The Boss's Mistress
by Unknown


Punished Office Girl 


FOREWORD 

The man gripped the slithery tip of the of the big bull whip in one hand and 
the thick, leathery handle in the other. 

He advanced toward the writhing, twisting body hanging deliciously suspended 
from the hooks in the ceiling. Her voluptuous form was split down the middle 
and her high white buttocks were laid open so that her cunt and ass 
sphincter were plainly visible. 

Those delectable curves! The man gripped the whip handle harder and poised 
for the strike. He held the sinewy string of leather in mid-air a 
tantalizingly long moment before he snapped it hard and brought it down full 
force on the resistant girl's wriggling backside. 

It slapped down hard like a speed boat hitting rough water. And with the 
first snap of that whip, the man felt his erect member clang against his 
pants zipper. 

Sally felt the sting of the mean leather bite into her flesh. It burned like 
a ring of fire. She winced and fought as the tears rolled down her cheeks. 

Shit! She thought to herself. It feels so low, so subhuman to be strung up 
here like a worm on a hook waiting for this torturer to strike again. 

And he did, this time right between her ass cheeks. Right down into that 
shadowy valley where her anus sphincter was squeezing and pulsating in pain 
and terror. 

She cast a sidelong glance at the wall to her left. She saw an eerie shadow 
playing on the wall. It was a man and a woman. The man was hard. The woman 
was kneeling and putting her head down toward the man's enormous dick. The 
shadows distorted and flickered against the stone wall as she heard someone 
in the audience call out, "Suck him, Wench!!!!" 

 CHAPTER ONE 

Sally Pomeroy clutched her shoulder bag a little tighter to her body and 
headed for the subway exit. You couldn't be too careful with these crowds. 
She always worried that somebody might snatch her bag or her necklace or the 
watch on her wrist. 

"Sorry," a corpulent dark-haired man with a straw hat on his head yelled in 
her ear just before he stepped on her foot to get ahead of her. 

"It's okay," Sally mumbled under her breath, "I walk on them, too." 

The escalator up was crowded. And the hot air that blasted her in the face 
didn't ease the situation any. August was not her favorite month anyway. And 
here, in this subway pit, it was hotter than the mail room of Hades. 

She wished she were on her way to some nice air-conditioned office 
somewhere. Someplace where the coffee wagon carried iced tea and nobody much 
cared what you did between the hours of nine and five. But such was not her 
fate today. 

In feet, she was out of work. Courtesy of her last boss. Mr. Frederick 
Bevelton. Vice-President in Charge of Operations of Bevelton Pencil 
Corporation. Also, President of its North American Branch. Sally couldn't 
imagine that there was a South American branch of Bevelton. Surely the 
people in those turbulent countries would have overthrown such an operation 
long ago. It was a known fact that Latins revolted against oppressive 
dictatorships. And Bevelton Pencil Corporation was one all right. 

Sally had grown to hate it a lot in the three and a half days she had worked 
there. In fact, she hated it before she started. But, she had needed the 
job. God how she had needed that job! She had been fired, let go, terminated 
or laid off every single job she had had since secretarial school two years 
ago. Something always went wrong. Even when she tried. But this last job was 
the worst. 

She read an ad in the paper that said they needed a secretary, an executive 
secretary. Sally had been to Mavis Forrest Secretarial School in the city 
and she hadn't done too badly. At least the male instructors always gave her 
good grades. But then, they had ever since junior high school. Maybe it had 
something to do with the fact that she was a sandy blonde stunner with a 
film star figure and a set of legs to make a race horse weep with envy. Men 
had always liked her. And Mr. Bevelton had, too. 

"Yes," the man said, chomping his cigar and swiveling his big cushioned 
chair around to get a better look, "I think we can use a smart girl like 
you. Of course, the hours are long, the work is tough, and I can't let you 
make any personal phone calls on my office phones, but the job has its 
benefits." 

Sandy was so glad to get the job she didn't even notice that Mr. Bevelton 
didn't look at her resume. He was too busy staring at her knees. He also 
neglected to interview her. Just kept selling her on the job as soon as she 
sat down and hiked her skirt up a little. The way she had been taught by an 
instructor at Mavis 

Forrest. 

"Keep that chin up," Mr. McEnroe would say to her every day after shorthand 
class. "Keep it up there, young lady. You're learning. That's the important 
thing. You're trying." 

Then he'd follow her all the way out the classroom door and lean over toward 
Sandy's blonde hair covered ear and whisper, "But if you have any doubts, 
keep your skirt up, too. Just in case." 

Bevelton never even tested her shorthand. That had been kind of funny. He 
also never called Mavis Forrest School to check to see if she had ever been 
there. He just kept jabbering on about all the "benefits". 

And it wasn't long before Sandy found out what some of those so called 
benefits were. One of them was Mr. Bevelton's inner office. 

Sally thought things like that only existed in books. But, sure enough, the 
first night on the job, after an eight hour day of busting the copy machine, 
spilling lighter fluid on the office carpet, and managing to misfile a 
rather important pencil contract, Sally could hardly believe that the man 
would actually ask her stay after hours to do some extra dictation. 

Dictation had never been her strong point, really. And Mr. Bevelton had 
insisted she write with a company pencil. The damn cheap thing kept breaking 
off every time she set the point to paper. 

"Sorry," she said, as another inch broke off and fell on the carpet, "I 
won't press so hard next time." 

After about ten minutes of trying to get "Dear Sir" down on her steno pad, 
she was ready to scream. 

Bevelton didn't seem at all disturbed. He laughed a little and swiveled 
around to face the window. Then, he closed the blinds and stood up. 

"I think it's been a very long day for you, Miss Pomeroy," he grinned and 
hooked his fat firm finger into the vest pocket of his three piece gabardine 
suit, "I know it has for me. How about some liquid refreshment?" 

Sally had been dying for a glass of something cold all day. She managed to 
miss lunch. She spent the entire hour looking for a pair of cinnamon colored 
stockings since one of hers had gotten a runner when she stooped over to 
file some inane piece of blue paper in some drawer or another. 

"How do you like your Scotch?" the big, barrel-chested man asked as he 
pressed a little button on his desk. 

Sally was about to tell him that she never drank Scotch in her life when she 
saw the wall on her left split apart and slide off in two opposite 
directions. 

She watched transfixed as the wall receeded and a little room became visible 
behind it. It was lit in soft, pink lighting and there was the low hum of a 
stereo coming from within. She saw a little bar come into view where the 
carpet of the office room now stopped and beyond it, a fat, enormous white 
sofa with blue and silver cushions. A little waterfall was set tastefully 
against the far wall. Tropical plants were sprouting up everywhere. She 
heard a parrot chattering and then saw him fly up and land on a perch over 
the bar. 

"I don't go out much," Mr. Bevelton said, holding out his arm to assist her 
out of her chair, "so I keep this little home away from home." 

Sally could not possibly imagine what Mr. Bevelton's real home must look 
like. Tigers in cages, perhaps? Emerald mines? Virgin sacrifice, perhaps. 
That last thought gave her a little shudder. 

"You like?" The man was bending over very close to her. 

"Nice." Sally said, putting her steno pad down on the floor. 

"Why don't you join me inside?" the man said. Somehow, in the interim, he 
had managed to get to the bar and grab a fifth of liquor. He was pouring it 
into glasses when Sally crossed stepped from the broadloom onto the straw 
mat. 

"You know," the man said in a voice that sounded tired, even to him, "I 
don't share this little room with many people. It's kind of my one big 
secret." 

"I like secrets," Sally managed to say, looking up at the mirrored ceiling. 
"Sometimes." 

"I hope you like mine, Sally," the man said in a voice that sounded 
insincere, even to him. 

It was at that moment that she heard the office walls slide back into 
position. She gulped a little sip of the fire liquid in the glass down her 
throat and wondered if there was any other exit out of there. 

If you want to know something," Mr. Bevelton said, after a few sips. "I 
think you're just about the nicest thing that's walked into our office since 
the French cleaning woman flipped out and exposed herself in the reception 
room. 

He let out a hearty bellow and brought his glass down to the bar counter. 
Empty. 

"Mr. Bevelton," Sally began, tentatively, "I hope you don't think...." 

"Ah, please," he said, draining the last of his drink, "call me Frederick." 

"Frederick," was all she got out. 

"I'm not wild about that name, but it's my father's. Not wild about my 
father either, but it's his business." 

She waited as he turned morosely toward the mirror behind the bar and poured 
himself a short second drink. 

"Why don't we go on over to the sofa and sit a spell?" he said, sounding 
very friendly and trying not to sound too eager. 

"That's fine," Sally said, "provided we lay down a few ground . ... " 

"Girls in the office seem to like you fine," the big man said, lowering 
himself into the comfort of the waiting cushions. 

Now Sally knew he was lying for sure. Three of the girls in the office had 
walked away when she tried to introduce herself and one of them had spilled 
diet soda right into her open purse. 

"I can't understand why," she said, trying to sound respectable. "I haven't 
been working here long enough." 

"Long enough," Mr. Bevelton said, philosophically staring up at the ceiling, 
"how long is long enough?" 

Sally fumbled for an answer as he continued. 

"I may not have known you long, Sally, but I can tell you something. I like 
you. Funny how you get a thing about someone. You just know right away 
whether or not you like them. Know what I'm talking about?" 

Sally was afraid she did. 

Frederick Bevelton patted the seat next to him with his big, jeweled hand. 

"Come," he said simply, "sit." 

Sally made a long, slow cross to his sofa and sat down on the edge as though 
she were Miss Muffet expecting a spider. 

"Come on, Gal," the big man bellowed, "relax. Put your feet up." 

"I'll try," she faked gamely. 

She kicked off her shoes and felt the straw matting under her feet. The wet, 
running sounds of the waterfall and the chattering of the parrot were a nice 
change from traffic and electric typewriters, she had to admit. But Mr. 
Bevelton. Well, he seemed to have something more than dictation on his mind, 
right now. Possibly even something more than a little innocent drinkie-poo. 

"I want you to be comfortable," he said grandly, gesturing in a hospitable 
way to the surroundings, "so, I'm gonna take off my jacket." 

Sally missed his logic, but by the time she thought about it, he had already 
removed his tie, his jacket, his vest, and his shoes. 

"You a liberal lady?" the man said, reaching over to open his humidor. He 
pulled an obscenely huge cigar and ripped off the seal. 

"I think I am," Sally said, proud of her Democratic voting record. 

"Well," he snorted as he lit his cigar and waved the match out, "you may 
have a chance to prove that. Why don't you show me your tits." 

"What?" Sally said, her eyes big as soup bowls. "What kind of girl do you 
think...." 

"You already told me you were a liberal lady, remember?" 

Sally pulled herself over to one end of the sofa and gripped the big arm in 
terror. The man had her right where he wanted her. At least in the general 
vicinity. And he could really do most anything at all with her. Virgin 
sacrifice. Ha! That would probably be just for starters. 

Frederick Bevelton reached out with his enormous paw and hooked one fat, 
muscular finger around the girl's collar. He dragged her back across the 
upholstery toward him and grinned down at her. 

"From that sweet smile you got," he leered into her face, "I'd say you got 
all the makings of a good little cocksucker!" 

Sally froze under his steel grip as the man reached down with his free hand 
and yanked his zipper down. It sounded like a wombat just scraped his 
fingernail along the blackboard. She winced as she saw what he drew out of 
his crotch basket. It looked like a jackhammer in flesh tights and she knew 
it wasn't even fully hard yet. 

"Kind of proud of my size," the man said, giving his dick a little shake. 
Sally dug her fingernails into the sofa seat as she wondered how the hell 
she was going to get out of this one. 

"I think you'll like it, once you get the hang of it." The man said, pulling 
his huge basketball balls out. 

Of course, she might like it, but how was she ever going to get her mouth 
around it in the first place? 

He moved his hips up and down on the sofa as he brought his tremendous 
catcher's mitt hand around his thick cock pole. He pulled the foreskin down 
and swung it in Sally's direction, as though he were offering her a 
refreshment. 

"I ... I ... " Sally was trying to think up something really profound to say 
to the man, but the movement, the slow, hypnotic up and down movement of his 
hand along the thick, hard shaft of his pecker wood had a disturbing effect 
on her. She simply couldn't speak. 

"I hope you might like to take charge," the man said, gliding his hand 
slowly up over the round smooth knob of his monster prick stick. 

Then, he brought it down slowly, all the way to the hilt. The trip took 
several seconds. 

Sally felt her resistance melting away as the man's hard rod grew harder 
under his slow, rhythmic pumping hands. She wanted to run, she wanted to 
puke, she wanted to tell him to fuck himself, but she sat there, frozen. 
Frozen and watching The man brought his thick thumb pad to the huge dome of 
his cock and dabbed at the pre-cum sticking to the slit. He worked a little 
down over the smooth head and along his shaft. The sounds were sticking to 
Sally's brain like salt water taffy. They had also started to stick 
somewhere else. 

She wiggled a little under Bevelton's still lock-grip hand as she felt 
herself slowly getting steamier under her silk panties. As if his cock 
wasn't one of biggest, fattest, thickest, meanest, longest ones she d ever 
seen, those sounds were driving her to salivate. 

Frederick Bevelton just sat there absent-mindedly staring down at his prick 
and coaxing it bigger and harder with each stroke. He knew it wouldn't be 
long before this little girl would give in and suck him. She had to. She 
couldn't possibly resist the lure of his hot throbbing rod. No woman had 
yet. He worked his hand a little faster up and down the shaft and felt the 
veins beneath his grip coming to the surface. 

"Could I?" Sally heard herself say. She sounded like a wind-up doll in a 
nursery. 

"Here," the man said, smiling grotesquely and bringing her tiny hand to rest 
on the head of his wide, hard schlong. "Knock yourself out." 

He reached down to the ashtray for his cigar. He loved to puff on that thing 
while somebody beat his meat. Preferably somebody young, petite, blonde, and 
not too bright. Sally Pomeroy was to the manner born. 

Sally recoiled at the firm, yet spongy touch of the man's prick knob. It was 
slightly tacky and vibrated when she made contact with it. 

"Go on," the big man said, feeling very content with himself, "touch away." 

Sally tried to bring her whole hand around his shaft, but it wouldn't reach. 
Then she assisted herself with her other hand and encircled his giant, man 
meat by reaching her thumb and index finger around it. 

"Fast thinking," Frederick said, bringing his feet to rest on the coffee 
table and feeling his prick harden up a little. 

Sally bit her lower lip and drew both her gliding fingers all the way down 
the man's long cock pole. The grease from his slit eased her way along it 
until she got to the hilt. She felt his hard, steely balls under the palms 
of her hand and couldn't decide whether or not it would be appropriate to 
play around with them. They seemed so lewdly inviting. 

"Just keep that up a little," the man moaned, confident in his ability to 
last at least another eight seconds as the little nymphet glanced over his 
glans with her two spread hands and her tongue hanging out. 

Sally began to instinctively pump her hands up and down the wet, slapping 
hard member and felt it grow still more rigid under the skin of her hands. 
The action was arousing her to a fever pitch. She bit down on the tongue 
hanging out between her lips and let out a little cry of pain. 

"Getting to you?" the big man said, laughing a little and exhaling a huge 
puff of Havana smoke. 

Sally wanted to deny it, but she didn't think it would be convincing, 
especially since she had already started to drool onto her chin and her left 
knee was shaking like a maraca against her right one. 

"Why don't you try giving it a little suck?" he said, trying to fight the 
uncontrollable urge to let out a whoop every time the girl's fingers met 
atop his prick knob. She had begun to pick a nice rhythm all right. Maybe 
she would prove to be a good cocksucker. 

"I don't know," Sally tried as she felt Mr. 

Bevelton's enormous paw strike her down to within an inch of his vibrating 
ramrod. 

She swallowed hard and looked dead ahead down into his hot, wet cock slit. 
She felt herself soften in the core and her panties grow more moist with 
ever breath she took. She was starting to feel hot and bothered. Steamy and 
torrid. The tropical surroundings were getting to her. And they were getting 
to her right between her legs. 

"Oh," she said, as she felt the man's hand close in around her left tit. 

Frederick could feel the tight air-born mass of perfectly circular flesh 
beneath his huge hand. He wanted to feel more. He reached down and massaged 
her right tit hard under his hand. Then he found the buttons on her blouse 
and twisted them out of their holes one by one. His cock wracked and flailed 
hard the whole time. 

Sally felt her blouse come sliding off her shoulders and the man's hand 
reach for her bra hook. It didn't take long for him to disengage the hook 
and eye, and she just stared into the eye of big prick the whole time. 

"Big succulent tits," Bevelton mumbled, "my favorite kind." 

He fingered the girl's smooth, rubbery nipples in between his fingers as he 
brought her head down on his cock. He could feel the hot breath of her mouth 
steaming it up just before he felt the wet tongue press hard against the 
shiny, round dome. 

Sally glided her tongue all around the rim of the man's big thick wet crown 
and flicked it across his shaft a few times. It tasted delicious. Good 
enough to eat. She couldn't help herself any longer. It was just too much 
for her. She couldn't hold back. That seemed to be the law of the jungle. 
And she was set right down in the middle of one right now. The incessant 
chattering of the parrot, the rush of the little waterfall, the stereo music 
all told her that; 

She felt overwhelmed by a surging desire to suck the man's cock. Her thighs 
ached with passion and her cunt flowed with juice of excitement. 

She popped the man's big prick right down into her mouth and began sucking 
on it hard. She slid her head down to the hilt and rolled her tongue around 
the wet, pulsating log as she worked her mouth back up, slowly, slowly and 
teasingly. She coiled her head around and sucked the man in a clockwise 
motion, then she reversed it and sucked him counter clockwise. All the time, 
she kept her up and down movements slow and rhythmic. She went up again and 
vibrated her hot, eager tongue around the head before she slid back down his 
shaft and sucked him hard at the base of his peter. His balls felt like a 
rock garden under a flagpole. 

"You do that well, kid," the big man said, smiling up to the mirrors above. 
He was getting a superb bird's eye view of what the girl was doing to him. 
As she came off a moment, he could see his huge, long prick pole glistening 
in the dim light of the room. Then she disappeared down over it again, 
sucking and flicking her tongue all the way down. 

"Do that, Kid!" he heard himself say, kneading her tits between his fingers 
and thrusting his hips up high to receive her eager mouth hole. She had him 
in such a tight lock, he could feel the friction mounting to a white heat. 

"Oh, shit, do that, do that to me. God, that's it. Don't stop. Suck me. 
Christ, suck me. Do it. Oh, God, suck the shit out of me. Suck that pecker. 
Suck that big prick." 

Sally was sliding up and down as hard as a piston on high gear. She let the 
saliva roll out of her hot, horny mouth as she dove down so hard and came up 
easy on the man's enormous fuck stick. She hit him again and again, like 
waves of pleasure. like non-stop washes of agonizing desire. She hit his 
cock again and again with her sucking, spinning mouth. 

"Fuck!" the man called out, pinching her tits together and pulling hard on 
the big thumb nipples, "I'm gonna shoot!" 

He thrust his hips up high and hard into her mouth. Then he split his cock 
slit open with the force of his shooting spunk. It came bursting out of his 
prick hole. Right out the end of his pecker. It came spurting out 
uncontrollably in white, hot, rushes of thick, comey goo. 

Sally bolted her head up on its impact. The hot, wet spunk stuff hit her so 
hard, it rocked her head back a moment. Then she felt the rush, the 
delicious pouring rush of white, hot cream. She felt the spurting buckets 
full of heavy, hot jism spewing all over the back of her throat. It aimed 
itself at every pore, every flesh pocket of her insanely tight little mouth 
gripper. She buckled right down on it. She came back down it hard and 
eagerly lapped it up. She licked and sucked and slurped and swallowed every 
ounce of the thick come cream. She ate the hot white liquid as eagerly and 
happily as a puppy drinks milk. 

"Fucking little Sucker!" the man yelled, surprised to find that the girl 
actually had performed so admirably under fire. Sally ate some man spunk off 
her lips and then licked the corners to make sure she had gotten it all. 
Then she sat up. 

The man stared at her high round titties as they bounced into place the 
moment she straightened her back. They were every bit as stunning as they 
had felt delectable. He could feel his numb, still rock hard pecker begin to 
nod. 

Pity, he thought to himself, he would have liked to have fucked the little 
Cocksucker right then and there. 

"Is it hot in here?" Sally said, looking over at the waterfall. 

Mr. Bevelton shook his prick a little and folded it back into his pants. "I 
think you're a little hot." He said, zipping his pants up. "No, I think 
you're quite a hot little number. That's what I think. like another drink?" 

Sally reached out and shoved the metal frame of the revolving door as hard 
as she could. She just couldn't believe how Mr. Bevelton had changed. He 
seemed so nice that first day, if a little forward. But still, two and a 
half days later, he fired her. Just like all the others. 

What had she done? What had been her crime? All right, so she was no great 
shakes as a secretary. But Mr. Bevelton said she gave great head. He never 
stopped raving about it, in fact. 

The next day had been a little more fun. Not until after work, but she was 
on a heavy overtime schedule. He had invited her into his office again, same 
scenery. Then the wall opened up and they strolled into Nairobi. This time, 
he insisted on going down on her. It had been fun. In fact, her pussy 
smarted a little just thinking about it as she pushed the elevator button of 
the huge stone skyscraper she was standing in. 

The elevator finally did come and the door split open. Sally half-expected 
to see a little jungle setting come into view with a bar in one corner, but 
no luck. She scrambled in just as the doors started to close again. Then, 
after forty people rushed in after her holding the door open for each other 
as they did so. Then, the elevator sat there for another minute and a half, 
so full you couldn't get a Kleenex inside. Finally, the doors thudded shut 
and thing headed skyward. 

Sally took in her breath and let it all out. She was practicing relaxing. 
She needed to relax. She had to look calm. Calm and lovely. Serene. Even 
though it was ninety-five degrees outside, the peak of lunch hour, and she 
was ready to scream from desperation. She felt desperate. She tried not to 
feel desperate. All right, so she needed a job. All right so she had no 
references worthy of the name. All right so she hadn't worked more than 
three and a half days in any one place in two years. These things happened. 

"Getting out," she said from the corner as the elevator touched down on 
tenth floor. 

She wiggled her sensuous hips through the crowd and stepped out. She hoped 
the place would be sensible. Reasonable. She hoped to hell they would give 
her a job at least. 

"Won't you please have a seat, Miss ' Pomeroy?" the receptionist invited. 
She gestured to the plastic row of orange seats in the waiting area. 

Sally noticed about fifteen other people were ahead of her. She was going to 
have a long wait. Too bad she hadn't brought something to read. She sat back 
and looked at the plastic ferns growing out of the corners. 

Mr. Bevelton had really turned into one sour lemon all right. And that 
second evening had been such fun! He even gave her a little gift. A tiny 
gold heart on the end of a chain. Then they had another drink, and he fucked 
her under the waterfall. 

