The woman lay chained on the floor and looked up at the man with the patch over his eye.
She knew that the man wanted to hurt her, that he had chained her like this so that she would not be able to get away when he started to hurl the whip onto her body.
But he had said that he would help her, that this pain would be good for her. She wanted to trust the man, but when she saw him approach her with the whip in his hand, the whip that was going to fall on her naked body, she screamed out.
"No! Please! I can't stand it!"
'You will stand it," the man snarled. "You will stand it because you have lived a life of crime and fucking, and now you must learn how to live correctly."
"But it will hurt me! It will cut me!"
"Yes," the man snarled, agreeing with her.
He knew that he would hurt her and cut her. It would make her bleed and it would give her more pain than she had ever experienced before in her life. And the man knew that that was just what she needed-pain, the kind of pain that she could not ignore, the kind of pain that would add a new dimension to her suffering.
By making her suffer, the man knew that he would help her. That was his theory and he was a trained psychologist.
She was going to help him prove that his theory was correct.
* * *
CHAPTER ONE
The young woman was tied to the pole and was sitting on the box. Of course, that was not the worst part of her ordeal. The steel points attached to the wheel, the steel points that went into her pussy, that was the worst part.
But there was nothing that the young woman could do about it. She knew that she deserved this punishment. She had broken rules and laws by which mankind lived. She had been in and out of prison and yet prison had done nothing for her, to her, except make her more angry.
Now she was the subject in a new, secret study, a study to see if harsh treatment, sadistic treatment could cure female repeat offenders, could lead them back to the straight and narrow path to virtue. Perhaps such treatment could help her. She hoped so.
Her name was Jan. She did not like being a criminal, but it was all that she knew. She had been a hooker since she was fifteen. Now she was twenty-two and she did not know what else she could do with her life.
And she was drawn to crime. She had been caught this time stealing clothes from a department store. She did not really need the clothes, but she had stolen them just the same. She even had money in her purse, enough money to buy those clothes. But there was something about the thrill of theft that attracted Jan, something about the anxious rush she got in her blood when she knew that she was doing something wrong, something that she would be punished for if she were caught.
She had been caught and sent to jail for a short stay. That was no punishment for her. She did not mind jail at all. She had been there so many times that she had begun to think of a cell as just another room, perhaps a motel room, like the ones that she often visited with men who came to the city for a convention.
Jan had been very popular with those men, popular because she was pretty and had big tits and a sweet pussy. As she lay in her jail cell at night, she remembered her favorite men, the two or three out of the hundreds that she had fucked for money that she had truly enjoyed. Those two or three had given her warmth and a good and mighty fucking. But she had not seen them again. She had known when she fucked them that she would never see them again.
That was part of the thrill of the sex, even when it was bad. She knew that she and the man that she shared the motel room with would remain complete strangers even after their lust had been fulfilled.
And Jan never fucked for anything except money. She never fucked for love. She did not believe in love.
And she had never really believed in pain either, until now.
She had been in the cell the night before when the men had come and taken her to the new place, the big house on the outskirts of the city. It was surrounded by green and rolling lawns, big lawns. She wondered why they were taking her to this place, and then she had been taken inside and she had met Mister Blackstone. Harry Blackstone. He was sitting in his office in the front of the big house.
When the men from the jail had brought her into the office, Harry Blackstone had nodded to them. The men turned and left Jan alone with the man.
He was a handsome man with light-colored hair and a muscular build. He wore a patch over his eye and he smiled at Jan and introduced himself by name.
Then the young woman could stand it no longer. She had to know why she was here in this house, far away from the jail where she had been comfortable, where she had felt at home.
"What am I doing here, Mister Blackstone?" she asked, her voice quivering with fear, for, although the man looked handsome and cultured, Jan also sensed in him a brutal quality, the kind of quality that she had sometimes sensed in her customers, the one who had wanted to beat her with whips and knock her around motel rooms for their pleasure.
"What are you doing here?" Harry Blackstone said, leaning back in his chair and putting his hands together. He looked up at the ceiling and seemed to be praying, seemed to be trying to think of a good way to explain all of this to Jan. She waited anxiously while he did that.
And, while she waited, Jan studied his patch. That patch gave him his brutal look. She wondered how he had lost that eye. But she knew that it would be a long time before she would be able to ask him such a personal question. He was taking his time answering that first question, that question that she truly had the right to ask.
"What are you doing here?" he said again, repeating her question for the second time.
Then he turned and looked at her and smiled.
"You are here to be helped, Jan," he said. "Helped?"
"I have read your personality profile, the one that was written by the psychologists who work in the women's prisons. According to that profile, you want to be helped."
"Helped with what?" the young woman asked.
She remembered all of those psychologists, the ones who had interviewed her at length the last time that she had gone to prison. They asked her questions about her family and about her feelings, but she had never thought that they were really interested in her. To Jan, it seemed that these people were just doing their job, just asking the questions so that they could draw their weekly checks from the state and say that they helped the prisoners to adjust. But adjust to what? That was the question that Jan always asked the psychologists and that is the question that they never answered, that they always ignored.
But she had to admit that Harry Blackstone was correct. She did want to be helped. She did not like being a criminal.
Suddenly, the young woman found herself crying, weeping out all of the shame and pain that she had suffered in her life. It had been years since she had cried and she found herself enjoying the feeling, enjoying the emptying of her soul.
Harry Blackstone sat there patiently while the girl cried. He seemed to be used to such sudden displays of sadness and frustration, she thought as she looked at him through her tears. She glanced at him and she cried. He did not seem to be sympathetic really, just patient, like a doctor who knew that he would be able to cure his patient just as soon as she got over her shock and her grief.
And then, a few minutes later, her crying was over and she looked at the man behind the desk with a feeling of refreshment in her body.
"I can help you to change your ways," he said softly.
"You can?" she whimpered.
"Yes. I can help you to be a good woman, the kind of woman that you want to be."
"How?"
'By hurting you," he said calmly. "What?"
Jan was shocked by the man's calm words. She did not want to be hurt, she thought. She had been hurt too much in the past. In fact, it seemed to Jan at that moment that she had spent her whole life hurting, with the pain coming from some indefinite place inside her spirit. Now this man with the patch told her that he was going to help her by hurting her even more. That did not make sense to Jan. It made even less sense than the other things in her life had.
Harry Blackstone waited a few seconds, waited until the words that he had said to the young woman had rooted themselves deeply into her brain, and then he explained what he meant.
"I have a Ph.D. in psychology, and I have a theory that women like you can be helped by pain. You see, you have felt a lot of inner pain in your life, but you have never really felt that much pain that you could identify, and you crave that pain, whether you know it or not. I would say that you have never had an orgasm in your life. Is that correct, Jan?"
How did he guess that?
The girl nodded her head as her mouth fell open. She had fucked hundreds of men in her career as a whore, but, even with the two or three that she truly enjoyed, with the two of three that she remembered fondly, she had "never had an orgasm. She had never felt that rush of fire on her cunt that she had heard other girls talk about.
"You have never had an orgasm because you have never been able to realize where your pain was coming from," Harry Blackstone said. "It has been just a vague feeling in your soul, right?"
Again, the girl nodded her head. Now, it seemed to Jan that Harry Blackstone was making sense, that he knew her better than any other human being had ever known her.
"My theory is simple, really," the man with the patch continued. "If we can direct your pain, if we can hurt you so that you will know why you feel pain and how that pain affects you, then you will able to get rid of it. You will know how it feels to really hurt and that will make you lose all of that vague pain that you carry around with you all day long. It is baggage, Jan, excess baggage. If we can put all of the pain that you feel into one huge bag and let you lift it, let you throw it away, then you will be back to normal and you can make something of your life. The state has offered to let me work with some young women in the jails and the prisons, young women who are repeat offenders and who seemed to hate themselves for their criminal acts. If I can help those young women, then we will make our findings public and we will change the way that prisoners, some prisoners at least, are treated. We will understand that pain is good if it is given correctly, if it is given in large doses so that the inmates can truly lift all of their pain out of their bodies and throw that pain away." -
Suddenly, a question came to Jan.
"Why just women?" she asked.
"Good question," Harry Blackstone said, nodding his head. "You are obviously a very intelligent young woman. We have discovered that females feel more vague pain and can more easily be adapted to the real pain than males. If the system works with women, we will then try it on selected men, but it will take more punishment to make a man reform."
Then it was Harry Blackstone's turn to ask the girl a question, but, before he asked it, he prefaced his question with some remarks about her civil liberties.
"You do not have to go along with this experiment if you do not wish to, Jan. If you say that you don't want to have anything to do with pain, I will just call the guards from the jail back into the office and they will take you back to your cell and you will serve out your time. Then you will get out and you will probably be back in jail within a matter of a few days. If, however, you decide to go along with this experiment, you will stay with me and my wife for about a week, and you will suffer the worst physical pain possible. Then we will see if you have changed any of your attitudes, if you feel better once that pain is gone. You will be released after that week in any case. You will not have to serve out the rest of your sentence. And I hope that the experiment will make you into a better woman so that when you leave us, you will not return to jail. We will also counsel you on training for a regular job in the outside world, but that is just a minor part of our service. I am sure that you have been counseled before. And it has done no good, because the prison system in America is not yet equipped to deal with the vague pain that you feel inside you."
The man leaned forward.
"Are you willing to try it, Jan?" he asked.
And before she even realized what she was doing she heard a voice-her voice-say, "Yes, I am willing to try anything."
That is how Jan wound up tied to the pole with the spiked wheel in her pussy. She was experiencing the pain, the pain that she hoped would make her into a better person.
And the pain was bad. The spikes were not moving, but they were cutting deep into the soft folds of her cunt, into that soft skin where so many cocks had been.
And Jan was surprised to find that she was being turned on by the feeling in her cunt. She was being turned on more than she had ever imagined. She hurt, yes. The pain was almost unbearable, but, somewhere, deep in her soul, Jan realized that, if she just had a little more pain, a little more punishment, she just might come, just might experience that heated rush to her cunt that her friends had often talked about.
And she wanted to experience that heat, even if it was brought about by pain. She was willing to endure the pain if it would only change her, would only make her come with delight.
She looked toward the door of the little room in which she was tied. She knew that her punishment had just begun really, and she wondered what else would happen to her, what would be coming through that door.
It was as if Harry Blackstone could read her mind, for, as she wondered what would be coming through that door, the door opened and Harry Blackstone came through it.
The man was naked and he carried something in his hand that looked both terrible and wonderful to Jan.
It was a metal rod with a ball on the end. Around that ball were spikes, like the spikes that invaded her pussy.
Jan gasped with fear and then sighed with pleasure as she saw Harry Blackstone approach her. She hoped that this would be it, that this would be the added pain that she needed in order to feel good and in order to have an orgasm, the first orgasm of her life.
And Jan was glad that Harry Blackstone was naked too. That added something to the sexual tension of the moment. He was a very handsome man and he had a long, thick dick that swung between his legs as he marched toward her.
She did not realize that she was speaking to him until she heard herself call out to Harry Blackstone in lust and anguish.
"Come to me!" she yelled, tossing her head from side to side as she moved on the spikes and felt them work even more deeply into the soft flesh of her cunt. "Come to me and hurt me, you wonderful stud."
The man with the patch over his eye just smiled and strolled toward her, taking his time, letting the anguish build in her lusty, ripe body.
He knew what she wanted. He was experienced in these things, and he understood. But he also knew that it would be better to make the sexy girl wait for just a little while. That way, her sexual tensions would increase and her chances at an orgasm on this first day of her ordeal would be made even better.
Harry Blackstone was a trained psychologist. He knew what kind of girl liked pain, even if the girl herself did not realize that this was what she yearned for. And he had known the minute that he had seen Jan that she was the just the type that he was looking for, just the type to make his experiment work.
The psychologist with the patch over his eye stood in front of the young woman and smiled down on her.
"Are you ready, Jan?" he asked as he smiled. "Are you ready for the most terrible physical pain of your life?"
She worked her body over the spike as she moaned to him, as she felt the spikes go deeper and deeper into her wet, throbbing pussy.
"Yes, I am ready," she said.
And the girl knew that she was ready. She felt her pussy quiver and moisten with joyous, passionate juices. She had never felt this way before, so sexy, so lusty, so yearning. It seemed to her at that moment that all of the good things in the world, all of the things that she wanted most dearly, were centered in Harry Blackstone's naked body and in the spikes that came out of that ball on the end of the metal rod that he held in his hand, centered in that and in the pain that she could feel in her cunt. It was a good pain, although it hurt her. It was good because, finally, she thought, she knew where the pain was coming from. She could concentrate on that pain and know that it was coming from her bleeding pussy. And she knew that, when the spikes left her pussy, when the bleeding stopped, her pain-all of her pain-would be over and done with. That knowledge that there was an end to her pain, an end that she knew would come when she was finished with her ordeal, made Jan very happy and very lusty too.
"Give me more pain," she begged. "I want a lot of pain and then I want it to stop and make me feel so much better."
Harry Blackstone grinned, beamed with professional joy. This girl was very intelligent, he thought. She understood exactly what was going on in her body. He was lucky to have such an intelligent young woman for his first subject in his first human experiment.
The naked man moved behind the pole, moved behind Jan. When she tried to follow him with her eyes, she hurt her neck and that new pain added more juice to her bleeding, throbbing pussy.
She turned around and faced the door and let the pain rush through her like fire and whispered to Harry Blackstone as if he were a lover, as if they were in bed together for the first time, as if he were about to take her virginity.
"Beat me," she said softly. "Give me the pain that I need."
Harry Blackstone reached around her and raised his arm up high. Then he brought the arm down and the ball with the spikes protruding from it smashed into her tit. The girl yelped and then gasped and then sighed. She looked down at that bare breast and saw that her flesh was bleeding. She felt the pain rushing to her head and she knew that she would feel like a brand new girl, a good girl, after this pain was over.
"Hit me again," she begged, sighing with her pain and her lust building together in her sexy body.
And Harry Blackstone did hit her again. He brought the ball down on the other tit and then he held the ball to the tit, let the spikes cut into her deeply as he rolled that ball of metal around.
She screamed in pain, but that did not bother the psychologist. He knew that she was getting just what she needed, and he knew that this intelligent girl would agree with him when the pain was done.
Jan looked down when Harry Blackstone finally pulled the ball away from her tit, and she saw the blood rushing out of her breast. She closed her eyes and tensed her body and felt the pain coming to her brain from all over her body, from her bloody tits and her bloody cunt. She sighed with a long, soft sound.
And then she came.
When the orgasm started to move through her body, Jan knew what was happening. She knew what the thing felt like, although she had never felt anything like that before. She hunched the spikes that were embedded in the flesh around her pussy with an animalistic eagerness and she yelled in pain and sighed with pleasure, making one kind of sound and then the other as the orgasm matched the pain and swept through her like fire, bloody and beautiful fire.
Harry Blackstone studied the young woman as she worked on the spikes, as she bled with new emotions filling her head and new feelings filling her body. He knew what was happening to her. She was coming, and she was on her way to being cured.
Harry Blackstone was a professional. He understood it all.
And he smiled because he sensed that his theory had been correct that this woman was proving that it was correct, proving with her pain and her pleasure.
When the orgasm was over, Jan watched as the man with the patch over his eye moved in front of her and stood there and smiled at her, smiled at his first experiment coming to lusty life before him.
"Thank you," she said, still bleeding profusely and still feeling a little bit of pain and biting in her body. "I feel better already."
"Good," the professional psychologist said. "We will take you up to your room now and we will dress your wounds."
The man leaned forward and kissed her cheek, thanking Jan for being such a good subject for his experiment, thanking her for helping to prove that he had been right all the time.
And that kiss made her feel warm and wanted for the first time in her criminal life. Jan relaxed on the spikes and looked down at her own blood and knew that her criminal life would soon be over.
CHAPTER TWO
It was almost noon when Harry Blackstone finished nursing and mending the wounds of his first subject. He had been up all night, talking to Jan and then planning her punishment and putting her through it. But he was not tired. He was too overjoyed to be sleepy. He ran into his wife's study and shouted with pleasure.
"It works! It works, Eva! She came for the first time in her life!"
Eva Blackstone took off her glasses and smiled with her husband. She had been reading some of the new psychological reports in her study while her husband worked on his first human experiment, but she had found it difficult to concentrate on the studies because she had been anxious to find out just how the experiment was working.
Now she stood up and moved from behind her desk. She hugged her husband and kissed him with congratulations. She held Harry and beamed at him.
"We will show them," she said happily. "We will show them all."
Eva Blackstone was also a psychologist. Both she and Harry had once worked at the world-famous Bay River Institute for Psychological Studies in Texas. But they had left the institute under a cloud when Harry's first article about the use of cruelty in treating repeat offenders was published.
Dr. C. J. "Buddy" Monroe, the head of the Bay River Institute, had announced that he thought that Blackstone's ideas were perverse and he had asked both Harry and Eva to leave his organization. That was another reason why Eva had had trouble concentrating on the articles that she had been reading all morning, while her husband worked with Jan. One of those articles had been written by Buddy Monroe It had been his report about his work with juvenile offenders. He had used bribery to help them turn into better human beings, telling them that he would give them candy and soda pop if they would be good. Of course, the experiments had failed. The kids had not been rehabilitated, but Buddy Monroe had published the findings to show other doctors that bribery would not work.
Buddy Monroe, Eva Blackstone thought, was a silly old shit from Texas who had absolutely no vision.
Harry Blackstone had come up with the pain theory of rehabilitation and had published his theory two years before. But Eva had helped him to work out some of. the details and now his wife was prepared to help him with his experiments. Eva was a specialist who worked mostly with paranoid individuals, but she thought that her husband's ideas, her husband's career, was more important than hers because she felt that Harry had a chance to really change the world of psychology for the better.
As they held each other and beamed at each other with pride, Eva looked down on Harry. She was taller than he was. She was, in fact, taller than most of the men that she had met. She was six feet five inches tall in her bare feet, and she had a big-titted, lusty body. But it did not matter to her that Harry was shorter and smaller than she was. He was a muscular fellow himself and she thought that he was very intelligent and very sexy.
She especially found that patch over his eye sexy. It made him look as if he had been wounded in some great battle of honor, she thought, although she knew that he had lost his eye when he was sixteen years old. He had lost his eye in a motorcycle accident near his family home in San Diego, California.
