Judge Austin W. Black leaned back in his chair as his Japanese butler Yoshio proffered a humidor. The white-haired, fat justice selected a Havana panatela, held it to his bulbous nose and sniffed appreciatively, then put it into his mouth, while Yoshio respectfully tendered a silver lighter until the end glowed red.
"An excellent dinner, Yoshio. My compliments to the cook," Judge Austin W. Black drawled. He exhaled a sigh of utter content. The good food and wine circulated delightfully in his system and he began to feel the rewarding sensation of vitality in his loins. Soon there would be exquisitely tantalizing pressures which would need relief. And the instrument of that relief was awaiting his good pleasure, in a little room on the second floor of his elaborately furnished mansion.
"Everything is arranged, Yoshio?" he turned to the wiry little man, with his monkey-like face, big black tortoise shell spectacles and sleek black hair. Yoshio Kimura had been in his service for a decade and knew his tastes and predilections so well that he could readily anticipate them. Yoshio was a treasure, and particularly invaluable for occasions like the one which was about to take place as soon as the justice had digested this fine culinary repast.
The little Japanese valet nodded and his eyes glittered with anticipation. "Whenever master give the word, everything ready," he laconically replied.
"Excellent, Yoshio." Judge Black took a puff at his cigar, examined the panatela critically, and then exhaled a wreath of aromatic blue smoke. Life was indeed good, and it promised to be still better.
He sat there until he had finished his cigar and another cup of coffee, then downed a pony of Grand Marnier which the valet brought him. He made a great ceremonial of taking the wide glass goblet between his hands, raising it to his sensuous, widely flaring nostrils and savoring the bouquet before even sipping. And when he had finished it at last, he belched and rose from the table. He had looked forward for five years to this little reunion with Edith Garvin.
Five years ago, Austin W. Black had been state's attorney of Jurgens County, in the southwestern part of Arkansas. And Edith Garvin had been his secretary. The office force had comprised about a dozen girls, of whom Edith was by far the most tempting. She was petite, about five feet four inches in height, but her body was that of a ripe, full-blown Venus. She was then twenty-five, but from her prudish and reticent behavior and attire, one would have believed her a middle-aged spinster.
Edith Garvin had dark brown hair which, at the time, she had worn in a prim bun at the back of her head. Her face was exquisitely rounded, with large, widely spaced dark brown eyes whose constant expression was always mournful and wistful, as if their owner feared adversity in even the smallest details of the mundane life she pursued in this unexciting and not overly-paid job. Her nose was a trifle snub, with rather broadly spreading wings, and her mouth was small but quite ripe and tremulous.
She wore glasses, which further emphasized the intellectual qualities of her personality, and it was true she was extremely efficient and rarely spoke even to her associate.
But Austin W. Black, even in those years-he was then approaching his fiftieth birthday- was connoisseur enough to see beyond the austerity of Edith Garvin's attire and personality, and to covet the physical treasures of her opulent body. Her skin was warm olive, and even though she wore dresses whose skirts invariably lowered to midcalf or at least below the dimpled round of her knees, they did not quite conceal the ripe jut of round, spacious buttocks nor the closely spaced cantaloupe-like globes of her bosom.
Her application blank had told him very little about her life or habits. She had filled out the dates of schooling and of birth: she was single, she had been born in a small town just west of New York City, and had come to Arkansas after having worked two years in Springfield, Illinois, as a file clerk. Her reasons for this move were to be reunited with a distant second cousin on her mother's side-her parents had died some years before-and she had gone to night school to take up shorthand so as to qualify as a secretary. She had been working for him exactly eight months, and he had attempted on several occasions to invite her to dinner, only to be courteously but firmly rebuffed each time. Then, one never-to-be-forgotten Friday afternoon during vacation time, when most of the other girls in the office were already away, he had found himself alone with Edith Garvin.
He had emerged from his private office and stood transfixed with lustful admiration as he watched her bend over a file cabinet with her skirts drawn tightly over the ripe, full, poutingly inviting cheeks of her behind. Unable to resist the salacious impulse, he had tiptoed up to her and goosed her.
Edith Garvin had let out a wild shriek, literally jumped a foot away, and then whirled and struck him furiously across the face, hysterically exclaiming, "How dare you do a filthy thing like that to me, Mr. Black? I've never been so insulted in my life! I'm giving you my notice right now!" With that, she had walked out of the office, and returned only to pick up her check. She had steadfastly ignored his apologies and his promise that if she remained, he would never give her further cause to be offended. She had turned her face away as she had blurted out that under no circumstances would she ever work for him again.
That had been five years ago. And since then, Austin W. Black had become judge of the Municipal Court of the town of Catayunga, which boasted about six thousand inhabitants, a newspaper known as the Catayunga News-Gazette, and two small but quite modern hotels.
One might wonder why two hotels would be built in this small and not overly attractive Southern town. The answer was that they provided accommodations for many out-of-town guests and visitors, people who came to visit Judge Austin W. Black not only at his home but also at the women's correctional and penal institution known as Welfare Island.
This institution had its name because it had been built on a small strip of land in the midst of a huge and stagnant creek. It was about thirty miles from Catayunga and located in a desolate area; there were no farms around it for a radius of at least ten miles. The creek formed a kind of moat, so deep that only the best swimmers could make it to the island and back to the bank of the creed. This in itself was an excellent recommendation for the construction of a penal institution.
Fortunately for the taxpayers of the vicinity, Welfare Island had cost them very little. There had been a curious edifice greatly resembling a medieval castle which had been built about twenty years ago by an eccentric millionaire who had lived there along with a staff of servants, a lovely young wife and two even more beautiful young maids who were her companions. Strange rumors had floated back from the inhabitants of the then little hamlet of Catayunga, but nothing had really ever been done about investigating them, since the owner of the castle had kept savage dogs patrolling all around the outside of the building. He had also built tall grilled metal fences eight feet high, circling this strip of land completely, sturdy enough to withstand the years and the elements. Some five years after he had acquired the property and built this outlandish and unique edifice, he and his wife had been killed in a plane crash over the Swiss Alps, and after that the castle remained deserted. The owner had had no heirs.
Accordingly, the property reverted to the county, and Judge Austin W Black had acquired it for a virtual song about four years ago, only to sell it back for a staggering profit when the legislature decided to build a new women's prison. The newly elected Judge Black had gone before the state legislature to argue that here was immediately available, with no expenditure necessary for building, a fortified castle which was stronger than any modern prison, protected by the moat-like creek all around it, as well as the high fence. Add to this security guards, and the state would have a ready-made institution which would be escape-proof and also have the further social grace of locating the female criminals and vagrants in an area which would not disturb decent people.
He had ingeniously arranged for the existence of a dummy corporation, which made the state a low bid-but enough to guarantee him a staggering fortune-and the transaction had been affected.
The castle had about the equivalent of six modern floors, together with an enormous cellar that ran throughout the castle, and below that a substantial sub-cellar. Judge Black had spend a good deal of money over the past few years remodeling these two cellars into "recreation rooms," into arenas with loges built all around them on a rising incline, and special experimental chambers, some with one-way glass sections in the wall, so that he and his friends could watch unobserved the sexual antics of the performers in that chamber.
He had also been instrumental in recommending that the legislature approve as superintendent of Welfare Island one Dr. Marjorie Sayers. She was the ideal woman for the job, he argued. And with hardly a dissenting vote, out of gratitude for the money he had saved the state, the legislature approved this singular woman as head of a prison which in reality was being ingeniously and secretly altered into a kind of training school for future bondservants, slaves, and potential prostitutes intended for the many houses of the crime syndicate throughout the country.
For Judge Austin W. Black was venial and corrupt, but he was also shrewd in business affairs. As state's attorney, he had had occasion to prosecute a number of minor hoodlums of the syndicate, and he had come into contact with the higher echelon. When he had been appointed to the bench, he remembered those contacts and had sought out those powerful men and made a deal with them.
An attractive girl upon whom the syndicate had designs could be apprehended in this county, brought before Judge Black and sentenced to ninety days as a vagrant, in this correctional institution. When the ninety days were up, she would go out of there not a free woman but a subjugated hireling of the syndicate, if she were not bought on the auction block by wealthy amateurs who paid a fortune to the corrupt Judge for the privilege of witnessing her debut into as depraved and complex a carnal servitude as ever flourished even in the days of the robber barons and the pre-Civil War era of black bondage.
Thanks to his powerful alliance with the lords of vice and crime, Judge Austin W. Black had been able to trace Edith Garvin five years after she had walked out on him. She had apparently gone to New York City, worked for an insurance company there, and became engaged to a mature and somewhat prissy schoolteacher in his late forties named Ben Rosenzweig. At thirty, Edith Garvin was about to marry, and when Judge Black had heard this news, he had worked out a scheme to bring her back to settle the score and to wipe out the insult of that slap. A private investigator had visited Edith Garvin in New York to inform her that she had become heir to a sizeable fortune and that she would have to go back to Chicago to claim it. The story was plausible and the documentation was convincing: Edith Garvin had had a second cousin, apart from the one she had visited in Arkansas, who had migrated to Australia about ten years ago. Supposedly, it was this cousin who had left her the inheritance.
Suspecting nothing, the beautiful secretary had boarded the train with the investigator. As soon as they arrived in Chicago, he had put her into a cab, and that was all she remembered. The cab driver had been hired to meet that train. Edith Garvin had been chloroformed, the taxi took her to a chartered plane, which in turn conveyed her and the investigator back to Catayunga and thence to the mansion of Judge Austin W. Black.
Edith Garvin, upon awakening from the drug-induced coma, had found herself in a windowless room, absolutely soundproofed, narrow, and whose only furniture had been a hard, narrow cot, a little wooden footstool and a straight backed chair. Yoshio had visited her twice a day to bring her food and water, had entered and left without a word in spite of her frantic and hysterical supplications to be told where she was and why this was being done to her.
A week had passed since Edith Garvin had been abducted and brought back to the house of her former employer, then a state's attorney, now a judge with virtually limitless power in the disposition of delectable female flesh. Tonight she was going to embark upon an adventure which not even her wildest dreams could have conjured up ... an adventure which was to begin the saga of Welfare Island and affect the lives of many in an almost unbelievable way!
Chapter Two
Judge Austin W. Black left his luxuriously furnished dining room and went slowly down the hall to a guest room. The two-story house was on the western edge of the town of Catayunga, and till about five years ago it had belonged to a handsome brunette widow of thirty-six, Mrs. Lucille Delmar. Eugene Delmar had been an assistant in the state's attorney's office and an associate of Austin W. Black. He had received an inheritance from an aunt and with this windfall had built the house as a present for his attractive wife on their tenth anniversary. Austin had long coveted Lucille Delmar, but she had been unutterably chaste and there had been no way for him to achieve his purpose with her until the sudden death of her husband from an attack of pneumonia.
Already strong in his contacts with the underworld, and on the verge of becoming elected to the Municipal Court where he would have still greater power, the corrupt roue had invested several thousand dollars in bribes, notably with meek little Theodore Paxton, who held the office of recorder of deeds. First Austin W. Black invited Paxton to his elegant apartment and saw to it that the timid little man had all the liquor he wished and then a very lovely and eager young girl to share his bed. But the next morning Theodore Paxton discovered that the girl was under age and that there were a number of incriminating photographs showing him performing rather deviate acts which if published in the News-Gazette could hardly aid his reputation. He had been hysterical with terror until Austin W. Black had wheedlingly informed him that there was no need for worry so long as he did his duty by investigating the title of some property in question about which there was likely to be litigation.
Theodore Paxton saw the light, the negatives were destroyed, and an envelope containing twenty-five hundred dollars was put into his pocket as he left Austin W. Black's office that next afternoon. On the following evening, the paunchy and already white-haired state's attorney paid a visit to Lucille Delmar to console her at her widow's weeds. He showed her a document which indicated that her husband had never had complete title to the house, but he himself had paid the delinquent taxes and obtained a clear title and that the property was now his. To be sure, he had no desire to evict so lovely and devoted a woman, and he intimated that if Lucille Delmar would accept the sincere homage and admiration he had always retained for her, there would be no need for her to leave her house.
