Crawl For The Master
by Stanley Brand


FOREWORD 

Aurora was a high-fashion model of ravishing beauty who was madly in love 
with a successful screenwriter named Jason. But Helen Corday wanted to spoil 
all that. For a few hellish days, Aurora's lesbian photographer made a ruin 
of Aurora's life, arranging for her abduction to a remote country estate 
where the depraved sadist, the multimillionaire Pedro Peligrosa, trained and 
chained his slaves. 

Helen allowed herself to become one of Peligrosa's slaves in the hopes of 
having the Signor, as he called himself, convert Aurora to a similar status. 
She made a contract with the wealthy degenerate: she responded to the ad he 
had placed in the S&M magazines she read. The ad contained a unique, satanic 
proposition - a proposition which Helen's lust for the model drove her to 
accept. 

The proposition was a simple one, or so it seemed. The Signor spoke of 
"Chain Letter Chains". His chain letter was not the old ruse used to gull 
suckers of their hard-earned money by countless con artists. The Signor had 
done that, too: it was the way, in fact, that he had amassed his huge, 
illicit fortune. 

No, the Signor did not want to steal people's money: he wanted to rob them 
of their freedom. Be his slave and send out the chain letter to five more 
suckers. Once they join the chain by enslaving themselves to the Signor, you 
win the right to become their masters. Once they each find five more 
suckers, they, too, become masters in their turn. But only the first to 
respond can expect to make a profit. Only if Aurora succumbed, would Helen 
be promoted to mastery. If Aurora resisted the Signor's brutality, Helen 
would be a slave forever. And Aurora wanted to resist! 

 CHAPTER ONE 

The man at the wheel of the armored car saw her walk out of the lobby of the 
modelling agency at precisely one o'clock. The short, revealing dress she 
was wearing rode half-way up her sleek, slender thighs. It was held to her 
narrow waist by a thick strap of black, glossy plastic. A sheer, pale blue 
blouse emerged from the top of the belt. Only the bottom three buttons were 
done, and the braless softness of her bosom rolled temptingly behind the 
thin material, puncturing the fragile surface with the delicate points of 
her perfectly round nipples. Through the deep blue lenses of her swept back 
glasses, her eyes peered nervously at the watch strapped to her limply held 
wrist. The high spikes of her heels were beating an agitated staccato rhythm 
on the concrete sidewalk. She was waiting for someone. Someone was late. She 
was obviously wondering why. 

The man gunned the engine and moved the armored car along the street leading 
up to the agency door. He kept his eyes on her in the rear view mirror as he 
parked a few feet in front of her. He knocked his knuckles lightly on the 
back wall of the cab, and heard the return knock that meant the others were 
ready. His eyes watched them step out of the rear door of the car and walk 
over to her. The rear view mirror showed him that she was confused by their 
presence, and didn't know why they were there. One of the men put his hand 
over her mouth while the other grabbed her around the waist. They hoisted 
her roughly into the back of the van. He heard the door slam shut. She 
screamed, and he gunned the engine again to muffle the sounds. He went 
through a red light and made his way quickly out of the city. 

The man drove the armored car for hours. He passed through the suburbs at 
the outskirts of the city. He drove on and on, watching the density of 
housing diminish, while the density of the trees and high rocks increased. 
Soon, there were no more houses. Only trees and rocks, and an occasional 
brook, could be seen. 

An hour past the last houses, a narrow gravel road could be seen leading up 
to the highway. The man turned the car into the road and began to bounce in 
the seat from the impact of the ruts and stones that interfered there with 
the smooth spinning of the wheels. When he was two or three miles down the 
road, he saw a large electric gate jump out from the overhang of trees and 
block the path of his vehicle. He stopped the motor and pressed down heavily 
on the breaks. He stepped out of the cab and walked over to a small metal 
box that sat atop a four foot cable of coiled steel that was braced to the 
trunk of a tall oak. He opened the front of the box with a silver key and 
pulled out a red telephone receiver. He pushed a few numbers on the inner 
surface of the receiver and spoke a few brusque words. He replaced the 
receiver in the box and relocked it. He returned to the cab of the car and 
turned the ignition key. He waited. 

There was a whirring sound emanating from the gate. The gate swung open and 
he drove through. He saw the gate shut behind him in the rear view mirror 
and kept driving. 

There was a large Tudor mansion emerging into view as the armored car 
followed a sharp bend in the road. The mansion was surrounded by a cluster 
of small shacks. All of the windows of the house were shuttered. There was 
an oval driveway with a mammoth oak tree in its center. The man drove the 
armored car around the oval, parking in front of the heavily bolted door 
that marked the front entrance to the mansion. He pulled the emergency brake 
and extricated himself from the cab. His boots bit into the black gravel 
that filled the oval as he made his way to the back door of the van. He 
opened up the door and stood aside to allow the men inside to emerge with 
their cargo. 

She was gagged and blindfolded, and all of her clothing had been removed. 
She could not walk in the heavy leg irons, and had to be carried. The men 
could not carry her by draping her arms over their shoulders, as her wrists 
were tightly bound together in barbed iron cuffs. They draped her across 
their extended arms and brought her to the door. 

Her hair dragged across the steps as the men carried her slowly to the man 
in the long black flowing cape who had unbolted the door and come down to 
them. He raised a gloved hand into the air. Leather-wrapped fingers swooped 
down on her upraised breasts and pecked at her nipples. More dark fingers 
dug into the tufts of blonde curls that cloaked the space between her 
thighs. A grim smile darted across the opening in the base of his mask and 
disappeared. He walked to the van while the others froze in place by the 
door. He extracted the blouse, the skirt, the silky undergarments and hose, 
and sprinkled them across the lawn. Two huge mastiffs ran out of the door 
past the immobile men and the captive woman. They pounced on the garments on 
the lawn, shredding them between their fangs. They came over to the man by 
the back of the van. He pointed his hand to the door and they returned 
inside. 

The man in the leather mask put his hands behind his back beneath his cape 
and walked slowly after his dogs. When he had entered the foyer of the 
mansion, the still forms by the door came to life and marched behind him to 
a book case in a high-ceilinged den. He removed a heavy tome from the shelf 
and pulled at a lever that lay hidden behind it. The shelf began to swing 
around an invisible vertical pole until it had half disappeared into the 
wall. A stone stairway could be seen leading up to the opening made by the 
book case. The masked man walked down the stairs, followed by the others. 

They came to a low and narrow tunnel, lit by torches that jutted from the 
earthen walls. The leader came to the end of the tunnel. There was a thick 
metal door. It had a screen three quarters of the way up from the floor. 
Four vertical bars of steel could be seen behind the screen. There was a 
great iron latch half way down from the screen, and a key hole. 

The leader reached inside his cape and removed a long key which he placed in 
the hole in the door and turned. He squeezed the latch with both hands and 
the door creaked open. He stepped inside, followed by the others. The man 
carrying the manacled legs closed the door behind him. 

There were steps leading down from the door. They opened on to a vast 
natural cavern. Its floor was pock-marked by small, fetid pools, and the men 
weaved their way through them and the stalagmites that sprouted at irregular 
intervals from the stretch of cold, dank limestone between them.' A faint 
light glowed from a crevice in the far wall of the cavern. They headed 
toward it, then into it. They were in another chamber. Its inner trappings 
gave evidence that it had been visited by similar parties many times before. 

The chamber was as high as the one they had left behind, but it was 
narrower, and not as deep. There were numerous chains dangling from the 
ceiling, and numerous pieces of machinery along the floor and attached to 
the walls. One of these was a high, flat rack of wood, with metal braces and 
straps. The leader waved his hand above it, and the others deposited their 
burden upon it. The leader removed the irons from the legs and wrists of the 
captive, intending the braces and straps to take their place. He removed the 
blindfold and gag, giving her liberty to note her surroundings, and to speak 
if that pleased her. 

The man in the mask snapped his fingers, and the others turned and departed. 
They threaded their way through the pools in the outer cavern, crouched up 
the narrow tunnel to the library above, passed out the front door to rejoin 
the driver of the armored car, resumed their places in the van, were locked 
in by the driver, who went into the cab and started the motor. The departure 
of the car could not be heard in the cave far below where the man and his 
new slave were at. The man poked her breasts with the handle of a riding 
crop and admired their full perfection with his eyes. He flipped the crop 
and lightly grazed the mounds and tufts of her crotch with the lash at the 
other end of the handle, making the hips above twitch slightly. Then he 
moved the lash in and out of the spaces between her toes, and across her 
soft soles. Her contours gave him pleasure, and he bared his teeth. 

"How do you like your new home?" he inquired. 

The woman was afraid to speak. He repeated his question. She remained 
silent. He dragged the lash across her stomach, then raised it into the air 
and held it above her. He repeated his question again. 

"You must speak now, while I am in the mood to allow you that liberty. How 
do you like your new home? I hope it pleases you, as you will be residing in 
it for some time to come." 

A shrill scream pierced the silence of the cave, echoing for many seconds 
from the walls. The man laughed darkly at her answer and retrieved the gag. 
He forced her to take the wad of cloth into her mouth, then tied a knot 
tightly at the back of her neck. He started to walk away from her. He raised 
his eyes to the ceiling, moving them in slow, attentive circles about the 
room. 

He saw the men perched in the high hollows of the upper stretches of the 
walls. He raised his hands above his head, then dropped them to his sides. 
The men took the headphones from their ears, and placed caps over the lenses 
of their cameras. 

"You have gotten all of it so far?" 

The men nodded their heads in silence. The masked figure staring up at them 
placed his hands together behind his cape and nodded his approval. He was 
pleased with the initial sequence, and began to plot out later scenes in his 
mind. He paced for a time, then decided to leave and contemplate alone in 
his study. 

He really wanted her to have time to grow more fearful. Her first screams 
were appropriate testimonies to her initial terror, but they would have to 
be refined. He wished for her to develop a wide spectrum of fearful 
emotions. The subtlety of her anguish must be tutored, it must grow to match 
the subtle methods he had carefully developed over the years for torture, 
humiliation, and gradual enslavement of his victims. She had the matchless 
beauty that he needed for his present work. She would serve him well, and he 
looked forward to a rewarding partnership with this future slave. 

He returned to the library and replaced the book case to its normal position 
within the wall. He entrenched himself in the heavily padded Morris chair 
behind his writing table and took a folder from the top drawer. As he 
thumbed through the clippings and sheets inside the folder, he would 
occasionally find one that he wished to peruse, and place it on the polished 
ebony surface of the table. 

The clippings were advertisements he had placed or answered in various of 
the sado-masochistic magazines to which he subscribed. To each clipping he 
had stapled a page of notes and whatever letters of inquiry or response the 
ad had elicited. The one marked P. O. Box 373, Grand Central Station now 
held his attention. It was one of the first responses he'd gotten to the 
chain letter he'd circulated among the frequent advertisers in the 
magazines. The respondent was currently strapped into a body-length plastic 
sheet and dangling by her hair from a chain attached to the ceiling attached 
to one of the sheds outside the mansion. According to the proposition he'd 
announced in the chain letter that she'd answered, she needed to supply five 
unsuspecting victims for him to train before she could be released from her 
bondage and allowed to become the master of the next link in the chain of 
responses. Being one of the first to respond, she needed to be his slave for 
only a few weeks before there were sufficient further answers to his 
circular, and sufficient victims supplied by her own efforts prior to her 
arrival at his fortress, for her to expect freedom and mastership to be 
awarded her. In fact, her first four victims had already converted, and 
started to supply further links in the chain for his pleasure and - as they 
hoped - eventually their own. The fifth and final victim was now strapped to 
the bed of planks in the cavern below. Once she had been tamed, the woman in 
the shed outside would have fulfilled her contract. Then the woman in the 
caves would become her slave. Pedro Peligrosa chuckled to himself as he 
reflected on the success of his circular. The woman in the shed was the last 
of the first set of five. Once she won her liberty, there would be five 
times five forced to seek the same hard-won freedom. Then there would be 
five times five times five: a number that would require the many sheds he 
had erected on his large, secluded estate. Those who responded late to his 
letter, those who were many links removed from the start of the chain, would 
be forced to suffer not weeks, but months and even years of his discipline 
before they could hope to meet the obligations of their contracts with him. 

Signor Peligrosa had made his large, illicit fortune some decades ago by the 
device of such letters. Then, his letters were concerned with more mundane 
sorts of appropriation: send five dollars to each of the five names above 
your own in the chain letter, enter your own name beneath the last of those, 
-and send out five copies of the letter with your name affixed to its bottom 
line. You will then take five dollars from each of the next links in the 
chain. A very simple and attractive sounding proposition! Being always the 
first name, the first link in the chains his letters began, he was able to 
amass a rapid fortune. Those who answered at further removes from the source 
sent out much money, and received little, if any, in return - and what they 
received took a long stretch of time to come back to them. 

That, of course, was why chain letters were illegal now. Their logic had not 
the least taint of the Christian mercy that Signor Pedro Peligrosa so 
despised. The heavenly riches that one reaped were not equally doled out to 
the early and late arrivals to the faith in the chain letters that he sent 
out to those heathen he had made his fortune manipulating and deceiving. The 
first links grew fat at the expense of the later links' sustenance. 

But Peligrosa no longer needed to concern himself with the accumulation of 
such crude prizes as dollars and cents. Thanks to the illegal device of the 
chain letters he had concocted in his early years, he no longer needed to 
give the slightest thought to money: the tainted millions he had made by his 
simple gimmick were now safely invested in the most solid and lucrative 
securities; their initial value, large in its own right, was now multiplied 
many times over. He need never worry about money, even if he lived to be a 
thousand, even if he spent those thousand years living in the luxurious 
style he had been accustomed to for the past twenty years. 

But Peligrosa had a fondness for the chain letters that had done him such 
splendid service in the past. The illegal device of the chain letter he now 
used for an even more disreputable purpose: no longer in need of dollars, he 
now used them to procure more animate, priceless treasures. He used them to 
procure slaves - and slaves in great number! 

Peligrosa was not one to give compliments lightly, but he was willing to 
give credit where credit was due. And he was more than willing to give the 
credit for his recent and highly successful venture to his late wife, the 
Signora Yma Peligrosa. He would always remember with great fondness the 
night that she had died of pleasure in his arms. As he unravelled her from 
the stud-riddled chains that had held her above the sharp metal spikes that 
had worked their way too far into her shredded flesh, she had rolled her 
eyes back into her skull and spoke her last words of love to him Her words 
were simple: "Chain letter chains!" It was the final visionary 
pronouncement, crowning a life devoted to the pursuit of pleasure through 
the most fantastic degradations and torments. Her words were simple, and the 
inspirational fervor with which they were pronounced gave her husband food 
for much thought in his period of bereavement. 

Her vision had been a great gift. He would cherish that gift until the time 
for his own final pleasure arrived. And he would make use of that gift with 
great energy and devotion until that time. He was making stern use of it 
now, as the inhabitants of the sheds and caves on his estate could attest. 

The Signor rose from his table and went out for a walk among his sheds. He 
came to the one with the woman dangling by her hair from the ceiling chains, 
and entered it. 

"Well, my dear, the last installment of your payment has been delivered. If 
she serves me well, you will soon win your freedom. Soon, if she turns out 
to my liking, you will be awarded your own slaves, and your own sheds in 
which to discipline them. 

The woman made no move to answer him. She could not move at all. The thin, 
skin-hugging plastic made all movement impossible for her. Peligrosa could 
see every detail of her tormented flesh through the transparent wrapper. 
She, however, could not see him. Her eyes were covered by thick black 
patches. But for the plastic, the spiked bracelet that bit into her neck 
whenever she expanded the walls of her throat by swallowing, the heavy 
chains that dented the flesh around her ankles and the wrists behind her 
back, the massive double- ended dildo whose two ends were stuffing the two 
orifices of her lower body, and but for the thin spindles of silver that 
perforated the plastic and the scabrous nipples beneath, the thick black 
patches on her eyes were the only garments that she wore. 

"You must tell me you are pleased, my pet. Your last offering is a choice 
morsel, a woman of perfect beauty, as perfect as your own, Valencia!" 

Valencia - for so he called her, and as she no longer had clear memories of 
her previous life, such she had come to call herself - opened her cracked 
lips and tried to speak. She had to whisper, lest her adam's apple protrude 
and suffer punishment from the spikes of her collar. 

"I am glad she pleases you, master!" 

Peligrosa pushed her gently with the butt of his riding crop. The light 
thrust sent her body slowly spinning, twining her hair in an ever tighter 
bundle that gathered up her roots and pulled painfully at the woman's scalp. 
Her lips hung open, and began to be coated with a thin smear of drool. 

"Ah! You do enjoy this little recreation. 

Valencia! It pleases me to see you so happy!" 

As the chains creaked above her, she moved a dry, coated tongue toward the 
front of her mouth and spoke in a hoarse murmur. 

"Yes! Yes! It pleases me to spin!" 

Peligrosa peered into her bloodless face with his idiosyncratic substitute 
for tenderness. He reached to a lever on the wall of the shed, and held it 
down. The chains moaned, and lowered her. 

"Your lips are so dry, Valencia, I would not like your luscious mouth to 
become brittle and hard. You must drink, you must have exercise. You will 
have them now!" 

When her body had crumpled onto the dirt floor of the shed, Signor Pedro 
peeled her out of the plastic, first removing the pins in her breasts and 
the spiked collar, and the double-edged instrument that filled her crotch 
and anus. The latter he removed slowly, watching her face move through a 
series of contortions that gave proof of the exquisite pleasure and agony 
that were mixing together in her brain as she was relieved of their 
tormenting mass and pressure. 

"When we have returned from your walk, you must remember to watch the 
television screens as you dangle in your hutch tonight. You will see how 
well she performs. Let us hope she performs well for us! It will mean much 
for. you if she does - and much if she does not!" He undid her cuffs and 
unwound the chains from her feet, then removed the patches from her eyes. He 
gave her a few moments to recall how to coordinate her limbs, then lifted 
her to her feet and took out the leash. 

As she stood dazed and immobile, he draped the leather loop of the leash 
about her neck and tightened it, leaving just enough slack to permit 
breathing and small swallows. There was a small ring on the loop to which a 
long and slender cord was attached. The loose end of the cord clipped onto 
the ring that Peligrosa had threaded some months ago through the ruffles of 
her lower lips: one of the first rites of initiation into the mysteries of 
his order of pain. 

When he wished to change her course, he would pull on the leash in such a 
way as to constrict the cord. The spur of pain that would shoot through her 
loins then would let her know in no uncertain fashion that she was not 
obeying his whims properly. He seldom needed to engage in that practice any 
more, Valencia was, by this time, exceptionally well trained. 

He led her naked through the front acres of his estate. This was their 
common practice, to go on walks thrice daily through the tall grasses of his 
land. He did not wish her supple muscles to atrophy. Pain was of no value if 
it led to the loss of vital functions. Such disuse would be self-defeating: 
what pain can be inflicted on limbs that can no longer respond well enough 
to feel? 

Valencia did not speak, nor did her eyes move. She stared vacantly 
throughout her walks, only changing the focus of her orbs when the Signor 
led her to the spring at the back of the house and bade her drink. The 
spring was adjacent to the kennels where the mastiffs stayed when not 
confined to the mansion. When she had quenched her thirst, the Signor would 
let her eat there with the dogs. 

Valencia's arrival was always noted by the great hounds. Her arrival meant 
it was their dinner time. When they smelled her approaching with their 
master, they came out of their coops as far as their chains would allow, and 
let the drool drip from their sharp white fangs. A shudder used to pass 
along Valencia's spine whenever this moment arrived, but she had become 
accustomed to it now. She no longer knew such feelings. She had passed 
beyond the innocence of fear. 

The raw meat that Peligrosa kept stacked on silver platters a foot beyond 
the maximum extension of the dogs' metal leashes was soon being tossed to 
the beasts. They ripped and gnashed it greedily as Valencia stared vacantly 
in their general direction. Signor Pedro dropped some in the dirt at her 
feet, and directed her to eat. She dropped obediently to her haunches and 
began to cram the dripping red flesh into her mouth, showing no care for the 
way the juices dripped down her neck and splashed across her breasts. When 
she had had her fill and returned to the spring to wash down her meal, 
Peligrosa led her back to the dogs. He unloosed the chains from the necks of 
two of the hounds and signalled them to watch for the command. 

"Valencia, my dear, your friends are eager to show you their affection. You 
will not disappoint them, of course!" 

A slight twitch streaked across her left cheek for an instant, but soon it 
departed, leaving no trace on her face. Peligrosa raised his hand, then 
dropped it to his side. The mastiffs lunged at Valencia, mauling her breasts 
and stomach with their paws as they pushed her down to the ground. They 
licked the thin streaks of blood that their claws had unwittingly drawn up 
from her flesh and walked about and over her, waiting for the next command. 

There was another twitch running through the musculature of her face, and 
its echo remained discernible in the tension of her cheek for a few seconds 
longer than the last. The next command was given, and the larger of the 
hounds developed an erection and climbed between her legs. Peligrosa pulled 
the leash to widen her orifice for the inflamed animal, and watched with 
keen interest and the small red hose flicked out of the end of the 
creature's phallus. The dog entered the motionless, mute slave and began to 
fuck her. 

Valencia began to writhe and gurgle, continuing to do so like a marionette 
whose strings were caught up in a revolving fan when the dog had finished. 
She was still gesticulating wildly when the second hound began his turn. It 
took her a few minutes to resume her immobile posture on the ground when he 
had left her legs. 

"There, Valencia! Your fellow beasts have awarded you their deepest 
affection! You are pleased, of course!" 

She gave him a timid look, but there was a glint of terror in the depths of 
her eyes, and the Signor, well-practiced in these matters, detected it. 

"Tell me you are pleased! Tell me how totally your carnal lusts have been 
satisfied! Tell me, Valencia!!" 

She was stammering, and her eyes were jumping erratically in their sockets. 
She furrowed her brows and found the word. 

"N-n-n-no! N-n-no! No!!" 

The Signor hissed and lifted the riding crop above his head. 

"That is a lie! You must not lie to me!!" 

He swung the lash down brutally across her legs and shoulders, leaving red 
welts that filled with grit as she rolled helplessly in the dirt. 

"No! No! Y-y-yes." 

She was heaving heavily, and the blank look and mechanical movement resumed 
their control of her. She had stuttered the new answer, but it was the 
proper one. Peligrosa grinned and laughed at her viciously. 

"You must not lie, my pet! Only masters may lie! Lying requires cunning, and 
the comprehension of power! These things are still denied you! Your 
contract, my darling, has not yet been totally fulfilled!" The Signor tugged 
at her leash and led her away from the dogs. She was forced to crawl for 
thirty yards, until he slowed his pace enough to allow her time to scramble 
to her feet. 

