chapter 1 In the Bar Good words: white slave ring#

"Look",  Jack said to the pimp. "I don't want any of your run-of-the-mill whores.
I can pick up all of the pigs I want, right off the street. For free, or for the
price of a drink or two. If I'm going to pay for a broad, she has to be something
special."

The pimp surveyed his mark for a few seconds, his eyes narrowed. Then he appeared
to reach a decision. "OK", he said. "How about our custom service? If you're
willing to pay the freight, you can have exactly what you want.

"Ex-act-ly what you want", he repeated, with slow emphasis.

"Just how exactly do you mean?" Jack countered.

"Exactly. You point her out, and we'll get her for you."

Jack swallowed hard, fought to control his breathing, to keep the expression of
exultation on his face down to what an ordinary customer would show at such an
extraordinary proposition. This might be the break that would tear the whole town
open, he told himself.

Jack was one of a vanishing breed--a crusading newspaper reporter. He had moved
to this town precisely because it had the reputation of being corrupt. He and his
wife Dorothy gathered news, set type, ran the presses, sold advertising, and
practically delivered the papers themselves, with a bare minimum of help.  They
were losing money steadily on the venture, but had not yet exhausted their
resources--their own savings and the small sums that a few of their friends had
committed to the cause of decency. Jack clung to the quixotic hope that the paper
might somehow be able to break the power of the ruthless and well-entrenched
Boss, who ran the town as his own feudal realm.

There already had been signs that the paper's barb had struck tender places.
Ominous signs. Signs that pointed at a real danger to him and Dorothy.

They had taken the precaution of sending their daughter Cathy to college across
the state line, but Jack had not been able to persuade Dorothy to stay away.

"A wife's place is with her husband," she had declared, and would not listen to
any further argument.  Jack had not protested too much--he was glad to have her
with him, as much for the moral support she gave him as for the very real
physical pleasure he took from her. But he could not get rid of the nagging fear
that his enemies would try somehow to get at him through her.

And he was making enemies.

So far, their irritation had been vented in petty ways, such as broken windows,
slashed tires, and the like. Once, a couple of thugs had poured whitewash over
him, and then vanished down a dark alley.

But there was a constant escalation in the incidents--a systematic stepping-up of
hostilities. He remembered how it had been in the War. You always softened up the
beach with an artillery barrage before the invasion.

And the threats.

The day after the whitewash incident, for instance, the mail had brought a terse
typewritten note: "It could have been gasoline."

He was especially aware of the risks he was running tonight, in this cheap bar in
the seamy part of town.  He had taken great care that no-one detected his change
of identity from a clean-cut pillar of the community to a slightly tired,
slightly furtive, and thoroughly frustrated businessman who was willing to pay a
little more than usual for some illicit thrills.

But he couldn't hope to keep his secret forever.

Jack knew that he wouldn't be able to call on the police for protection. It was a
matter of course that they took orders from the Boss. They were his private army,
existing for the sole purpose of gratifying his unlimited thirst for money and
power. white slave ring# And women.

One of the developments that had prodded Jack finally to take action was the
recent dramatic increase in disappearances of young women--women that the
grapevine said were procured to satisfy the Boss's lust, and then imprisoned in a
life of shame, where their earnings and favors contributed to the Boss's power
base.

The pimp's offer might have a real bearing on the subject, Jack thought. He
cleared his throat nervously.

"You mean that you'll get me any woman I want, whether she's willing or not? What
do you do, kidnap them right off the street?"

The pimp raised his hand in protest.  "Please", he murmured. "We like to use
businesslike language.  No need to stoop to the gutter.  Let's just say that we'd
make an acquisition for you.

"As to your question, there are limits, of course. We couldn't very well get you
the Queen of England, or the President's daughter. And if you wanted a Miss
America or a famous movie star, the price might be prohibitive, because of the
publicity we would have to cope with. You can understand that we like to keep a
low profile in an operation like this."

"Well, let's suppose it was just the Girl Next Door. Or my neighbor's wife--or my
wife's sister. How much would that cost?"