When she persisted in not knowing precisely what he meant, Austin W. Black had chuckled, taken her in his arms and kissed her on the neck, while his hands had gloatingly cupped her firm widely spaced high-set round breasts through the very becoming black garb of her mourning. Then she understood. She had told him, trembling with fury and revulsion, that she loathed him, and that her husband had personally detested him, and that she would rather beg her daily bread than accept a single favor from him on his infamous terms.
She packed two suitcases, called a taxi and went to the railroad station. A few months later, the News-Gazette printed a small paragraph on the fifth page to the effect that Mrs. Eugene Delmar, still grief-stricken over her husband's untimely death, had decided to take a trip abroad to alleviate her sorrows. At this very moment, however, Lucille Delmar was in an elegant bordello de luxe in Buenos Aires, where she had been taken by members of the syndicate in return for a handsome fee paid by the owner of the brothel, a portion of which fee found its way into the coffers of Austin W. Black.
Since he had taken over the ownership of the Delmar mansion, he had done some remodeling, notably in the basement where he had constructed several singularly equipped soundproofed rooms where he could indulge his sadistic and erotic passions. One of these rooms this very night was reserved for Edith Garvin by way of celebrating the return of this pulchritudinous prodigal after five eventful years... eventful, so far as Judge Austin W. Black was concerned, needless to say.
He opened the guestroom and smiled greedily. There on a low couch, waiting for him, sat a lovely fifteen-year-old girl of medium height, whose shimmering golden hair fell almost to her waist, and whose exquisite, poignant, round face might well have been a model for Botticelli. Her name was Martha Cronkite, she was an orphan and a runaway from a juvenile home in Missouri who had been apprehended by one of Judge Black's henchmen and personally delivered to him as a kind of present from the district head of the syndicate in that state for whom Black himself had done a number of favors.
Martha Cronkite had been in this house three months, and at first she had been furiously rebellious. Virginal, chaste to the core, she had run away from the juvenile home because a sadistic Lesbian matron had attempted to subjugate her. On the very first night, the Judge had attempted to conquer his delectable young "present" and Martha Cronkite had struggled with him, struck at him and denounced him as a filthy old beast.
He had touched a buzzer in the wall and a few moments later his Japanese valet had appeared. Martha had been stripped naked, tied up by the heels by means of ropes set in a ceiling pulley, and then Yoshio had tied her forefingers to metal floor rings so that her arms were widely spread apart and her body tightly extended.
Judge Austin W. Black had leisurely stripped naked, and Yoshio had brought him a long velvet case in which reposed an egret's plume and a thin, flexible cypress-tree switch.
Armed with these two implements, Judge Black had proceeded to alternately switch and tickle her thighs and her plump, light-downed virgin pussy until the unfortunate young girl found herself almost on the brink of orgasm. He had then resorted to the switch alone, flicking in continuously against her anus and her pussy, as well as the tender in-sides of her thighs and then her ample, round titties until at last poor Martha Cronkite weepingly implored mercy and promised to do anything that he would ask of her. He had had her released, and then commanded her to kneel and prove her good intentions. In this genuflecting and servile pose, naked as the day the lovely young girl was born, she had been forced to perform fellatio upon him and swallow every drop of his copious spermatic ejaculation.' And from that day forth, Martha Cronkite had been the most docile and obedient of lust-slaves.
She wore only a black nylon tunic with very narrow straps, which took her from the middle of her magnificently opulent bosom down to the tops of her thighs, and open-toe sandals. At dinner time, he had instructed Yoshio to go to her room and order her to don that costume and then hold herself in readiness in this room until it would be his good pleasure to appear before her. During the lengthy time of that elegant repast which he had not in the least hurried, the lovely young golden-haired adolescent had been in a very agony of anxiety and suspense, pitiably asking herself in what why she might have offended him, for she naturally believed that his summons was for the purpose of chastisement.
As soon as he entered, she sprang up and then hastened to him, sank down on her knees and clasped her hands as in prayer. It was a ritualistic acknowledgement of his sovereignty over her which he had taught her at the cost of a good flogging about a week after she had first entered his household. Her beautiful large blue eyes were brimming with tears as she stared anxiously at his face, seeking to guess his mood and therefore gauge her own destiny. He smiled and patted her head: "I'm pleased with you today, Martha."
"Oh thank you, Master!" she gasped, her lips trembling pitifully. She had a sweet clear voice and its overtones of anguish and fear titillated his sadistic ego. "I have need of your services this evening, my dear. You're going to help me welcome back a dear friend, one who had been absent for about five years and who may take a little persuading until we can restore the happy degree of comradeship we once enjoyed." Judge Austin Black was excessively fond of pompous rhetoric, if only because it continued his victim's suspense in not pronouncing the exact details of what he intended.
"Yes, Master," Martha Cronkite faltered.
"You may undress me, child. Let's see now. Bring me my black silk bathrobe and my sandals. Oh yes, and that spray bottle of cologne which I use when I feel in a romantic mood, you know the one."
Martha Cronkite could hardly forget that rather cloying scent; it had been the very one with which he had sprayed himself before undertaking her torture and violation that first night of her incarceration in this mansion. She bit her lips, nodded, "Yes, Master, at once. Shall I undress at once, or get the spray?"
"Undress me first, you stupid little bitch! Another question like that, Martha, and you may find yourself sharing my guest's entertainment. Now be quick about it!"
He smiled genially at her, but his cold gray-blue eyes fixed greedily on the swelling globes of her full young breasts, then lowered to admire the pale white satin of her delightfully rounded thighs, her plump, exquisitely muscled calves. He sighed. One of these days he would have to bestow a gift on Tony Rocco, the syndicate runner from New Orleans who had bought quite a few of the girls he himself had sentenced to Welfare Island. Tony expected a favor every now and then. Well, he would hate to part with this dear child, but the influence which Tony had in bringing him the finest prices and the best customers for the merchandise at Welfare Island was after all much more important than a single girl. There would always be others.
Martha Cronkite efficiently and swiftly undressed him. She did so with downcast eyes, her long thick lashes fluttering as she tried to avert his gaze from his mocking stare. Her slim little fingers, so soft and gentle, removed his frock coat, his shirt and the bowtie, undid the braces, lowered his trousers and helped him step out of them. Then came the undershirt, and then she knelt down and removed his shoes and socks. He smiled again, observing the order in which she was undressing him. The little bitch still had a touch of prudishness to her, and she kept his cock hidden until the very last possible moment. It amused him to see this, when he knew to what depths of degradation he had compelled her.
"Before you take off my shorts, Martha, suppose you unbutton them and take my cock out and kiss it fifty times. Just a little reminder of your position in this house, my girl. Of course, of course, you'd like to go back to that juvenile home. I believe Mrs. Porter would give a great deal to have you back. I had a letter from her just last week, you know." This was a lie, but the unfortunate golden haired adolescent could not know that; and it made her shudder and utter a groan of terror. Almost feverishly she unbuttoned his shorts, reached in her soft trembling fingers and took out his stiffening prick. Then he looked down with almost a paternal and benign smile, as, her gold head bowed over his adequately virile organ-he was inordinately proud of his manhood at his age and always seized the opportunity to prove that virility-she began to kiss his cockhead while he counted aloud: "Ten... eleven... not so quickly, my dear, one would think you were hurrying to get it over with. I'm sure you don't feel that way, do you? Twelve... that's a little better... loudly, so I can hear your sweet kisses... thirteen... that's much better, Martha. You see what you can do when you really try?"
He felt himself throbbing with dynamic vitality tonight. He stared beyond the kneeling young girl to the door, and there was a look of impatience on his face as he thought of Edith Garvin whom Yoshio must have already led downstairs to the special room which would be furnished particularly in her honor. Or rather, he thought lewdly to himself, in her dishonor.
Chapter Three
The Japanese valet had prepared Edith Garvin for her ordeal. He entered the room in which she had been incarcerated, and, so swiftly, that she did not have time to put up any adequate defence -which, moreover, would have been absolutely useless because Yoshio was skilled in judo and karate-he had applied a pair of silver handcuffs to her wrists, swiftly blindfolded her, and then, fixing a leather dogcollar round her neck, had taken hold of the leash and ordered peremptorily, "You come now, or Yoshio give you good whipping!"
Absolutely consternated at what had happened to her, the blindfolded young Jewess had begun to stammer agonized question, demanding to know why this was being done to her, why she had been abducted from New York, where she was now, what was to be done to her. But the Japanese valet had given her no reply whatsoever; dragging on the leash, he had led her stumbling out of the room and then guided her down the stairs, his left hand at the scruff of her neck, his right gripping her fettered wrists, and guided her to the basement chamber where she was at last to be reunited with Judge Austin W. Black.
This chamber was extremely wide with a low ceiling. Placed advantageously around its walls were several loveseats, and a few tabourets and ottomans. In one corner, there was an elaborate sideboard buffet on which were placed decanters of liqueurs and wines. There was even a movie projection screen at one end of the spacious chamber for at times the Judge whetted his sexual appetite by watching films which had been taken at Welfare Island or here in this very house by his cooperative Japanese manservant. They were complete with soundtrack, and in a special room on the first floor just off his study-library, there were metal cabinets containing hundreds of canisters of movie film, each meticulously labeled as to date, victim, and a brief outline of what action could be enjoyed when running any particular film. Many of these had been duplicated and given to members of the crime syndicate engaged in prostitution, either for their own amusement of as documentation on some helpless female victim who was about to make her debut under their auspices as a callgirl or a whore or a lust-slave.
In the center of this wide room was a pillory, solidly set into a low rectangular platform about a foot high. But it was much shorter than the kind we see illustrated in history books dealing with the Puritan Colonies in New England, when it was the custom to flog errant women and then set them in the pillory or the stocks, to be mocked and taunted by the avid spectators. It was scarcely four feet high, which meant that a victim whose neck and wrists were clamped in the yoke-holes would have to bend over till the back was on a most completely horizontal plane-and this, needless to say, would project her buttocks out for either the tactual exploration of the executioner's fingers or for the lash!
Yoshio had at once fixed the beautiful mature woman in this pillory, removing the dogcollar and the handcuffs but leaving the blindfold in place. His eyes had glistened with lubricity as he had stepped back to contemplate the mouth wateringly desirable victim. For the ample, round, succulently firm globes of her behind excited his animal passions even though he was still fully clothed.
Edith Garvin heard his receding footsteps and then the clang of the metal door which announced that she was left alone in her suspense and terror. She began to sob helplessly, ineffectually trying to ease the constricting pressure of those three yokes about her wrists and neck. Her back had already begun to ache because of the exaggerated stress of this bent-over pose.
She had been waiting there for nearly an hour when Judge Austin W. Black clad only in a green silk bathrobe and leather sandals, and accompanied by the delicious goldenhaired adolescent in her immodest black nylon tunic, entered the chamber.
Edith Garvin uttered a stifled cry at the sound of this entrance. "Oh God, who is it? Oh please, please let me go! Why have you brought me here? Why have I been kept a prisoner all this time? In the name of mercy, will some one tell me?"
The lecherous white-haired roue made a gesture to Martha Cronkite. She swiftly approached the panting, terrified captive, and deftly grasped the hems of Edith Garvin's modest brown cotton skirt as well as the chastely cut white nylon slip beneath it, and rucked the garments up over the victim's temptingly curvaceous hips. Making a snug roll of them, she then unfastened two safety pins which she had fastened to the bodice of her tunic, and secured Edith Garvin's uptrussed garments so that they would not fall back down.
"Oh my God, what are you going to do to me? Who is it? In the name of mercy, I beg of you, who are you, where am I and why have I been brought here?" Edith Garvin wailed. She twisted and weaved her hips about, for the cruel stress of this bent-over pose was already beginning to prove an irksome ordeal.