But Eva liked to fantasize that Harry was a noble German count who had dueled for honor and had lost his eye in that duel, though he had won the battle in the final seconds. Eva was from Germany, and she liked to think that her husband would have made her family proud. She was from the German aristocracy, the class of people who had become wealthy after the war when they helped to rebuild the country. She still spoke with a German accent though she had been in the United States for nearly a decade. Harry thought that that accent went well with her big, sexy, German body. He liked to think of his wife as a Wagnerian angel, the kind of woman that any man would be proud to call his own.
And it especially made Harry Blackstone proud that his wife was willing to help him in any way that she could with his experiments.
They had talked about the role that she would play in his experiments with some of the female prisoners, the criminals who would be sent to the house over the next few weeks. She had agreed to do what she could to help them and help Harry to prove his theories to be correct.
She would help him that night, in fact. And, after Harry Blackstone had calmed down from his first success, he sat down with Eva on the sofa in her study and went over the details of that upcoming experiment with her.
She nodded her head as he outlined the psychological study that had been done on the woman who would visit them tonight.
She agreed to everything that her husband suggested.
That is why Harry loved his wife so much. That is why he was happy that he had married this good, intelligent, sensitive, German woman.
She knew just what he required of her-as a wife and as a psychological assistant.
He told her again about the girl that they would work with that night:
"Her name is Nancy," he said. "She is twenty-seven years old and her profile is much like the others. She is a hooker and a thief. She worked with an all-girl band of bank robbers a couple of years ago. She and two other females held up four banks in Oklahoma before they were stopped by the law. The other two were killed, gunned down, but she surrendered. Since that time, she has been in prison and the people there tell me that she had not said one single word.
She is a redhead, very attractive, and the authorities at the prison suspect that she is a lesbian, that the two women who were killed by the police were her lovers. Or, perhaps, only one of them was. She seems to be suffering from great grief now, grief that has lasted for a couple of years, grief that has kept her silent for all of this time.
We need to work on her lesbianism. After all, Eva, to be a lesbian is not a criminal act. There are many productive dykes in America today. But we need to help her out of her grief and we need to make her feel something again. The pain and the lust that you will be able to give her may cure her. If things work as well with Nancy as they worked with Jan this morning, then we will be able to see some results very quickly."
But Eva cautioned her husband against too much excitement.
"Don't expect all of the subjects to react as quickly to the treatment as the girl this morning did, Harry," she said with a pat on his knee. "She is obviously very intelligent and very near normal anyway. This woman sounds like she would be a more difficult case."
"I know," Harry said. "I know that she will probably take more time and more punishment, but I still believe that we can help her if we work together."
"We will work together," Eva said softly in her German accented voice as she smiled at her husband.
"You are wonderful Eva," the man said, kissing his wife's cheek.
"Now, you need to get some sleep so that you will be fresh for tonight's experiment," the wife said.
And she stood up and kissed her husband pushed him out of her study as if he were a little boy who did not want to go to bed.
Then she sat down at her desk again and picked up the journal that had the article by Buddy Monroe in it. She laughed out loud and threw the journal in her wastepaper basket.
Her husband was a greater man than Buddy Monroe could ever be, she thought.
Then Eva went back to her own work.
She was preparing an article of her own, a review of some of the latest books on paranoia. But she found it difficult to work that afternoon. Her mind kept wandering as she tried to concentrate on her writing. She kept thinking of the silent redhead who would visit their house that night. She wondered if she would be able to help that redhead. She wondered what it would be like to suffer so much grief that you would not speak for two years, would not utter one sound for all that time. If Harry died, she thought, she would be grief-stricken, but she would be able to speak. She would be able to put her grief into words. Eva knew that that was part of the cure for grief. A person should cry and speak of the things that they had lost. Such emotional upheavals helped to cure the feelings of listless loss' that grief brought. But silence? That was no way to handle grief at all.
Eva tried to take a nap late that afternoon so that she would be ready for the silent redhead, but she could not sleep either. She was too excited by the prospect of what was going to happen that night.
Shortly after midnight, the guards from the prison brought the redhead to the house. Eva looked out the window and saw the young woman get out of the car. She was a beautiful, freckled, big-titted woman but she moved like a zombie. The guards had to lead her into the house and into Harry's office. There the man talked to her, tried to get her to speak to him, and finally gave up. He shoved the paper at her, the paper that she had to sign saying that she agreed to this kind of treatment. She signed it immediately, but she did not seem to know what she was signing. She did not seem to care.
Eva watched all of this from behind a curtain in Harry's office. She had wanted to see this Nancy, this girl who was silent and sad, but Harry did not want Nancy to see Eva until the punishment actually started. When the redhead was taken from the office by Harry and the prison guards, the German psychologist stepped from behind the curtain. She was almost crying herself, for the sight of that silent woman had been almost too much to bear, almost too sad even for a professional such as Eva.
The German woman sniffed back her tears and rushed to her room, where she would prepare for her part in Nancy's ordeal. She had to change into special garments that her husband had ordered for her.
And then she would go into her husband's strange laboratory and help him to give this young woman pain and, they hoped, peace too.
When she was dressed in the way that her husband wanted her, Eva walked slowly, a little nervously, down to the laboratory at the end of a long hall.
She stood outside the door to the laboratory and studied herself in the mirror that hung on the hallway wall. She was in leather, black leather. The leather wrapped around her skull and fit tightly over her blonde hair. Some of that hair was pulled out a hole in the back of the leather headgear and hung like a pony-tail from the back of Eva's head.
The leather covered her long arms and her hands and stretched down over her body. It was a one-piece suit that was tight, very tight, and it made Eva feel strangely sexy at this moment. She had tried the leather on before, when Harry had first gotten the outfit. Then it had only felt tight and a little hot, but now, knowing that she was going into that laboratory to work with that sexy, silent redhead, the German woman felt sexy, so sexy that she thought she would burst. The leather had three large holes cut in the front of it. One was for her face. Another hole bared the lower part of her stomach. But her favoite hole was the one that her big tits jutted out of. As she stood there outside the laboratory, she ran her leathered hand over those tits and felt the softness of her own touch. That made her feel even more excited, even sexier.
And then Eva discovered that she was not nervous any longer. She was excited and she wanted to get into that laboratory so that this action could be started, so that she could begin to held the redhead in her sexy, curing way.
She opened the door and marched into the room.
The room was white, clean and white, just as a laboratory should be. But it did not have the test tubes and beakers and white rats that most laboratories had. It was filled with instruments of torture, contraptions that Harry Blackstone had selected in the best shops of New York City and other, more exotic devices that he had designed and built himself. It was the psychological laboratory of the future, Eva thought as she looked over the material. It was the dawn of a new age in mental health.
Then her German eyes fell on the redhead who stood in the middle of the room.
Nancy was naked and her hands were tied on a beam that ran high over her head. She was on her tip-toes and the muscles in her body were tensed with the pain that she was experiencing, that dull kind of pain that came when a person was left in an uncomfortable position for a long time.
But the young woman did not seem to feel the pain at all. At least, her eyes did not show the pain. Eva studied those eyes. They were green and shining but they stared straight ahead as if the girl were sitting in a theater, watching a play that bored her.
But Nancy was looking at Eva. The German woman wondered if the redhead really saw her, if her dead brain actually registered the fact that there was a giant woman in leather coming toward the young woman who hung from the beam. She could not tell. Nancy's eyes told her nothing.
A trained psychologist, Eva knew that the eyes revealed all, that a doctor could learn a lot by looking at a patient's eyes. Working with paranoids, Eva saw that their eyes often gave away their mental condition, even when the patients were too frightened to admit their inner feelings to a doctor. A paranoid person's eyes darted about and never concentrated or even focused' on any one object. They looked like balls that were falling in pinball machines, being batted about by objects that kept them moving, kept them ringing the brain with fear as the paranoid score totaled up. They always wanted to see everything, to make sure that no one or nothing could sneak up on them and get them, capture them, kill them.
But Eva had never seen eyes like Nancy had. They were dead eyes. The young woman did not even blink for minutes at a time. Her body was tensed and slightly contorted in pain but her eyes, her expression showed nothing. And her mouth did not open. She did not make one sound.
Eva walked up to the girl and stared into those eyes. Her body was close to Nancy's. Her big tits were touching the "redhead's flesh. But still Nancy did not seem to notice her. She seemed to look at Eva and see nothing, nothing at all.
Eva turned her head slightly and glanced at Harry, her husband, the man whose theories they were trying to prove. The man with the patch nodded his head, giving his wife the signal. She should start with the act, with the things and the words that she and Harry had planned out days ago as they looked over the girl's psychological file.
Then the German woman again looked deep into Nancy's eyes, those dead eyes that seemed to haunt everything that they looked at but did not really see.
"You are a lesbian, Nancy," the woman said, speaking in her German accent. "You are a lesbian and a criminal. You fell in love with other women,- other lesbians, other criminals, and then you watched them die as the bullets whizzed past you. But you did not die. You were not even hurt. And, after your lovers died, bleeding on the ground in Oklahoma, you gave up because you did not want to bleed. You did not want the bullets to hurt and kill you as they had killed your lovers. What were their names, Nancy? Who were those women who died? Who were your lovers?"
The young redhead did not answer. She just looked ahead of her, looked right through the
German woman who stood there in the leather outfit.
Eva slapped Nancy hard across the face.
She yelled at the redhead.
"Who were they, bitch? Who were the ones that you left behind you, dead on the Oklahoma ground?"
The young woman's head moved to the side when she was slapped but then shot back and the dead, green eyes stared straight ahead again.
After slapping the girl, Eva felt her hand tingle in the leather. She hated those green eyes suddenly. She did not want them looking at her like that.
"Doris?" she asked in a snarl, mentioning the name of one of the women who been killed in Oklahoma, who had robbed banks with Nancy.
The girl said nothing. She did not even seem to hear the name of her dead friend.
"Jenny?" Eva asked.
Still, nothing from Nancy.
Eva slapped the redhead again, once, twice, three times, slapping her face from one side and then the other, using both of her leathered hands. But still the girl did not seem to notice anything.
"Bitch!" Eva cried. "Speak .of your friends, of your lesbian lovers! Speak of those women who were killed by the cops! Speak of the women that you forsook!"
But the redhead spoke of nothing.
Eva's hands were tingling from the slapping that she had given the redhead, and something else was tingling too. Her cunt was erupting with juices inside that leather outfit. Eva took a few deep breaths and tried to calm herself, tried to get he mind off her own pussy. But she had trouble doing that. The leather seemed so hot and so tight. She wanted to take that leather off and smash her naked body against the redhead's body. Maybe that would make Nancy talk, she thought. Maybe she needed some feminine body moving against her own to remind her of what she had had at one time when she robbed banks in Oklahoma.
But she could not give the redhead sex and lust and love. She knew that. She knew that her husband had figured out that this redhead needed violence, needed pain, needed to get that grief out of her by feeling physical pain.
Eva and Harry had already worked out what they would do with this young woman, what Eva would do next. The German woman took a deep breath and closed her eyes and went to work on Nancy. She prepared herself for the pain that she would give the sexy, silent woman.
The big German woman put her arms around the redhead's freckled body and lifted Nancy, lifted her into the air. Again, Nancy made no sound, did not even seem to notice that her feet were off the floor, that she was being held by a strong, big, sexy woman in leather.
Eva lifted Nancy until the redhead's tit was next to her face, until the nipple touched Eva's sexy, dry mouth. Then the psychologist looked at her husband, seeking guidance, seeking the direction and self-confidence that only Harry could give her. Harry nodded his head again.
The German woman felt her cunt quiver as she moved that nipple to her mouth and sucked that pinkness into her. She sucked on the nipple until it grew hard and elongated in her lips. Then Eva took her mouth off the nipple and looked at it for a second. She knew what she had to do. She understand the pain that she would have to give this silent woman.
And she found that, now, she wanted to give that woman pain. She wanted to make that silent redhead cry out in agony. She wanted to hear some sound come from that woman's lips.
The nipple was hard, bumpy, long, and a bit of the pink flesh was sticking out.
Eva moved her mouth close to that nipple and, holding the redhead up in her arms, feeling Nancy's freckled flesh against her leather, she bit that nipple with her even, white, German teeth.
She bit it hard and brutally, but the redhead did not make a sound. Eva could feel the woman's body tense a little with the first pain, but then it relaxed again and, as Eva bit down on the nipple more ferociously, the redhead did not even seem to know that it was happening. Her body was as limp as a rag.
Eva felt the salty taste roll into her mouth and knew that the woman's nipple was bleeding. The taste of blood repulsed her. She took her mouth off the nipple and dropped Nancy and let her hang there. Eva looked at the eyes and found that they were still dead, still staring straight ahead, as if nothing had happened to shake the sexy redhead out of her boredom.
Eva could not stand looking at that woman. She could not stand the sight of those eyes and the sight of that blood that trickled down from the woman's nipple. That blood, Eva thought, was also in her own mouth and she wanted to wash her mouth out, to get rid of the blood that was there.
"I am sorry, Harry," she said, almost weeping with her anger at herself. "I can't do any more to her, not now."
And then the German psychologist ran from the laboratory.
CHAPTER THREE
Harry Blackstone found his giant, German wife lying on the bed, crying. She had taken off her leather outfit and was naked.
Harry had taken the time to take the silent, hanging redhead down from the beam and cared for her wounded tit. Then he had taken the girl back to the cell in the basement where he kept all of his experimental subjects until he was sure that they had been cured.
When he had made sure that Nancy was as comfortable as she would ever be, Harry ran up the stairs and into his bedroom. There he found Eva. He sat down on the bed to console his weeping wife.
"It is all right," the man with the patch said, rubbing his wife's back as she heaved her body with sobs. "It is all right, Eva. She is a difficult case. We will have to work with her for several sessions."
The German woman turned her face toward her husband.
"I had blood in my mouth," she sobbed.
"I know," Harry said, trying to soothe his wife. "You will get used to that, Eva."
"My god!" the woman shouted. "I have failed as a psychologist! I am no help to you at all!"
"No," Harry said, lying down next to his wife and pulling her to him so that he could speak to her with a whisper, as if they were making love. "You will be of great help to me, Eva. You have a difficult case there with Nancy. You will have to work with her a lot, and I will have to help you."
The German wife did not protest. She knew that Harry was probably correct, but she wondered if she would ever be able to be of any real help to him. That blood in her mouth had nauseated her, had sickened her, had made her want to throw up.
She looked at Harry through her tears and saw her handsome husband smile at her.
"You can help me tonight," he said. "I have another subject coming in tonight, and she will not be all that difficult. She is just a nineteen-year-old dope addict and hooker."
"Nineteen?" the woman asked.
"Well, she says that she is nineteen. But the people at the jail don't believe her. They think that she is probably sixteen at the most. But you know how hookers are. You can't believe them."
Eva closed her eyes and thought about that, a teen-aged dope addict and hooker. She had not heard about that case before. Her husband had not given her any details on this girl.
Harry seemed to read her mind as he lay there next to her and held her.
He explained the situation to Eva:
"Her name is Jill and she has been arrested several times for selling her little body to men. But she seems to show no remorse at all. She laughs at cops and judges and jail personnel when they try to tell her that she is going right down the road to ruin. She laughs at them, but she does not life when she is thrown into a cell where she can't get her regular fix. Then she cries, and she gots through cold turkey and shakes the habit. When they let her go, she swears that she is going to lay off the heroin, but they usually arrest her again in a month of so and she is peddling her ass and she has fresh needle marks in her arms. And she laughs at them again."
"How can I help?" Eva asked.
"Her profile, the one that I got just this afternoon when the people at the jail saw her in her cell again and thought that I might be able to help her, says that she is the daughter of a whore. And she seems to have a mother fixation. She claims that her mother never cared about her at all. She says that her mother just let her grow up on the street while she was fucking Johns all over town."
"So I will play the part of her mother," Eva guessed.
"Yes," the husband said. "This one should be easy. According to my suspicions, she needs to have a mother to treat her harshly so that she can believe that her mother cares for her, cares enough to give her punishment. You can be that mother, Eva."
Eva tried to imagine what it would be like, treating this teen-aged girl like a piece of shit, torturing her as a mother should. The big, German woman was still lying on her stomach, but she felt her pussy quake and her juices began to flow as she considered all of the possibilities.
That night, both Eva and Harry were sitting the office when the guards from the jail brought the girl into their place of torture and cure.
Eva looked the girl over carefully as Harry talked to her, explaining the methods that he would like to use on this young thing in order to help her.
But the girl did not seem to care about what Harry was saying to her. She just laughed and laughed. She giggled like a little girl who had gotten into the family liquor cabinet and had taken a little too much whiskey. But Eve knew that she was more troubled than that. She knew that Jill's giggles were caused by drugs, by heroin. Eva had worked with drug addicts before, and they often giggled like that and threw themselves around in a chair as if they were on fire when they were high. And this young thing was still high. She had been in jail for nearly a day and she was still high. Eva knew that she must have taken a large dose of heroin before she was arrested.
Jill giggled until Harry mentioned her mother.
And then the young thing-Eva knew that the people at the jail were right; this girl was certainly not nineteen years old- sat stiffly in the chair and her eyes burned with hatred.
"Don't talk about that fucking bitch!" the young girl yelled. "She never gave a shit about me!"
"Well, we give a shit about you," Harry said. "My wife and I care a great deal about you, Jill."
When Harry mentioned his wife, he pointed at Eva, who sat on the sofa on the other side of the room. The teen-aged girl turned and looked at the giant, sexy woman. She inspected Eva as if she were a customer in a store and was considering buying Eva for cash.
Then Jill looked at Harry again.
"She doesn't give a shit about me," she snarled, pointing at Eva. "I can tell. She is just like my fucking whore mother. All she wants to do is fuck men, any kind of man, and drink her gin and fall asleep. She takes money for fucking men and she does not give a shit about me. She does not try to help me grow up. She just sends me out on the streets and tells me to get lost when she has one of her fucking men over."
"No," Eva said softly, "I would not do that to you, Jill. I care about you. I would like to help you grow up and be a good girl."
"Too late now," the girl snarled at Eva. "You had your fucking chance and you blew it, you worthless bitch."
In her drug-soaked brain, Eva had become her mother. The big, German woman looked at her husband and smiled. She knew what Harry was thinking, that this confusion in the girl's mind would help them, that this confusion of Eva with her mother would make the punishment that Jill got from Eva even more meaningful, even better for her.
