it...


"I couldn't let you take my life from me.  Not that.  It's all I have left."


Alex stood slowly.  She had begun crying as she talked and her tears were running down her cheeks to fall to her chest, then dripping from her nipples onto the floor.  She turned to the cabinet where he kept his razor.  The one like Daddy used.  Using a towel she picked it up.


Folding his unresisting fingers around the handle of the sharp instrument, she turned his hand to the other and drew the blade cleanly down along the inside of his forearm, careful not to cut crosswise, across his wrists.  If the tendons in his wrists were cut, it wouldn't look like a suicide.  You can't hold a razor with fingers that have had their tendons cut.


The sharp blade sliced deep, cutting through throbbing artery buried there.  She carefully folded the razor into the bleeding hand and repeated the careful, but deep cut down the other forearm.  She let the limp hand and the razor drop into the warm water.


The water turned pink, then crimson, then deep red as the life flowed from her Master.  She sat with him, cradling his bristly head in her arms, humming a wordless tune.  She sat with him until the lights went out of his eyes.


She would have been surprised by his last cogent thought.


"Who the Hell is Petunia?"




Alvin found her locked in her cage very early the next morning.  He had waited outside the club and had seen Vinnie and Max haul up two large plastic coolers and load them in the van.  He had opened the coolers while the two idiots had put the cart away.  He didn't recognize either body, but suspected, from her description, that the man was Harold.


He had followed the van until it reached Highway 95 and turned south.  He followed it for a while, but when the pulled into a gas station and filled up the tank and bought two large coffees each, he figured they were in for a long haul.  Miami or the Keys, he guessed.


He had turned around and gone back to the club.  The new security system had a timelock on it, and Mr. D had shut everyone out until tomorrow afternoon.  He had put in a secret backdoor into the system, but it still took him a couple of hours to get through it without setting off one alarm or another.


After the blood spattered scene Alvin had found in the bathroom he had searched for her frantically, not knowing what he would find.  He was about to search the third basement when he took a quick look into her room, her cage, she called it.


Miss Alex was in her bed, shackled, tear stained, but sleeping peacefully.  She smelled of sex, but that didn't worry him nearly as much as the blood on the soles of her feet.  A drop or two had fallen on the bathroom floor and she had not seen it as she stepped in it.  It put her at the scene of the crime.


Alvin shook her gently.  He didn't let her loose.  Not yet.  Her eyes were haunted as she looked up at him.  She didn't have to tell him she was still hearing the voices.  He asked her what had happened and she told him everything, including how she sliced his wrists.


After that, she was hazy.  She thought she had tried to clean up the bathroom, but was careful not to use the towels.  Only paper she could flush.  She had scrubbed her hands and arms with bleach.  She remembered putting the syringe away upstairs.  She told him where the hiding place was.  She remembered seeing the envelope with the forms she had signed.  She had shredded it in the big office shredder.  Then she opened her fist.  She had her wedding ring tightly clasped in it.  Damon had thrown it in the trash.  She found it in there and picked it up.  She asked him to keep it for her.  Keep it safe.


Alvin went upstairs first.  He found the syringe and wiped it clean.  It was OK for her fingerprints to be on the bottles.  It had been her job to keep them neat and clean.  He was amazed she had been able to clean up as much as she had done.  There was very little evidence to counter the suicide theory.  But what there was, if it was found, would hang her.


Alex looked up at the towering black figure above her.  He had gloves on and was holding Master's little whip.  He'd only used it on her once.  Last night on her back.  She had begged him for more and more and he had become aroused.  It had been the last erection she had been able to draw from him.  Alvin was telling her about the blood on her feet.  She understood.  She closed her eyes and tried not to scream as the whip bit into the tender soles of her feet, cutting and breaking the skin.  They waited together for the blood to congeal, her blood covering all traces of his.  It would never be found.  They hoped.


An hour later, the local 911 emergency service got a call for an apparent suicide.  The whip was left in the door to Alex' cage.  It propped the door open a crack and she could be heard moaning and weeping, still shackled to the floor.  Alvin wanted them to find her as soon as possible.


Vinnie and Max arrived on schedule in Miami.  After Mr. Smith's gentle tongue-lashing, Vinnie was doing everything by the book.  He still couldn't believe the cocksucker didn't know what was going on.  But until Mama put him out of his misery, he would keep his nose clean and follow orders.