Judge Black's eyes were narrowed and burning with lust as he contemplated the magnificent mise en scene. Edith Garvin was wearing a white satin elastic pantiegirdle, whose narrow tabs clamped to the tops of charcoal-brown nylon hose. Presented as she was, this final sheath which hid the vistas of her sexual charms from him was supremely tautened till it seemed to become part of her very skin itself. It molded out the full plump, tightly spaced hemispheres of her behind, accentuated the ripe curves of her shuddering thighs, and made the muscles of those luscious columns and those of her delightfully curved calves ripple and flex under the gauzy nylon hose.
Martha Cronkite watched her master anxiously for his slightest sign, for even though at this moment she was not the one incurring his disciplinary wrath, she knew very well that a single misadventure or mistake in executing his orders would condemn her to the same fate as this beautiful mature brown-haired captive in the pillory.
His prick was savagely swollen, thrusting out adamantly against the soft silk bathrobe's folds. The sensation of being naked under the delicate and thin silk appealed to all his hedonistic senses, sharpened his erotic imagination as well as his carnal lust. As a patron of the arts and as a frequent visitor to the symphony orchestra concerts, the Judge had once read that the composer Richard Wagner never wore anything but silk next to his body, and he had quickly adopted that idiosyncrasy as his own. It was indescribably exciting at this moment to feel his bare skin delicately caressed by the soft silk, to feel it brush against his straining cock, to feel himself virile and powerful, like a veritable god or an emperor from whom there would be no appeal. Edith Garvin would learn this lingeringly, deliciously!
The silence in this room was broken only by the victim's sobs and gasps, and by his quickened and heavy breathing. Martha Cronkite knelt beside him, her eyes fixed on Edith Garvin's jutting bottom. She was very pale and wide eyed and already this young girl scarcely out of puberty had been so thoroughly initiated into her carnal servitude that at this moment she was secretly grateful that the unknown female locked in the pillory before her was going to suffer and not she herself. And at that moment, too, she was ready to do anything to add to the torment of the unfortunate Edith Garvin provided only that her tyrannical master spared her own tender naked flesh.
He glanced down at Martha Cronkite and he read all this on her pale, frightened face, and he grinned with a gloating exultance. The power which this double life had given him had made him feel reborn, like a young man. Seated on the bench in his courtroom, seeing lovely girl and woman brought before him on this charge or another, pompously chiding them for their transgressions and then with a kind of mournful solicitude, sentencing them to Welfare Island "for their own good," provided him with the most exquisite secret delight. For he well knew that in a few weeks, he would preside over them in another capacity, that of their executioner, torturer, ravager. And like a true connoisseur of sadistic joys, he savored the Tantaluslike pleasures of anticipation; when he stared down with a benign smile upon some young woman who stood before him in his courtroom, it seemed to him that he could envision her stripped of the dress she was wearing, kneeling naked at his feet, her hands clasped in prayer, her eyes brimming with tears, her naked bosom heaving with sobs, as she besought him for mercy. Too, it delighted him to conjecture as to the exact quality of her charms when she should be naked and enslaved, to her reactions and how she would behave under the lash or when her thighs were forced apart and a male prick was gouging the tight channel of her cunt.
From the pocket of his robe he now took a Havana panatela, lit it, and savored the rich aroma. Then he blew a cloud of smoke towards the pillory, and waited. Edith Garvin was still brokenly pleading to know who her captor was, what he intended to do to her. As the fumes of the strong cigar reached her nostrils, she gasped and coughed, "Ohh-oh my God-who is there, oh speak to me, this is unbearable, have pity on me! I've done nothing. I demand to know why I am here! Please-it hurts me like this-my back is hurting so! Oh my God, if you've any mercy in you, tell me who you are out there!"
For answer, he sent another cloud of smoke in her direction. His face was a mask of lustful anticipation, and his cock was aching with the savage joy he had promised it.
Again she began to cough and gasp as the strong fumes wafted to her flaring nostrils, "Ohh-ahh- please-pl-please-who is it, who's there?"
He chuckled softly and that soft sound made Edith Garvin freeze in terror. Her body stiffened, and he could see the muscles surging out along her thighs and calves through the sheer dark brown sheaths of her hose. He approached now, transferring the cigar to his left hand, and he extended his pudgy right forefinger towards her jutting bottom. Holding his breath, he approached the crevice shaped out by the tightly stretched pantiegridle, and then suddenly goosed her.
"AHHHH!! OHHHH MY GOD, PLEASE DON'T!!" Her voice was shrill and agonized as she tried to swerve her hips away from that profaning touch.
"You disappoint me, my dear," he purred, "I thought your memory would be much better than this."
"That-that:-that voice-ohhh my God-no, no, it can't be-" she gasped, congealing in a sudden horrified dread which impinged itself upon her mind.
"But it is, my dear. Now that's better. I'm glad that you're beginning to remember. After our happy association in the past, it would grieve me to find that you didn't recognize me by now." Judge Black obsequiously declared.
"Mr. Black-oh my God-no, no, I can't believe it-where am I-oh my God, why have you done this?"
"It's Judge Black, now, my dear. And now you disappoint me. When you were in my employ weren't you aware of my legal abilities? Didn't you realize that I would go higher than the mere post of state's attorney, my dear?" he banteringly replied.
"But I don't understand-I came to Chicago and oh my God, then it was all your doing-" she gasped.
"All of it, yes, my dear. That should flatter you, my charming Edith. To think that I remembered your charms so well after all these five long years that I could not do without them."
"But this is insane! You-you kid-kidnapped me-that's what you did! Oh my God, let me go. Please let me go!"
"Come now, Edith, can it be that you are still as prudishly naive as when you worked for me? But I've had reports that you're actually engaged to be married. Now surely, in these past five years let me see, that would make you about thirty years old, wouldn't it-you must have learned something about a man's desires for a luscious body like yours. As a matter of fact, seeing you like this in such an immodest pose and so scantily clad, I feel even more strongly about your charms that I did when you were my secretary. Yes, it seems to me, truly, my dear Edith, that your bottom and your thighs have taken on an even more enticing plumpness. Surely you can't have gone these last five years without some romantic experience, not with tempting charms like those."
With this, he passed his right hand over the plump surging cheeks of Edith Garvin's jutting bottom, and the young woman uttered a piercing cry and violently twisted herself away from that ignoble palpitation. "Gracious, you seem to be even more sensitive than you were before."
"You-you filthy old beast! You know perfectly well why I quit my job! You know that I wouldn't work for a man who had no more respect for a woman than that-to do what you did!"
"You mean this?" the Judge guilefully asked as again his right forefinger prodded the narrow crevice of Edith Garvin's rectal fissure, pressing the white satin-elastic material of her pantiegirdle into her tender crack."
"OHHHH! STOP THAT, YOU DISGUSTING BRUTE!! HOW DARE YOU! OH MY GOD, IF YOU'RE A JUDGE, THEN THE PEOPLE WHO VOTED FOR YOU CANNOT KNOW HOW VILE AND CONTEMPTIBLE YOU ARE! YOU'LL GO TO JAIL FOR THIS, FOR KIDNAPPING ME AND TREATING ME THIS WAY!! DO YOU HEAR ME! I DEMAND THAT YOU LET ME GO AT ONCE!" she shrieked as she jerked this way and that.
Judge Black cleared his throat with an oratorical flourish. "Let me set forth your present situation, my dear Miss Garvin. You were brought here to claim an inheritance, and the people who helped transport you here to my house-where you now are, by the way-are all in my control. You will receive that inheritance, with ample interest, I assure you. As Judge of the Municipal Court, I have it in my power to find you a vagrant and to sentence you to a correctional institution. No one can trace you here, and once you are imprisoned at Welfare Island, you will simply disappear from view. Even your fiance, this Rosenzweig fellow-and I shall have a good deal more to ask you about him in a few moments, my dear-won't be able to track you down. So my advice to you, my dear Miss Garvin, is to resign yourself to reality and to try to be less hostile to my overt display of really genuine affection for your charming person."
The flowery rhetoric which was so dear to Judge Austin W. Black's heart was the mark of the artistic and imaginative sadist, which he assuredly was. But Edith Garvin, unlike the fifteen-year-old almost naked girl who knelt beside the fat white-haired lecher, was hardly aware of this. So, again frantically trying to swerve her hips, and to wrench her wrists and neck out of the yokeholes of the pillory, she cried out, "I haven't the least interest in your affection for me, you disgusting old fool! It was criminal of you to have me kidnapped and brought here and you know it was! And you can't hold me here against my will, you know you can't!"
"I can try, my dear, and I certainly will. But this is no way for two old friends to behave after five long years," his voice became soft and unctuous, "There's so much I want to know about you, my dear Miss Garvin. Particularly, how much you have learned about men in the last five years. Now then, my investigators tell me that you are "engaged to be married." Has this fiance of yours ever seen you naked yet, or cuddled with you and put his hand under your skirt and felt you sweet little snatch?" The sudden transition from the gently solicitous words to the unexpected obscene noun struck the imprisoned beauty like the lash of a whip, and he chuckled as he heard her horrified gasp. Then he resumed, "You must have learned something, my dear, or you wouldn't be shocked by that vulgarism of the dainty spot between those plump sweet thighs of yours. Martha, suppose we have a look at Miss Garvin's charms without the hindrance of that overly tight pantiegirdle she's wearing. Have the goodness to undo the stocking supporters and unfasten it and drag it down as far as you can."
"Don't you dare! I forbid you to do that! You wicked, horrible old man! You have absolutely no right to treat me this way, I shall go to the police and complain, and then there'll be a real scandal! Oh, to think that a man who calls himself a judge should treat a decent woman like this!" Edith Garvin cried.
But Martha Cronkite, seeing the glitter in her master's eyes, had hastened to obey. Quickly she unfastened the tabs which held up Edith Garvin's charcoal-brown nylon hose, and the victim shrieked and twisted and jerked herself in every possible way to try to avert the catastrophe. Rising now, the lovely goldenhaired adolescent tugged the zipper of the sheath, and then, seizing the sides of the waistband with her hands, began to tug it down while Edith Garvin uttered shriek upon shriek and desperately twisted and jerked to escape this supreme outrage to her virginal modesty... for indeed, even though there had been a lapse of five years and she was now thirty, she still retained her maidenhead.
"Quickly, Martha, unless you're eager to have your own naked bottom soundly flogged," he drawled. His bushy white eyebrows arched, and Martha Cronkite's heart sank at that sign, which she recognized only too well. With a gasp, and with all her strength, she dragged down the pantiegirdle to the middle of Edith Garvin's plump stocking-sheathed thighs and then drew back, trembling and pale with her own terror.
The beautiful dark-brown haired Jewess uttered a prolonged piercing cry as she felt herself denuded before the eyes of her former employer. She proffered the most piquant and lasciviously exciting of spectacles, bent over with her neck and wrists captured in the yokeholes of the low pillory, her plump round olive-sheened buttocks jutting out, and the white satin elastic sheath twisted about her lower thighs and acting as a fetter of restraint.
The cheeks of Edith Garvin's naked bottom were magnificently sensual. Round and solid, upstanding hemispheres, whose warm olive skin was flawless and soft and satiny. There was a gradually widening crease from the chinkbone down to the base of those resilient rotundities, and even though she tried frantically to clench her thighs and to diminish her nakedness as much as possible, she could not help exposing the ambery-shadowy groove which separated those Callyphygian glories, nor the dark brown thicket of pussycurls which hid the plump pink lips of her virgin cunt and which flourished along the inhibited and sensitive furrow which led from her mount of Venus to the dainty rosette of her equally virgin asshole.
His prick was gigantic now with longing, but as a true master of the voluptuous arts of sexual coercion and subjugation, Judge Austin W. Black controlled the savage impulse to possess her then and there. Stepping to her left, placing his left palm on the small of her naked back, he glided his right hand over the cringing, tightening gloves of her naked bottom, delectating over the smooth warm skin, tactually appraising the elasticity of the firm jouncy hillocks, tracing their contours from the lasciviously jutting curves of the summits to the provocative swell of the base of her bottom just as it left the harmonious juncture of her plump full womanly thighs. Added to his enjoyment was the convulsive interplay of the muscles of her bottom and legs, while the blindfolded Jewess dug her nails into her palms and again tried desperately to wrench herself free from the pillory.
