THE PLUCKED DUCK 11-15 As Cathy had expected, she had no trouble at all getting a job at the Seraglio Club. She was to sell cigarettes, a job that required no experience, but put a premium on her good looks. The hatcheck girl took Cathy to the dressing room, and waited in the corridor outside while Cathy changed into her "uniform". When she had finished dressing, Cathy surveyed her reflection in the mirror with dismay. The costume was far more revealing then the one the hatcheck girl was wearing. The halter was little more than a pair of silk straps, showing an alarming amount of cleavage, both in the center and on the sides. The bikini panties displayed an amount of firm healthy flesh that might -- just might -- be tolerated on one of the city's more daring beaches. And the clinging jersey material left no doubt as to what was almost hidden beneath the scanty garments. Even more disconcerting was the flimsy way in which the garments were secured -- the halter was tied behind her neck and at the small of her back, while the panties were two separate panels, joined together -- well, almost together -- at the sides. And all were fastened with big bows that blatantly invited mischievous fingers to pull them loose. Well, Cathy told herself, she'd have to get used to it if she wanted to get into the Club. With a little moue and a shrug of resignation, she turned away from the full-length mirror and opened the dressing-room door. The hatcheck girl gave a low whistle. "Hot damn, what a glorious bod!" she murmured. "Baby, if you can stick with this job, you'll make a fortune in tips alone." rape games# "And speaking of tips," she went on in a more serious tone, "here's one for you. Whatever you do, try not to let any of the customers or one of the Boss's pet goons get within reach of those bows on your halter or panties. It's a tradition here for the guys to try to untie a girl, especially when she's carrying a tray, the way you will be. "Every time one of them scores," she went on, "he gives a special whistle, and the stage manager shines a spotlight on the poor girl, while she runs for cover. The customers just love to watch a girl waddle off with a bikini dangling between her thighs." "Sometimes the girls like to strip each other, too, either out of spite or just to liven up the party. Or because a customer has offered them a tip to do it. And, of course, human nature being what it is, the new girl is always fair game for all." Cathy winced. "But couldn't I tie a double knot, or use a safety pin, or something?" "Don't even talk that way, baby. One girl tried something like that, just once, and the customer yelled foul. They still talk about her." "What happened?" Cathy asked in a small voice, not sure that she really wanted to know. "The Boss likes for his paying customers to have a good time. Two of his goons grabbed the girl, and held her while the outraged John took off her clothes. All of them -- what there was of them. Then they spread her out on the table, ready for his attentions. After Romeo had satisfied himself to his heart's content (or to his prick's content) the guards tied her to the table -- spread-eagled, of course, and still naked -- with a spotlight on her, so all the customers had a chance during the evening to pay their respects to her. They even furnished a douche syringe and a bucket of water, and some wag put up a sign that said 'please flush after using'. "She was a gibbering idiot by the time the joint closed for the night." "The poor kid!" Cathy cried. "Didn't she go to the police?" The other girl smiled sadly. "In this town? Not a chance. The Boss turned her over to the cops instead. The police records show that she was arrested for prostitution. That's one of his favorite recruiting techniques, by the way. "After all, he jokes, that's exactly what he's having her arrested for -- for the purposes of prostitution. While she's in jail, he arranges for her to have paying visitors -- no matter whether she wants to or not. And sometimes he will rent her out for parties and other private affairs. So by the time she has served her sentence she is, in fact, an experienced prostitute. "Or sometimes the record shows that she was given a suspended sentence, and it's presumed that she left town in disgrace, without leaving any forwarding address. the Workshop# "That's what happened with this girl. Nobody's seen her since, but the rumor is that the Boss put her into one of his houses down South -- after he had finished with her in the Workshop." Cathy's eyes brightened. Maybe this was her chance to get the goods on the Boss. "The Workshop?" she prompted. "That's his cutesy name for the recreation room in his penthouse apartment. Actually, it's a fully equipped torture chamber, with all the instruments of torment that his sadistic mind can conceive. uses of a woman# "To the Boss," she went on, "a woman is good for two things. The second one is torture. Or maybe that comes first. I don't think that the Boss himself knows which he likes more -- he usually manages to combine the