"I have perhaps been too stern with you, my precious. You are excitable 
today, now that your final friend has arrived. You are anxious to see how 
she progresses, and I feel it proper to pity you for that cloying weakness. 
I will bring you to see her, then, if that will please you!" 

There was a flicker of understanding in the dull sheen of her eyes. Some 
buried part of her knew who the friend was, and what it would mean to see 
her stretched helpless and naked before her. There was a time when that 
buried part of her had wanted this. The memory of that time was too terrible 
a burden, and refused to surface into the remnants of her consciousness. The 
memory, like that of her true name, was kept from her by the secret 
knowledge of the dread she would feel upon recognizing the foul motives that 
had brought her willingly to this place. She must remain a slave, she must 
not think about the enormity of her outrages, she must willingly receive the 
outrages that the Signor was pleased to inflict upon her as just and wanted 
punishment for being what she was. 

A harsh, sudden tug at the leash brought her back from the dangerous brink 
of thought. She became docile, she followed him into the mansion, she 
crawled as he commanded through the tunnel that led to the caves, she 
wallowed in the pools in the main cavern as he walked on the limestone and 
led her through the stagnant waters. She revelled in the pain and 
humiliation as she had been trained, and pleased him as she was required. 

When they came to the dim light of the inner chamber, Valencia had returned 
to her proper frame of mind. She heeled behind her master and let herself be 
led to the place where Aurora was strapped and gagged. 

Aurora's gag was removed, and she was allowed to cast her eyes upon the 
Signor's slave. Aurora shook beneath her bonds and shrieked. 

"Helen! Helen Corday! You!!" 

Valencia began to twitch, but the master smashed her buttocks with a 
bludgeon he took from the rack of instruments that adjoined the wooden bed 
on which Aurora was struggling. 

"She calls you Helen! Do you know anyone who uses that name?" 

Valencia stammered, but the upraised bludgeon inspired her to give the 
correct response. Her eyes resumed their vacant glassy sheen. Her face 
drained of all expression, and then she spoke. 

"No, Master. I know no one who uses that name." 

Aurora yelled at her, calling her over and over by the name. There was no 
response. When Aurora had exhausted herself, when she became to hoarse to 
prolong her repetitious dialogue, Peligrosa tugged the leash and led 
Valencia away. He signalled to the cameramen in the hollows of the walls, 
and smiled darkly to them. "You have done quite well today," he said to her 
as they made their way through the outer cavern. "I will have the 
technicians replay that scene for you on the screen tonight. You will be 
pleased to see how well you have obeyed me!" 

She was twitching again, but a few slaps of the lash brought her back to her 
expected pattern of behavior. Peligrosa brought her back to her shed, draped 
her again in her familiar clothes, and raised her up on the ceiling chains 
according to the established ritual. He left off the eye patches and turned 
on the television for her to watch. 

She dangled there alone for a few hours, her eyes unable to leave the blank 
white screen. Then she saw the program she had been promised begin. But she 
did not see the last part of the show very clearly. For reasons she could 
not unravel, there was water in her eyes and on her cheeks, and all she 
could see were blurs. 

 CHAPTER TWO 

Peligrosa replaced the gag and blindfold on Aurora before he left the cavern 
with his slave, leaving Aurora to live in the darkness of her own tormented 
thoughts until he, or some other, returned. 

Aurora's thought unwound through the scenes of the day, back to the scene of 
her abduction, beyond that time to earlier moments of her life, moments she 
had shared with Helen Corday. 

Aurora remembered her first meeting with Helen. Aurora was modelling for a 
fashion spread in a major magazine; Helen was the photographer assigned by 
the magazine. Most of the photographers she had worked with before had been 
men. She needed time to adjust to the change, and many reels of film were 
wasted as she tried to adjust to Helen's peculiar requirements. 

Helen was more demanding than the men Aurora knew. She made her pose over 
and over again for the same sequence of shots, made her change garments 
rapidly, giving her little time to rest and reorient herself between her 
poses. She exhausted her,-sought to squeeze all the life from her with her 
demanding lens. 

There was a strange concern with jewelry. Helen required that she wear heavy 
bracelets, and weighty lengths of metal about her slender neck. She would 
place her in awkward poses, goading her to hold them in spite of the 
oppressive bands of silver and gold, gloating when she could not take the 
strain and pleaded for rest. Then Helen would lower her camera and glare at 
her, reveling in the weaknesses she had forced her to display. 

Helen wore her down slowly, over many hours of shooting. Helen herself had 
shown up late, as if intending to intensify the pressure of the deadline 
they had to meet together. Aurora was forced to change and contort for her 
into the early hours of the morning. She was unbearably fatigued, yet still 
Helen demanded more. 

As dawn was nearing, Helen subtly changed her tactics. She required 
sequences that called for scanty clothing. These had been planned before, 
but Helen kept them for the final hours of their session. She wished Aurora 
to be worn out for them. She wanted her resistance to be low. The last set 
of shots were of Aurora in lingerie. Aurora would have to change in and out 
of many sets of panties and sheer hose. There was little time left in which 
to complete the assignment, and Aurora was compelled to make the rapid 
changes now required without the convenience of a screen. Her breasts were 
bare for the last series; she was instructed to cover them with her hands 
and stretch her legs to display the transparent body stockings that were the 
focus of the pose. When she changed from stocking to stocking, she would 
have to stand naked for a minute or so, waiting for Helen to decide upon the 
skimpy garment that would serve as the centerpiece of the next photograph. 

Aurora felt uneasy at this, but was unable to articulate a complaint. She 
was too tired. Helen began to torment her with further demands. She did not 
like the hand of the thin gauze on her thighs. She wanted to adjust it 
herself until it suited her own austere designs. 

Helen came to her haughtily, laden with jewels. She commanded Aurora to 
stand immobile in her nakedness while she draped the heavy baubles about her 
neck and limbs. She moved her arms and legs as she pleased, forcing the 
small of her back to push in and out to satisfy her image of the pose. She 
slid the hose up along her legs with tense, cloying fingers, rolling the 
thin mesh with meticulous, probing concern. When the stocking had been 
peeled to the joints of her thighs, Helen brushed her finger-tips lightly 
across the tufts and mounds of Aurora's sumptuous crotch, rubbing the crease 
there so deftly as to arouse her in an apparently accidental manner. 

Helen made her sigh against her will. She felt a thin ooze of fluid leave 
the lips of her tender mounds and laughed at her. She stared at her then 
with cold, motionless eyes. Aurora was so tired. She wished to swoon. But 
still Helen demanded her to keep her pose. 

When the stocking had been rolled to her waist, Helen began to place the 
jewelry. An ungainly rock-laden necklace was placed about her throat. Large 
leaden bracelets, from which spars of emerald dangled, were hasped to her 
wrists. Then came the golden chains. These were hooked atop Aurora's ankles. 
Many strands of the thick gold links were wound about the upper reaches of 
her feet. Aurora was so tired. She could not move beneath the burdens now 
overlaying her complete fatigue. She was not allowed to move. Her limbs, and 
the arch of her back, were set by her photographer at angles that Aurora 
thought impossible to maintain. Yet she was commanded to maintain them. She 
felt faint, and was given no respite. 

Helen clicked the shutters of her camera with ferocious speed. She circled 
her frozen prey on her toes, capturing her motionless torture from many 
heights and angles, barking reprimands when Aurora shivered as her limbs 
threatened to buckle from the ceaseless, mounting strain. 

Helen wished all of her muscles to bear the pain. When Aurora reached the 
limits of her endurance in a particular pose, Helen would swoop down on her 
and wrench her limbs into a new configuration. Then she would begin her 
dance again around the glistening white statue in the center of her sinuous 
path. 

When all of Aurora's frame was screaming for release, Helen demanded of her 
the most impossible pose. She must stand on one leg, her back twisted to the 
right, her neck bent backwards toward the floor, her left hand covering her 
perfect breasts while the right made a fist and rested in the hollow of her 
hip. Helen kept her in that pose for a third of an hour, snapping the 
shutters at ever closer distances, till Aurora could feel her breath 
steaming on her raw, stretched neck. 

Suddenly she fell. Helen glowered down at her with the cold fire of a 
vulture in her eyes. There was one more change of lingerie to be made for 
the final shooting. Aurora was moaning, and could not move. 

She could see Helen stooping over her. Her hands had fallen from her breasts 
to the floor, and Helen's heavy hot breathing washed over her nipples until 
they tingled and rose. Helen stroked them with the edges of her nails as her 
hands prepared to move below to the elastic upper ridge of the stocking. 

Aurora twitched and shivered as she felt her nipples swell and stiffen. Next 
came sharper, more overwhelming sensations. Helen had pried the nylon loose 
from her hips. Her hands were rolling it over her soft, blonde pubic curls. 
Her hands did their work slowly, torturing Aurora with swift, darting stabs 
at her slit and clitoris. 

Aurora's hips began a jerky motion that she could not control. Awareness was 
passing out of her, and she felt unable to resist the probings of the 
lenswoman's fingers. She was drenching in her own sweat, and could feel hot 
froth spraying from the tender hole that Helen was manipulating now, and 
attempting to fill. Spasms of unwanted pleasure twittered through her 
overloaded nerves. Her muscles contracted against her bones, shaking her 
frail skeleton and chattering her teeth. 

Helen licked at her opening and tickled her tender nub with the sharp caps 
of her teeth. Aurora was shooting come into the stocking, and felt herself 
slip helplessly into orgasm while Helen sat on her haunches and froze the 
moment of her frenzy with the cold metal clicking of the camera. 

Helen shamelessly witnessed her victim's deepest privacy through her lens, 
continuing to do violence to Aurora's modesty with the fingers of her free 
hand. She forced her helpless prey to further, deeper spasms, and brought 
her to the edge of total release. 

When Aurora's complete surrender to the invasion of forced lust approached, 
Helen suddenly withdrew from her and sprang to her feet. 

Aurora was babbling incoherently, her mind was drowning in an unbearable 
torrent of bestial frustration as she felt Helen's hand slip away from just 
when a final flurry of strokes were all she needed to explode. Her eyes 
glazed from the painful, stifling fog that her denial brought to her. Then 
the dull glaze was bathed with her tears. Her body sobbed and shuddered 
against the floor as Helen danced, making her camera click from many points 
above her throbbing body. 

Helen dropped down on her haunches and swept her fingers through Aurora's 
tangling hair. She stared into her eyes and moved her lips down her face. 
Helen forced her tongue into her mouth, swirling it about in the saliva of 
her prey, locking her mouth over Aurora's and making her gasp. 

Helen pushed herself away and rose. She looked down at Aurora, and spoke to 
her. 

"Prepare for the final sequence," she hissed. She stepped away from Aurora's 
writhing form to gather more jewels. She returned with an ebony box, inlaid 
with mother of pearl and studded with small flecks of blood red rubies. She 
opened the box by Aurora's side as she kneeled next to her thighs. She took 
out her ornaments, and began to drape her with them. 

Aurora felt her hands being gathered together and lifted. She felt a 
burdensome weight lock about her hands and bite into the tender tissue of 
her wrists. More metal was locked about her feet, and then a massive iron 
collar was padlocked to her neck. 

"Why... Why?" she moaned, but her exhaustion was too total to allow more 
than a short, hoarse whisper to emerge from her throat. 

"Our assignment for the magazine is done, Aurora. But we are free to plan 
further, more challenging ones now, my dear!" 

Helen lifted her to her feet and dragged her to the center of the trapezoid 
of floor delimited by three white screens. Above the screens, an umbrella 
was poised, used by the photographer to control the light that fell on the 
scene. The screens and the umbrella moved to Helen's touch as she prepared 
the depth and intensity of the lighting she would use in her next series of 
shooting. She bathed Aurora in the heat of hard red lights that she placed 
before her on the floor. Then she positioned her camera slightly left of 
center of the line leading from the screens to a wide, full-length mirror at 
the back of the studio. Aurora could see herself reflected in it, could see 
herself chained and manacled on her knees. She could see Helen's back in the 
mirror, bending over the camera, while Helen's eyes peered darkly at her 
from behind the red lights. 

"Hold the pose, dear, it becomes you so!" 

Helen had set the camera to fire automatically every ten seconds. Once it 
began to function, Helen leaped over the red lights and roughly contorted 
Aurora's frame. She would leap out from the gaze of the lens when she had 
forced Aurora into the posture that suited her, then return to inflict a new 
one upon her after the tell-tale click of the automatic shudder. 

She captured moment after moment of her humiliations, varying them gradually 
until they attained a horrifying degree of degradation - a degradation 
Aurora was forced to observe in the mirror propped against the far wall. 

In one shot, Helen stretched her lengthwise between the screens and put the 
spike of her high heel to her neck, pulling at a leash which she had 
fastened to the iron collar. Helen liked the sight of herself dominating 
Aurora in the mirror, and chose to remain in the ensuing set of photographs. 

She took two large gold earrings, earrings on which long frills of silver 
dangled and swung, and stabbed the pins of the rings through the tender pink 
globes of her nipples. The rings hung through her flesh and drew small 
droplets of blood. Aurora groaned and whimpered. Each moment of her agony, 
each fresh dripping of her blood, was captured by the cold eye of the 
camera. 

Helen had an automatic control that she held in her hand. She made the 
camera snap two stills a second once she had hung the rings from Aurora's 
nipples. Then she pushed and stroked her breasts, directing the flow of her 
blood, setting the swaying silver to trace out a painful series of pendulous 
arcs. 

Helen watched herself drool over Aurora's blood. She began to lap up the 
crimson leakage with her tongue, and sucked at the base of the rings and 
held her teeth and lips poised in wait for the camera. 

When the bleeding ceased, Helen laid her on her back and spread her knees. 
She kept them apart with a gleaming metal bar, which she attached with 
leather cords to the inner hollow of her joints. 

There was a hole in the middle of the bar. Helen threaded it with a thinner 
one, and strapped one end of it to the links of gold between Aurora's 
ankles. The strap had ample slack for Helen's purposes, and she began to 
slide the bar in and out of the hole in the cylinder that separated the 
knees. 

The loose end of the sliding bar was narrow and sharp. The bar between the 
knees was of adjustable length, and by pushing at some small buttons on its 
surface, its ends could be teased into lengthening, spreading Aurora's knees 
still further as they did so. 

But as her knees spread, the gleaming, sharp end of the sliding bar was 
forced to come closer and closer to the wet hole in her loins. Finally, 
Aurora's knees were spread so far that the next upswing of the needle could 
not fail to impale her. That is when she screamed. 

"Don't be a child, my love," Helen crooned. "I will not let it enter very 
far! Just a lick of pain, and the look of terror on your face - those will 
satisfy me, and make for precious pictures!" 

Aurora's hands were cuffed behind her back for this sequence, and the leash 
at her collar was held firmly, and without slack, by the handle of the white 
umbrella that loomed above the screens. It was impossible for her to move 
without causing herself terrible pain. Yet she was forced to move to escape 
the next thrust of the needle, and found herself choking brutally as her 
movement jarred her neck into a strangling compromise with the tension of 
her leash. 

Her lips turned blue, and foam bubbled from her lips as Helen tightened the 
leash and kept her in her awkward pose. Helen wrenched the helpless model's 
face toward the mirror, puckering her own lips for the camera. When Helen 
felt Aurora's throat rattling, she let her have some slack, allowing her 
some painful gasps with which to fill her burning lungs. 

The rapid, violent gasps forced the walls of Aurora's throat to inflate and 
press against the hard inner lining of the iron collar. Each gasp brought 
her pain, the pain made the rhythm of her inhalations get choppy, the 
choppiness tortured the muscles of her neck, knotting the strings of her 
tendons around her adam's apple until she found the impulse to swallow 
unbearable. 

That is when Helen forced the wad of silk into her mouth. Aurora's nostrils 
flared violently, desperate for the air that her mouth was now denied. Then 
Helen skewered the unbulbed end of a dildo on the needle of the swinging 
bar, and adjusted the spread of her knees until the dildo was forced to maul 
into Aurora's cunt without Helen needing to touch or direct it. 

Helen swung Aurora's hips around so that the impact of the dildo into her 
cunt could be recorded by the camera. Then she began to work the dildo in 
and out with her hands, using one to work the bar, while the other wound the 
shaft of the dildo around the buried needle. 

The shutter clicked furiously as the dildo licked into the drenching ditch 
of Aurora's stuffing twat. The infernal engine dug deeply into her, and she 
dared not resist its thrusts, lest she wrench the plastic prick loose from 
the sharp shaft of the needle and gore herself. 

While the dildo bit into her cunt, Helen worked her teeth into the punctured 
flesh of her tits, wiggling the rings of metal and sliding them in and out 
of the holes in the stiff, bleeding nipples. Aurora was shrieking, and 
begging her tormentor to free her. But Helen had no mind to, and brutalized 
her with a hard rain of caresses that sapped her already flagging energy of 
all its vitality. Then, totally drained, Aurora fell into a faint. Helen 
needed to prop her up against the screens then to continue the scene. 

The wad of silk, long since fallen from Aurora's mouth, lay dripping on the 
floor between her loins. Helen extracted the dildo from her stretched walls 
and pulled it off the needle. Then she skewered the silk on the point, and 
worked it up to the lips and prodded them. They bled as the point slipped 
between them, and Aurora screamed, awakening the sharp new pain. 

"Don't contort your face that way, beautiful! You'll ruin my photographs!" 

Aurora rolled her eyes across the face of her tormentor. 

"You're out of your mind, Helen!! What makes you do these things to me?" 

Helen curled her lips and sighed. "Because you are so beautiful! I cannot 
bear to see such perfection, I must tamper with it, deform it, until it 
takes on a more human appearance!" 

The camera shutter stopped its incessant clicking. The film had run out, and 
Helen stood to tend to her tools. 

"What good is your beauty if it knows no limits, has no boundaries? I want 
to capture the limits, freeze the moments when your body becomes ugly with 
pain! I will preserve those moments, Aurora! They make up the secret of your 
human failing! Only I will know that secret! Only I will possess it, Aurora! 
I created it, I forced it from you! You can never hide from me behind the 
exquisite curves of your body again! I will always know you as you truly 
are." 

Helen inserted a new cartridge of film and removed the metal bars from 
between Aurora's limbs. Then she undid the leash, the collar, the chains and 
bracelets. 

"You can go now, if you feel capable of leaving me," Helen whispered. 

Aurora tried to move, but her limbs were too wracked with pain and 
stiffness. She was so tired, and could only flail about without 
coordination. 

"So, my dear, you don't wish to leave me! I am glad for that! My camera will 
now record a tender sequence: your final surrender to me!" 

Helen slowly removed her clothes as she faced the camera. She threw them 
casually to the floor, and dropped on top of Aurora. 

"I have given you many orgasms this morning, Aurora! I will watch them later 
when I have gone to bed, after I have developed my film!" 

Helen was naked now, and pranced about the prone form of her victim, making 
an unabashed display of her own luscious body, daring Aurora to desire her. 

"I will drape the strand of negatives in a chain between the pillars of my 
bed, I will blow up the moment of your first spasm of lust and tape it to 
the ceiling over my head. Then I will masturbate as I soak up the sight of 
you, I will drench myself in come as I look upon your moaning face and watch 
the instant that your own come starts to ooze from your lovely, soft 
snatch!" 

Aurora's eyes were shut. Her cheeks were covered with tears, and Helen 
leaned down over her to lick them dry. 

"But now, you must give me more pictures. You must lap at my cunt, you must 
give me orgasm, and let the camera see how you have surrendered to me!" 

Aurora tried to rise up and escape from her, but Helen held her down and put 
the bracelets and chains on her limbs again before she could summon the 
power to resist. 

Helen sighed, and fought back tears of her own. 

"I was hoping you would give me that willingly! But you fight me, Aurora! I 
want you, and I will have you here, now, even if I must have you in chains!" 

Helen placed her knees to the sides of Aurora's head. Then she lowered her 
pussy into Aurora's face and edged it toward her lips. 

"Eat me, Aurora! Give me love!!" 

Aurora clenched her teeth. She refused to offer her tongue to the moaning 
woman. 

"Lick my slit, Aurora! I will beat you brutally if you refuse me!!" 

Aurora wailed and sank her teeth into Helen's snatch. Helen shrieked as she 
looked down at her captive's mouth and saw tufts of her own hair clinging to 
the bloody teeth. 

"Yes! Bite, lover! Chew and bleed me!" 

Helen's passionate reaction to the pain she had just received made Aurora 
shudder with revulsion. Helen relished torment, even her own! Aurora found 
it unbearable. She did not wish to be given pain, and she did not wish to 
give it to Helen, even though she loathed her utterly now. 

But Aurora dreaded the brutalizing she knew she would be subject to if she 
did not comply with Helen's craven demands. She could not bring herself, 
though, to play the game the way that Helen did. She could not let herself 
become the cruel, demonic creature that Helen would doubtless love to turn 
her into. She would have to lick the cunt that was pressing into her face. 
She would have to give it not love, but at least the physical trappings of 
loving. 

Aurora began, reluctantly, to lick. Helen cooed and drooled, and spread 
apart the lips of her hungry pussy with unsteady fingers. She wanted the 
tongue to reach far inside her, to fill up her cave and take away the load 
of hot scum she was yearning to release into her face. 

"Aiee! Lap up my juices! Slap into me hard! Hard!!" 

Helen knew how much this disgusted her, and burned with lust as she watched 
Aurora's face betray her loathing in the mirror. She wanted Aurora to grovel 
in her disgust, to feel disgust for her own participation in this act, and 
to bring her torturer to a delirious peak of pleasure at the same time that 
she hated the achievement. 

Helen shut her eyes and listened to the clicking of the camera. She would be 
able to let her eyes linger on these moments later in the dark room. Each 
would be captured on a sleek white sheet which she would bring to life 
slowly with her fingers, rolling the sheet in the chemical bath of the 
developing tray, teasing out each detail of Aurora's luscious body, here 
writhing in agony, there oozing sexual slush into her own fingers, now 
wailing with pain as the blood trickled from her hot nipples, there biting 
into the inflamed dripping lips of her tormenter's gaping cunt. 

Snapshots of forced love and torment raced through Helen's mind as she felt 
the tongue licking into her box. She started to heave and toss as orgasm 
began to take her out of the moment and carry off into the infernal world of 
her most inhuman instincts. "Ah! Ah! Ah-aaaah!" 

Helen's neck fell back and rolled over her shoulders. The long black strings 
of her hair swished against her breasts. She was stuttering words of 
infernal passion, and no longer heard the clicks emanating from the tripod 
beyond the red lights. 