Eva studied the girl some more. Jill was very sexy, although she already looked hard, as if she had lived a lot during her few. years on earth, as if she had experienced a lot of the vague pain that most of their experimental subjects had felt.
But the girl tried to look young. She probably knew that that would make her more money when she worked as a whore. She wore her hair up in pigtails. But the hardness in her eyes would not allow her to be a young girl, a fresh and innocent thing. The hardness in her eyes told Eva exactly what this girl was, a troubled hooker, a whore before her time.
The German woman's heart went out to the young thing. She wanted to help the girl. She wanted to hurt her and help her to regain her youth.
Jill started giggling again. She giggled as she signed the paper giving Harry permission to beat the shit out of her. She ran her eyes over that paper. The girl was not completely senseless. She knew what she was agreeing to.
"Nothing special," she said. "Guys have knocked me around a lot in my life."
And then she giggled again.
But Jill did not know that this, indeed, would be something special. No guy was going to knock her around and hurt her on this night. She was going to be tortured by a woman, a woman that she had already confused with her mother, a woman who would give her what she had wanted since she was a little girl.
Harry led Jill down the hallway to the laboratory. He would prepare her for the experiment. Eva went into her bedroom to change into another costume, another special thing that Harry had ordered for her.
Eva put the leather garters around her bare arms, and she wore similar leather things on her wrists. She looked at that leather after she had put it on her body. She noticed the little ridges, the studs in the leather that made the giant, German woman look even tougher and more domineering. Then she slipped on the brief leather panties and played for a moment with the metal clasp that was in front of the panties covering her pussy. The metal was cold on her cunt, and Eva did not want that. So she pulled the metal clasp off and let her pussy go bare.
The woman studied herself in the bedroom mirror and smiled. She looked like a good mother, she thought, and, for the first time in her life, she regretted that she and Harry had decided to devote their lives to their careers, had decided not to have children.
Then Eva went into the laboratory and looked at the special set-up that Harry had prepared for this experiment. He was a good psychologist. Although his theories remained constant, he changed his methods and his equipment with every patient, in order to fit the girl that he was trying to help. He gave a lot of thought to these individual changes, and Eva felt very proud of him when she saw how much trouble Harry went to for his patients.
Jill was tied to a wooden pole that had a another piece of wood jutting from the top of it. A metal clasp was around one of her wrists and ropes were twisted around her arms. Her arms were twisted up and she was held tightly against the pole. The soft hair under her arms matched the color of the hair over her little pussy. She was naked, of course.
And she was still giggling with drugged mindlessness.
But she stopped giggling when she saw Eva, standing there in her leather panties and her leather bracelets. Harry was standing next to his wife at the door. He handed Eva the pliers that he expected her to use on Jill. They had talked about the special punishment that this girl deserved, that this girl needed.
Jill studied the giant, sexy woman who approached her with the terrible instruments in her hands. She opened her mouth and sighed one word, a word that meant that the healing had already begun.
"Mother," the girl said.
And she did not say it with hate. She did not say it with brutal hissing. Eva sensed the love in her voice as she called the professional psychologist mother. Eva seemed to read the teen-ager's mind. Jill could not admit that she loved her mother because her mother was finally going to give her the treatment that she deserved. Her mother was going to show her that she cared deeply about the girl.
Eva moved toward the girl with the pliers held up in front of her face. She wanted Jill to see those pliers. She wanted the girl to see what kind of treatment she was going to get from her loving mother. As she walked toward the girl, she spoke to her with cruel words. But her voice was not cruel. Her voice was not harsh. Her voice was not angry. She used a loving tone, the kind of tone that a mother would use when she had to disciple a child in order to protect that child from things that were bad in the world, things that would destroy the child slowly if the child did not learn what was good for her. "I love you, my daughter," Eva said, "but I must hurt you. I must torture you because you are the only thing that I have. You must understand, daughter, that this torture is good for you, that it will show you that you should not be a no-good whore as I am, that you must be a good girl, the kind of girl that any mother would want. I am a whore, but you will not be one, even if I have to kill you to keep from being a mother of a little prostitute. Do you understand?"
Jill's eyes actually filled with tears as she listened to the woman in leather, the cruel but kind woman speaking to her..
"Mother," she sobbed with joy, "I understand. I understand it all."
Eva walked to Jill and reached out and touched the teen-ager's firm, ripe tits. She massaged them lovingly.
The professional psychologist was anxious to get this ordeal started. She thought that she would prove herself to her husband with this punishment that she planned for the girl. She would prove that she was worthwhile as a researcher, as a psychologist, as a mother of a teen-aged whore. She kept thinking of the way that she had run out of the laboratory the day before, when she had tasted Nancy's blood in her mouth. She was still ashamed that she had done that. She wanted to repay her husband for the way that she had failed him that morning.
"I love you, my daughter," she said softly as she rubbed the tits.
Jill's eyes closed and she tilted her young face back and moaned.
"I understand, Mother," she said softly. "Torture me. Show me that you care."
And then Eva started to squeeze the little tits tightly in her hands. The girl winched with the pain that her mother was giving to her in order to protect her. She understood that this was good for her. She understood that this was what she needed. She accepted the pain from her mother's hands.
And Eva's motherly voice changed as she began to curse and hiss at the teen-aged hooker.
"You fucking little whore," she said. "You worthless little shit. I am a whore but that is no reason why you should be a whore. You will be a good girl if I have to beat the badness out of you, you piece of crap, you hot-pussied bitch, you cock-sucking, little twat."
"Yes, Mother," Jill moaned in pain. "I love you. You are correct."
Eva took her hands away from the girl's tits and the teen-ager sighed with relief. Then Eva picked up the pliers that she had dropped on the floor before she had started to give the girl the pain that she needed. She put those pliers on the hair under the girl's arms. She glanced at Harry, her intelligent husband, and waited for him to nod to her. When he did, she smiled. She was doing this for Harry, the German woman reminded herself. She was doing this to prove his theories about pain and punishment and the healing that it could bring to girls who had known pain all of their lives. Then she started to yank at the hair under the girl's arms.
The teen-ager screamed and tensed her body, but Eva knew that this girl sensed that the pain was good for her.
Jill screamed and cried but she also spoke to the woman that she had confused with her mother.
'Thank you," she gasped from time to time as the woman pulled the hair under her arm out of her sensitive pores, giving her just the kind of treatment that the little, teen-aged hooker deserved and desired.
As the pain increased in the girl's head, she finally shouted out the words that Eva and Harry both longed to hear, the words that showed that the pain was helping her, that she was learning something from this ordeal that would make her a better woman when she grew up, that would allow her to grow up and not wind up lying dead in some alley by the time she was twenty.
"Mother!" Jill cried. "I understand! I love you! You love me! I will be a good girl now! I promise!"
Harry watched with admiration and grinned at his wife when Jill made that promise. Of course, he knew that Jill was not completely cure, that there would have to be a few more sessions with her mother figure in order to make sure that the pain had sank deep into her brain, deep enough to make a real difference in the girl's life.
But Harry and Eva were well on their way to another success and they both knew it.
And Harry knew that their experiences with Jill would prove once more that his theories, the ones that they had laughed at the institute, were good and true and valuable in the treatment of feminine offenders.
CHAPTER FOUR
The next night, Eva and Harry were ready to work with Nancy, the sexy, silent redhead, again.
And Eva was determined not to let her husband down this time. She was going to show Harry that she was a good helpmate and a good researcher too.
She was surprised when Harry showed her a new costume, one that he had just gotten especially for that night. She was surprised and thrilled to when she looked at that costume.
"I had this sent to us especially for Nancy," the psychologist explained. "I think that she will react to it in a good way. This may make the difference. At least, it is worth a try."
It was a leather costume just like the one that she had worn that first night with the silent girl. Well, Eva thought, not just like it. There was one difference and it was a difference that could make all the difference in the world. When Eva looked at it and thought of the sexy, silent woman who waited for her ordeal without even knowing what she was waiting for, the German woman became excited. She felt her own pussy pulse with fever. She wanted to get that costume on and try it out on Eva.
This leather costume had one added attraction. There was a huge, black dildo sticking out of the front of it.
Eva knew without being told that she was supposed to put that leather costume of and use that dildo on the redhead.
And she found that idea rushing through her brain like a fire in dry grass. She yearned to get this one started, this session with the woman who attracted her with her silence. She wanted to fuck that woman as a man would fuck her. And Eva was surprised by her own yearnings, for she had never given any thought to women loving and fucking women before. Harry seemed to read that excited need in his giant wife's eyes. He grinned and her and turned to walk out of the bedroom but he threw the last words over his shoulder as he left.
"Nancy will be ready in just a few minutes," he said. "I would not want either of you to have to wait."
Eva put on the costume and walked nervously to the laboratory. She stood out in the hallway for a moment before she entered the white room, the room where she would be thrilled and where she would prove herself. She ran her hand over the long, black prick. It was hard, harder than any male cock that she had ever felt.
And she had felt quite a few, she thought with a smile. When she had been a young girl in Germany, she had gained quite a reputation as a fucker, as a giant, sexy lover that men wanted to try out. But she had not fucked any other man since she had met Harry. She was happy with him. He was the best stud that she had ever had, she thought.
But then the idea came to her, the thought that had troubled her for so long in recent weeks. Harry had gotten all wrapped up in his therapy sessions and he had not made love to
Eva as a husband should in several days. It seemed to the giant, German woman that she was losing her one-eyed husband, that she was losing him to his work and to his experimental subjects, to those women that he worked with when he tried to prove his theories.
Usually, she did not mind. She worked with those women too and she knew that she gained some pleasure from the sight of their naked, pain-wracked bodies. But she also wanted her husband. She wanted Harry to fuck her as he did in the old days, when they worked together at the Institute.
Perhaps, she hoped, this session would excite Harry. Perhaps she could fuck the redhead with her huge, black dildo and give Harry such a show that he would want to fuck her. Eva hoped so. She remembered the wonderful way that Harry fucked, and she wanted to experience that again.
Eva took a deep breath and opened the door to the white, medical room, the laboratory of torture. She moved into the room in her leather, walking carefully because the prick that was jutting out from her costume took some getting used to.
She stopped inside the room and looked down on the sexy, silent woman.
Nancy lay naked on the floor with her arms thrown back and her wrists chained to the floor. Her legs were open, but her ankles were not fixed.
And Nancy had been shaved. Her twat was as bare as a baby's bottom.
It looked so sexy like that, Eva thought, like something new and fresh and wholesome in a strange way. It looked like a little hole that invited fucking by its very presence.
Jill was on a section of the floor that was raised up. Eva immediately reckoned the height and knew that she would be able to fuck that shaved cunt with her dildo while standing up.
She looked at her husband again. The black patch was over his eye, but the one good eye, the clear, blue eye was filled with passion for her. Eva could sense that and she remembered that she wanted to fuck her husband again. She wanted to thrill him and excite him and give him lust by giving him this great show between her and the redhead.
And then she looked at the hairless cunt again and knew that this cunt was very important to her. It was everything that she needed to change her life for the better, she thought. She moved toward the naked redhead with her big, black cock jutting out and ready for action.
Standing between the silent woman's legs, Eva looked down on her. The green eyes were still dazed and Nancy did not seem to know what was happening to her. She did not seem to care either. She was just lying there, accepting the world with her silence, accepting everything that came by. She did not even seem to see that woman with the big, black cock, that leather cock that was so big and that was meant for her.
Eva put her hands on the silent woman's flesh and spread her legs and moved close to Nancy.
"Remember the women that you left behind?" Eva asked, with her voice harsh and demanding. She was trying to get the silent woman's attention, trying to do something that no one else had been able to do in months. "Remember those lesbian lovers that you? Did any of them have a cock like this one, like the one that I have? Nancy? Nancy! Look at my fucking cock! I am going to fuck you with this cock and make you come! I am going to make you come more than your dead lovers could ever make you come! You bitch, listen to me! Speak to me! Tell me that you like my big, black cock, you slut!"
Just as she had done in the earlier session, the silent redhead who seemed to recognize nothing was making Eva angry. She just stared up at the ceiling. She did not even seem to hear what the German woman was saying. She did not react to anything. She did not even seem to be alive. That made Eva want to fuck her with anger, with anger because she wanted the sexy, naked, clean-pussied woman to recognize her existence in the universe. She would have to make Nancy recognize her if she wanted to help her husband, if she wanted to make him passionate and loving toward her.
Eva leaned over the redhead's body and slapped the young woman's face hard with her hand. But, still, Nancy seemed to feel nothing, recognize nothing, know nothing.
"Fucking silent bitch!" Eva hissed at the woman.
Then the giant, German woman spread the redhead's legs and growled with a deep and animalistic sound. As she growled, she rammed that big, black cock into the silent woman's shaved pussy.
Because the cunt was hairless, Eva could watch the cock got into the lips. She dug in deeply, ramming the cock in up to the hilt. She knew that the cock was stuffing the pussy. She knew that the girl must be feeling something, perhaps even pain. But Nancy did nothing. She did not even moan. She just lay on the raised-up floor and looked at the ceiling. Eva battered her pussy with the fake cock that jutted out from the leather suit, and the German woman felt her big tits heaving with passion as she did it, but the redhead made no sound, no movement. She just accepted all with no recognition at all.
"Fucking bitch!" Eva screamed, truly angry with the redhead now.
But she was feeling something else too, something besides anger and a certain despair that she had not gotten through to Nancy yet. Eva was also feeling lust. The black cock that drove deep into the silent woman's pussy was working against Eva's cunt too. The root of the black, fake, big thing was slamming against the German woman's clit. As she fucked the silent woman, as she cursed that woman who would not respond to her, she threw her head back and felt her own orgasm coming.
"Fucking bitch," she growling. "Mindless, silent, lesbian slut."
But the words did not really capture the emotions that were running through the giant woman's head. Those emotions were heated with lust as the back of the leather cock worked against her clitoris.
And Eva was grabbing at her -own big tits with one of her Jeather hands. She did not need to use both hands on Nancy, to keep the legs spread, to keep the girl from churning away from her there on that floor. Nancy was not moving at all. She lay like a dead redhead on the hard, white floor and let the fucking go on and on and let the words, the snarls of the
German woman pass over her as if they were just so much wind, so much wild and sexy air.
And then Eva came. She squealed with her own orgasm and she looked at her husband with tears in her eyes. Harry was frowning. She had done something that had offended him. The giant woman could not understand what that was, and she was suddenly frightened of her one-eyed, sexy husband. That fright and that uneasiness mixed with the warmth of her lust, the last bit of her orgasm and sent a chill through her body. Eva shivered in her leather.
As soon as her orgasm began to peter out, Eva pulled the cock quickly out of the silent woman's cunt and turned to face her husband. She sensed the anger in Harry's eye and she 'knew that she had done something wrong.
The man walked toward the door and opened it.
"Eva," he said firmly, "I want to talk to you out here."
And the giant followed the little, muscular man, her husband and her leader, out the door.
When they were in the hallway, Harry reached up and slapped his wife's face.
"Don't get involved,-Eva," he said, like a principal of a school who was talking to an unruly pupil, a student who had let him down. "Don't enjoy it. Do you think that I enjoy it when I have to work with these students?"
And before the giant, German woman could stop herself, she had answered her husband's question truthfully.
"Yes," she said. "I do think that you enjoy it, Harry."
"What?"
"You enjoy it so much that you don't even want to fuck me any longer, and I am your wife. You must always remember that and you must always remember that I love you and yearn for you. You never want to fuck me at all because you enjoy working with these women so much that you do not need to fuck me."
"Bitch," Harry hissed.
And then the man turned around and walked back into the laboratory. He slammed the door and left Eva standing like a giant orphan in the loneliness of the hallway.
He had not denied it, she thought. He had not said that he did not enjoy mastering these women in the name of psychology and science. He could not deny it, because he knew that it was true. Her husband was an innovator, something of a genius, she reminded herself, but he was also a man with sexual drives that she no longer understood.
And he had slapped her. He had told her that she had done something wrong just because she had wanted to help him, just because she had done what he told her to do and then had gotten carried away with her own pent-up lust.
Eva could not decide if she hated her husband at that moment or loved him. And then she realized that she probably had both emotions churning up inside her, confusing her and making her angry with herself because her thoughts did not make any sense to anyone, least of all herself.
And she was a trained psychologist.
She also hated the silent redhead who had lain there and taken that big, black cock up her pussy and had not reacted at all. She hated that woman and yet she was grateful to Nancy to her. At least, Eva thought, the redhead had given her an orgasm. That was more than Harry had done in the last few weeks.
Feeling all of that love and that hate and that confusion in her system, Eva was suddenly very sleepy. She turned and walked down the hallway to the bedroom. She would take off her leather and her cock, she thought, and then she would go to sleep.
Maybe when she woke up, she would not hate or love anyone any more. Maybe when she woke up, she would be very normal and very calm and she would know just how she felt about every human being in her life. But she needed to sleep, to get rid of that numb feeling that had come to her with her orgasm and her husband's wrath.
She wrapped her hand around the big cock and held it as she walked down the hallway to her bedroom. She liked the feel of that cock. It seemed warm, and she knew that it had been a long time since she had felt any warmth at all.
CHAPTER FIVE
Harry Blackstone looked at the new prisoner who had been sent to him and knew that he would handle her by himself.
Eva had become very strange over the last few days, he thought, since he had hit her and she had accused him of enjoying what he did with these women. And Harry had become worried about her-and himself too. When she had mentioned it, when she had accused him, Harry had confronted for the first time his own emotions. He did enjoy watching these women twist in agony. He did enjoy knowing that they were suffering pain. But he had always thought before that it was strictly a professional happiness that he felt, for he knew that these women were helping him to prove that he was correct in his theories about pain as a psychological cure.
He had thought that, but now he sensed that there was something else in there too, something that made him feel a certain lust for the women who were writhing in their painful ordeals. After all they were naked and most of them were attractive, and Harry Blackstone was a man, who had manly emotions and desires.
But that did not seem to be the simple answer.
And he worried because his own emotions seemed to come from no simple thing.
As he looked at the woman who sat before him now in his office, he tried to concentrate on her and not on himself. He looked down again at the file that he had received from the prison.
This woman was a hard case. She had murdered her husband and his lover, and she was serving a life term in prison for the crime.
According to her file, this woman's crime had not been simple either. It had not been the crime of passion and jealousy that juries and judges often think of when they want to be easy on a convicted murderer.