two, anyway." making of a slave# "Have you ever actually seen this Workshop personally"? Cathy probed. "Honey, for a while I was his live-in victim. "I was just a kid," she reminisced, "and all excited over the prospect of a date with the Man. I thought I was pretty sophisticated, but some of the things he wanted me to do turned my stomach. If I'd had the sense to hold my tongue, he probably would have been satisfied with just raping me, and enjoyed it all the more because of my resistance. But I had to go and call him a pervert. He's never forgiven me for that. "By the time he'd finished that first session with me in the Workshop, I'd seen it all. But that wasn't enough for him. In between his other cute little tricks, he tortured me into posing for some blackmail pictures that he's used to turn me into a full-time whore. This job as a hatcheck girl is just to keep me around between tricks. Plus it tickles his perverted sense of humor to make me greet my customers in a social situation. "And he said if I call him pervert, he'll show me pervert. He picks out my customers himself. He always sends me a man -- or a woman -- with, let's say a highly developed sense of experimentation. And just to make sure they get the point -- look here . . ." rear entrance# Slowly, she pulled down the waistband of her shorts, exposing creamy white skin. But tattooed on her belly, just above the point where the pubic hair began, was a picture of a signboard, ornate in design and artistically executed, with the message: "Please use entrance at rear". sewed up# "And just to make doubly sure, he sewed me up. I've just about forgotten what normal sex is like," she finished wistfully. "Wait a minute!" Cathy cried, horror in her voice. "You say he sewed you up? You can't mean . . ." "Tight as a rat's ass, and without benefit of anesthetic, too. Made a great joke about it while he was doing it -- how not every girl gets a second chance to be a virgin." "But -- but -- how can you . . .?" Cathy faltered. "Oh, he left a small opening. Enough for the natural fluids to pass through, and big enough so he can put in a probe to recharge my batteries." "What do you mean -- recharge your . . .?" beeper# "He's a great joker, he is. He said that since I wasn't going to be using my cunt for fucking any more, he might as well put something else into it. You know those little radio controlled pagers that doctors wear on TV? They give a little beep when the doctor is wanted in surgery, or whatever. Well, he said that he wanted me on call 24 hours a day. So he had a beeper specially made up, encased in plastic and stainless steel so my body wouldn't react to it, and sewed it up inside. Only it doesn't beep. It's much more persuasive than that. An electric shock is hard enough to take anywhere, but believe me, that's the last place a girl wants one. When that little wonder goes off, I run -- don't walk -- I kid you not. "He likes to give me a little burst now and then just for fun, too -- usually when we're in the middle of a bunch of people who aren't in on the 'joke' -- just to watch me jump. And of course he likes to play cat and mouse with it -- just keeps his hand in his pocket, so I'll know that he's going to zap it, but I won't know just when. "So that's the way it is. And every now and then he takes me back to the Workshop for what he likes to refer to as a 'refresher course.'" Cathy looked rather dubiously at the girl's skin, flawless except for the tattoo. "I'd think that treatment like that would leave marks on your body," she observed skeptically. torture targets# The girl snorted. "That bastard's a specialist," she spat. "When he tortures a woman, he likes to keep reminding her that she is a woman. I've got marks, all right -- plenty of them -- but they're all in places where nobody ever sees them. Except my customers, of course." Cathy felt a chill as she suddenly realized the reason for the conservative cut of the girl's halter and shorts. "He's even got me marked off," the girl continued, "to show what areas are fair game. Those creeps that he lines me up with get a big kick out of trying to find room for one more bruise, or one more pinprick, or one more burn, without going off limits. He likes to joke about it, too. He says that the Almighty wouldn't have given women tits and cunts if He hadn't meant for them to be used. Believe me, that sadist has thought of some uses for a woman's parts that the good Lord never intended. incentive program# "And then to make for even more fun, he has an incentive program. Ten percent off, he offers, to anybody who comes up with a new torture for my tits or cunt. Ten percent, plus a certificate that says something like 'In appreciation of the efforts of So-and-So who invented a new torture for the Seraglio Club's hatcheck girl; namely . . .' and then it goes on to describe the torture, and he encloses complimentary photos to show the torture in use. "He says that the gesture is well worth the modest cost, because it keeps them coming back to demonstrate their new ideas, or to try them