"What a magnificent ass you've got, Edith, my dear," he said pleasantly. I wonder if your fiance has ever felt you up. Tell me, my dear, have you and he been to bed yet?"
"Ohhhh!! My God, my God, take your filthy hand away from me! you disgusting, cowardly beast, I forbid you to touch me like that! I'm a decent girl, I'm going to be married, and he treats me with respect, I'll have you know! Oh stop it, stop it, you have no right to do this to me!" Edith Garvin was beside herself, and her voice was high-pitched and shrill with desperate shame as she twisted her bottom this way and that to escape the sullying and lecherous caress of his pudgy hand.
"Can it be, from all these protestations, that you wish me to believe that you're still a virgin, my dear Miss Garvin?" he chuckled thickly. "I had thought that the excellent example I gave you five years ago might have turned you away from the aesthetic life. You won't answer? Then I shall have to find out for myself, shan't I? Martha, stand there and hold Miss Garvin by the hips, so that she won't twist around too much. And take care you hold her tightly, or I'll have you in one of these contraptions with your bare bottom stuck out for a good thrashing!"
Martha Cronkite did not need a second invitation; she hurried to the pillory, dug her slim soft little fingers into the edges of Edith Garvin's olive-satiny hips and tensed herself. Judge Black chuckled again, and then slyly lowered his right forefinger and advanced it towards the thick cluster of darkbrown pussycurls which shielded the plump fig of Edith Garvin's salacious proffered cunt.
The victim's body stiffened, and then a frenzied, hoarse shout burst from her: "AHHHH!! OH DON'T DO THAT TO ME!! OH YOU FILTHY BRUTE, YOU DIRTY HORRIBLE COWARD YOU!! TAKE YOUR FINGER OUT OF ME!! HELP ME, OH MY GOD, WON'T SOMEONE HELP ME? NOOOOOH! STOP IT, STOP IT, OH GOD, OH WON'T ANYONE SAVE ME FROM THIS DIRTY OLD BRUTE, OH PLEASE!!"
For Judge Black's fingertip had pried through the thicket of silky pussydown, between the plump pink lips of that delicious cunt, and had penetrated up against the still tight and resisting barrier of Edith Garvin's cherry! He had pressed in very hard, causing a twinge of pain; and in the midst of her shrieking protestations, the victim's voice had risen a full octave in pitch.
"I wouldn't have believed it, my dear," he said in a tone of feigned surprise as he withdrew his finger. "Imagine that, at thirty still a virgin. This fiance of yours must really be very backward. You'll have to send him to me, my dear Miss Garvin, so that I can give him a good lecture on what to do to you in bed once you're married. But that will be quite awhile off, you know. Well, well, well! I congratulate you, my dear, for preserving your chastity at all costs for all this time. Why, you're practically a spinster at thirty, Miss Garvin, Don't tell me that you have the old-fashioned and quaint notion of saving your maidenhead for your wedding night? Yes, I guess that must be it. But I have first claim on it, you know."
"Ohhhh Noooo!!! Oh dear God, help me, help me! Save me from this horrible fiend!" Edith Gar vin shrieked to the unhearing walls.
Chapter Four
At about the same hour that Edith Garvin was experiencing her "reunion" with Judge Black, the personable young editor of the Catayunga News-Gazette was out with his best girl.
Jack Harkins, thirty-one, brown-haired, five feet eleven inches in height and sturdily built, with pleasant blue eyes and a crisp, authoritative manner when he was behind the desk in his private office at the newspaper, wasn't quite so sure of his words on this particular occasion. The girl he was with was Sally Dalby, who happened to be both society and entertainment critic for the newspaper. So in one sense she was his employee; but in quite another, and especially after hours as now, she was his fiancee. Jack was trying to urge Sally to set the date for their wedding, and she was playing it coy.
Sally Dalby had fiery red hair whose burnished glow and thick cascade in a long pageboy to her shoulderblades had dazzled many an envious male. She had just turned twenty, and she had magnificent dark blue eyes, a dainty little nose with just the hint of an uptilt to it and widely flaring, sensuous wings. Perhaps of all her features, Jack liked best her wonderfully ripe, kissable mouth, for it was sweet and full and generous without the slightest nuance of haughtiness or snobbery. She had a very kissable dimple in her chin which he had already saluted as they parked in his Buick out on the old road east of the water plant which supplied the electrical power for the town. There was a dry old creek there which hadn't had water in it for a good twenty years, because now the water was piped in underground from Cossett Lake a dozen miles to the northeast. All that one could hear around was the sound of crickets, and the soft breeze in the azaleas and rhododendrons which lined the bank of the old creek and still flourished as one of nature's paradoxes in the midst of seeming drouth.
"Behave yourself, Jack darling," Sally murmured with a divine little blush. Her face was heart shaped, her forehead was high and rounded, and her cheeks were full and satiny. He hadn't turned on the car lights, but he knew that her skin was creamy pale and that in the neat little brown rayon frock which was modestly cut to just over her rounded, dimpled knees he was sitting next to what was unquestionably the most voluptuously exciting body in all Catayunga.
Jack and Sally had had dinner at the Briardale, which was just about the town's best restaurant. They'd had a private booth at the back where they could see all the patrons and yet be alone. Jack had held hands with her and then proposed this ride. She'd agreed, and teased him about wanting to take her out by the old creek. "You just want to have your way with me, that's all, Jack Harkins," she'd laughed.
"I haven't heard that expression since I used to read Thackeray," he had chuckled. "Besides, I'm going to do no such thing. I'll have you know I'm going to take you out there and propose."
"But we're already engaged, darling."
"I know that. But you've been putting me off about when it's going to be legal for me to kiss you and do lots of other things."
"Jack Harkins! People will hear us!" she had gasped, and again she had blushed adorably. The soft indirect lighting of the restaurant had let him see that wonderful creamy skin of hers, and he had felt an ache in his penis at the thought of how much he wanted her and how soon he wanted the wedding night to be.
Because Sally was a virgin, even though she was certainly not prudish about it. Her parents had died when she was twelve, and an elderly aunt on her father's side had brought her up. Old Aunt Hester liked him, he knew that, and at least if she had taught Sally decorum and seen to it that her niece had gone on to State College, she at least hadn't let her own spinster state influence Sally's understandable desire to find the right man and settle down and be happy. She had even encouraged her niece to go to work on the paper, and Sally had impulsively decided, after one winter vacation, to abandon college after three years and make a full-time job with the paper. Jack happened to know that one of the reasons for that decision was that she suspected Aunt Hester was beginning to get old and ailing and really missed her when she was away at school in Little Rock.
So for nearly the past year he'd had the pleasure of seeing her in the office every day and desiring her more and more, till finally he'd had the courage to date her, and then they discovered that they'd had things in common like literature and music and tennis and swimming, and just three months ago she'd agreed to be engaged to him.
Jack Harkins had been born in this little Arkansas town, and he'd gone on to journalism schooling at the University of Missouri and taken his degree there. Then he'd worked for a few years on a small weekly in that state, till finally he had come back to his home town where elderly Mr. Jonathan Billingsley, the owner of the News-Gazette, had given him a job as reporter and, two years ago, promoted him to the post of editor when old Ed Gurney had decided to say "30" to a long and honorable newspaper career.
His own parents were dead too, and perhaps that was why he was drawn to Sally Dalby more than he would normally be just because she was a lovely and desirable girl. Somehow he'd had a hankering for the big cities, but because Catayunga was where he'd been born and where he'd been happy with his folks and his younger brother Bob till the latter had been drowned when he was only twelve, swimming in that old creek where Welfare Island now stood, doing that on a lark and a dare from some of the other kids at school, he'd felt a kind of moral obligation to stay here and make a go of it. And now, of course, there was Sally and there was a reason for staying.
But there were some things that bothered Jack Harkins, and his first-rate newspaper training at the University had made him much more ambitious and also more perceptive than the average run of small-town newspaper editorial workers. For one thing, he wasn't too happy about the election of Judge Austin W. Black to the post on the bench of the Municipal Court. There were a lot of things he didn't like about the man, though he admitted to himself that it was probably personal bias. Austin W. Black's father had been successful in wildcat-ting oil in the fertile northeast section of the state, and had left his dissolute only son and heir nearly a million dollars. Black had gone on to get his law degree after his father's death, and to practice for a few years. Then he'd left Catayunga for about a decade, nobody quite knew where, and when he returned, he ran a campaign for the post of State's Attorney. Out of nowhere, he got support, and Jack Harkins estimated that almost a hundred thousand dollars must have been spent in campaign literature, radio and even television on behalf of Black's candidacy.
Nor had Jack Harkins been particularly fond of the deal which Black had cooked up to create a correctional institution so close to Catayunga and to use what might have been turned into an historic landmark and perhaps even a state tourist attraction into a grim prison. Black had also been responsible for the appointment of Marjorie Sayers as superintendent of that prison. In the interviews which Jack had had with the man after his successful election to the bench, the handsome young editor of the News-Gazette had taken an instinctive dislike to the paunchy, white-haired bombastic fellow, and some seventh sense had told Jack Harkins that Judge Austin W. Black wasn't the most honorable and honest man in the state.
Even now, with his arm around Sally Dalby's waist, and his prick aching with the sheer longing of wanting to taste her virginal sweetness and be her lover as well as her husband, Jack Harkins was thinking that if he could only prove his instinct about old Judge Black, what a scoop it would be for the News-Gazette! It might lead to the offer of a job from some of the big cities, like St. Louis or New Orleans or even Chicago. There were other signs in Catayunga which Jack Harkins didn't like at all and which he had noticed becoming more prevalent in the last year or two. A great many well dressed and obviously well-to-do men were stopping at the hotel, spending a few days, and yet the reports were they weren't enjoying what simple entertainment the town could afford during the weekend. Mostly, they were reported being out at Judge Black's palatial home, and there were even rumors that some of them had visited Welfare Island in the company of the Judge. He couldn't put his finger on it, but there was something very mysterious and probably something very wrong with the entire setup.
"A penny, darling," Sally Dalby teased as she rubbed her dainty forefinger over the tip of his strong, Roman nose.
"I hope they're worth more than that, Sally honey. But the first thing I want to say to you, is when do we get married?"
"Oh you!" she laughed teasingly. She turned up her face to be kissed, and he cupped her cheeks and almost reverently took her lips. The sweet warm moist mouth made him shudder with implacable desire, but he had never really tried to be aggressive. There was another girl at the office, that Claire Ralston, a svelte brunette of about twenty-six, who handled the display advertising of the paper and was a pretty good saleswoman, whom he was pretty sure he could have an affair with if he wanted. But since Sally had said she'd be his girl and one day marry him, he hadn't done anything about Claire. She'd been on the paper about six months now, breezing into Catayunga one day to move into her pretty and older cousin's house after the latter's husband had shot himself upon discovering that he had an incurable cancer. Claire Ralston had been born in St. Louis and had worked on one of the newspapers there after her graduation from college. She'd apparently inherited some money from her parents there, for she dressed more smartly than any other young woman in the town and she had her own car. He'd hired her with some misgivings, but her first week she'd sold more advertising than her predecessor had in the best month he had ever known.
"You're so serious tonight, lover," Sally Dalby again teased, kissing the tip of his nose. "What are you really thinking about, Jack?"
"If you want to know, and this is no reflection on your very tempting beauty, honey. I've been thinking about Judge Black. I'd like to know a lot more about him and how many pies he's got his fingers into. I just don't like the guy."
"I can't say that I blame you for saying that, Jack. You know, I did a story about his contributing five thousand dollars to the United Charities last winter. He invited me out to his house and made a great fuss about me. I didn't feel at all comfortable.
"That's the first time you've ever told me that, honey. I thought you interviewed him at his office at the court house."