"Let's take an actual case," the pimp replied. "No names, of course, just
generalities.

"One of our clients recently coveted a friend of his daughter's.  She was pretty
enough, but completely unknown outside of a small circle of family friends and
high school companions. So her disappearance didn't cause any fuss outside the
state, and very little outside the town.

"Besides, she was a naive girl, and incredibly easy to pick up.  So the costs of
acquisition were literally no more than the salaries of two men, and the cost of
gasoline to bring her in. Plus a shot in the arm to quiet her down.

"Now, we supply merchandise on two plans--either off the shelf, as it were, or,
if the customer prefers, we'll train her first. Teach her constructive attitudes,
and some of the more specialized skills. Contrary to what you might expect from
ordinary business experience, the trained girl is less expensive than the fresh
one, as the process of training brings in considerable incidental income from
clients who pay for the privilege of helping with her on-the-job training. Not to
mention the fringe benefits our employees derive. And the droit de seigneur, so
to speak, that our General Manager enjoys.

"But this client wanted her untouched. He elected to use our boarding facilities,
and to take advantage of our equipment while he was breaking her.  His tastes
weren't too demanding--he was satisfied with the equipment we keep on hand as a
matter of course to maintain discipline, and to satisfy the tastes of our
more--ah-- adventurous customers. Whips and paddles, of course, breast clamps and
cattle-prod dildos--ordinary run-of-the-mill stuff like that."

The pimp paused for a moment, and licked his lips.  "All told, counting
acquisition costs, upkeep and maintenance, and overhead for the three months he
was interested in her, she cost him a total of a few thousand dollars. And he got
a discount off that, because he was willing to pass her around, toward the end."

Jack frowned.  "But why only three months?" he asked.

The pimp shrugged deprecatingly. "Oh, he just got tired of her, and wanted to
trade her in on a new model.

"That's the way it tends to go with customers who want their girls unbroken," he
went on. "It's great fun until the experience loses its novelty for the
girl--while she still struggles and squirms and screams in outrage. But sooner or
later their spirit is broken, or they get sullen or blase--or sometimes the John
damages them so they're no longer attractive.

"In this case, the guy had been relatively gentle--at least physically--and
hadn't marked her up, and she still had a lot of the freshness of youth, so her
salvage value was quite high. This was an ideal case. Sometimes they're damaged,
physically or psychologically, to the point where their only residual value is in
a terminal situation."

"What do you mean--a terminal situation?"

"It's a little painful to discuss," the pimp murmured. "Some of our clients
derive their entire amusement from administering ever-increasing doses of pain,
until final destruction.  But fortunately, in this case, the girl could be
remotivated and trained--upgrading her proficiency in standard techniques as well
as introducing her to the more esoteric ones-- which, for some reason I've never
been able to understand, her owner had neglected to do. Believe it or not, he had
never fucked her anywhere but in the cunt.

"So all in all, her residual value was quite substantial. If the John can do as
well every time, he'll be able to keep an unbroken succession of full-time slave
girls for about what it would cost to put a kid through college."

Jack rose to the bait. "Look," he said.  "I've been itching to get into my wife's
sister's pants for a long time. How do I get into the club?"

The pimp's eyes shifted uneasily.  "Sorry, but I can't give you the final
go-ahead on the deal. I'll have to clear it with my branch supervisor."

"So let's ask him.  I've got my car outside. I suppose you can locate him at this
time of night?"

The pimp looked at his watch.  "Only 9 o'clock.  OK, let's go."

After paying for the drinks, Jack led the pimp to his car, started the engine,
and pulled away from the curb.

Toward his date with destiny.



Chapter 2 Into Jail

Good words: (none)

(author's note: this chapter is something like those long stretches in some of
Richard Strauss's tone poems -- rather pedestrian, but they do get you from one
high point to the next.)

They had driven only half a block when a police car pulled up behind them, red
light flashing. The cruiser's uniformed passenger motioned Jack to the curb.

Jesus Christ! Jack thought, this is all that I need! His faked license might pass
a cursory inspection, but if he was booked and fingerprinted his real identity
was sure to come out sooner or later. And he could just imagine  the fun the
Boss's tame newspaper would have then.