out. And it encourages them to spend all their spare time thinking about new ordeals, which makes them all the hornier. Which keeps them coming back. As well as making life even tougher for me, which is one of his goals, of course. "And one other cute little trick," she went on."He makes me swallow a dose of mineral oil every day, so my asshole stays nice and slippery, and my lovers don't have to waste any time with lubricating jelly, or anything like that." Cathy shuddered. "I don't see how you can stand it. Why don't you run away, or something?" "Or something." the girl echoed sarcastically. "Some time when it gets too hard to bear any longer, I'll probably kill myself. But running away is out. "The Boss has connections all over the country. And he can always turn on that lovely beeper to make me want to come home. Plus it puts out a radio beacon signal that would help him to find me. And his agents all over the country would send the activating signal, so it would get to me no matter where I was. But it's worse than that. Even if I could be perfectly sure of getting away, I couldn't live with the thought of the consequences. you see, he's already chosen my successor." "And who's that?" "My kid sister. We were left orphans when I was a teenager, and I'm the only mother she has ever known. She's 16 now, and just beginning to blossom into womanhood, both physically and emotionally. The Boss has her all set up to step into my shoes if I run away or kill myself -- or if he loses interest in me. "I'm not worried about his losing interest, though. All he needs is a pair of tits and a cunt that he can torture, and an asshole to stick his pecker into. Plus a tongue to clean him off afterward. "Of course, I have to keep my face and figure in shape, but other than that all I have to do is show up for his torture sessions. All he cares about is the struggling and the screaming, and that comes naturally, believe me." chapter 12 Recruiting techniques good words: (generally not needed) nipple erector# Cathy remembered something the girl had said earlier -- something that puzzled her. "Look, this business of arresting girls for prostitution. Don't they tell the world that they were framed? I mean, I could understand the public accepting a case like that once or twice, but if it got to be a habit, surely people would start to be suspicious." "Yeah, I guess they would, if his tame newspaper ever let that side of it get printed. But the Boss is too smart to let most of the cases come to trial. Here's the way he operates: "For personal pleasure, he likes them young -- first or second year of high school, preferably. But for business, his favorite victim is the young housewife, because they know how to treat a man. And they know how to stay out of trouble. Or if they do get into trouble, it can be blamed on the husband. And it's easier to keep a married woman under control usually -- they have more to lose. "First, he makes sure that hubby won't be around to spoil the fun. An out-of-town business trip can be arranged, or something. As soon as hubby's plane takes off, the police wove in on the wife. They don't always tell her that she is being arrested. Maybe she's wanted as a material witness. Or to identify an accident victim, or some other plausible excuse. At any rate, the uniform disarms her fears, and she gets into the squad car with them. And that's all they need. "They don't take her to the station, of course. Usually, it's to the Workshop, although sometimes the Boss decides to let her start her new career by starring in one of the special performances at the Club. Or possibly at a private party. Wherever it is, the plot is about the same. "As you can imagine, a girl is kind of shaken up after a few hours of rape and torture. Or it could go on for days, if hubby can be kept out of the way that long. Well, after she's been broken, they take her to the police station, where she's photographed and fingerprinted. And then they offer her a choice. "If she agrees to work for the Boss, he guarantees to schedule her appointments so her husband won't find out. And her friends will never know that she's in the business, unless they happen to be her colleagues -- or her customers. In either case, they're not likely to talk. "That's a favorite trick of his, by the way. He gets a special sadistic kick out of setting up a date for a girl with someone she sees every day -- her next-door neighbor, for instance, or her butcher, or her husband's boss. Or maybe the boss's wife. Or with her classmates, if she's still in school. Or one time he fixed up a young high school teacher with a gang bang with practically her whole senior class. "Sometimes these dates are at the customer's specific request, of course. Like that high school gig -- the class thought it was a great way to finish off the evening after one of the school dances. "Anyway, he doesn't tell the girl who the client is, and the first hint she gets of his (or her) identity is when the client walks into the room where she is waiting, naked and stretched out on