The bodies were kept on ice during the day and loaded onto the decrepit yacht that night.  The "Big Break" had had many names in its life.  The latest and last name was part of a small scheme of the owner of the marina.  He had taken this old tub as a trade-in and it had been sitting for years.  He had too much tied up in it to tow out and sink it, but he couldn't sell it either.  No one wanted it.


Then Mr. Smith and his friends had called.  They had been recommended by a certain, well, let's just call him a good fellow he knew from the old neighborhood.  Yes, he had a boat he could rent them.  No, he didn't mind if it didn't come back.  He would insure it.  No problem.


Two people, an old guy in his fifties and a big titted broad that looked like a hooker, came by and took the rental forms.  She had on a hot bikini.  Yellow.  With a body like that, he had no idea what the guy's face looked like.  Or the broad's.  She could have been a blonde.  Or maybe a brunette.  He wasn't sure.  But the melons on that babe, Wowie!


The rental forms came back in the mail a week later, signed by Harold Wilson, with the full deposit.


Per instructions, he had stripped the boat of all valuables, changed the name of the boat to what the dumb guy asked for and sent two new life jackets to a PO Box up north.  They were the newest equipment on the boat by decades.  He renewed and increased the insurance, as befitted a rental property.  As instructed, he had fitted a tow line to the bow.  Then he cashed his hefty check and waited.


He was not there when two men loaded the bodies in two large coolers and packed in dry ice, onto the leaking boat.  He was not there when the two men hooked up the towing line to a powerful yacht and motored out of the private marina without running lights later that night, setting out almost due south after they cleared the harbor and were far enough out to avoid any casual observers.  They were in for a hard five days of sailing towing that leaking wreck.  He was not there five days later when the men took axes to the hull of the Big Break after running the craft up on a reef in the dark just off Road Town, the capital of the British Virgin Islands.


The incessant surf quickly tore the weakened boat to bits.  The bodies, by now thawed and quickly reaching water temperature, floated face down until noon the next day, when the rescue helicopter spotted their bright orange life vests in the sparkling water.  The partially eaten bodies of the couple were taken to the morgue for identification and autopsy.


Vinnie and Max stayed within sight of the morgue until the helicopter came back and unloaded the two bloated bodies.  Vinnie put the high powered binoculars back in the holder next to the captain's chair and patted Max' head as he worked diligently on his knees in front of him, sucking his cock for the third time today.  Today was Vinnie's day.  Tomorrow he would suck off Max.  Unless they could get women, which they both preferred, it was how they passed the time.  As it had been since boarding school, when they had been two lonely boys, ostracized for being Italian.  It hadn't occurred to them it might have been because the were just stupid.


Interrupting his devoted friend, he handed him a glass of the exquisite champagne Mr. Smith had given them.  As requested, the two hoisted a glass to the first anniversary of the dead man.  Cheers, sucker!  Then they had one for the success of the plan.  Then they just drank.  The wine was excellent.


Three hours later Vinnie rushed to the head, only to find it was already occupied by Max.  His urgency so great, he didn't wait to yell at the rude man.  He could tell by the smell that Max had a problem.  It sounded terrible, too.


Vinnie dropped his shorts and hung his ass over the port side rail.  Shit flew for several yards as he explosively defecated into the pristine waters of the deep blue ocean.  The dark brown fecal matter continued to spew from him, forced out by painful contractions and compressed gasses.  The flowing excrement turned a reddish brown and then a bright red.  The ocean beneath him turned a pale pink and the scent of that much fresh blood in the water attracted every sea-going carnivore in hundreds of miles.


A gentle wave from a distant passing boat broke Vinnie's precarious balance and he fell backwards into the churning water.  He had lost so much blood he was too weak to scream for help or to try to fend off the ravenous beasts that attacked him.  Max wouldn't have heard him anyway.  He was already dead.


Damon would have been pleased to know his revenge had been successful.  It had been a gamble, giving them the champagne.  But they were soldiers, they would follow orders.  Mama needed the money and Vincent needed to get if for her.  Still, it has been a gamble.  Had they opened the wine too soon, the fast acting poison would have ruined everything.  Still, he would have been pleased to know he had won.


Alex was taken for treatment to a secure medical facility while her feet healed.  Two weeks later she was quietly transferred to a secure psychiatric facility for observation.  She was hearing voices and wasn't sleeping well.  Her legal case was still pending and she was the only suspect in a questionable death of a prominent local businessman.  It was just a precaution.