CRUSADING EDITOR ARRESTED WITH PIMP! He could picture the headlines.

The officer was polite. After glancing at Jack's license, he returned it without
question. "I'm sorry to bother you, sir, but I saw you come out of that bar and
start driving, so we'll have to take you in for the sobriety test. If you'll just
park your car there, we'll drive you down to the station."

Jack could see no alternative but to follow orders. Anything to keep from
attracting attention.

During the ride to the station, the policeman gave Jack the out he had been
praying for.

"Look, sir," the officer said. "It's a nuisance to set up all the equipment for
the breath test, to say nothing of the hassle of getting the technician out of
bed,and all. So we've worked out a system that takes care of the DUI arrests
without all that trouble."

"DUI?" Jack asked, pretending ignorance.

"Driving under the influence," the cop explained.

"Now, if you insist on the test, you can have it. If we find that you're sober,
we'll let you go, with our apologies for the delay. If you fail the test, you
won't drive again in this state -- legally, that is -- for a long, long time.

"On the other hand, you look like a borderline case. Under the circumstances, we
don't want to be particularly hard on you. All we want to do is keep you off the
street until you're completely sober. So if you're willing to spend a few hours
in jail sobering up, we'll let you go without even booking you. That way, you can
go along without a spot on your record.

"We'll even let you call your wife to explain things, if you want. Or to tell her
some cock and bull story, if you prefer," he added slyly.  "Suit yourself on that
score. If you tell her the truth, we'll back you up. If you give her the
runaround, we won't blow the whistle on you."

Jack though it over for at least two seconds. If he put them to the trouble of
setting up the test, they might give a drunk report just out of spite. And he had
downed a couple of beers, so it was just possible that the meter would give an
honest indication of intoxication. And worst of all, there was the very strong
probability that they would find out who he was.

Better not to rock the boat.

"OK", he shrugged. "I'll be your guest for the night."

His only worry was for Dorothy. She'd be worried half to death when he didn't
show up. But he'd rather take that risk than to give his phone number to the
police. He'd explain to her tomorrow.

He emptied his pockets into the envelope the desk sergeant provided -- money,
keys, and false identity documents. He also surrendered belt and shoelaces, and
lay down on the hard mattress to pass a restless night.

Chapter 3  The Party index words:	nudity#  bondage#  rape#

Jack had been right about one thing -- Dorothy was worried half to death. She
waited up until midnight, then finally decided to get ready for bed. She had
taken off her dress and stockings, slip and bra, and was just starting to step
out of her panties when she heard Jack's key in the lock.

Thank God, she thought, starting toward the door to greet him.

But it wasn't Jack. He had Jack's keycase, she noticed, but he was a total
stranger. My God, she thought -- maybe Jack has been mugged, and this guy has
taken his keys and come to burglarize the house!

And the pistol that he was pointing at her tummy looked very unfriendly indeed.

"Not a sound, doll," he said roughly, "or it'll be your last." nudity# Dorothy
froze as he crossed the room, the pistol holding her gaze hypnotically. It was
not until he was within arm's reach of her that she remembered her
near-nakedness, belatedly moving her hands to cover her breasts. bondage# The man
chuckled. His fist moved only a few inches, but it exploded into her solar plexus
with paralyzing force. While she crouched in a painful heap, unable to struggle
or scream, he calmly pocketed the pistol and twisted her hands behind her back,
where he made them fast with a pair of handcuffs. Taking a wide roll of adhesive
tape from his pocket, he tore off a length and gagged her.

Dorothy's senses had cleared a bit by now. Enough to realize that a handful of
men had followed the first intruder into the house. Some of them carried
suitcases.

They worked with smooth efficiency, like a team of commandos. One of them put on
a telephone operator's headset, and she heard him making contact with someone he
called "lookout", and another called "command post".

Another of the men opened the suitcase he was carrying, and took out a set of
aluminum tubes, which he began to assemble like a child's construction set. When
he had finished, he had made a table-like rack, two feet wide and some two and a
half feet high. Maybe 5 feet or so long.