the bed. "Or on the torture table, if that's the way her customer gets his kicks. "But suppose she refuses to co-operate?" "In that case, he points out that wide publicity will be given to her trial -- and certain conviction -- for prostitution. And he points out further that there will be public testimony on all sorts of lurid details -- like lesbianism and sodomy, for instance, with a lengthy prison sentence the only possible outcome. And, she is reminded, once she is behind bars, she'll be available for service whenever she's wanted -- 24 hours a day, every day of the month. That's the worst of all worlds. There's no question which alternative any sensible girl would choose in a situation like that. "Especially if she loves her husband, and has a respectable position in the community, and maybe has a kid or two. And remember, her spirit's been pretty well broken by the orgy. Besides, the Boss and his goons are right there, helping her to make the 'right' decision -- by squeezing her tits and sticking pins into her cunt, and all those other playful little tricks that they're so good at. Once she has agreed to play ball, she has to prove her good faith by taking part in a series of degrading acts. Probably nothing that she hasn't already gone through during her initiation, but this time she has to co-operate, with a smile on her face, while they take pictures that can be shown to her husband -- or to a jury -- if she gets any fancy ideas. "And then he always arranges some sort of backup security. Like my kid sister. He lets the poor girl know in no uncertain terms that if she successfully runs away, or kills herself, or blows the whistle on him, her kids or her parents or some other loved ones will suffer. "But look, honey. we can't go on talking like this all day. The Boss wants to talk to you before you go on the floor -- he always likes to check out the new talent. His office is the first door to the right as you go down the hall -- the big oak door marked PRIVATE." Cathy debated with herself whether she should back out while she still could, but decided that she owed it to the memory of her father and mother to go on. She started for the door, but the hatcheck girl called her back. nipple erector# "Hold on, dearie -- I almost forgot." She reached into a desk drawer, brought out a small cartridge, something like a perfume atomizer. "The Boss insists that the girls use these every time they go out among the customers -- and before they go into an audience with him. Also, a lot of the customers carry them, to use whenever a girl comes near them. In fact, you'll find that the customers buy more of these from you than they do cigarettes." "But -- but what is it?" Cathy asked fearfully. "Oh, don't worry, kid. It's just pressurized carbon dioxide. The stuff that you breathe out all the time. It won't smell, or stain, or anything. The trick is in the cold temperature. "Cartridges like this are used every day for cooling wine glasses. It'll even leave a layer of frost on the glass, if you spray enough of it on." Without warning, she raised the cartridge and sprayed Cathy's nipples, which immediately became violently erect, in reaction to the cold. With the flimsy material of the halter that she was wearing, the effect was very impressive. "OK, honey," the girl murmured, "now you're ready to meet the Great Man." One of the Boss's goons opened the door at Cathy's knock, then left the room, closing the door behind him. No need to frisk her for weapons in that costume. Pity, he thought -- it would have been great fun. The room was soundproof, Cathy noticed -- the sound of the club's band faded to nothing as the door closed. She stood timidly at the entrance, somewhat awed by the richness of the room's furnishings. The Bass looked up from his desk. "Yes, my dear? What can I do for you?" He looked like a spider sitting in the middle of his web. For a moment, Cathy though that she had seen him somewhere before, had heard his voice. And the recollection was a vaguely unpleasant one. She shook her head to clear away the thought. Probably it was just an association from the descriptions her parents had given her. Or possibly from TV, or the newspapers. She found her voice. "I -- I'm the new cigarette girl," she faltered, giving him the false name under which she had applied for the job. He looked even more sinister when he smiled. "Ah, yes." He stood up. "Please come over here so I can get a good look at you. Before the effect of the carbon dioxide spray wears off," he added, making her blush furiously. As she walked across the room, Cathy noticed the two-way mirror that was exposed by the parted curtains. There was something familiar about the brilliantly-lighted cell beyond. She recognized her own clothes, hanging from the hooks where she had left them. remembering voyeur# Cathy stopped in her tracks, her blush deepening with her realization that it was the same room in which she had changed her clothes a few minutes ago. And he had been watching her strip to the skin! The Boss's laughter broke her