Wild and wet. That would describe it best. Very wet. He had coaxed her under 
that waterfall. Promised her a really good time. And he had been good. 

"What are you doing on that coffee table, don't you know staying dry is not 
where it's at, Sally?" Fred said, peeling his shirt down over his shoulders 
and ripping it off his wrists. 

He was standing on the little rock wall that banked against the pool where 
the waterfall fell. He already had his pants off and that monster schlong of 
his was dangling about halfway down to his knees. 

"I don't know," she said, trying hard to resist the lure of the wild, 
rollicking falls as it hit the asphalt rocks strewn in its path and coursed 
over the plants growing out from the wall. "I can't swim." 

"Not to worry, Doll," the big man bragged, sticking his toe in the water. "I 
was a junior lifeguard in college. I'll save you should anything go wrong." 

And he had. Once he got her into the water, ripped her dress off and rubbed 
his hard hands all over her body, she had slipped and fallen. He had to pull 
her up by that sandy blonde hair and wipe it out of her eyes. Then, of 
course, he shoved her up against the rock wall and plugged the daylights out 
of her tight little cunt. 

Sally could still remember the way Mr. Bevelton looked at her when she had 
her clothes off. 

"That's a classy little cunt you got there," he smiled, pulling her pussy 
lips back and admiring the view. She was rosy hot pink and wet inside. It 
looked like the perfect place to park his long cock. Sally blanched fuscia 
as the man explored her pussy locale. She loved the way his thick, tough 
fingers felt as they parted her tingling plump cunt lips. 

"Oooooh," she said, feeling the ecstasy rush to the spot and supply more 
blood to her throbbing cunt veins as the man brought his thick, sensual lips 
down to her pussy and pressed them around the rim of her hole. 

Then the man took his semi-hard man meat in his hands and ran it around the 
whole perimeter of her pussy inner lip ridges. The contact points made her 
gasp with excitement. 

He brought his full thick cock head in between her lips and made for her 
wet, quivering hole. He stuck the huge knob inside and worked it hard until 
her cunt juices and pre-cum fluid mixed enough to allow him the necessary 
lubrication to forge ahead. 

"That hurts," the girl shouted out as he worked his stiff cock wand into the 
pink grip lock. He had to work the head very hard back and forth, back and 
forth to make any headway at all. Penetration of this tight little chick was 
not as easy as she looked willing. 

"Ouch!" she said as he stuck himself in a little higher, still backtracking 
every little bit to ease the way in with joy juices from the both of them. 

Sally felt the man's full sail masthead heave to and fro inside her tight 
pink twat. It burned and stung and ached like fury, but she certainly didn't 
tell him no. It felt like he was trying to get two cars into a single 
garage, but she never once protested. She thought for a few seconds that 
from the size of the man's loaf and the size of her wee box cunt that he was 
going to cut off her air. To choke her. Then, she remembered that she didn't 
do all her breathing from her twat. 

"God this feels like a fuck fest to me," the man shouted as he plunged his 
giant wick into her tiny jam jar. He wanted to just take ahold of her tiny, 
frail shoulders and slam on in to home, but he thought better of it. Chicks 
like her needed to be primed before they could be pumped properly. That's 
what he intended to do. 

He reached around and grabbed her clit between his thumb and his index 
finger. He shook it hard a few jerks and felt it rise up like a leech full 
of blood. He massaged it hard, then harder between his fingers as he 
continued to ram his big fuck stick into her swollen, raw pussy hole. 

"Oh, my God," Sally moaned, "I can't take much more of that." 

"Too bad," Fred said, plugging her a little more, "I got a lot more to give 
you. Just hang on, Honey." 

He slid still more of his thick meat rack into her tight, hot bar-b-que pit. 
The wrapping, packing, gripping, slipping motion was unbearably sweet. 

Then he sunk his rod into her hole up to his hilt and then held it there for 
an interminably long time. He circled it a little bit, in opposition to the 
circles he was making with his finger on her engorged love button. Then her 
cries came into his ears again. 

"God, it's too much, it's just fucking too much." She moaned. 

He could see that her face had turned red and her eyes were rolling back 
into her head. So he started pumping her harder. He pumped her like he was a 
drill and she was an untried oil bed. He plugged the stuffing out of her as 
he pulled his rod almost all the way out and pushed it right back in again. 

He brought his free hand around front and massaged her high, fleshy tit 
cups. 

Sally looked down and saw the man's thick bronzed-tone arm against the soft 
white of her ice cream mound tits. She saw him grasp the nipple of one of 
her eager hot tits in his fingers and squeeze it hard. Then she felt it. She 
felt it go right through her tit back to her rib cage and down to her toes. 
Then it ricocheted back up and hit her at the base of her brain. 
"Owwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww," she screamed loud enough to scare the parrot. 

"Am I hurting you, Sugar?" the man said, in between gasps for air. 

"Nooooooooooo," Sally wailed back to him "I'm cominggggggggg....." 

Fred wracked his meat wildly against the girl's womb opening and squeezed 
his butt muscles together hard as he fondled her breasts and diddled her 
thick clit button with a vengeance. He felt he might break the little thing 
in two. Slam, bang, slam, bang. He was rocking his rock hard pecker in and 
out. Out and in. No slowing down now. No easing up or showing off. No way. 
He felt his cock gear go in for the big grip and he tensed every muscle in 
his body. 

Then he felt his balls cram up inside themselves and flick a trigger 
somewhere deep inside his bowels. Then he heard something go BANG! 

He blew his spunk load out the end of his big cannon. He exploded the gun 
barrel of his cock and a high-powered load of cock come came out of it. He 
banged and he fired his huge semen weapon all up inside the wiggly wet 
squirm hole of the girl s cunt. His cock shot and the cunt took it. Right on 
target. 

Sally felt herself pull up into a spasm of non-stop orgasms. She was coming 
and coming and coming. A whole string of firecrackers went off inside her 
one after the other. Pop, pop, pop. She twisted and jerked her whole body 
with each wild orgasm. Every come was bigger than the last. She couldn't 
find the brakes. The man's big huge dick just kept firing and she just kept 
repeating the gunshots. She spilled her juice. She oozed the come stuff out 
her crevice and down on Fred's finger. She let go her juice load all down 
her leg and along Fred's thick, veined cock pole. It ran down his pecker, it 
ran into rivulets down his balls. It covered his pecker and his balls and 
flowed down his thigh. 

"I think you just shot your stuff, Little Lady," he said, as he watched his 
own milky liquid follow hers down both of their legs and head for the 
bubbling water. 

"God, that hurt," the girl sobbed as she ran one hand through her still 
soaking sandy locks of hair. She wondered how she was going to be able to 
sit down the next day at her desk. Her pussy was throbbing with pain so hot 
and hard her ass was numb. 

But the next day, she did find her chair. And she sat in it. Until five 
o'clock. Then Mr. Bevelton asked her to come into his office for some more 
"dictation." 

"Are you reading that?" a cute young man said, leaning over her and pointing 
to the open magazine she had spread across her lap. 

She must not have been fooling him by letting it lie there. And the truth 
was, she wasn't reading it. She gave it to him and smiled wanly. 

"Miss Pomeroy," the receptionist's coolly efficient voice wafted over toward 
her. "You're next." 

Indeed she was. She could see from the way the waiting room looked that not 
much movement had occurred since she sat down. But sure enough, as luck 
would have it, she was next. 

"There's a really good ad on page twelve," she said to the cute guy, "other 
than that, the magazine's a total waste." 

She held onto the strap of her shoulder bag and disappeared into a little 
cubicle. 

A broad-shouldered middle age man sat behind the desk. He was wearing a dark 
tan suit and a big, flashing grin. Whatever it was that Sally had shown him 
in that first moment, he seemed to like. 

"Miss Pomeroy," he said, standing up and extending a massive, solid hand 
with sturdy, elongated fingers. "Rolf Drake." 

"Hi" she said, sitting down. She was so intent on looking at the rugged hunk 
behind the desk, she forgot to swing her shoulder bag onto her lap and 
promptly sat down on it. She rose swiftly up off her seat and swung the 
damned thing up where it belonged. 

"How's the weather out there?" The cute hunk said, reaching up and 
scratching his ear. Sally wondered if it would split his seam. His muscles 
were bulging that hard. 

"Beastly," Sally replied, smiling coyly. She hoped to hell he hadn't seen 
her resume. 

"I've just been looking over your resume," he said, shaking his head. 
"Frankly, Miss Pomeroy, your work record is something less than 
superlative." 

"I know," she said, casting her eyes down toward the linoleum "Life hasn't 
been too kind these past two years." 

"I hope you'll understand, that we might have a hard time placing you in a 
good job, given your work record." 

"I didn't come to this agency for a good job." 

"What did you come for? This is a job agency." 

"I came for a job. Any job! ' 

"Hmmmmm " the man said, stroking his chin and leaning on one elbow. "Stand 
up again." 

Sally stood up and brought her weight to one foot. She licked her lips to 
check for lip gloss and stared back at Mr. Drake. 

"Would you wait here one moment?" he said, standing up. He looked like a 
line backer for a pro football team. 

She nodded her head as he strolled through the half-glass door. Five minutes 
later, after she had scraped all the finger nail polish off her fingers, he 
returned. 

"I think I may have a line for you." He was really grinning now. So hard 
that Sally saw that one of his teeth was solid gold. 

"I've heard a few this week," she said, trying to sound hopeful, but sadly 
fearing she missed the mark. "What is it?" 

"Ever hear of Tip Top Temps, Inc.? " he said, busily writing some 
information onto a white card. 

"No," she said, shaking her head. "I thought I'd heard of all the temporary 
worker agencies. I've worked for most of them, uh, temporarily." 

"I'm not surprised," the man replied, scribbling away furiously with a thick 
ball point pen. "They're a small outfit. And, I better add, exclusive. They 
specialize in hard-to-place candidates." 

"Well, that's me," Sally replied, remembering to cross her legs and hike up 
her skirt. It was a little late, but it never hurt to take out insurance. 

"They're located not far from here." He finished his chicken scratching and 
handed her a card with an address on it. And a name. Sally could barely make 
it out. 

"I can walk here?" Sally said, still unsure of her way around the big city. 

"Oh, yes," he said, standing up and extending his hand toward hers. "It has 
been a pleasure, I assure you." 

"Thank you, so much," Sally said, finding herself in a little curtsey pose 
as she clutched her card hard between her fingers and felt strangely 
optimistic. 

"I shall leave you on a precautionary note, Miss Pomeroy," the athletic hunk 
said, "Tip Top works with some of the top clients in the city. And in the 
world. But they may appear a little peculiar at first." 

"Oh?" she said, blinking her eyes like headlights in the fog. 

"They have some unusual ways of screening new candidates." 

Sally cocked her head to one side and looked into the man's tanned 
good-looking face. Nothing she hadn't probably already been through. 
Considering how Mr. Bevelton had already screened her without her knowing in 
advance that it was going to be peculiar this place sounded refreshing. 

"Bye," the tall hulk said as he opened the door for her. 

She could smell the distinctively woodsy smell of his cologne as she sailed 
off through the open door and out. 

 CHAPTER TWO 

Willowy, raven-haired Whitney Wilde put the telephone receiver back into its 
cradle and stared out the window of the mammoth skyscraper. So Tip Top 
Temps, Inc. was to have a brand new applicant. She pulled a pencil out of 
her desk. Rolf didn't send many applicants her way. Only those with that 
special quality. Only those who didn't make it as secretaries by the usual 
standard. But then, hers was not the usual standard. And Tip Top Temps was 
not the usual temporary job agency. 

She swung her legs out from under the desk and glanced down at the tiny hole 
in her black mesh stockings. It was small now, but those things had a way of 
stretching out into ragged holes big enough to stick a fist into. She worked 
the high gloss fingernail of her right hand into it and pulled it away from 
her leg. It was a hole all right. She would have to change those stockings 
before that new one, what was her name, "Miss Pomeroy," got here. 

Whitney stepped to the supply closet and pulled it open by the handle. It 
folded in fourths and she reached for the light. Then she stood back to 
look. Red mesh, blue mesh, silver mesh, leatherette, velour, silk, every 
damn color size and description of stocking hanging up there and not one 
single black mesh. She would just have to go out and get some. Later. 

Then she eyed the rest of the clothing on the racks. Full-length black satin 
and leather corsets. Iron-maiden waist cinchers. Leather boots with stiletto 
heels. Lots of leather bras and camisoles of various styles and 
descriptions. 

Whitney was proud of her wardrobe all right. It had taken a long time to 
accumulate it. A lot of the very heavy leather and metal gear had had to be 
special ordered. But it was worth it, every penny of it. 

She grabbed a pair of black silk stockings with rosette seams and kicked off 
her platform shoes. Then she opened the closet door a little wider and gazed 
in the mirror. She had a body on her all right. Stacked, as they say. And 
she was proud of it. She dressed it in the finest satin, lace, and leather 
that money could buy. She had earned it. 

Tip Top Temps, Inc. was her baby, after all. She had pioneered it. And it 
had paid handsomely for those who played along with it. Tired executive 
after bored vice-president, even president had gotten the benefits of Tip 
Top's unique customer service. They had learned discipline at some of the 
hands of the city's finest mistresses of pain and pleasure. 

"Hello, Tip Top," she had heard countless chief executive officers say to 
her over the telephone, "could you send me one of your finest secretaries? I 
need a girl who can handle a particularly tough situation." 

Of course, Whitney had sent over a young dominatrix, one who knew how to 
make those men behave. 

How many private office suites had been turned into dens of discipline 
because she had the capability to run this kind of operation all by herself. 
How many thankful, appreciative executives were still smarting from the 
lessons they had received at the hands of her employees? 

And it had started out so simply. Only ten months ago. She had been working 
at a job agency just down the street, she had met Rolf Drake there, and it 
had been okay, as far as those things go. 

She was a strikingly tall and shapely young woman, never had trouble 
handling people. Never had all her life. And she liked handling them. She 
liked to get as much domination over them as she could as often as she 
could, as a matter-of-fact. 

"I'm looking for a very special sort of girl," an aged, shaking voice had 
come to her over the telephone one day, "I do hope you understand." 

Whitney hadn't. Not at that moment, anyway. But she found out in a hurry. 

"My name is Kale Larson. I am the president of Larson China and Silver. I 
assure you, my credentials are unquestionable. Check on me if you like. I 
only recently lost my best secretary. She got married and moved out of town. 
I am so terribly afraid to call any of these sleazy houses of ill-repute." 

At that statement, Whitney blanched. What the hell was this old codger 
after? Still something about his voice, his position, his money, made her 
listen on. 

"I don't take my discipline lightly. Oh, dear, I hope I'm not coming on too 
strong. Please let me assure you, price is no object. No object whatsoever. 
Do we understand each other?" 

Whitney nodded her head in silence. The man on the other end of the phone 
blotted his sweating forehead with his handkerchief and hung on. It was a 
long shot all right. One that might not work, but he had to give it a try. 
He was desperate. And he was afraid to call one of those places that ran ads 
in the newspaper for such things. He didn't trust anyone not listed with the 
Better Bureau of Better Business. 

The black-haired beauty pondered a moment. Then she relaxed and spoke easily 
into the phone. "I think perhaps we can help you, Mr. Larson. But, of 
course, I would personally have to set an appointment with you, check out 
the surroundings and set a fee. You see, on such a sensitive and special 
assignment, I couldn't send just any girl." 

"OH, no, no, no" the man replied, "I wouldn't want you to. By all means, 
come. I welcome the opportunity to meet you. I'm certain that if we can come 
to some kind of arrangement I can be of help to you in the future." 

Whitney hung up the phone and checked herself in the mirror. She was in her 
tweedy conservative stage then, though her figure was not at all 
conservative. It was lushly, roundly, fully, hotly developed, with curves 
aiming out and up and around and over. She thought that she looked safe 
enough to fool anyone, though, and patted her huge black twist knot on top 
of her head. That was tame enough looking to fool anybody. 

Mr. Larson's office was well-appointed. Carpets you could sink into, Italian 
Renaissance furniture. Nothing but the best. And Mr. Larson was nothing to 
sneeze at either. 

From their phone conversation she gathered he was aged. He sounded so shaky. 
Probably from fright. He was a sizable man. Broad-shouldered and 
silver-haired. Handsome, well-muscles, and rich. Very, very rich. 

"Won't you come right in, Miss Wilde?" he said, shocking the receptionist 
who had asked her to sit and wait her turn. Everybody wanted to see Mr. 
Larson. 

She entered a posh, sparsely-furnished inner-office with a spectacular view 
of the city and several admirably good works of art on the walls. 

"Have a seat, my dear," he said, guiding her to a high-back white 
upholstered chair. "I do hope we can speak frankly," he said, leaning back 
against his enormous desk top, "I am a man who-likes to come right out and 
say what's on my mind. At my age, I haven't time to play games." 

"I appreciate that," Whitney said in the most aggressive voice she could 
manage. She may have been new to whatever Mr. Larson was proposing, but 
something told her to keep her chin out there. And keep her skirt up. 

"Won't you step this way, I've something to show you. My dear secretary left 
these things here. I'm determined to keep them for her . ... uh, until she 
comes for them, of course." 

"Of course," Whitney said, flashing her deep amber eyes and rising from her 
seat. 

The two of them made for still another inner-office and Mr. Larson flicked 
on the lights. The place was well-furnished, tasteful, like all the other 
rooms she had seen so far. An enormous board room table filled this one. 
Huge, soft blue cushioned chairs surrounded it. 

A board room Whitney thought, nothing too unusual here, so far. 

As she glanced around, Mr. Larson had opened a closet and stuck his head in. 
He pulled out a suitcase and brought it down with a soft thud onto the board 
room table top. 

"These have such sentimental value," the man said, as he flicked the clasp 
on the suitcase and pulled it open. "I do hope they'll come to mean as much 
to you as they do to me. 

Whitney had no idea what the man had in store here. But she had been around 
a lot of demanding men, a lot of eccentric men, some even downright kinky. 
And she had been able to cater to each and every one of them. The only 
requirement, she had found, was an open mind. An open mind and little 
willingness. The desire for big bucks didn't hurt either. 

"I have such a fondness for Florentine leather," the old man said, pulling 
out a full-length jump suit with a heavy industrial metal zipper and a very 
plunging neckline. The entire piece was studded with silver studs from 
shoulder to cuff. "I collect fine things. And this one, I'm especially proud 
of." 

He withdrew a long, single strand of leather thong and tugged a bit to free 
the other end from under the pile of goodies. 

Whitney tried not to flinch as a stout leather handle emerged. She knew, by 
then, that Mr. Larson was holding a whip. A long, black leather one. 

He reached into the suitcase again and pulled out a pair of high-heel 
leather boots and a length of cord, some hand-cuffs, chains, and two 
C-clamps. 

"Can you help me," he said plaintively to Whitney, "I'm in terrible need, 
and I've been such a bad boy." 

He shook his head and cast his eyes down toward the carpet. He reached for a 
handful of the dominance equipment and shoved it across the top of the table 
to where she was standing. 

Whitney took a long hard look at the stuff. It would be a challenge, no 
doubt. And, being as how Mr. Larson was an important client, she figured it 
best to come out square with him "I see no reason why we can't come to 
terms, Mr. Larson," she said quite forcefully. "I want you to know, however, 
right from the start, that I am a little . ... how shall I say it . ... new 
to this sort of business venture." 

"Not to worry, Miss Wilde," he said, in a grandfatherly tone as he stroked 
the leather whip lovingly with his firm, sturdy fingers, "I'll be here, too. 
Nothing to worry about. And I think I can tell, from the way you carry 
yourself, that you'll be quite suitable to the task." 

He smiled a devilishly little boy smile and brushed his hand over the black 
and silver pile of equipment. 

"May I change somewhere?" Whitney said, feeling that she was quite ready to 
try anything, after his reassuring words. 

"Ah, yes," the man said, indicating a little room off to one side, "there's 
a bathroom right here. Ah, you'll need a mask, too, I believe. Such lovely 
hair," he said, rubbing his hands together gently. 

Whitney disappeared into the bathroom and took her dominance equipment with 
her. She slipped out of her clothes quickly and turned to the mirror. God, 
she loved looking at herself in the mirror, any mirror. And this was going 
to be fun. There was a full-length one right on the back of Mr. Larson's 
executive bathroom door. 

She unsnapped her own pink satin bra and pulled it down over her tremendous 
air-born tits. They sparkled and shone out creamy ivory in the diffused 
light of the bathroom. Her nipples were dark circles of bumpy, reptile hide. 
They were the size of silver dollars and stood out so far it looked as 
though they had been fitted onto her enormous breasts. 

She slipped her pink nylon panties down over her tight, curvy hips and slid 
them over her thighs. Her shiny black bush looked lustrous and inviting as 
it reflected itself in the mirror. Through it, she could barely make out her 
huge, thick pink cunt lips. 

She left her own black garter belt on and unhooked her rather conservative 
beige stockings and replaced them with a thick, tight pair of black mesh 
ones. 

Then she dug into the pile and pulled out a severe half-bra with wired cuand 
stays. She put it on and shook her huge tits into it by bending over toward 
the front as she hooked it in back. Then she looked at herself. 

The effect was dramatic. Her tits rose straight up toward the roof in that 
thing and the tops of her nipple circles were quite visible. She became 
aroused almost immediately as she took in this picture of herself. Her black 
hair made a perfect match to the theatrically black under garments. 

Then she found the leather jump suit and put it on. It fit her like a shrunk 
glove. When she zipped up the huge metal zipper which started down under her 
legs, she noticed how it pressed her tits strongly together in a forced 
cleavage fashion. She let the zipper down a little so that her tits bounced 
a little down into the opening. Still, they stuck together so hard it looked 
as if they had been glued. 

The boots came on after. They were so tight they weren't easy to get into. 
They added nearly another six inches to her already above-average height. 
They were of finest black leather with a thick, wood and metal sole. The 
heel was a single blade of deadly-looking stiletto. She could have put 
somebody's eye out with it, she was certain. 

She took in the whole picture and felt immensely satisfied with herself. She 
looked the part, the part she had seen displayed in movies and magazines, 
but never had the opportunity to try. Now, at long last, was her 
opportunity, the perfect opportunity. 

She opened the door and strode importantly to the table. Mr. Larson was 
sitting in the corner with his eyes downcast. He wore absolutely nothing 
except a thick, french-cut leather jock strap. His body was in excellent 
form. His muscles were well-toned and enormous. 

"All right," she said, just the way she did when she was an office manager 
at her last job, "Let's get to work." 

Whitney remembered that incident quite well. She loved going over it now and 
again. It was good to be reminded of what had happened that day. And it had 
been less than a year ago. Mr. Larson had become her first client. Their 
session together had been immensely successful. He had even encouraged to 
start this business she now ran. Had helped her financially. He had been 
impressed with her gifts as dominatrix. 