Josephine (Joey) Murphy, M.D was admitted to the room in which Alex was being held.  The eminent psychiatrist was an expert in traumatized women.  She had helped hundreds of battered women rebuild their lives.  The medical staff that had been observing their new patient were disturbed and concerned about her.  Dr. Murphy had offered to consult.  They accepted.


The doctor scanned the room.  It was sterile and bare, like every other room in every other psych ward she'd been on.  Alex was strapped into the bed.  Her hair was brushed and clean.  Had it been visible, she would have seen that the hole in her cute little naval was healing.  Body jewelry was not allowed in the prison.  It had been a shame to cut it off, but there was no choice.  She had been inordinately attached to it, emotion-wise.


The cool grey eyes smiled down at her.  Alex met them calmly.  She did not seem to be irrational at all.  Still, the doctor was intrigued by the facts in this case.


"Hello, Alex.  How are you feeling today?"


The patient grinned back.  "Wow.  That's a switch.  Everyone else asks; 'How are 'we' feeling today?'  I never know how to answer that."


The doctor laughed.  It was a low, generous sound.


"Somehow, I don't think you belong in here."


"In the loony bin or in prison?"




"Thanks.  Be sure to tell the warden."


The doctor was silent for a while as she did a basic physical exam, her smiling eyes constantly moving back to look at Alex' face.  She lifted her eyelids, poked and probed gently, noting certain physical signs.  She went back and checked her chart, then smiled sadly.


"Is the father Damon?"


Alex nodded.


"Did you love him?"


"I wanted to.  But, no, I didn't."


They looked at each other, the doctor weighing her next question carefully.


"Do you want to keep it?"


Alex hesitated.  It was wrong.  "


"No.  I'd always be afraid he'd turn out like his father."


"Would you like me to arrange it?"


Silently, Alex assented.  There were no tears


"Alex, I'd like you to come and see me when you get out.  Maybe stay a for while.  It would do you good."


Alex looked down and shook her head.


"Why not, Alex?"


"I have a Master," she said quietly.


"He's dead, Alex."


The girl looked up the doctor.


"Not to me," she said simply.


The doctor took one of the fragile hands in hers, holding it lightly.


"Oh, how I wish you had found me first, before him.  We would have been so good together."


Alex squeezed the strong hand tightly.  "I know, Ma'am.  I wish I had found you first, too."


With a parting squeeze, the doctor stood and walked to the door.  Alex watched the beautiful Dom leave, knowing she would never see her again.  Her scent lingered for a long time.


Alex slept peacefully for the first time that night.  She was free.  The voices were finally gone.


A week later, Alex had a minor procedure in the OB-GYN clinic of the prison.  Shortly after that she was moved to the general population.  Surprisingly, both the inmates and the guards left her alone and her mind slowly healed.


The Board met and discussed a growing problem within the Syndicate.  They met without the knowledge of one very powerful member.  A decision was reached and it was unanimous, based mainly on the recent terrible loss of one of their top directors, who had tragically been driven to suicide by a vengeful woman.  Mrs. Elizabeth Farnsworth was invited to a garden party a week later.  Sadly, she was laid to rest the next day in a lovely ceremony attended by only the Board and their closest associates.  She died two days later when the oxygen finally ran out of the large coffin the Board had special ordered for this occasion.  She screamed until the end.


Alex stepped from the courtroom a free woman.  During the brief questioning, the prosecutor hadn't asked her if she had killed Damon Arquette and she hadn't volunteered.  A secret witness for the defense had cleared her.  There had been a government agent in deep cover who had witnessed the events that had occurred in the months prior to Mr. Arquette's death.  That testimony corroborated the evidence.


She had not even been considered a suspect in her husband's death.  He had been found dead with his secretary.  The time of death was a little fuzzy, but regardless, she had been in custody at the time he was motoring down to the Islands.


When she was finally released from custody, the property clerk handed her the small envelope with her personal effects.  Attached to the envelope were a couple of other claim tickets that took forever to find in the disorderly mess of the property room.  Alex walked out with a large canvas bag and an envelope from a coroner in the British Virgin Islands.