Helen lifted her pussy when she was done. She lifted it slowly, so she could 
watch the long string of slime slowly stretch and break and release its mist 
into Aurora's face. This was a snapshot she would blow up, she decided, this 
would hang on the ceiling next to Aurora's first moment of spasm. Aurora's 
first spasm from Helen's probing fingers, Helen's last from Aurora's 
reluctant tongue! 

She wanted one last batch of pictures. She bent over Aurora's twat and began 
to lick her. She pried apart the flaps of the box, folding back the blonde 
rug to let the camera gaze deep into the glistening hole. Helen posed for 
it, poking and tugging at the pussy of her prey with the cold, analytical 
precision of an anatomist at the dissecting table. Every private detail of 
this cunt must be revealed, exposed, violated! There must be no part of her 
left only for herself to know and keep guarded. Helen wished to devour her 
with film! 

Helen stared into the lens and took a handful of her own hair down between 
Aurora's thighs. She wiped the ends of her locks over Aurora's clitoris, 
buffeting it lightly into a frenzied agitation that Helen knew would force 
her into orgasm. She reached to her remote control panel and commanded the 
lens to ZOOM. She wanted close-ups of the clitoris, she wanted to freeze its 
slightest twitch, she wanted to capture the moment when the gray film of 
slop would rush out of the ruffled lips of Aurora's twat. 

Aurora could not forebear for long against the onslaught. Her body begged to 
spurt, though her mind refused. But her mind could not stay in command, it 
succumbed to Helen's skillful torment and allowed the orgasm to convulse 
Aurora's body. 

Helen was overcome with lust as she saw the juice start to ooze out of 
Aurora's slit. She forgot the camera and covered the cavity with her lips, 
scooping up all the sludge she could and gulping it down with fevered gasps. 
But the flow soon stopped: Aurora regained control of herself, and refused 
her more of her come. She turned off her body and became cold, limp, 
unyielding. 

Helen moaned and whimpered. She wanted more! But she knew now that she had 
taken all she could force from Aurora, and so she rose and left her alone to 
tend to her camera. 

She packed up her equipment and took off the cuffs and chains that bound 
Aurora. Then she tossed her the clothes she had worn to the session, and 
dressed herself. 

"I want you, Aurora!" 

Helen was panting. There was a frantic, dazzled look in her eyes as they 
swept across the perfect folds and arches of Aurora's frame. 

"I want you to leave," Aurora spat. 

Helen was inflamed with jealousy. Aurora was meant to be hers, she had no 
right to claim her body for her own! It was too beautiful, she did not 
deserve to be the owner of such flawless beauty! Helen wanted her, and swore 
she would come to possess her, by whatever means: it mattered to her little 
how she came to win her, only winning her mattered at all. 

"I want you to leave," Aurora had said. So Helen left her. But she intended 
to return some other time. And until that time, she had her rolls of film, 
her precious photographs to give her satisfaction. She had no assignments 
for the next few days. She would be free to develop her pictures, to dote on 
them, to blow up the ones that pleased her most and hang them on the ceiling 
and walls of her bedroom, then to grow hot and bring herself to countless 
orgasm as her eyes glazed from too much sight of them. 

Aurora avoided her after that night. She let it be known at her agency that 
she would never work with her again, not at any price. Helen did not trouble 
herself about that at first. She had the photographs. But soon she began to 
tire of them. She began to know them too intimately, and wished the intimacy 
of the perfect flesh she came to realize was all too imperfectly represented 
in the countless bounty of images that littered her room. Once she had 
drained them of all the stimulation they could offer her, she began to 
worry. She began to want more, and found herself unable to procure it. 

She began to dream of Aurora. She followed her career, came to know who she 
knew, to insinuate herself into every cranny of her life, desperate to 
insinuate herself more deeply into it. But soon Aurora's friends were told 
about Helen, and soon, they, too, were avoiding her. Helen's dreams began to 
shatter. She became morose, and withdrew from the small circle of her 
friends and lovers. She stayed alone, moping and hoping, until her lust 
began to grow sour, and turn to hate. 

She began to seek out her enemies: the many men who had desired Aurora, and 
been rebuffed; the many women who envied her success and easy beauty, and 
wanted an end put to them. Helen made herself known to Aurora's old lovers, 
and made them hers. She learned everything they had learned of her, and when 
she had drained them of confidences, she would discard them, and move on to 
others of Aurora's former loves. 

But none of this could ease her longing. She was never satisfied. She knew 
the man who was Aurora's now, knew that she was happy with him, and wished 
to keep him for herself forever. Helen would poison his love for her with 
lies, then take him for herself, and then throw him off like the others. 

But he knew about Helen, and dismissed her professions of love with 
contempt. Helen grew terrified of her own black passion, but could do 
nothing to rid herself of it. She sought to torment herself, and to seek out 
those who would give her the cruelty she craved. She lived a life of late 
nights and studded leather, became familiar with the weight of chains and 
irons. The deeper she mixed her lust with pain, the more deeply her yearning 
for Aurora became. At last, she thought she had found a way. 

She was chained naked to a pier in an abandoned wharf. The tide was rising, 
and she knew she might drown if her lover, Raoul, chose that fate for her. 
He was whipping her with a lash made of the shells of barnacles, scooping 
out large chunks of her flesh with each brutal swing of the lash. The 
surging salt water of the sea would burn in the gashes, making her scream 
with delirium, and swallow the water that was splashing now at her throat. 

"Raoul! The tide! The tide!" Raoul stood to his chest in the water before 
her. He leered at her, mocking her for the fear she was displaying. 

"You are afraid of death, my Helen?" 

The water was cascading into her mouth. She struggled wildly to keep her 
head above the swirling brine. Raoul wrapped his massive arms around the 
pier and squeezed her hard against its moldering bark. 

"You want pain, yet you have not conquered fear! You have much to learn, my 
love, and so I mustn't let you die!" 

He quickly unwrapped the chains that held her, and threw her limp, soggy 
body over his broad shoulders and climbed up to the dry boards of the wharf. 

Raoul pressed down on her welt-riddled belly and blew his breath into her 
mouth. He sucked the water from her lungs and spat it back into the ocean, 
pressed and sucked over and over again until her breath returned and she 
revived. 

"You are game, my slave, but you have much to learn. I will try to teach you 
what you need to know. Come with me now. You must recover, and listen to my 
instructions." 

She dragged her fingers through the matted hair of his chest, tracing out 
the contours of the tattoos that hid beneath the damp rug. She would listen 
to him, and do as he bid her. 

He brought her back to her apartment and placed her in her bed beneath the 
photographs of Aurora. Then he left a bundle of magazines for her, and books 
bound in black leather. Then he left her. She would never see him again. 

Helen ached everywhere. She needed many hours to regain her composure, to 
realize where she was lying. She reached for the pile of magazines when she 
felt more herself, and began to thumb through them with a dark, bestial 
lust. 

There were pictures inside, pictures of women in chains, of whips and spikes 
and endless, loving torture. She was transfixed by the images, desired to 
live inside the moods they conveyed to her seething emotions. 

When her mind was overladen with the stern burden of the images, she turned 
to the pages of text and began to read. There were long columns of 
advertisements there, placed by slaves in need of masters, masters in search 
of slaves, sufferers in search of suffering. 

But there was one advertisement that captured her eyes, forbidding them to 
leave it until it had hypnotized her with its offer. Its heading read: 
"Chain Letter Chains". Helen knew she must answer it. 

She would learn to be the perfect slave, and then use her knowledge to teach 
Aurora. With Aurora in chains, she would find it easy to learn mastership: 
she would be inspired. 

And so, Helen became caught in the web of Peligrosa's macabre machinations. 
She sent him a letter of surrender, and sent four more to lovers she had had 
who would be willing to join the chain. One of them was Raoul, and he was 
the first to pass Peligrosa's demanding tests. 

But according to the requirements stipulated in the ad, the fifth link in 
Helen's length of chain must enter unwillingly. She would receive no letter. 
Her name, her place of residence, her hours and habits would be sent to 
Peligrosa in the letter of surrender. Her name was Aurora. It was her name 
that came to Helen's mind when she was captured by the ad. It was her name 
that compelled her to write her letter. It was her name that echoed in the 
silence of her mind as she dangled by her hair from the ceiling of the shed: 
the only name she still could remember from her earlier life. 

But these things were unknown to Aurora. 

She did not hear them in her mind as she lay helpless, mute, and sightless 
in the metal straps of the hard wood bed in the cavern. She would only learn 
of these things later on in her captivity. 

 CHAPTER THREE 

Valencia, as Helen was now known, was left hanging in her shed for many 
hours after the screen on the wall before her went blank again. It was dark 
now outside her shed, and very cold. 

Something had been triggered by the things she had viewed on the television. 
Something that brought on the tears that blurred the final moments of the 
spectacle. Something that brought on an internal spectacle that filled her 
mind more totally than the last scenes on the television could have hoped to 
fill her. 

Fragments, frozen moments from her recent past, drifted up from the 
subterranean depths of her nearly extinguished memory. She knew not what 
they meant: only pain was suggested by them, but a pain without reason or 
focus at first. 

As the fragments began to cluster and shuffle about in her brain, though, 
they began to take on the semblance of a vaguely felt continuity, a 
continuity stretched between the poles of two magic names. 

* * * 

One name was Peligrosa's. The other was Aurora. 

First fragment: tied to a stalagmite in the cavern. Peligrosa wraps her 
breasts in chains, slender golden links that squash the meat of her tits 
into taut, long fingers. Mood: still, gamey and resilient. 

"How much meat do you have in your pants, Signor?" 

A blindfold is quickly strapped around her eyes. 

"I will show you now," he said. 

Second fragment: strapped bottoms up with barbed wire to the arms of a 
cross. Pedro Peligrosa crams a knotted coil of hemp into her cunt, and tugs 
gently at the loose end of the twine. 

"I don't wish you to feel excessive pain, my dear. You must tell me when it 
becomes unbearable." 

The Signor inserts a ball gag into her mouth and begins to yank roughly on 
the dangling piece of cord. 

Third fragment: buried to the base of her throat in sand. There are clouds 
overhead, and the sky grows dark. Valencia speaks. 

"If it rains, Signor, I will surely drown. Would that not deprive you of 
your pleasure?" 

The Signor signals his dogs to approach. Then he peers down at Valencia's 
head and gives the dogs another cue. The dogs begin to piss on her hair and 
shower her eyes with yellow droplets. 

"On the contrary, my dear," he chortles, "the rain will give you a much 
needed bath." 

Many such images of her early enslavement coursed through Valencia's 
imagination. They formed so many snapshots of a past too benumbing to bear 
remembering. But she began to remember in any case, and the snapshots came 
rapidly enough to create the illusion of a motion through time, of a demonic 
progression from initial willingness to reservation, and from there to 
terror, to pain that no longer brought ecstasy in its train; and from there, 
to a surpassing of all limits of absorption, to a white, blank sheet of time 
that held no marks, no memories at all. 

Was this what she had wanted? The question was framed in her mind now: it 
was not framed in the past tense, or any tense, but it was framed. And it 
was answered: the word "No!" rebounded from one wall of repressed 
reminiscence to another, gaining in momentum until she was able to form an 
unbearable wish to scream. But she could not scream. That was implicit in 
her need to form the question. It helped to motivate her answer. 

There was a hum of static in the still air of the shed. It fractured the 
feeble line of thought that was trying to extend itself in Valencia's mind. 
Her eyes focused automatically at the stimulus of the hum, focused on the 
television screen as it came to life again. 

Peligrosa had returned to the cavern. He was about to begin his first lesson 
with Aurora. Valencia saw her, and knew her name. An unbearable desire 
twisted her body to the limits that the body-wrap of plastic would allow. 
She started to twist in small arcs that sent searing messages of pain 
through her scalp. She stilled herself as soon as that became possible. She 
wanted to stay in view of the screen. 

The Signor was pacing beside the wooden pallet on which Aurora's naked flesh 
was pinioned. He was prodding her cunt with his gloved fingers, testing her 
ability to withstand the power of forced, unwanted stimulation. His first 
test was always this: if his victims suffered orgasm, they would prove 
likely candidates for a quick conversion. All that would be necessary 
followed easily, logically, from Pavlov's results with his dinner bell and 
starving dog. When pain proved too unwelcome, he would interrupt it with a 
stimulus. The stimulus would be continued until the victim was writhing with 
orgasm. Then the pain would resume, would be interrupted with forced 
pleasure, and resumed again. Stimulus, response: the simplest and surest of 
his training techniques! 

But if Aurora resisted, if she would not be teased into dripping reluctant 
come on his leather-draped fingers, then the Signor would be even more 
pleased. Such resistance indicated that the conversion would not be the 
usual routine affair that bored him so quickly. It would mean a long, 
protracted struggle, requiring great ingenuity. It would exercise all of his 
talents for subtle and not so subtle persuasion. Such resistance would give 
him great pleasure! 

Peligrosa fondled her deftly, slowly, gazing in anticipation at the soft 
lips of the sumptuous blonde snatch of his newest acquisition. Her beauty 
was a great prize, surely. But what of her will? Did she have great 
strength, did she have enough to force him to test the limits of his own? He 
had known no such woman since his late wife, the lovely Signora Yma. She had 
died of pleasure in his arms, but not before giving him much pleasure that 
was his to keep and cherish in his black soul! 

Aurora had suffered such abuse before, from the one now called Valencia by 
the Signor. But she had not expected it then, and she was not so rested 
then, and she had not known the limits of her own repulsion so thoroughly at 
that time. The pure mechanics of the Signor's probes brought out a small 
quantity of clear fluid from her cunt. But there would be no more: that 
would require the pliant participation of her mind, and her mind refused. 

The Signor laughed at her resistance. He moved over to the rack of infernal 
implements that was inset into the stone wall that stretched behind the 
wooden platform. 

"You will be all too pleased to show me your capacity for bestial pleasure 
once you have felt the pain that I can substitute for it when the mood 
suggests that to me!" 

He turned a crank at the base of the platform that made it turn and rise 
until it was vertically aligned. Then he grabbed her labia and secured them, 
one by one, in the jaws of small pincers that he tightened. When the lips of 
her cunt were firmly secured in the pincers, he spread the pincers outward 
from the hole at their center, until the lips-had been stretched as far as 
their elasticity would allow. 

Aurora's slit was transformed into a yawning crevasse, one whose pink 
interior showed clearly on the television screen in the shed where Valencia 
dangled and fought back the saliva that was welling in the bound cavity of 
her mouth. 

A shrivelled bladder was taken from the rack and filled with oils until it 
bloated and took on the appearance of a monstrous phallus. Peligrosa held it 
before Aurora's eyes, letting his own eyes bask in the supreme terror that 
radiated from her face. 

"There are tiny perforations in the bladder, my pet, that will let the 
soothing oils seep through the skin of the bag into your own. They will 
lubricate your vagina, and tempt it into rollicking response. Surely you 
cannot resists such an invitation to delightful abandon!" 

He chuckled grimly, and began to insert the prod into her enlargened 
orifice. He slid in close to a foot of its length, and began to slowly twist 
and turn it inside of her. Her hips began to twitch as the oils filtered out 
of her cunt and wettened her clitoris. This the Signor began to rub with 
light, tender strokes of his gloved thumb, compelling it to stiffen and 
dance. Aurora was trembling, and her breasts began to quiver as bursts of 
unwanted sensation ravaged her helpless body. But she gritted her teeth and 
thought only of refusal, and she was adamant in her wish to thwart the 
Signor. 

She had to think of other things, she needed some mental anchor to attach 
her resolution to, to keep her mind in place, so that it would not drift 
along in the sea of sensations that buffeted it. 

She thought of Helen Corday, and what her earlier visit had shown her what 
Helen had become. She reconstructed the details of the moment in which she 
had recognized her as her earlier tormenter, and placed that frozen image 
alongside that of her first instant of realization of Helen's plans for her 
on that dreadful night of the previous year. 

As the threat of wretched pleasures teased her with ever greater force, her 
mind wobbled between the two repulsive images, leaping to the one when her 
hold on the other was loosened. And so her mind wobbled for an eternity of 
minutes, until the Signor relented and removed the bladder from her cunt. 

"You are strong," he said. There was sardonic pleasure in his voice, and 
Aurora recognized it, and despised him. 

"Let me kiss you for your strength, my dear! We will see how long it remains 
in your possession!" 

Peligrosa strode to the rack and replaced the bladder. Then he leaned over 
Aurora and pursed his lips. He drew them close to her own, and let the tip 
of his tongue emerge and flick across the sleek red lines of her mouth. 

Aurora's eyes burned with hatred and scorn. She jerked her mouth away from 
his, and spat in his face. 

"Loathsome pig!" 

The Signor started, then retreated. He took a kerchief from the pocket of 
his cape and wiped the spittle from his eyes. Then he glowered at Aurora and 
smiled crookedly at her. 

"Perhaps my manner is too refined for your tastes. More earthy means of 
delighting you can be found, however. I want so much to give you pleasure!" 

He retrieved the bladder from the rack and unstoppered it. Then he held it 
over her, and wrung the oils from it, coating her flesh with their lingering 
fragrance. 

He rubbed the oils into her with the kerchief he had used to wipe his face. 
He daubed her full, rounded breasts with slow circular sweeps of his hand, 
massaging the points until they shot out and hardened. He moved his hand 
downward over her stomach and groin, soaking her there with the sweet, 
tempting balm, and dropped the kerchief into the blonde, palpitating 
triangle that rose and fell between her thighs. 

She sagged limply in her bonds, her mouth opening and closing slowly, 
releasing soft, hot gushes of air that were filled with the sounds of 
welling passion. Her muscles began to flow in harmony with the strokes of 
the kerchief. Her pussy began to drip with more than the oils that the 
Signor had doused her with. She was gurgling, and the Signor felt the 
leather tighten around his left leg as his own excitement began to take on a 
physical form. 

"Ah! You will achieve your orgasm soon! It will bring great joy to Valencia, 
who watches you now on the screen in her cold, miserable shed!" 

Aurora filled the cavern with the echoes of her wordless but deeply felt 
opinion. She shut off the nervous circuitry that was menacing her with the 
dire threat of a demeaning and overwhelming pleasure. She clamped the 
muscles of her snatch against the three gloved fingers that were probing her 
there, forbidding them the easy access they had won for themselves with the 
oils they had brought before them. 

The Signor pulled his fingers roughly from her box, and removed the soiled 
glove. He clutched it at its base, and smacked her cheek with the thick, 
studded leather. 

"One who desires so little pleasure must truly crave pain!!" 

It was Aurora's turn to jeer. She directed her gaze at the mask she knew was 
covering a quickly reddening face, and laughed at him. 

"You're a total ass, Signor!" 

Peligrosa was silent. The crudity of her response had shattered the delicate 
mood he had been so careful to construct and elaborate. The lump in his 
leather breeches exploded, and drenched his crotch with his own passion. 
Aurora was indeed a prize, he decided. He must give careful thought to her 
training. He would have to retreat to his study and ponder the matter at 
great length. He had had enough of this introductory lesson. He would leave 
her now. 

"You disappoint me with your prudery. But it will pass, as all good things 
do in due course. Good evening, my dear, I take my leave of you now." 

The echo of his footfalls lingered in the high chamber for many minutes 
before fading. Aurora, left ungagged and without the blindfold, watched 
Peligrosa leave hen Then she saw the technicians climb along the walls above 
her, and make their exits through dark tunnels that gouged into the 
limestone in a faraway corner of the cave. She wondered what sort of men 
they were, and how they had come to be the Signor's slaves. She had yet to 
hear any of them speak. She wondered if their tenure on the Signor's estate 
had driven them to lose that, and other, distinctly human capacities - if 
their powers of speech and thought were now totally possessed by the mad 
lord of this shadowy realm. 

She had seen Helen, and wondered what she had been thinking as she watched 
her on the screen the Signor was so careful to mention to her. She wondered 
if Helen was still capable of recognizing her, if she was still possessed by 
her demented passion for her love - or what she thought of as love. 

Aurora would not let herself become like her. Helen was somehow involved in 
her being carried off to this dungeon, and she would not allow her the 
satisfaction of achieving her ends in such a depraved surrounding. She 
pitied and loathed her, but wished she could be brought back to her senses, 
and made to comprehend the enormity of her sick desires. But perhaps she had 
already comprehended that much: perhaps that explained her present 
zombie-like captivity. 

Aurora did not wish to dwell on such thoughts. She had pitied Helen once 
before, when she should have fought her instead. Now she would fight, and 
not timidly, or by any rules. 

But the fight would certainly not be an easy one. She had few resources at 
her disposal. The only thing she still possessed, the last weapon still at 
her command, was her mind. 

But what could she do with it? She could leave this place with it. She could 
shut her eyes, relax her senses and let her thoughts carry her elsewhere. 

But where did she wish them to take her? There were many places she could 
go, but she could not afford to dabble in a host of mild reveries. 

Where, and with whom, did she most long to be? Could she bring herself 
there? Could she go to him? 

She conjured up the image of a tall, lean, tightly built man. She summoned 
him by name into the chambers of her mind: Jason! The hero of the ancient 
Greek fable, the wanderer who sought the golden fleece, the lover she wished 
to come to her and take away her chains. 

She directed her will to evoke the fond memories that Jason's name 
suggested. Jason! The dark-haired man who had coaxed her away from her 
casual habits of love and rejection, who had held her emotions to a single 
focus so relentlessly that she had come to forget that they were once 
inclined to have many others. 

Jason would be her refuge, she would think only of Jason as her torturers 
teased her, threatened her, tempted her, punished her. 

The vague outlines of his body began to fill with detail and movement as she 
wrapped her thoughts around its image. She began to thumb through the 
calendar of their months together, seizing the weeks and days and writing 
the events they contained across the numbers of their pages. She would 
construct the story of their time together, amplify its scaffolding until 
the snapshots of fragmented moments began to move rapidly from one to 
another, began to weave a cinematic tapestry that she could unreel in her 
mind, over and over, to anaesthetize her senses, to turn away the stimuli 
the Signor would attempt to inflict upon her. 

Jason! 

 CHAPTER FOUR 

Where to begin? Aurora initiated her reverie with the memory of the first 
moment when she had become aware of the intersection of her destiny with 
Jason and the fate that had brought her into conflict with Helen of Corday. 
In that moment, the mystery of her present subjugation and her future 
release must be contained. In that moment, she could decipher the riddle of 
her imprisonment. She could use that riddle as a bludgeon to wield against 
her torturers. For Peligrosa could only know a part of it. What could he 
know of her life with Jason? And what could she uncover about her interment 
here with the Signor? 

* * * 

Jason arrived late at Mazim's where Aurora was to meet him for dinner. He 
had been busy for the past few days, seeing agents and producers about his 
latest screenplay. She had hardly seen him all week, and was anxious to be 
with him that night. 