She smiled and closed the door of the closet. Then she returned to her desk 
and turned on the stereo. Some soothing music. That would make the young 
lady feel at home. 

Mr. Larson had been so cooperative that first day. And he had never let her 
down since. Two and three times a week he called for a "special girl" to 
come and relieve his boring routine. Mostly he asked for Whitney, but was 
content with whomever she sent him. She trained the girls personally, so she 
knew they would be up to par. Executives expected the best. And Mr. Larson 
got the best. He said so himself. That first day. 

"You'll need these, Mistress," he said, helpfully holding out a pair of 
handcuffs. He also gave her some shackles that she used to bind his feet to 
the legs of the board room table. 

"Lie silent," she told him, finding her most authoritative voice to speak 
in. 

He had obeyed willingly as she gagged his mouth with a black band and worked 
feverishly to cuff his wrists and tie the metal cuffs together under the 
table. She thought she had him pretty tied up and bound by the time she 
started for the whip. 

That was one thing she was a little hesitant about. She had never whipped 
anyone, though she had slapped some girls around who couldn't seem to behave 
themselves in the office. Office managers had to be tough. But no whips, the 
boss wouldn't have allowed it. 

However, it simply did not prove to be too difficult. She thought she had 
the hang of it quite decently, in fact. She simply brought the thing up over 
her head, cracked it, and brought it down on Mr. Larson's high spread-eagle 
ass cheeks. 

How he had screamed in pain! "Aaaaahhhhhhhhhhh," he protested as she reared 
her arm up and again brought the leathery rein down to meet his quivering 
butt mounds. 

"Oh, Mistress," the man said, "what did I do to deserve this?" 

"You slimy, disgusting piece of office furniture,' she shouted, flailing 
that thing down hard again and actually reddening his ass this time, "you 
don't deserve to draw another breath." 

Then she belted him again. By now, she was noticing red welt trails where 
she had lashed him severely. But he seemed to be responding well to this 
harsh treatment. And he took his punishment like a man, too. She had to 
admit. She also had to admit something else. She was starting to like doing 
this. It seemed the natural order of things, really. 

Here was a man, completely helpless, bound and gagged and lying flat against 
the table, with his ass raised up to receive her cruel whip blows. She was 
in complete control, total power. What could be more right? She, the 
temptress of time immemorial, and he her willing subservient. After all, 
didn't she know best? She had always thought she did. 

"Eat my whip!" she shouted and broke the still again with a piercing snap of 
leather as she brought the whirling thing down on his helpless backside. 

Kale Larson shrank into the glossed table top and withered with ecstasy. He 
loved to break in a new young dominatrix. Especially one with this much 
natural inclination. She was regal and haughty and extremely beautiful. All 
the requirements necessary to make a full-fledged Class A mistress. And he 
had become her total slave. It hadn't taken her long to swing into high gear 
either. He winced as he felt the bite of the whip savagely slash his 
buttocks. 

After five minutes of intermittent lashings, the man had become so imbued 
with pleasure and heightened sensations of lust, he begged to be let off the 
table. 

Finally, when she was good and ready, she let him. She made him get down on 
all fours and rode him around like a trick pony. She beat his butt with an 
English riding crop and dug her boots into his stomach flesh as she pranced 
around the floor with him under her. 

She had even adjusted a little harness, made specially to fit him, around 
his head and over his mouth and reined him in any direction she wanted him 
to go. 

"Move, you lowly scum spot," she bellowed, kicking his ribs with her boot 
heel and forcing him to carry her this way and that, faster and faster. 

Finally, after riding him hard, she let down the thick gold zipper in his 
kid skin jock strap eased his schlong out with one leather-gloved fist. 

Then she beat his backside to a pulp as she forced him to jerk himself off 
in front of her. His face was a mass of weathered wrinkles and etched with 
pain. He begged her, he pleaded with her to let him go, to stop this insane 
charade once the gag was out of his mouth. But she whipped him so 
forcefully, so harshly, he finally controlled his tongue and bent to her 
wishes. 

She let him kiss her boot tips as he jerked himself off with one hand. He 
had a long firm cock handle, too, and a steady gliding hand to service it 
with. The better to service her, she thought. 

He whacked himself however she commanded. Slower, faster, harder, softer, 
whatever her pleasure was as she sat in one of the huge chairs with her feet 
up displaying her open wet cunt to his face. She wouldn't let him close, 
though. She forced him to continue jerking himself as she played with a long 
five lash leather whip along his flanks and down into his ass crevice. 

From where she sat, she could see him perfectly articulating his massive 
cock up and down under his hand. She made him pull his balls out of the tiny 
zipper and saw him squint in pain as he did so. They must have pinched him 
terribly in that position. Then she made him masturbate at her feet, kissing 
her boot and licking him with the whip the entire time. 

Kale Larson felt his balls being pinched so hard, he knew they must have 
been turning blue, but it was worth it. The excruciatingly delicious rush he 
was getting from this woman was worth anything. She was the complete 
mistress. His dream dominatrix. 

He gobbled eagerly at her boot tip. He licked the sole of her shoe, 
demeaning position. So low, so brutally, unthinkably beneath contempt. And 
here he was, down on the floor, crawling in filth and debasement, and loving 
every putrid second of it. 

"Lick you despicably unworthy worm!" the woman said, sounding like the Red 
Queen ordering Alice's head off. 

Mr. Larson was whacking his hot, wet pickle as hard as she would allow him 
now and he felt very, very close to shooting his juice. But the long, slow 
build up to this moment had filled him with such longings and desires, he 
hoped he could hold out a little more. 

"Not until I tell you," she commanded, bringing her free boot up to his cock 
and pressing every so firmly on his already-aching balls. 

"Mistress," he wailed, "please, I'll do anything, anything to please you." 

"You'll come when I say and not before," the woman spat down at him. 

Whitney was feeling herself getting so hot by this time, she had to pick up 
that English riding crop and fiddle herself with the stout handle of it. She 
rubbed that hard leather core against her clit and felt it rise with the 
full pressure of engorged blood. It smacked and whomped against the leather 
thickness and pulsated and hissed against her cunt lips. The heightening of 
her own pleasure on her own time was giving her a power rush almost as fine 
as the one she was getting from dominating Mr. Larson. 

"Oooohhh," she said, trying to control her volume. The sight of that man 
down on his knees, slurping on her leather boots, jacking himself like a 
pile driver, the feelings of arousal under her own hand as she stroked and 
massaged her hot hard clit with the leather crop, all these feelings added 
up to one giant tower of desire. 

The man grabbed his pecker wood harder and dug his fist into it as the woman 
had commanded him to do. He beat it more savagely, waiting for her orders. 
He hoped they wouldn't be long coming. The pressure under his cock head, 
along his glistening hot shaft, all the way down to the base of his prick 
pole, was mounting like a tidal wave. 

"Now," the woman shouted. 

Kale stuck his tongue back in his mouth a moment and concentrated solely on 
plunging his big ringer hand down and up the full length of his wicked, 
willing cock stick. He plugged himself harder, harder with his whacking, wet 
hand. He fixed his gaze down onto his mistress's huge black boot and he 
struck his hot hand wad tight against his cock and worked it ever faster all 
the way up and down, down and up his slick wet shaft. 

"Aaaahhh," he said as he let out a huge load of spunk from the top of his 
flagellating pecker. "Eiieeeeeeeee," he shouted as he shot his spunk bank up 
and onto his mistress's shiny black boot toe. He shot more of it up as high 
as the rim of her black boot and a little onto the soft leather of her jump 
suit leg. His spunk seemed interminable. His juice wouldn't stop. His bucket 
overflowed and sprang in every direction. His cup was running over. 

"Come you Sucker!" Whitney cried, as she slashed her slave with the teasing 
leather thongs of the five-piece whip. She lashed him harder as she watched 
him shooting his white load up and over her boot. 

Then she felt her hold on herself give way as the excitement of arousal 
touched her insides in a place she could no longer hide from. She ground her 
hips hard into the seat to keep herself impacted. She tried to hold back her 
come, but the excitement, the intense heat of the pressure were too much for 
her. She let out a huge, hopeless cry of lust and let go of herself. She 
shuddered and shook as she popped like a string of firecrackers in every 
direction. She moaned and groaned and tossed herself around the chair as she 
felt the waves of hot blinding orgasm cover her. She spent herself hard onto 
the seat cushion, she thudded up and down in a thousand tiny hot jolts of 
electricity as she let go of her insides. Her come burst forth from deep 
inside her. It wracked her whole frame as she beat her clit harder and 
harder to keep up with the pace of the onslaught of her climax. She was 
coming like a truck barreling down a hill and she couldn't stop herself. 
Furthermore, she didn't want to. 

Whitney heard the buzz of her intercom and leaned forward to depress one of 
the call buttons. No doubt that was her secretary, Miss Schultz. Miss 
Pomeroy had probably arrived. That was good. She needed Miss Pomeroy. She 
needed a cute, sexy girl, the kind Rolf Drake had described to her over the 
phone. A girl who was hopelessly not cut out to be a secretary. A girl who 
was desperate. The girl was adorable. With sandy blonde locks that hung in 
curl clusters around her angelic-looking face. Those rosy cheeks, that 
teasing little smile. And those phenomenal looking knockers. Her legs were 
well-proportioned, too, with tiny, chiseled ankles. 

"Pleased to meet you, Miss Wilde," Sally said, looking around to see if 
anything was amiss. Nothing so far. And this woman, this Miss Wilde, was so 
beautiful.' For a moment there, she thought she had walked into a modeling 
agency. 

"Make that Whitney," the woman said, rising out of her seat and going to 
pull a chair over closer to her desk for the girl. 

"Oh!" Sally replied, feeling quite at home, despite the rather harsh 
sounding tone in the voice of the woman. 

"Rolf told me you might be a suitable applicant for Tip Top," the woman said 
beaming across to her from the safety of her desk seat. 

"I hope I'm a suitable applicant for something!" Sally said, her words 
rushing uncontrollably past her teeth and out her mouth. 

She would have liked to hold back a little on this woman, would liked to 
have not revealed her pressing need for a job, her financial disability, the 
fact that she needed to pay her rent one of these months. She would have 
liked to act very suave, very aloof, very cool. But she had already blown it 
a little with those first few words. So why the hell not come clean and 
blurt out the whole horrible mess? The worst the woman could do would be to 
send her away and so many employers and agencies had done that already. She 
felt that she was walking around under a cursed rain cloud. 

"Oh, Miss Wilde . ... uh, Whitney," the girl sobbed through clenched teeth, 
trying to control herself, "I'm so afraid." 

"What's wrong?" the woman said, scanning the girl's entire body for any 
flaws, skin eruptions or disabilities. The customers didn't like such 
things. 

"I don't know, exactly," she wailed, fumbling in her purse for a 
handkerchief. As usual, she couldn't find one. 

"Here," Whitney said, offering her a large box of tissues, "take one." 

Sally reached up and tried to smile through her tears as she grabbed about 
fifteen tissues out of the hole of the white box. She felt like she needed a 
good cry about now and she hoped the woman would be sympathetic. 

"I can't seem to hold down a job," she said, wincing at the hard truth. It 
hurt not to be successful. It hurt not to be appreciated for your abilities. 
And it hurt to have to tell about it, too. But she felt like she was in the 
right place. At least the woman hadn't stood up and shoved her out of the 
office door yet. 

"It happens," Whitney said calmly running a fingernail through her long 
winding hair. It was immaculate, but the girl was making her nervous. 

"My mother told me I should have some kind of training, and I went to 
school." Sally revealed as she blew her nose. "Mavis Forrest. I'm sure you 
heard of it." 

Whitney had, it was one of those secretarial schools that sent her dozens of 
applicants when she worked for a regular job finding agency. Their girls all 
acted like blown up dolls and continued to wear their skirts short long 
after that style had gone the way of the bustle. 

"I did like they said," she whimpered, dabbing at her eyes, "I wore my 
skirts short. I even learned to type and file. Shorthand, you know all the 
things I'm supposed to know about. And I actually graduated. But it's been 
downhill ever since." 

"Care to talk about it," Whitney ventured, knowing the answer full well by 
this time. 

"I've just been from pillar to post and back again in the two years since I 
graduated," she said, fighting hard to control the tears again. "I tried all 
different kinds of agencies, ads, job-finders places. And the offices. 
Absolutely everything. Lawyers, doctors, veterinarians, loan sharks, 
gypsies, pirates, you name it. They all seemed so nice in the beginning. I 
really got my hopes up for most of those jobs. I tried to get along with the 
office personnel and keep my nose clean. But always, always, inevitably, I 
got the sack." 

The tears had started to run down again and Sally found herself wiping her 
cheeks free of them as she tried to look up at Miss Wilde and give her the 
whole story. 

"You've had quite an ordeal," the dark-haired woman said, opening a drawer 
and pulling out her nail file. It was going to be a long confession, so she 
figured it best not to waste time. 

"The last man I worked for, Mr. Bevelton. I lasted three and a half days. He 
was a corker, all right. He treated me like I was a billboard for laxatives 
during working hours, but after five o'clock ... " the girl's voice trailed 
off and she shook her head, "he turned into the 

Cassanova of Thirty-Fourth Street. He invited me into this huge play room, 
you wouldn't believe it. A bar, a revolving bar, actually and a waterfall. A 
waterfall! Now you would think I would have known that he didn't have 
anything on his mind other than you know what!" 

Whitney filed her nails and blew at them a little. This girl obviously had 
an overactive imagination. That was all to the good. But she also talked too 
much. 

"Miss Pomeroy, Sally, if you don't mind," she said, very motherly, very 
smoothly, as she grinned like a diabolical banshee, "I'd like to hear your 
story, but I trust you understand that I have other clients waiting to see 
me. I must say that it sounds like you have had the unfortunate circumstance 
that many young girls find themselves in. You're attractive, bright," she 
swallowed hard on that one and continued, "and in need of some specialized 
placement. And we here at Tip Top Temps are expert in specialized placement. 
We specialize in it." 

"Do you really think you can find me a place, Whitney?" Sally said, staring 
hopefully into the woman's amber eyes. 

"I think we can," the woman answered, "but it's going to take a little work. 
There's never a fee at Tip Top Temps, we prefer to take a percentage. Off 
the top." 

"I don't care about the money," Sally lied, "I want a job." 

"Now, now," Miss Wilde said, shaking a sharply-pointed finger at Sally, 
"don't be so anxious to sound humanitarian. There's nothing wrong with 
money. It's human to want to be paid for one's labors." 

"How much would I make, do you think," she dared to ask, "provided, of 
course, you could place me?" 

"More than you've been able to make through any other agency," the woman sat 
back and smiled as she swiveled her chair from one side to the other, "we 
guarantee it." 

"I only hope I can live up to your expectations, Miss Wilde, Whitney," the 
blonde girl answered. She sniffled a little and-pocketed the remaining 
fistful of tissues. 

"We will have to test you, of course," the woman said, sounding very 
officious all of sudden. 

It was what Sally had been waiting for. She would test anywhere from average 
to dismal, if her past record could be trusted. She stuck her dimpled knees 
together and sat a little straighter in the chair. 

"I'm ready," she said, bringing two fingers to her forward and giving a 
little salute. 

Miss Wilde smiled patronizingly and stood up. "This won't be the usual kind 
of test, Sally." 

"Oh?" the girl said, looking for signs from Miss Wilde's composure and 
movements as to what that might mean. She found none. 

"We are looking for a certain 'Je ne sais pas quoix," a certain quality in 
our girls that will help them please our very demanding, very particular 
clients. So our methods of testing may seem a little peculiar to you at 
first." 

"Mr. Drake told me they might," she said, feeling more confident than she 
had a right to. 

"Yes," the woman said, in a voice dripping with honey and butter, "would you 
come right this way?" 

Whitney steered the lost lamb over to her closet and opened it a crack. She 
flipped the mirrored door over against itself and Sally saw her whole figure 
reflected there in the glass. 

"I'm going to give you a little test, now." Whitney cooed to her. "Let's see 
how you do." 

Sally held her breathe and steadied herself. It might be tough, but she was 
going to give it her best shot. 

Whitney reached into the closet and grabbed three separate outfits off their 
hangars. She walked briskly to the wide sofa along one wall of the room and 
laid them out along it. Sally saw her set down a frilly summer dress with a 
pair of white gloves and a flowered pocket book. Next she put down a slinky, 
satin sheath dress with a plunging neckline and silver heels with ankle 
straps. The third piece was a black patent leather mini skirt with a studded 
corset attached, full Wellington black leather boots with laces up the 
front, and a cat o' nine tails. 

Whitney moved away from the display and paced up and down the room a few 
seconds before speaking. 

"Sally," she said, sounding like a regal monarch about to issue a royal 
decree, "supposing a client calls you and wants you to come to work for 
him.He says he needs a nice girl who minds her own business and is able to 
type, file, take dictation and act very sweet to him. Under these 
circumstances, which outfit would you select?" 

Without a moment's hesitation, Sally pointed to the frilly white smock 
dress. 

"So far, so good," Whitney said, continuing her little pacing trip, only 
speeding up a bit. 

"Now, supposing a client calls. He wants a smart girl who knows how to take 
care of business and doesn't mind working late. She need not be able to 
type, file or answer a telephone. Given these requirements, which ensemble 
here would you pick?" 

Sally thought a moment. She wanted to make the right decision. 

"Uh," she said, thinking it over very carefully, "that one." She had pointed 
to the tight black sheath satin thing. 

"Excellent," Miss Wilde snapped. "Now Sally, for the third and most 
difficult part of the test." She brought her hands behind her back and 
continued to pace like a college professor giving a lecture on 
electro-physics. 

"The telephone rings. It's a plaintive, yearning voice. A client. He wants a 
strong, clever girl. One who can mind her own business and everybody else's. 
She should be able to take charge. To give orders. But most of all, she 
should be able to discipline a man. Tell me, which costume would you wear on 
such an assignment?" 

Sally began to pace, too. She bit her nail and scratched her arm. This 
wasn't as easy as it looked in the beginning. Now the questions were getting 
really tough. She would have to put the old thinking cap on if she were 
going to get this one right. 

"There," she said finally, pointing her finger to the frilly flowered dress, 
"that one. I'd wear that one." 

Miss Wilde stared at her like she was Mr. Stanley encountering Dr. 
Livingston in the jungles of Africa. "Why?" she asked crisply. 

"Well," Sally said, twirling on one foot and feeling pretty proud of 
herself, "you said, 'discipline' and that dress reminds me of my third grade 
teacher, Miss Prendergast. Christ, could that lady wield a ping pong 
paddle!" 

Sally looked up at Miss Wilde who was now walking with her back toward the 
window She said nothing for a few moments and then she turned to face the 
girl full front. 

"Very well, Miss Pomeroy!" she said, firmly and loudly, "I think you're 
ready for the second phase of our testing. Let's hope you do better than you 
did on the first." 

 CHAPTER THREE 

The petite brunette pulled open the dresser drawer in the corner of her 
bedroom and fumbled around for something tight. Anything tight. Her hand 
grasped a pair of tight pedal pushers and she yanked them out, bringing half 
the contents of the drawer with her. 

"Shit," she said as she gathered the stuff up and stuck it back in the 
drawer. She was about to dig in the clothes hamper for something more 
appealing than a pair of gray pedal pushers with a hole in the crotch, no 
matter how tight they may be, when she remembered that her roommate had a 
few tight things. She shoved the door shut and headed toward her room. 

"Fucking no account bitch better keep something clean in there," she said to 
the empty hallway, knowing that she herself couldn't manage to keep anything 
clean at all. Probably came from doing your laundry once every six months, 
she figured, as she turned the knob to her friend's bedroom. 

Fortunately Sally wasn't home. She had gone job-looking. She did that 
practically twice a week. So even though she wasn't working much, she was 
gone a lot. It was a nice arrangement. Elaine hadn't published a poem in 
about a year and had had to take in typing from the local university to make 
ends meet. And now, with Sally out of work, she was trying to make both 
their ends meet. And it wasn't working out too well. 

She opened the blonde girl's closet and slid a few hangers around. There, 
hanging limply off one of them, was a lavender jump suit. Made of sheerest 
stretch nylon, it had to be better than what she could find in her room. She 
lifted it off the hanger, happy to have found something soft and sexy, at 
last. 

Lavender matched her eyes, too. They were blue, with just a hint of 
something darker in them. Probably devilishness. Elaine and Sally had been 
roommates since Sally got out of secretarial school and Elaine finished bar 
tending school. Their schools were on the same block. Right around the 
corner, in fact. Elaine had so much trouble making martinis and figuring out 
what a Harvey Wallbanger was supposed to have in it, she almost dropped out, 
but finally did manage to graduate. The girls struck up a conversation one 
day under a cafe umbrella in the park, shared lunch, and got to be good 
friends in no time. They shared a lot. Neither of them could seem to find 
their niche in the world. They both felt they were failures, accidents 
waiting to happen. Or maybe it was just that their time hadn't come yet. 

Elaine popped her sexy, petite figure into the slithering jump suit and 
pulled the thing up. She couldn't afford to wear underwear today. Excess 
baggage. Besides, she wanted Mr. Painsworth to see every ridge on her 
nipple, every wisp of her luscious auburn bush patch. She couldn't afford to 
have him miss a thing. The girls owed him a whopping bill in back rent. 

She looked at herself in Sally's dresser mirror and arched her back hard. 
Her tits made lovely high rounds of delectable flesh under the material and 
they strained hard against it, threatening to burst out of the zipper. Her 
thighs hugged in there tightly, too, creating the impression that she had 
been poured into the thing. Or that she wasn't really wearing material, just 
a coat of thick paint. That was what she wanted. 

"Bitch better not bitch cause I got her clothes on," she said aloud as she 
turned to profile and patted her pert, tight little backside. You could see 
everything inside that suit. "She owes half the back rent, after all." 

"Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzz" her doorbell rang as she picked up a hairbrush. Her long, 
straight chestnut hair would just have to wait. 

She then checked her flawless make-up in the mirror. She seldom wore it. Her 
face was such a naturally adorable radiant little mask, she didn't need that 
kind of enhancement, but today, well, today was different. Today, in less 
than a minute from now, she was going to go to that door and let Mr. 
Painsworth in. And she was going to screw him. She was going to screw him 
for the back rent. 

"Hi, Marty," she said as she opened the door and peeked shyly out into the 
hall. She had let part of her long, silky hair fall across her forehead 
seductively hiding part of one eye. 

Mr. Painsworth was unused to hearing his tenants call him by his first name. 
In fact, he had no idea she even knew what it was. 

"Hello, Miss McAlpine," the man said curtly. He stepped inside and looked 
around. The girls had kept the place up well enough, no nails in the wall, 
no pets, if only they had paid their rent on time, he wouldn't have to evict 
them. It hurt him to do that. And it cost him money, but his course was set. 
His wife had been nagging him about it all week. 