She opened the envelope first and read, "We regret to inform you that your husband, Mr. Harold Wilson, was found dead in the waters off the Road Town.  The cause of death was found to be accidental drowning. ..."  The rest of the papers were the official death certificate and a copy of the autopsy report.  It hardly registered to her.


She stepped out into the bright sunshine and stood on the steps of the courthouse.  She had been confined for three months before she had been cleared.  The state apologized for the inconvenience and she agreed not to press charges.  In fact, she thanked the prison staff for their kindness and for the care she had received, both in the hospital and in the lock up facility.  They had been stunned by her attitude.


She saw the familiar figure sitting on the steps, about mid-way down.  Slowly, and with not a little fear, she made her way slowly down to stand beside her friend.  Alvin had come to see her released.  It pleased her.


"Hello, Alvin.  I'm surprised to see you here.  And pleased."


"Hello, Miss Alex.  When I checked, they said you'd be out today.  I've been waiting."


"Oh.  Well, thank you."  There was an awkward silence.  "Tell me, what have you been doing lately?  Since the club closed, and all."


Alvin looked at his big hands and sighed.  "I've been meaning to talk with you about that Miss Alex.  I'm sorry now I didn't tell you the whole truth before."


"That's OK, Alvin.  I wasn't exactly completely honest with you, either."


He grinned.  "I know.  But I just resigned my job, so I can say more now.  I was working for the government, sort of.  It was complicated.  I had a job at the club already, they just sort of recruited me.  I was handing them enough information as it was without their help.  They didn't know how to handle me, really.  I guess they checked me out, liked my record and signed me up.  It's easier to hand out money to an employee than a snitch.  Still, it was all very unofficial, of course."


"Oh.  So you're unofficially unemployed--  Oh, God!  Alvin!


He looked at her with an amused grin.


"You just figure it out?"


"Oh, Alvin.  Thank you.  You were the witness!  But how?  ...  Why?  ...You knew what happened.  I told you.  Why didn't you tell them?"


He looked down at his feet.  "I figured it was self-defense, Miss Alex, only there was no way a jury would see it that way.  I just saved the tax payers some money, that's all."


"But you lost your job!"


"I wasn't fired.  I resigned.  After I knew the truth about Lewis' death, I couldn't stay on.  I killed him, just as sure as Mr. D did.  I was responsible for too many deaths, very nearly your own, too."


"What I did was my decision."


"It took guts, even if you won't admit it."


"I was being selfish, Alvin.  You could have gotten hurt, too."


"Yeah, I know."


They were silent.  It was hard, remembering.  Eventually he took her hand and they started walking down the steps.  There was a big park across the street.


"What's in the bag?"


"I don't know.  I'm afraid to look."


"You want me to look for you?"


She handed him the bag.  He unzipped it and rummaged through it.  Inside it were her collar and leash, some clothes and shoes and some other things.  He closed the bag.


"It's the past, Miss Alex.  Just the past.  Let it be."


She nodded.  He tossed the bag into the nearest trash bin.  She didn't look back.  It was over.


Alvin stopped under a tree and made her face him.  He took his hand from his pocket and laid it over both of hers.  When he removed it, she held the black cord.  He had found it on the nightstand and taken it.  She stared at it, then up at him, her eyes misting.


"I know this is part of the past, Miss Alex.  But it's part of you, too.  I watched you.  You need this.  You need a master, someone strong.  But I figure you need more.  You know that now, too.  You need to be loved, Miss Alex.  And when you find the right man -- or woman -- you give them the rope.  They'll know what to do."


A single tear fell from her eye, then she slipped the silken cord into her pocket.


"So what are you going to do now, Miss Alex?"  They were walking aimlessly.  The park was empty.


She showed him the Death Certificate and told him there was an insurance policy.  She didn't say for how much, only that there was about a million dollars in a British Virgin Island account.  He whistled at the amount.


"I'm free, Alvin.  I thought I'd go somewhere warm and open a club.  Would you care to join me?"


It was a hard question to ask.  If he said 'no'...


"I'd love to work with you, Miss Alex.  But not in a club.  That's not the place for you.  Me, either."


"Oh," she whispered.  He had said 'no.'


Slowly she turned away and walked into the park.  She had no idea where she was going.  But where ever it was, it would be alone.


He let her get to the edge of the clearing.


"I know about Petunia."  He said it softly.


She stopped walking, but didn't turn around.


"I know about your pet, Petunia, Miss Alex."


She turned.