"Oh no. I didn't see any need to tell you about it, because a good newspaper reporter gets the story where it is, and he wanted me over there. But I can assure you I'd never go there again."
"Don't tell me he made a pass at you-that dirty old lecher!"
"Now don't get your blood in an uproar darling," Sally chided. "Of course he didn't. But the way he looked at me, well, it's a good thing I'm broadminded. I don't mind it when you look at like that, though.
"Darling," Jack Harkins almost groaned as he held her very close and took her lips. For a blinding moment he wished that she were Claire Ralston instead beside him, because then he could probably plunge his hand under her skirt and put his other hand on one of those gorgeous big firm round titties of hers and tell her what he really wanted and long before their wedding night, too.
What Jack Harkins didn't know was that Claire Ralston wanted him to do exactly that and was quite miffed at him for not having already taken her out and made more than a gentlemanly pass at her. And because of that feminine rancor, and because Claire Ralston knew that her boss was gaga over red-haired Sally Dalby, the lives of this trio as well as that of many others were to be singularly changed in a most dramatic and unforeseen manner...
Chapter Five
"I think, Martha my dear," Judge Austin W. Black drawled, "we'll have that pantiegirdle all the way off. And at the same time, you may as well roll down Edith's stockings to her ankles. I want to see as much of that lovely, warm, olive skin of hers as I can."
"Oh my God, please don't! How can you be so cruel, so inhumane, Judge Black?" the beautiful brown-haired mature Jewess cried as she twisted herself and contracted all her gluteal muscles to diminish as much as she could the much too generous exposure of her naked behind-a tempting oasis of sexual pleasure as yet untried!-which it concealed. But the goldenhaired adolescent had no compassion for poor Edith Garvin; she was too much concerned with her own welfare, and she knew that the slightest hesitation in carrying out any of her master's orders meant that she would take Edith's place either in the pillory or in another of the cruel devices placed in this soundproof room for the sadistic amusement of the white-haired roue.
She therefore tugged at the white elastic sheath and dragged it off Edith's legs, whereupon the victim began to kick out and twist herself as she tried to prevent this last ignominious ceremony. But Martha Cronkite, still kneeling, took hold of the top of Edith Garvin's left stocking and dragged it quickly down and made a neat roll of it at the chiselled, olive-sheened ankle of the captive. Then, going to the other side and evading the victim's frantic kicks, she did the same with the other stocking, until Edith Garvin found herself naked from the waist down to the ankles, bent over salaciously in this wooden pillory, and unable to see what was to be done to her.
"What a magnificent ass, my dear! And you mean to tell me that your fiance hasn't yet pinched or squeezed or goosed it-like this?" Suiting action to word, Judge Black once again inserted his pudgy right forefinger into the shadowy crevice which separated Edith Garvin's ripe, resilient buttocks and pried open the plump pink lips of her dainty asshole, lodging his finger up to the knuckle and then wiggling it about.
"AIIII!! OH DEAR GOD IN HEAVEN STOP THAT, STOP THAT, IN THE NAME OF HUMAN DECENCY!! YOU FILTHY, HORRIBLE, COWARDLY BRUTE, TO TREAT A HELPLESS WOMAN LIKE THIS! OH GOD, YOU'RE HURTING, PLEASE TAKE IT OUT, OH PLEASE TAKE IT OUT!" Edith shrieked, and the pillory creaked as she jerked and twisted herself, heedless of the gripping pangs which the yoke-holes administered to her neck and wrists. But all these violent movements only served to inflame his lusts the more, for he could see the amply rounded, olivesheened cheeks of her behind juggle and flex and contract in the most convulsive spasms imaginable, all of which set into relief the sensual glory of her voluptuous, mature and still virginal body.
"But what I really can't get over, my dear Miss Garvin," he continued with a lecherous grin lighting up his fat face, "is that your fiance has respected your cherry. I wonder if he were here right now if he would be so noble and continent. On the other hand, perhaps he is the fastidious sort who would much rather have the work done for him in advance so he wouldn't have the messy job of perforating your hymen, which at your advanced age of thirty must surely be very thick and resistant."
Edith Garvin was dying of mortification at hearing her most intimate person discussed so lecherously and before this unknown female who was apparently aiding her cruel and vengeful ex-employer.
"Oh God, why are you doing this to me? I don't deserve such shame, such cruel treatment just because I did what any decent, self-respecting woman would have done after what you did to me five years ago!" she cried in her despair.
"Let's say I'm a sentimental old fool, my dear," he smugly answered. Having withdrawn his finger from her asshole, he now began to caress the magnificently plump, firm, velvety smooth cheeks of her squirming bottom, while the unfortunate young woman groaned and sobbed as she twisted hopelessly about, unable to evade his maddening touches.
"The fact is, ever since you stuck that big ass of yours out in my face that memorable day, Miss Garvin, I've dreamed of nothing else but seeing it naked just like this and being able at long last to testify to it my very earnest admiration for its tempting qualities. Martha, my dear, I think a good little spanking on the big plump bottom of Miss Garvin's will make her more docile. You will apply it, my dear, and I trust you will give it to her quite smartly. I should say that about thirty good spanks would be ample as a preparation. By then her bottom should be well heated so that I can heat her front equitably."
"Oh no! For God's sake, how can you do this to me? How can you make that unfortunate girl there help you torture and shame a helpless woman brought here against her will?" Edith cried.
But Martha Cronkite had already approached the half-naked bent-over captive in the pillory, posed her left palm in the small of Edith Garvin's naked, olivesheened back, and, raising her right hand high over the condemned posterior, brought it down smartly with a noisy SMACK!
"Excellent, Martha! Excellent!" the judge purred, his eyes devouring the bright pink outline of the young girl's palm which immediately inscribed itself on the satin of Edith Garvin's jouncy o'right upper buttock. "Give her twenty-nine more exactly like that, Martha, and you will have done me a service. Tell yourself, my dear Miss Garvin, while Martha spanks you, that if you had been less li prudish that never-to-be-forgotten day, you would not now be sticking your naked ass out at me so temptingly and having it paid back for its insolent indecency by the hand of a girl who isn't yet sixteen and who, I may add, is far more cooperative towards me that I fear you will be for some little time. But perhaps with some training and a good session at the Island under the careful supervision of Marjorie Sayers and the occasional physical examinations given by the prison's personal physician, Dr. Archibald Fenwick, you may yet turn out to make this fiance of yours an enjoyable bed-warmer. You may proceed, Martha."
Stepping back and opening up his bathrobe so that it yawned to expose his hairy, paunchy naked body and the gigantic thrust of this swollen prick, Judge Austin W. Black gazed with rapture on the scene before him. The young goldenhaired adolescent, her eyes narrowed, her lips tight, assumed a severity worthy of a born executioner-an attitude evoked, needless to say, by her own dread of the man who was directing this insidious degradation of the mature captive. Her hand rose and fell quickly but vigorously, for she did not need to be reminded that if her master found this spanking too benign, her own punishment would be nothing less than a sound whipping and one administered by a far more painful instrument than a human hand!
Edith Garvin ground her teeth and closed her eyes, striving with all her might to remain impervious to this humiliating and juvenile correction. The knowledge that she was being spanked on her naked bottom by her former employer by a teen-aged girl was absolutely annihilating to her pride, exactly as the Judge had foreseen it would be. But never having endured the slightest corporal chastisement throughout her life, she began to feel rather soon the stinging discomfort of those repeated smacks which repeated alternately on the jutting cheeks of her bottom and which covered the entire area with flaming outlines of Martha Cronkite's palm.
By the twentieth spank she had begun to groan and to twist herself about, for the cumulative heat generated in her naked bottom, sensitive as was her finely grained skin, had become acutely irksome.
By the twenty-fifth, she uttered a sobbing cry of "Oh my God, oh stop it! It's vile to make her do this to me-ohh, it hurts-Ohh, stop it!" and when the last blow fell with all of Martha's panting might against the base of Edith's right buttock, the half-naked Jewess tried to lunge forward while swerving her inflamed buttocks this way and that as she emitted a raucous and wordless cry which bespoke pain as well as spiritual despair.
"Very ably done, my dear," the white-haired judge turned to the breathless goldenhaired teenager. "The next time I have occasion to punish you, Martha, remind me how well you performed just now and I promise to remit five lashes from whatever count I sentence you to."
"Yes, Master, thank you, Master," Martha meekly replied, her cheeks suffused with the sudden blush of shame as her own status of a slave was ironically brought back to her.
"Well now, my dear Miss Garvin," the judge pursued with his mocking drawl, "that should make you feel more welcome here, I should think. You have no idea how exciting you look with your big naked ass stuck out this way, and nicely red, like a tomato. Now that I consider it carefully, I see a few patches of nice soft olive skin which Martha apparently neglected. That will have to remedied, I think. But since this is a memorable occasion, our reunion together after five desolate years during which I have missed your company, Miss Garvin, I am going to let you have the pleasure of choosing the next order of business in our little program. Now then, pay close attention. Which is it to be? A good sound spanking with a leather sole which will make your bottom quite red and, I fear, quite hot, or are you ready at this point to ask me to undertake the difficult task of making a woman out of you? In a word, in the event that your vocabulary has not been enriched over the past years, my dear, would you rather be spanked on your bare ass until you can't stand it any more, or will you beg me to fuck you and break that tight cherry of yours which has kept you so modest all this time? You have two minutes in which to make your decision, my dear Miss Garvin. Meanwhile, in order to stimulate your mental processes in so important a choice, I myself am going to aid you a little."
With this, he opened the long velvet-covered case in which he had kept the egret's plume and the thin, flexible little switch with which instruments he had accomplished the subjugation of the enchanting goldenhaired teenager who now abetted his intended conquest of Edith Garvin.
Taking the egret feather and moving about in front of the pillory, then squatting down, his eyes blazed at the sight of the thick, dark brown bush of pussycurls which covered the Jewess's virgin cunthole. Slowly, holding his breath, he lifted up the feather and began to tickle her inner thighs, while she gasped and jerked convulsively, taken by surprise at this exquisitely titillating sensation instead of the stinging fire of the lash as she had expected. Mockingly he continued this for a moment or two, then put the plume against the thickest mass of lovecurls at the apex of her plump, olive-sheened thighs and began to tickle her cunthole.
"Well, my dear, you've got a minute left, I'd say," he cajoled.
"Ooooh, it's painful-it's vile-oh my God, stop it-oh you beast, you dirty, filthy despicable beast, to do this to a woman-oh God help me-oh Ben -Ben, save me from this horrible old man!" Edith Garvin wailed as she backed away and twisted herself in a desperate attempt to evade the caressing and insidiously attenuating caresses of the egret's plume.
"So," he rose in high dudgeon, "you think I'm an old man, do you, Miss Garvin, and you'd rather have your fiance save you than have me teach you what it's like to be a woman, would you? Well, I shall make your decision for you, then. Martha, get me the leather sole. I am going to give your big ass a sound thrashing, Miss Garvin, and I am going to keep it up until you beg me of your own accord to fuck you-yes, my girl, fuck you and take your cherry. It's too bad that Ben couldn't have that privilege, but perhaps he'll be grateful to me in the long run for sparing him such a messy job. Now, if Dr. Archibald Fenwick were only here, he could do it for me. But you'll just have to put up with my crude though very natural implement, I'm afraid. Thank you, Martha. Now, just to test the efficacy of this good leather sole, Martha, be good enough to bend over and hold your ankles and count five. Then you'll remind me the next time you're to be punished that I owe you a remission of ten good spanks, you understand?"
Martha Cronkite had brought him a black leather sole, murderously pliable and a good quarter of an inch thick. Grasping it by the heel, he waited until the shivering goldenhaired teenager had reluctantly-but obediently, all the same-bent over and grasped her slim ankles. This maneuver hoisted up the sheer black nylon tunic well over her delightfully rounded, contracting milky bottom-cheeks, and so he had the added stimulus of her unveiled and nubile loveliness to whet his carnal appetites, already grown ferocious through the exciting prelude with his major and most coveted victim, Edith Garvin.