Their date was for seven. Jason arrived at eight. She had been getting angry 
at the long delay, but once he had arrived, she forgot ail that. 

"Held up with the producers, Jason?" 

He draped his napkin over his lap and buried his face in the menu. 

"No," he muttered. "Had a caller." 

Aurora swizzled the drink she'd been nursing for half an hour and stared 
quizzically at her lover. 

"Who called, dear?" 

Jason dropped the menu on the table cloth and gave her a pained look. 

"A... photographer." 

Aurora understood. "It was Helen, wasn't it, Jason?" she asked. 

Jason picked up the wine list and began to rove his eyes aimlessly over the 
columns of vintages. 

"Yes. Yes, it was, Aurora." 

Aurora removed her blue swept-back lenses from her deep blue eyes and 
clinked the frame against the brandy snifter she had been draining before 
Jason's arrival. She rested her palm beneath the smooth oval curve of her 
chin and lowered her long black lashes. She could not look at him now, and 
her voice was a soft, trembling whisper. 

"What did she want of you, Jason?" 

She felt his fingers brush across the back of her hand. She opened her eyes 
and let him see her tears. 

"She told me many lies about you. Then she told me one other lie, Aurora: 
she told me she wanted me. But we both know who she wants, and why she would 
want me to want her." 

Aurora sighed. Her lids drew closed again. 

"And what did you say to her, Jason?" 

Jason bent over the table top and kissed her cheek. 

"I told her I wasn't interested. I told her to leave, and not bother us 
again." 

Aurora cried. Jason whispered many reassuring words to her, and clutched her 
hand. He knew about Helen, he had coaxed the tale out of Aurora slowly, 
gently, over their months together, and would never hold it against her. He 
wished to protect her, and maintain her love. 

"Why don't you order the vinaigrette, lover? And a light red wine. Nothing 
too heady tonight, Aurora. A chablis, perhaps." 

He smiled at her, and the upturned curve of his lips lingered enough for her 
to see, and to be reassured. 

"No, not the vinaigrette," she purred. "Something more bland, so that my 
attention won't be distracted from you, Jason." 

"You don't sound as if you have much of an appetite this evening, dearest. 
Shall we leave?" 

Aurora's eyes moved slowly across his gentle, laughing face. She knew what 
he was hungry for tonight, and she felt similar pangs. His hands were at the 
edges of his seat. He was ready to go, and she rose from her chair and 
followed him to the door. 

"It is rather late for dinner, lover. And you look so tired. Maybe we should 
spend the evening at home." 

Jason winked at her and took her hand. It was obviously what he had in mind. 
They walked to his car. Jason turned the key and started off. 

They were at his penthouse shortly, and Jason unlocked the door and beckoned 
her inside. Aurora tossed her wrap across the cushions of the divan sat 
across from the large picture window that overlooked Central Park. She felt 
comfortable here, and Jason brought her a tall drink in a thin-stemmed 
crystal glass to make her feel cozier. 

"I talked to Jon Phillips today. We're signing a contract later in the week, 
and start shooting in the summer. I think I talked him into a two million 
dollar budget. It won't be 'Jaws,' but I think we'll make out quite nicely." 

The hand she was holding the drink with wrapped around his neck. She hugged 
him as closely as fear of spilling would allow, and kissed him passionately 
all over his face. 

"That's wonderful, lover! If only you'd told me before, we could have stayed 
at Maxim's and celebrated!" 

He took the drink from her hand and placed it on the floor. "We can 
celebrate here," he purred. 

She was wearing a see-through blouse of pale pink lace. It was soon on the 
floor beside the drink. Jason cupped her heavy white mounds and buried his 
face in them. Aurora began to moan and scratch him, and reached for the 
buttons of his black velvet shirt. She undid them slowly as he felt for the 
zipper at the thigh of her tightcream hip-huggers. He found it with the ease 
that practice brings, and pulled down the small silver catch until a 
triangle of diaphanous blue peeked through the spreading opening. 

Jason's shirt was soon lying on top of her blouse, and Aurora was tugging at 
his zipper once her own had come undone. Jason slid her cream slacks down 
her legs as he felt his own black jeans fold down to his knees. He lifted 
his legs to get the bunched material to descend to his ankles and over them 
to the floor. Aurora helped them along, and wiggled free of her own 
leggings, leaving them crumpled beneath her feet at the back of the couch. 

Aurora groped at the jittering lump in his shorts and squeezed it through 
the stretched white cloth that held it at bay. 

"You should buy some looser underwear, Jason, you'll hurt yourself one of 
these nights!" 

"The tightness increases the friction. A little pressure adds to the 
excitement, sweetheart!" 

Aurora hated to let go of the hard, swollen member, but as long as it stayed 
trapped inside the cloth, she would never be able to get it to give her what 
she wanted. So she let go, and stuck her finger-tips into the elastic 
bordering the upper rim of the slim, distended garment. She pulled hungrily 
at it, and forced it down over the heaving obstacle she wanted so much to 
unfetter. The swollen organ bounced out of its cage and bobbed up and down 
wildly until she captured it between her lips and brought its dance to an 
end. 

"Jason! I taste come on it already!" 

"A chronic condition that I suffer from only in your presence." 

His face was flushed with the red of his racing blood. Aurora panted at the 
evidence of his heat for her, and the hot air forced through her mouth by 
her pants baked the aching skin of his cock unmercifully. He wanted to pull 
out of her mouth and lunge at her pussy. But Aurora wanted his juice now. 

"I didn't have dinner tonight, Jason. Be good, and let me nibble your meat." 

Jason was past complaining. He wanted her badly, and swore to have his 
pleasure quickly, the better to get stiff again soon and thrash about in her 
lovely box. 

Aurora still had her panties on, and knew how the confinement- of her twat 
would inflame her greedy lover, would drive him into a berserk, 
uncontrollable frenzy of lust for her. 

She loved to bear active witness to his unabashed passion for her. She 
wanted so much to be given the gift of his surrender, and then to answer it 
with the gift of her own. She would think of how totally she would abandon 
herself to him once she let him pry into her cunt. Her cunt was already 
dripping at the thought of it, and the stains her gray droplets of ooze were 
making now in her skimpy silk briefs were driving Jason to delirium. 

He mauled her firm, full breasts with frantic fingers and babbled nonsense 
as his eyes rolled back and the throbbing of his cock became more urgent. He 
was suffocating from the stifling pleasure that was teasing his frame, and 
Aurora knew that she would soon have much of his piping hot sauce to smack 
her lips on. 

"Oh, God! Faster! Faster!" 

Aurora's lips were whizzing along the length of his twitching shaft while 
her tongue tickled the bulging vein of its underbelly and swished across the 
prickly pink skin of its head. There was a tart, musky tang beginning to 
wash against her gums, and then there was a series of small, tentative 
tremors that began to build in speed and tension until there was a massive 
convulsion that brought screams from Jason's throat and buckets of slosh 
into Aurora's mouth. 

She felt she would choke from the load, and gulped noisily and many times to 
consume it all before she drowned. 

"That was so lovely, Jason! You came like a stud horse! I'm stuffed with 
your drippings!" 

She laughed and grinned impishly at his relieved, relaxing face. Her hands 
kneaded his cock like dough, squeezing out the last bits of ooze into her 
palms. Then she licked at her wrists until the last bit of it was gone, all 
the while keeping her glittering eyes fixed dreamily on the eyes of her 
lover. 

"You forgot something, lover. Come and get it!" 

She jumped up from the divan and covered the crotch of her panties with her 
hands. Jason grunted like a pig in his slop and leapt up after her. He 
chased her around the couch, but his legs were still rubbery from the 
work-out she'd given him, and he couldn't quite catch her. 

"Don't torture me, Aurora! I want your cunt! Bring it over here!" 

He lunged across the couch, but missed her, and sent the couch skidding 
across the floor toward the window. 

The jolt of the landing knocked the wind out of him. Aurora slipped away and 
ran behind him. She yanked his balls and scampered away to the lounging 
chair that stood before the fireplace. Jason clambered off the couch and 
came after her. His balls bounced as he ran, and their wobbling distracted 
Aurora, and Jason almost got a hold of her then. But she circled the chair, 
and when he threatened to jump over it at her, she made a motion to push it 
into his belly, and so he refrained. 

"You're slow tonight. Guess you don't want me as bad as you make out!" 

Jason's prick stiffened at her taunt and stabbed the air. Aurora gasped and 
felt her knees grow weak. Jason saw her moment of weakness, and grabbed a 
tardy chunk of her ass that couldn't quite keep up with the rest of her 
body. 

"Gotcha!" 

Aurora whined and whimpered, and began to beat his back with her small fists 
in mock protest. But Jason ignored the sham. Even if it weren't feigned, he 
didn't care. He was going to have her, and had no more patience for delaying 
tactics. 

"Down on the rug! Now!" 

He ripped off her panties and clawed at her box. It was already dripping 
wet, and was not in much need of his assistance. 

"Liar! You do so want to get laid! Your cunt stinks from wanting it so bad!" 

Aurora squealed as her buns banged against the rug. Jason wasted no time, he 
rammed his angry rod into her as soon as she hit the floor. He shoved it up 
her slit until it slapped against the back wall of her drenched womb, and 
then he crunched her cheeks in his hands and bared his fangs at her. 

"Tease!" 

Aurora pouted and put her thumb in her mouth. 

"Aw, you love it!" 

They both laughed and grabbed each other's flesh, and rolled across the rug 
as Jason's bloated prod spun like a top in her twat. She was no longer 
laughing or pouting, she moaned and sobbed. 

"Shriek for me, Aurora! Scream like a fucking animal!" 

Aurora soon obliged him, but not out of politeness. She was simply unable to 
do otherwise. Jason knew it, and grew hotter at the sound of her submission 
to his lust. He wanted to fuck her more ruthlessly than he had ever done 
before, he wanted her to writhe like a tortured animal beneath him. He got 
what he wanted and found himself doing the same. 

"Oh, Jason! Jason! Jason!" 

She formed his name over and over with her drooling lips, groaning and 
grunting when she could not find enough air and effort to pronounce the 
word. Her grunts and groans became more frantic quickly, and soon she could 
only say the name in her mind, her body only concerned now with emitting 
squirts of come - mouthing words was no longer of any importance. 

A last boisterous binge of spilling, and they were done. Jason collapsed 
against her, crushing her creamy white breasts beneath his coarse black 
curls of chest hair. They were done, and they were exhausted, and they 
couldn't move. 

"Oh, what a mess I've made on your rug, Jason!" 

He chomped at her ear and chuckled. "If only you'd been nice enough to 
squirt on the tiles, then I could lap up the puddle!" 

"Jason! How crude!" 

He chucked her chin up toward his own, and grazed her lips with rapid flicks 
of his tongue. 

"Cut the shit," he said, "you love it!" 

Aurora slung her arms around him and pressed her nipples into his. 

"Yes, I do," she conceded, and smiled passively. 

Aurora's drink was still on the floor, somehow having escaped the mayhem 
that had uprooted the divan, spun the lounging chair about, and made a mess 
of the lamb skin rug. Jason reached out for it and took it by the stem and 
poured it into her mouth. 

She choked on the unexpected rush of alcohol, and dribbled it all over her 
tits. Jason poured what she had left in the glass on her bosom, and began to 
slurp up the new mess he'd made. Her nipples rose up again as the alcohol 
soothed and burned them, and were prodded into erection by Jason's lickings. 

"Oh, Jason! You've made me drunk so easily!" 

"You were never good at holding your liquor, lover. Part of your boundless 
charm!" 

They smooched and petted on the rug for a while, then Jason got up and went 
to the kitchen. He was there for some time, and Aurora grew curious to see 
what he was doing, and went looking for him. Jason was cracking eggs on the 
lip of a porcelain bowl. He jiggled the yolk through "he jagged fractures of 
the shell, teasing the yellow glob to slither out of its hollow and leave 
the whites behind. 

The yellow stuff plopped into the bowl, and Jason drizzled the clear stuff 
left in the shells into another bowl. Then he started beating the two messes 
ferociously with a fork, until the surfaces of the fluids frothed with 
lather. 

He jumped to the omelet pan and coaxed the stove to lick its bottom with a 
low, blue flame. Then he smeared the recess of the pan with olive oil, and 
tossed a wad of butter into the slick when it started to bubble. 

He twisted the cap from a small jar of rosemary, and began to crunch the 
dried twigs of the herb in his fingers, sprinkling the debris over the 
browning broth in the pan. The rosemary crackled as it braised, and Jason 
stepped back to contemplate the thinly shredded mushroom caps that lay 
heaped on a plate by the stove. 

"Needs more seasoning," he mumbled to himself. "Put it in the butter, or 
beat it in with the egg whites?" 

Aurora crept up behind him and pinched his scrotum. Jason yowled and 
throttled her neck with a tightly flexing arm. 

"What're you doing here, this is supposed to be a surprise. It's also 
supposed to be the chef's private preserve, which he jealously guards 
against intrusions by the curious." 

"Don't be so gruff, Jason, I can be as curious as I please! Whatcha 
cookin'?" 

Jason scraped the mushrooms off the plate with a wooden spoon, ladling them 
slowly into the buttered oil. 

"Scrambled your eggs, now I'm scrambling mine. Hungry?" 

"Very. But you're fibbing, Jason, it's going to be an omelet." 

He made a silly face and tended to his mushrooms. 

"What were you muttering about more seasoning, Jason? The chef is at a loss 
for ideas?" 

Jason began to stir the eggs again. He had just had an idea and he knew the 
seasoning he would add now. He would add it to the egg whites, and fluffed 
them lightly as he turned his eyes toward her. 

"Go to the John and douche yourself. I've decided to make a special kind of 
omelet: a scum-let, my dear, and I need some of your froth to add to the 
fluff in the bowl." 

Jason lowered the flame and dipped the wooden spoon into her still gummy 
cunt. "Quick," he commanded, "before the butter burns. It's my kitchen, and 
you cook by my rules!" 

"I'm not modest, I can do it right here." 

Jason twiddled the spoon and prodded her frilly labia with its edge. 
"Whatcha gonna do it with, Aurora?" 

"With the spoon!" she replied. 

"Delicious," he crooned, and slid the small scoop of wood with slight 
twirling motions into her box. 

"Keep twirling, it takes the edge off the pain." 

Jason lowered her lightly to the floor and began to swill his spoon in 
earnest. 

"What pain? You love it!" 

She didn't answer. She had a shit-eating grin on her face, and felt more 
like wallowing in the seamy thrill of the wooden fuck she was getting than 
searching for words. 

"This is disgusting," she moaned. 

"Oh, indeed! It will make for a disgusting omelet!" 

When he felt her spurt, he pulled out the spoon, and brought it quickly to 
the bowl so as not to lose any of the drippings. He scraped them off with 
his fork and began to beat them in. Viscous swirls wound slowly in the wake 
of the tines of his utensil, and slowly the swirls broke up and dissolved 
into the bubbles of the agitated meringue. 

Aurora was writhing on the floor and panting. As Jason beat in the yellows 
and whites, he spied her limbs heaving below him, and chuckled peevishly. 

"Masturbating on my kitchen tiles! Tsk! Tsk! That's disgusting, my dear!" 

Aurora's eyes were tearing with bliss. She was gurgling, and paying him no 
attention. Jason lifted his foot and added some toes to the work force. They 
nudged between her fingers, and then the big toe forced itself in to the 
first joint and wiggled about till she made a puddle on the floor. 

"Ah-aaaaaah! That's... better, Jason. You didn't finish... with the spoon!" 

"Well, don't pout, all is forgiven. While your eggs were cooking, mine were, 
too. Dinner will be served in a moment!" 

"Yes, dear," she sighed, and tried to get up. But she had a bad case of 
rubbery legs, and Jason had to help her up. 

"Sit down at the table and set out the silverware. I'll be with you in a 
second." 

Aurora's mind was still fogged from her orgasm, but she did as he asked, and 
had the table set when he came over with the omelet pan. 

"You've got the forks where the spoons should be, silly!" 

Aurora drooped her head against his buttocks and lolled her tongue along his 
hairy thigh. 

"Sorry, Jason, my mind was elsewhere." 

Jason laughed and served her. Then he dropped some of the stuff onto his own 
plate, and sat down beside her. 

They ate silently. Both were famished, especially after all the exercise 
they'd just had, and after they'd downed the eggs, they raced to the 
refrigerator and reached for whatever seemed ripe for quick gobbling. 

Afterwards, Jason popped the cork from a bottle of bubbly and poured his 
lady a glass. Then he poured himself one, and the two of them spent a happy 
hour making themselves drunk. When they were starting to get tipsy, Jason 
suggested they go to bed, and Aurora woozily nodded her assent. Jason led 
her to his chambers, and helped her climb beneath the sheets. Then she had 
to help him, too, as he stumbled on the rug and would likely have fallen to 
the floor if she hadn't grabbed his arm and hauled him in on top of her. 

They stroked and petted for a while, but they were too tired to do much more 
than that, and so they soon grew weary. They were sated in any event, and so 
they passed off into a deep sleep, nestled closely in each other's arms. 

* * * 

Aurora thought about that wonderful night as she lay helpless, and unable to 
move, strapped against the plank in the cavern. Many other memories of her 
life with Jason came to her then, and she started to patch them together 
into a quilt of reverie. She patched and sewed in her mind for many hours, 
until she felt herself tire from the effort, and from the trials of the day. 
Then she yawned and passed into a light, but much needed, sleep. 

 CHAPTER FIVE 

Peligrosa sat and pondered in his study for many hours. He knew she would 
resist him strongly, and he relished the challenge that would face him now. 
After much deliberation, he felt he had finally hit upon the proper course 
of action. 

She had too much fight in her to succumb readily to pain. Indeed, a raw 
sadistic approach would be liable to backfire, and might, if anything, only 
tend to increase her resistance. 

No, he must do better than that. She would be able to deal with mere pain. 
But what of enslavement of the purest sort? Would she not be susceptible to 
light spankings and multiple bonds? Would not confinement increase her 
isolation, lock her more totally inside herself, give her no ready outlet 
for her scorn and invective? 

Peligrosa pondered the idea, and saw that it was good. It was the tried and 
true technique that the commandants of concentration camps had brought to 
such perfection. The most rebellious prisoners were always isolated: mere 
torture would rally their spirits, would give them too palpable a sense of 
their enemy. But the isolation of a small, unlighted room, of confinement to 
a hard-backed chair, of being bound to a stake and left alone and immobile: 
here was the stuff of which capitulation was made! 

Some of those irksome prisoners could cope with even isolation, he knew. 
They would construct intricate webs of fantasy, epic poems or extended 
narratives. One famous historian had conceived, in great detail, the 
outlines of a massive tome whose two volumes, once he was free of his cell 
and able to write them down, filled a dozen hundred pages. His work was 
lauded as a great classic; but it was an even greater testament to his 
capacity to endure. 

Did this Aurora have that sort of stamina? Peligrosa laughed at the thought. 
She was plucky, and brimmed over with fire. But she was no scholar, no poet, 
no author of great works. She was a model, she lived through her body. How 
would she fare if that body became useless to her, a mere appendage, pent up 
in ropes and chains? 

The Signor was pleased with his plan. Once her body could put up no 
struggle, her will would wither. Once her will began to fade, he could kill 
it with cruelty. Her mind weakened, her body would be tormented; her body 
ravaged, her mind would suffer sweet ruination. Then she would be his. Then 
Valencia would be freed - as if she were capable of doing much with her 
freedom now! No one had succumbed so totally as Valencia. Peligrosa wondered 
how deeply she regretted the contract she had made with him. She would win 
her deepest wish, perhaps, and soon - but at a cost that would make it 
hardly worth the having! 

He decided to pay a visit to Valencia. How much of what was happening did 
she understand? If little, he would gloat at her pitiful failure; if much, 
he would begrudge her a modicum of respect, and begin the preparations for 
her release. If Aurora failed to be converted, of course, the preparations 
would never come to fruition - a perfect frustration that would prove to be 
for Valencia! She would have failed to wield the last link that she owed to 
the chain, and would remain in her shed until another candidate was offered. 
But that candidate would be hard for her to find: how many men in debtor's 
prison could pay their debts while locked in their cells? Peligrosa thought 
debtor's prison one of the crudest ironies ever concocted by the human 
spirit. He did his best to emulate its sensibility in his own prison, and 
thought how marvelous it would be if Valencia was forced to be the one to 
make the emulation complete! 

He came to the shed and entered. "Well, my dear Valencia, did you enjoy the 
telecast?" he asked. 

"She may prove... too much for you!" the woman answered. 

The Signor saw the jealousy in her eyes and roared. 

"In that case, my slave, you will dangle from this roof until you die!" 

Valencia's eyes filled with rare fire, and she screamed her anguish with 
such brazen suffering as to make any man but the Signor feel his blood 
curdle in his veins. 

"Oh, hush, my dear! Let us not be so pessimistic. I know her inner charms 
now almost as well as you once did. Soon, I shall know them much better than 
you were able to, my pet, and then, once I have won her submission, I will 
give her to you. You would like that, wouldn't you? You drool at the thought 
of being her master! Admit it, fool, that thought is what has brought you 
here!" 

Valencia's eyes became vacant again. "Yes . Yes. Yes, Signor, yes!" 

Tears filled the eyes of the motionless woman. She was lost in the vacuous 
stretches of her own feeble reverie, and seemed to have forgotten 
Peligrosa's jeering presence. But her reverie was taking on a firmer shape: 
a spark of hope was fighting its was to the surface of her senses, but it 
gave out little more than a dull sparkle as yet. Her mind would take long in 
its returning. Peligrosa saw all this, and wondered if it would ever return 
to her at all. 

"You must prepare for your long-sought mastery, Valencia. I will take you 
down now. You need no longer stay in this shed." 

The pulleys on which Valencia's chains were draped began to creak as the 
Signor pushed the lever that lowered them. Valencia fell in a heap to the 
dirt floor of her hut, and Peligrosa bent over her and began to undo her 
bonds. 

"Stand," he commanded. 

Valencia rose unsurely to her feet. Her limbs wobbled, but she was able to 
maintain an erect posture, and follow Peligrosa from her hovel. 

"Come to my chambers, Valencia!" 

She wore but the collar and the leash, and she could feel him tugging at the 
cunt ring that the leash attached to, and followed him blindly. But 
Peligrosa felt a twinge of resistance in her hesitant response. Was his 
pliant slave beginning to awaken into mastery? He chuckled at the idea. He 
would relish the sight of her tormenting Aurora with her love. He would just 
as willingly relish the sight of Valencia cowering in dread before him when 
he informed her that Aurora had failed them, and would not convert to their 
ways. He preferred the former situation, though, for it would mean much 
pleasure for himself: he would convert that lovely body in the cavern into 
his own instrument, and then reward the instrument he led now by the leash 
with her. The chain would go on, link by link, but still Peligrosa would 
know himself to be the first, and the strongest, and the most richly 
rewarded! 