A couple of the men dragged Dorothy over to the rack, and fastened her ankles to
the bottom of the framework so she was standing with her legs spread wide apart,
her wrists still handcuffed behind her back. One of the men roughly fondled her
naked breasts; then, at a command from the leader, returned to business.

And what a business! Systematically, working as from a well-rehearsed plan, they
went about giving the room the appearance that a wild party had taken place. One
of them opened the bar and poured drinks, spilling a good deal onto the carpet
and the upholstery; then he turned most of the liquid down the sink. He left the
glasses here and there around the room, in places where they were sure to leave
rings that would mar the furniture.

Another man unpacked and distributed cigarette butts, some standard, some rolled
in coarse paper and smelling like rope. He carefully stained some of the latter
with Dorothy's lipstick. Then he lit several other cigarettes, leaving them on
the piano and other expensive pieces of furniture, where they would leave ugly
burns. In the middle of the coffee table, he carved a rough heart, with the names
"Dorothy" and "Bill".

Another of the men went into the bathroom, and flushed a couple of towels down
the toilet, making sure that they clogged the drain. Then he used the toilet and
flushed it again. He swore when he didn't get out of the way fast enough, and got
some of the overflow on his shoes. The emphatic monosyllable he muttered seemed
sort of appropriate, under the circumstances.

One of the men was the official breaker. The glasses and bottles at the bar were
obvious targets, as was the big mirror behind the bar. But other targets showed
greater creativity.

For his masterpiece, he brought a hammer from the basement, donned a
motorcyclist's protective helmet and face mask, and proceeded to smash the TV
screen.

By the time the men had finished, the room was a total shambles. Dorothy stood
weeping, in a state of near hysteria, forgetting her semi-nudity and undignified
position. She noticed vaguely that one of the men had focused a video tape
recorder on her. rape# The leader of the group came over to her, cruelly pinched
one of her nipples. Then he squeezed the entire breast, laughing coarsely as she
screamed into the gag at the excruciating pain.

"Just a little lesson, doll, to people who don't mind their own business. And now
for the crowning touch. One more piece of Jack's property to spoil"

He reached for the waistband of her panties, tore them from her body with one
savage pull. Someone grabbed her wrists and bent her body backward, fastening her
in that undignified and totally vulnerable position.

"Old hubby will really go ape," the man gloated, "when he watches these movies of
his wife's infidelity."

Dorothy heard the sound of a zipper. The man's hands closed on her breasts,
squeezing brutally. He stepped between her thighs . . .


Chapter 4 The Wrapup good words: rape#

Finally, there was a moment of respite. Several times, Dorothy had fainted during
the ordeal, only to be revived again before the monsters continues their  gang
rape. "After all," one of them commented, "it's no fun screwing a broad while
she's unconscious. Half the fun is seeing how much she hates it."

Now they seemed to have satisfied their lust. The leader spoke again.

"Anybody else for seconds -- or thirds -- before I give her a shot of horse to
put her out?"

No takers.The men were busily packing the equipment into their suitcases.

They unfastened Dorothy's numb and profaned body from the framework, which they
folded and put away. Holding her arm against her feeble struggles, one of the men
pierced her vein with a hypodermic needle. "There," he growled. "That'll hold you
until the cops get here."

As she felt the narcotic taking effect, dragging her into a stupefied sleep,
Dorothy was vaguely aware that the men were visiting one final indignity on her.
Tearing off her gag, one of them forced a hard rubber tube between her teeth.
Then he fed a long brush through the tube, and tickled the back of her throat. He
withdrew the tube as she vomited, letting the nauseating mess spill all over her
body and the carpet.

Dimly, Dorothy was aware that one of the men was telephoning the police,
complaining about a wild party that was bothering the neighbors.

She consoled herself with one thought as she sank into unconsciousness -- thank
God that Cathy was safe.

chapter 5 The farmhouse

good words:	lesbian rape#   torture/rape recalled#   whip breasts# pins#    
whip crotch#   defloration#  dungeon#

lesbian rape#

Cathy was having problems of her own. Unable to stand it any longer, she
desperately raised her head from between the girl's thighs, gulped in a huge
breath of fresh air.