"Don't move out of position, if you please, Martha. And count the spanks aloud, also," he instructed.
"Y-yes, M-master," the goldenhaired teenager quavered. She closed her eyes and ground her teeth, tightening her muscles as she readied herself.
With cruel deliberation, Judge Black posed his left palm on the small of her back, moved a bit to this side and then a bit to that until he was assured of the proper angle, and then at last raised the sole over that magnificent young behind. He hovered it in the air while poor Martha waited in dire suspense, and then it flashed down like a bolt of lightning, to flatten with a wicked CRACK! over the top of the girl's left hip.
"OHH-One, Master," Martha groaned, unable to suppress a convulsive twisting of her hips and bottomcheeks.
"You monster, you heartless fiend, to brutalize a helpless girl and to treat me this way too," Edith Garvin sobbed as once more she tried to wrest her neck and wrists out of the implacable hold of the pillory. The second blow of the sole attacked Martha Cronkite's right upper bottom summit, and the third, which took a pause of nearly a full minute and made the unfortunate young girl moan and squirm restlessly-was applied full across the plumpest curves of both bottomglobes, compressing the shadowy sinuosity between the huddling, quivering hemispheres.
The last two were applied respectively to the base of the right and then the left cheek, and each was tremulously counted out by the tearful teenager, who did not forget to thank her lecherous master for this privilege of "testing" the implement which was to be used on Edith's more mature and already flaming behind.
"I trust you've heard all that, Miss Garvin," the judge declaimed as he placed himself at Edith's left and brandished the sole, "because that is the way it is going to sound, only much louder, on your much fatter naked ass. You needn't count either. I'm going to spank your big, juicy naked ass, Edith Garvin, until you beg me to fuck you. So you know what is expected of you, and now let us see if your sensitive bottom will overcome your squeamishness about retaining your cherry."
So saying, he began to apply the sole in wickedly horizontal blows over the plump, squirming, already uncomfortable inflamed hemispheres of Edith Garvin's naked posterior. Beginning with the tops of her hips and working down to the base of that magnificent behind, he regaled each cheek in turn, methodically and thoroughly, with about fifteen seconds between each loud and crisply sonorous THWACK.
Edith's eyes opened, drowned by tears which broke and rivuleted down her contorted cheeks. Her nails dug into her sweating palms, her body jerked fitfully at every angrily noisy crack of the leather sole against her swollen, steadily darkening bare bottom.
But the dreadful thought of humiliating herself by asking her inimical executioner to take the sacrifice of her maidenhead in exchange for pardoning her this atrocious and humiliating thrashing proved at first too tremendous a barrier to be overcome. At first she believed that she could hold out and perhaps win by her very courage his grudging respect for her chastity. It was a pitiably ingenuous notion, for the longer she resisted, the more her groans and sobs and uncontrollably spasmodic twistings and wrigglings and kickings and dancings roused his mounting rut.
Finally, at the twenty-fifth stroke which bridged both hemispheres and seemed to pinch the pouting edges of those luscious bottomglobes together over the shadowy furrow which separated them, Edith Garvin could bear the torture no longer.
"ARRHHH!! Oh my God in heaven, you're killing me, you're killing me, I can't bear such pain! Have mercy on me, have mercy! Surely you've had revenge enough by now, whatever I've done!"
"Why, not all, Miss Garvin. Are you ready yet to ask me to be fucked?" he countered.
"Oh no! I'd rather die-EEEOWWWW-WOUUUUU!!!! At her words, he had brought down the sole viciously and with a downward sweeping movement of the pliable leather implement bite against the upper summit of her right bottomglobe and towards the outer edge. The pain had been excruciatingly agonizing, like a white-hot knife searing her oversensitized flesh, and her wild shriek and prolonged wild cry attested to the dreadful torture she was undergoing, one which had been so ingenuously supplemented by the nuances and implications of humiliation and disrobing and by the aural stimuli of his punishing the young-and lovely assistant to her own infamous subjugation.
"I will give you another chance before I continue," he said hoarsely, as he briefly lowered the sole. "Ask me to fuck you, to take your cherry, and I'll stop thrashing your bottom. Otherwise, I may have to see whether a good cane or a leather martinet will persuade you more quickly."
"Kill me! I'd rather die than give myself to you, do you understand? I won't, I-ARRRHHH!! Oh dear God, let me die instead of suffering like this!! OOWWOUUUM! AIIIII!! EEEYARRHH!!!! Oh stop-no more, oh God, I can't bear it, yes, yes, anything, but only stop!"
Pitilessly, his teeth grinding with sadistic rage and lust, the white-haired judge had dug the fingers of his left hand into her tender belly and then, standing up close, applied with all his might a barrage of ten or twelve short, vicious, downward biting cracks of the leather sole, all applied right against the tender crease of those jutting hemispheres. It was too much. The unfortunate young Jewess shrieked out frenziedly as her body lunged and twisted, but she could not escape the ferocious thrashing.
"You ask me to stop? Very well, you know the alternative. Do you submit then?"
"Oh God, oh help me, oh Ben, where are you?" Edith Garvin sobbingly babbled.
THWACK-THWACK-THWACK! Thrice the leather sole crashed against her naked bottom: Moving slightly backwards, Judge Black had lowered the flexible leather implement and swept it up with all his might against the base of her bottom and into the shadowy groove itself. The pain was unspeakably agonizing, and Edith Garvin at last broke down as, lunging and twisting, jerking at her neck and wrists, she stridently announced her subjugation: "NO MORE!! YES, YES, DO IT TO ME! FUCK ME, FUCK ME, ANYTHING EXCEPT THIS DREADFUL WHIPPING! OH MY GOD, I'M BEGGING YOU TO FUCK ME. OH, WON'T YOU DO IT NOW AND STOP BEATING ME BEFORE I DIE OF PAIN? FUCK ME-OH DEAR GOD-OH BEN, FORGIVE ME, I CAN'T HELP IT ANY MORE-OH FUCK ME, JUDGE BLACK, FUCK ME NOW!!!"
He dropped the leather sole to the floor with a hoarse gasp in greedy anticipation. At last the moment had come for his supreme revenge.
Chapter Six
Judge Austin W. Black rubbed his hands gleefully as he heard Edith Garvin's despairing supplications to be spared further fustigation with the leather sole. "Now you're being really intelligent, Edith dear," he chuckled as he proceeded to unlock the wooden pillory and take the petite half naked young woman in his arms while she sobbingly collapsed against him, overwrought not only by shame but by the implacable burning in her swollen naked bottom from the spankings she had endured. "Let me slip off this blindfold because I want you to see what's going to happen to you, Edie baby. So those virginal lips of yours finally pronounced the word 'fuck.' You've made a great step forward in five years, but now I'm going to show you what the word really means. Let's see now, where shall we have your nuptial bed, hm?"
There was a low wide couch over to his left against the wall and the Judge said to Martha Cronkite, "Martha baby, help Edie slip off the rest of her clothes. I want her stark naked. And as fast as possible, or else!"
"Yes, M-Master," the goldenhaired teenager quavered. Soothingly now, for now she could feel compassion for this mature captive whom she had helped to subjugate, the charming adolescent undid the safetypins which held Edith Garvin's skirt and slip pinned up about her waist, and drew the garments over the brown-haired Jewess's head. Passively, Edith allowed this, overcome by a fit of tears in her supreme humiliation. She still wore spectacles, and they gave her provocative near-nudity a most exciting flavor in the Judge's eyes. Martha now removed the brassiere, and then knelt down and slipped off the rolled down stockings and Edith Garvin stood divinely naked except for her spectacles.
The corrupt old lecher caught his breath with undisguised admiration at the sight of those cantaloupe-like titties with their broad orangeish aureola on the crinkly, ripe coral buds palpitating in their centers. There were closely spaced, firm and jutting, and despite Edith Garvin's thirty years of age, they were proudly erect and resilient as if they could exhibit themselves without the support of a bra.
"Marvelous, really marvelous, Edie," he breathed. "Martha honey, suppose you undo that ungainly bun of Edie's hair and let it down. It'll make her much more feminine."
The teenaged girl quickly obeyed, and Edith Garvin vaguely tried to put a hand back to prevent this, but even that sudden movement made a new wave of hot torment seethe through her bottom and she at once rushed both hands back to those succulent hemispheres and began to rub them energetically, heedless of the nakedness and vulnerability of her loins before this man whom she had every reason in the world to fear and loathe.
He had let his bathrobe slip to the floor now, and was naked in his sandals. His prick was enormously stiff, the lips puckering with pent-up rut, and it was all he could do to contain himself.
"What a shame," he said with mock solicitude, "your big bottom hurts you a little, doesn't it, Edie? Never mind, you'll find it will make a new woman of you once you feel yourself getting fucked. That's true, isn't it, Martha? When a girl's ass has been thoroughly thrashed, she's so hot and squirmy that she wriggles when she feels a man's cock inside her cunt. Martha, tell Edie that's right now. Prom your own experience, ha ha!"
The teenaged slave-for such she unquestionably was-could not help shivering, and a violent blush suffused her pale cheeks as she timidly murmured to the still sobbing Edith Garvin, "Oh yes, what the master says is true. Whenever he- he-whips me, I always feel much more p-p- passionate."
"Charmingly put, Martha. Don't you think so, Edie? Go ahead, Martha, help her to the couch and put a cushion under her big bottom. It'll ease the pain, and then I'll take over and make her forget it entirely!" he chuckled, in rare good humor, now that his diabolical plan for having abducted the beautiful Jewess half across the country had come to complete fruition.
Martha, in the clinging short diaphanous tunic, helped the still sobbing naked captive over the couch, bent and pulled one of the cushions out to the middle and patted it. "There you are," she said with a wan little smile, doing her best to have this mature young woman feel no rancor towards her. She longed to tell Edith Garvin that she really hadn't wanted to give her that shameful spanking, but she had had to because otherwise she herself would have been terribly in danger. She would have been liable to the same danger if she had dared express herself, and so she wisely kept silent.
Very reluctantly, wincing, and groaning, Edith slowly seated herself on the cushion, and then closed her eyes as a violent shudder passed through her naked body. All of a sudden, her chaste shyness came back to her, and she put an arm around her heaving titties and pressed her other hand over the furry thicket of her virgin cunthole. Then she bowed her head and burst into hysterical sobs.
"Now don't start that again, Edie dear," the Judge said thickly as he approached the couch, his prick bobbing with every step. "Just in case you decided to go back on your bargain, I've brought along the good leather sole, and Martha here will hold you down while I really give it to your tender ass if you don't get ready now for your fucking. Yes," his voice grew hoarse with gloating delight, "for five years I've wanted to see you like this, Edith Garvin, naked and on the couch with your legs spread and your cunt ready to be fucked, do you understand me, my girl, fucked! And now the moment is here and I'm ready for it, by God! Will you stop that crying?" Tightening his lips, he lifted up the leather sole and delivered a cruel blow across the top front of her left thigh. Edith Garvin screamed and grabbed for the wounded spot, lifting her head and staring at him with agonized eyes behind her thick spectacles. "Now will you be a good girl and get ready for your fucking, or do you want some more?"
"Oh no, oh my God, no, please no!!" Edith Garvin groaned. "Oh p-p-please tell me what to do--I can't stand pain anymore, oh I just can't!"
"Now that's being sensible, my dear. I'll tell you what to do. Lie back now... that's it! Now lift up your legs in the air, that's right. Martha, kneel behind Edie and help her as I tell you to. Good. Now then, Edie, grab hold of the backs of your knees and pull them back against your bubbies. That's the girl! Martha, reach out and hold onto her calves so she doesn't lose that delightfully inviting pose of hers!"
And it was true: never had the beautiful mature olive-skinned Jewess been more sexually provocative than at this moment when, stark naked, her buttocks upturned, her knees drawn back against her heaving naked breasts, she exposed to the eyes of her ravisher the furry nest of her virgin cunt, whose plump pink lips could now be seen in the exaggerated and lascivious straddle of her beautifully rounded bare legs. But the tableau was even more exciting because the goldenhaired teenager, kneeling behind Edith's head, was leaning forward to grasp the young woman's calves tightly and on her own exquisitely lovely face there was the shadow of the unspeakable fear of this white-haired man whose power reached even beyond the state.