No, things had not been that simple.
Her name was Molly, and she and her husband had been members of a swingers' club. They had often gone to wife-swapping parties and they had enjoyed themselves with other couples who liked the same kind of fun that they did.
That, in itself, had not be the crime, but it had led to the crime. Harry glanced up at the woman who sat there before him. She frowned but she was patiently waiting for him to finish his re-reading of her file.
According to that file, Molly was bi-sexual and she had fallen for another woman, the wife of her husband's best friend. That couple also indulged in kinky, adventurous sex, and the husbands like to watch Molly and the other woman make love to each other before the men joined in for a full round of solid fucking. But then something strange had happened. Molly's husband had also fallen in love with that woman, so much in love with her that he could not. stand to think about sharing her with anyone else, not even Molly.
He started meeting the woman in motel rooms in the afternoon. Molly's husband and Molly's favorite lesbian lover became a traditional cheating couple. And, when Molly found out about that cheating from another friend who saw them in a motel parking lot, she had become incensed with the idea that her husband was stealing her lover away from her.
She had carefully planned a way to get rid of both of them, for they had both hurt her deeply. She told her husband that she was going away for a couple of days, knowing that the man would probably invite his lover over for a little feast of lust in his own bedroom, the one that he shared with Molly. Then Molly watched the house and waited for them to come there, and, sure enough, her husband and her lesbian lover showed up one afternoon. They went into the house. Molly sat in the car that she had rented across the street from the house and waited until she knew that they would probably be naked and fucking. Then she went into the house too.
What she had done in that house had been brutal, so brutal that the judge and the jury in her case could not believe that a woman was really capable of such an act.
She had stabbed both her husband and her lover while they fucked in the bed. She had stabbed both of them several times and then she worked diligently for a couple of hours, cutting their bodies up into smaller pieces. But she did not do that in order to hide the bodies. She did not mind being caught. In fact, after she had cut them up, she had called the husband of her lover and had invited him over for a drink. When the man arrived, she said that she wanted to fuck him and that man had been eager to go to bed with Molly, just as he had done so often in the swinging club.
Molly had taken the husband into the bedroom and there he had seen his wife and her husband, dead, butchered, mutilated. Molly had started to laugh when he screamed. She continued to laugh as he called the police.
Her lawyer had tried an insanity defense, but Molly would not help him. She said that she was completely rational, that she had known what she was doing and that she had known that killing those people was wrong when she did it. She added something that made some members of the jury gasp. She had not murdered her husband and her' lover because she was jealous of the man. She was jealous of the woman, she said.
She was convicted of murder in the first degree and sentenced to life imprisonment. But the prison authorities had not been so sure that justice had been served. They thought that Molly was sick and that she might be helped by Harry Blackstone's new kind of therapy.
As Harry explained the therapy to Molly, the woman listened carefully. She seemed completely rational, completely at ease with the one-eyed man who talked so poetically and clinically about pain. She nodded her head from time to time in agreement. And, when he had shoved the paper in front of her, the release form that would allow him to work his therapy on her, she had signed it with ease. Then she had smiled at him. "Let's do it," she said.
When she said those words, Harry thought of another murderer who had used that same phase just before he was executed by firing squad. He did not know if Molly was thinking of that man. Probably she was not, he thought. But Harry found it interesting because he knew that Molly was not going to be executed. She was going to be put through hell in order to be cured.
Harry led Molly to the laboratory. There, she had stripped for him, helping him in any way that she could. She did not seem to be frightened or even uneasy, even though she understood completely what was going to happen to her. Harry led Molly to the elaborate contraption that he had set up just for her. She inspected it with a strange lack of emotion, he thought, as if she were a housewife who was buying meat in the supermarket.
Harry Blackstone touched the woman's bare arm and led her to her place on top of the little box that he had set up for her.
Within a few moments, she was fixed on that box.
Molly squatted there with her wrists and her ankles tied together over a huge, round dildo. She sat easily on that dildo, letting the thing rest at the opening of her ass. She looked at the little post that stuck up in front of her, at the metal wires with the rings on the end of them. She studied them without any sign of fear or passion and waited for Harry to fix those rings to her body. She did not seem to care at all.
And Harry could not help himself. He had to ask her the question.
"Aren't you frightened?"
"No," she said, "I deserve it. I loved a woman who did not love me."
And then Molly was silent, so silent that she chilled Harry. Nancy's silence was different, he thought. He was not even sure that that redhead realized what was happening to her. Molly, however, knew what she could expect from this man. She just did not seem to care.
Harry thought that that not caring was just a pose, and he was sure that he could make her care in just a few moments, in just a few seconds, when he attached those rings to her.
He moved close to her and did it quickly, expertly, so that she would not be able to squirm around too much before the rings were in her.
And then she cared. She gasped and she screamed and she looked at Harry and cursed him with a snarl.
"You fucker," she said. "You worthless fucker."
Two of the rings had been fastened into her nipples and they pulled her tits out from her body as she swayed there in her squatting position. Her eyes filled with tears as she felt the tension and the pain move through her, but she had to hold herself in that position. If she fell, she knew that she would tear her nipples off. The rings were run all the way through those pink things.
And the other rings were in the lips of her vagina, spreading her cunt apart and holding it like that.
Molly screamed and screamed and screamed. Now she cared, Harry thought. Now she cared a great deal about what the man was doing to her. Now she knew what real pain was like.
The man with the patch over his eye backed away from her and looked at the woman who was in so much pain as she tried to hold herself in a very uncomfortable, tense position, tried to save her body from more bloody pain.
Harry ran his hand over the crotch of his trousers and felt the hardness there. He was shocked. He knew then that Eva was right. He could not hide it from himself any longer. He enjoyed hurting these women. He got a sexual pleasure from hearing their screams and knowing that he was the reason for those screams, knowing that he was the one who controlled them.
The psychologist began to sweat. The room was suddenly very hot and stuffy. He wanted to leave that room and go to a cool place, but he could not do it. He had stand there and watch this woman who had fucked men, who had made love to women, who had murdered people so brutally. He had to watch her writhe in pain and he had to listen to her scream.
Harry started to unbutton his shirt before he even realized what he was doing. He pulled that shirt off. Maybe, he thought, maybe that would ease the heat that he felt. But it only seemed to add to the heat, the terrible heat that came up from his own, confused, lusting body and mind. He slipped out of his shoes and he yanked his trousers down. He pulled them off with a lustful fury. It was as if Molly were lying in bed and begging him to come and fuck her, he thought. It was as if she were the most desirable woman in the world, the woman he most wanted to fuck. He could not. wait to get his clothes off, to stand naked before her, to feel his body cool in his nakedness and to feel his cock stand out straight from that body and please her as she looked at it.
But, when Harry was naked, when his cock was standing out straight from his body, Molly did not even seem to notice it. She was too busy screaming in pain and trying to hold herself upright to notice anything. She swayed back and forth in her terrible, squatting position and Harry felt very sorry for her. But he felt something else too, something that was not in the least bit professional. He felt his cock growing and he felt the lust in his heart as he stared at her and gasped for air in the suddenly, hot environment of his own making.
Then he grasped his cock and stroked himself with a fever. He was going to jerk off. He knew that it was not right. He knew that it was not professional, that he would later hate himself for doing this. But he could not help it. He was turned on, so turned by the sight of that tortured woman that he had to get rid of this hardness and this heat which built up in his body until he was afraid that he would burst right open with all of that emotion.
And Harry felt guilty too. This was how Eva must have felt when she fucked Nancy, he thought. This must have been the kind of heat that she felt in her head and her body, the uncontrollable passion and lust that seemed to come from something deep inside her, something that had been with her all of her life. And he had hit Eva and had treated her with scorn because she had gotten so carried away. Now he was feeling the same thing and he felt guilty because he had not understood these things when his wife had felt them.
As he watched the woman move in pain over the dildo and as he stroked his cock, Harry also realized that this was just the ultimate, the final orgasmic feeling that topped all of the feelings that he had been having for weeks. He had always treated these women who had been tortured with a lustful manner, although he had been able to mask it until now. He had been able to say that, he was simply professional. He had been able to lie to himself.
But he could lie no longer. He was looking at this woman and he was going to come at any second.
"Please!" Molly screamed. "Help me! Kill me! Let me go! Stop this terrible pain!"
But Harry showed no mercy on the pain-wracked woman. He did not even care any longer if he was doing something that would help her. He did not care if he helped Molly at all. He just wanted to watch her go through her agony and he wanted to come.
My god! he thought. He wanted to come like a volcano!
And then he did.
He tightened his hold on his cock and worked on that thing with a fury as his white semen shot all over the floor in front of him. It seemed to Harry that he was coming in gallons, that he was coming with all of the semen that had been built up in his body over the past few nights. He had built it up by watching those other women in pain, by watching his own wife work on that silent redhead.
Then, as his orgasm ended, he gasped and thought of Eva again and felt the ultimate guilt.
Naked, he fell on the floor and wept and sobbed as he said it softly.
"I am sorry, Eva. You are right."
But he could not even hear his own words, for the sounds of Molly's screams were too much, too loud. They drowned out everything else in that room, that laboratory, that hall of science.
Harry jumped up and went to rescue Molly. He would be a hero now, he thought. He had been the villain before when he clasped those rings onto her tits and her pussy, but now he would be the hero, her hero, Eva's hero.
Harry carefully worked the rings out of Molly's tits and let the blood that spurted from her breasts cover his hands. He cried as he worked the rings out of her vagina lips and then untied her and carried her to the room where he cared for his patients after he had tortured them.
She still screamed as he carried her, and she still bled. Her blood covered Harry Blackstone's naked body.
And he still asked forgiveness softly.
"I am sorry, Eva," he muttered as he carried the screaming, bleeding murderer, "please forgive me. I did not understand."
But now Harry understood. He understood more than he had ever even considered before. He understood that he, too, was human, not just a professional, and he understood that his humanity was jaded with lust for screaming, bleeding, pain-wracked women.
He wondered how he would go about explaining that understanding to his sexy, loving wife.
CHAPTER FIVE
Harry Blackstone did not tell Eva about his discovery. He did not tell her what he had done and what he had felt when he had seen Molly in pain. In fact, he stopped speaking to his giant, German wife altogether.
The psychologist was too ashamed to talk to her. When he met her around the house during the day time, he avoided her gaze and acted as if he were rushing somewhere. He slept in his study and he stayed in that study with the door locked during most of the day. Once or twice, he had seen the knob move, as if someone were trying to get into him, and he knew that Eva was standing out there, alone in the hallway, trying to see him. But he would not get up and unlock the door and she would not knock and ask if she could come in. She had too much German pride for that.
At night, he continued to work alone with his patients, all of them except Nancy. He needed his wife for Nancy, and he did not want to ask her to join him. Without Eva to help him, he noticed that Jill had regressed back to her giggling state. She did not have her mother to torture her and she did not accept the torture from Harry as being meaningful. It was just pain then, and it taught the teen-ager nothing that she wanted to know about life. Harry knew that, sooner or later, he would have to invite his wife to come back into the laboratory and help him, but he wanted to wait as long as he could. He did not want to face Eva right away.
He kept to himself so much that Juan had been around for a couple of days before Harry noticed his presence in the house. He came across the young, dark man with the mustache one afternoon in the hallway and he had stopped that young man.
"What are you doing here?" Harry had asked.
"I work here," Juan said. "What?"
"You must be Mister Blackstone," the young man said. "Yes, I am."
"I am Juan Gondalez," the young man said, grinning and sticking out his hand for Harry to shake it. "Your wife hired me to work around the house, on Wednesday afternoon."
Harry did not shake the hand that the young man extended to him. He just turned and walked away, fuming that Eva had done such a thing without asking his permission. They did not need any young, dark man to work around the house, he thought. But then he remembered that Eva had not had the chance to ask his permission to do anything in the past two weeks. He had been locked in his study and in his laboratory, not speaking to his wife, for that long. Harry glanced back at the young man who stood there in the hallway, trying, no doubt, to figure out this strange, little man with the patch over one eye. The young man was tall and handsome in a seedy sort of way, Harry thought, and he began to wonder if Eva was fucking that young man, if that was the reason that she had really hired this Juan to work at the house.
Well, what if she is fucking him? Harry did not care. He had his work, his patients, his experiments.
But, when he was inside his study, when he had locked the door, he sat down on his sofa and put his head in his hands and started to weep.
He did care. He loved his wife. He had hurt her and scorned her and now he was ashamed to talk to her, but he loved her, and he wanted to find some way to let her know that. But he could think of no way to tell her without shoing her that he enjoyed hurting those women, and he was too ashamed of that to show anyone, especially Eva.
That night, the jail sent over a new patient for him. This one was a blonde, a pretty woman named Beverly. And Beverly was pregnant, very pregnant.
Harry looked over her file. Beverly was in jail on a kidnapping charge. She had not been tried because the psychologists who studied her had never been able to decide if she was competent to stand trial or not. She had kidnapped a little baby because she thought that the baby belonged to her, that she was a mother. She had been arrested and the baby had been returned to its parents. Then the psychologists had talked to her, had disagreed on her sanity and her ability to understand what would be going on during a trial, and then they had lost Beverly in the maze. She had not been taken to a mental institution and she had not be put on trial. She had just been left in her cell.
And, ironical, she had gotten pregnant there.
Beverly had been gang-raped by a batch of jail guards. At least, that was the story that she told. The guards claimed that they had never touched her, that she had made up the whole thing, that she was crazy. But she was pregnant, really pregnant. The doctors who examined her were sure of that. Something had happened in that jail cell, and now the people who ran the jail were so disturbed by her case, were so afraid of public embarrassment if the press found out about the pregnant girl who had been forgotten by the system and left to rot and be raped in a cell, that they sent Beverly to Harry Blackstone. Let Harry Blackstone cure her, they thought. At least that way, they would be rid of her.
And Harry Blackstone took her with pleasure. He read all about her history, and he found one thing very interesting. Beverly had once been a member of a commune of thieves and killers in California. Some of the people that she had lived with were put on trial and convicted of the murder of several people in a strange, almost Satanic massacre. But Beverly had had nothing to do with that massacre. She had been living in the commune at the time but she only took care of the place for the others. She was like a maid for the whole, murderous bunch.
But Harry Blackstone thought that that period of her life might be the basis of her problems, and he vowed to re-enact parts of that massacre for Beverly, to let her play a role in the piece of brutal history that she had missed.
The psychologist did not tell the blonde girl that when he talked to her. He just explained his methods in general and let her sign the paper. She seemed to be rational", to be capable of making a decision in the present. It was the past, her notions about what had happened to her, that was all wrong, all fuzzy. She could not tell what had really happened to her from what she had just imagined. For example, she swore to Harry Blackstone that she had been with the others when they killed those people in that California massacre, although Harry knew from the police reports that she had been nowhere near that mansion when the murders had taken place.
Harry took Beverly down to the laboratory and there he asked her to take her clothes off.
"Are you going to fuck me?" the blonde asked rather innocently. "Are you going to give me a baby."
Harry looked at the swollen belly on the girl, the pregnancy that she refused to admit was there! Then he spoke to her softly and calmly.
"I am not going to fuck you," he said. "I am not going to give you a baby. You already have a baby."
"I know," the blonde said, "but they took that baby away from me and claimed that it did not belong to me at all. I thought it would be nice to have another baby so that I could prove to them that it was mine."
Of course, the baby that had been taken away from her had not been hers, Harry thought. And the baby that was growing in her body did not even seem to be there in her mind. The girl was a strange case.
"You will have a baby soon," Harry said, trying to reassure her. "You are pregnant right now."
When he said that, he thumped on her belly as if it were a watermelon or something like that, as if he were checking to see if the fruit was ripe.
Beverly looked down at the swollen belly. Then she looked up at Harry and shook her head.
"No," she said, "I am not pregnant. They took my baby away from me."
Harry gave up trying to convince her of these obvious truths that were not at all obvious to her. He decided that this girl needed pain, needed to live through that brutal part of her history again. That was the only way that he could help her.
"Please take off your clothes," he said again.
And, this time, the girl did it without hesitation.
Harry had vowed to her that he would not fuck her, but, as she stripped, he thought of what he had planned for her and he felt that old sexual urge coming up in his head again, the one that he tried to fight down every time he was with one of his patients now. He felt it coming up and he knew that he would want to fuck her. She was a very pretty girl. But he also knew that he could not give in to these impulses. That would not be right. That would not be professional.
But she was so white and sexy with her big belly sticking out.
When she was naked, she stood before and stared at him as if she were a child, waiting for something that she did not understand.
She did not even notice the instruments of science, of torture, that surrounded her in that room. They were part of reality and this young woman had obviously given up trying to see reality, trying to understand anything that happened to her.
But she would follow orders now. Harry was certain of that.
He picked up some leather garments and handed them to Beverly.
"Please, put these on," he said.
He wanted her to dress in leather because many of the members of that murderous clan had dressed in leather when they went to kill and massacre the wealthy victims. He also wanted her to dress in leather so that she would not be naked. He did not like looking at her naked, pregnant body. Her white flesh brought back all of those feelings that he tried to suppress. It was becoming more and more difficult for him to act like a professional in these matters, when he was with his patients.
Beverly started to put the things on. Harry had to help her with the headgear. It was a leather cap that came down over her face and around her head. It had a large hold in it and she looked through that hole and breathed through that hole. Harry pulled her long, blonde hair out of another hole in the back of the headgear and the young woman looked like a teenager with a pony-tail when he did that.
She put the leather bands around her arms and pushed them high up her arms until they were tight. Then she slipped on the leather briefs that covered her soft, light-haired pussy.
Finally, she pulled on the heavy, leather boots that came up to her thighs.
When she was dressed, she stood before Harry and looked at him, seeking his approval for the way that she looked in leather.
But Harry did not give Beverly his approval. That was not part of his plan. Instead, he took her hand and led her to the device that he had chosen just for her. It was similar to one that he had seen in the newspapers, similar to one that the band of murderers had carried with them when they went to that mansion a few years before. They had used such a device on a wealthy, famous, beautiful movie star, a woman who had been pregnant at the time.
And, when Harry remembered all of that, he suddenly stopped and looked at Beverly. That was it, he thought. He had it. She would play a part in the ordeal, in the recreation of the terrible massacre, but she would play the role that her friends had played. She would be that movie star, and that way she would work out all of her guilt, all of her terrible feelings that were caused by the fantasy that she had.