"Damn you -- you slut!" her room-mate screamed. "Get that tongue back to work,
you bitch!" One hand, entwined in Cathy's hair, forced her head back into
position; the other hand swung the long leather strap, driving new pain through
Cathy's bare buttocks.

Cathy bent again to the disgusting task . . .

She had always felt a little uncomfortable in Alice's presence. A senior who had
just transferred to the college, Alice had invited Cathy to be her room-mate, and
Cathy had seen no reason to refuse. Although the possessive way in which Alice
sometimes looked at her had disconcerted her a bit, Cathy had shrugged it off.
Maybe all upperclassmen looked at the freshmen that way, she thought. Moreover,
although she had occasionally surprised a hungry look in Alice's eyes, she had
never heard the older girl make any suggestion whatsoever of an improper nature.

Until that day at the farm, that is.

With her native intelligence and the excellent preparation she had received in
high school, Cathy found the freshman work at college pretty easy. And she had no
trouble making friends. Especially among the male students. Particularly the
older students and the members of the faculty -- her voluptuous body, her
sensuously beautiful face, and her precociously mature poise tended a bit to
overawe the boys of her own age.

So Cathy was having no problems with college. But she was homesick.

Not only was this the first time that she had been away from home for so long a
time, but she had sensed a disquieting tension in her parents' farewell.

She knew her father's courage when it came to defending his concepts of justice,
and she was sure that he was running great risks of physical danger. She had no
way of knowing exactly what form the danger took, but she knew that it arose from
her father's determination to break the political power of the infamous Boss.

She knew who the Boss was, of course. Even here, across the state line, his name
was a legend. It was even whispered that some of the older students had been
inside his notorious Seraglio Club, and had brought back hints of unbelievable
debauchery. But to Cathy, the Boss was just a shadowy figure, of concern only
because he was the reason she had to leave her family. And she was homesick.

It was her longing for family life that had made her accept so readily Alice's
invitation that weekend to drive up and visit "the old homestead". As the car
sped over the miles, Alice was silent, and Cathy made no effort to interrupt her
reverie. Strong and capable, Alice held the wheel with stern determination.
Almost like a man, Cathy thought.

Strange. This woman was beautiful -- beautiful in every physical sense of the
term. And yet there was something essentially masculine about her. Her
determination to control every situation; her avoidance -- even revulsion -- of
men; she seemed almost to have been born with a man's mind in a woman's body.
Albeit a very feminine woman's body, Cathy conceded.

Alice finally broke the silence.

"Mom has finally married again," she said, a propos of nothing. "She lived alone
for a long time after her divorce, but she's finally found a man she seems to
love as much as she loved my father."

Cathy's confusion showed in her voice. "She divorced your father, even though she
loved him?" torture and rape recalled# Alice smiled in amusement. "Sorry, honey.
I guess I never did tell you the story. Dad died when I was a kid. It was my
stepfather she divorced -- the one that raped me."

"Raped you? Oh, you poor kid," Cathy sympathized.

"It was pretty grim at the time," Alice agreed. "I was in my early teens when Mom
married the bastard, and he had his eye on me from the moment he moved in with
us. Before, actually. I honestly think that he married Mom just so he could get
at me.I tried to tell Mom about it, how he would grab me and feel me up every
chance he got. but she said I was being wicked, I mustn't tell lies like that
about my new father.

"Well, he finally got his Big Chance. He arranged for Mom to spend the weekend at
my aunt's, and conveniently forgot to tell me about it. He didn't waste any time
--  as soon as I came into the house, he just grabbed me and hustled me into the
family room, where he had his equipment all laid out, ready for use."

"Equipment?" Cathy echoed quizzically.

"Yeah, he'd been getting ready for me for months, and he had made all the stuff
with his two hands, just for me. Leather straps with my name tooled into them.
Special torture instruments built to my exact measurements. I suppose I should
have been flattered," she added bitterly.