trance. "Yes, my dear," he said in answer to her unspoken question. I always keep a close watch on our employees. Especially the pretty ones. After all, as their employer, I have the responsibility of seeing that they don't get into trouble. "At least, not into any unplanned trouble," he added. "If you believe those stories I had the hatcheck girl tell you, you might suspect that I cause trouble myself, from time to time. "But don't cry over spilled milk. You'll find that nudity is not frowned on here -- in fact, it's one of the chief commodities we offer at the Seraglio Club. As an appetizer, of course -- strictly as an appetizer. The full meal costs extra." He walked across the room toward the girl, hand extended. "Welcome to the Club," he boomed. Cathy reached out automatically to complete the handshake. breast abuse# His movement was too fast for her to follow, but Cathy felt a blinding pain in her shoulder, suddenly found herself kneeling at his feet, while he twisted her right arm behind her back. He held her there with one hand, while his other hand flicked downward as if he were shaking off a drop of water, his fingertips grazing her breast in an excruciating caress. She screamed again as he repeated the torture on her other breast. "So, the daughter of our late fearless editor comes to work at the Seraglio under an assumed name," he gloated. "I'll be glad to have a good-looking cunt like you under me" (he chuckled at the double entendre) "but I think that a little lesson might be in order first, to teach you the value of honesty." He drew a pair of handcuffs from his pocket as he spoke, fastened her wrists together behind her back. "Now let's have a look at that appetizer without the wrappings." stripped# Slowly, with insolent deliberateness, the man untied the bow at Cathy's neck, and drew the top part of her costume from her body. Then he pulled her roughly to her feet, so he could take off the lower half. Licking his lips, he reached for her naked body. Panic-stricken, Cathy whirled, tried to run away. And tripped over his suddenly outstretched foot. The Boss laughed triumphantly, then grabbed her ankle and dragged her across the room. The rough carpet scraped her breasts painfully. Humming a love song to himself, the Boss flipped Cathy over onto her back, and strapped her ankles to a pair of rings in the floor, spreading her legs far apart. He feasted his eyes for a few seconds on her nakedness, then took a small jar from the desk drawer. smart-ass# "Just a small precaution," he grinned. "No, it's not a contraceptive cream, or anything like that. That's your concern -- I look out for my pleasure, you take care of yours." "Most girls struggle and squirm enough spontaneously," he went on, "to add the necessary spice. Especially the first time. But once in a while -- just once in a while -- some smart-ass broad gets the idea that she can cheat me by playing dead. She gets appropriately punished afterwards, of course, but it spoils the fun. So I've worked out this way to make them all smart-ass . . ." He dipped an applicator in the jar. "I've developed this special salve," he explained. "Just a little bit, carefully spread around your asshole. We'll wipe it off later, before I get around to screwing you there." Cathy screamed, her buttocks contracting involuntarily as the burning sensation ate into her tender mucous membranes. Then she started writhing uncontrollably, as the pain gave way to an intolerable itch. She struggled vainly against the straps holding her ankles, tried to scratch herself on the carpet, wriggled wildly in the futile hope of finding some way to ease the torture. By the time the Boss had his clothes off, she was squirming to his entire satisfaction. As the Boss lowered himself into position above her helpless body, Cathy made one last desperate move. Bracing her ankles against the straps that held her to the floor, she tensed her body, bending at the waist into a sudden sit-up. It was impossible to get much leverage with her legs so widely spread, but her desperation gave her strength enough to drive her head into her would-be rapist's jaw. He fell across her body, losing consciousness with a grunt. Desperately pushing his gross body aside, Cathy squirmed into a position where she could free one ankle, then the other. It seemed like an impossible contortion to work her legs back between her wrists so that her arms were in front of her, but somehow she managed to do it. Praying that the man would nor regain consciousness too soon, she fumbled in his coat pocket for the key, and managed to unlock the handcuff from one wrist. The other one could wait. Already the Boss was showing signs of returning to life. Working with desperate speed, she buckled the man's wrists to the rings that had held her ankles. Only then did she grant herself the luxury of wiping that hellish cream from her asshole, using his handkerchief for a rag. More self-assured now, she took time to unlock the other handcuff, then paused to take stock of her situation. Thank God for the soundproof