"Helen! I am... Helen!" 

Peligrosa carefully hid his surprise from his slave. She remembered her true 
name? Then she had more passion than he had thought. He wanted to test its 
present strength. She was not free to be the master of her unwilling lover 
yet: he must remind her of that, now, and see to it that she kept her 
rightful place in the chain of command he had spun around her and his other 
servitors. 

"Your name is Valencia! Valencia!" 

Helen Corday twitched. There was a tremor in her cheek, and her eyes began 
to glaze again, and go blank. 

"Valencia! What is your name?" 

She felt the leash tug at her cunt. She tried to form the sound of the 
letter "H" in her throat, but the air would not leave her lungs to generate 
it. She gagged from the effort, then moved her lips to form the simpler 
sound of the letter "V". It required no breath, only the friction of her 
puckering, shivering lips. 

" - V - Valencia." 

The Signor pulled roughly at the leash, bringing her to her knees. "Again," 
he commanded. 

"Valencia. Valencia! Valencia! Valencia!" 

Muscular spasms contorted her face as the stammered the name again, again, 
and again, until the Signor slapped her with his gloved hand and made her 
stop. 

"That is better, Valencia! And who is Helen?" 

She tried to form the sound of an "H" again, and again, the air in her lungs 
burned for release, but none would come. 

"N-N-No! I don't know!!" 

Peligrosa was pleased with her failure. She was wobbling on the jagged edge 
that separated slavery from mastership. He would let her fall into the 
latter status when she had earned the right to it. Until that time, she must 
be kept in her present state of compliant servitude. He had tested her will, 
it was willing and able to be aroused, but the test was over, and now it 
must be suppressed again! 

The Signor led her through the vestibule of his mansion, led her up the 
winding spiral staircase to the highest landing, then led her through a 
massive door that opened into his sleeping chambers. 

She heeled behind him as he brought her to the edge of the bed. He motioned 
her to seat herself there, and she obeyed. Then he looped her leash over the 
oak knob of one of the bed posts, and strolled across the plush carpet to 
the tall black closet door. 

"You are naked like an animal, my pet. I will clothe you now in suitable 
attire." 

He withdrew spiked shoes, black lingeries, a girdle of many-strapped 
leather; ropes, thin gilded chains, and a scarlet ball gag. He laid out the 
apparel on the bed. Then he took hold of her body, spreading the limbs like 
the limp members of a marionette, and began to dress her. 

He began with the lingerie and heels. Then came the girdle of black leather, 
which he strapped with suffocating tightness about her diaphragm and 
stomach, forcing her breasts to stuff out of the upper reaches of lacing. 
They pushed their fat outward like bloated melons, spreading the dark pink 
of the bases of her nipples into taut, streaked circular sheets. 

But Peligrosa was more interested in the gorged red cylinders that jutted 
like cow's udders from the heaving mounds. He took out coils of thin nylon, 
and began to wind them with tight pulls around her tits, tweaking the 
nipples and pulling them like taffy to make a space for the cordings of the 
rope. 

The tiny prickles of her aureoles now inflated into hard pimply balls of 
sensitive red. The thin strands of nylon gouged out rows between, in, and 
over them, and sought in their sinuous fashion to capture and compress all 
the fatty flesh of her horribly distended breasts. When they had been 
wrenched and warped to the limits of the strength, Peligrosa tied multiple 
knots, and dropped their knobs into her cleavage. Then he poked the 
underside of the tight space between her pressurized tits, and pulled the 
hard knots through, twisting them into the hasps of the laces in the upper 
stretch of girdle. 

Now came the turn of the gilded chain. 

They clinked against the rug softly as he drew up lengths of the small, 
glittering links, and wound them around her ankles. They cut deeply into her 
bones, rupturing the hosiery that lay between the links and her thin, 
denting skin. He was careful not to let them lie in the grooves made earlier 
by the heavier leggings she had borne in the shed. There could be no 
pleasure for either of them in such tame measures! 

Her legs did not require all of the chain. Nor were they meant to. The 
Signor lifted Valencia from the bed by the shoulders, and bent them over to 
the floor. Then he wrapped the remainder of the chain around her wrists, 
then bound the linked wrists to the linked ankles, then stepped back to 
admire his handiwork. 

Her buttocks were bare before him, he could see tufts of her pubic hair 
cropped below her anus and between her thighs. He wrapped them in his 
fingers and yanked, bringing some of them free from her flesh to reside 
between his fingers before he dropped them casually to the floor. 

He lifted her now, moving her out to the limits of her leash, causing her 
collar to tighten about her neck, and the ring in her cunt to cut into her 
pubic mounds. The end of the leash had been twisted earlier, so that it came 
through her thighs and up the crack of her ass before it wound around her 
left thigh and up through her cleavage to her neck. The hair of her crotch 
that could be seen from behind her spread into two thin rugs, parted by the 
small line of the leash's leather. The line curved about her thigh a half 
inch or so below her ass hole, and this was adequate for Peligrosa's 
purposes. 

"Oh, Valencia, I have forgotten your pretty red ball gag. Would you like it 
now, or have you something you'd like to say to me?" 

Valencia was breathing with great difficulty. The multiple constraints on 
her midriff, and the painful awkwardness of her posture, made it hard for 
her to furnish her lungs with air. But she wished to speak, if only to 
demonstrate her mettle. 

"No... gag... Want to... able to scream my... passion!" 

Pedro Peligrosa sneered. But there was a hint of respect in his sneering. 
She was beginning to show some spunk. Good for her! 

"Very well, my Valencia, I will find some other use for it!" 

As he spoke, he began to poke at her ass hole, making some room there to 
receive the red rubber ball of the gag. The ball was three inches in 
diameter, and was hardly a comfortable fit, but he had had many months to 
play with her bowels, and they were stretched enough now to accommodate the 
ball. Given Valencia's strained posture, however, the accommodation was 
hardly roomy. Her first scream of passion could be heard as the ball was 
sucked into her ass. 

The Signor decided he was ready now to take his pleasure with her. He 
unstrapped his tight leather pants, and peeled them down to his knees. Then 
he removed his gnarled, welt-riddled penis and stuck it into her hole. 
Thanks to the ball now floating somewhere in her intestines, her hole was a 
wide tunnel, and his entry was disappointing in the lack of pain it caused 
Valencia. But as soon as he shoved it deep into her, the crown of his shaft 
rammed into the ball. He steered his strokes in the direction of the ball, 
making it oscillate with agonizing perturbations that brought fresh screams 
from Valencia. 

The Signor dug his claws into the small of Valencia's back as he sloshed his 
maimed instrument through her turds. He began to bellow like an enraged 
bull, and wasted no time in lingering titillations. He came directly, 
violently, dousing her brown walls with sticky streaks of gray. 

"Haaaa-ah! Squirm, slave, squeeze out the last drops of my slime!" 

Valencia wiggled the walls of her bowels obediently, and Peligrosa retracted 
his grossly colored member from her shitter. Then he grabbed her by the 
waist and turned her over, so that her back lay against the floor and her 
legs and arms stretched together into the air. 

"Your ass is foul with dirt! Look how you have soiled my loving prick!" 

He dangled his organ above her face, then bent his knees and crouched over 
her. 

"Suck it clean, you disgusting toad!" 

The brown hose fell into her mouth, and she did as she was told. It was 
harder to breathe for her in this position than the other, and when she was 
done, she gasped and sputtered, soaking her lips in umber spittle. 

"Don't shirk your responsibilities! Swallow!!" 

Valencia winced, but swallowed. Peligrosa was satisfied. For the moment. 

"Your tunnel must be washed," he leered. "Don't go anywhere, I'll return 
shortly." 

The Signor went to his dresser and extracted a tarpaulin and a bulbed bone. 
He placed the tarpaulin under Valencia's bottom, then filled the bulb with 
water from a ewer that sat on his night table. 

"Now for the bath," he sneered. 

He shoved the thick bone into her ass, then squeezed the large bulb, sending 
a jet of water into her hole. 

"Hold that in, you will need more if we are to remove the ball!" 

He refilled the bulb with water, and shot another jet of fluid into her 
crack. 

"Hold that in, you will need still more!" 

Valencia's strain showed all too clearly on her face. She was fighting 
desperately not to shit, knowing well enough how displeased the Signor would 
be if she shat too soon, and knowing better than most what his displeasure 
would mean for the one who had incurred it. 

Peligrosa shot a final wash of water into her bowels, then stood back, 
lifting the end of the tarpaulin to catch the scatter of wastes he expected 
to fly from her soon. 

"Let us see how long you can hold it in now, slave. You have done well so 
far. How thoroughly can you please me? If you can hold in the water long 
enough for me to prepare and administer another dosage, I will be pleased 
indeed!" 

The Signor knew how impossible that would be! Already he could hear the 
grunts that signalled her surrender to the overpowering urgency that she 
felt in her bowels. Her putrid wastes erupted from her ass with a roaring 
fart, and splashed against the tarpaulin, making a steaming puddle. The 
puddle was swirled with the gray sludge of the Signor's wad, and in its 
middle was the bright red ball. 

Signor Pedro drooled with evil delight. He cackled with merriment, and 
jumped up and down on the floor, his eyes welling with tears of demonic joy 
as he stared at the puddle and the still dripping hole of his slave. 

The Signor was in a generous mood, and wished to share his pleasure with his 
captive. He twirled her around on the floor, until her head came to the edge 
of the tarpaulin. Then he arched her back so that she could gaze on the 
sight that had pleased him so much. 

"A chocolate sundae with whipped cream and a cherry! Hee hee! How is your 
appetite, my dear?" 

Valencia had had enough. She fainted with a whimper and closed her eyes. 

* * * 

In the morning, the Signor rose from his bed and stroked his chin. Valencia 
was still lying in a faint on the floor. He noted with amusement that she 
had not partaken of the repast he had left for her. Perhaps she wished to 
save it for her breakfast! 

Pedro Peligrosa was in excellent spirits. This was to be an exciting day, 
and he looked forward to a stimulating session with Aurora. 

Valencia had provided him with an edifying work-out. It had been a good 
rehearsal, and it had given him the warm-up that he needed if he was going 
to be at his best with the sumptuous strumpet in the cave! 

He donned his best leathers, then packed a bag with many useful items, and 
headed for the caves. The cameramen would be there by now, he had instructed 
them of the time he expected to arrive, and they knew better than to be 
unprepared for a taping when he was ready to begin. 

He strolled to his bookcase and entered the tunnel. He took his time 
reaching the caves. He was in no rush, and he wished to be fully relaxed for 
his session. 

He was thoughtful enough to have the large television screen above his bed 
hooked up the night before. He didn't want Valencia to miss any of the 
goings on. She was still somewhat comatose when he had left her, but she was 
well trained, and would awaken on cue when the static began to hum from the 
screen. 

As he strode into the inner cave where Aurora was bound, he scowered the 
upper walls with his eyes and saw the camera crew awaiting his signal. He 
raised his hand, and they removed the caps from their lenses and began to 
move their machines in slow arcs, recording his arrival and following his 
footsteps as he approached the slumbering goddess strapped vertically to the 
pallet. 

How should he awaken her? He mulled the question for a minute or two, 
revelling in the thrilling sense of power that the choice gave him. He 
wished to constrain her body. Why not begin by soiling it? 

The Signor pried his prick free from the leather and pissed on her perfect, 
round tits. Aurora, unbeknownst to him, was already awake, and was merely 
biding her time, waiting to see what odiousness the wretch would choose to 
thrust upon her. As his stream rose up to her neck, she prepared herself. He 
was drawing nearer to her,' and she saw her moment. As the piss began to 
spill against her lips, she opened her mouth suddenly and gathered up a 
mouthful, then spat it into his face. 

"It sits better on your ugly flesh than mine, Signor!" 

The Signor was flustered. How dare she spoil his game this way? He would 
teach her to behave in such an unbecoming manner to her master! 

He decided to play the pleasure game, to see if she was less able to resist 
him while still half asleep. He did not know, though, that she had been 
awakened a half hour earlier by the arrival of the camera crew. And so, he 
was unprepared for her next trick. 

He pulled off his glove and began to fondle her cunt. She pretended to moan 
with incipient orgasm, and so, taking the bait, Peligrosa slipped his 
fingers far into her snatch. 

But suddenly, she clamped her cunt walls down hard on his digits, and began 
to piss a torrent on his hand. 

"You should have kept your glove on, swine!" 

She was mocking him! And his hand was swimming in piss, to boot! He began to 
bluster, but then regained his usual control. She was no pushover, he must 
be careful with her, he decided. He must think fast, however, the momentum 
was hers now, and he must reverse that state of affairs rapidly, lest his 
morning pleasures be spoiled, and with them, the mood of the day. 

In his haste to recoup his losses, Signor Pedro made another mistake. He 
fell into the trap of an easy retort, and Aurora played her part well. 

"So, you enjoy your animal functions, do you? But you still have others you 
have not indulged yourself in yet! I will be only too pleased to assist you 
in your bestial pleasures!" 

The Signor rushed feverishly to undo her straps, and began to bind her 
wrists and ankles in the familiar manner. He was too heated to bother with 
the hose, the high heels, the girdle, and all the rest. Just the chain 
clamping down on her wrists and ankles, the rope squashing her tits to a 
distorted pulp, and so forth. 

When he had her in perfect jack-knife diver position, he spanked her all 
until it turned scarlet, then reached into his travelling bag and took out 
the enema bone and bulb. 

"We'll see how long you can hold back your pleasure from my probes, my 
dear." 

He drenched her ass with a torrent of water, then another. Aurora moaned 
with feigned humiliation. She couldn't see feeling shame for what he was 
forcing on her. None of this was of her own making or design, it was solely 
an expression of the Signor's sordidness. No act of her own will was 
involved in this, and as she had not the least timidity or fear of her own 
bodily functions - for she knew too well what a splendid piece of natural 
art her body was! -she refused to feel disgust for anything but Peligrosa 
and his perverted machinations. 

Certainly, her bowels were truly putting up a struggle to contain the wastes 
and water mixing inside them. But she only wished to goad him into wanting 
to force more into her. When he stood behind her with a third bag full of 
water, she stopped the play act and let loose an ocean of shit that 
completely covered the Signor's leather vest and startled face. 

She was glad she had remembered that omelet Jason had seasoned with her own 
sexual juices! The memory of her moment on the floor while he spooned and 
masturbated her was one of her favorite raunchy memories of Jason. They had 
no inhibitions with each other: as she reflected on the proofs of that in 
her memory, it seemed rather difficult to suddenly show reserves about her 
bodily functions with this vile creature who called himself the Signor! 

Peligrosa was furious, of course. His day was ruined! He had failed 
miserably, he had overplayed his hand and moved without caution, without 
thinking - and no one knew his failure as deeply as he did then. He had had 
enough of simple rituals of humiliation. She might require bondage and 
deprivations to be broken, but before he could contemplate the course of 
what now seemed likely to be a long siege, he must temporarily reverse his 
plans and give her immediate - and severe -punishment for her insolence. She 
would pay for the filth she had coated him with! 

He reached to the rack and took down his sturdiest bull whip. He began to 
lash at her maniacally, raising deep, long welts and high splashes of blood. 
He was screaming, and though she could not avoid shrieking in agony herself, 
she would laugh at him in the respite he was compelled to give her between 
strokes, and soon he was out of control, smacking the lash against her 
brutally, shredding the lovely flesh of her breasts, until she passed into a 
swoon and hung in a faint from her bonds. 

The Signor stepped back and gaped at her. She had led him to beat her so 
rapidly, she had tricked him into making her faint so soon, he had no time 
to gloat, no time to bask in her humiliation! He realized that he had been 
utterly defeated by Aurora in every way. He slunk away from her pallet in 
shame, and was furious at the technicians for recording his craven exit. 
Valencia was seeing this! That was intolerable! 

But at least, he consoled himself, at least he had made her scream with 
pain. That was something! 

 CHAPTER SIX 

Valencia heard the hum from the screen, and started awake. Her eyes locked 
automatically on the rush of images that began to tumble out of the 
television. The sight of Aurora's perfect body slumbering in the straps of 
the wooden platform catalysed her out of her trance-like state. She began to 
move her eyes freely, with deliberating hunger, across the flat projector of 
the scene. 

She felt the numbing jealousy come to her as she watched the Signor shower 
the beautiful breast of the one she yearned to love her with his piss. But 
when Valencia returned his urine to him in a sudden spray, drenching his 
face with a yellow color that soon was supplanted by a furious flush of red, 
Valencia's throat began to press against her collar. 

The forbidden letter "H" began to escape from her. It came out as the 
instauration of a laugh: she cackled uncontrollably at the sight of her 
master's humiliation. She laughed until the pain of the constraint of the 
leather collar choked the glee from her, and made her gag and wheeze. 

But her breath returned to her, and with it, the laughing. 

"H - H - Hah! Hahahaaaah! Signor is pissed on!" 

When Signor Pedro took Aurora's shower on his hand, soiling his fingers, his 
palm, and his leather sleeve, and befouling his carefully planned mood, 
Valencia's tightly strapped sides strained to sunder their binding with 
gales of malevolent laughter. 

"H - H - Helen! Helen sees Signor pissed on! Haaah!" 

She heard herself say her true name with astonishment. The fragments that 
had been welding together so tentatively the day before to lock into place. 
She began to remember herself as she once had been. Not too clearly yet. It 
hurt her, it made her head ache, to see too much too quickly. She would hold 
the flood of memories in abeyance, she would nurse them into controllable 
shapes and manipulate them when she felt strong enough to handle them. 

But she felt herself grow ever stronger as she watched the startling 
performance on the television. Signor Pedro Peligrosa, master of pain and 
humiliation, was being spattered with the shit of his latest slave! 

She had never seen her master display such weakness - any weakness! - prior 
to these moments. She felt the torment of her binds, the binds her master 
had forced upon her, and began to doubt their justice. Her master was not 
what he pretended to be. How dare he treat her as such an abject bit of 
rubbish, he was showing her now how miserable was his claim to that 
privilege! 

When Helen - for she was thinking of herself as Helen now - saw the shoddy 
manner in which the Signor was administering his whip strokes to Aurora, she 
cooed and gawked at the screen. He showed no subtlety, he let his victim see 
his heat, his frustration, he betrayed his weaknesses to the one he would 
convince of his power! 

Helen recalled the way she had abused Aurora, and knew that her performance 
had been much the superior of the two. Aurora had dug her teeth into her 
captor's crotch, but she had followed up her act of rebellion with 
begrudging laps of her tongue. She had brought her tormenter to orgasm, and 
her tormenter and forced her to experience orgasm as well. But Peligrosa had 
failed in all these things. Peligrosa was an unworthy master. Helen vowed to 
show him slavery. Her vow was strengthened when she saw how disgracefully he 
made his exit from the cavern. He would come back to the room soon. Then she 
would begin to fulfill her vow! 

The Signor had been badly shaken by Aurora's triumph, and he hastened to his 
chambers to renew his strength with Valencia. When he stormed into his 
bedroom, he glowered at her, and began to taunt her. 

He forced himself to be calm, to seem restrained, and tried to make his 
just-concluded performance take on the trappings of a victory. 

"Did you see how quickly she fainted, vermin? Did you see how little pain 
her weak frame could absorb? Do you understand how thoroughly I have 
punished her?" 

Helen-Valencia lay motionless, her face blank, her voice dry and cold. 

"She pissed on you." 

Signor Pedro cringed at this insolence from his slave, all the more so 
because of the truth it contained. 

"My mastiffs have pissed in your hair and eyes many times, toad! They will 
soon perform the same service for the woman you were unable to master!" 

Helen-Valencia remained unshaken. Her characteristic facial twitch, the 
twitch the sent her musculature into spasms whenever the Signor contradicted 
or threatened her, was not to be observed. She arched her eye brow in 
disdain, and through her words at him like javelins. 

"She covered you with shit!!" 

Peligrosa growled and uplifted the tarpaulin containing Helen's fecal wastes 
and spilled them over her tits and chest. Helen spat the shit out of her 
mouth, soiling the master's boots. 

"These are my turds, Signor. She covered you with hers!" 

Peligrosa flew into a rage. He kicked her buttocks, and jabbed the point of 
his flying boot into her cunt, making her yowl, and shudder with pain. But 
when the wave of agony had passed over her and rolled away into the depths 
of memory, Helen smiled viciously at the Signor. 

"She forced you to lose your reserve, your precious control, Pedro! Just I 
have made you do now!" 

The master's boot had stopped in mid-air. He gazed at Helen's shit-spattered 
face with stupefaction. She was taunting him, and justly! His eyes could not 
keep their focus on her face. They drifted to his boot, and stared in terror 
at the smattering of his slave's own shit that clung to the leather. She, 
too, had covered him with her own turds! 

"You notice, Pedro? I, too, can soil you! Release me, you no longer deserve 
to possess me. 

And she was calling him Pedro! His slave was addressing him by his given 
name! His ears could not believe what he was hearing from this one he had 
trained to be so docile, so wallow so obediently in the pain he lavished on 
her. 

He dropped his foot to the floor and turned from her. He had been 
humiliated, his humiliation had been witnessed by his slave; and now, his 
slave heaped further humiliation on his dark soul! 

He jumped when he heard what she was saying now. Her voice was cold as 
steel, and pierced his wounded vanity as sharply. 

"Pedro! Undeserving Pedro! Release me! Now! I, who have today earned the 
right, command you!!" 

What was this she was saying? Was it true? His head was pounding, he felt 
the unfamiliar vertigo of confusion. He turned to her, and found that he was 
walking toward her helpless body, walking toward it with the intention of 
releasing it from bondage! 

He pulled out of his hypnotic trance. But he could not bear to see her 
ruthless eyes. He covered his face with a gloved hand and bent over her. 

"Look at me if you call yourself master! It is I who am supposed to cower 
and hide! Look at me!!" Helen spat out her words like venom. They poisoned 
his mind, infected him with lethal shame. 

He had to shake off the mood that he was started to fall into. He was 
desperate to concoct a cover, to find some means to excuse what he was about 
to do, to make it seem as if it were appropriate, as if it fit into his 
schemes for her. 

"You are beginning to sound like a master, Valencia." 

He heard the quaver in his voice, and felt dread. His cover, barely 
formulated to the slave girl who must swallow it, already sounded hollow. 
His words rang false, but they were his only hope, and he must continue 
them. To stop his flow of explanation was to admit its inadequacy before it 
had even been tested. He could not let himself capitulate so easily. 