"Won't you come in?" she said, going for the lower registers of her husky 
voice. It was lucky she had that kind of voice. And it was lucky she looked 
a lot older than her twenty-one years, whereas her roommate looked a lot 
younger than hers. 

Mr. Painsworth sailed past her and stood with his hands in his lap as though 
her were about to say a benediction. 

Elaine gritted her teeth and tried to ignore what she knew was coming next. 

"I guess you know why I'm here, Miss McAlpine," the man said, rocking back 
onto his heels. He hated throwing tenants out, especially two girls as cute 
and sexy as these roommates, but his wife left him no choice. 

"Let me guess," she said, wiggling her hot ass all the way over to where he 
was standing, "but if we're going to talk about it, please call me Elaine." 
Elaine stared hard at the short man rocking back and forth on the throw rug. 
He was slightly-balding, wore horn-rimmed glasses and smelled like moldy 
violets. But he had been friendly to her and Sally, up to now only made one 
phone call to remind them they were in arrears with the rent money, and had 
generally let them do their own thing and stayed pretty much out of their 
way. She wondered if she could seduce him in five minutes. 

"Elaine," the man began ceremoniously, "I'm afraid I'm going to have to give 
you an ultimatum." 

"Oh, Marty," the girl said, easing her way down into the sofa across from 
where he stood by feeling her way with her hands, "I hope you won't be too 
harsh with me. It's been a long day and I've had so much work to do." 

"I know you're a hard-working girl, Elaine," the man said dourly, "I know 
because the neighbors are all the time complaining about your typewriter 
going all night. But that does not alter the basic issue." 

"Which is?" Elaine said, twisting a little piece of her copper hair between 
her fingers and crossing her legs. They were covered, but if she'd had a 
bandaid on her knee, he could have seen the brand name. 

"Please, Elaine," the man said, feeling a little hot under his collar. It 
was difficult being a tough landlord in these surroundings. They should be 
in his office, with his wife in the reception room, but here, with all this 
soft furniture and this soft little kitten purring up at him from the sofa. 

"Aren't you going to sit down?" the girl asked, patting the sofa seat next 
to her. "we can talk better if you do. I've got a big thing for eye 
contact." 

Marty Painsworth was developing a big thing for eye contact, too. Especially 
with that one eye of hers, the one he could see. The other one was hidden 
behind long tresses of spun gold and copper. He wanted to press that 
luscious metal into his palms. He tried to control himself as he sat down. 

"I'm going to be frank. You owe me four hundred and fifty five dollars and 
forty seven cents. I have my bills to pay, too. I need the money. I'm not a 
well man, though I know I look fit enough. I have children in college, they 
need a grand a week. Bills, constant upkeep and repair of this place, and 
that's not to mention...." He broke off his words as he found himself 
staring very closely into Elaine McAlpine's lucid, batting blue eyes. 

"I never noticed that before," she said, in her throatiest, most ardent 
voice. 

"Noticed what?" he said, feeling a little annoyed at having been caught so 
off guard. "Your dimple." 

"This?" the man said, pointing to a little impression on one side of his 
cheek. "This is not a dimple. It's a war wound." 

Elaine through her gorgeous head back and laughed in her most cunning and 
gurgling manner. 

"What's so funny?" the man from behind his thick glasses. 

"I was just wondering if you would show me where it came out!" Elaine said, 
bringing her head to an upright position and licking her lips. 

Marty chuckled a moment and brought his hand down to his knee to find that 
Elaine McAlpine's hand already rested there. He felt himself suddenly 
hopelessly given over to this girl. She was so captivating. So animal. So 
warm and sensual. And her tits were so big! 

"So what is it, Elaine?" the man said, straightening his tie. "You trying to 
screw me for the back rent?" 

Elaine felt a protest rise up in her throat but squelched it hard. Then she 
arched her back as hard as she could without cracking her spine and nodded 
her head in the naughtiest fashion she could find. 

"Well, I don't think we should be doing it in the living room," the man 
said, patting the firm fingers that rested on his knee, now making their way 
toward his thigh. He figured they had about another four inches to go before 
they would meet head on with his pent up schlong, which was crashing around 
its cotton cage like a snake on amphetamines. 

Elaine grinned at him and spidered her fingers up higher toward his cock 
basket. 

"Why don't you take that thing down a little further and let me see you?" 
the man said, feeling his breath drawing in with ever increasing difficulty. 

Elaine reached up and slowly worked the tight zipper down. She had only 
about an inch and a half to go before her full moons would come bouncing up 
out of the suit. When they did so, Marty gasped. 

"God, that's a gorgeous sight," he said, stretching his hands out fully and 
reaching for her round, bouncing pair. 

He squirmed hard as he made contact with the milky flesh of her tit loaves. 
They were incredibly voluptuous, soft, springy, solid. He brought his mouth 
down them and sucked one nipple hard between his teeth. It rose up like a 
bun in a micro-wave. He gobbled and slurped and pried his teeth around the 
whole circumference of her lustrous, bumpy nipples. He let his tongue circle 
them, play all the way around her whole tit, then slide into the succulent 
valley between and play with her crevice, then onto the other tit, around 
and around again. He could feel the moisture building up on them. He was 
getting them slick and juicy from his greedy, lapping tongue. 

He's not much to look at, Elaine thought as she felt her knobs rising to 
meet his probing tongue, but he sure can suck tit! 

The man felt his angry wand flail against his zipper track. He felt his 
huge, caged monster ramming and slamming up and down his underwear basket. 
He knew he would have to get some relief, and soon. 

Just as he was about to let it out himself, Elaine reached her hand down and 
patted it. 

"That feels like it wants out," she cooed like a turtle dove. "May I?" 

"Oh, God, I hope so," the middle-aged man replied. His glasses had begun to 
get foggy and he let them down over his nose. 

"You're hung like a horse," the girl purred, stroking his hard whang. "I'd 
like to wrap my lips around that." 

Without another word, she slipped out from under his huge hands and 
slithered to the floor in neat sections. She grabbed for the metal tab on 
his zipper and worked it down slowly, tooth by tooth. 

"This is exciting!!!!! " she said as she reached in and pulled out his hard 
prick. 

She was really unsure of what she would find in there. The man was such a 
small guy. About five foot and four inches. Maybe shorter. He had big 
shoulders though and a king-sized nose, so no telling. But she was 
unprepared for the hairy monster she pulled out of his dark cave. 

"Economy size!" she said, wondering where the hell she was going to put it 
after she did get it out. 

The man sat back and felt more confident. He saw the girl looking down at 
his big rod and felt relaxed and amused. His wife had never acted very 
impressed with his cock, but this girl was definitely taking in the sights 
and admiring them. 

"You've got a whang on you, Sir!" she said, surveying the hard log in her 
hands. "I just hope we can find a suitable spot for it." 

The man shrugged his shoulders and tried to act nonchalant. 

"How about your ass?" he said offhandedly. 

"Huh?" Elaine said, wondering how she would be able to get both hands 
wrapped around it at once. 

"Like I said, Elaine, you owe a lot of back rent." 

"Oh," the girl said, feeling as defeated as Napoleon at Waterloo. 

"You should get it nice and wet first though," he smiled, removing his 
glasses for the first time since early morning and setting them on the end 
table. "I don't want you should get hurt." 

Elaine sat like a statue, until the man coughed a little and reminded her 
that she had his prick in her hand by pointing toward it. And what a huge, 
wild wick it was. She couldn't tell how many inches exactly, but she doubted 
her mouth would go around it. 

She started in working the head, where she knew most of the action was. That 
might make him wet, at least. She spat on her fingers and slid them back and 
forth delicately across the wide knob of his cock tip. She worked the milky 
droplets of pre-cum around the whole circumference of his big dome and slid 
all five fingers around in it. She brought her other hand up and, opposing 
her fingers and thumb clung to the rim while she continued to play the dome 
with her fingers. It wasn't long before low, long moans came out of his 
mouth. 

"Ohhhhhhh," he said, unable to remember the last time his wife had felt him 
up this way. The heat of arousal was making his collar wet. 

"I hope you like a good hand job," she said, getting both her elbows into 
the act. She had to use all the muscles all the way up to her armpits, but 
she figured she could jack him off to climax at least. 

"To a certain point," the man replied cocksurely. 

Elaine felt her heart sink to her slippers. This guy knew what he wanted and 
he certainly had the purchasing power. 

"You do that good," the man said, spreading his legs and watching the girl 
play around the rim and across the head of his massive hard salami. 

"I want to do it good," Elaine said, in her sexiest lustiest voice. 

He knew she wanted to do it good till he spilled his prick juice down her 
hand, but he also knew he had staying power. He hadn't been married 
twenty-six years to a frigid marine sergeant for nothing. 

Elaine let her gripping fingers slide down onto his shaft. It was tough, 
leathery and hard. The skin was wrinkly and deeply-veined. The entire length 
of it was hard as elephant's hide. And totally intriguing. How had this 
little shrimp sprung such a massive cock anyhow? 

Marty watched the girl's sure fingers slip down over his cock hood and slide 
along the shaft. They made their way down tightly and rammed against his 
balls a little as they hit the hilt. Then she brought them up again and he 
felt his belt buckle melt. This girl was turning him on like crazy. 

"Take that thing off," he managed out his yellow tobacco-stained teeth, "I 
want to see your twat, you know." 

Elaine continued playing up and down his thick, greasy hard shaft as she 
worked the jump suit down over her hips. Then she wiggled her butt out of 
the tight sticking thing and thrashed at it with her feet until it came off 
all the way. 

"Now stand up," he said, "but keep playing with me. I love it." 

And he did. Her sure, small hands were playing symphonies of mixed notes and 
rhythms against his wracking schlong. Sweeter than any music he had heard in 
a long time. 

Elaine was masturbating him quite rapidly now. She sailed her hands up high 
and brought them down fast as she stood between her legs and bent over. 

Marty felt his shaft oozing come. It felt like vanilla icing dripping off a 
hot cup cake. He felt the girl's long, silky strands of head hair dangling 
and brushing against his thighs as she stood there and jerked him, beat his 
hard, heavy, pulsating meat. The sights, the sounds, the smells, were 
engulfing him. 

Elaine was sure she could get him to come, if only she would be allowed a 
few more minutes of this beating action. She felt her own bush burning a 
little as she spread her legs and allowed the man's hands between them. 

He brought them up to her pussy lips and began rubbing them together with 
his fat, forceful fingers. She heard them clack like railroad cars along the 
tracks. She felt the sweet oozing of some joy juice slip out from between 
her thick, pink lips. The man knew what he was doing all right. She wondered 
who he'd been practicing on. 

"Come up on my lap, Little Girl," the man said in a forced, fatherly voice, 
"come up and see what Daddy has here." 

She edged toward the sofa and bent one knee up and brought it down on one 
side of him. Then, balancing on that one, and with the help of his firm hand 
circling her waist, she lifted the other one off the floor and slapped it 
down on his other side. 

She sat there with her knees spread wide, her cunt pointing to within inches 
from the man's rocking, reeling hard schlong point. 

She lowered her cunt down and spread her moist, hot pussy lips apart. She 
entwined his throbbing pecker pole with them and rubbed to get both of them 
hot from the friction. 

"Ooooooh," the man said, rolling his eyes back and thrusting his hips high 
up off the chair. "That's a lot of something, I can't figure out what." 

He chuckled a little and felt his temperature rise another ten degrees. He 
played with the girl's hot tits as she bounced on her knees and rode her 
cunt lips along his prick and around the head. Tip to lips. It was a 
satisfying juxtaposition. 

Elaine was about to sink right down onto the man's flailing pecker stick, 
slide right over his greased cock pole, but as she got into position to do 
so, unable to hold herself back much longer, like it or not, he braced her 
around the waist with his huge hands and stopped her in her tracks. 

"Huh, uh, Honey," he said, shaking his big sorrowful head at her, "remember, 
up your ass." 

Elaine was about to protest when he lifted her up smart and plopped, her 
down again so that her oozing brown sphincter was touching the crown of his 
fuck stick. 

"Oh, golly," was all she make out as he began working the flat part of cock 
dome up around her brown and pink anus muscle. "I don't see how that's ever 
going to go in.' 

"Watch," the man said, bringing a handful of spitum and saliva around and 
caressing his dick with it. "And listen." 

He pulled the girl's legs hard apart with his hands and stuck his hips high 
up into the air. He worked his slimy throbbing head up into the tightly 
resisting shit vent and kept wiggling it hard until it made a little headway 
right in there. 

"Owwwwww!" Elaine called out, wishing to hell her glorious roommate could be 
here to share her half of the expenses about now. 

"God, you're tight,' said the little man with the big dick. 

He rode his stiff prick right up inside her bung hole. He pressed his fleshy 
loaf past her anal sphincter and right up into her poop chute. He worked his 
hot, hard, heaving heavy prick tip along her gripping sphincter wall and up 
ass. He pumped his big, red meat pole inside her. He thrust his hips up and 
down and fucked the shit right out of her. 

"Gooooooooooood," he screamed as he felt his cock tingling at every pore, 
the hot lust welling up inside his bowels. 

"Owwwwwwwwwwww," Elaine let out of her clenched teeth in a rush of pain and 
pleasure. The little man's prick was turning her on so hard and so bad and 
so completely, she had to grab her own clit between her fingers to relieve 
the pain. 

"Fuck here it comes," the man said, screwing his cock hard into her butt. 
"I'm gonna blow my top." He rocked hard up inside her and let go his man 
load in one swift kick of the bucket. He shot his jism trail up high into 
her bowels and poured his spunk portion all over her hot, wiggling insides. 
The tightness of the place, the grip of her ass muscles, the heat from her 
bowels. He was fucking the fiery pits of hell, no, he was the fiery pits of 
hell. He was the devil. He was the devil and he was fucking like the devil. 

Again and again and again, the man brought his pecker up inside Elaine's hot 
white ass hole. It felt like a poker sending live sparks up inside her bung 
hole. She couldn't get her air. She was gasping for breath and riding the 
man's big pecker log for all she could stand. She grabbed her clit and beat 
it intently. She brought her fingers to her love button and pushed non-stop 
as the man plugged her ass hole. She rode him hard and jerked herself off to 
a climax as she felt the sting of the man's piercing blade slide in and out 
her hot ass cheeks. 

"Shiiiiiiit!" she hollered so loud a man working on the roof looked up, "I'm 
cominggggggggg. ... . ... "' She whacked herself hard and firm and spilled 
her clear liquid joy juice out her cunt, out her ass, out her mouth. 

Every fiber of her being was screaming with rage, pain, desire, lust and 
heat. She came in every direction, every muscle worked together, then in 
opposition to release her of her come load. She came hard as she rode the 
man's big prick down to her butt hilt. 

 CHAPTER FOUR 

Charlene Kuafman brought hard leather bull whip swiftly down to her 
husband's bare red bottom He writhed and squealed in pain. 

"Eat me, Slave!" she said as she grabbed a handful of his curly black hair 
and yanked his head back hard enough to make him choke. 

"Aggggghhhhhh," he replied, knowing full well that he hadn't a chance of 
wheedling his way out this one. No matter how much he begged, no matter how 
much he pleaded, she was going to have her way with him. 

The woman hooked one thumb around her black studded corset loops and leaned 
back. God, she loved playing that stiff old bull whip crop in her hand. And 
the fine crisp snapping sound the whip made when it struck the still air. It 
send shivers and chills down her spine. Her husband knelt humbly at her 
feet. He looked so forlorn and pathetic kneeling down there on all fours, 
like a dog. 

"Suck my pussy, Shit Face!" she said, rudely jerking her cunt into his face. 
She had him locked right where she wanted him all right. Strung up to the 
door knob on one side of the room and tied to the bedpost on the other. And 
she had his head locked into a black cow hide collar with a thick silver 
ring sticking out of it. And on that ring hung a single silver chain. The 
one she was using right now to jerk his head toward her. 

The man felt his face growing flush red and purple as the woman led him by 
the neck, closer ever closer to outstretched pulsating pussy lips. They were 
so red and round and quivering. Her slit was so enormous, thrust up there 
against his face. He felt that he might be pulled right in, head and all, if 
she didn't ease up on that chain she was leading him by. 

"Vile Disgusting Filth Monkey!!! " she crowed at him as she felt the hot 
tingling sensation of local arousal permeate her pussy meat. 

"You don't deserve to draw another breath. You only live because I have not 
yet decided whether I shall snuff out your wretched life or allow you to 
continue on here as my lowly slave.' 

"Anything," the man gasped, fighting for the air which was choking off at 
his throat. "Anything you desire, Mistress." 

"I saw you," she said mocking him cruelly, "I saw you watching that lousy 
piece of ass, that dumb cunt head of a bitch sitting across from us tonight. 
She almost made me want to puke in my dinner!" 

"I humbly beg you, Mistress," the man said, shaking his head and letting his 
dark lashes flutter together. The pain was circling his neck like a vise. "I 
beg you to reconsider. Please, please forgive me. I am humbly and truly 
sorry to have ever, ever offended you in any way. I live only to serve you." 

Then Bob Kuafman closed his eyes and pressed his lips together. The chills 
that ran down his spine were as real as the pain running round his neck, 
squeezing the breath out of him. 

"I'm not ready to make my decision, yet," the woman said, brandishing the 
whip high in the air and snapping it a good one before she brought it down 
firmly across his raised, raw butt. "You will have to wait until my pleasure 
has been taken care of before I decide whether to let you live or die!" 

With those words, again the whip came crashing through space, splitting the 
air like a gunshot and wallopping Bob's hot, quivering buttocks. 

Charlene leaned back and let her legs flop out. God, she loved the way her 
cunt looked from up here. So wide and pink and wet and ready. Ready for her 
pleasure. Ready for her slave's obedience to it. 

Her breasts were pushed high up over the top of the tight stay-fastened 
corset and she could see her nipples bulging out from the tips of them. They 
looked like snow covered peaks with volcanic ash clinging to the tops. They 
made her hotter and hornier still, if such a thing were possible, just 
looking down at them. 

Her husband had been a bad boy that night. Very bad. And he would have to be 
punished. She closed her eyes and thought back to the events of that night. 

The dinner party had started out normally enough. Ten guests. Not a big 
affair, as those things went, but lavish. like all of Charlene's dinner 
parties. This one was given for her girlfriend who had just announced that 
she was going 

"The table looks lovely," Suzanne, her girlfriend, told her as she waltzed 
into the room. "God, Charlene, I'm so excited. Ken's bringing his sister 
here tonight, and I haven't even met her." 

Charlene looked at her friend a little annoyed. Ken's sister was not on the 
list of dinner guests. She would have to set an extra place for her 
somewhere. And that would make an uneven number. Tacky, in the circles she 
frequented. 

Charlene and Bob Kuafman were gifted. Even by their friends' standards, they 
had been both born into families of means. Charlene's family had been "old 
money", a family whose forefathers made a bundle in real estate. And Ken's 
family was nouveau riche, a bunch of farmers, as far back as Ken knew, until 
his father got lucky and struck it rich when he opened a fast food chicken 
wing stand. That little venture just took off and made Ken's father a 
millionaire in less than five years. 

They met at college. Ken was attracted by Charlene's physical attributes at 
first. The strawberry blonde hair, the lush body, the freckled smile. And 
Charlene was turned on by Ken. He was so dark and mysterious looking. Such a 
big handsome hunk of man. Boy, actually, but she could see the potential. 
She found out his family had money and the match was instantaneous. And it 
had proved a good one over the last four years. They liked many of the same 
things, including heavy dominance and bondage. 

And right now, Ken was getting his daily dose. He worshipped that long, tall 
willow of a woman. She was such a tower of strength. Worked out alongside 
him every day in their own private gymnasium She could lift a lot of weight 
for a woman. They designed that gymnasium together. And, less than six 
months later, they designed their own torture chamber. 

It was everything they had both come to love. Complete with stone floor, 
stocks, pillories, slave auction block, manacles and shackles tied into the 
wall, and leather accoutrements of every size, shape, and description. And 
they got about as much use out of that room as they did the gym. 

"Unworthy Lowlife!" Charlene hissed as the whip stung the man's hard, driven 
buttocks. His crevice was running with the sweat of pain and arousal. But 
the leather studded chastity belt he wore did not allow for him to take his 
throbbing, aching schlong out. It was firmly held against his flat, hard 
stomach until such time as his Mistress would lean over and unzip him. She 
only did that when she was good and ready. The build up, though, was pure 
heaven. 

Just thinking of that snotty blonde bitch made Charlene crack her whip 
harder. How dare she invade their lovely home, with not even so much as an 
invitation. And that disgusting lime dress she had on! A cheap display of 
lewd sex if Charlene had ever seen it. If she hadn't been her best friend's 
fianc''s sister. Christ! She would have that bitch down here, too, right 
now, licking the polish off her boots. The thought of that drove Charlene 
wild with frenzied sexual lust. A woman slave! How quaint. How exciting. Up 
to now, she had used men, primarily her husband. But, then, they were new at 
this. 

"I wouldn't take that pouty-mouthed bitch to a shit fight and use her as a 
shield!" she said in a low, buzzing voice as she sailed her whip through the 
air again and brought it right down on her husband's exposed left butt 
mound. She felt so proud of herself to be raising such tremendous red and 
raw-looking welts all along his backside. They looked like long strands of 
rubies laid against his flat, hard skin. 

She yanked harder on the chain and brought her husband's mouth up to the 
very ridges of her cunt lips. 

"Now suck, Creep!" she said in a stiff, Skene's voice, "Suck or I'll whip 
you to hamburger!" 

The man knew it was time to be allowed to suck those sweet, pulsating pussy 
lips. Those big, circling ridges of puffy desire. Those wet, hot luscious 
wedges of tart, tantalizing goodness. 

He opened his slobbering, slavering lips and emitted his tongue. It went out 
like a red, wet snake looking for a place to strike. It curled up hard like 
the tongue of chameleon before he struck his wife's juicy red prey. 

"Aaaahhhh," she cried in ecstasy as the man's rolled up log slapped against 
her pussy lips. "Suck me, Slave Man!" she whispered in hot, writhing lust. 

Bob Kuafman ran his thick, obedient tongue all around the rim of his wife's 
delicious red honey hole. He prodded and poked his assertive wet weapon up 
into her cunt crack and diddled her clit with it. She writhed and moaned in 
pleasure as he did so. 

He felt so completely under her power. Totally controlled by her every whim 
and snap of the whip. And he felt quite happy to serve her. To be at her 
every beck and call. He was glad he had flirted with that girl, Ken's 
sister, whatever her name was. She was a tart, all right. And she had been 
making an obvious play for Bob. 

He was used to those things. Most women he could leave alone without the 
slightest notion of following through with any of them once they came on to 
him. He had no desire whatsoever to play around or act unfaithfully to his 
wife in thought, word, or deed. He was totally devoted to her. Her willing 
and obedient slave. Her total and complete subservient servant. Her lowly 
footstool, if that is what she wished. 