"Now then, Edie, I'm going to make a woman of you. I'm going to put my prick into that sweet little slit of yours, and I warn you, it may hurt at first till I break that stubborn cherry of yours. That's why Martha's going to hold you in position so you won't wriggle too much and make me slip out of you till the job's done. And you'd better not try, my girl, or back you'll go in that pillory and this time I'll use the leather sole on those big titties of yours and on the insides of your bare legs where it'll hurt the most, believe me! Or I might even give you a switch instead of a cock right up this dear little cherry spot of yours. You mean to tell me that Ben has never seen this sweet little cunny?" Playfully, he poked her pussy with his pudgy forefinger, and Edith burst into heartrending sobs as she moaned, "Oh my God, Judge, I can't stand this, do it and finish it for the love of heaven! What more do you want of me? I can't stand anymore torture, do it to me but at least end it and be merciful!"
"Who would have thought that chaste Miss Edith Garvin, glasses and all, would be lying stark naked with her knees pulled up against her titties and her cunt spread open and her dainty little brownhole too, begging to be fucked by the man whose face she had slapped just because he goosed her five years ago?" the Judge rhetorically demanded as he licked his lips, couching now and posing his palms on the wide couch on either side of the shuddering naked Jewess's body, he edged himself forward until the stiff head of his prong made contact with the furry fronds just over the exquisite pink cleft. "Pull those knees of hers back just a bit more, Martha," he instructed and stared cruelly at the shivering goldenhaired teenager as she obeyed. Edith Garvin uttered a sobbing groan as she felt her titties mashed by her own knees, and at the same time felt the salacious upturning of her loins and buttocks to the rampant phallus of her former employer.
Then she uttered a horrified gasp, her eyes bulging behind the thick spectacles. His prickhead had just inserted between the outer lips of her cunt, and as he pushed forward, she squirmed uneasily, till at last her body stiffened and her face congealed. His spearpoint was up against the tough hymeneal seal of the maidenhead which still denied his access to her hitherto unprofaned vagina.
"It's going to take a little work to plow through this defense of yours, Edie baby," he gloatingly informed the weeping young woman. "Martha, wriggle yourself over Edie's face until your pussy is right over her mouth. Now then. Edie, to take your mind off what's happening, you're going to suck and kiss and tongue Martha's sweet little pussy."
"Oh no! In mercy's name, don't make me do a thing like that! Oh please don't! I-I'm ready- I'm ready for my-I'm ready-but oh my God, don't made me do that to this innocent young girl!" Edith Garvin weepingly protested.
"Innocent!" the Judge sneered. "This little bitch could earn her keep in a whorehouse, after all she's learned under my expert tutelage. Isn't that so, Martha?" His narrowed eyes told the golden-haired teenager that complete acceptance of his will was her only safe course, and she quickly understood as she almost babbled, "Oh yes, that's true, I do my best to please my master! The best thing for a girl to do is to make Judge Black happy with her, Miss Garvin!"
"There, you see, Edie dear?" he purred sadistically. "Now then," his voice grew harsh and inflexible, "start gamahuching Martha's cunt if you know what's good for you, Edie baby!"
Out of a sudden anguished compassion, indiscreet and dangerous, but certainly pardonable, the young goldenhaired slave-girl hastily whispered to the victim over whose tearstained face she crouched, "You have to do it, Miss Garvin, please! I-I want you to! He-he'll really whip you awfully bad unless you do everything he wants. I know!"
Judge Black pretended not to hear this advice, but he made a mental note to "reward" Martha Cronkite for it a little later on. "Get ready, Edie," he now commanded, "I'm going to break through this cherry of yours if it takes all night!"
Martha Cronkite at once tightened her hold on Edith Garvin's olive-sheened plump calves, lowering herself till her own darkblonde pussycurls rubbed against Edith Garvin's shrinking mouth. Then, with a grunt, Judge Austin W. Black thrust himself violently against the resistant barrier to his rutting bliss, and Edith Garvin uttered a strangled scream which was muffled as Martha desperately ground her cunt against the young woman's mouth while at the same time pulling Edith's calves towards her so as to keep the victim proffered for the sacrificial spear that would rip and rob her of her cherished virginity.
Setting his teeth, he drew back a little, and then lunged forward with all his strength. There was a piercing shriek and Edith Garvin's body jerked and twisted on the pillow, as her face moved from side to side, her mouth rubbing against Martha Cronkite's cunt. It was a wordless inhuman cry, which expressed an eon of torment and despair and hopeless realization of the supreme disaster that could befall a chaste virgin. For the savage brunt of his thrust had broken through the hymen, and Judge Austin W. Black was lodged to his balls inside Edith Garvin's tight and quaking cunthole!
Chapter Seven
"Good afternoon, Dr. Sayers," Dr. Archibald Fenwick ingratiatingly declared, I've just examined your little rebel, and in my opinion she can easily take a sound thrashing for trying to escape."
"Thank you, Dr. Fenwick," the superintendent of Welfare Island coldly answered. She rose slowly from her desk, smoothed her black satin skirt, brushed an imaginary bit of lint off of her short-sleeved white silk blouse and then turned back to the desk to pick up a manila dossier file on the girl on whom the medical examiner of Welfare Island had just reported.
Dr. Marjorie Sayers was thirty-seven, about five feet seven and a half inches in height, slim and supple, and her coppery-red hair was cut in a mannishly short bob. Her face was a disdainful oval, with a high forehead, very thin pencilled brows, an aquiline noise with extremely sensuous wings, and a small thin mouth. The sharp angularity of her cheekbones and the aggressive firmness of her chin suggested an imperious temperament. Her skin was tawny, and her body was extremely provocative-but so far as any lusting male was concerned, that voluptuous body was hors de concours. For Dr. Marjorie Sayers was a Lesbian sadist who despised men and yet, paradoxically, had little more use for women except to serve her often furiously sensual needs.
There was good foundation for this curious inimicality, and, indeed, Judge Austin W. Black had proposed her name as the superintendent of this woman's correction for exactly the reasons which had made her what she was.
He had seen in her an ideal foil and instrument by which not only could he profit enormously through his syndicate contacts in supplying desirable females for their brothels but also procure for himself a gamut of lubricious pleasures, since her disciplinary methods exactly coincided with his own sadistic bent.
Marjorie Sayers had earned her titles not in medicine but in, curiously enough, English Literature. She had been a brilliant and precocious student, had been graduated from high school at the incredibly young age of thirteen. Her parents had been quite mature, in their early forties, and they had not even expected to be blessed with offspring. Unfortunately, Marjorie Sayers' birth had cost her mother's life, and this had so saddened her father that, hating the innocent cause of that bereavement, he had hired an excellent governess for the child and firmly resolved to have no affection for her. He had been quite wealthy, and importer of arts and craft,, and he had established a sizable trust fund for his baby daughter.
Marjorie Sayers had grown up sheltered and isolated and aware almost from the very start that her father had no love for her. She had turned to books as her refuge and had so avidly pursued her studies that she actually entered college at the age of fourteen and took her bachelors degree when she was not quite eighteen. By then her father had died, but the money which he had left in trust for her had been dissipated by the executors' speculative gambling in the stock market. The elderly attorney who had been Marjorie's father's best friend and who had been entrusted with this task of caring for the estate until the child could come of age, had been dissolute and lustful, and he had needed money for his pleasures. He had gambled with the girl's estate just as he had with his own funds, and finally he had committed suicide when he realized that he had not only bankrupted himself but practically exhausted that trust fund.
So Marjorie Sayers resigned herself to earning a livelihood in an academic career, except that just as she began her studies for her master's degree, she fell in love. Her husband was Gordon Sayers, a black-haired sophisticated, very handsome young man of twenty-three who was the playboy heir to his father's industrial chemicals manufacturing plant near Newark, New Jersey. Because she had been alone all of her life, she was not prepared for the magnetic animal charm of the young heir. He conversely, was smitten with lust for this slim red-haired young bluestocking whose intellect was so far advanced and yet who was so unworldly. It was an easy conquest, because Marjorie Sayers was just entering the full flower of her youth and experiencing, as any healthy young girl would, the pangs of physical desire.
At first, their honeymoon and their early married life were idyllic. Gordon Sayers took his lovely bride to Majorca on their honeymoon, and then to the French Riviera. While there, and without her knowledge, he spent a torrid afternoon with a beautiful young French minor starlet. It was to be the first of his many philandering escapades of which his beautiful young wife remained totally ignorant until that fatal day six years ago when she had caught him with his own private secretary.
Two daughters were born to Gordon and Marjorie Sayers. One was Jackie, black-haired like her father, with an insolently pretty face, now fourteen and as dedicated a Lesbian sadist as her own mother. The other was Betty, sixteen and a half, with honeycolored hair falling in a thick ponytail and the body of a young Venus, who, while she enjoyed the occasional diversion of Lesbian sadism, generally preferred heterosexual relationships. And both daughters were the invaluable and imaginative aids under their mother's tyrannical regimen at Welfare Island.
Three years before the ultimate breakup of this marriage, Gordon Sayers had decided to open a branch of his father's factory in the South, and chose a site not far from Little Rock. Marjorie and the two girls went with him, but already the beautiful red-haired dominatress was aware that her husband's physical desire for her had waned, and her quick mind led her to believe that he was frequenting the beds of other women, which of course he was. In obtaining her doctor's degree, she decided to distract herself by accepting a post as a private tutress to a wealthy young girl who was preparing for college, and this post gave the red-haired imperatrix her first actual experience of Lesbian subjugation. Her pupil, Maxine Cantrell, was eighteen, a vapid sandyhaired girl who was quite opinionated and spoiled, and who, because her parents were nouveau riche, looked down on anyone less fortunate than herself as a menial. She began to treat Marjorie Sayers exactly that way, until one day the fiery dominatress angrily remonstrated with her charge and told her that what she really needed was a sound spanking. Maxine Cantrell laughed in Marjorie Sayers' face and defied her.
The upshot was that the agile and mature tutress promptly flung the astounded young blonde across her lap, lifted Maxine's skirts and slip, lowered her panties despite the girl's frantic threats and raging curses, and proceeded to inflict a sharp spanking with an ivory comb which happened to be at hand. The physical pain came as a kind of purge to the vapid young girl, and after the correction, she flung herself into Marjorie Sayers' arms and tearfully expressed her apologies for having so defied her. Since Maxine's body was ripe and voluptuously exciting, and since Marjorie Sayers herself had been denied what had formerly been a fulfilling sexual relationship with her husband by dint of his gradual estrangement from her, the beautiful red-haired dominatress found herself making love to the overwrought blonde pupil. That relationship lasted six months, to such a point that Maxine of her own accord would purposely commit mistakes in her lessons or be impudent in order to incur a voluptuous whipping followed by the sweet consolation of Sapphic caresses.
The branch factory thrived in spite of Gordon Sayers' business negligence, but he was more interested in erotic adventures. He was particularly interested in his newly hired secretary, Laura Williams, a full-blown chestnut-haired young woman of twenty-five, who had been married at eighteen and divorced a year later, and who had purposely set her cap for her wealthy and handsome employer even though she knew he was married.
One evening, when Gordon Sayres was forced to catch up with his business correspondence, he asked Laura Williams to have dinner with him and then go back to the office to do overtime work. She readily assented. But from the office they went directly to a motel and there made love. For several months this passionate relationship continued, and Laura constantly and insidiously proposed that Gordon divorce his wife for whom he obviously had no great love and marry her instead.
Finally, one afternoon, when most of the plant employees were on vacation, and when Gordon Sayers believed that his wife had taken their two daughters to Little Rock on a shopping expedition to prepare them for the fall term of school, he made the mistake of bringing Laura to his house. Marjorie Sayers returned several hours earlier than expected, and, hearing curious noises in the bedroom, left the two little girls in the living room while she went down the hall to learn the reason for those sounds.