She thought that she had played a part in that murder and now she would relive that murder as the victim and that way she would be able to think more clearly, to work out her fantasy guilt with real pain. But she would not have to die as the movie star had died. She would just be hurt.
And that meant that Harry would have to . be the murderous leader of the clam, the man who claimed that he was Christ, the man that his followers had worshipped so much that they were willing to kill for him.
Yes, Harry thought, it all became clear then. she saw it, she gasped. She recognized it too. "I am Sharon, " she muttered.
That was right. She had taken on the role of the movie star in her own head. Somewhere deep in her soul she understood what Harry wanted her to understand. And she was ready for the ordeal that would save her sanity and make her whole again.
The device was a block of wood with a half-circle cut out of it. Spikes were coming out of the crevice that had been formed by that circle. There was a rope at one of end of the block of wood, a rope that would be used for keep a victim on the spikes.
"Kneel over the wood, Sharon," the psychologist said.
And the blonde was so transfixed by the sight of the wood that she could not disobey him. She moved over the spikes and knelt down. One of the spikes was only about an inch from the leather-covered pussy then.
Harry grabbed Beverly's wrists and lifted would just be hurt.
And that meant that Harry would have to be the murderous leader of the clam, the man who claimed that he was Christ, the man that his followers had worshipped so much that they were willing to kill for him.
Yes, Harry thought, it all became clear then.
Then he took Beverly to the device. When she saw it, she gasped. She recognized it too.
"I am Sharon," she muttered.
That was right. She had taken on the role of the movie star in her own head. Somewhere deep in her soul she understood what Harry wanted her to understand. And she was ready for the ordeal that would save her sanity and make her whole again.
The device was a block of wood with a half-circle cut out of it. Spikes were coming out of the crevice that had been formed by that circle. There was a rope at one of end of the block of wood, a rope that would be used for keep a victim on the spikes.
"Kneel over the wood, Sharon," the psychologist said.
And the blonde was so transfixed by the sight of the wood that she could not disobey him. She moved over the spikes and knelt down. One of the spikes was only about an inch from the leather-covered pussy then.
Harry grabbed Beverly's wrists and lifted them high over her head and tied the ropes around the wrists with ease. It was then, when she was bound, when she knew that she was completely at Harry Blackstone's mercy. It was then that Beverly began to sputter.
"No," she stammered. "No. Please, don't. I have a baby."
Harry Blackstone heard that statement and smiled as he stood behind her. She was beginning to experience the kind of ordeal that that movie star had experienced. And she was beginning to get some sort of gasp on reality. But her troubles were not over yet. She was not yet cured. Harry Blackstone said nothing. He turned his back on her and walked to the wall that was near the blonde. He picked up the can of red, blood-like paint and the brush, and he quickly put the words on the white wall.
'The End Bitch," he wrote.
It was what the others had written in their victims' blood, on the walls of the mansion.
When she saw those words, Beverly screamed in fear.
"No! Don't you see! I am going to have a baby! Please, have mercy on me!"
And then Harry Blackstone knew that he had conquered some of her fantasy. She was speaking the words that that movie star might have said when she saw those words on the wall, if she was still alive when the words were painted. But she was also telling the truth about herself. She was pregnant. She was going to have a baby.
She struggled against the ropes that bound her wrists and screamed in fear.
"Please! Have mercy! Have mercy on my unborn child!"
As she struggled, the spikes bit into the leather briefs. Harry Blackstone could tell that that leather was ripping. Each rip was accompanied by another scream from the blonde who was reliving the massacre, who was seeing things for the way that they really were for the first time in years.
And Harry was surprised that he did not feel very much lust toward that blonde now. He was completely, professional, watching her and feeling proud that his theories were working again, that she was being helped.
Then he sensed that she was getting too excited. He had to remember that she was about to give birth in a few weeks. He did not want her to give birth there over the spikes.
So Harry quickly untied her hands and lifted the blonde off the spikes. He carried her to the other side of the room and gently lay her on the floor. She was still screaming.
"Please! My baby! I am going to have a baby!"
Harry held her and tried to soothe by telling her the truth about herself.
"Yes," he murmured in her ear. "You are going to have a baby, but you are not Sharon. You are Beverly. You did not do it. You did not take part in that terrible thing that was done to Sharon."
And then the blonde stopped screaming and cried, wept on his shoulder. He held her while she did that. He held her until she pushed away from him and looked up at him through her tears.
"I was not there," she said. "I did not have anything to do with that."
"Yes," he said, reassuring her and letting her know that she was finally moving into reality.
"But I am going to have a. baby," she said.
"Yes."
"I am not guilty."
"No, you are not guilty."
"I have to think of my baby. It will be a pretty baby."
"Yes, it will be a pretty baby."
The blonde was too weak with discovery to undress herself. So Harry had to her pull the leather off her pregnant, white body. He helped her strip and then he handed her a blanket to cover herself. He did not want to look at her naked body. He was afraid to do that.
He was a professional, Harry Blackstone kept reminding himself. Professionals do not get hard and want to fuck their patients. He just wanted to help this young woman. He did not want to fuck her. And he was happy that she had been helped on that first evening. She still had a long way to go, but she was also coming down the road very quickly.
With the blanket wrapped around her body, Beverly left with Harry and let him lead her to her cell, where she would stay until she was completely cured. She seemed happy, more happy and more sure of herself than she had been when she had come into that big, white house.
But Harry wanted to get away from the woman as quickly as possible. He wanted to get away from her before he forgot again that he was a professional, before he wanted to fuck her white, lovely body.
After Beverly was in her cell, Harry thought of rushing to his wife to tell Eva about his new success with Beverly. But then he remembered that he did not speak to Eva any longer. He remembered that his shame had kept him away from his giant, German wife for days.
And he could not overcome that shame right then. There was too' much of that old-fashioned, non-professional lust left in him. He closed his eyes and remembered how
Beverly had looked when she was naked, how he had yearned to put his mouth on those breasts, those nipples that had been meant for her baby.
No, he decided, even though he was still excited by his success with Beverly, the excitement was still tinged with guilt because he had been so lustful with her, -because he had been so filled with yearning for her.
He was a professional psychologist, he reminded himself again as he walked down the hallway to his study, a man of great learning, a man who was famous in his field.
And he was a married man.
He wondered what Eva was doing that night. Probably sleeping, he thought, as he glanced toward the door that led into her bedroom. Maybe fucking Juan and getting what she deserved for being such a sexy, wonderful, intelligent woman. He could not disturb that woman with his lust, even though he was her husband. He was too ashamed to do that.
Then Harry Blackstone opened the door to his study and walked in. He locked the door behind him as he had done so many nights before.
This is where he belonged, he thought, looking over the books that were placed neatly on the shelves and the papers on his desk. Here he could be alone with his work and his ambitions and his theories. And his shame.
More than anything else, he was alone with his shame.
Harry Blackstone threw himself on the sofa in his study and cried himself to sleep.
And he dreamed. He dreamed of Eva fucking that Juan, riding him and letting him ride her while Harry looked on, unable to overcome the shame that covered him like a terrible stink. He could only watch them fuck with joy and know that he would never again be able to taste the sweetness of his wife's giant body.
He woke with a start and sat up. Something wet was on his face. He tried to shove that something off and then he realized what it was. His patch. That black piece of material over his eye was wet with his own tears.
He pulled the patch off and held it in his hand and studied it. It seemed to him that, at that moment, his life was as black as that tear-wet patch, as black and as wet and as useless. He threw the patch across the floor and lay down on the couch and tried to go to. sleep again. But he would not be able to sleep, he knew because he did not want to dream again of his wife fucking that young man named Juan.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Beverly and Jan, the former hooker, had been cured. That is what the board ol psychologists who interviewed them just a few days after they came to the Blackstone house decided. They were set free, but they had to report to psychologists every few days in order to remain subjects of study.
Jill and Nancy were still in the house. Harry Blackstone knew that they had not been cured and he knew that he would need his wife's help before he could ever really make any headway with them.
But then Harry Blackstone got a new patient, a woman who was perhaps the strangest of the lot.
Her name was Simone. At least, she claimed that that was her name. But she spoke with a broad, ugly New York City accent and Harry Blackstone could not believe that anyone named Simone would sound like that.
Simone drank a lot and hung around bars in New York City, where she constantly got into fights with other women and even some men. She was usually arrested for being drunk and disorderly, but the people at the jail thought that they was something else going on in her head, something that they could not understand. So they sent the woman to Harry Blackstone.
Simone was a middle-aged woman with a firm, big-titted sexy body. But Harry Blackstone glanced at her when she entered his office that night and knew that he saw what might have been part of her problem. That sexy body was topped by a head that was not very attractive at all. The nose was too big and the teeth were too big and the eyes were too small. Simone's face made her look more than a little bit like a horse.
When Harry explained the treatment to her, Simone laughed with a loud, braying sound and said, "Sure, Doc, I love it. Let's get this show on the road."
He did not understand her eagerness. He had told her that she would suffer pain, that she would be bound, and she did not seem to care. She seemed to look forward to it.
Simone almost raced Harry Blackstone down the hall to the laboratory. When they got into that laboratory, she looked around and brayed again as she saw all of the equipment, all the instruments of torture.
Then she started to take off her clothes. She almost ripped them in her eagerness to be naked in front of the psychologist.
When she was naked, she turned around and looked at Harry Blackstone and seemed to be a little put-out with him.
"Hey, Doc," she said, "ain't I gonna see your cock? Ain't you gonna get naked too?"
"No," Harry said. He looked over the woman's body and sighed with relief because he felt nothing in his own system that he should be ashamed of. Other women with that kind of body might be sexy, he thought, but her aggressive manner and her ugly face kept her from enticing him at all. Harry Blackstone knew that this one would be easy for him.
Simone put her hands on Harry's hips and wiggled her furry pussy as she moved her body close to him.
"You are missing one hell of a fuck," she said. "You are missing the pussy of a lifetime, Doc."
He pushed her away, trying to be professional with her and gentle, although he did not like her at all.
When he pushed her, she staggered back and snarled at him.
"Okay, Doc," she said, "but don't come around to me looking for a free fuck. You ain't ever gonna get into this snatch of mine. You ain't never gonna get to fuck me now."
"I am a doctor," he explained, trying to curb her sudden anger.
"Doctor, smoctor," she sneered. "Probably a faggot, a goddamned, one-eyed faggot. That is what you are, Doc. You and your little patch. You probably can't even see me right. You can't see how good I look." '
"I can see very well," he said, "and I am married to a wonderful woman."
When he said that, Harry felt a little tinge of regret in his voice. He was married to a wonderful woman, but he had not even talked :to Eva for weeks. He had not be able to : overcome his shame.
"Well, married or not," Simone said, "you only have one eye, and I would not fuck any man who did not have both eyes. I don't even like to fuck guys who wear glasses, Doc."
All of her anger was really a defense mechanism. Harry understood that. She felt rejected so she had turned on him with her wrath, a wrath that was almost silly to him. He could not even be angry with her. He thought that she was just a sorrowful woman who wanted a man but could not find one who would have her for more than one night.
Simone forgot her anger at the doctor and looked around the room. She saw one batch of chains and metal and ran across the room and picked it up. She held it up so that Harry could see it.
"I want this one, Doc," she said. "Will you put this one on me."
Harry was intrigued. This woman wanted to be chained. He decided to let her have her choice of punishment. Perhaps that way he could get her to talk about herself and why she was the way that she was, he thought.
"All right, Simone," he said. "That looks like a good one for you."
The woman tried to wrap the chains around her own body, but she just got all tangled up in them as a kitten gets tangled in a ball of yarn. Harry moved toward her with a smile and took the chains from her and carefully put them on her body in just the way that they were meant to be worn. The metal collar went around her throat and the chains fell down her body. Harry put the two metal rings around her nipples so that they would lift her tits up like a bra would do. Then he stretched the chain down her stomach and over her snatch. It went between her legs and came up her back. He pulled the chain tight so that the metal went into her pussy, and Simone gasped.
"Hey, Doc," she said, "not so fucking hard. My cunt is not made out of rawhide, you know."
By that time, Harry had the end of the chain hooked to the collar. He knew that she would not be able to free herself. So it was time for him to show her how he really felt about her. Then she might understand her own emotions too and she might be able to explain some of these things that went on in her head to the psychologist.
"You sickening piece of shit," Harry snarled, moving away from her. "You are ugly. You know that? You are ugly and worthless. Just another worthless cunt, in fact the most -worthless, ugly cunt that I have ever seen in my whole fucking life."
Harry was embellishing it a little bit, but he basically felt that the woman was sickening. There was something about her that repelled him, and he thought that it must be more than just her face. There was something in her style-or lack of style-that turned men off. Harry was certain that other men felt the same way about the woman as he did. And he wanted to know why she did that, why she I was so aggressive and strident.
When he cursed her, Simone stood there and I looked at him. Then she did a very strange I thing. She put her hands behind her head and stood there like some kind of model. She I looked at him in her sexiest way. And that strange, ugly sexuality repelled the psychologist even more. He reached toward the table that was nearby and picked up some metal cuffs and grabbed Simone's wrists with one of his strong hands. He cuffed those wrists and attached the metal cuffs to the collar that he had put on the woman. Then he began to curse her again.
"Piece of garbage, that is what you are. You I are nothing but an ugly, old whore. You are I worthless and you don't even realize it."
Simone just looked at them until he said that. Then she interjected her own words.
"You are wrong, Doctor," she said, "I...I realize it."
"What?"
"I realize that I am nothing," she said. And then Harry knew that he had struck the correct chord with this woman. He knew that j she was going to tell him something about herself at that moment.
His voice became soft and comforting and professional as he asked her the next question.
"What makes you think you are so bad?" he asked.
"Men want to fuck me but they don't want to look at me," she said softly, sadly, speaking about the situation as if she had accepted it as a given in her existence, one of the rules that she had to play the game of life by. "They think that my body is nice, but my face is nothing, nothing at all. So I try to let them know that it is all right if they don't want to stay with me or look at me. After all, I still have some needs and it is better to have those needs filled by men who don't care than to not have them filled at all."
Simone took a deep breath and went on with her explanation for the way that she acted.
"But sometimes men make me so mad. I want just one of them to look at me and say that I mean something to them. I thought one time that I had a man like that, but he just wanted money. He wanted to live with me and let me support him and I did it because I was lonely. I usually just fuck them and let them go but I thought that this one was actually different. That is how stupid I was, that is how t much I needed someone. But he left too, when I ran out of money. He just got up one night and drove the new car down the road. He said that he was going to get some cigarettes from an all-night store. But he never came back. It did not really surprise me."
Harry listened to the woman and tried to make some sense out of what she was saying, tried to figure out what question he should ask her next. Then he had that question.
"But why do you act so ugly, Simone?" he said. "Why do you act like you just want to fuck, like you don't need anyone else in the world?"
"Because I am ugly," she said softly.
"You don't have to be," he told her.
"Oh, yea," she said, nodding her head but keeping her eyes down on the floor. "Plastic surgery."
"No," Harry said, suddenly interested in this woman's welfare. "You don't have to be ugly. You remember that old saying that mothers used to tell their children. Ugly is as ugly does? Well, that is true. If you acted like you could handle a relationship. If you thought of yourself as something special, then others would think that you were special too."
It was simple psychology. Harry knew that. But he also knew that it was true. He had found the core of this woman's problem and he wanted to help her. But he did not have to beat her in order to do that. The psychologist sensed that beating was the last thing that this woman needed. She needed compassion and caring and love, not a white or a spike.
And Harry tried to show her a little compassion. It was not easy for him. He had grown used to beating his patients and torturing them. This was a technique that he had tried before.
"Simone," he said, "you just have to act pretty and think of yourself as-"
"Bull fucking shit!" she yelled.
Then she looked at Harry.
"You know something, Doc?" the woman who was naked and chained said, "You. sound just like my fucking mother. She always say stupid things like that too. But my mother was better than you are. Even my mother was better and she was stupid. But, at least, she was stupid and had both of her fucking eyes. You are a stupid, fucking, one-eyed, fucking faggot, and you know it."
It was more than Harry could take. He slammed his fist right into the woman's face.
Simone stumbled back a few steps and then fell on her back. She cried out in pain as her face started to bleed and as the chains and metal bit into her flesh and wrenched her arms behind her.
But then she groaned. She groaned as if she were a woman who was being fucked and who was enjoying that fuck more than anything else that she had ever done.
"Oh, hit me again, Doc," she gasped, pleading with him with lust in her voice. "Hit me again, Doc. That felt good. I know I deserve it. Hit me again. Beat the living shit out of me, Doc. You can do it. I love it. Oh, Doc, hit me again."
She spoke is gasps as if she were being fucked, as if she were breathing with the fucking motion of a cock in her pussy. She even lifted her legs and spread them and Harry saw that wet, pink pussy, wet with desire for the man who had struck her with such force and such fury.
She hunched her hips up into the air, as her face bled and as she continued to moan and gasp in passionate fury.
"Oh, hit me again, Doc. Beat the living shit out of me. I know I deserve it. That is all I deserve. Beat the fuck out of me, Doc. Hit me again."
Harry turned away from her in sorrow. He did not feel the same kind of shame that he usually felt, when he lusted after the girls whom he tortured, but he felt a new kind of shame, because he had hit that woman in the face and had made her reveal that sickening part of her lonely soul.
He knew that he could not help her. He knew that she needed another kind of treatment, but he did not know what kind of treatment to suggest.
Perhaps she was just the kind who could not be helped because she could not crawl back into the womb and come out again and start her life over again as a woman who thought that she was pretty.
When Simone saw that Harry was leaving her, she stopped gasping with a voice that was wild with sex. She watched him move slowly toward the door, and then she yelled in anger and in fury at him.
"You fucking fag! You fucking, one-eyed fag! You don't know what a woman needs! You are nothing! You are shit, Doc! Just a piece of one-eyed shit!"
Harry left her in the laboratory and walked down to his study. There, he called the people from the jail to come by and pick her up. She would never respond to his form of therapy, he said. There was nothing that he could do for her.
And the psychologist knew that that was right.
After the people from the jail had come and gotten the pain-loving woman, Harry fell asleep in his study and had no dreams at all.
He did not want to dream. He just wanted to forget that women like Simone even existed in this world.