He felt the woman 's feet rise up and come down around his broad shoulders. 

"Fuck me with your tongue, Disgusting Worm!" the woman said, spitting down 
her words like steel from a staple gun. "Fuck me with your hopeless little 
mouth pecker." 

She threw her head back and laughed cruelly as he continued to probe and 
prod her clit and crack with his vibrating, slimy red working tongue. 

His knees rubbed briskly against the carpet of their bedroom floor. They 
were bruised and raw from having been on all fours for so long, but he 
didn't care. He could only feel the ramming, cramming of his tongue muscle 
up her pussy. The throbbing, weaving pattern it cut across her rigid cunt 
lips and down all the way to her ass button. 

Charlene thrust her butt hole right up at him and ordered him to stick his 
face in it. 

"Kiss my ass, Shark Bait!" she seethed through mean, clenched white teeth. 

The man caressed her bung hole with his tongue and bathed it in all the 
liquid he could possibly muster. He washed and scoured the shit right out of 
her ass with each thrust of his eager, prodding tongue. He scooped up the 
shit out of luscious ass vent and felt his insides grow heavy and fluttery 
at the ecstasy of the taste of her. 

"Oh, Mistress," he cried, "I'll do anything, anything to serve you." 

"Ream my butt, Dog! ' she scolded, letting her whip find its natural home 
again. The welts across his buttocks were raising to a fine red shine. 

The man reamed and poked and lapped at his wife's ass hole. His cock was 
growing so stiff he thought it might split the leather and metal of his 
chastity belt. That lovely little belt with its tight jock and its bare butt 
holes. She had bought it for him, this woman he adored. 

The woman felt herself grow hot to the point of itchiness with arousal. She 
reached down and masturbated her clit hard as the man continued to eat out 
her bung hole. He plugged her ass with his tongue and took his shit medicine 
right down his gullet. He burrowed up deeply and brought his tongue out 
again. He loved every shit-licking second of it. 

Charlene flicked her clit still harder with her ever-ready fingers. It was 
growing hot and hard under her grasp. The tingling, reaming sensation of 
tongue to butt hole was driving her right out of her seat. She lifted her 
hips up, bracing her weight against her husband's shoulders. 

How dare he! After all, she thought, as she worked her fingers faster than 
beavers chewing wood for a dam, who did he think he was smiling and winking 
at that insipid pale little mouse of a girl sitting across from him. And to 
think she had only seated her there because there was no other place for her 
to sit. Damn! Uneven numbers at her dining room table always made for 
trouble.!! 

She stuck her butt higher into her husband's face. Let him choke on my ass 
hole! She thought that might be nice. Let him drown in my come juice, she 
thought as she continued the speeded up process of fingering herself ever 
harder and feeling her clit grow ever harder and twanging against her 
flailing cunt lips. 

"Ream me, Faithless One!" she said, throwing her head back and shaking her 
clit still harder. 

Bob locked his tongue up inside her butt vent. The slippery brown tunnel of 
her ass hole delighted him beyond description. His cock banged angrily 
against its leather and steel cage. 

Charlene felt herself ready, ready and on the edge of her canyon of desire. 
She reached around with her clit massaging hand and unhooked the silver 
rivet that kept her slave's member inside. The thing bounced out like a log 
down a sawmill falls. His enormous rock hard pecker was slamming and 
whamming hard against the chastity belt and against his stomach. And soon, 
she new for sure, it would be ramming against her, too. 

"Now, Slave!" she commanded as she slid even further down into the chair and 
clasped her muscular thighs hard against her husband's neck. 

He reared up off his raw haunches and speared her cunt hole savagely with 
his hot, hard sword prick. He impaled her on his punishing cock rod. He 
humped and shoved and sweated and shoved and humped and sweated and 
insinuated his giant cock right down into her seething, writhing pussy 
tunnel. Charlene gripped him tightly around the neck and let him pound the 
daylights out of her. No man under his own steam could fuck like this, she 
knew that for a fact. No man could possibly screw this way unless he had 
been brought to the brink with insane torture and teasing beyond human 
endurance. "Fuck me." 

"Fuck that hole!" 

"Stick that pole down in there and fuck my pussy, Slave Boy." 

"Fuck me." 

"Fuck my pussy." 

"Fuck that wet hole with your big bone, your big wet throbbing bone!!!" 

Bob Kuafman gave her such a drilling his peter felt like a corkscrew. He 
slammed down on her again and again and again. He brought his pecker out to 
the very lips of her clit and held it there a breathless, priceless moment. 
Then he slammed it back in and drove the cunt's cunt hole all the way to a 
hard, fast, dizzy climax. 

He felt her go off under him like a barrel of gunpowder. She exploded 
beneath his thrusting, humping schlong like the Chinese New Year. 

"Ooooooh," she said as she lit up and headed skyward. 

Then Bob felt himself flinging his guts out the end of his prick. His cock 
hole opened up and let his come load out in heavy, huge geyser jets. He shot 
his man load hard into his wife's waiting, tight hot cunt. He flung his come 
juice all up inside her wet pink tunnel and then yanked himself out of her 
throbbing hole. He spread the rest of his man come all over her lustrous 
strawberry blonde bush. He smeared it right in with his still rock hard 
pecker. He felt like an artist making a masterpiece with his tool. 

Then he sat back and watched in complete awe and worship as his wife bent 
her head over and licked the delicious cream off her own heaving wet pussy 
mound. 

Twenty minutes later the two of them sat up in their king-size bed and 
talked like a couple of school kids. 

"I was soooooo jealous of that little bitch tonight, you bad, bad boy," the 
woman cooed, playing with the brushy hairs of massive man chest. 

"I know," Bob grinned as he brought his firm strong fingers down on his 
wife's stuck up red nipples, "you proved it later, too." 

"I wished I had that toady little cunt right there next to you, Bob," the 
woman said, wiggling her toes against her husband's foot. "I'd have made her 
my slave, too. That's what I would have done." 

Bob thought a moment. Maybe that might be fun. Add a new dimension to their 
little fun and games. But how would he fit in? 

"I'd have tied her up and sat on her. Used some really stiff nylon cord and 
wrapped it down around her torso and brought the end right tight over her 
big, sloppy cunt hole. That's just how I'd have done it." 

Charlene thought a moment. Oh, it would be such fun to have herself a female 
slave. Someone they could both torture. A new little nubile slave girl to 
enhance the dominance and bondage. Such fun. Such fun just thinking about 
it. 

"Darling," Bob said, snuggling his hand closer to his wife's honey pot, "why 
don't we get ourselves such a person, not Ken's sister, of course, she's 
much too close to Suzanne for comfort. And I certainly wouldn't invite her 
to any parties of ours again. That lime dress was atrocious. But what about 
a really innocent, willing, trainable little slave girl? 

"One we could spank and paddle and tease and bind and torture?' his wife 
said brightly, sitting up a little and opening her eyes wide with the 
intriguing thought. 

"Something like that," Bob answered, "a fresh young thing. A little daisy 
out of an onion patch. A slave girl . ... .Hmmmmmmmm." 

The thought tantalized him so much, he reached down to stroke his cock and 
think about it a little more. Not surprisingly, he found it already rock 
hard. 

 CHAPTER FIVE 

"I mean it, Sally," Elaine said, pulling the ice tray out of the 
refrigerator and clanking it down on the counter, "you should have been 
here." 

Sally sat down on the kitchen chair and tried to resist a grin. She watched 
as her roommate banged half a dozen ice cubes out and wrapped one in an old 
blue wash cloth. Then she reached up under her shortie pajamas and popped 
the terry cloth bundle onto her ass. 

"At least you could have worked for your half of the rent," the girl said, 
feeling the rush of cold hit her swollen, raw ass hole. "I'm telling you, 
Kid, that old man has got a pecker on him the size of that egg beater." 

Sally still had to squelch a laugh. She couldn't possibly imagine that old 
Martin Painsworth was hung all that huge. He was such a little guy. A 
munchkin. 

Elaine eased herself down onto the kitchen chair and looked at the clock. 
"Ow," she said when her throbbing buttocks touched ground zero. "I feel like 
I been sittting on the wrong end of a beanstalk." 

"I'm sorry," Sally said, trying not to laugh out loud. "But I want you to 
know, you acted like a champ, fending that monster off and canceling our 
rent debt like that. You really were a brave warrior." 

"I was a soft ass sucker is what I was,' Elaine said, feeling the waves of 
pain rolling over her like a panzer division. "And our rent debt has not 
been cancelled, not exactly. He would only agree to a postponement." 

"I wish I could say and watch you take a Sitz bath, El," Sally said, gazing 
up at the clock, "but I gotta go." 

"What time are they making you report for work at that place," the girl 
said, rocking on her reddened butt hole from side to side. 

"She said anytime as long as I'm there by nine,' Sally said, strolling into 
the bedroom trying like hell to decide what to wear. "Are you sure you got 
this job?" Elaine said. Her roommate did not have a good track record as far 
as getting jobs was concerned. In fact, up until now, her track record 
hadn't even been on the track. 

"Yes," Sally shouted back, "Miss Wilde gave me several tests, and I finally 
passed one, but it was the most important one." 

"Shorthand?" Elaine shouted in again, rubbing the ice cube against her anus 
so hard it was beginning to melt into a little suspicious-looking puddle 
onto the kitchen chair. 

"No," Sally said, wishing to hell her roommate would keep her questions to 
herself. She certainly didn't feel like explaining the whole thing. 

"Typing?" the girl called back, intrigued as to how her roommate had finally 
scored a job that sounded as promising as this one without even taking a 
shorthand test. 

"No," Sally cried back, "have you seen my navy blue pumps?" 

"Sally," Elaine said, standing in her doorway, "what the hell did they test 
you for at this place ... what's it called?" 

"Tip Top Temps, Inc., and they tested me on personality." Sally replied, 
grabbing a pair of stockings and casting around for her garter belt. 

"Oh," her red-haired roommate replied, shifting her weight from one foot to 
another in an attempt to distract the pain. "Anything you want to talk 
about?" 

"I would, El, you know that," Sally bed, "but I've got to get dressed. Where 
the hell is my pink bra?" 

"So you can' dress and talk at the same time?" Elaine said, wishing to hell 
Painsworth's schlong were sticking up her friend's ass right about now. 

Sally held her stockings in her hand and thought a moment. Perhaps she was 
being too secretive. After all, this was her best friend. The two of them 
had shared rent broken steam pipes, roaches, towel sets, boyfriends, and, 
possibly, Mr. Painsworth, if they ever fell into rent arrears again. That 
battery of tests that Whitney Wilde had given her yesterday was mysterious. 
Perhaps sharing it with her best friend might help her understand it better. 

"I . ... I'm not sure where to begin," Sally said, shaking her head, "you 
know how desperate I am for a job. And this one pays plenty. I mean more 
money than I've ever made before." 

"Sounds good, Sal," Elaine said, getting down on all fours to get 
comfortable so she could listen to her roommate's tale. 

"I know. And Miss Wilde is a really nice lady. A little strange, okay." 

"How strange?" 

"For one thing, she looks like Vampira on downers." 

"You said she was "beautiful." 

"She is, El. She's also mysterious. And another thing." 

"Huh?" the roommate replied, getting more intrigued by the moment. 

"She's got a walk-in closet in the office." 

"Office supplies?" 

"Not exactly." 

"What then," the red-haired girl was growing impatient with her recalcitrant 
addle-brained roommate. 

"Clothes, lots of them. And equipment. English horseback riding equipment. 
Some jousting stuff too, like from the middle ages. And masks. Some stuff 
you can attach to bedposts. Boots, chains, chastity belts. And whips, El, 
lots of whips." 

"What?" her friend replied, totally forgetting her pained ass-hole problem 
and coming to a thud down onto the floor. "Ouch!" she cried and bounced back 
up again. 

"I better go now, or I'll be late for . ... " Sally tried to get up, but 
felt her whole frame forced back down onto the bed. When she looked up, she 
saw her roommate bearing down hard on her with all the strength in her arms 
and legs. 

"Are you nuts?" she shouted into her face. "Don't you know what's going on 
there?" 

"No," Sally said limply, "and I figure if I just keep my nose clean and 
don't ask any questions....." 

"My God, Sally," Elaine said, spitting her words along with a generous spray 
of saliva, "you can't ignore what's happening." 

"I am desperate," Sally said, trying to hurl her friend off her and down 
onto the floor. "Don't you know that? I haven't held a job for more than 
three and a half days in the two years since I graduated from Mavis Forrest. 
I am persona non gratis of the office world, Typhoid Mary of the water 
cooler set, the most unwanted, unwelcome, blackballed, unlucky nincompoop 
secretary walking around town. I have been looking for a job for so long. I 
have been pounding the pavement till my pumps look like shredded wheat. Now 
let me up and let me go to work before I bite you in the neck!!!!!!" 

Elaine let go her grasp and stood up slowly. 

She looked sadly down at her friend whose hair she had messed up and whose 
tan skirt she had wrinkled badly. 

"I'm sorry, Sal," she said, feeling sheepish. "I just don't want to see you 
get hurt." 

"I don't think I'm going to get hurt," Sally said, sitting up and swinging 
her feet down to the carpet. "I think maybe the customer is going to get 
hurt. Follow?" Elaine nodded her head, even though she didn't like the way 
it felt. She stood back and made room for her friend to pass by her. 

Sally straightened her hair and checked herself in the mirror on the way 
out. 

"One thing, Sal," Elaine said, following her friend to the door, "you've got 
to tell me where you're going to be. Every minute. Promise?" 

"Don't be ridiculous, Mother," Sally said, reaching for the front door knob. 

"I mean it, Sally," the red-head said, limping toward the door as fast as 
she could. "Please. Look. Just pretend we're spies or something. That you're 
on special assignment. That I'm the chief, running things back at the home 
office. Please promise me you'll call. That way, if anything happens . ... " 

Elaine felt her voice fall off. In fact if anything did happen, she wouldn't 
have the slightest idea of what to do. But knowing that her friend was 
somewhere, anywhere, that would help. Just knowing would help her get 
through her day. 

"Okay, El,' the blonde girl said, tossing her curly hair back and stepping 
into the hallway, "I promise." 

She shut the door slowly behind her as her roommate waved to her through the 
slowly disappearing crack. 

She headed for the elevator and after a short ten minute wait, finally got 
lucky. She hit the pavement feeling alert and ready for action. And, she had 
to confess, slightly optimistic. No good playing the Pollyanna bit too hard, 
though. She had a pretty good idea that what she was getting into might be a 
little shady. But she had been such a loser at everything sunny. Nothing had 
come to fruition, nothing, nothing, nothing. Maybe Tip Top was going to be 
her lucky break. 

"Ah, Miss Pomeroy," the black-haired sphinx said to her when she stepped 
into the office, "Ready for your first assignment?" 

"I hope so," Sally said, flinging her shoulder back onto the sofa. 

"Good. I like your attitude." Whitney Wilde swiveled her chair around and 
stepped toward the infamous closet. She opened it a little ways, bent over 
and picked up an innocent-looking package, wrapped in brown paper and tied 
with ordinary string. 

"This is for when you get there," the woman said, practically clicking her 
heels together. Then she pulled the wraparound dress she was wearing apart 
and let the whole thing slither to the floor. It lay there in a heap. And 
Miss Wilde stood in there in the middle of the room in a shiny black kid 
leather corset with silver studs lined up and down it, a skimpy black 
leather bikini top, and a black satin garter belt with mesh stockings 
disappearing down into black leather stiletto heeled boots. 

"And this," she said, bending down to reveal a heaving heavily-endowed bust 
as she picked up a long, dangling piece of leather thong in one hand and a 
length of curled up rope in the other, " is for right now." 

"What is this?" the girl asked, blinking her sea green eyes as fast as a 
strobe light. 

"Our final test, Miss Pomeroy," the woman decreed, walking toward her and 
staring her down in her tracks. 

"I hope I can pass it," Sally said, trying to fake a little grin. 

"I hope so, too," the woman said, reaching into a little drawer in the 
closet and pulling out an evil-looking black mask. She slipped it on over 
her head and adjusted it so that only her eyes could be seen peeking out 
from behind it. 

Sally couldn't stop blinking. She felt her knees turn to jelly and give way 
under her. Fortunately, she was standing in front of the sofa. 

"Some people find this strange," the woman said, "but I see that it is 
largely a matter of point of view." 

Sally felt herself nod, but could not seem to make contact with any other 
part of her body. 

"What is arcane, bizarre, unthinkable, to some people, is the food of life 
to others. Don't you see that?" 

Sally continued to nod. like a ventriloquist's dummy whose neck screws had 
worked loose. 

The woman brought her black bull whip up over her head and gave it a loud 
crack. The tether end of the rein suspended momentarily in mid-air, then 
sailed downward. Sally tried to stop nodding, or at least, nod the other 
way, from left to right, but nothing doing. Her body just wasn't obeying her 
today. 

"Now you will follow my orders," the black widow said, poising her poisonous 
stinger high up in the air again. "You will do exactly as I say, is that 
understood?" 

Sally kept nodding. 

"First of all, I want you to stop that insane nodding." The woman was 
speaking like the commandant of the imperial red army. 

Sally nodded in agreement. 

"I mean it." The haughty lady struck her hand down again and a loud leather 
report echoed throughout the room. 

Sally established contact with her neck muscles somehow and froze them in 
place. She could see the woman advancing toward her and holding the rope out 
like a lasso. Then she whirled it around her head and threw it in Sally's 
direction. It came down around her shoulders like a gunny sack. She felt the 
rope bite into her flesh as Whitney tightened it. She wondered if she was 
going to be branded or just led to slaughter. 

"Do as I say, following my instructions to the letter," the harsh voice 
pierced the room and Sally tried not to start nodding again. 

"Take off your shoes," she hissed, holding tightly onto her end of the rope. 

Sally reached down blindly and slipped off her navy blue pumps. 

"Now, the skirt," the woman ordered. 

Sally unzipped her skirt like a zombie and wiggled her hips hard to get it 
down without splitting it. 

"The blouse," the woman said, in dead, earnest tones. 

Sally fought the rope helplessly as she tried to get her blouse off. Then 
she felt Whitney's long fingernailed hand interrupt her Fumbling. It ripped 
her top right off her and sent it to the floor in shreds. She sat on the 
sofa and resisted a shiver as she stared down at her tiny bikini panties 
over her blue garter belt. Her pink bra, the one that made her tits look 
like two tight loaves of pumpernickel fresh out of the oven, looked so 
innocent and helpless under the bite of the tight rope. 

"Lie down," the woman commanded as she yanked the rope in such a direction 
as to force her down onto the sofa. 

Sally felt her body smash against the furniture as her head narrowly missed 
the opposite arm of the sofa. She had just never been so scared in her whole 
life. 

"What do you she tried in short heaving gasps. 

"Silent, Wench!" the woman screeched at her. "You will speak only when you 
are addressed. I will speak for the both of us. Do as I command." 

Sally closed her eyes on that one and felt the lids burning. She had begun 
to shake hard and couldn't seem to stop doing that now. 

"Onto your stomach," the black cowgirl said, between clenched teeth. 

Sally rolled over and bit the upholstery with her chattering teeth. It 
tasted like the dirt of her own grave. 

The black-clad mistress brought the free end of the rope around the back of 
the sofa and pushed it through to the front aiming underneath it. She 
brought it right round and made a secure knot that rested its bulk in 
Sally's ass crevice. Then she brought the free end of it up and tied Sally's 
wrists to each other and then to the wrought iron legs of the massive piece 
of furniture. She threaded it under the full length of the sofa then and 
tied the girl's legs in similar fashion. The whole effect made Sally feel 
like she was part of the furniture. 

"Please don't . ... " again she was interrupted by a gag. 

Whitney was shoving something into her mouth and choking her air off with it 
as she tied part of it behind her head. It smelled vaguely familiar. She 
looked down to see the familiar cream color of her best blouse, the one the 
woman had shredded into pieces when she ripped the thing off her moments 
earlier. 

The rest of her pleas came out as muffled cries and whispers. 

Whitney watched as the girl thrashed her head up and down and from side to 
side and tried to move as the knots bit into her flesh and the rope made it 
impossible for her to do much except wiggle like a worm on the end of a 
hook. 

"Now, my proud beauty," she said, slapping her whip through the air again, 
"we'll see who's the mistress and who's the slave in this little ensemble." 

Sally wondered why she had to say that. From the way things stood, it seemed 
perfectly clear to her. When you are in command of someone, when you are 
completely dominant over them," the woman said in a voice that sounded like 
rain on tinfoil, "you will understand." 

Sally thought it sounded intriguing, but right now, she just couldn't get 
into it. 

"Such lovely buttocks," the woman said, playing the tether end of her whip 
over them and letting it slack into the valley between her butt cheeks, 
"such tight, round high rises of marzipan. Good enough to take a bite out 
of, or to make a slight indentation on. A memorable indentation." 

Sally heard the whip crack up into the air before it came down with a snarl 
and sliced into her backside. 

"Arrrrrhhhhhhhhhhh," she moaned as the leather thong gripped her flesh. The 
thing hurt, the thing really stung, but somehow, somewhere deep inside her a 
tantalizing little gurgle was beginning to bubble up. Just an air pocket, 
but it was there. This was intriguing, she had to admit, it was different. A 
hell of lot different from a timed typing test, that was for sure. 

"Again, my pretty, pretty, pretty," the woman brayed, as she forked the rein 
into the air and cut down onto the luscious melon rounds of the girl's 
delicate innocent skin. 

"I know, my sweet," the woman said, her confidence rising in her chest, "I 
know that once you sense the powerful sting of my whip, that you will come 
to love it, as much as I." 

Again the woman wasn't talking much sense, but Sally wasn't feeling much 
sense, either. Why the hell was she feeling so damned hot, and not just down 
there where the woman was raising welts, either. 

Whitney brought the leather thong into play once more and seized the dead, 
still air by force with it as she nailed it to the heaving white thighs of 
the girl's behind. How she loved the sound that thing made. How she loved 
the total feeling of power that long, stringy whip gave her. How she loved 
to dominate sweet young things like this completely. 

And how excited she was getting, just standing here watching the girl's butt 
mounds rise and fall like the waves. It wouldn't be too much longer before 
she would have to do something about it. Before she would have to take 
charge, take even more charge. Her clit was pounding against her cunt lips 
like sticks against a snare drum. 

"Take that whip," she screamed, flailing the thing high up above her head 
and flogging the girl good with it. "Take it harder, you little snipe." 

Sally felt her ass cheeks groan with pain and her cunt lips begin to wail 
with pleasure. Such mixed feelings were welling up inside her. She didn't 
know whether to shout or sing. To laugh or cry. 

Whitney reached around to the back pocket of her corset and produced a long, 
sleek hard rubber dildo. The thing was black and had a double head 
attachment, so that two could ride as cheaply as one on it. 