"He knew that he had the whole weekend to work me over, and he took his sweet
time about it. It seemed like hours before he even got around to taking off my
panties. He wanted to do a thorough job on top first.

"Talk about foreplay! whip breasts# "After he had torn off my dress and bra, he
fastened me to what he called his whipping post -- actually a sort of framework
of wooden poles. He tied my ankles wide apart, and fastened my wrists up over my
head, with my body arched backward."

Cathy gasped. "But -- backward? Then how could he whip you?"

Alice smiled ruefully. "You've got a lot to learn, honey." she murmured. "He even
put a couple of blocks behind my shoulder blades to accentuate the bend in my
body. My boobs weren't very big in those days, but this position thrust them
forward so he could get a good swing at them with that damned leather strap of
his. pins# "After he'd thoroughly warmed them up, as he put it, he pinned on a
couple of tassels, and made me keep them there all weekend."

Cathy felt weak. "Pinned? You don't mean . . ."

Alice shivered in recollection. "Actually, the tassels were held in place by
flesh-colored adhesive tape -- practically invisible -- and the pins were only
long enough to just break the skin. But it was enough to hurt like fire every
time my tits moved. And you can just bet that bastard found lots of ways to make
them jiggle, over the next couple of days. whip crotch# "With my legs spread
apart the way they were, he had to use Mom's sewing scissors to cut my panties
off. Then he started whipping me again. defloration# "By the time he got around
to raping me -- and believe me, he was really brutal about it -- I was so sore
that I didn't even feel the pain when he broke my cherry. Mental anguish, Hell
yes, but physical, no.

"Well, he finally pulled those damned tassels out, just before Mom got home, and
after lots and lots of fun and games. And then he told me that if I ever breathed
a word to Mom or the police about what had  happened, Mom would just about die of
shame. And I'd die of something a damned sight more painful. And he meant it. I
don't think that Mom knows to this day what happened that weekend.

"He must have been afraid I would squeal, though, because it was his suggestion
that I go away to boarding school. And you can bet that I was just delighted to
get out of that house. And since that day, I've hated all men, with him at the
top of the list."

"Have you ever heard from him again." Cathy asked.

"Sure, I've followed his career in the newspapers. He's become something of a
celebrity in the past few year. But also, strangely enough, he got in touch with
me last Spring, and offered me a deal. It seems that he wanted me to introduce
him to a certain person. Well, it sounded sort of fishy to me, because he's so
influential that he could meet anybody he wanted without my help. But then he
explained that he wanted the meeting to take place under very special
circumstances, and I could do it better than anyone else he knew. And he made me
an offer I couldn't refuse, as the saying goes."

"And you introduced him to the fellow?"

"Not yet. I -- Oh, here's the old plantation," Alice interrupted herself.

She launched into a series of animated reminiscences, as she turned easily into
the long driveway, drove up to the front door. They carried their own baggage
into the house. "Sorry, no servants," Alice explained.

Cathy was a little puzzled that no-one was on hand to greet them, but Alice
explained breezily that "Mom is probably out shopping. Here, let's go down to the
rec room for a cool drink. No, don't bring the luggage. We'll take it up to the
bedroom later. Oh, if you'd like to freshen up a bit first, the bathroom is right
there."

After using the bathroom -- a welcome break after the long ride -- Cathy followed
her friend down the cellar stairs, along a dimly lit hall, and into a darkened
room. Lights blazed up as she followed Alice into the room, momentarily blinding
her. Then she gasped at the bizarre arrangement of the room. dungeon# It was a
veritable dungeon!

The floor was covered by something like a huge wrestling mat, with metal rings
sewed into it at odd intervals. And there were other rings securely embedded in
the walls and ceiling. Racks along the walls held whips and manacles and other
diabolical devices of torment.

The whole was dominated by a motion picture camera that swiveled from a frame
attached to the ceiling.

As she gasped in disbelief, Cathy heard a door slam shut behind her. She whirled,
terror mounting in her throat, almost fainting as she saw the grotesquely clad
man who was taking the key from the lock and slipping it into his pocket.

Alice's voice was husky with emotion.

"Cathy, meet my stepfather."