door, she thought, as the Boss started shouting threats and curses. Clearly, she would have to leave town in a hurry, if she didn't want to share the hatcheck girl's fate. The large wad of bills in the Boss's pocket would pay her fare to the other side of the country. But speed was essential. She hastily put on her abbreviated costume, and headed for the door. As an afterthought, she turned back. She owed the bastard something for her parents' deaths, and for the agony he had caused her and countless others. Hell, she owed him plenty. She took the steel letter opener from his desk, laid it across his throat, and smiled as he begged her for the mercy that he had never granted others. She should kill him, she knew, but she just couldn't do it. She couldn't even bring herself to cut off his prick. At least she could humiliate him a bit. She spread large gobs of the itchy cream on his prick, counting out a little litany with each stroke. "One for Mom, one for Dad, one for me . . " His prick began to stiffen from the irritation, but Cathy could tell that there was no pleasure in it. Reversing the heavy letter opener in her hand, she started beating him about the cock and balls with the ivory handle. And then, as a final touch, she left the jar impudently perched on his erection, like a bucket turned over a fence post. Her luck continued to hold -- she slipped out of the office without being seen, and hurried down the corridor to her dressing room. Assuming that the helpless Boss was watching her through that damned two-way glass, she deliberately flaunted her body as she dressed, and raised her middle finger in a final gesture of derision as she walked out of the room. Walked out of his life. It didn't work out that way, though. Cathy didn't waste any time not even going to the hotel to check out and reclaim the few possessions she had brought to town. She went directly to the bus station, and bought a ticket for the first bus that was leaving. Never mind where it was going, just so long as it was going soon. Then she sat down for the agonizing wait until departure time. And she almost made it. The bus had just started loading when the two policemen came up, looked carefully at Cathy, and then asked her to step out of line. Panic stricken, she looked about like a trapped animal, but there was escape. She was pretty sure what they wanted, but they dispelled all doubts, after checking her identification, by telling her that she was under arrest for prostitution. "But you've got to be kidding!" she protested. "How could I be a prostitute? I'm a virgin!" The officer chuckled. "That's what they all say, honey." "But I really am!" she insisted. Doubly thankful that she had managed to preserve her virginity that horrible day at the farmhouse, even at the cost of those ugly perversions, she wen on, "Look, I can prove it! Just take me to a doctor who will give me an examination." By now they ad the poor girl in the squad car. "We'll do better than that, honey." one of the officers snickered. "We're going to take you to the interrogation room of the station and play doctor for ourselves. That way, we can give you a couple of 'injections', and be completely sure that you're not a virgin." Cathy gasped in dismay. What an irony! After all she had gone through to preserve her maidenhood, she was going to lose it at the hands of a couple of brutal policemen. Well, not their hands, exactly. But wait. She had avoided defloration once before by "being nice" to her attacker. Maybe it would work again. The cops guffawed at Cathy's suggestion. "OK, honey," one of them said. "Maybe you really are cherry if you're willing to go through all that to get out of a screw, I guess we'll have a party at the station." general sexual abuse# And party they did. First, the two arresting officers claimed their "finders' fee" by taking Cathy into the interrogation room and "warming her up" for the main event. Then they passed her around, so all the cops at the station had a turn at a French or Greek lesson -- as well as a number of off-duty policemen who came in to join the fun as the word got around. When they all had taken as many turns as they had strength for, they made Cathy stand for a long time at parade rest -- feet wide apart, hands clasped behind her back, shoulders back, chest out -- while they looked at her nakedness, making lewd remarks about her youthful beauty, playing "feelies" with her helpless body. And other, more painful, humiliations. Big Elsie# Finally they began to tire of their sport."I've got an idea." one of them suggested. "How about giving her to Big Elsie for the night? After all, we can be pretty sure that His Nibs won't be around to bail her out until tomorrow." The watch commander agreed. "Just make sure that Big Elsie understands the rules," he warned. "There'll be Hell to pay if the cunt's body shows any signs of abuse when he comes to get her." They didn't give Cathy a chance to get dressed again. Goosing her with their billy clubs, they herded her along the dark halls of the jail, finally stopped