Sally was growing increasingly more annoyed at herself for feeling so 
incredibly hot under the butt cheeks. Why was she feeling this way? After 
all, she was getting a spanking. And she hadn't even done anything wrong! 
But there it was, nevertheless, an engorged clit. And engorged clits, in 
Sally's experience, never lied. 

Whitney whirled the wicked rubber dildo around in between her fingers like a 
baton at a parade. She advanced toward the prone girl and stood above her, 
her whip thong dangling in her hand, playing around in the sensitive crevice 
between the blonde girl's butt cheeks. 

"Enough of the sting of my whip, Slave!" she said, bringing the dildo close 
to her ass opening, "And a little of the sting of something else." 

With that, she ripped the girl s panties off her ass and plugged her cunt 
with it. 

"Agggggghhhhhhhhhhh," Sally tried to tell her, again. The thing felt so evil 
sticking inside of her like that. So vile, so deadly, so completely 
destroying. Her cunt lips parted to receive it eagerly. She felt herself 
gurgling up harder now. To an even bubbly surface, like an active tar pit. 

Whitney released her own black panties from over her garter belt and let 
them fall to the floor. She stepped out of them hurriedly and jumped on top 
of the helpless girl. 

Sally felt the full weight of the woman bounce down on top of her. The dildo 
was plucking hard at her cunt lips, playing them like the tough strings of a 
steel guitar. She could feel the wetness, the sweet moisture creep over it 
and bathe it in steamy liquid. Her gurgling had become a monstrous 
groundswell. She began undulating her hips to get more pleasure from the 
huge rubber prick thrust inside her. 

"Yes, my proud little princess," the woman said, in a loud whisper between 
her teeth, "fuck that thing, fuck it." 

Whitney found the other end of the long, stiff dildo thing and rose up on 
her knees to better guide it onto her cunt lips. She chased after it with 
those hot quivering, eager cunt lips of hers and played them down on it 
whenever she could. She made a game out of trying to entrap it between her 
cunt lips as she held them apart, trying to find the perfect moment to come 
right down onto it. 

"Oh, God," the woman shrieked, "that's good." She had just found the peak of 
the throbbing rubber hard on and was making her way down the shaft. Her cunt 
lips gripped it with their steely locking muscles as she moved down and 
then, pressing her knees onto either side of the tied-up girl, rose back up 
off it. 

Sally could feel the extra pressure inside her cunt as the woman jacked 
herself up and down the dildo pole. It pressed hard down inside her and made 
her wince with pain and pleasure each time it struck. She could feel the 
woman's big, thick throbbing cunt lips on her own swollen red whip tracks 
each time she came all the way down the now-moist and glistening shaft. She 
was shoving the thing in and out ever deeper down inside of her. She was 
fucking her with that hard, bumpy dildo cock. That sensation and the one 
coming from those raised welts was enough to turn her groundswell into a 
trembling, sizzling earthquake. 

"Fuck me," the woman shouted, grabbing her whip and holding onto either end 
of it with both hands. 

She brought it down around Sally's head and over her face, then stretched 
against her neck. She pulled on it hard, bringing Sally's head all the way 
up from the pressure against her throat. 

Sally found these sensations tremendously confusing, but they did not stop 
the quickly-increasing senses of arousal and excitation. She was being 
whipped, hogtied, and now, choked, yet her cunt was wailing like a wounded 
sea lion. 

Whitney pounded her whole frame harder down onto the sofa. She felt the 
bobbing fuck pole sticking high up into her gripping pussy hole. It stuck 
there like a fat man in a teeny weeny man hole. She worked it like a 
madwoman up and down, around and around. The thing was actually getting 
hotter from so 

Whitney felt herself being plugged and pounded again and again by the angry 
savage dildo sticking out from between the girl's legs. She rode it as hard 
as a night jockey, as she pulled harder and harder on the reins around 
Sally's neck. 

"Come on, Horsie," she shouted into the girl's ear, "Come on, Horsie, ride 
me." 

Sally bounced her hips up still harder as the penetrating pole sunk down 
into her wet, hot throbbing pussy place. The sound of wet slurpy slapping it 
made as Whitney's cunt slammed down onto her buttocks was splitting her 
eardrums with loud vibratos. She thrust her hips up as high as she possibly 
could, feeling the rope cut into her eager, hot flesh. 

"Fuck me, Horsie," the woman continued, slamming the dildo cock up into her 
cunt and pressing down on the girl's undulating ass mounds. "Fuck, Horsie, 
fuck." 

Sally felt a jolt of electricity strike something hard down inside her gut 
and then, as though she was being immersed in warm bath water, she let go a 
moment and came in furious tossing and pitching waves of thundering climax. 
Again and again and again. And still she wanted more. She kept the pace up 
as she thrust her hips up high and brought them down hard again against the 
flat, smooth sofa bed. 

Whitney cried and moaned as she gripped the reins hard as she plunged the 
cock dildo" up into her cunt with her ever-faster and ever more eager riding 
strokes. She plugged and pumped herself with the cock hard on. She fucked 
the stiff dildo in and out as fast as her short, gyrating movements would 
keep pace. She felt herself surge up and slam down in a blinding, ripping, 
snorting storm of orgiastic rushes. She came so hard she wrenched her body 
right off the rubber prick and had to scramble back up on it for a second 
round of heaving, exasperating come. 

"Ahhhhhh," she said, as she passed the finish line, "nice ride, Horsie." 

After a few seconds of slowed breathing and wiping the sweat off her, 
Whitney dismounted her pet's lovely rear end and patted the flank firmly. 
"Good girl Then she strolled casually around to the head of her beast and 
took the gag out of Sally's mouth. 

"Oh, shit!" the anxious, overwrought girl said, expelling the last of her 
orgiastic joy juice onto the sofa, "Did I pass, Miss Wilde? Did I pass that 
one?" 

"Little Vixen," the woman said, releasing the rope from around her wrists 
ankles, "You did rather well, in fact." 

A few moments later, Sally sat up and rubbed her butt. She was beginning to 
get an idea of what Elaine felt like earlier today. 

Whitney returned her dominance gear to the closet and tied her wraparound 
dress neatly in place. 

"Well, Miss Pomeroy," she said, sounding like her old officious self, I 
believe you are indeed ready for your first assignment. Here's the address." 

"Good," Sally said, feeling quite pleased that she had passed something 
today besides a lot of come juice out of her cunt, "but how about the way I 
look?" 

Sally and Miss Wilde stared down at ripped bra and shredded panties the girl 
had on. She looked like a war-torn and ravaged victim of a blitz. 

"Not to worry," the woman said, reassuring her and crossing to her closet. 
"Here." She tossed her a pale blue wraparound dress, not unlike the modest, 
innocent one she herself was wearing. "But remember, the men at the shoe 
buyer's convention don't usually pay much attention to what you wear on your 
body. They pay more attention to what you have on your feet." 

She tossed her two thick leather platform shoes with silver ankle straps 
that wound around up to mid-calf. 

"You know how shoe salesmen are," Whitney said, standing in front of the 
closet like a harried housewife. She closed the doors silently and came back 
to where Sally was seated in her nylon and lace smithereens. 

The girl smiled wanly and reached down to grab the brown paper package. She 
didn't know how shoe salesmen were, really, but she had a feeling she was 
going to find out. Soon. 

 CHAPTER SIX 

"I mean it, El," the innocent voice came over the phone, "I can't talk too 
long either. It's a really beautiful hotel. The Widmark. I don't exactly 
know where the convention is going to be held. Something called the 
Starlight Room. A lot of big executives I suppose. In ladies' shoes. That's 
all I know, believe me." 

"Just be sure you call me in an hour," the red-haired girl said back to her, 
holding the phone to her ear as she leaned on her typewriter. 

"Oh, Elaine," Sally started to protest. 

"If you don't I'll worry myself sick." She replied, wondering what trouble 
her taffy-headed roommate could get into considering the circumstances. 

The girls signed off and hung up. Elaine went back to typing about four 
words an hour. She shook her head as she looked at the mumbo-jumbo on th 
paper. How had Sally gotten herself mixed up in this crazy scene, anyway? 

She thought a few more minutes, then stopped abruptly and yanked the paper 
out of the machine. Then, she bolted up, grabbed her purse, flicked out the 
light, and headed for the front door. 

Sally Pomeroy headed down the air-conditioned corridor with the brown 
package strings tucked neatly between her middle two fingers. She searched 
for a sign that might read, "Shoe Buyers' Convention," but so far, nothing. 

She found an elevator full of black men in red fezzes with miniature 
scimitars on their lapels. She got on and smiled like a tourist as the 
elevator door went shut like Ali Baba's cave. 

"Open Sesame," she said with a little radiant smile as the elevator hit the 
second floor. The black men stared at her in frozen silence. 

The second floor, a long labyrinth of corridors and convention rooms was 
probably her best bet, she figured. She looked for the door marked 
"Starlight Room" or "Shoe Buyers" or something similar. All the big 
convention rooms were either locked or full or had unfamiliar signs posted 
on little sandwich boards in front of them. 

She continued her search. Finally, she spotted someone in a red uniform with 
a cap who looked like he might work in the hotel. 

"Excuse me, Sir," she said, politely, "could you direct me to the Starlight 
Room. I'm looking for the Shoe Buyers' Convention." 

The uniformed man gave her a quick wink and a light elbowing in the ribs. 
"Sure thing, Toots," he said, nodding and winking like a signal light. "Just 
go right down that corridor and turn left when you get to the very end." 

Sally said a fond adieu, and she headed off. The man shouted after her in a 
loud stage whisper, "Enjoy yourself, Honey Buns." 

Then she heard him let out a string of loud guffaws that followed her all 
the way to the end of the hall. 

She turned left like her told her to, but there were no rooms there. Only a 
door that said, "Fire Exit." She felt a little queer pushing on it. But it 
was her only real choice. It opened easily enough. 

Once through it, the surroundings seemed to change a little. The hall 
carpet, which had been lush and bright red, turned into a thin strip of 
black tuft. The lighting had been dim before, but now it was dim and red and 
emanating from little steel torches bolted into the walls. Other than that 
light, the place was pretty darn gloomy. 

Sally made her way along the hall looking for any sign of a door. Finally, 
she made out one at the very opposite end A small, hand-painted index card 
had been thumb-tacked to the door wood. And it read, "Shoe Buyers". 

This must be the place, she said to herself as she took in a big breath and 
placed her hand on the doorknob. It twisted easily in her hand and she 
pushed on the door until it opened up. 

She smiled with relief when she saw the sparsely familiar reception room. It 
was as ordinary as any she had been in over her secretarial career years. 
Upright sofa, coffee table full of last year's magazines. Long 
receptionist's desk with a bunch of different colored phones. And a rather 
average-looking girl sitting behind the desk. 

"Name?' the girl said, routinely. 

"Sally," she smiled broadly, adding, "from Tip Top." 

"Ah," she said, picking up a pencil and a visitor's card pin with a little 
white label attached. "Yes." 

Sally watched as she scribbled a few words onto the card. Then she looked up 
at her through her bifocals and asked, "Mistress or Slave?" 

"Huh?" she said back. 

"I asked you," the girl said, striking a sudden attitude of assertiveness 
that Sally found totally unnecessary, "if you were attending the convention 
as a Mistress or as a Slave." 

"Oh,' Sally said, feeling her arms grow limp as cooked spaghetti. 

"Which is it?" the girl snapped. Boy she sure had changed her tune in the 
last minute. "As you can see," she continued, "I have to fill in your card, 
so let's have it." 

"Well," Sally began slowly, "I don't really know, you see . ... How do I 
tell, I mean...." 

Before she had a chance to finish the girl was poking her in the arm with 
the visitor's card pin. Sally looked down to see it completely filled out. 
The word "Slave" had been inked in over the whole thing. 

"Next room," the girl pointed blatantly, "and I'll take that." Now she was 
pointing to Sally's brown package. 

Sally gave it to her in a daze and then turned to follow the end of her 
finger toward the door on her left. 

She marched intently toward it. Little office snit! She'd seen them before. 
They were in every single office she had ever set foot in. How come people 
couldn't just be nice, she wondered. Give somebody a desk and a couple of 
telephones and Wow!. . . 

Sally's thoughts were broken off by an ear-piercing scream that split her 
attention in two the moment she walked in the room. Then the sights took 
over and she had to brace herself against the door behind her to take them 
all in. 

The room was about the size of a regular school classroom. But there, the 
resemblance ended. Except for the punishment. There was a lot of it going on 
in the room. In every corner in fact. Women were tied to stakes with their 
rear ends exposed. Women were gagged with harnesses around their necks 
strung up between hooks in the ceiling, from which a few of them dangled in 
face-to-crotch positions. Some were dressed in black leather outfits, much 
like the one Whitney Wilde had on earlier that day. Women stood with 
bullwhips, some with riding crops administering punishment as well. Men were 
being led around the room on leashes like dogs. Black leather, chains, 
crops, handcuffs, leather belts, snapping, cracking, popping, red welts, 
screams of pain, others screaming as they inflicted it. These were the 
sights and sounds that assaulted her senses. These were the scenes of a 
dungeon. 

As far as Sally could make out, the only thing missing was a torture rack. 
One bare-chested powerfully-built male stepped toward her. She had no idea 
who he was, as he was wearing a black executioner's hood over his face. He 
wore black leather breeches and carried a leather slave whip. 

Sally tried to open the door again, but found it locked. She pulled the hand 
with the card in it behind her back, but the big man grabbed it from her. 

She stared at him in awe and terror as he read what was so plainly marked on 
it. 

"We've been waiting for you," was all the man said, "follow me." He gestured 
toward the center of the room with his whip handle. 

Sally was unsure what she should do, but something told her to follow him, 
whatever else she had planned. 

She padded along after him with mixed feelings, as he led the way with wide, 
aggressive boot stomps. 

"A slave, Mistress," he said, bowing to a huge, statuesque silver-haired 
woman decked out in leather tight pants with a halter top made of studded 
leather that had been pierced with holes so abundant that it looked like 
heavy fish net. Only the nipples of her breasts were hidden, by huge steel 
tips in the shape of nipples. She was wearing the highest heeled boots Sally 
had ever seen. She couldn't even figure out how she could walk on them. 

"Down on your knees," the woman commanded to the girl. She was holding the 
biggest, thickest, meanest leather switch Sally could imagine. It had five 
separate thongs dangling off one end of. She would have to be a whip 
specialist just to operate it. 

Again the woman ordered her, "Get down, Slave!" and when Sally stared back 
at her, she pushed her down to the ground with the heel of her boot. 

The girl stared up at the woman who looked about the size of the Statue of 
Liberty from her position on the floor. She might have been a gorgeous 
woman, or she might have been the ugliest one alive. There was no telling. 
She wore a mask that curved up in haughty black peaks and swirls at the 
temples. Only her eyes were visible. 

"Now bow down to me, Scum Whore!" the woman said, asserting her whole weight 
on 

Sally's shoulder with the heel of her boot. 

Sally caught on quite quickly, this time. She cast her eyes downward and 
bent her head over far, so far she could only glimpse the toes of the 
woman's stacked boots. 

"Now kiss my boot," the woman said in a preening, haughty voice. A voice 
that made the hairs on Sally's neck stand up. 

"Holy Shit!" she spilled out as she realized she was in real hot water. 
These people were not fooling around. No, Sireee! 

"Wretched Street Trash!" the woman shouted, "How dare you speak to me in 
that flippant tone of voice. I'll teach you to speak right, won't we, 
Basil?" 

The black hooded male came toward her and took up a position at her right 
side. 

"As Mistress commands," he said, bowing and moving in on Sally. 

She gripped the stone floor with her fingernails so hard they broke off. How 
the hell had she gotten into this in the first place? Better still, how the 
hell was she going to get out of it? 

"Seize her and beat her!" the woman commanded, whirling around to give a few 
more male dominants the word on just what they could do with this 
intolerable bitch. 

Four or five males came rushing up from various parts of the room, and since 
Sally was afraid to look up, could only spot them out of her peripheral 
vision. 

They cuffed her by the right and left arms and then yanked her up onto her 
feet. They half-drug, half-hauled her to the nearest empty neck collar which 
was shackled into the floor on a long steel chain. 

Sally felt the stiff leather brace encircle her neck, pinching her skin, her 
hair, her pride. She felt it lock securely into place and then she saw 
someone, a black hooded male, force the ring into the collar into an open 
hasp. When the thing clicked shut, she let out a scream. It was followed by 
the silver-haired Mistress's whip which cracked like a gunshot. 

"Silence, Slut!" she crowed, bringing the whip back up over her head. "You 
are making your already untenable position all that much worse." 

Sally sunk down onto her knees and felt the tears roll down her cheeks. She 
didn't know why she was crying. Nobody was hurting her, but she had a 
feeling it wouldn't be long now 

"Bind her!" the woman in charge shouted to her men. They obeyed instantly. 

Sally felt a leather lined wrist cuff go around her left, then her right 
wrist. They snapped shut with the finality of a jail cell closing behind a 
condemned man. 

"Why ... " she heard herself say in her small, whine, "why me?" 

"Shut that pink, slimy trap of yours," the she-bitch snarled, and she 
cracked her whip for emphasis. 

Sally had to admit that with that thing in her hand, she presented a 
powerful picture of authority. 

"Spread those legs of hers out ... far out," the witch snapped, "harder!" 

Two of the men got on one side and two on the other. They spread Sally's 
shapely legs apart and manacled her on both sides and the ankles. She felt a 
little rip tear up from her ass and split to her cunt. These black-faced 
beefcakes were stretching her in two. 

"Excuse me," she stared timidly, "but do you mind? I think this has gone 
just about far...." 

The bitch cracked her whip about an inch away from Sally's twitching pug 
nose. She said nothing more. Neither did Sally. But she heard the awful 
clanking shut of the manacles around her ankles and looked over her shoulder 
as best she could to see chains stretching out from her ankles and heading 
toward two ugly protruding meat hooks sticking up out of the stone floor. 

She shriveled on the spot to think of what might come next. She looked down 
as best she could to see the insanely inane little wraparound dress still 
clinging to her body. She looked like coed who had met with foul-play on her 
way to cheerleading practice. Except for those slutty-looking platform 
shoes. They fit right into this bizarre convention. 

"Who wants to be the first," the woman shouted to all those in attendance. 

Sally looked a little to her right and saw that there were a few people 
sitting in chairs on one side of the room. like a peanut gallery. 

"Who wants to administer the first blow of the lash?" the woman ordered. 

A nicely-dressed man in a three-piece suit with a black hood over his face 
stepped forward. Sally could barely make him out. He looked like some 
executive or another. Probably here on his lunch hour. They had all begun to 
look pretty much alike to her by this time, whether it was in the office or 
here, at the auction block. 

She felt the wraparound dress come ripping right off her back. She nearly 
died with embarrassment when she remembered that her panties and bra were 
ripped until she thought that it was probably okay, since they would just 
end up more shredded by the time this was over. Whenever that would be. 

Then she felt a powerful hand grip the back strap of her bra and tear it off 
her breasts and down her middle. The wind whizzed past her naked nipples 
giving them a titillating breeze making her nipples stand up erect. 

"All right," she said, knowing it would probably lead nowhere, "now look 
what you've done...." 

"That's enough!" the black queen shrieked, snapping the whip down onto the 
floor at her heels, "Gag her!" 

Sure enough, someone was right there to do it, too. She felt a heavy harness 
like thing come down over her blonde curls and cut off her vision a moment. 
Then she felt a little rubbery ball, a flabby balloon being tucked into her 
mouth. The overwhelming feeling of helplessness she felt was really starting 
to frighten her. There she was, her words about to be cut off, and she 
couldn't do a single thing about it. 

She felt really out of it when that flabby ball began to inflate inside her 
mouth. Luckily her nose holes were free. There was no way she could express 
herself now, except to cry. She felt the tears well up in the corners of her 
eyes, preparing to spill out. 

The shadows of the action behind her back played on the wall beside her. She 
could see the sordid events distorted and larger than life, playing in the 
flickering shadows of the stone wall. Eerie shadows bounced around there. 
This was a circus all right. A freak show. And she was the center 
attraction. 

She felt the wet tears spill out and down her cheeks. They splattered down 
toward her breasts and out over her nipples. Then she ground her heels hard 
into the concrete floor and prepared herself for the whipping she knew would 
come. 

"Step right up, Sir," the Iron Mistress said to the man, snapping her 
fingers together. A slave brought up a tray of choice punishment equipment. 
A mace, a riding crop, leather-covered paddle. Cat o' nine tails. Clothes 
pins, C-clamps. Other instruments of pain and torture. 

"Have you made your selection?" the black bitch said imperiously. 

"I have, Mistress," the man said, fitting his huge ringed fingers around a 
slippery leather whip handle. 

"An excellent choice," the woman said, gesturing toward the helpless body of 
the blonde girl, "our slave awaits her punishment." 

The man gripped the slithery tip of the big bull whip in one hand and the 
thick leathery handle in the other. He advanced toward the writhing, 
twisting body hanging deliciously suspended from hooks. 

Those delectable curvy white thighs, those high-rising buns flinching and 
gripping each other, that smooth, arched back, the blonde tresses, now 
falling in such confusion every which way over the girl's silken shoulders. 
He was going to enjoy whipping the shit out of her, that was for sure. 

He reared up with every muscle in his body and poised for the strike. He 
held the sinewy leather strand in mid-air a tantalizing moment before he 
snapped it hard and brought it down full force on the resisting, tossing 
girl's backside. 

It slapped down hard, like a speed boat hitting rough water. With the first 
horrible snap of the whip, the man felt his erect member clang against his 
pants like an errant dinner bell. 

Sally felt the sting of the mean leather flail against he tender flesh. It 
burned like a ring of fire. The track on her back smarted and swelled up 
immediately as soon as the man brought the whip off her back. She winced and 
fought the tears that rolled down her cheeks. It felt awful, just awful to 
be tied up like that. To be made to feel so helpless, so low, so subhuman. 
Then, before she had time to add all her thoughts up, the man struck again. 
And this time, the blow really hurt. He hit her right between her ass 
cheeks. Right up into her crotch. 

Sally could see one huge male dominant come into her field of vision. The 
bulge in his leather breeches was so enormous she had to look away a moment. 
But she couldn't help looking right back. It was poking hard against the 
metal teeth of his zipper, forcing it out in a wide basket arc. 

But her attention was drawn elsewhere again quickly as the leather whip 
again gave off with a loud crack before it struck the skin of her back, 
laying a long track along her spine red and bare. 

Shit that hurts! She said to herself, feeling as helpless as a fly in a 
spider web. I wonder how long he intends to keep that up. Sally turned her 
head momentarily against the wall to see one of the other female slaves 
being forced down to her knees at the foot of the man whipping her. Then, in 
the shadows, she could make out the form of the woman being forced toward 
the man's crotch. She watched in shock and surprise as the woman unzipped 
the man's crotch and took out his erect member. Then she saw the shadow of 
the woman taking the man's cock into her mouth and sucking on it. But even 
with all that action going on, the man did not diminish his whipping, not 
one little bit. 