Women like that, he figured, he just couldn't help, no matter how hard he tried. They just couldn't be helped.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Eva lay in the bed that afternoon and ran her massive, soft, German fingers over Juan's back. He was resting after their first fuck of the afternoon, but the giant, German woman knew that her young man would want to fuck her again before he left her. He always did.
She was happy that she had found Juan. He had come to the door a few weeks before and had asked if there was any odd jobs that he could do around the house. He said that he was broke and was trying to make enough money to get to California.
But, now, weeks later, he was no closer to California than he had been that day.
But Juan did not seem to mind that at all.
When Eva remembered that afternoon, she could not believe that she had actually said those things to Juan.. She had never been that aggressive with a man before. But Harry had been avoiding her and she had wanted to fuck so badly and Juan had been so handsome and so sexy as he stood there without a shirt on, his dark, hairy chest had turned on her on so much that she had told him out right.
"The only odd job that I know of around here, young man, is that my pussy needs fucking very badly."
Then Eva had stood in that door, towering over the young man, and had waited for his reaction. She was shocked by her own words but she was not sorry that she had said them. After all, she thought, she had told the truth. Her pussy did need fucking and it needed it very badly.
Juan looked over the big, blonde woman and stuck out his tongue and slowly licked his lips.
"The best odd job that I can think of," he said.
Then he had grinned and Eva had opened the door and let him walk into the house. She was not afraid of him. She knew that she would be able to handle him, and she knew that he would come in very handy now that she had failed her husband so badly that he did not want to speak to her.
As Eva lay there, rubbing Juan's dark back, she thought about Harry. She blamed herself of what had happened between them. She felt that she had failed her genius husband by becoming too involved with that silent redhead. And then she had accused Harry of liking it too, liking it in a sexual way when he worked with his patients. She still believed that, but she was sorry that she had brought it up. She knew that the idea probably troubled Harry a great deal now, and she wished that she could go to him and explain herself and tell him that she was sorry. But she could not do that because he did not want to have anything to do with her. He kept his door locked and he did not even like seeing her around.
There was pain in Eva's spirit as she thought about her husband. This young man was good for her. He eased the pain just a little bit, but he was not as good as Harry. She still loved Harry and she was sorry that she had forced him to kick her out of his life.
Juan began to stir on the bed. He moved on the bed and put his head on Eva's big tit. That tit was like a huge pillow for the little Spanish man. It was strange, Eva thought. Harry was actually a little shorter than Juan was, yet he never seemed to be engulfed by her big body. Harry knew how to climb on that body and handle it with force and love. Juan often times seemed lost on that feminine mountain of flesh that was Eva Blackstone in all of her sad glory.
Juan kissed the woman's tit and ran his tongue over it and Eva began to feel her pussy quake. She knew that Juan turned her on, but he did not love her. She tried to forget about Harry, tried to think of Harry as part of her past as she ran her fingers through Juan's dark hair and coaxed him with her touch as he started to suck on her nipple.
She liked that. She felt soft when a man sucked on her pink, big nipple. She moved on the bed and churned a little bit and ran her own fingers down to her pussy. That cunt was amazingly small and tight for a woman as big as Eva Blackstone. But it was just right for fucking, she thought. Even men who were a little frightened by her size were happy when they felt how tight and juicy that pussy was.
Juan moved his hand down her body too and slipped her fingers out of her cunt. He put his fingers in there in place of her own, and
Eva raised her hand, those fingers that had been in her own pussy, to her face and put those fingers in her mouth. She licked her own pussy cream. She had been doing that a lot lately, she thought. She had first started doing it after her husband had started to avoid her. But Eva knew that, when she licked the pussy juice from her fingers, she did not think of herself. She thought of Nancy, the silent redhead.
Eva knew that Nancy was still in the house. Some of the other women had been realized, but Eva visited the cells in the back of the house every once in a while and she knew that Nancy and Jill were still there, still not cured. That did not surprise her. Harry had been trying to work with them by himself. Eva knew that those two needed a woman's touch, her touch. They would never be cured unless Eva helped her husband, unless he asked for her aid. As Juan sucked on her nipple, the German woman felt very sorry for those two, but she did not think that she could do anything about their situation, not unless Harry asked her to return to him.
Juan pulled his working fingers out of Eva's twat and moved down her giant body. Now he was going to eat her pussy. She knew that. She had discovered rather quickly that Juan was very predictable in his love-making. She did not particularly like that, but she reminded herself that Juan was all that she had, all that she would ever have now that Harry had-
Her thoughts stopped in her head when the door to the bedroom flew open. Harry was standing there. He was looking at the two people who were naked on the bed and he was carrying a pistol in his hand.
Juan turned and looked at the man with the patch over his eye too, taking his face away from Eva's body in order to do that. He saw the pistol and he gasped something in Spanish. Then he rolled to the other side of the bed and cowered behind Eva.
But the German wife was not frightened. She knew that her husband would never be able to shoot her. For all of the pain that he inflicted on his patients, for all of the theories about punishment, Eva knew that her husband was a basically peaceful man. He would not be able to kill any human being. She smiled at Harry.
"You have returned to me," she said softly. "I want you to return to me," he corrected her.
But Eva would not go back that easily. Although one part of her spirit told her that she should jump up and run to her husband and throw her arms around him, another part told her that she had been wronged, terribly wronged by the man with the patch over his eye, and she was not going to let him off that easily.
"Why should I go back to you?" she asked, as she lay there on the bed with Juan shaking behind her. "I have this young stud here. He is all that I need."
"He is leaving right now," the man with the patch said.
"But I owe him money for the work that he has done," the wife said playfully.
Holding the pistol in one hand, Harry reached into his pants pocket with the other and pulled out a roll of bills. He walked toward the bed and threw them on the bed with a fury.
"There is plenty of money for your lover," Harry said to Eva, as Juan scrambled to pick up the bills that lay all over the bed and all over Eva. "Now he can leave."
"Yes," Juan said, stammering as he scurried off the bed and began to put on his clothes. "I am leaving."
Harry watched his wife lie there and smile at him as the little Spanish man put on his trousers. Juan did not even stop to zip those trousers up. He wanted out of that house. The big, German woman had been a good fuck, but her husband now had a gun in his hand and Juan did not like to take chances with his own life. He pushed the bills into his pocket and picked up his shoes and ran out of the room. Harry and Eva stared at each other as they listened to Juan rushing down the hallway.
Then, when they heard the front door open and close with a slam, they knew that he was gone. And then Eva began to laugh. She laughed with a mighty, happy sound that came from the deepest part of her. Harry could not help himself. He had to laugh too. He laughed with joy as he sat down on the bed and put his hand on his wife's sexy stomach.
Then Harry pointed the gun at his wife and squeezed the trigger. -
Eva continued to laugh right through the-
Click.
"I knew it was not loaded," she said then. "I knew that you don't have any bullets in the house."
"I don't believe in them," Harry said.
The one-eyed man lean forward and kissed his wife softly on the mouth. Then he sat up again.
"I would love to fuck you right now, but I can't," he said. "Why not?"
"I have to tell you something first."
"What?"
"I have to tell you that you were right. I do get turned on watching those women grind their naked bodies in pain. I am sorry, Eva, but I do. I wish that I did not. I try not to. I try to be a professional. But I usually wind up with a hard-on."
And then, once the shame that he had hidden from his wife for so long was out, Harry began to weep.
Eva started to cry too and pulled her husband to her and held his head againt her big tits as he cried and cried and cried.
"Oh, Eva," he sobbed, "I love you so much, but I did not know how to tell you that you were right, that I did get turned on when I beat those girls." Then Harry raised his face from his wife's tits and looked into her eyes. "I have been thinking of stopping the experiments right now and going back to the Institute and asking Buddy for my old job-"
"No," the big, German woman said quickly. "You will not do that. I will not allow you to do that."
"But Eva-"
"Your method works. You have proven it in some cases already. We will work together on Nancy and Jill and others and we will show Buddy that he was wrong to get rid of you. You will not go back, on your hands and knees to that creep. Do you hear me, Harry?"
And, suddenly, Harry Blackstone felt very strong and very right in his opinions and theories. He had his wife with him and he knew that, together, they would be able to conquer any handicap. They would even be able to show all of those people in the scientific community that he was right. But something still bothered him. "Eva," he said, "I get turned on. I beat off until I come when some of those women are suffering."
"So?" the woman said. "What is wrong with .your own sexual excitement if you understand it, if you are not ashamed of it. After all, you have helped those women too."
"Yes," he said softly, agreeing with his wife. He thought of the two who had already been released. He received reports on them regularly and they seemed to be adapting very well to the outside world.
Harry Blackstone suddenly wanted to get another experiment started as soon as possible. Now that he had Eva with him again, he knew that he would not fail. He could not fail. Together, the Blackstones were invincible.
Harry jumped off the bed and stood there, beaming at his naked, giant wife.
"I will get Nancy ready," he said. "You put on one of the leather outfits."
And then Harry Blackstone dashed from the room.
Eva lay there, a little downcast. She had been hoping that Harry would fuck her that afternoon, after he had chased the young man away, after he had admitted to her that he loved her. She sighed. As always, Harry thought a great deal about his work. He was obsessed by that work.
And Eva finally decided that she would not have it any other way. She liked it when Harry was excited by his experiments, and, now that he had admitted to her that he got turned on by watching the women, she knew that he would fuck her after the experiments. And she could wait for a few minutes, a couple of hours. She had waited for weeks for Harry to come back to her. A few more hours would not make that much difference.
The giant, German woman got off the bed and went to her special closet, where she had hung all of her leather outfits. Harry had not told her which one to put on, and she wondered what would be the best for this new experiment with Nancy. She considered for a moment the one with the big, black cock, but then she shied away from that one. That outfit had been the one that she had worn the day that she and Harry had had their terrible fight. She did not want to take any chances now. She wanted to work with Nancy in a way that would help the girl, in a way that would be coldly professional but hot and lusty too. She wanted to keep control of herself at all times.
If she could do that, she thought, she would regain Harry's respect and also his handsome, strong cock.
When she thought of his prick, she yearned to have it in her. She knew that she would have to wait until after the experiment and she was willing to wait. But she still had that yearning in her.
Eva shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts of Harry's prick out of her mind. She was a professional too, a trained psychologist. She must think of the patient, not her own pleasure. She reminded herself of that again and again as she put on one of the leather outfits, one that left her pussy open to the breeze.
Then she went from her bedroom to the laboratory to join her husband and his patient, the sexy, silent redhead. She had to admit that she was excited by the prospect of working with that redhead again. She thought that Nancy was very lovely and very sexy. She looked almost innocent with her dull, green eyes that always stared straight ahead of her. And Eva paused there just outside the laboratory and remembered the way that the young woman's silence always made her angry and yet turned her on at the same time.
The giant, German woman took a deep breath and worked up her professional courage. This time, she thought, she just might hit the right cord, the right bit of punishment and pain that would make that redhead react to her and speak to her and come out of her living death. She hoped so. She wanted to help that young woman and she wanted to help Harry too.
Eva walked into the laboratory and looked around. It had been weeks since she had been there, but it felt that she had just left it a moment before. She was very used to that whiteness and those instruments and that equipment of torture. She was also used to the feel of the leather, the tightness and the softness of it. She was used to the way that her tits felt as they jutted out through one of the openings in her leather outfit. Dressed like that, in her husband's laboratory, Eva felt right at home.
And seeing that redhead bound and standing in the middle of the room made her feel even more at home.
Eva walked to the redhead and studied her. Then she spoke with her professional, harsh voice.
"So," she said with a sneer. "So you have refused to speak even yet, Nancy. .Now I have returned and I am going to give you a special punishment to make you notice me, to make you speak and tell me about your past and your pain."
But the redhead just stared straight ahead of her. Eva felt sorry for her. But she would not allow that to show. She felt sorry because it was immediately obvious that Nancy had not changed at all, that she had not improved one bit.
Maybe she would improve now, Eva thought, glancing at her husband, the one-eyed man who stood at the side of the room. She was back now, Eva thought, and she was refreshed and ready to really work that silent slut over.
Slut.
That word stuck in her head, and then Eva realized what she had been doing wrong all this time.
She had been calling Nancy names and talking to her with a cruel tone of voice, but she had not really meant it. She had gotten angry, but she was always more angry with herself than with that redhead. Now the woman sensed that she must truly be angry with Nancy in order to make the punishment work on the silent girl. She must think of this redhead, not as a sorrowful case but as a slut, a girl who deserved the punishment that she received. If Eva believed it, she thought, then Nancy would believe it too and things would work out better for both of them.
Eva wondered if she should mention her new idea to her husband and then she quickly decided that she would not. If it worked, if Nancy showed some sign of feeling and recognizing something that was happening to her, then Eva would explain her new mental method to Harry. If it did not work,, she would just discard the idea and keep it to herself.
Eva looked at Harry again and saw that he was holding a strange-looking whip. The giant woman knew that her husband wanted her to use that on Nancy, and she knew that she would definitely be willing to use it on the girl. It looked so sexy and so cruel that she could hardly wait to get it into her hands.
Eva moved across the floor slowly in her leather outfit and took the whip from Harry. Then she turned and looked at Nancy. The girl was standing up on her tiptoes with her arms bound to that beam over her head. Her big tits were raised up by the stretching of her body and she looked like a woman who was ready for anything, who was. ready for all the pain in the world to be inflicted upon her. But Eva looked again into her eyes and saw the deadness there and knew that Nancy was ready for nothing, that she would probably feel nothing and experience nothing.
Unless this experiment worked this time, and Eva was determined that it would.
The German woman studied the whip that her husband had given her. She looked at the flat, leather end of the whip. Two hard, little spikes had been driven through that flat end. Those spikes would cut human flesh very easy. Eva looked at Nancy's big tits and knew that she would aim for those things.
But the German woman paused before she went to work on Nancy. She wanted to remember her new idea, to get that idea firmly in her brain so that she would not lose it and feel sorry for the girl when the pain began. She wanted to remember that Nancy was a slut, unworthy of any sympathy. When she had that idea deep in her heart, Eva walked toward the naked, bound girl who stared straight ahead of her as if she were waiting for something to happen.
Something was going to happen, Eva thought, and she determined to make Nancy feel it.
"Slut," she hissed at the silent redhead. "You fucking slut. You left your friends dead on the back roads of Oklahoma and you did not have the courage to die with them. You let them lick your pussy and give you orgasms, but you did not have the nerve to go down in a blaze of bullets as they did. Remember their names, you worthless bitch? Jenny and Doris?
Do you remember how they loved you, how they used to suck on those big tits of yours? You piece of shit."
Watching all of this, listening to his wife's words of abuse as they fell on the girl's ears, Harry Blackstone sensed a change in Eva. She had never been so harsh, so truly cruel before. He hoped that that change in her would bring about a change in Nancy. He closed his eyes-and actually said a little prayer, although he did not even believe in God. He prayed that his wife would be able to make this silent girl feel something, say something. He would accept even a groan or a whimper from Nancy's lips as an answer to his prayer.
When he opened his eyes, he saw his wife move closer to the redhead and he saw herl raise the whip in her anger.
"You piece of worthless shit!" Eva screamed.
And then she brought the down on the girl's tit with a furious force. The spikes at the end of the whip cut into Nancy's tit, but the redhead did not even flinch. The blood spurted out of the holes caused by the spikes and then slowed to a trickle that fell from the tit and onto the white floor.
Eva looked at that blood. The first blow had not worked, she thought, but she would not give up. Either the girl would speak or she would make her bleed to death. Eva no longer cared about Nancy as a patient, as a sorrowful girl who had suffered a great trauma. She only saw the senseless redhead as a slut, as a woman who had left her friends behind when she had given up to the police. She deserved what she got. Eva tried to put herself in the place of Doris or Jenny, the two women who had robbed banks in Oklahoma with this bitch. They had had the courage to die in a hail of bullets and they had probably expected such noble, outlaw courage from Nancy too. But she had let them down. She had given up to the cops because she was afraid. Afraid, even after Doris and Jenny had given her their love, had given her orgasms with their mouths.
That fucking bitch!
"Slut!" Eva yelled.
And she brought the whip down again on the redhead's tit. "Whore!"
Another lash of the whip, more blood from the tits.
"Worthless shit!"
And yet another lash and more blood.
Then Eva suddenly thought of another tactic, one that seemed to fit the anger that she felt in her heart for this redhead, that hot anger that burned inside the giant woman's body like the most fiery lust possible.
"This is for Jenny!" the giant woman screamed.
And she hit the girl again with the whip, felt the spikes dig into the tit with more fury.
And the German woman watched the blood spurt out of the holes that the spikes had caused. Still, there was no sign of recognition from the redhead, no sign that she felt anything that was happening, that she felt any pain that had been inflicted on her.
But Eva would not give up.
"This is for Doris!" she yelled, and then she brought the lash down again.
And, suddenly, it happened.
Nancy tensed her body as the pain shot through her and tilted her head back and cried out in agony.
"Doris! Doris! I am sorry, Doris! Please forgive me!"
Then the girl collapsed and hung there on the beam. She sobbed as the blood poured from her tits, and she muttered to herself and to the woman who had beaten her.
"I am sorry. I am sorry that I left them behind."
Eva smiled and turned to her husband. Harry Blackstone was already moving toward her. He only had time to touch her softly and look at her with thanks in his eyes. Then he moved past his wife and went to take down the girl who hung there on the beam, the girl who had spoken for the first time in months.
Eva turned and walked out of the room. She dropped the whip on the floor outside the laboratory. She knew that Harry would have to take care of Nancy and mend her wounds but she also knew that Harry would come to her after that.
He would come to her and they would celebrate together. They would celebrate the fact that they now worked as a team again and they would celebrate the success that they had had with Nancy, the girl who was their special team project.
Eva stood in her bedroom and slowly removed her leather outfit. She felt very happy and very warm and she knew that Harry would be coming to her soon, to celebrate with her and fuck her and make her part of his life again. She would be a very special part of his life, a very special partner for the greatest, most original psychologist in the world.
When she had stripped naked, she lay on the bed and waited for Harry, the husband that she adored with all of her heart. She waited and waited and waited, but he did not come. She listened to the sounds outside the door to be the bedroom and then she heard the doorbell ring and she heard Harry going toward it. She heard voices too, but she could make out what those voices were saying. And she waited.
After an hour, Harry had still not shown up. She wondered who had been at the door, who had taken Harry away from her.