in front of a solid door, opened it, and pushed Cathy inside. Big Elsie was a revolting old crone, grossly fat and stinking. It was apparent from the rich furnishings of the room that she enjoyed some sort of privileged status in the jail. It was also apparent from the way her greedy eyes ran over Cathy's body that she welcomed the prospect of having a "guest" for the night. She eyed Cathy's young beauty possessively, didn't waste any time on unnecessary words. "Usual terms?" Her voice sounded like fingernails screeching on the blackboard. "Usual terms." the cop replied. "Your credit is good. You can put it on the cuff until the end of the month." "Uh-huh. And how far can I go with this pretty one?" "Well, there's a bit of a rub. Little Cathy has a date with the Big Guy first thing in the morning, so you'll have to be gentler than usual. No marks of any kind, even in places where they ordinarily wouldn't show. Sorry if that craps your style a bit. But maybe her freshness will make up for it. "Oh, and one more thing. Little Cathy claims to be a virgin, and desperately wants to keep it that way. So much so that she was right co-operative with her mouth and her asshole with the guys downstairs. So if she's a little reluctant -- and I'm sure she will be -- just tell her that you'll stick your finger into her if she doesn't put out." Big Elsie didn't let Cathy get much sleep that night. It was with a big sense of relief that Cathy finally heard the officers come down the hall and open the door. "OK, honey'" one of them said. "Busy day ahead of us. Too bad that we won't have time to give the day shift a go at you. Well, maybe another time . . ." He turned to Big Elsie. "How was she, kiddo?" Big Elsie chuckled lasciviously. "Best little tongue I've run across in months. Or maybe I should say the best tongue that's run across me. I don't know when I've had such a glorious come in a longtime. And I feel beautifully cleaned out. I'm just sorry that you didn't let me use my whip and other goodies on her." "Well, that's the way the cherry ruptures," the officer grinned. "But this cunt isn't going to be around long enough for any marks to heal, and the Big Guy was quite specific that she shouldn't have any bruises, and that her cherry should be intact. So you see, " he smirked at Cathy, "you really wasted all that beautiful effort trying to please us last night. We were ordered in no uncertain terms not to screw you under any conditions. Not in the cunt, that is. Nobody said anything about those ruby red lips and that tight little ass hole. But thank you for your superb effort, anyhow," he added smugly. "Anyway, that's all over now. Time for your shower and that visit to the doctor that you were so anxious to have." doctor# They didn't let Cathy get dressed this time, either. They just marched her, mother-naked, down the hall. In broad daylight. First to the shower room, where they supervised her ablutions -- very closely, and with lots of lewd remarks. And then, still naked, to the doctor's office. The doctor was very professional, very thorough. He checked Cathy carefully for communicable diseases -- a little late, she thought, after last night's orgy -- and verified that she was, indeed, a virgin. Almost as an afterthought, he spread a soothing cream around Cathy's asshole. "There, my dear." he cooed. "That'll make you feel as good as new, while getting you ready for your next lover. After all, we can't have you showing, or even feeling, that our City's Finest have been less than kind to you during your stay here." She was a bit surprised, in view of the behavior of the other officers, at the doctor's professional attitude. He completed the most intimate examination without any indication that he seemed to regard her as an attractive young woman -- or even as a woman at all. It wasn't until he had completely finished that he started fondling her, and hinting about the "fee" for the examination. Cathy tried to resist, but the doctor reminded her -- by word and by demonstration -- that his medical training had made him aware of many ways in which a woman could be made to feel excruciating pain, without showing any after effects at all. "A knowledge that is invaluable when it comes to interrogating women prisoners," he pointed out. "And, as a matter of fact, your new owner has come to me many times for advice in this field." At the mention of her "new owner", Cathy wanted to ask a few questions, but the doctor shut her up by sticking his prick into her mouth and pumping it vigorously until he came. After he had finished raping her face, he gave her a mouthwash, and then pressed a button on his desk, to tell the policemen waiting in the corridor that she was ready to be taken to her "new owner". As a precaution against any attempts at escape, the cops buckled a stout leather belt around Cathy's waist, and strapped her wrists to loops in the belt, at her sides. Once again they showed their cynical disregard for the forms of decency by parading her, stark naked, through the station to the reception desk.