She turned her attention back to the pain of her red, swollen backside. Her 
buttocks must have looked like Indianapolis speedway by now. It felt like 
it, too. The male dominant standing guard at her side, the one with the huge 
erect front was now unzipping himself. He took a huge, long dick about the 
size of a polish sausage and slowly, slowly began to masturbate it. 

Sally was amazed at how nonchalant he was about it. He stood there with that 
insanely, obscenely huge schlong of his pointing out toward the enrapt 
audience while Sally was getting a beating a runaway slave in deepest 
Georgia wouldn't have stood for. 

She watched in absolute amazement as the man took his big gripping paw and 
covered the whole huge top of his slippery smooth cock knob with it and 
began to work it around slowly, like the handle of a coffee grinder, a huge 
coffee grinder. 

"Suck his dick!" she heard someone from the audience cry out. 

She was pretty sure they couldn't have meant her. They must have been 
cheering for the woman sucking her assailant's dick. She cast her glance 
once more to the side and saw in shadow the woman working her mouth up and 
down hard on what appeared to be the longest dick she had ever seen, but it 
was in shadow, and those things do tend to distort in such capricious light. 

"Ooooohh," she heard the dominant stud say who was standing next to her. She 
drew her attention back to him and watched as he pried his meat .around and 
around by simply gripping the head of his huge dick wand and shifting its 
gear. 

She watched transfixed as the blows rained down on her back and the man slid 
his monster huge hand up and down his gigantic erect prick shaft. He was 
working it very slowly, building up the tension, but for whose benefit, 
Sally wondered, as she felt herself grow somewhat aroused, in spite of her 
attempts to control the sensation. She just never could resist a masked man 
playing with his pecker meat right in front of her. Perhaps he was teasing 
her, after all. 

The big black hooded stud played his hand up and down his monster meat 
getting the shaft hard and wet. The thing thudded under the huge lock grip 
of his palm as he slid his hand up to the head, made a large circle over the 
tacky moist dome and gripped it again to begin the long trip back down. He 
let his hands slide down and grasp the hilt hard. He cupped one hand around 
his pulsating hard rocking balls and let the other hand do the duty of 
sliding back up his shaft producing more pre-cum droplets every centimeter 
of the way. Then he spread the sticky tacky stuff down over his rock hard 
shaft, now glistening in the torch light of the room, all the way down to 
the base of his peter. The thing was stiffening under his hands, growing 
harder with each rise and fall of his muscular hard palms. 

The hair follicles on his balls felt like nerve endings of needle point 
showers as he jarred his cock a little, beginning a circular motion over his 
huge crown dome head. Then, he let his hands slide down back over his stiff, 
throbbing shaft to the hilt again and back up. He was building up a rhythm 
and speed that was making his onlookers gasp with excitement. 

Sally couldn't take her eyes off the throbbing, hard dick. As much as she 
could feel the pain, this distraction was proving to be a blessed relief. 
She could feel the smoke and steam of arousal rising up inside her. She 
could feel her cunt lips puffing up with the juice and engorgement of 
arousal. She could feel herself getting hot and she resented it a whole lot. 
The pain, the arousal, the pain, the arousal, the arousal, the pain, the hot 
horny lusty, sexy, sexy, sexy way she couldn't stop, couldn't control, 
couldn't do anything about. 

She watched in growing excitation, as the man whisked his heavy hands up and 
down the full length of his monster pecker. She saw him glide and slide 
those two hands in and out of every possible position as he gripped his fuck 
pole and stroked, stroked, stroked it harder and harder, faster and faster. 
Cling and jerk, back and forth, up and down. Around and around. 

He was drawing her into his vortex with every slippery, enticing move of 
throbbing hard whang. 

Shit, she thought to herself. Where's the cock that should be slipped into 
my cunt right now? What a bummer! 

The dominant hooded stud with his prick in his hand kept one eye on the 
bouncing big tits waving in front of him as he drew his meat up to full 
length in front of him and pulled his hands back down the slimy shaft, only 
to send it up top again, faster and faster. Her tantalizing siren's tits 
were waving at him, welcoming him bringing his arousal to a hot, heavy 
pitch. 

His arousal was building, building harder and hotter and higher with each 
sweep of his hand up and down, down and up the thick hot shaft. His meat 
glowed wet and throbbing under his glancing handiwork. Over and over his 
cock he flailed his strong fingers as he watched Sally's tits, as he saw the 
whipping man fling his whip into her white, throbbing flanks, as he showed 
the crowd his tremendous meat stick, his big, hot dick weapon. He pulled 
harder and harder, until he felt his butt muscles tighten to the breaking 
point. And then, BANG! He shot out his white man load. He blew his spunk all 
over Sally's white hot tits. He creamed on her pulsating flesh mounds. 

Sally's eyes shot open and banged shut as the jism flew onto her wiggling, 
writhing tits. She felt the hot load cream down her nipples and stick to her 
boob mounds. The thick, creamy goo oozed down over her breasts and ran 
toward her aching, hot cunt. She felt the trickle slide in between her cunt 
lips and felt the juice masturbate her cunt. It cradled and bathed her cunt 
in its delicious still-warm juice. 

That little drop of come was all she needed. She opened her eyes in a pitch 
of excitation as she glanced over onto the wall and saw the shadow of the 
whipping man's prick shoot its load of spray. It shot out a big, thick round 
of come juice, that she could only see in shadow. 

The juice of her cunt mingled with the man's jism juice and the sight on the 
wall combined to give her a hard, hot rush of heavy, gyrating orgiastic 
come. She blushed purple and blue and felt the whip dig into her flesh again 
and again as the waves of orgasm pelted her one after another. As the 
blanket of pain and ecstasy covered her layer after layer. 

She was not even vaguely aware that the door of the room had opened and that 
a young, fashionable couple had walked in. She did not see the couple coming 
over to where she was strung up like a side of beef. She did not see or hear 
or feel them pointing excitedly toward her. And she was totally unaware of 
their conversation. 

"Charlene," Bob Kuafman said, pointing to the strung-up girl victim "how 
about this?" 

Charlene Kuafman took a long, astute, studied look at the voluptuous, 
innocent form of the slave strung up in front of her eyes. The welts on her 
back were forming strands of pink ribbon from her shoulders to her ass 
cheeks. Her high hot tight butt mounds were heaving and sweating with the 
pain of resistance. Her upturned tits were wringing wet with the moisture of 
arousal, pain, and punishment "She'll do," the woman said, sizing up the 
situation, "she'll do just fine." 

 CHAPTER SEVEN 

Sally didn't remember much about being taken out of the shackles that had 
made her ankles and wrists so swollen and sore. She had very little 
recollection of the Kuafman couple wrapping her in a fur coat and paying an 
enormous sum of money to the head mistress for her. 

She did remember bobbing and weaving in the middle of the room. Feeling 
still hot and bothered, aroused, slightly bemused, very abused. And hurt. 
God, was she hurting. 

"Where are you taking me?" she asked as the couple escorted her out. Again 
the beige and brown tones of the reception room glanced past her. She felt 
as if she were on a roller coaster. A roller coaster going up and down, but 
leading nowhere, nowhere she wanted to go. 

"We've taken a little suite, just for the occasion," the tall, 
reddish-blonde woman said. They both edged her out the door and down the 
long corridor. Had someone drugged her? The hall was pitching and rolling 
like a ship on a storm-tossed sea. And she was seized with a bout of nausea, 
to accompany the bad trip. 

"I think, I think I'm gonna throw . ... " she broke away from the man's 
grasp a moment and felt herself heave up and over the side rails as she 
tossed her vomit onto the fire extinguisher perched on one side of the hall. 

"This is a sick girl," Bob Kuafman said, wondering why they had picked her 
anyway. But as the fur coat slipped off her back and he glimpsed the 
gorgeous drop-dead delectable figure on the little slave, he nodded to 
himself in understanding. 

Funny thing, too, she looked a little like his own wife. The same coloring. 
Though his wife's hair was more reddish and straighter. They were both 
willowy. And stacked. Then, too, they both turned him on just looking at 
those voluptuous tits of the girl's and thinking about the big, stiff 
upturned ones his wife had. 

"Let's get her to the rooms right away," Charlene said, grabbing her around 
the wrist and guiding toward the "Fire Exit' door. 

Somehow the three of them made their way out it. They sped down the hotel 
hallway toward the elevator. The vista did look familiar to Sally, but in 
her vague dazed state of awareness, she couldn't quite place it. 

When the elevator opened, however, it came back to her a little. There were 
those black men again, with the red fezzes, bobbing and grinning to each 
other. Until she got on. Then they stiffened up and stared blankly ahead. 
The whole scene made Sally think she was in a marketplace in Marakesh or 
Tangiers. The black men were slave traders, the couple gripping her wrists 
were white slave kidnappers. She was going to be taken to some mysterious 
port of call and forced to live with a eunuch in a harem or some other 
despicable Asian fate. 

"Help," she tried to speak through parched, dried lips, "I don't want to 
live in a harem." 

Again, the stony passengers of the elevator ignored her outburst. 

The elevator chugged up to the thirty-fourth floor and opened as Sally felt 
herself being nudged off. She tried to wave a limp goodbye to the black men, 
the last humans she was afraid she would ever again see on this earth before 
she was banished to the interior of a sheik's palace. How sad, how romantic, 
how painful. And speaking of pain, those welts on her back were really 
starting to have their way with her. 

"Owwwwwwww," she said as the couple and she made their way down the hall. 

"We'll have to do something about those bruises," the woman said, quite 
calmly, "right away." 

Sally was aware that they weren't moving any more. She watched impassively 
as the man turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open. He kicked at 
it with his foot as he caught her just before she slid to the floor. 

Suddenly, the three of them were inside and someone was running the shower. 
She heard ice being poured out of an ice bucket. Hell of a time for a drink, 
she thought to herself. Then, she felt the ice, now wrapped in a cool terry 
cloth towel, being applied to her head. Another pack was slapped on her 
back. 

She knew a few moment later that she was standing under a cool shower. And 
then she was being dried off. Very thoroughly, too. She could hear giggling 
and talking, someone even started stroking her breasts, not bad, if she had 
been in the mood for it. She wasn't at that particular moment. 

"Let's get her to bed," the woman's voice spoke up, "Then let's slip this 
down her." 

Sally wondered what the hell they were going to slip down her, but she was 
unable to do so much as ask. 

She felt a pair of smooth, massaging hands rub a little balm onto her welts 
and some of the pain went away. 

"Here," a male voice said, "drink this." 

She felt her head being held up and a glass of liquid come up to her lips. 
She drank eagerly, only dimly aware that the liquid had a sweet, sticky 
undertaste. She lay her head back on the pillow or something soft and felt 
herself nod, nod, nod off into a deep, dreamless sleep. 

When she woke up, she felt alert and a whole lot clearer. She blinked and 
stared up at the ceiling. Now, if she could just remember who she was and 
how she got here, everything would fall naturally into place. She was sure. 

"Welcome back to the world of the living," a satiny smooth voice said down 
to her reassuringly. 

"Oh," Sally said, hopefully, "It's good to be alive." 

"I think so, ' the dark, curly-haired man with the build like Apollo said to 
her. 

"By the way," she said, batting her eyes and fluffing her hair up, "who are 
you?" 

A long pause. Then the honey voice of the sexy woman came to play like a 
zither in her ears. "You can think of us as, well, as your captors." 

"What?" Sally said, sitting hard up in bed and feeling for the covers, which 
were no where to be found. 

"Relax," the barrel-chested man said, "perhaps that word makes you 
frightened. And we wouldn't want you to be. At least, not yet." 

Sally stared at the pair in horror. What were these two doing here anyway? 
They were dressed beautifully. That was evident. The woman was wearing a 
long black gown with a very revealing dip in the front. The man had on a 
smoking jacket, and a pair of black satin pants underneath. They looked like 
they were about to take brunch on the terrace. Only there was no terrace and 
it wasn't time for brunch. 

"What do you want from me?" she said with those big, green innocent eyes 
that invariably got her into hot water. "What am I supposed to be doing 
here?" 

"Just exactly what you're doing," the man said, smiling a sexy smile out of 
the corner of his mouth. He looked like Rhett Butler. 

"I'm sitting in a strange room with two strange people, and I don't mind 
telling both of you, I feel strange about it," Sally countered, wondering if 
that argument made any sense whatsoever. 

"You're pleasing us," the woman crooned, "by your presence. Can that be 
bad?" 

"I don't know," Sally said, wishing she had more on that a flimsy towel 
wrapped around her like a sarong, "I've stopped thinking in terms of good 
and bad ever since this morning." 

"Like us," the man said, pacing the floor at the foot of her huge, brass 
bed. "We've also stopped thinking in terms of good and bad. You see, we, my 
wife and I that is, we have come to believe only in the states of pain and 
pleasure. We make no value judgments about either of them. As far as we are 
concerned, good and bad are matters of personal choice. ' 

Sally thought hard about that one a moment. And she didn't like it one bit. 

"Does the phrase "consenting adult" mean anything to you?" she asked, with 
one eye on her peek-a-boo terry cloth sarong. It seemed to be slipping off 
of her. "Or how about the word, "kidnapping." You like that one? Maybe the 
term "federal offense"? She felt suddenly that her sarong was not slipping 
at all. It was being pulled off. Pulled off her battered and abused gorgeous 
little body. Yanked right down over her popping big tits and silky pussy 
mound. By the woman sitting right there beside her. 

"You are tasty," the woman said, bringing her hand up and pinching one of 
Sally's rosy round nipples. "I'd like to play with you." 

"I don't think you want to play," Sally said, feeling her nipple respond 
despite her attempts to discourage it. It bobbed up like a life buoy in 
troubled waters. Hard and bouncing. "I think you have something else in 
mind." 

"Don't be too cynical" the man said, "just because you've been through a 
rough patch." 

"Rough patch?" the girl said, incredulously, "I've just been beaten to 
within an inch of my life. And you call that a rough patch?' 

"The question," the woman said now, prowling her hand over toward Sally's 
other succulent big nipple, "is not whether you were beaten or not, but if 
you enjoyed it." 

Sally bit her bottom hp and wished to hell she could button it there. She 
thought hard before she responded. 

"Yes and no," she said, feeling a little creamy in her jeans. The woman was 
getting her more than a little aroused with her insistent fondling. "On the 
one hand, it hurt like hell. And I won't deny it. On the other, it was sort 
of...." 

"Kinky?" the man interrupted her. 

"Yeah," she said, nodding her head and feeling her nipples harden like clay 
in a kiln. "How did you know?" 

"Because I've been there, Sweetheart," the man said, standing up and pulling 
his robe off. 

Sally caught a glimpse of his he-man chest before he turned around so that 
she could see the welt scars on his back. They looked so cruel and 
heartless. Also, they looked intriguing. 

"Oh," she said, feeling the woman's hand slither down toward the crack 
between her legs. 

"You've gotten a little bruised down here," the woman purred, "I'm going to 
rub some salve in. It won't hurt." 

Sure enough. She reached for a tan jar of something or other and scooped up 
a gob of it onto her fingers. Then she proceeded to ply Sally's crack with 
the most elegant, smotheringly suggestible hand movements. Her little 
lingers were everywhere. Covering and fondling and probing and circling. Her 
cunt lips felt like they were being kissed by a herd of butterflies. 

Sally felt a little tinge of embarrassment as she realized her cunt lips 
were clacking together again. They always insisted on doing this at the 
slightest provocation. And right now, they sounded like a freight train on a 
loose track. 

She wasn't too sure, but it felt like the man's hands had joined the 
woman's. One person couldn't possibly be touching her in all those places at 
once. She felt herself melt like a weeping candle. She was so ready, so 
completely ready to give herself over to the care of these two, and it felt 
so damn good to have two such adept people working on you, bringing your 
cunt lips together and out, together and out. Getting your clitoris worked 
up like a steam shovel. 

"Oh, God," she heard herself say as she slumped down onto the bed, "would 
one of you like to fuck me?" 

She opened her eyes immediately as soon as she felt the absence of that 
delicious stroking. There was no one plying her cunt lips together or 
pinching her nipples. She looked up to see the man slipping out of his silky 
pajama bottoms. She saw his schlong dangling between his tree trunk thighs. 
She blinked in disbelief. At least maybe he was going to fuck her, that 
would feel good just about now. 

She could see the woman at the other side of the next bed slipping out of 
her gown. Her tits looked like two snow-covered ski jumps with red flags 
waving atop them. She had the most lustrous strawberry blonde bush and the 
straightest, creamiest legs. Curvy in all the right places. 

Christ, Sally thought to herself. Maybe they're both going to fuck me. Okay. 
I guess I'm up for it. 

Then she watched as the man slipped into a black leather jock strap with an 
ugly steel zipper mounted on front. He tucked his enormous whang inside and 
zipped the thing up with a huge, steel roar. 

The woman was getting into her own set of black leathers. A whale boned 
corset with grommets in the front and laces that she had to pull in tight 
and tie off. The thing looked like leather, and it certainly clung to her 
like it was. 

She reached down and retrieved a black bikini bra from the bed. She could 
barely stuff her gigantic tits into it, but after a struggle, she snapped it 
up in the back. Then she sat down and eased her legs and calves and thighs 
and stunning white hips into a tight little leather garter belt with long 
free-swinging garter. She reached over and grabbed a pair of web-meshed 
stockings and began to stretch them on tantalizingly over her toes, then 
inch by inch up her legs. 

Sally was aware that the man was binding his waist with a huge leather cinch 
belt. Gigantic steel loops hung from it. Then she noticed that one of those 
steel loops wasn't empty. A thick English riding crop was stuck in it. 

The woman stuck her leg up high and pulled a skin tight leather boot with 
crisscross steel stays on it onto her foot. Then she zipped it up. The heel 
was about as thick as a mattress. She repeated the procedure on her other 
foot. 

The blonde girl sighed and wished to hell her cunt wasn't as wet as it was 
right now. Then she saw the woman stand up, take a mask off the night stand 
and put it on over her face. Her lovely features disappeared, and in their 
place, a mean-looking black leather mask adorned with silver sequins. 

The man grabbed a similar mask, only without the sequins and popped it on 
over his handsome features. 

Then the two of them advanced toward Sally as she cowered down in the bed. 

"Follow us, Slave," the woman commanded, "do our bidding as we order you to, 
and you will survive this ordeal. But if you cross us, if you attempt to 
defy us in any way, we will be forced to retaliate mercilessly. Do you 
understand?" 

Sally nodded her head meekly. 

She felt the man's knee thrust up into her groin. And that hurt! 

"Address your mistress as 'Mistress', Slave!" the man roared. 

Again, the wave of hopelessness hit Sally square in the face. These people 
meant what they said. And she didn't want to try to defy them in case they 
didn't. 

"Sit," the man said, going over to a swivel chair at the enormous hotel room 
desk and twirl it toward her. 

Sally wished she had something more to put on her rear end. Or something to 
cover her breasts or her open exposed pussy, but she was fresh out of luck. 
She held her head down and made for the chair. She climbed up on it and felt 
the brisk stiff leather seat intrude on the white soft sanctity of her ass 
cheeks. 

"Kiss my boot," the woman shot down from her lofty heights. She was standing 
on eight inch heels and they made her dizzy with power. 

Sally sat with her head bowed as the woman brought her leathered foot up 
sharply and stuck it right in her face. 

"Lick it, Slave!" the man coaxed as he elbowed her with the brunt end of his 
riding crop. 

She had to admit, they both presented a powerful argument for doing exactly 
as they commanded. 

She stuck her throbbing, hot pink tongue out and let it swoop down over the 
leather toe. She made contact with the smooth, black, shiny leather with her 
wet, pulsating tickler tongue. The connection was electric. 

Sally felt her tongue go soft at once and begin to slobber and slaver all 
over the woman's big boot tip. The leather was exquisite to the taste and 
touch. It was so brutal, so forced, so inexplicably exciting. She was 
totally in their power, totally wed under their thumb. They could do with 
her whatever they wished and she would have to obey. She felt her eyes snap 
shut as she licked fervently. She could only hope they would be good to her. 
She was getting extremely excited doing this. 

The man looked down at the girl's shapely backside as she licked and slurped 
his wife's boot. The sight of that girl humbling herself before the iron 
hand of his power-crazed wife made him instantly hard. He could not control 
himself. The sight of that blonde hair flowing onto his wife's harsh boot 
head made him unbelievably hard and throbbing and pulsating and huge. He 
could feel his cock thrashing against the metal zipper case. It was 
demanding to be set free. 

Charlene Kuafman could feel the arousal rising and falling in her big, 
heaving tits. She could feel it well up inside her cunt, too, thickening her 
lips and making them weep with anticipation. The sight of this slender, 
voluptuous helpless young girl leaning down and humbling herself in front of 
her made her heady with power and desire. 

"I think this slave is a born sucker!" she said, drawing her boot away from 
the eager girl's mouth. "Let's give her something more challenging to suck 
on." 

She snapped her fingers and ordered her dominant over to her side. She 
pointed to his throbbing leather basket. 

He straddled the girl's narrow white thighs and brought his hips up so hard 
he stuck the black pouch right in her face. It was hot and swelling up 
hotter every second. 

"Now you," the woman snarled, "Open that zipper with your teeth!" 

Sally felt shame and degradation burn onto her cheeks and forehead. How dare 
these two ask her to do such a low thing. It was unthinkable. She shook her 
head back and forth a few times, defying them. 

"You dare to defy me?" the blonde temptress recoiled, "Never!" 

She snapped her fingers and Sally felt a huge stiff neck bracelet encircle 
her tiny neck. It clanked shut and held her head so rigidly in place she 
feared her neck would snap if she moved in either direction. Then she felt 
her head being pulled back, probably by a leash hooked onto the neck cuff. 
They must have anchored it somewhere, because she really couldn't move her 
head. Terror gripped her. Fear covered her like the night and she began to 
shake. 

"Again I command you, Slave," the woman said, bringing that big, thick 
riding crop down over her head in way she could see it, "Unzip your Master's 
pants, with your teeth." 

Sally blocked out the pain around her neck by closing her eyes and trying to 
forget about it a moment. No good. And besides that, the smell and feel of 
hot leather was blistering her lips. 

She must have hesitated a moment too long. She felt the familiar gripping 
against her wrists. The man was putting manacles on her. She looked to see 
them snap shut, but no. It was a rope. She was being tied up, tied right 
there into that chair, like a martyr to a stake. 

"Oh, no," she cried out, "please." 

"Do as we say, Slut," the woman crowed, "or worse will happen to you." 