And then it came to her. It came like a flash to her obsessed brain, and she sighed.
It was probably the people from the jail with another woman, another inmate that they thought that Harry would be able to help. Harry would not come to his wife that night. Eva suddenly knew it. She knew that he would work on that new subject in a new experiment. She knew that he would work on her all night.
Eva fought to keep from crying in her loneliness, but she could not hold back the tears. She let those tears roll down her face, and she cried out of loss.
Then she suddenly felt angry-angry with Harry. He had no right to leave her like that, she thought. He had no right to leave her alone on the night when they should have been celebrating. This new subject-this new victim, she thought suddenly-could have waited until morning.
Eva had earned Harry's love by beating speech out of the silent redhead, and now he was denying her that love because he wanted to spend time with a new victim. And then the giant woman remembered what her husband had finally admitted, that he got sexually excited by these women who were in pain. She wondered if Harry was in that laboratory, torturing another girl and making her cry out in agony and beating off as she suffered.
Eva wanted to get up and go see what was going on in that laboratory, but, in a way, she was afraid to do that. What if Harry was torturing some girl and beating off, she wondered. How would she react to that.
But it was almost midnight. The night was at its darkest. Eva worked up her courage and moved out of the bed and walked naked across the hallway to the laboratory room. She stood' at the door and tried to regain her courage, tried to force herself to open that door and look in. The German woman took a deep breath and threw the door open and looked at the action that was at its sexual peak, the drama that was being played out inside her husband's laboratory.
CHAPTER NINE
The beautiful, dark girl's hair was tied back and flowed in a long mane. It flew behind her as she stood there in the middle of the white room with her legs spread wide, trying to keep her balance. She was not bound to the wall or to a beam, but her hands were tied behind her back.
She seemed to be doing a little dance, some kind of sexy dance to please a lover. But she was in pain. Two spikes had been driven through the girl's nipples and a belt-like thing was around her waist. From that belt, a metal curving strip extended. The jagged teeth in that metal strip were cutting into the girl's pussy. Someone had shaved the dark girl's cunt so that the blood could drip more freely from her snatch.
Eva was repelled by the scene. She could not understand why. After all, she had just played a part in torturing another girl. But this was different for some reason. There seemed to be nothing but lust in that room when Eva entered, no professionalism, nothing but lust and hot breathing and screaming. The girl was doing the screaming.
And, when Eva saw her husband, she knew that the breathing was coming from his sex-filled throat.
Harry Blackstone was standing at the side of the room, leaning against the wall. He was naked and he was beating off. His cock was long and thick in his hand as he stroked the tool and moaned and breathed with his husky sound. He was watching the naked girl who danced in pain so intently that he did not even see his wife standing there. He was too busy stroking his own cock to notice that Eva had opened the door and entered the room.
But the girl noticed. She looked at Eva and screamed for help.
"Please!" she yelled. "Help me! Help me! I am dying!"
Eva just looked at the girl. She was not really interested in that dark girl's pain. She was interested in her husband's cock, in that thick thing that Harry Blackstone was stroking with a feverish hand. She deserved that cock in her, Eva thought, but her husband had not given her the fucking that she had earned with the cruelty that she had shown to Nancy. Her husband had come into this laboratory with this new girl and had decided that he wanted to use his cock all by himself. It was sick! Eva's mind yelled at her that her husband was perverted and sick. He did not want to fuck his wife any longer, not since he had discovered the ecstasy that he felt when he tortured a young girl.
"Bastard," she hissed under her breath. "Worthless bastard."
And then she yelled it.
"Fucking bastard!"
It was then that Harry Blackstone noticed his wife, noticed her anger and her presence in the room. He quickly jerked his hand off his cock and tried to hide his erection, the hard cock that had almost been ready to come when she had interrupted him.
And the girl continued to dance in the middle of the floor and scream in her own agony as Eva stared at her husband with fury.
"I can explain," Harry sputtered.
"You can explain nothing!" Eva yelled.
"Please, help me!" the girl screamed.
And then Eva knew that she would have to help the girl a little bit before she could take the time to handle her husband and his perverse pleasure. She marched across the room naked and loosened the belt that held the metal around the girl's pussy and pulled it away from the dark-haired beauty. When Eva did that, she raked the spikes through the torn flesh of the cunt and the girl screamed and tumbled onto the floor. But then she stopped yelling and lay there, whimpering in pain. That was good enough for Eva. She really did not care about this girl at all. She wanted to confront her husband.
She stormed across the white room and hit her husband in the face with her fist. She did not hit him hard enough to break any bones or even to make his bleed, but Harry felt the pain all right.
He covered his face and cried out in pain and shame.
"I am sorry, Eva."
"Shit!"
"I don't know what."
"Worthless creep!"
"I saw her and I just could not."
"You should have been in there fucking my cunt! I earned it! I beat that girl until she spoke! I beat her until she was bloody and until she said words, real words! But you did not fuck me for what I had done! You just came in here with this tramp and started to torture her and beat off while you watched."
"I know. I am sorry."
But then, her anger spent, Eva realized again that she loved this man. He had a compulsion, a strange, perverted thing drawing him to this kind of action, but he was also her husband and she loved him and respected him for his mind and she wanted to help him in any way that she could. She watched the man shiver with shame and she suddenly felt very, sorry for him.
"Harry," she moaned.
And she put her strong, German arms around him and held her husband close to her breast as he sobbed in his shame and his own personal suffering.
The cock that she had noticed when she had first entered the room, the cock that had been so hard and so manly and so ready to come, had shivered up to nothing. The German wife looked back on the girl who lay there on the floor, whimpering with pain from the ordeal that she had gone through. That girl was still tied and still bleeding, but Eva could not worry about her at that moment. She had to worry about her husband, about the man who could not help himself when he was around girls who were sexy and tortured and racked with pain.
Eva fell on her knees and lifted the cock and slipped it into her full, German lips. As she started to suck, she heard the whimpering of the bloody girl behind her and it gave the woman an idea, an idea about how she would be able to make her husband manly and sexy again, about how she would be able to get his cock hard again.
She took her mouth off the cock long enough to say, "Tell me about her, Harry. Tell me what you know about this girl."
Then she started to suck on that prick again as her husband began to tell Eva about the girl who lay there, whimpering on the floor.
"She ran away from home when she was sixteen. She is twenty now and she has been a hooker and a thief and a mugger. She used to work with a big, black guy who would beat up her men when she would lure them to a seedy motel room for a good time. They would think that they were going to get the chance to fuck her, but they got rolled instead. She has been in and out of jail for the past four years and nothing, it seems, has been able to change her.
That is why they sent her to me, of course. They figured that she was ripe for my therapy.
Eva sucked on the cock and felt it grow large and full in her soft mouth, but she took the mouth off the, prick long enough to ask her husband one question. "Sherri!" the girl on the floor yelled in answer to the giant woman's question. "My name is Sherri, damn it!"
Eva heard the girl but she did not turn around, did not act as if she took any notice of the dark beauty on the floor at all. She knew that this Sherri was in pain, but she also knew that she and her husband were in pain too, this vague kind of pain that they could not define. Tonight, Eva decided, they would define it. They would define and get rid of it. But first she had to suck on Harry's cock and make him come. If he came with her just one more time, she would be able to control him and make him feel like she belonged to him and he belonged to her once again.
She put her mouth back on the man's prick and sucked on it as he answered her question, as if the girl on the floor had not screamed out at all.
"Her name is Sherri," he said softly. "Oh, that is good, Eva. Suck it some more."
The giant woman pressed her face back to her husband's body and took all of his cock
I into her. He moved his hips away from the I wall and pressed his loins next to her face. He was fucking her mouth, Eva suddenly thought, and she liked that. If he would fuck her mouth, he would also fuck her pussy and make her his wife, pure and simple again. Then they would both be able to relieve themselves of this vague pain and desire that neither of them could really understand any longer.
Moving back and forth on the cock, feeling her husband's prick fill up her mouth time and again, the woman felt Harry's body jerk and listened to the whimpering and the crying that Sherri made in the middle of the floor. In a strange way, the sighs and whimpers and occasional screams of the tortured girl were like music to the woman's ears. She began to j suck in rhythm with that music, to move her head back and forth as the girl gasped and cried out on the floor. "Please, help me! I am in pain! My name is j Sherri, god damn it, and I do not deserve this! No one deserves such pain, you fuckers!"
But Eva knew that the girl was wrong. She did deserve such pain and she would learn from this pain. She would learn how to rid herself of the vague pain that was in her. When Eva thought of that, remembered her husband's theories, she suddenly thought too that this girl, this female who writhed on the floor in anguish, was so lucky, much luckier than either Eva or Harry was. For she would be rid of her pain in just a few sessions. The big, German woman doubted that she and her husband would ever be totally rid of their pain.
But they might be, Eva thought as she sucked. They might be rid of it if only they could get the pain outside and feel it escape their souls.
When she had that thought, Eva felt Harry's hands on her head and she felt him pushed her face toward his body again. She knew that his prick was hard and trembling in her mouth and throat and she knew that Harry was about to come.
She would take that come in her mouth, willingly and yearningly take it. She opened her throat wide and then she heard Harry speak to her in a way that he had not spoken to her for months.
"Take this come, Eva. I love the way you suck. Thank you, Eva. You are the best wife that a man could ever have."
And she took his come willingly down her hot, wifely throat.
Harry hunched against her face and fucked her with a few bold strokes before he came. Then he just held her to him with his strong hands and she felt the semen shooting down into her, shooting down into the deepest, best part of her giant body. She loved him then, and she knew that they were on their way to recovery, that they would soon be able to be a real husband and a real wife, the kind of couple that other couples admire and want to emulate.
They had once been that kind of couple, and now, Eva thought, as she sucked the semen down into her body and let Harry shot into her with feverish wads, now they would be that kind of couple again.
It was more than any woman could really ask for, the wife thought, more than she had ever expected in her life.
She took her mouth off the cock and let the last bits of come bubble up to her lips and she looked up at the man with the patch over one eye and smiled at him.
When Eva Blackstone saw her husband smile down on her, she knew that she had done everything right, that she had pleased him in a special way.
Then she stood up. When she did that, she again towered over him and Harry Blackstone put his arms around his giant wife and pressed his face into her big tits.
The woman let her husband hold her like that and then she turned toward the girl who still lay on the floor.
Harry went with her, turning with her, but he kept his face on her tits and did not look at the girl who had suffered so much that night and would suffer even more before this morning was over. Eva had determined that. She would help her husband master this girl and again prove to Harry that she had warmth and goodness in her body, again prove that she would be a good assistant to him, a good wife.
She looked at the girl who stared up from the floor with so much fury in her eyes that she seemed to burn Eva with her stare.
"You mangy fuckers!" Sherri said. "You worthless perverts. You have hurt me and I will never be the same again!"
"That is correct," Eva said softly. "You will never be the same again. You will be a better woman, a more productive member of society when we are through with you."
When Harry heard those words from his wife, he looked up at her, pulling away from her and yet holding onto her at the same time.
"Do you mean that you will help me with Sherri?" he asked, almost like a little boy who was seeking help with some class project that completely baffled him.
"Yes," Eva said to her husband, "I will help you with Sherri."
Then the psychologist turned around and looked at the girl who lay there on the floor.
He studied her as she moved in anguish. She moved silently, just gasping from time to time when the pain got to be too much for her.
She had given up with her screams and her curses. She had, in a way, accepted her fate. Eva saw that and understood that that was just the way that she should be if they were going to be able to help her.
"What do you think we should do?" Harry asked his wife.
"I am not sure," Eva said.
Then she walked toward the girl who moved there on the floor and she knelt beside the pain-wracked female and smiled at her.
"Why did you run away from home?" she asked.
Sherri stopped moving and just looked at the big, naked woman who spoke to her so softly in a German accent. She wondered if that woman was crazy, as crazy as her husband was. Couldn't she see that Sherri was in pain, that Sherri was being tortured with these spikes through her nipples and this metal claw in her cunt? Couldn't she see that?
Obviously not, the girl thought as she sighed with the pain. It had been with her for so long by now that she had grown slightly used to the pain, enough so that she did not feel the sharp flashes of terrible fire in her brain any longer. She just felt the numbing part of the pain, the numbing that invaded her brain and stayed there like some kind of thing that considered itself one of Sherri's old friends.
And now this woman wanted to interview her, wanted to ask her questions about her home life when she was feeling such a numbing, terrible thing that was almost making Sherri pass out with its fever.
"Why did you leave home?" the German woman asked again.
"Because I wanted to," Sherri sighed. Then she flinched as a new kind of pain invaded her head, the kind of pain that told her that she giving in too much, that she was letting the pain take too much out of her. She wanted to fight the pain and this German woman who was as crazy as the man who had treated her in this fashion, but she could not fight anything. She was too weak to fight, too weak to take on anything that was this much stronger than she herself was. "Why did you want to leave home?" Eva asked softly.
"Because my mother was a drunk and my father used to beat both of us all the time."
The girl told the woman the truth, before she even realized what was happening. The truth, the ultimate truth of her life, just seemed to burst out of her. And then something else happened that shocked Sherri. She started to cry, to weep.
She had fought back the tears in her pain and in her torture. She had not allowed herself to cry in front of the man with the patch over his eye. She would not give that man that kind of satisfaction. But now she cried with more sorrow than she had ever felt before. She cried because she had revealed truth about herself, truth that hurt her more than the torture that they had put her through had hurt her.
When the girl started to cry, Eva knew that she had hit the core of the pain. She reached out and lifted the girl's head so that Sherri was looking at her, staring at her through tear-filled eyes.
"Tell me more," she said in her German accent. "Tell me about your father who beat you and your mother. How did you feel about him when he did that?"
"I felt-I felt-" Sherri stammered. And then she paused for a moment. She had never really considered how she felt when her father beat her and her mother, but, now that the woman had asked that question, Sherri tried to figure out those emotions from her past. She tried to understand herself in a way that she had never tried to understand herself before. She yearned to find the secret to her life, and she sensed that that secret lay in the way that she felt about those beatings.
Then, again, the truth came out before the girl even realized what the truth really was.
"I felt that, at least, he loved me. At least, he touched me. My mother was always drunk and she did not seem to feel anything when he beat her at all. She never felt anything for me either. I do not remember being touched at all. Is that bad? Not remembering being touched except for those times when my father beat me? Is that really bad? Is that the secret?"
And the dark-haired, young beauty was surprised to discover that she felt better already, now that she had figured this out. She did not even seem to feel the pain in her bleeding cunt and her pierced tits any longer. She only felt the need to find out if what she had felt was bad, if that was the deep secret of her life.
"Sherri," the woman said, standing up so that the girl had to twist her head back to look up at the giant, "we can truly help you now, if you want to be helped."
"Yes," Sherri moaned, "please, help me."
Eva looked back at her husband and explained her analysis of the problem, Sherri's problem, to the man with the patch over his eye.
"She needs to be touched," the woman said. "She needs to be touched by both a mother figure and a father figure. She needs to feel that both her father and her mother love her enough to touch her."
"Yes," Harry said, nodding his head in agreement, "I believe that you are correct, Eva."
"We must both touch her and hurt her," the giant German woman said. "But, of course, my pain will be more important to her. Her father gave her pain and touching when she was a girl, but her mother gave her nothing. The female-inflicted pain will be more important to her than the male-inflicted pain."
"Yes," Harry Blackstone said. "You are correct, Eva."
"We shall prepare," the big woman said.
Then she turned back to Sherri and smiled, and she found that the girl was smiling up at her, almost in thanks, even before the real cure started.
"We will help you this morning, Sherri," the German woman said. "We will give you pain and touching, both of us. That will make you complete."
"Yes," the girl murmured. "Thank you very much."
And then Eva and Harry moved to the far side of the room to plan their strategy for that morning of pain and curing. It would not take them long to do that, Eva thought. They were very experienced by now.
And Eva was especially happy that, this time, again, she and her husband would be working' together. This time, they would be equals in science.
It would be wonderful if they could always remain equals.
In science as well as in bed.
Sherri watched the two people leave the white room and wondered where they were going. They had promised to help her and now it seemed that they had forgotten all about her. Sherri did not like that. She wanted to be helped. She wanted them to cure her in any way that they could. Now that she had cried, now that she had felt the pain in her system work its way into her tears, the girl wanted something more from these two people, especially from the giant woman who seemed to know so much, who seemed to understand the deepest parts of Sherri soul.
"Don't leave me!" she cried out.
But the door to the room had already shut behind the couple, the naked people who had first ignored her and then had given her something to look forward to in life for the first time since she was a little girl. She wanted them back. She felt suddenly very lonely and afraid in that room. But they did not come back when she yelled.
She wondered if they would come back ever again. She closed her eyes and thought that, perhaps, this was all a dream, a terrible and wonderful dream, a dream that would never come true for her in its goodness but had only been felt by her in its pain.
She wanted more than pain. She wanted some relief and she sensed that the big woman understood just how to give her that relief. If she would only come back, if she would only help Sherri in the way that she wanted to be helped. But then the girl thought that she was not quite sure how she wanted to be helped. She only knew that she wanted something, and she trusted the woman, the giant woman who spoke in the German accent, who seemed to know her so well, she trusted that woman to understand just how she would be able to help Sherri. She trusted that woman more than she had ever trusted any other person. Even her lover. Even Drew.
Drew had been the black man who had helped to roll drunken businessman. It had been his idea in the first place, to make those men think that they were going to be given a night with Sherri if they just had enough money. She let them think that until they were in the motel room and then Drew would come bounding out of the closet and beat the shit out of those men and steal their money.
Then, later, in another room, she and Drew would fuck.
She liked fucking that black stud. She liked the way that his big, black body seemed to crush hers as he moved over her and fucked her pussy with his long, black cock. He seemed like a mountain to her, and, when he came, it was like a volcanic eruption. But what Sherri liked best were those few times when she had crossed Drew, when she had worked up her courage and told him that she did not want to do something that he wanted her to do.
On those few occasions, Drew had slapped her around hard. He had torn her clothes and had pushed her onto the bed and had used his hands to slap her, to hit her in a hundred different places. He slapped her face and her bare tits and her stomach and her thighs and her pussy. He worked quickly when he went on one of those slapping binges and she always cried and felt the heat build in her body with each slap and then she would go ahead and do what he wanted her to do in the first place. She knew from the moment that she refused to do as he wished that she would ultimately be slapped into it, be forced to do his will. But she enjoyed the pain and the heat of the slapping too much to tell him that. She loved it when he had finished hitting her, when he had given her all that heat. Then he would stand over the bed and huff with his own exhaustion. And he would pull down his pants and let her see his cock and fall on her like a mountain and fuck her with all of his black, brute might.