"You feel she will be conquered soon, and your freedom justly won. These are 
healthy signs of your maturation in the rites of mastership, Valencia. I 
will unfetter you now, I will give you a taste of liberty, the better to 
deserve the slave I soon will win for you." 

Helen laughed dryly and locked her eyes with his, daring him not to the one 
to break the stare. Their eyes clung to the sight of each other, neither 
master nor slave flinching or succumbing to the urge to blink. 

"You will not win her for me, I who failed to win her before, I had achieved 
much more with her in one night than you will reap in many months! And for 
all I achieved and failed to achieve, I never suffered her to befoul me with 
her excrement! She pissed and shat on you!!" 

Helen knew what the effect of her words would be. Pedro blinked, ending the 
contest. When he realized she had beaten him with the weapon of truth, he 
blinked all the more rapidly, as if in a daze. She bade him once more to 
release her, letting him know how well she knew already that his "gift" of 
her temporary freedom was her right, and her command! 

He started to unlink the golden chains. Her arms and legs fell free of one 
another. As the Signor unwound the remaining links, Helen felt freedom come 
separately and at once to- all four of her limbs. 

"The chain is broken! Helen is free!" 

She climbed to her feet while Peligrosa was still kneeling down next to the 
spot where she had lain helpless. Her spiked heels dug into his face, 
puncturing the flesh beneath the eye and sending him screaming to 
contortions across the floor. Helen pulled off her leash and swung the 
looped end against his neck as she feasted on the sight on the blood gushing 
from his shredded face. 

She let the leash dangle from her cunt and grabbed for the metal rod he kept 
by the bedside for her spankings. She leapt into the saddle of the small of 
his back, and began to pound his thighs and shoulders with the metal, 
smashing with the awesome power that fury can unleash, listening heatedly 
for the sound of crunching bones. 

Her fire dwindled as she heard him whine. He was begging her to leave him 
be! When she heard his wretched pleas, she jeered at him, and buffeted his 
back with further strokes. But her fire had dwindled: she did not wish to 
shatter his bones. That was the sort of crude hot-headedness he had 
displayed in the cavern. Her heat must be low, and slowly released. The 
Signor would be made to know true punishment! 

"Give me a ride to your closet, donkey!" 

The rain of blows from the rod compelled him to obey. She placed the noose 
of her leash about his neck, tightened it, then began to use its twin 
lengths of leather and cord as so many reins to steer her beast of burden, 
so many reins that she steered with the jerks and contractions of her cunt! 

As she rode toward the closet, she plucked up the chains that had been 
strewn on the rug, she marched him through the lumps of shit that still 
remained on the floor, the groped beneath his belly and started rolling down 
his breeches. 

She took the enema from the closet, and shoved the bone into his freshly 
exposed crack. Then she bound the hooves of her pony in the golden chains. 
She did not bind him as he had bound her before. The chains dug into his 
wrists and tied them behind his neck. Then the chains reached round and down 
across his chest, one tightly around his balls, and then left red zippers of 
dent marks on his calves and knees. 

She lavished the most attention on the binding of his balls. She tested 
their sack with her fingers, prodding and poking to see how much freedom of 
movement how much sensitivity to pain, the genitals within possessed. Then, 
only then, did she wind the bonds of gold. She pulled them to the degree of 
tightness that seemed to bring him most precisely to the brink of the 
unbearable. Not so much as to maim him forever, but enough so that he would 
never forget this agony! 

Peligrosa was drenching in a cold sweat. He had never felt such excruciating 
pain since his nights of love with his late wife. She had been the only one 
who had ever attained the severe discipline he demanded of anyone who would 
be his master. And she found in him an equally skilled artist of loving 
torture. Theirs had been a perfect match, an idyllic union which he never 
hoped to find again on this earth. Yet this Valencia -- docile, obedient 
Valencia! - had taken back her true name. Valencia was no longer; now Helen 
squeezed his nuts with gold, making his phallus bloat with pain and shoot 
wet love into the soiled rug. 

Helen had filled the enema bag with water, and added some of the burning 
shame that was spilling from his cock. She rammed the bone in deeper, and 
squashed the contents of the bag deep into his bowels. 

"I took three loads, Pedro! Can you take four?" 

He writhed deliriously beneath her weight, and screamed his answer to her 
challenge. 

"Yes! I can take anything a slave can give!!" 

She refilled the bag and squeezed a second river up his ass. He was 
shivering, he was not used to being the one abused, he had to fight with all 
his strength to contain that load. And yet it was only the second: one less 
than she had taken on the previous night. What would be his shame if he 
could not only not surpass, but not approach her! 

She let him suck in the ringed muscle of his sphincter for many minutes, 
delighting in the shudders that shot through his spine and brought her twat 
to delirious excitation. She was slopping her come on his back, and as he 
shuddered, it began to send out rivulets that trickled to the sides of his 
frame and dripped down his stomach to the rug. 

She wailed as her orgasms buffeted her nerves, wanting him to know what 
bliss his pain was bringing her. When she had doused his back with pools of 
her slime, she regained her sense of cold purpose, and reached for more 
water for the bag. The bag refilled, and was squeezed. A third douche of 
water sprayed up his crack. He must take it, or admit his inferiority to his 
former slave. 

He ground his teeth and gasped, rolled the muscles of his diaphragm and 
stomach, reeled in all the slack in his ass - and shat on the floor. His 
gushing turds spattered across the rug, down into his breeches, his boots, 
into the cracks between the boards of the floor. He was defeated. He wept. 

She rolled him over and around, sticking the back of his scalp down into the 
foul muck he'd released. Then Helen reeled in the slack of her leash, until 
her snatch was flat against his lips, the cunt ring pressing into the 
cartilage of his nose. 

Helen dripped what remained of her backside orgasm into his shivering lips. 
She did not need to give him the next command. His tongue reached out and 
licked the walls of her twat. She panted, convulsed her walls, sucked his 
tongue down deep, and slopped more come on it. 

Helen took the ring now in her fingers, and placed it over the tip of his 
tongue. She inverted it, so that the hollow of the ring lay over her hole. 

"Thread the ring with your tongue," she commanded. "Make it bleed and chafe 
as it gives me pleasure!" 

Pedro obeyed her. His tongue curled into a pink tube on its way through the 
ring. Her fingers pulled his tongue as far out of his mouth as it could be 
pried with being ripped out completely. She forced it to pass through the 
ring to its root. The root of his tongue began to bleed. Peligrosa was 
unable to swallow, and it was nearly impossible for him to breathe through 
his mouth. Helen knew that very well. That is why she pinched his nostrils 
shut, and commanded him more sternly to eat pussy. 

She watched with delight as his lips took on a blue tint. She felt herself 
peaking, and was able to control herself well. She made only a whimper, and 
kept her eyes, glazed as they were, riveted to his lips. Her come was 
slithering down the hollow in the center of the curled tube of his tongue. 
It mixed in the back of his mouth with his blood, and floated there in a sea 
of saliva that he could not swallow. Just before he was about to pass out 
from lack of oxygen, she released his nostrils. He snorted uncontrollably, 
and sneezed mucous-laden strings of snot into her groin. 

Peligrosa was gasping and gulping with involuntary rapidity. Helen ogled his 
torment fondly, and laughed softly. Once he was sufficiently recovered to be 
given more torture, she dropped her facade of gentleness, and barked new 
commands at him. 

"I have come now, and you have swallowed my come. Now! Eat your snots!!" 

His eyes rolled back, and he drooled and whimpered. His tongue pushed the 
ring around her groin and through her pubic hairs, catching up the nasal 
filth that he had delivered there. 

When he had finished this labor, Helen gave him a moment of respite, to let 
the ignominy of what he'd been forced to do sink into his awareness 
completely. Then she yanked his tongue from the ring, and undid the leash 
from it and let it drop to the rug. 

" Pedro thought this was her signal that she was satisfied, and wished to 
end their session. He sighed, and the tension eased out of the furrows of 
his face. 

Helen pissed into the furrows. She wagged her cunt all over his face, 
pissing into his eyes, his nostrils, the deep puncture wound she had given 
him earlier, and into his mouth and down his neck. 

She stood up and jeered, arms akimbo with triumph. She undid the last of her 
own bonds -the tit rope, the leather girdle, the heels and the hose - and 
stood with her legs spread apart over his crotch. 

Then she took a shit on his mangled balls. 

When his balls and cock were thoroughly stepped in brown steam, she pulled 
off his gloves, turned them inside out, then wiped her ass with their fur. 
She held the fur beneath his nose, then forced the gloves into his mouth, 
and took up the ball gag from the tarpaulin. She crammed in the gloves with 
the ball, then hooked the ball around his head and left him gagging on his 
own turds. 

She went to the closet and took out a bull whip. She lashed him with it, 
until his clothing was reduced to tatters. Then she removed the tatters, 
until he was stark naked, but for the implements of his bondage. 

Helen pranced around his helpless form. She was satisfied. She would leave 
him there like this. She would think of things to do to him in her shed 
later, but now she had another purpose. 

Helen strutted to the closet and took out new garments for herself to wear. 
A black leather jump-suit appealed to her, and she bedecked herself in its 
tight folds. There were splendid tall boots with high heels, and she pulled 
these on slowly, with great pleasure. 

She took the finest bull whip, and prepared to go. But she had second 
thoughts. Her Pedro was not enjoying himself sufficiently. Now was as good a 
time as any for her plans for him! 

She dragged him across the rug by his ankles, dragged him to the stairwell 
and let him dangle precariously on the edge of the landing. Then she rolled 
him beneath her boots like a barrel, following him closely as he tumbled 
down three flights of winding stairs. 

When he crashed against the wall of his study that abutted the first floor 
landing, he passed out and grew limp. This did not please Helen, she would 
have to carry him now. But her purpose required that, and she required the 
fulfillment of her purpose. So Helen bent down over Peligrosa and pulled him 
over her shoulders. 

She carried him to the hovel where she had been confined, and began to wrap 
him in the plastic sheet. Then she wrapped the ceiling chains about his 
ankles, and hoisted him head down into the air. 

"I would like to hang you by your cock, but then you would lose it, and I 
would lose a valuable piece of my property!" 

Helen left him there and ran victoriously toward his study. She wanted to 
have a look at his library shelves. But reading was far from her mind as she 
thought of them! 

Peligrosa dangled in a stupor for many minutes. When he had revived 
sufficiently to fathom what had happened and where he was now, he stretched 
his throat to scream. But the foul gloves, and the ball gag, choked the 
sounds. The blood was rushing into his head from his feet; his feet, his 
legs, his torso seemed to be asleep. 

The pounding of too much blood in his head was insufferable. He vowed he 
would thrash her to the edge of death for this, but then he knew how slim 
the chances of fulfilling that vow would be. 

It slowly dawned on him that he was now her slave. He had certainly 
performed like one upstairs! Where had her power come from? Could her lust 
for Aurora be so great, that she faded and seemed to wish only his torments 
while Aurora was far from her - so great, that her pining and passivity 
could reverse themselves so abruptly within a day of her learning that 
Aurora was near her at last? 

Peligrosa could not fathom such a mad passion. It was not concerned with 
bondage and humiliation so much as it was centered on a specific body. It 
was not like his passion for the dead Signora. He had worshipped her for her 
mastery, for her discipline. But his lost Valencia seemed to worship this 
Aurora for her flesh. It was because of that fleshly vision that she wished 
to know and give pain. It was strange to mix such passions together, he 
thought. Mixed in such a manner, neither the discipline nor the devotion 
could be pure. Helen's lust was a corruption. Peligrosa could not grasp such 
things. Unless Helen knew somehow that this Aurora could be a perfect 
disciple? But that, he felt, was impossible. Helen was deluded. She operated 
not from cold calculation, but from some lustful urge that was prior to her 
control Helen would fail. He would have her again. The grim prediction gave 
him comfort. 

But Peligrosa worried. He was trying to console himself by admitting his 
ignorance- of Helen's passions and motives. Was that not admitting that he 
had no control of them? And if he had no control, he could have no hope. He 
was lost. He had failed. He was a slave now. He must take his consolation 
from that realization. And he must be a good slave, a worthy slave, if he 
were to earn the right to regain his mastery over Helen. 

Such thoughts were unfamiliar to him; they left a bitter taste in his gagged 
mouth. But they had a certain fascination, a strange appeal. It was 
astonishing to contemplate that he, Signor Pedro Peligrosa, still had much 
to learn. 

He heard a humming sound. It came from the screen on the wall above him. He 
rattled his chains until he had swung his head into a position that would 
let him see. There were forms dancing on the white, flat surface. Who were 
they? It was hard to tell. Everything was upside down. 

 CHAPTER SEVEN 

Helen found the lever in the bookcase, and pulled until the case rolled back 
into the wall. She sauntered down the tunnel, and came to the door of the 
cave. She had- Peligrosa's keys in her hand, and turned the largest one in 
the lock. She pulled at the heavy latch with both her hands, and slowly 
swung open the massive door. 

She strolled through the outer cavern, gazing into the still, rank water of 
the pools there. She had suffered great debasement in those pools. She 
remembered the way Peligrosa had dragged her bleeding through their filth 
the first time he brought her to the chamber where the cameras were. She 
remembered being the way he had forced her to wade through them en route to 
the first confrontation with Aurora. He had made her eat the eyeless fish 
that swam in the pools, whipping her with a cat-o'-nine-tails until she 
caught one in her hands, then forcing her to take the pale, wriggling 
creature into her mouth and biting off its head. 

The pools were giving her ideas for future torments: torments she would 
afflict her Pedro with! She would make him swallow fishes with his ass, she 
would chain him to the stalagmites with his waist deep in the water, and let 
his scrotum be nibbled by eels! And she would leave him there for many days, 
eating blind fish, releasing his excrement into the foul water, letting his 
hair grow white from the droppings of the bats! 

But there would be time for all that later. Her immediate purpose involved 
Aurora. Helen hastened to cross the narrow straits of, limestone that would 
take her past the pools to the inner room. She would show Peligrosa the way 
to administer pain. She would show her Aurora what love not given lightly 
could be! 

She was at the mouth of the inner room. She entered, and looked up to the 
walls. The gnomes who operated the video equipment were sitting inertly 
against the stone: some of Pedro's other slaves. But she was Pedro's master 
now, and his slaves belonged now to her. 

Helen clapped her hands. The sound reverberated through the length of the 
high, dark room. The technicians stirred to life, and looked at her. They 
had seen her before. But they had seen her taking punishment here, not 
preparing to deliver it. They moved about in confusion, robots whose control 
box had short-circuited. Helen laughed at them, and let them know her to be 
their new master. 

She knew who they were. They were the four other links in her piece of the 
chain! Peligrosa had tamed them readily, for they were willing enough to 
serve such an experienced master. One of them was her own Raoul, the one who 
had chained her to the pier as the tide came in to drown her. But which one 
she did not know. They wore masks, and were covered in identical uniforms of 
black leather. And they never spoke. Peligrosa had forbidden them that 
liberty. 

There had been no cameras and screens before Helen's arrival at the mansion. 
They were an innovation dating from the time of her captivity. They had been 
installed expressly to record and monitor it. For Peligrosa gave much 
thought to the treatment of his slaves. He knew well what her career was, 
and what weaknesses and vices she brought to it. He had required of her a 
detailed exposition of her session with Aurora, of the pictures she had 
taken, and the uses she had made of them in bed. He made his punishment suit 
her passions. Even the crucial night by the docks with Raoul had a symbolic 
weight, contained a secret insight into her flaws, that he could utilize. 
The dangling in the shed was his variation on the theme. Peligrosa knew his 
slaves intimately, and used his knowledge well! 

But he was no infallible. What could such a man - any man - know of her 
passion for the other woman? Peligrosa had failed to read that properly, and 
to his cost. Peligrosa, who had seen so much, had missed the most seminal 
detail. Helen gloated over that. He would know her better when her next 
session with Aurora was done! 

Aurora! At last, Aurora! Helen would have her now, and the thought made her 
tremble. She was Aurora's master, to do with as she pleased. Helen could see 
her now, see her Aurora's bloodied flesh strapped against the pallet. She 
could hear her moaning now, moaning with the pain of the whip she had tasted 
before. 

Aurora moaned, but she was not awake. Her mind was too heavy with pain, and 
she drifted beneath the surface of consciousness, fluttering faintly through 
the twilight land of fantasies and dreams. She could hear sounds, but they 
were blurred like records playing at the wrong speed. She could see vague 
shapes, but they were stretched and clouded, swimming across her field of 
vision like objects observed at the fringe of a fish-eye lens. 

There were bubble bursts of nearing sound tapping on the drums of her ears. 
Their rhythm was different from the thrumming of the blood in her ears, and 
they were louder, and growing more distinct. Footsteps. Peligrosa's, 
probably. Who else ever came into these caverns? 

Aurora was so tired. Yet she must not let fatigue and pain govern her now. 
She must steel herself, prepare for further punishment, gird herself for 
resisting her tormenter. Aurora was so tired. It would be difficult for her, 
but she had no choice. 

She could see a shape in black leather that moved in cadence with the 
sounds. There was something familiar in the carriage of the person nearing 
her, but she could not make out much more than fuzzy contours and the sense 
of blackness. The form circled around her and placed gloved fingers over her 
eyes. 

Helen savored the deliciousness of this long-awaited moment. Aurora was 
unaware that it was she, and Helen thought it would be the height of delight 
to continue the ruse. She would blindfold Aurora, then begin the rituals 
that Peligrosa had failed to perform properly. Helen would enact the rites 
correctly, she would make Aurora shriek with lust, she would make Aurora beg 
the Signor to pity her, she would take off her blindfold and make Aurora see 
who the Signor she was pleading with truly was. Helen would bask in her 
shame and bewilderment, she'd have the blonde goddess without her even 
knowing who her conqueror was. And when she discovered who it was she had 
succumbed to, she would be humiliated beyond her capacity to endure it, she 
would be chastened, and become her slave. 

And Peligrosa would watch in chains, dangling from the roof of the shed he 
had prepared for Valencia. And Peligrosa would see her achieve what he had 
failed, he would wallow in the shame and irony of Aurora's pleas for the 
Signor's mercy. He would flounder in the cup of his poisoning defeat, he 
would writhe in the dregs of his abjection. 

Helen returned to the front of the pallet, and stood back to take in the 
vision of Aurora's sweet bondage. She folded her arms across her breasts, 
and felt desire. She leaned over Aurora, and began to lick her. She wanted 
to cleanse her of her blood, to see the perfect body of the captive radiate 
its beauty with the purity of glistening, unsoiled nakedness. 

Ah! But what to do about the welts that the lashes of the whip had made 
there? Helen went to the rack, and filled the bladder with oils. These she 
doused Aurora's flesh with, opening the mouth of the bladder over her, and 
spilling the balm across her breasts, her midriff, her thighs. Then she 
peeled off her gloves, and began to rub the oils into her loins, into her 
nipples and diaphragm, into the golden locks of her tender pubic mounds. She 
brought a sheen to the pure white marble of her limbs, she made her flesh 
slick and silky, she made the welts shrivel and narrow, and begin to heal. 

Her fingers toyed with the ruffles of Aurora's lips, played with the walls 
of the crevice they opened up on, probed inside the lustrous tube that 
reached into her womb. She dripped viscous drops of balm on her clitoris, 
and started to massage the precious nub with her finger-tips, summoning it 
to arise and stiffen and twitch lightly at her touch. 

Aurora was sobbing. She was so tired, it was so difficult to resist the 
threat of pleasure. Helen knew the ways of her womanly body. 

Helen knew better than the Signor how to waken the passion of another woman, 
how to cajole her crack into wetness and fire. Helen would show the Signor 
how well she knew these things, she would make him watch as she gave orgasms 
to Aurora, as she gave her cause to moan with delirious ecstasy. Aurora 
would weep tears of pleasure, and Helen would lap of those tears as they 
trickled from the blindfold. Then she would remove the blindfold, and lick 
the heavy eyes that made the tears, lick them until they were dry, until the 
opened and saw who was bringing her this unwanted joy! 

Aurora was wracked with tremors of the incipient bliss she wished to deny. 
She fought to form the image of Jason inside of her, struggled to form and 
hold the details of the memory of Jason's tender strokes, Jason's heated 
passion, Jason's eyes clouding with lust for her, Jason's love. She conjured 
the cold image of the Signor, and gazed into the cruelty in his eyes, the 
coldness of the lines of his hard, contemptuous face. She floated between 
the two images, and found refuge in the face of Jason. She clung to it, 
forcing the face of the Signor to fall to the depths of her mind, to tumble 
down to her loins and depart from her. She felt the fingers inside her, and 
they were not Jason's, knew they must be banished from the registers of her 
senses, knew that they must not violate her soul by bringing her the dread 
of forced passion. 

She begged the face of Jason to speak for her, to exorcise the demon that 
threatened to steal her lust away from its rightful object. She made Jason 
tower over the face of the Signor in her mind, to kick at the dark, cold 
visage of her tormenter, to gouge his eyes and rend the flesh from his 
bones. She made Jason chase the evil one out of her body, she made him shut 
down the muscles of her snatch and force him from her body. She felt the 
brutal fingers scratch inside her, and she begged Jason to trap them, to cut 
them off and toss them to the ground. 

Helen withdrew her hand from Aurora's cunt. Aurora had terminated her 
swelling lust, she had stopped herself before the orgasm came. Helen was 
distraught, but not defeated. Aurora would find it harder to resist the 
fullness of her tongue. She parted her lips and placed the nib of her tongue 
on the sensuous nub of the clitoris, and slid the edge of her instrument 
into the walls of the well-oiled pussy. The tunnel was coated with a thin 
film of oil, and the oozes that had reluctantly been forced from her glands. 
Helen pressed Aurora's lips against her tongue with the rolling strokes of 
her thumbs, sinking her blade into the softness of the pink cavern she 
wished to make echo with pulsations that would ring in answer to the 
throbbings of her tongue. Helen slapped about inside Aurora, shivered her 
upper lip against her nub of pleasure, teased her labia with her thumbs, 
commanding her slave to yield up pleasure for her to drink. 

Aurora felt the tongue invade her, and fled to Jason. He wanted her to think 
of the wooden spoon he had ladled her come with on the kitchen floor. Think 
of the tongue as made of wood, think of it as offering you not prickles of 
pleasure, but hard, painful splinters. It is a lifeless utensil, it can only 
bring pleasure if wielded by the one who loves you, it is the centerpiece of 
a game, and one accepts or rejects it according to the rules of play that 
one chooses to abide by. Do not accept these rules, Aurora! The Signor rapes 
you with wood, he wishes to tempt you to surrender to pleasure, only to 
riddle your organ of love with piercing splinters. This can bring you no 
bliss, Aurora, think of it as torture. The strokes of wood, the strokes of a 
lash: not strokes of love, not to be answered by the spasms of love. Do not 
answer, make your body quiet, refuse the rules of the game, do not play, do 
not answer, make no utterance, make no response! 