Sally swallowed hard and poked her neck out as far as the iron brace would 
allow her. She bared her teeth toward the silver steel zipper tab and opened 
her mouth wide. She brought her mouth down on the steel protuberance and 
gripped it hard. Then she began to tug at it with all the muscles in her 
mouth. It came down stiffly and with great difficult, but still she gripped 
and tugged and pursued it as far as it would go. The hot, hard bundle inside 
didn't make things any easier. 

"Now, work his meat out with your tongue, Vile Wench!" the woman snapped, 
bringing the riding crop down hard onto the back of Sally's head. It felt 
like a guillotine blade. 

Sally pried the man's huge cock out of its leather cage. It wasn't easy, 
either. His prick was so huge and stiff and throbbing and hard and 
pulsating, it practically defied touch. Her mouth muscles ached by the time 
she released the whole rock hard bundle from its hole. 

"Now, Suck, Bitch!" the blonde siren wailed, "suck his cock and do it well." 

Sally leaned over a little more and paused a moment. But it was one moment 
too long. The woman's hard, heavy hand landed a blow to her and the thudding 
sound of the riding crop came into her ears as the pain of the blow lit up 
her nerve endings. 

"Owwww," she managed before the man stuffed his pecker inside her mouth. 

Sally was aware that her air would be cut off if she didn't immediately 
begin to suck this man. This tremendous, heavy load that he plied in and out 
of her mouth. The dome felt like it must have been about the size of the one 
on the capitol building. 

"Suck that load, Hopeless She-Devil!" the stormy blonde was at it again. 

Charlene gripped her crop hard and ruffled the girl's tresses with it 
rudely. The sight of the blonde head going down on her husband's hard long 
dick was enough make her melt her leathers. She felt herself oozing come 
cream long before climax. The sight was arousing her tremendously. 

Bob Kuafman felt the entwining, hot helpless lips embrace his huge, flailing 
cock rod. He rammed it in and out as swiftly and as hard as he possibly 
could. This was no time for easy fore play. His arousal sent spurs of pain 
shooting down to his boots. His cock felt like a diving rod stiffening the 
closer it got to the water source. Harder, harder, he plunged his heaving 
whang down her tiny sucking hole. 

More, more of the man's hopelessly huge cock was worming its way down her 
slithering gullet. Where was she going to put all this? He was going to poke 
her tonsils out. Oh, Christ, Sally thought, as her cunt lips grew ever 
stiffer with the inflammation of heat and desire, where will this end? 
Where? 

The man worked his ramrod in and out of those pouty pink lips. All the way 
to the head, all the way to the hilt. Hilt to head. Head to hilt. He fit the 
child purse her lips hard to disallow him entrance, but still he forced his 
way down inside. He looked up to see his wife's quivering pussy lips 
glistening in front of him. And he reached his whole big hairy arm down 
toward it. 

Charlene felt her husband's giant fingers thrust right up inside her 
waiting, wet cunt. They circled up and around inside her, prying more joy 
juice loose from her pussy. The intrusion, the harsh poking, prodding hook 
thrust up inside her so roughly made her seethe with pleasure and agony. She 
looked down to see the girl's cunt lips quivering as hers had a moment ago. 

"Here, Wicked Girl!" she muttered and thrust the brunt end of her crop right 
between Sally's puffed up cunt lips. Then she worked it back and forth 
stiffly, causing the heat of friction to do its duty on the helpless 
withering girl. 

Sally felt the crude leather arm buffet and plummet against her outstretched 
cunt lips. She stroked the man's huge flesh rod with her lips, she fucked 
his giant pole with her mouth. She sweated and she sucked and she crammed 
the insanely hard, wicked tool down into her mouth and out her swollen, wet 
lips. She blew and sucked and tickled and licked the man's gigantic cock 
with every ounce of strength she had She felt her cheeks suction in and out, 
out and in as she continued to pull him down inside her throat. Then she let 
him back up again, only to swallow him another time, so far, he saw his 
balls disappear. Then he pulled back out a moment and held his rock hard 
schlong against the tip of the girl's seething lips. The tip of his big 
pecker rested there a moment, a moment in time and space, suspended, 
suspended in the height of arousal before he shot. He shot a load of mancome 
out the end of his waving ramrod. He sprayed the juice all over the girl's 
face, down her throat, into her hair. He shot and he sprayed. He sprayed as 
he shot. 

"Oh, God," Sally cried out in pure agony as the hot load hit her broadside. 

She felt the woman's riding crop ply itself back and forth across her raised 
clit knob. It worked back and forth hard enough to rub her raw. But it only 
succeeded in arousing her to a come pitch. She felt herself give way to the 
whole embracing blanket of orgasm that covered her. She let go and erupted 
into a torrent of squeezing hot orgasms. 

"Christ," Charlene shouted as she felt the riding crop working itself at the 
other end of her grip. Then she felt her husband's hard hand find its mark. 
It pressed her button of arousal down so hard she blasted off into space. 
She felt her cunt split open and the come cream run out. She felt her 
insides head straight up into the sky as she fought to keep her boots 
planted on the ground. 

The sights and sounds the three of them made became a moaning, groaning trio 
of weird instruments, aching, reaching for a single sound. That sound came 
as a knock on the door of the hotel suite. 

"Tap, tap, tap," it sounded on the door wood. 

The three of them could hardly hear it over their heavy breathing. Still it 
came again. "Tap, tap, tap." 

"Room service," a girl's voice announced from the other side. 

The voice intruded on Charlene and Bob's concentration. It broke their 
arousal as they spent themselves in heaving heavy gasps of air. But the 
voice was familiar to Sally. It was the voice of her roommate. It was 
Elaine's voice. 

 CHAPTER EIGHT 

"We didn't order anything from room service," the big man's healthy baritone 
voice rang out. 

"Room service," the girl persisted. 

"What the hell?" the woman shouted, ripping her mask off. "What's this 
about, Bob?" 

"Room service," the faceless voice shouted through the wood fibers. 

"Send that little snit away," the woman said, pacing the floor worriedly. 

"Special delivery," the voice said in a firm, demanding tone. 

"Oh, good God," the woman said, tossing her husband his smoking jacket, "see 
what the hell she wants and get rid of her." 

Bob Kuafman slid the mask off of his face and grabbed the smoking jacket. He 
threw it over his shoulders and did his best to tuck it in around his 
middle. His leather breeches and black boots stuck out below it, an obvious 
mismatch. 

The burly man strode toward the door and turned the handle. He opened the 
door just a crack. Sally could see absolutely nothing where she was sitting. 
She had her back turned away from the door and it was a fact that was 
kicking her in the ass about now. She tried to crane her neck around to see 
what was happening, but she was locked into place. Locked fast and facing 
front and she couldn't budge. 

Elaine stuck her wooden clogged foot in the door and tried her level best to 
pry it open a piece. Nothing doing. The man holding it was strong as an ox. 

"What," he said, sounding very short on patience, "do you want?" 

Elaine tried to shove against the door with her elbow, "well, I'd like to 
speak to you," she said, trying as hard as she could to at least get a look 
at the deep baritone voice's face. 

"Elaine, run, run....." Sally shouted as soon as she found breath to do so. 
Then she felt a hard hand clapped over her mouth and a riding crop poke into 
her guts. 

"I know you've got my friend in there," the red-haired girl said accusingly. 
"You've got her there and I'm going to call the police unless you let me 
in." 

With that, Bob Kuafman shoved the door shut and locked it hard. He turned to 
face his wife as the pounding on the door increased tenfold. The girl was 
shouting and pounding as loud as she could. 

"Let me in there . ... let me or I'll call the hotel detective. I'll call 
the police. Let me in. Let me in." 

Elaine pounded and yelled into the door. A few passer-bys in the hall stared 
oddly at her as they walked past. A couple of them hurried by in order to 
avoid looking at her. 

"What the hell do we do now?" the man asked his wife. 

She turned to the girl she had so firmly gripped by the mouth, "If you so 
much as say one word, I'll horsewhip your friend to coleslaw. Do you 
understand?" 

Sally nodded and let her jaw go slack. She had been fighting her blonde 
captor but now she knew she must keep her head, she must keep her few 
remaining wits about her and think. 

"We have to let her in," Charlene said, tapping her riding crop hard against 
her leather bound hip. "Throw me my gown." 

Bob Kuafman tossed his wife's black satin gown over to her and she slipped 
it over her head as rapidly as she could as the pounding and the shouting 
continued unabated. 

"Let me in, let me . ... " Elaine let her fist fly into space as the door in 
front of them opened and admitted her to the dimly lit room. 

"Come in," the man said, bowing as though he were the last of the country 
gentlemen. "We've been expecting you." 

Elaine doubted that very much. She felt her way uneasily into the huge hotel 
room. The thing was laid out like a ballroom of a plantation. And there was 
Rhett Butler standing right in front of her. Then she saw a statuesque 
blonde in a long black gown advance toward her. She was definitely not 
Scarlett O'Hara. 

"You've got Sally here, haven't you?" she said defiantly. She had to admit 
she felt a little strange, standing there in that big room with the 
chandelier and the fireplace and these two rather well-dressed, handsome 
people standing in front of her. She also realized that she was terribly 
alone, that she hadn't called the police or the house detective and that she 
had no idea what she was going to do when she did find out what they had 
done with her. 

"Won't you sit down?" the man said, gesturing toward the scarlet red divan. 

"I didn't come here to be sociable. Where is Sally?" 

"Your friend is quite safe with us, I assure you," the man said. 

"I don't believe a word of it!" the enraged girl shouted, not knowing if it 
would be proper to knock over a lamp or a vase to prove her point. 

"Arrrrrrrrrhhhhhhhhhhh" she heard coming from behind the door at the end of 
the room. 

"She's in there, isn't she?" Elaine said, standing up and racing toward the 
door. 

Bob dashed after her and made a flying tackle that brought her to the 
carpet. 

She looked up to see the towering blonde bombshell standing over her. 

"Your friend is in the bathroom," Charlene said, maintaining her cool and 
speaking in her haughtiest, high-born voice. 

"Would you like to see her?" She snapped her fingers for her husband to let 
the girl free. 

Elaine stood up, a little shaken, but none the worse for wear. "Yes." She 
felt really scared for some reason. like cold chills were making an ice 
trail up and down her spine. She looked toward the door and heard the 
insane, muffled little cry come from behind it. 

"Go on then, see her for yourself," the regal queen announced and pointed 
toward the bathroom. 

The red-haired girl took a few tentative steps toward the door. She felt her 
heart growing heavier and beating faster in her chest. She felt fear rise 
like a vapor and cloud her reason. But she knew she must get to the door, 
she knew she must turn the hot hard handle now in her hand. And she knew she 
must open it and look.... 

And right in front of her, sitting in an enormous executive style swivel 
chair tied onto it like a side of beef was her best friend. And she had a 
gag in her mouth. Her eyes were wide and blinking. Her body had definite 
marks of a whipping or some kind of torture inflicted upon her. 

"Oh, my God!" the girl screamed as she rushed toward her, "what have they 
done to you, Sally?" 

"Anrrn-hhhhhhhh" she replied unable to speak with her mouth full. 

"What have you done to her?" Elaine said, turning in a rage toward her 
friend's assailants. "What have you done to my friend?" 

"Shall we take that gag out of her mouth and find out?" the blonde witch 
replied casually. "You can ask her yourself if you like." 

Elaine had never seen such brazen behavior in her life. This woman was one 
cool cucumber all right. The man seemed to do anything she wanted, though as 
powerfully built as he was, he could probably pulverize her in one blow. 

She stood entranced as the woman snapped her fingers and pointed toward the 
bound and gagged bundle on the swivel chair. 

Bob Kuafman jumped at his mistress's command and ungagged the stretched out 
slave. 

Sally wiggled her mouth muscles around a little trying to shake the numbness 
off. 

"Sally," Elaine said, falling down to her knees in front of the girl, 
"what's going on here? What have these barbarians done to you?" 

"Oh," the girl said, shaking her head back and forth, "they tied me up, 
bound me so hard I couldn't move, then they forced my head down on this 
man's cock." 

"What?" Elaine cried in bitter outrage, "How dare they!" 

"And believe me when I tell you, El," Sally said, finding her tongue again, 
"he has got one baseball bat of a prick pole on him."' 

"Oh, baby," Elaine said, brushing the blonde tresses away that had fallen 
into her friend's eyes. 

"They made me suck him, El," the girl said, shaking her whole frame and 
feeling the tears well up in her eyes, "and this woman, she stuffed the 
wrong end of a bull whip up my cunt and worked it up and down like a power 
switch." 

"Holy Shit!" the red-haired girl wailed in sympathy, "that must have been 
terrible." 

Sally choked back a few tears and the swelling that was working its way up 
in her throat, "I never said it was terrible, Elaine." She stared into her 
friend's haunting amber eyes and blinked back a few more tears. 

"It must have been though, huh?" the friend said, full of sympathy. 

"No," the blonde girl sobbed back, "I kinda liked it." 

Elaine felt her knees turn to applesauce as she felt the heavy iron grip of 
the man's hand on her shoulder. He pulled her up by the collar and whirled 
her around so that she came face to face with the blonde vixen, who now 
stood before her without her black gown, dressed in the meanest, blackest 
most medieval looking thing since the black castle of Falworth. 

"You heard it from your friend's own lips," the blonde wench bellowed, "now 
you will discover what it means to serve me." 

Elaine felt her whole body pitch forward and sprawl out onto the carpet. The 
man behind her must have given her the boot, Sally couldn't have done it. 
Not tied up the way she was. 

"Try it, El," Sally said, from her swivel chair prison, "you might like it." 

Elaine had a pretty good idea that she wasn't going to like it at all. This 
rough treatment was already getting to her. How could her friend possibly 
have fallen into the hands of these horror twins? She must have been drugged 
or hypnotized. She felt the carpet poke up rudely into her chin as the man's 
boot heel collared her neck and thrust it down hard onto the ground. 

"Kiss your mistress's boot," the man ordered. From his surly, harsh tone, 
she knew he meant business. 

Elaine wormed along on her belly toward the waiting white witch. She brought 
her face toward the woman's boot and made like she was going to kiss it. 
Then she gathered all the saliva into her mouth she could possibly muster 
and spat straight onto the shiny leather toe. 

"Foul-mouthed little wretch!" the man shouted as he kicked her in the head. 

Elaine felt herself sprawling out and kicked into a somersault. She wound 
herself up like a hedgehog to avoid further blows to the head, but the man 
was beating her severely on the rear end. She felt a pair of hands rip her 
denim pants down over her hips, carrying her nylon panties bundle with them. 

"Owwwwww," she wailed as the flailing crop struck her on the butt. 

"Now kiss my boot Worm!" the woman said, scrambling to her head and taking a 
hold of rough black leather bull whip. "Kiss it and serve me the way I 
command or I will destroy you completely." 

Elaine felt herself grow rigid with fear and horror. These two would do 
anything, she knew, to prove their superiority. She trembled and quaked with 
fright as she felt the rough, red places on her ass grow hot and throb with 
dead, white heat. 

Sally sat in her chair feeling totally ignored by the crowd. She wanted them 
to pay some attention to her. She wanted them to show her that they cared. 

"Oh, Bob," she called out in a taunting, teasing tone, "I think you missed 
her ass. Better try again." 

The man flew toward her, with his whip raised over his head. He brought it 
down savagely on the tops other alabaster white thighs. 

She felt the whip sting her and saw into her throbbing flesh. The pain, the 
pure unadulterated pleasure of the pain made her cry out in agony and 
ecstasy, "Leave my friend alone," Elaine cried out in fury, "just lay off of 
her." 

"Very well," the evil blonde queen spoke again, "we'll let her alone. But, 
you will have to pay the consequences if we do." 

"Oh, shit!" Elaine said pounding the carpet with her fist. Life seemed so 
very unfair to her just then. 

She felt those rude rough hands rip her plaid flannel shirt off her back and 
pull her bra off, though she tried to fight them. The two were just too much 
for her. And it was evident from the way they ripped those clothes off her, 
they had experience with these things before. Much more than she had. All 
she had ever done was seduce senile landlords for the back rent. 

"You will now suck your master's cock!" the harsh, punishing voice of the 
vile mistress poured out into her ear. "You will have no choice but to do as 
you are commanded." 

"No," Elaine cried, but the sting of the man's whip silenced her good. 

"Yes," the woman spat into her ear. Her voice was quiet now, quiet and 
deadly. 

She heard the big man unzip his fly in a bold, agonizing stroke. Then she 
felt her hands yanked behind her back and her whole body being pulled up 
into a kneeling position. It must have been that blonde woman yanking her 
arms back there. She was as strong as an Amazon. 

The rough carpet was rubbing hard against her knees as she felt her arms 
pulled further and further back into a position that made her breasts arch 
out hard in front of her. 

She was only dimly aware of the big man's black fly thrust up in front of 
her face. "Suck my dick," he ordered her, and brought his own whip handle 
down behind her head, forcing her down onto his enormous, heaving member. 

She felt her lips meet his erect dick head. It was as hard as the wooden 
part of a golf club. And roughly the same size. She let her lips out to play 
on that smooth body surface. She had no other choice. The woman behind her 
was pulling her arms back so hard she was afraid they would be pulled right 
out of the sockets. 

"God,' she managed to scream out before the rude cock stick silenced her 
words. 

"Now, Filthy Street Whore," the blonde woman hissed at her, "you will 
discover the privilege of serving your master and your mistress. You will 
suck this man's cock until you can no longer draw a breath, until you 
slobber and wail and cry out in agony. And still you will be forced to suck 
this man off." 

Elaine blinked as she looked up to see the man's huge shaft above the tip of 
his dick. The tip of his dick was being thrust right between her protesting 
lips. And behind him and a little to the right was the bitch queen. She was 
walking back and forth, back and forth, slapping her riding crop onto the 
palm of her hand and shouting her orders. 

Okay, Elaine thought as the cock log rammed its way down her pulsating raw 
throat, who the hell is holding my arms? Then it hit her. Her darling 
roommate and bubbling, bouncing Bobsey Twin of a best friend. Sally Pomeroy. 
Sally was holding onto her arms. The little bitch! 

"Suck that cock, gutter bitch!" the man bellowed as he thrust the hot hard 
ramrod down her gulping mouth. "Suck it like I tell you." 

Elaine let the thick post plumb down her throat. It all but cut her air off 
as she gulped and gagged on it. That thing was so absolutely huge, so 
preposterously monstrously wicked. Plus it was interesting. She had to 
confess that to herself. It was downright captivating. 

Elaine was aware of the blonde woman's stiff riding crop handle. She saw it 
poke through her master's outstretched legs and find its way to her 
quivering cunt hole. It poked and prodded at her as the man continued to 
shout and curse down to her face. 

"Go on, my little slave,' he ordered, "suck me and suck me good. And then, 
when and if I've had my fill of you, I'm going to ram this hot poker stick 
up your saintly white little ass." 

Oh, no, Elaine thought to herself hopelessly, not my ass. not my poor 
battered, beleaguered little ass! These guys really show me no mercy, none 
whatsoever. 

Sally gripped a tighter hold around her friend's wrists. She felt the hard, 
cruel welts on her backside cringe in pain with each move she made. She 
bowed her head as her master glared back at her with evil in his eyes. She 
felt thankful to be serving him. And she knew she would do whatever was 
asked of her. Whatever the man commanded, she would gladly do. Whatever the 
woman ordered, she would happily serve. 

Two and a half years of rejection, debasement and foul play. Two and a half 
years, longer really, of being in control of her life and what had it gotten 
her? Nowhere. Nowhere at all, until now. 

She looked over Elaine's shoulder and smiled as the man sailed his rock hard 
schlong in and down and around, out and around and down again back into her 
friend's gobbling hole. It looked so juicy and slimy and cocksure. So hard 
and eager and pulsating. She saw the veins stand out like highways on a 
roadmap. The sight made her ooze come juice. The sight of her master's 
grinding long schlong. It was beautiful. It was beautiful and it was 
painful, because she knew one thing. One thing for sure. In order to protect 
her best friend from having her ass lacerated, she was going to have to 
volunteer to get fucked up the ass instead. 

"Okay," Sally said, feeling the pain of the welts along her back sear into 
her subcutaneous layer. If they kept burning like that, they would burn into 
her brain. "Okay, I wish to reveal something to my captors." 

"Worthless Wench!" Charlene spat, snapping the whip dangerously close to 
Sally's nose, "Did I give you permission to speak?" 

"No, Great White Mistress, your Honor," Sally tried gamely to address the 
woman in a reverential tone, "but I want to say that I want to humble myself 
to you, all of you. I wish to serve you completely, you, two, and you, 
Elaine . ... all of you, in fact." 

"What is this ingrate talking about?" Bob growled, pulling his thick meat 
out from Elaine's mouth. 

The conversation ceased for a few moments as the three women looked 
longingly at Bob's hot hard dick rod. It was so wet and juicy and dripping 
with the saliva and mucous from Elaine's mouth. All three of them secretly 
wished the big brute would stick that honey log straight up their wazoos, 
but this wasn't the time or place for girlish fantasies. 

"I wanna get rammed up the wrong way," Sally said, wishing to hell the welts 
on her back would stop throbbing with pain long enough to unwrinkle her 
brow. 

"What?" Elaine cried, "you do?" 

Elaine couldn't help wondering if Sally, her old true blue friend, was 
trying to protect her. It was such a sweet thought. After holding her hands 
down and letting that man practically pulverize her with his hot, thick cock 
weapon, here she was offering to take it on the dark side, that might mean 
she wouldn't have to. What a pal! 

"I am ready, great Mistress," Sally said, moving toward Charlene and casting 
her eyes downward toward the hotel carpet. 

Charlene looked at her captor and snapped her fingers. Then she snapped her 
whip. "Down on your knees, lowly scum," the woman commanded. 

By now, Sally knew she meant business. She slithered down to the carpet and 
felt Charlene's sharp boot heel dig into the flesh of her neck. Right now 
that flesh was sore and bruised. It didn't hurt, or did it?" 

Bob maneuvered his dick around in his hands, keeping it hard and ready for 
whatever was to be found for him. He didn't really care which of these 
handmaidens he was gonna plug, but he knew it had better be soon. Sticking 
his cock down that red-haired girl's throat had gotten him awfully hot under 
the collar. 

"Kiss the fuck rug, Toots," Charlene shouted as she dug the heel of her boot 
even harder into Sally's neck. The feeling of power it gave her was 
delightful, delicious. And seeing her husband holding that hot, hard dick in 
his hand was making her squirm under her leathers. 

"You," Charlene commanded Elaine, "hold the slave down so that she cannot 
move exactly as I bid you to do." 

Elaine walked over and got down on the rug. It was a little like a game, but 
more serious, much more serious, "yes, Mistress," she said, not wanting to 
take any chances getting that whip cracked against her fanny. 

"That's better," Charlene seethed from between her teeth. "Get to work, 
now," she said, swiftly snapping her thick whip in Bob's direction.