"What?  How did you find out?"


"I spent some time with your family.  They're really nice folks."


"What?  When?"


"Well, I had to hide somewhere, didn't I?  I just figured I'd hide out with them."


The thought of this huge mountain of a man, black as a moonless night, 'hiding' in her little lily-white town struck her as funny.  She started to giggle, then laugh.


"You?  Hide there?  The most color we ever get back home is a sunburn.  How did you pull it off?"


"I worked as laborer for your Dad.  It felt good to work hard.  It felt right, too.  And I loved your Mama's cooking, especially her pies.  The peaches were in season while I was there.  The pies were fresh and creamy with flakey cinnamon crusts--"


"Stop, you're making me homesick!"


"And your Dad is a lucky man.  Especially on Sunday afternoons--"


"Ooooh, you're terrible!"  She punched him in the arm.


"Daddy talked to you about Petunia?" she asked when he had stopped laughing.


"I slept in the barn.  I saw a stall with the name 'Petunia' on it.  It reminded me of a name I saw somewhere else.  I told you Dad told him how important it was.  I'd told him up front who I was, that I'd known you while I was undercover at the club.  I think he guessed a lot more than I told him.  He's pretty smart.


"I told him someone named Petunia saved your life, kept you same.  I asked him if it was the same Petunia.  He's a proud man, your Dad, but he cried.  Then he told me about your pet.  He showed me the Blue Ribbon from the fair, the stall and the window, too.  They still laugh about it.  Then he showed me the butcher shop, because I asked him to.  He still has her ear tag on the wall.


"They miss you.  I think they would like to see you sometime.  Your Dad, he misses you, most of all of them."


"Oh."  Tears fell silently as her heart was torn in small pieces.  She couldn't talk because of the lump in her throat.  Alvin kept telling her the news from home.


"Benny says 'Hi.'  I met his bride-to-be.  She's nice.  She said you know her.  Said she was your best friend in high school.  Cathy something.  Turns out, ol' Benny's the father of her first son."


Alex snorted.  "I wondered why she named him Franklin."


Alvin laughed.  "You folks sure got a strange sense of humor.  A pig named Petunia, Benjamin Franklin."  He looked at her.  "That's why you laughed at my tooth, isn't it?  The first time we met.  My diamond in my gold tooth."


Alex nodded.


"Anyway, looks like it's just going to be one big happy family.  From the looks of her, the wedding will need to be pretty soon."


"Oh, I'm so happy."


Alvin paused.  He looked nervous.


"I bought us a house there.  The farm next to your family's was for sale."


"Oh, the Jenkins' place?"


"No.  Ben and Cathy bought that place.  I picked up the Anderson's, on the other side.  Old man Anderson had a stroke.  Billy doesn't want to run the dairy.  I had a little bit of cash squirreled away. It seemed--"


"Wait a minute," she interrupted.  "US?"


He grinned and plowed ahead.  "Yeah.  I thought you and I could move back there..."


"You and I?" she repeated, not trusting to hope, not just yet.


"...for a bit while we plan our future."


"Our future?"  It kind of squeaked out of her.  Her eyes were leaking.


"Sure!  Maybe we could enroll you in the local college and I could work the three farms with your Dad and Benny."


"We?"  She was lightheaded.


"Then, of course, you could go to law school and I could retire.  I'm an old man, you know.  You'd have to support me."


He looked down at her.  She was crying.


"How you like the sound of that, Miss Alex?"


Alex reached into her pocket.  With both hands, she put the black cord back into his.


"I do," she said, simply.


He looked down at the cord.


"Huh?  I do?" he repeated slowly.  Suddenly the light went on.  The big man blushed and turned suddenly shy.


"Yeah, I guess I do, too, Miss Alex."


Both of them wearing stupid grins, they walked out of the park to where he had left his car.  He had packed everything he owned in the back.  He had been hopeful she would be returning with him.  Returning home.


He had shipped her things from her old apartment back to her family, including a stack of mail.  There wasn't much else to take with them.  They had each other, they were in love.  They didn't need anything else.


On the way to the car she took his hand and compared it to her small one.  An impish smile crossed her face.


Looking up at him shyly she asked "Alvin, are you this big all over?"


Smiling mischievously, his diamond caught the afternoon light and filled her eyes with rainbows.


"Oh yes, Miss Alex. Oh, yes."




The End