Helen felt Aurora's resistance, and grew angry. What could be done to lessen 
it? What would make her succumb? What could she do to break Aurora's will? 

Helen extracted her tongue. She took a dildo from the rack, choosing one 
that was soft and supple. She would be Jason, she would fuck Aurora in 
Jason's name, she would make her think of Jason and surrender to her! 

She strapped the dildo to her hips and started turning the crank that 
controlled the pallet on which Aurora lay. She brought the platform to an 
almost horizontal position, leaving it inclined slightly upward, the better 
to climb up into Aurora with the dildo. She would make her breasts roll, her 
nipples jump out from the soft folds of the tits they were mounted on; she 
would fondle and flex the white bosom while the dildo worked inside her. She 
would kiss the lips, bite the lobes of her ears, shower caresses across all 
of her flesh, and speak the name of Jason, use the words he would use, lower 
her voice and whisper endearments with the husky voice of a man. 

Helen slid across the greased surface of Aurora's body, bathed the dildo in 
oils and worked it inside of Aurora's cunt with slow, slippery strokes. She 
enveloped her body in her own, clenched her fingers in her own, robbed her 
nipples into hers, ground her twat into Aurora's and pressed her stomach 
into hers and sucked the air in and out to match the risings and fallings of 
Aurora's middle. 

"This is Jason, Aurora! Why are you hear, Aurora? I have come to rescue you, 
to bring you love, and pleasure. Let me feel you lust for me, let me fuck 
you, darling, before I release you from your bonds!" 

Aurora swooned. She knew well the voice was not Jason's, but the mime was 
well executed, and sounded to much like her lover's to make her feel 
comfortable. She felt so terribly confused, she found it difficult to 
concentrate on the image of Jason while another, false, image of her lover 
filled her ears and slid across her flesh. 

But the voice was not his, and the prick inside her was not his either. 
Aurora realized, too, that the prick was not that of a man. She felt the 
strap of the dildo rub against her thighs as the ersatz Jason rolled across 
her. She felt the nipples brushing against her own, and knew that no man 
could have breasts such as those. This was not Peligrosa on top of her, it 
was a woman! 

What woman could this be? Who would the Signor choose to torment her in this 
way? She listened closely to the deceiver's voice. She knew who it must be. 
Who but Helen, the one the Signor had led by a leash to her side the day 
before, the one who wore the slave ring in her cunt, the one who responded 
to Peligrosa with the obedience and blank expression of a robot: the one who 
had brought her shame before, and who had brought her here! 

Aurora wondered where the Signor was. Was he watching silently in the back 
reaches of the cavern? Was this his way of tormenting her to feel shame, to 
surrender, to become his slave? 

But there were no voices in the chamber, there were no tell- tale footfalls 
to indicate the presence of the other. -Was he watching this at a distance;, 
was he seated before one of his infernal screens? Had he so enslaved Helen 
that she could be sent here alone, to do his bidding, to force her love on 
her, to let him watch her lavish passion on her body? Helen, who had made 
the photographs of her own intimacy? Would Helen, so jealous and private, 
allow her captor to relish her despair? Had Helen been reduced to this? What 
was the nature of the mad alliance between the Signor and the one he called 
Valencia? 

Aurora didn't know. She would ask. She wanted to see if Helen was in control 
of this situation, she wanted to know how Helen could play the master after 
so recently playing the slave. 

"Where is the Signor, Helen?" 

Helen hugged her and cackled. 

"The Signor is watching, Aurora!" 

"He is not in the cavern." 

Helen rammed the dildo hard into Aurora's cunt and made her yelp. She 
laughed again, and reached behind Aurora's neck to untie the blindfold and 
make her look at her. 

"He is chained in the shed he keeps me in. He is my slave now, as you are 
mine!" 

Aurora was overwhelmed by this revelation. Helen had stopped the tempting 
strokes to gloat, and Aurora was given a respite: enough of one to clear her 
head and search for some strategy to employ on the wench who was fucking 
her. 

Aurora must keep her talking. She must pretend to be dazed, to feel utterly 
helpless. Helen would enjoy that, and prolong their dialogue, giving Aurora 
more of the precious time she needed to find a way to locate and exploit the 
weaknesses of her torturer. 

"How did he come to be in chains? And how did you come to lose your own?" 

Helen's eyes burned into hers. She smiled viciously as she stared into the 
face of her prey. She would let her know what power she had now. She told 
her of the chain letter chains, told her of the months she had suffered from 
the Signor's domination, told her of the victory she had had over her 
possessor before coming to Aurora. She spoke rapidly, in broken syntax, with 
manic heat. She would smash Aurora's hopes with a torrent of satanic 
revelations. Aurora would beg and plead, and Helen would give her stern 
terms she must meet if she expected release. She would become her lover, and 
would be compelled to accept that status. She would slide from acceptance to 
embracing of her role, she would lose her memories of Jason, and the 
promised release would be denied her forever. The promise was a lie. Slaves 
must never lie, but masters must indulge in the practice as they pleased! 

Aurora pretended to cower, to beg. She must inflate Helen's vanity, she must 
have her think she would taste victory, she must have her release her from 
the platform. But she knew there could be only one way to convince her of 
her surrender. She had not the Signor's pride and decorum, she could not be 
defeated by jeering. Her lust was of a different kind than Peligrosa's. Her 
lust was of a woman for a woman, not that of a man for the torture and 
humiliation of anonymous victims. One could befoul such a man with excrement 
and mockery, and shatter is pride and control: for he would be confronted 
with the personal defiance of an impersonal victim, and would find that 
intolerable. But Helen would not be willing to leave her unless she was 
indulged in a different manner. Aurora would have to accept her sick love, 
this one time at least, if she were to convince her of her surrender. 

The thought sickened Aurora. She would have to give herself to this woman, 
she would have to accept pleasure, allow the orgasms to overwhelm her, and 
listen to Helen grunt and gloat. If she didn't, Helen might leave her here 
in the cave, leave her hungry and thirsty and in pain, until she would be 
ready to surrender for real. Thus, Aurora saw how little choice she had. She 
would accept the illusion that it was Jason, she would shut her eyes to the 
reality of Helen and think Jason. She would come wildly, wildly with Jason. 
Helen would not know this, and Helen would be told a lie: Helen would be 
told that Aurora was willing to be her love slave. 

"You will learn to love me, Aurora, before very long!" 

Aurora winced. This would be hard to take, but she must put up a convincing 
front. Helen's hot breath was wafting against her ears, and her fingers were 
crawling toward her cunt. She was screwing the dildo around in her hole, and 
was ready to try her again. Aurora's eyes unleashed a stream of tears, and 
Helen's tongue was scooping them out of her lashes and swallowing them 
greedily. Aurora must let her have her way now. But she must think of Jason, 
she must grow hot from the thought of her true lover, she must not feel any 
passion for the depraved woman who was straddling her now, and who was 
beginning to pinch at her breasts and with her teeth and stoke her furnace 
with her dildo and her hard, sharp nails. 

Aurora began to respond to the grinding motions of Helen's instrument. She 
let herself enter into their strokes, and bathe her thoughts in the warm 
image of Jason. She wondered where Jason was now, if he knew that she was 
gone. She had been waiting for him the prior afternoon, she was expecting 
his arrival when the men in the armored car had taken her away and brought 
her in chains to this place. She wanted him now, she wanted him to come to 
her, she would come now to his image! 

* * * 

Helen could feel the muscles of Aurora's cunt begin their contractions about 
the phallus. Aurora had had enough, she was wearing down; soon, she would 
come. Helen would make her come again and again, make her suffer countless 
orgasms from her, make her faint from pleasure - make her want it! 

Helen suckled Aurora's hard nipples, drew them out from the globes from 
which they grew, crushed them lightly in her teeth and held them there while 
her tongue grazed their surfaces and bent them against the ridges of her 
gums. Her fingers took up her clitoris, and rolled it inside the flaps of 
her squeezing labia, buried and unburied the agitated bud within the doors 
of her cunt, tickled it into growing tense and hard. Her nipples were hard 
now, her clit was hard, and the dildo inside her squirming snatch was hard: 
all of her tenderest spots were hard, and her juices began to flow with 
ease. 

Helen's own juices were flowing now, too. Her come was welling up at the 
base of the dildo, and squirted out from its sides. It mixed with Aurora's 
in greater and greater quantities, lathering her blonde tufts until the 
scraggly curls matted and stuck to her skin. As Aurora's pubes matted and 
clumped, Helen could feel the sliding friction build up and coax greater 
releases of sauce from her own slime-laden slit. She was dizzy with the 
rushing of her blood and scum, and bit into Aurora's tits and scratched at 
her loins. The whole front of her body was now lubricated with the same oils 
she had doused Aurora with, and the sleekness made her motions feel like she 
was rubbing into crushed velvet with a damp chamois rag. Her body flowed 
over Aurora's like a scuba diver in a hot jet of underwater current. Her 
mind was swimming in a warm bath, and the moans dripped from her throat like 
bubbles. 

Helen released the nipples from her mouth and spread the softnesses of 
Aurora's breast against her cheeks. Helen's tongue dragged down the furrow 
of her cleavage, riding lightly over the ridges of her ribs until it came to 
the depression where Aurora's stomach scooped downward and heaved.. Helen 
wrenched her back and twisted to get at the navel with her tongue. But she 
could not contort herself into the right position, and she wanted to roll 
her tongue in more deeply carved depressions than the navel of her slave, 
and so she slid the dildo out when she heard Aurora shrieking with 
unrestrainable lust, unstrapped the contraption from her waist and thighs, 
grabbed the sides of the lower end of the platform and swung her pussy into 
Aurora's face while she implanted her own face in Aurora's drenched crotch. 

Helen's hot jelly smeared across Aurora's flushed face and spattered across 
her lips. The illusion of Jason that Aurora had been offering her spasms to 
was shattered by the clumps of pussy that were brushing her lips. The soaked 
bristles came through the spaces between her teeth as Aurora opened her 
mouth and readied her tongue for thrusting. She wanted to suck cock, not 
cunt, and Jason's cock, not Helen's detested slit. But she must, she must 
give Helen that, she must give Helen tender licks, she must drive her into a 
hot frenzy, she must convince her she was loved, if she were to gain 
release! 

She pretended she was driving her tongue into Jason, into Jason's crack, the 
crack in his ass. She would shove her blade far inside, up to the prostate 
gland she must imagine to be there. She would be making Jason come, she 
would be forcing the motor of his prick to trigger his pistol to fire gray 
pellets at her neck, to shoot his steamy load across her tits. She had often 
stuffed Jason's ass this way while, he rammed his tongue into her snatch. 
She would upraise her large, lovely tits then, and squash the tip of his 
prick between her white mounds. She moved her hands now to her bosom, and 
pushed them down over her stomach and grabbed for Helen's jugs. Then she 
crunched them between her own, squashing nipple into nipple, pretending the 
hard bits of tissue were Jason's, were his cock, his hot and trembling cock 
ready to shoot scum into her cleavage. 

But it was hard to pretend that those small hard lumps were Jason's sturdy 
tool. They were his balls, Helen's breasts were Jason's balls now, two 
monstrous genitals separated by the deep seam of Helen's cleavage. She 
thought of Jason as a giant, a huge and overwhelming object of love, a man 
with a cock as large as her thigh, and as thick and smooth and rigid. 
Helen's tits were Jason's balls, her cunt was the anus of her giant lover, 
situated far behind the swaying sack of Helen's tits, and even farther 
removed from the head of the rod, Helen's head, that was banging against her 
box now. 

And Aurora's giant Jason was a beast of the wild. He had a red cone of meat 
that shot out of his aroused phallus, that shot out and danced like a dog's, 
a cone that was poking now into her slit. Helen's body was reduced to the 
dimensions of Jason's splendid hunk of hot male meat. Helen was merely a 
part of him now, and Aurora could choose to ignore her as the giant Jason's 
tree trunk thighs ground into the slopes of her shoulders. Helen was merely 
a grotesque and disembodied prick. Aurora thought the pun appropriate. Over 
and over in her mind, she repeated the demeaning joke: Helen is a prick! 
Helen is a prick! Aurora would give that prick a good beating when this 
ordeal was done! 

Aurora's hatred for Helen had inflamed the passion of her body. She felt 
herself falling beneath a spraying tidal wave, she was tumbling in the 
ferocious breaker and being tossed and battered with the pounding rushes of 
the surf, she heard herself screaming and babbling and fighting for air. She 
was being flattened by the power of her crashing orgasm, went down beneath 
the foam spilling out of Helen's turgid twat and was carried out to sea. 

Helen did not know Aurora capable of such passion. She was in awe of the 
torrent of wails and spasms that were contorting Aurora, and she imagined it 
was she, Helen, inspiring her bestial fits of raw lust. The burden of such a 
total gift of submission weighed heavily on her, and she collapsed down 
heavily into Aurora's body and whimpered. There were tears streaming down 
her cheeks, and they dripped into Aurora's cunt and made small spattering 
sounds against the hard, unpolished wood beneath her thighs. Aurora had 
given herself to her master. Aurora was hers, totally hers. Forever. 

Helen would never let her go now. She climbed off the limp body of her 
possession, her love slave, and placed her feet heavily on the cold 
limestone floor of the cave. She limped to the rack and found the sharp 
needle that she wanted. She lit up the small furnace that adjoined the rack, 
and put the point of the needle into the flicking tongue of the flame. Then 
she took a small silver ring from the rack, and brought the needle and ring 
to the pallet. 

But Helen stopped. This was what Peligrosa had done to her when she had 
first submitted to him. She wanted to make the mark of her possession of 
Aurora something more meaningful, more complete, than an echo of her own 
earlier possession by the Signor. She wanted the Signor to notice this, to 
notice the superiority of her own gesture of mastership. She returned to the 
rack, and found another bauble. She fondled its hard metal lines with 
selfish, jealous hands. Now she was ready, ready to make Aurora hers 
totally. 

Aurora awoke from her sated slumber. Her thoughts were dark and unclear, 
they were still burdened with the deadening weight of the orgasm she had 
just had. She felt the absence of Helen's mass, her flesh tingling in the 
patches where Helen's had clung to hers. She parted her lids and rolled her 
eyes slowly over the ceiling and walls of her dreary, cold dungeon. She was 
ashamed that she had let herself rollick with such abandon beneath her 
enemy, but she swore she would show the same unabashed lust to her lover, 
her Jason, when she found the way to his side again. 

Helen's come was drying on her face, and she wanted to wipe the foul stuff 
from her face before she returned. But her hands were strapped in metal, and 
she would have to suffer the outrage of Helen's wastes until she was free. 

Where was Helen now? It was so dark in here, her head Celt so empty, she was 
unable to fathom what was happening here. Did Helen see through her sham 
somehow? Was she going to torture her now? How could she enter into such a 
demented, evil mind as Helen's and guess its will? She closed her eyes and 
sank into a deep depression. Helen was a prick indeed! 

She wanted to sleep and recover her energy and control. She felt lost, and 
doubts of her possibilities for release began to gnaw away her will. She 
must fight such doubts, but she could not fight them now, she was so tired! 
And so ashamed. 

But she must terminate that sense of shame abruptly. Better to convert it 
into hate. Hate for Helen! Would she release her now? Bring her somewhere, 
somewhere where there was light and open air, somewhere where she could run 
away? If Helen chose to coop her up somewhere to keep her handy for the 
moments when she wanted to indulge her wretched lust, would Helen pen her up 
in a place where she would have some chance of escaping her? Aurora didn't 
know. But certainly she wouldn't leave her here! 

She could feel Helen's breath now, beating against the flesh above her 
snatch. Was Helen going to eat her out, or was she going to play with her 
cunt for a while, poking and prying into its walls like an infernal 
anatomist? What did Helen want of her now? She could feel her labia being 
pulled and stretched. Helen's nails were biting into the thin flesh, and she 
was pressing them tightly together as she tugged them. Then Aurora felt a 
sharp, surprising pain down there, a brutal jab from the needle that Helen 
was lacing through her lips. Aurora shrieked, filling the cave with the 
echoes of her agony. Then something hard, thick and cold pushed through the 
holes that the needle had made, and then she was wrenched by a final rough 
jolt as she heard something click and snap shut. Aurora looked down and saw 
the padlock that had sealed up her pussy. Helen held up the key to the lock 
and bared her teeth. The ring glinted dully in the faint light of the small 
flame at her back, and then Helen reached down into her own cunt and rolled 
the metal ring there through the holes in her own lips, rolled it until the 
small fissure in the body of the metal came up to the top of the ring. Then 
Helen pulled at the sides of the ring, widened the fracture line of the 
fissure until Aurora could see a small break in the circle. Then Helen took 
the key to the lock on her cunt, slid it onto the ring that threaded her 
own, and left it there to dangle in the wet bristles of her twat. 

"I own your pleasure now, Aurora," Helen chortled. "It is mine to grant or 
deny!" 

Helen turned away to face the cameramen. 

She wanted to make this moment tell. This was the ultimate victory, and 
Peligrosa must be made aware of it in no uncertain terms. She signalled the 
camera crew to zoom in on the scene after a lingering close-up on her own 
exultant face. Peligrosa was given a vision of two cunts, still wet with 
each other's juice, clinking their metal baubles against each other. The 
zoom on the cunt lock and the cunt ring with the jiggling key grew closer, 
closer, until only the closely pressed key and padlock could be seen filling 
the screen. Even upside down, there could be no mistake about the meaning of 
this image in the mind of the dangling Signor! 

Helen signalled the technicians to pan from the two twats to Aurora's face. 
She wanted to catch every detail of Aurora's submission. Aurora knew she 
must act this part well. If her performance pleased Helen, Helen would be in 
a generous mood. If she couched her desire for release in the appropriate 
way, she would be able to con Helen into granting it. She knew what would be 
appropriate: she would suggest a joint venture that she felt sure would 
please Helen immensely. 

She had to conceal the immense hatred and disgust she was feeling now for 
Helen. But she fought down her loathing and remembered her years of 
modelling: she could pose for any scene, even in this setting! She wrinkled 
her face into an expression that meant defeat, degradation, capitulation, 
exhaustion. She turned the mask to Helen, and spoke in a sultry whisper. 

"Yes, my pleasure is yours now, and you may do with it as you will. But it 
is a great gift, and I beg you to give me a small one in return. I want to 
see Peligrosa in chains. He is your slave, let him be mine for a little. I 
defeated him, and I have earned the right to pay him my respects!" 

Aurora had guessed Helen's mood correctly. The thought of seeing her love 
slave torture her own former master appealed to her immensely. Such a favor 
Helen would be only too willing to grant. Aurora's servitude would begin 
with an appropriate act of irony! 

"So, my dear! And how will you- torment the Signor? Tell me your plans, 
Aurora, if they please me I will be happy to grant you your favor!" 

This part of the play would be easy. No internal rehearsal would be 
necessary. Aurora could fit into the role without having to act at all! The 
thought of meting out pain to the Signor was an easy one for her to dwell 
upon. She would have no trouble convincing Helen of her sincerity! 

"I want to piss in his eyes, I want to shit in his mouth and make him 
swallow it, I want to wrap his prick in chains and squash his balls into 
jelly, and then I want to flail the foul skin off his back with the same 
bull whip that he used on me!!" 

Helen was delighted. These were almost the identical punishments that she 
had dealt to the Signor herself! Aurora was filled with hate for him, and 
with hatred of such strength, she wasn't very far away from the state of 
mind that would come to know and understand the joys of sadism! This would 
be an excellent training session for Aurora. Aurora, so gentle, would learn 
to give pain! Later, Helen would teach her to enjoy the receiving as well. 
But one step at a time, she thought, the rest will come in due course! 

Helen undid Aurora's bonds - except, of course, for the padlock - and walked 
her around the cavern until the strength returned to her legs. Aurora clung 
to her tightly: she wanted Helen to feel that she needed her, and in fact 
she was feeling so weak that she did, at least for physical support. 

Then she had a devilish thought. She was too weak to attempt escape now, of 
course, and she needed more time to recoup her strength. She knew what Helen 
wanted from her, she had already compromised herself a great deal in that 
department anyway, why not give her more, now that she was unshackled, to 
convince her completely of her slavishness? A little grovelling could go a 
long way, she mused, and let herself slip and fall. 

Helen bent over her to help her up, and then Aurora began. As Helen's 
breasts bobbed over her own, she reached up her hands and tugged at her 
nipples. She pulled her by her breast to the floor beside her, and soon had 
her face in Helen's crotch. Jason, forgive me! she thought to herself, and 
began to eat out her captor in earnest. 

Helen was startled at this sudden display, but she was hardly displeased. 
Everybody knew that models were empty-headed mannequins, she chortled to 
herself, but who would have guessed that this divine golden puppet would be 
brainwashed so easily? But she soon stopped complimenting herself to 
concentrate, instead, on the pleasure of Aurora's roving tongue. 

Aurora was surprised to find how much fun it was to make the bitch grow hot 
and writhe brainlessly on the floor of the cavern. She got a kick imagining 
herself as Jason, and Helen as herself. She was beginning to understand why 
Jason was always so willing to suck her pussy: it was quite a power trip to 
be in your right head while your partner went out of control and had spasms 
like an epileptic whenever you licked and bit her in the right places! It 
wasn't quite as much fun as blowing a strapping big stud like Jason, but it 
would do until she was with him again! 

Aurora was enjoying this lie a great deal: Helen will have her guard down 
later on, her love would seem requited, and thus she'd be manageable. Aurora 
didn't like to be such a conniving con artist, but she felt no one as 
depraved as Helen or the Signor were worthy of honorable treatment, and so 
had no compunctions about exploiting their weaknesses to the limit. Aurora 
knew that Helen was enjoying this scene immensely, but her memory of her 
pleasure now would taunt her later, once Aurora let her know what she really 
thought of her, and how she had taken advantage of her lust to take control 
of her! Helen would learn soon enough what sort of slave she was dealing 
with! 

"Oh! Oh-ooooh!" 

Moan and grunt, you pig, Aurora thought, and dug her teeth deep into Helen's 
twat. She knew how Helen relished pain. No more nice stuff, Aurora giggled 
to herself, I'll be only too happy to make you bleed! 

"Arggh! Bitch! Oh, Aurora!" 