The slapping led to the fucking. She always remembered that when she felt those blows on her body and remembering that made things easier for her, easier for her to bear. She had long ago equated pain with love when it came from special people. She knew that her father cared a little bit about her because he had taken the time to hit her and make her his slave. Drew cared for her too because he took the time to slap her and then fuck her. That made her feel good. She did not ask for much. She just asked that someone care a little bit about her, enough to give her a few heavy touches with their hands.
And she sensed that the people who had left the white room only a few minutes before really cared for her in a way that she had only recently begun to understand. They cared for her with a kind of professional love, she thought, and she wanted them to show her how much they cared.
After these thoughts had run through her head, she thought again that that couple might have left her in that room to be alone for a long time. They might want nothing more to do with her.
"Please, come back," she whimpered, as she started to weep again, "I just want you to care for me a little bit."
And then, as if on cue, the door opened and the two people walked back into the room. They were no longer naked, but the way that they were dressed thrilled Sherri in a way that she could not really fathom.
The woman was wearing arm bracelets made of leather and a pair of brief, black leather panties. That was all that she was wearing. It seemed to be some kind of uniform, the kind that Sherri could not help loving.
And the man was wearing a pair of black leather briefs too, with the crotch cut out and his heavy prick hanging out of that hole. He wore a black hood over his head, and he looked dangerous and exciting. He was just the kind of man that Sherri wanted at that moment. He was just the kind of man that she had always wanted her father to be, the girl thought as the two people approached.
And the woman was just the kind of woman that she had always wanted her mother to be.
Sherri opened her mouth and the words were out before she knew they were coming.
"Mother," she sighed. "Father. I love you both."
Her father went to one side of the room and picked up the utensils, the tools that he and her mother would use on their loving daughter. As he gathered up that equipment, the mother in black leather knelt over the girl and slowly, gently, pulled the pins out of Sherri's nipples.
When she pulled on the pins, the girl gasped and her eyes filled with tears. She felt a little bit of blood gush from her tits, but she smiled at her mother. She knew that the woman in leather did not want to hurt her, really, that she was doing all of this for Sherri's own good.
When the pins were out of the girl's nipples, the woman reached down and carefully took the metal claw out of Sherri's pussy. She smiled as she did that, and, even though there was some pain for Sherri when the claw was removed, the smile did away with that pain before it really got the best of the girl. Sherri smiled back and knew that the best pain, the real curing pain, was still to come.
"You are very brave, my daughter," Eva said to the girl.
She would play the motherly part to the hilt, she decided. That way, the girl would get the most out of what she would do to her. She would think that her mother and her father really did love her and that would change everything for this girl.
Then Eva pulled the girl to her and hugged her and kissed her softly on the mouth. She felt Sherri's lips tremble under her own, tremble with pain and with pride that she had pleased her mother in such a way and that her mother was showing her pleasure in such a way.
"Mother," the girl whimpered, but then she stopped. She did not know what she wanted to say to the giant woman who was her mother now. She did not know what she wanted to express to her.
"I love you, my daughter," Eva said softly.
And then the girl knew what she wanted to say to her mother. She would have hugged the woman, but her hands were still tied behind her back. So she just pressed her wounded body close to her mother's firm, giant body and cried as she said it.
"I love you too, Mother. I love you so much."
As Eva held the girl close to her, she reached behind the dark-haired, young beauty and untied the rope that bound the girl's hand. She- knew that Sherri did not need to be bound in such a way any longer. She would be bound in another way, a way that would work the curing process on her. She would be bound, but she would not try to escape, for Sherri understood now, understood that this is what she needed in order to be a complete and good woman.
Eva gently pushed her daughter back on the floor and smiled at Sherri so that the girl would lie there and not be afraid. Then the giant, German woman turned to her husband, the man in the black mask, and she nodded. It was time to begin the real and true and curing punishment, the punishment that would change Sherri and make her know that her mother and her father cared for her more than anything else in the whole world. When Eva nodded, Harry Blackstone moved toward the two women with the equipment in his hands. Harry was carrying a rope and a metal rod and a long, leather strip. Sherri looked at those instruments and wondered how they were going to be used on her. She wondered how they were going to show her that she was love. But she still trusted her mother and her father, and she knew that those people would use them with deliberation and justice on her aching body.
Her black-hooded father handed her mother the rope and Eva knelt down and pulled on the girl's shoulders until Sherri was sitting up. She smiled at the girl again so that Sherri would not be afraid and then, quickly, she tied one end of that rope around Sherri's neck and tightened it there. The rope burned the girl's flesh and she winced but she did not cry out or curse or beg to be released. She knew that her mother would not hurt her like this unless she really cared for Sherri, unless she really understood that this pain would be good for the girl.
Sherri smiled as her mother tugged on the rope and felt it tighten around the girl's throat. She smiled at her mother to let the woman know that she trusted-that she was now able to trust-that she was already on the road to cure.
And then Sherri gasped as her mother pushed her back and held the rope as she turned the already aching girl over on her stomach. Then the giant woman in leather pulled the rope up between Sherri's legs and stood up and pulled and pulled until the rope was burning against the girl's open pussy.
Then Sherri yelled out in new pain. She could not help herself.
But she immediately did not want her mother and her father to think that she was yelling because she rejected them and their guidance. So she spoke to them too. She spoke with a voice that was hoarse and tight as the rope cut off her sound.
"Thank you," she gurgled. "Thank you both."
She felt that rope pull on her pussy, felt it move into her pussy as two hands spread the lips of her cunt open for the rope to enter. And Sherri shivered because she had never felt anything so wonderful in life, so wonderful and so loving and yet so cruel. The rope was rough on her twat, but the girl did not care. She could identify the pain and she knew that it was good for her and she knew that her mother was giving her that pain, that pain that would make her whole again, whole and good for the world.
"Thank you," she gasped again.
Sherri was twisted on the floor and the giant woman moved in front of her and pulled the rope even tighter through her pussy. She let the rope move back and forth in the cunt and Sherri felt her pussy getting wet with sexual desire because of the burning that the rough rope was giving her. It was almost as if her pussy juices were running out of her hole in order to try to put out the fire that the rough rope caused.
But Sherri did not mind the fire at all. It was a good fire, the fire that was caused by the love of her parents. She yearned for more fire and more pain, for she knew that that pain would cleanse her and make her well again.
And then she felt the leather hitting her bare ass. She twisted her head and tried to see. She could see the hooded man standing off the side with the metal rod in his hand. So she knew that her mother was spanking her with the strap, that her mother was the one who was giving her this good, fiery feeling.
The leather strap came down on her ass and on her open cunt and forced the rope into her pussy even deeper.
Sherri sighed with every blow and felt the pain rush to her head, the pain that would help her, the pain that came from her mother's cruel but loving hand.
Harry Blackstone stood off to the side and watched his wife work with the girl and waited for his turn. He watched Sherri's face as the leather strap came down again and again. She was in pain, he- saw, but she also understood that this pain was good for her, that this pain was just what she needed. This girl would be easy to help, he thought.
And the psychologist was especially happy that his wife had joined him again. She had joined him because she loved him and wanted to be a part of his work, he thought. And, for some reason, as he watched Eva beat and torture the girl, he knew that he was being cured too. He studied the sexy, young girl with professional disinterest. It was his wife that he looked at with lust in his eyes. His wife was the sexy part of the duo, as far as Harry Blackstone was concerned. She was the one who had given him so much. She deserved a great deal in return. Studying his wife, he felt his own cock begin to grow hard and he knew that, this time, it was not because of the punished girl. He was getting an erection by looking at the punisher, his wife, Eva, his assistant and his lover for life. When Eva looked at him, she saw the rising prick too and she grinned at him. He wanted to smile back, but he knew that she would not be able to see that because he wore a hood over his head. So he spoke to her.
"I love you," he said.
He knew that his voice was muffled by the hood, but he also knew that she heard him. Eva's eyes filled with tears as she worked on the girl and then she spoke to him softly, as she continued to beat the willing and yearning girl with steady, strong strokes.
"I love you too," she said.
Knowing that they shared this love and this work made the whole experience warm for both Harry and Eva Blackstone. They both vowed at the same time that they would never allow anything to stand between them again, to interrupt their work with their love for each other.
Then Eva nodded again and Harry knew that she was giving him the sign that she wanted him to join them, to give the girl the punishment that a father should give his daughter.
Harry moved toward the female couple eagerly. Eva stopped beating the girl with the leather as Harry lifted the metal rod.
Before the man let the rod fall on the girl's ass and pussy, before he let that final pain shoot through Sherri's body, the woman, the mother, the psychologist, Eva, spoke to the patient that they were both working on.
"Now your father will give you what you deserve. Your father will beat you just as I did because he loves you too. He wants you to be a good girl, the' kind of girl that good parents can be proud of."
"I understand," the girl whimpered. "Thank you."
And Harry Blackstone, hearing the words, knew that the girl did understand, that this was not a fake admission of guilt. The girl knew that they would never do anything to hurt her unless they also knew that it would help her. She understood it all so well.
And then Harry Blackstone let the metal rod fall on Sherri's body with a fatherly fury. The girl whimpered and cried out a couple of times as Harry hit her and as Eva held her up in that awkward position with the rope. But she did not try to escape the rod. She knew that there was no escape from the punishment that she deserved, that she craved.
Harry had only hit her a couple of times with the heavy rod when the girl began to shiver and shudder and sigh.
And the couple-the professional psychologists who worked on their patient-knew what was happening to Sherri.
Eva grinned at her husband.
"She is having an orgasm," she said, softly.
Harry nodded and then continued to hit Sherri as the orgasm rushed through her like a mighty flood.
Sherri jumped on the rope as she came. It seemed to her that her pussy was closing in around that rope that burned it and was making the rope a part of her that would never leave her. The rope against her pussy and her young clit had made the girl come.
And Sherri had never come like this before.
"Yes, Father," she moaned as the orgasm carried her to the clouds, "beat the shit of me. Yes, Mother, burn my pussy with that rope. I thank you both. I love you both. I want you both to be my parents and love me. I want to make you proud of me. I will be good. I will be good. I will be good!"
The last words were a scream, a scream that was the promise from a daughter who had learned her lesson at last. But Harry Blackstone continued to hit her with the metal rod until Sherri relaxed and eased her body, until the orgasm was over. Then Harry stopped hitting the girl and Eva lowered her gently onto the floor.
The mother-figure gently untied the rope from around the girl's neck and slipped that rope off as Sherri lay there, exhausted by the pain and the orgasm. Then she lifted the girl up and handed her to Harry, the strong man who still wore the hood. She knew that Harry would take Sherri to another room and there he would mend her wounds, the wounds that were very meaningful to the girl. And Eva knew that she would follow and help her husband.
And the two of them walked out of the room, Harry whispered to Eva.
"We have helped her a lot, together," he said.
"Yes," his giant wife agreed. "We will work together from now on."
"And we will never let anything come between us again."
"No."
"Eva?"
"Yes, Harry."
"When we tend to her wounds."
"Yes?"
"And when we put her to bed."
"Yes?"
"I want to fuck you like there is no tomorrow."
The giant woman threw her head back and laughed with happiness. She ran her fingers through her husband's soft, blond hair and smiled at him.
"We will fuck like there is no tomorrow," she assured him.
And she knew that they would do that. She knew that they had found their common ground again and that nothing and no one would ever come between Eva and Harry Blackstone again.
They were a team, she thought. They were lovers and co-workers, and they would stay together and show them all.
The couple walked with the tired and happy and bleeding girl down the hallway to another room.
After they had cared for the girl who had. suffered, after they had put her to bed, Harry and Eva Blackstone went to their own room, the room that they had not shared for several nights.
When they were in that room, they took off what clothes still remained on their lusting and heated bodies and they moved toward the bed.
It felt so good to have Harry home, Eva thought, as she lay on that bed and cradled the man's head in her giant breasts. She felt that he had been away from her for centuries and not just a few weeks. She wanted to remind him of what kind of woman she could be. She wanted to recapture the thrills that they had had when they were first going together, when they first studying together. She wanted to recapture the youth of their lives.
And Harry felt that he had to prove something to himself. Certainly, he got turned on by watching women suffer, he remembered, but he was not sure that that was bad or abnormal, not if he could fuck his giant, German wife with lust and style even when she had not suffered at all. So he had to prove that he was normal by fucking a woman that he had not beaten up. That would make everything normal, he thought, and it would ease his mind as he continued with his experiments.
The naked, little man with the patch over his eye moved his head away from the giant breasts of his German wife. He touched her face with his hands and he turned her face to his. Then he kissed her-softly, like a husband should kiss a wife. The kiss grew in passion as Eva opened her mouth and put her strong arms around Harry. Harry's tongue moved into Eva's mouth and tasted the sweetness in there. As he did that, Eva's mind flashed back to the time when she had tasted blood in that mouth for the first time, when she had grown sick because of that taste. She was willing to accept anything in her mouth now, she thought, Harry's tongue or more blood or more pain-wracked flesh. She would do it because she wanted to give Harry all the help that she could give. Together, they had cured some girls. They would cure others. She was certain of that.
But she could not worry about curing others right now, she finally thought as she held her husband close to her big body. She could only worry about her marriage, about her relationship with Harry. That relationship had been sick but now it was on the way to being cured. If they could just fuck on this night, the giant, German woman thought, then they would be able to cure their marriage of all of its ills.
Eva rolled over with Harry in her arms and soon the man with the patch over his eye found himself lying on his back as he felt his wife's soft, moist lips start working down his body. He felt his flesh tingle with excitement, male excitement. It had been a long time since this has happened to him, since he had felt this male. He was not a scientist at the moment. He was just a husband with a sexy wife who loved him, a sexy wife that he loved too.
Eva ran her tongue around Harry's male nipples. She knew her husband well. She knew that he liked this kind of treatment. She felt his shiver when she touched his chest with her tongue and she knew that the weeks had not changed him that much. She sucked on one of those nipples with her soft, wet lips and then she moved on down his body. She kissed his stomach and she exhaled her breath there. She knew that Harry liked that, that soft breath on his flesh, thrilling him and making the hairs of hi body stand on end with delight. She ran her tongue into his navel and she felt Harry buck under her. Eva was big. She held her husband down with all of her strength. She did not want him moving around too much. She wanted him to lie still and take what she was going to give him. She knew that it would be good for him. And then Eva suddenly thought that she was in command of Harry now, in much the same way that he had been in command of those girls that he had helped with torture. She would not torture her husband. He did not need that kind of treatment. Eva knew that Harry tortured himself a great deal, tortured his brain and his sensitivity with his guilt feelings and his hard work. She wanted to give Harry peace and this was the way that she could do it. She could give him peace by giving him warmth, the kind of warmth a husband got from the loving kisses and licks that a wife would give to him.
This was what Harry needed, she thought. She knew best when it came to what her one-eyed, sexy, intelligent husband needed in his life, just as he knew best when it came to what his female patients needed.
Finally, she got to that part of his body that she loved the most, the hardening rod of flesh that was already beginning to spring up there between his legs. Eva pressed her big face close to that flesh, but she did not take the cock in her mouth right away. First, she licked. She liked the underside of the throbbing organ and she licked the balls and she licked the inner skin of his thighs, that soft flesh that responded to her licks as if they were cold gusts of wind that excited the flesh. Then she lifted the cock up and pressed it back, back toward Harry's stomach. The balls were in plain view then. Eva sucked those balls into her mouth and a gulping sound and them hummed on them. She hummed a little German tune that her mother had sang to her when she was a little girl. It was one of Harry's favorites. It was one of her favorites too.
Harry began to toss on the bed as his wife held his balls in her mouth and hummed on them. He twisted on the bed and loved her more than ever. Eva was a good assistant, an intelligent woman, a beautiful woman, a loving wife. He could not believe that he had allowed his own shame to keep him away from that woman for so long. He had been a fool, he thought for the thousandth time that day. He had been a fool to let Eva stay away from him for so long.
When she was finished with her little German tune, the giant woman let the balls pop out of her mouth like pieces of tight, ripe fruit and she raised her head and opened her lips and took the shaft into her. She impaled her giant head on that cock and started to suck on it. She moved her head up and down as she worked on Harry and gave her one-eyed king of a husband more strength with each sucking thrust that she made.
Harry groaned under this lustful treatment. It was like heaven to him. His wife's mouth was so soft and so warm. He had almost forgotten how well she sucked his cock. He wondered for a second if she had sucked that Juan's cock in this way. And then he decided that that did not matter. What did matter, to him was that she was again sucking his cock in this way. That was all that mattered in the world. He would even give up his science for her, he decided, if she would just keep sucking his prick and making it hard with her soft, warm, German mouth.
But Harry knew that his wife would not ask him to give up his science. She would even help him with his experiments as long as he remembered that she was his man sex object, that his wife in bed was better than any other woman writhing in pain in his laboratory.
And Harry knew that he would always remember that now.
Eva took her mouth off the cock and felt it with her finger, noting its hardness and its explosive strength.
"Ready?" she asked, looking up and grinning at her husband.
"Ready," he moaned, smiling down on his beautiful, giant wife.
Eva moved quickly, throwing herself on the other side of the big bed and spreading her legs and fingering herself for just a few seconds. She did not have to get herself wet with her finger. She was already wet. The torture session had begun to turn her on, but sucking her husband's cock had turned her on even' more.
Harry moved over his wife and aimed his hard and erect prick at her wide, giant pussy. But Harry knew that Eva was still surprisingly tight. It always amazed him that such a big woman could have such a tight little cunt. But he loved that amazement and he loved that little snatch.
The one-eyed psychologist drove his cock into her with a manly force and Eva gasped and moved under that force with her own lust building in her giant body.
"Oh, fuck me, Harry," she moaned
"I will never leave you again," he promised as he started to plunge- into her and then pull out for another dive into that sweet, juicy cunt.
Eva raised her giant legs and moved her ass to match her husband's rhythm and knew that he would never leave her again', that she had won, that she would be his helper and his lover for the., rest of their lives.
The two psychologists fucked with more happiness than they had ever experienced before. They fucked like youngsters, like two people who joined together and formed the perfect symbol of love.