Yup, she likes it. Maybe I should bite her nipples off and let her die of 
ecstasy! But I don't want to go too far, she'll start thinking I'm rebelling 
or something naughty like that. Back to the soft stuff - for now! 

Aurora whipped Helen's clit with her tongue tip for a while, heard her 
screech and yell and such, and started to get disgusted again. Alright she 
told herself, you've made your point, no need getting carried away. Start 
sobbing with pleasure at her luscious receptivity to your devotion, or some 
such rot. Get back to the mainline of the script, and get the hell out of 
this cave! 

"Oh, Helen, your come tasted so wonderful," she lied. "Did I give you 
pleasure, Helen?" 

Helen rose With difficulty to her feet, and grabbed up Aurora in her arms. 
"I've wanted you to give me your love for so long, Aurora!" 

Tell me something more interesting, this is boring me, and you'll make me 
sick, Aurora muttered to herself. But she kept up her act, and wrapped her 
arms around Helen, the better to avoid having to look her in the eyes and 
maybe laughing at the dizzy dyke. 

Helen hugged her with the gentleness of a polar bear, and Aurora wondered 
when she'd stop this crap and lead her upstairs so she could shit on that 
scumbag Peligrosa. She was looking forward to that, and wasn't looking 
forward to any more of Helen's revolting advances. Well, I'll have to get 
her attention so she'll remember the next part of the scenario, Aurora 
mused, and so she reached under Helen's cunt and gave her buns a good 
tweeking. 

"Please, Helen, bring me to Peligrosa, I want so much to give you a good 
show!" 

Aurora felt Helen's grip relax, and then Helen took her hand and led her out 
of the chamber. At last! she thought, and scampered after her alleged master 
with genuine delight. For she was, after all, genuinely delighted to be out 
of that place! 

When they got upstairs, Aurora looked about the study and was amazed. 
Awfully hokey, it looks like the set from an old B movie. This Peligrosa was 
quite an ass, I can't wait to give him a taste of his own whip! 

Aurora was feeling better and better, but she was still a bit giddy. She'd 
been wondering if she'd ever get to see the sun again, and her eyes were 
having trouble adjusting to the glare. While she reeled from the shock, she 
felt something clank and shut around her wrist. Damn, she's playing those 
games again, but at least it's only one hand, and as long as her hand is in 
the other cuff, she won't be able to get away from me once I've finished 
using the bull whip on the Signor and started giving her a few love pats 
with the lash! Helen smiled at her like a moonstruck calf, and the sight of 
the simpering sadist made Aurora want to laugh in her face. But she didn't 
want to blow it now, so she simpered back at her and started thinking about 
ways to get out of the damned handcuffs! 

Helen dragged her to the shed and opened the door on the prize catch of the 
day. The Signor must feel rather foolish dangling like a side of beef from 
his own chains like that, Aurora reflected. I'll make him feel more than 
foolish soon enough, though! And as for you, Helen, my dear, watch out! 

"Let's shit on him together!" Helen purred. 

A lovely thought, Aurora thought sarcastically, and then she thought that 
maybe that would be fun anyway! 

"Why don't you take the bastard down, I wouldn't want to waste good turds on 
all that plastic wrapping!" 

Helen had had the same brainstorm, apparently, and was working the lever 
that lowered the chains. The Signor crumpled on the floor, and Helen started 
peeling off his cocoon and displaying her handiwork to Aurora. 

"How do you like these shit-covered balls? I squeezed them till they turned 
blue in his damned golden chain!" 

"The chains look good on him, Helen, all that pressure makes his cock look 
larger. Quite flattering, really!" 

Aurora heard herself saying these things with not a little amusement. What 
would dear old Jason think if he heard her now? He could probably use all of 
the stories she'd tell him to make a fantastically successful movie. 
Considering the massive success of "Jaws", she figured her own story would 
make millions. 

"You ought to take the gag out of his mouth. I told you I want to make him 
swallow it, Helen!" 

Helen gave Aurora a look that meant here comes a big surprise, and as she 
pulled out the ball gag Helen winked and pointed to the two shit-stained 
gloves that were wadded in back of it. 

"He's used to the taste by now, don't worry, lover!" 

Nice! Aurora felt like throwing up, but as she looked at the docile 
expression on the Signor's face, it occurred to her that he was probably 
really enjoying this. Well, here comes a bagful of pleasure for you, creep! 
Aurora squatted over his hungry mouth and plopped a foot of turd into the 
cavity. She hadn't had a chance to relieve herself for a day and a half, the 
accommodations of her recent lodgings not being the best and all, and was 
pleased to find a toilet at last. Helen, meanwhile, was shitting on his 
balls for the second time that day. 

Lesbians have strange fixations, Aurora mused, and couldn't help watching 
her do it. She seemed to enjoy her work, and Aurora was enjoying it, too. 
The way the Signor was licking at her ass hole, she got the idea that he was 
getting off on this as well. Strange character! 

Aurora was anxious to get to the whipping sequence. "Where should I piss on 
him, Helen?" she asked. 

Helen wasn't sure. But she thought that as long as Peligrosa still had a 
full mop of hair, they might as well give it a shampoo, so the two women let 
loose a couple yellow fountains on his scalp. Aurora thought the whole 
business was getting a bit surreal. The things some people do for kicks! 

When they were done pissing on the Signor, Aurora thought it was high time 
Helen handed over the whip to her. Helen took a long time squirting her 
stream, so Aurora waited patiently for her to wind up her pleasures, and 
then popped the question. 

"May I have the whip now, master?" 

She felt awfully dumb calling Helen that, but she didn't want to take any 
chances, and thought a little fawning couldn't hurt her cause. Helen fell 
for the ploy hook, line, and sinker, and tossed her the bull whip. Aurora 
grabbed it in her free hand and gave it a few practice swings. A little 
heavy, but she'd figure it out soon enough. She cracked it a few times over 
Peligrosa's head, scaring herself with the loud, sharp noises she heard 
herself making. This'll do the trick just fine, she figured, and hoisted the 
thing up into the air. 

She took a few chunks of flesh out of Signor Pedro's hide, which certainly 
got Helen's attention. That was just what Aurora wanted, of course. Now that 
Helen was distracted, she could get on with her little slave revolt without 
having to worry about the master figuring it out in time. Aurora raised the 
whip high and prepared to show Helen how much she truly loved her. 

Crack! Helen's unmanacled hand jumped involuntarily to her tit as she felt a 
piece of it shoot off into the air. Not a very big piece, just enough to 
make her suspect that Aurora had something on her mind besides the Signor's 
punishment. 

"Darling!" she screamed. 

"Fuck yourself!" Aurora spat, and cracked the whip into her crotch. 

Helen shrieked and fell on top of the turds she'd just spent so much time 
and care lavishing on Peligrosa's balls. Aurora had trouble keeping herself 
from falling on top of her, what with the handcuffs and all, but she kept 
her balance by swinging her whip arm up and back, and once she had her 
balance again, she brought it down cracking again. 

Aurora smashed her with the lash as hard and fast as possible. She wanted 
her to faint quickly, so she could get out of that shed as soon as possible. 
Helen obliged her rather sooner than Aurora had expected. 

Aurora had a hard time of it twining ropes and chains around Helen's limbs. 
She was out cold and didn't give her much assistance, and the handcuffs 
didn't exactly improve matters. But Aurora had a high tolerance for 
frustration, and finally had the bitch snug in her straps. Now, Aurora 
realized, came the hard part. How do I get out of these cuffs? 

She couldn't drag Helen, chained, naked, and bleeding, through the woods for 
twenty miles in search of the nearest locksmith. Aside from the fact that 
she didn't feel up to that sort of exertion, someone might see her, and she 
might have a hard time explaining the situation to the typical man in the 
street. She figured Helen had a key somewhere, and didn't know where it 
could be. It certainly wasn't tucked away in her watch fob pocket. She 
didn't have a watch, and she didn't have any clothes on, either. 

But Helen's nakedness made things all the easier, she realized. How many 
hiding places can there be on a woman without her clothes on? She fumbled 
with the chains she'd just finished wrapping Helen up in, poking in this 
hole and that, until her fingers came to that chintzy cunt ring of hers, and 
as she tugged at it, she noticed it had not one, but two keys on it now. 

Now all she had to do was get the keys off the fucking ring! She poked and 
tugged for a bit, then decided what the hell and just ripped the thing out 
of her lips, figuring Helen would have been only too happy to do the same if 
she were in her place. 

Helen bled a little, but her lips were so stretched out of shape from all 
the wear and tear the Signor had subjected her box to over the past few 
months that they hardly had any blood left in them anyway, so they dried up 
soon enough and Aurora figured she had more important things to think about 
in any case so she didn't worry herself much about the state of Helen's 
shredded twat. 

Aurora got out of the cuffs and then got rid of the padlock. Helen needs 
this more than I do, she decided, and so she stooped down over her former 
master and stuck the metal hook of the lock through an unripped part of her 
labia. Once she's threaded the hook through both lips, she clamped the hook 
into the hole and took the key and held it up to the Signor. 

"Are you pleased with my performance, slave?" 

The Signor gave her a batty look and drooled. 

"Helen deserves you more than anybody I've ever known. Why don't you swallow 
this key for me, and that way, you'll be master of her pleasures for at 
least as long as it takes her to find a locksmith." 

Aurora was speaking his language now, and he gulped the key down with gusto. 
Aurora figured she'd had enough of all this, and decided it was time to 
leave. But all at once she realized that she hadn't any clothes. Well, the 
Signor could fill her in on that easily enough if she asked him nicely. 

"Signor, I want to teach you a few more lessons, but it is demeaning for the 
master to let her slave gaze on her nakedness. Tell me at once where I may 
find suitable garb to wear for the next installment of your education." 

The Signor admired that kind of talk. Aurora had turned out to have great 
master potential indeed, and he was only too pleased to tell her about the 
closet full of props and uniforms in his bedroom. 

Aurora absorbed the information and promptly departed. She ran up the 
staircase and got to the top landing. She walked into the bedroom, opened 
the closet, and found rack after rack of leather jumpers, leather skirts and 
blouses, leather boots and girdles, leather belts, and even some leather 
bras of various cup sizes and strap designs. It wasn't quite her notion of 
appropriate street duds, but they would cover her, at least, and that was 
something! 

When she had dressed herself up in black leather from head to toe, she 
turned to the full-length mirror that was inset in the inside of the closet 
door and took a long look at herself. She posed for a while, and tried to 
imagine what sort of magazine would publish a spread of photographs of such 
an outfit. She noticed a stack of magazines in the upper shelf of the 
closet, and soon found out what sort. She'd never seen such things before, 
and such was her fascination that she couldn't put them down for half an 
hour. But finally she got a hold of herself. She didn't care how or why 
people like the Signor and Helen got off on such things. All she wanted to 
do was leave! 

Aurora walked for an hour along the dusty road that led away from the 
Peligrosa estate, sweltering in the late afternoon heat. The leather was 
incredibly hot and sticky. But at least it was clothes. She got to the 
highway around the time the sun was setting, and stood at the side of the 
road and stuck her thumb out. 

Most of the cars were afraid to stop for her. 

But finally, a trucker pulled up and opened the door of his cab. 

"Lookin' fer action, vixen?" 

"Yeah, honey. Let's go to my place, it's in the city." 

"Got lots o' equipment, tiger?" 

"Stocked like a Nazi romper room, sweetheart!" 

"Got some kinky chains myself, on the rear wheels of this diesel here!" 

"Terrific!" 

Aurora laughed to herself with amazement. Two days of the Signor's 
hospitality, and she could lie like a politician up for re-election! She'd 
have to find some way out of this, of course, but first she had to get back 
to the city. She'd have to find a way to get to a phone and call Jason. She 
didn't have any money on her, of course, but she did remember her credit 
card number. If worse came to worse, she could always tell the lug driving 
that she charged for her services and ask him for an advance. 

When they got into the city, she waited for the trucker to stop for a red 
light, and then made her move. 

"Hey baby, got some change? I'm out o' cancer sticks, an' all the jingly 
fell out o' my pockets this morning when I got carried away with a wrestler 
friend." 

The trucker, gave her a knowing look and winked. He gave her a pawful of 
coins and she jumped out of the cab and trotted to the nearest drug store. 
She stayed inside and waited for the light to change. The trucker gunned his 
engine but didn't budge. He was waiting for her, the sap, and the dozens of 
cars backed up behind him were beeping frantically. Rush hour in the city! 
If he doesn't move, he'll be lynched for sure. After a husky brawler in a 
tee-shirt strutted over to the trucker's window from his stalled moving van 
and smashed the glass with a beer bottle and cursed for a while, the trucker 
finally started out into the intersection, casting frantic looks toward the 
drug store. Aurora waved at him and watched him leave. She noticed she was 
attracting a crowd in the store, and decided to make her call from the gas 
station across the street. There were a lot of trucks there, and she figured 
she wouldn't attract too much attention. 

 CHAPTER EIGHT 

Aurora couldn't decide who to call first: the police, or a cab? She could 
cover the cost of the latter, thanks to her trucker: he'd been so excited 
and eager to please that he'd dropped about four dollars in dimes and half 
dollars into her palm. 

She decided on the cab. The police would tie her up all night with paperwork 
and palaver, and then she'd never get to Jason's. 

And she didn't want to see Jason till she'd changed. She was about to feed a 
dime into the pay phone when she saw a taxi pull up to the gas pump. She put 
the dime back in her pocket with the rest of the trucker's generosity and 
walked over to the yellow car and got in the back. The driver jerked his 
head back and then turned his head around again quickly. As she looked into 
the mirror and saw the bruises and lash marks on her face, she understood 
his nervousness. She certainly looked the part that she was dressed for, and 
she figured she might as well play it. 

"Have an early appointment at a gentleman's pad, honey, so put your ass in 
gear and head for the Upper East Side!" 

It was fun to pretend! Aurora blew her act immediately, though, with a fit 
of giggles. The driver turned his head around again and gave a look that 
said lady are you crazy and she giggled some more. 

"It's a masquerade party, I'm going as Diane Keaton from the "Avengers" T. 
V. show." 

"Diana Riggs," the cabbie corrected her. 

"Diane Keaton's the broad what was married to Woodie Allen and starred in 
'Love and Death' and 'Bananas'." 

Aurora felt ridiculous, which was much preferable to most of the feelings 
she'd been having lately. 

'"The Avengers' or 'Love and Death', who cares, all the same thing." 

The cabbie grunted and pulled out of the gas station. 

"You don't look like her at all." 

"I don't look like which one, driver?" 

He rubbed his chin and spun out in front of a Jaguar and rolled up his 
window so he wouldn't have to listen to the guy in the ascot and sports 
shirt curse at him. 

"I dunno, I remember the names and all, but I forget the faces. But none o' 
them's blondes, lady, so ferget it. Jane Fonda in 'Barbarella' maybe, I 
think she dyed her hair blonde in that, and she wore them kind o' clothes 
before them outer space weirdos took 'em off her and hitched her to the rape 
machine. No, maybe she didn't dye her hair blonde in that, maybe she's got 
natural blonde hair an' dyed her hair red in 'Klute' when she played that 
hooker with Donald Southerland, I dunno." 

"Diane Keaton wasn't married to Woodie Allen. She . shacked up with him or 
does or something, Woodie Allen was married to Louise Lasser who does 'Mary 
Hartman, Mary Hartman' and she's a blonde," Aurora said. 

"Oh." 

The driver shut up for the rest of the ride. He was trying to figure out if 
he'd been having an argument and if he'd lost it, and if he'd lost it what 
the point was. Whatever it was, it was too complicated, especially with rush 
hour traffic pressuring his reaction time to start shaving the corners off 
the split seconds of his decision-making processes if he was going to make 
time up the East Side quick enough to win himself a big tip from Louise or 
whatever her name was assuming she told it to him in the first place. 

"Number Four Twenty Seven, driver. And wait." 

Big tip my ass, she's gonna cop a freebie and split into the building I 
shouldn'ta letta weirdo like her inta the cab in the first place shit. 

"Don't leave now, I'm just running upstairs to change." 

"Change? What happened to the party?" 

"I've changed my mind, I'm going to go as Louise Lasser's grandfather on 
'Mary Hartman' because she's blonde." 

"Four twenty lady an' I'll keep the meter runnin'." 

"Yeah thanks keep the change." 

She dumped the rest of the coinage the trucker had laid on her and got out 
of the cab fast in case it didn't amount to enough. When she passed through 
the door the cabbie was still counting. 

Where the hell is my key oh there's the doorman he recognizes me I'll tell 
him I left them in the cab can he let me in to my flat? 

"Evenin', ma'am. No problem, ma'am, I'll have you in in a jiffy, ma'am." 

"Thanks, Eddie, thanks a lot." 

"No trouble, ma'am." 

"Thanks, Eddie, thanks a lot." 

Louise Lasser's grandfather? Well, why not? Her body was too sore and 
bruised to look well in any of those sheer pieces of vanity that her closet 
was overflowing with, where's my trench coat look at the mess in the hamper 
the laundry basket's brimming do I have my spare keys they're in the other 
wallet I hope it has money in it thank god fifty dollars I wonder if the 
cabbie will break a twenty for me? 

Aurora dumped out the laundry basket put on the trench coat put the wallet 
in it and took the laundry basket with her: she had an idea. 

"Park and Sixtieth." 

"Anything you say, lady." 

"Oops that's my agent's place sorry Central Park West and Seventy Fifth." 

"Anything you say, lady." 

Dizzy dame wonder if she's got anything under that trench coat nice legs hey 
if I go round the bottom of the park I'll make some fat with waiting time 
she shorted me twenty cents no underpass and through the park for you lady 
haha fuckya. 

"Can you crack a twenty, driver?" 

"Jeesus Holy Christ lady gimme a break you know how many counterfit Andy 
Jacksons I got stuck with this week this time o' day Jeesus." 

"Keep the change and buy yourself a better cab. asshole." 

Aurora slammed the door and ran up the sidewalk to Jason's building and 
found the keys to his place in the wallet. 

She got off the elevator at the top floor and rang the bell then slipped off 
the trenchcoat put it in the laundry basket climbed inside of it pulled the 
lid down over it heard the door open heard paper rustle as he read the note 
scribbled hastily on the way out the door tacked to the weave of the straw 
cover of the basket "This is your baby lecher!" hears scraping felt the 
basket get dragged across floor lifted the lid a little to peek at Jason he 
lifted it all the way off he laughed maniacally lifted her out pulled her 
onto the floor threw off his bathrobe jumped on top of her- my god he's 
inside me already she thought. 

"Aurora, baby, where were you yesterday I waited for an hour I know I was 
late but only five minutes honey I called you all day nobody knew where you 
were my god what happened to you darling you're covered with...." 

"Can't explain too crazy what a nightmare Helen and this sadist and the 
armored car oh fuck me!!" 

Jason fucked her hard he missed her where was she he said then stopped 
talking he came ferociously and fell out of her cunt he was so excited he 
made a mess on the floor but he was still hard oh Jesus get it in me get it 
in me I want it I missed you I'm so horny Jason oh it was horrible fuck me 
again I want it oh God oh Jason oh I want it fuck me. 

"Oh!... Jaaaaaayson! Oh! . -... Jaaaaaayson! Oh! Oh!" 

"Jesus Aurora Jesus Aurora Jesus Christ I love you Aurora I love... I... 
you... ooooh! Uh! G-haaaaah!" 

Oh I feel so much better so much better so much better fuck me harder deeper 
harder oh oh Jason fuck me Jason oh. 

"Ah! Ah! Aaaaaa-auuuu-Aurora!!" 

"Oh, I feel so much better, so much better, lover, Oh Jason!" 

"Aurora Aurora I missed you I thought something happened I called the police 
this afternoon no one knew where...." 

"In the morning not now in the morning talk about it in the morning I'm so 
tired hold me Jason hold me hug me oh I'm crying oh Jason!" 

"But what...." 

"The morning I'll...." 

"What...." 

"The morning in the morning the police come with me I'm so hold me I want to 
cry hold me hug me Jason love me." 

They both felt so much better. So much better. Jason picked her up, she was 
crying and moaning and babbling nonsense and he brought her to bed and she 
cried and wouldn't stop and he kissed her and kissed her and she hugged him 
and kissed him and kissed him and cried and cried and they both felt so much 
better and Jason told her to sleep but she couldn't. 

"Oh Jason she...." 

"What did she...." 

"Oh I can't talk about it please please will you fuck me Jason fuck me 
please I want you please please?" 

Jason rocked her in his arms he knew something so terrible had happened 
Helen that dyke at least she's all right now she's here that's all right I 
love you so please stop crying spread your legs I'm hard again I'll be 
gentle yes please stop crying baby please spread your legs I want you now I 
want you too please stop crying. 

"Oh please Jason don't leave me you won't want me when I tell you what oh! 
oh! don't leave me don't ever leave me Jason don't ever ever leave me I love 
you I need you oh! O-o-ohhh!" 

They both felt so much better. So much better. They couldn't fuck anymore 
they were so tired let me suck your cock I know it's not hard now I don't 
care I want to suck it hold it in my mouth hold me Jason so awful hold me 
Jason. 

"Feel better now, lover?" 

"Yes. Yes. Yes. Jason!" 

"Don't cry. Don't cry." 

"Jason, it was horrible, marry me, Jason, I love you I need you thank God 
you were here will you marry me Jason let's make babies let's make love 
let's make love." 

"Aurora. Aurora. I've been thinking about that, too, I wonder what with the 
divorce rate everybody lives together anyway wonder if I want to bring kids 
into this stinking world but I'd love to love to anyway maybe I don't know 
you never talked about this before what about your modelling career oh I 
love you if you want to well all right you only live once oh I love you well 
all right." 

"Oh! Jason!" 

She kissed him. She was feeling better now. She was feeling like herself 
again. Jason wondered what had happened but he didn't ask. Jason kissed her. 
She started crying. 

"You really...." 

"Yes." 

"How soon you know we haven't even lived together." 

"Who (kiss) cares? (kiss)". 

Jason held her face softly in his hands. He stared into her eyes and felt so 
silly he was crying and she wiped his eyes. He got out of bed after staring 
at her eyes for five minutes to go to the bathroom he said but he really 
just wanted to be alone for a while just a minute by himself to think about 
things. 

Jason came back into the bedroom with a sheepish grin painted on his face. 
There was a bottle of champagne in his hands. He fumbled with the cork, he 
felt so nervous, and Aurora laughed at him and clapped her hands. 

"Silly goose!" she squealed, and laughed some more. 

"I forgot the glasses," he said. 

"So what?" she said. 

They were feeling pretty good now. Relaxed. They kissed. The cork popped off 
the wall and rolled on the rug. Suds spilled all over Jason. She hugged him 
anyway. 


THE END