When she opened the bedroom door, she found Laura Williams atop her husband, both naked, and Laura was in the act of holding her husband's stiff cock and guiding it into her voracious cunt while her other arm was under his shoulders and both his hands were cupping her generously ripe, closely spaced titties.
Marjorie Sayers went white and stood there petrified with revulsion and hatred. Now she could understand why her husband had come so seldom to her bed the past few years. Suddenly Gordon looked up and uttered a cry of horrified surprise. Laura also looked and uttered a shriek of dismay, then tried to get off the bed and grab her slip and hold it about her trembling nakedness.
Marjorie Sayers had demanded that her husband at once give her a divorce as well as custody of the children, or she would bring charges against him for adultery and name Laura Williams. He readily assented.
But in seeking a lawyer, Marjorie Sayers went to a friend of Judge Austin W. Black, who was on the verge of his campaign for that post in the Municipal Court. The friend recommended Black, Marjorie Sayers went to interview him, and the white-haired lecher at once told himself that here was a woman of whom he could make profitable use.
He could tell that Marjorie Sayers was trembling with frustrated rage and a burning, desire for vengeance, and he had accorded her that opportunity for a spiritual catharsis. He proposed that he name her superintendent of the soon-to-be-founded women's correctional institution at Welfare Island, and she eagerly agreed to accept the post if so nominated.
Shortly after the divorce had been granted without contest, the Judge had his henchmen apprehend Laura Williams in Chattanooga where she had fled to live with her sister. She was brought back on a charge of forgery and embezzlement- both charges were ingeniously contrived in order to extradite her from Chattanooga-and she was sentenced to serve two years in Welfare Island.
On the first day of her sentence, she was led in by a matron to see the new superintendent, and she recoiled in horror when she saw Marjorie Sayers seated at the desk in her white silk blouse and tight black skirt. Laura Williams was sentenced to a week of isolation for her disrespect for the new superintendent, and that evening Marjorie Sayers and two matrons entered the young woman's cell.
Laura Williams was stripped naked, put on a sawhorse, and as a supreme humiliation, Marjorie Sayers had Jackie and Betty, then nine and eleven and a half respectively, give her husband's former mistress a sound whipping with a leader strap and a three-thonged martinet. Then, sending her girls out of the cell, the red-haired dominatress undressed to just her boots, and standing in front of the sobbing captive on the sawhorse, twisted her fingers in Laura Williams' hair while with her other hand she plied a rattan cane over the already inflamed naked bottom of her captive till Laura submissively gamahuched her.
After her sentence had been served, Laura Williams was compelled to become a trustee in the prison, and was paid a minimum stipend because of her freed status. Yet she remained at her rival's mercy, and whenever Marjorie Sayers sought to vent her spleen, Laura was forced to serve as literal whipping girl.
But by now since Welfare Island had been turned into a kind of secret "training school" for intended prostitutes destined for the syndicate and the purchase by wealthy amateurs, Jackie and Betty Sayers had learned to participate in their mother's disciplinary regime, and were as much feared as their mother by the luckless prisoners who found themselves sentenced to servitude in this grim castle-like prison.
Marjorie Sayers was handsomely paid, and received a share of the profits derived from this illicit traffic in white slaves, for such they were.
As for Dr. Archibald Fenwick, he was a repulsive but brilliant physician who had almost been disbarred in California after having been arrested on a charge of performing abortions on a group of attractive callgirls who worked for a West Coast syndicate hoodlum. He was fifty, completely bald and fat, extremely myopic, so that he wore thick-lensed spectacles. Dr. Archibald Fenwick had been born in New York City, taken his medical degree and internship at one of New York's best hospitals and then gone into private practice in a fashionable Madison Avenue office building. He had been an only child, and because he had never been particularly prepossessing, his parents had rarely shown him much affection nor, for that matter, did the fair sex. His recourse for sexual pleasures had began to prostitutes, whose mentality he understood and even admired over that of the hypocritical debutante and the wealthy young society matron whom he considered amateur whores. He had to flee his practice when, overcome by lust for one of his beautiful divorcee patients, he gave her an ingenious anesthetic and raped her on the examining table. From New York he went to California, and then fled the state one jump ahead of the arresting officers, for he had forfeited his bail on awaiting a final hearing on the charge for which he had been arrested.
But Archibald Fenwick had met a man in New York, a dilettante of erotic pleasures and himself enormously wealthy, who travelled all over the world and had an extraordinary pornographic library. This friend, Eric Fortesque, lived a few months of the year in Little Rock, where he had been born, and Dr. Archibald Fenwick sought refuge with Eric Fortesque after his escape from California.
Since Eric Fortesque was an intimate friend of Judge Austin W. Black, it was small wonder that within a few months after meeting the corrupt judicial head of the Municipal Court, Dr. Archibald Fenwick was installed as medical advisor to the women's correctional institution at Welfare Island. And there at last he could indulge his penchant for vicious sadism and depraved sexuality for the benefit of an elite and wealthy audience, be well paid both in profits and parry!
This was the unholy alliance which Judge Austin W. Black had created and which he ruled with unwavering authority. This was the alliance which ambitious and courageous Jack Harkins, as editor of Catayunga's only newspaper, intended to stamp out. But before Harkin's goal would be achieved, the lives of many-including that of the one most dear to him-would be unbelievably altered!
Chapter Eight
Although Dr. Marjorie Sayers had mostly matrons to assist her in the supervision and operation of this correctional institution located in a desolate area and protected by the natural aid of the elements, there were nonetheless several male guards on the staff of Welfare Island supervisory personnel. One of them was young Ray Hickey. But he had no way of knowing that the real reason for his tenure and the excellent salary which he was able to earn and which he could not have found anywhere at all in the town of Catayunga itself was because his beautiful wife Irene had caught the discriminating eye of Judge Austin W. Black.
Ray Hickey was twenty-eight, rangy, brown-haired, with pleasant regular features, a native of Catayunga. He had inherited a little farm from his elderly father, from which he had been able to eke out a meager existence until about six months ago when he had been astounded to have a visitor at the little ramshackle house. The visitor had been none other than Yoshio Kimura, Judge Black's Japanese manservant. In his excellent English, the Oriental valet had inquired whether Ray Hickey was interested in becoming a guard at the womens' correctional institution at a salary of $150 a week. Ray had gasped in amazement and nodded, speechless at the prospect of such untold riches. Now he would be able to marry his delicious Irish sweetheart Irene Murray, who was working as a clerk in the town's only bank and who had come from County Cork about ten years ago to live with her uncle and aunt and their two pretty daughters Elsie and Mae.
Ray had been courting Irene for almost a year prior to this unexpected windfall, and she had indicated that she was drawn to him, but her aunt and uncle had opposed the marriage because their niece, they felt, deserved better than the life of a farmer's wife, especially a poor farmer like Ray.
But after Ray Hickey had enthusiastically accepted Judge Black's offer and gone the very next day to the Judge's office in the Courthouse, he had emerged with a radiant look on his face as if he had just entered paradise. In a way, that was immediately about to happen, for as soon as he had told Irene's protective uncle and aunt, they had given him their blessing and he and Irene had been married two weeks later. And on their wedding night, Ray was sure that he had really entered paradise... once his prick had lodged in the tight but passionately warm and eager cunt of his blushing and beautiful bride.
Irene still lived in the farmhouse, to which Ray had been able to bring quite a few creature comforts such as a brand-new refrigerator and an air conditioning unit, thanks to his salary as guard at Welfare Island. He'd also bought a secondhand Ford in order to drive from the farmhouse to the desolate castle-like edifice located in the middle of the deep creek.
His work as guard kept him there five days a week and, on several occasions of late, even over Saturdays and Sundays. It wasn't long before Ray Hickey discovered that he was expected to keep his mouth shut in return for his excellent salary and particularly when he had to take part in some of the privately staged orgies located in the arena which was built in the basement of the remarkable building which housed at this writing some five hundred females, between the ages of eighteen and forty. To be sure, a good half of these prisoners were under sentence for various crimes and had not the slightest interest to either Judge Black or the syndicate because of their background or their lack of physical attractiveness. They underwent quite a different regimen than the others who were destined to be broken into a shameful servitude, and of course they were not aware of the difference. For when they would be released after serving their sentences, they would have nothing to report to the outside world of what really went on inside Welfare Island; either in the subterranean arena with its handsomely furnished loge seats, which made it a kind of miniature Coliseum-or in the luxuriously furnished private rooms allocated to important guests and wealthy amateur buyers of female flesh.
But Ray Hickey had been trapped without knowing it into an involvement, the cost of which would be his own lovely young wife's bewitching charms. Judge Austin W. Black had seen to that. About three months after the happy young man had accepted his job and celebrated it by marrying lovely Irene, Dr. Marjorie Sayers summoned the brown-haired guard into her office one late Friday afternoon and informed him that he was to report for work on the following evening. Ray was a little startled by this, because he and Irene had been looking forward to a drive to Little Rock and a show and dinner at a fine restaurant there. Dr. Sayers had noted the look of disappointment on his face and had curtly remarked, "Of course, Mr. Hickey, if this interferes with your social life, you can always be replaced. Judge Black told me that you are still on probation with us. I must say, however, that thus far your work has been excellent and I had thought of recommending you for a raise. However, if you can't make it tomorrow, I suppose you can't."
This veiled threat had sufficed to make Ray Hickey offer his services on Saturday night, and he had told his disappointed young bride that they would have to put off their celebration-it was actually that of the third month of their marriage- until the following week. But when he had reported for work about five on Saturday evening, he had been directed by the lesbian superintendent to go downstairs to the arena and join Sam Talbot, a strapping Negro guard who had been a ex-prizefighter, forty years old and a confirmed lecher and sadist. Indeed, Sam Talbot had been brought before Judge Black on the charge of trying to rape a pretty sixteen-year-old girl on a farm where he had worked, and the Judge had had a lengthy and exhaustive session with the Negro. Sam had truthfully told him that the girl had made overtures to him, taken him out in the barn and then had turned out to be a prick-teaser who had just wanted the exciting thrill of "fooling around with a nigger." The upshot was that Judge Black formally dismissed the charge, and offered Sam Talbot a job as guard at the Island. There his lechery and sadism could make a man extremely valuable assistant in the profitable work of "breaking in" rebellious young women who dared defy their captors who intended to train them as future prostitutes and bondservants destined for the beds of affluent clients of both sexes... for there were a number of extremely handsome dowagers and young matrons who visited Welfare Island several times a year and paid a staggering fee for the privilege of either buying one of the female prisoners as a future servant in their households, or locking themselves up with the unfortunate prisoner for a night of unbridled lesbian lust.
On this memorable occasion, Ray Hickey found himself paired with Sam Talbot as both guards were ordered to administer a whipping to a pair of handsome sisters, Johanna and Margaret Eames. Johanna was twenty-four, ripe of body and black-haired, while Margaret was twenty-one, auburn-haired and tall and svelte. Both sisters had been sentenced to Welfare Island for three months on the charge of soliciting in the town of Arbor Falls, about twenty miles north of Catayunga. The actual truth was that they worked as waitresses in a combination restaurant-nightclub whose owner had affiliations with the crime syndicate. And who himself had lusted for their bodies. Margaret and Johanna had indignantly refused their employer's advances. They were orphans, and had been earning their own livelihood for the past five years. It was this particular circumstance which made them attractive potential candidates for the correctional institution, because they would have no one to aid them when singled out for arrest and eventual sentence to the prison. Runaways, orphans, divorcees and others who had no living relatives in the area were singularly vulnerable, and Judge Black's henchmen throughout the state were so instructed. For often the syndicate would convey orders to the corrupt white-haired Judge, indicating that this or that brothel required some new inmates, and would set forth general physical specifications as to age, color of hair and skin, general physical propensities. And these "orders" would be ruthlessly filled, as we shall see in subsequent chapters of this saga!
Johanna and Margaret Eames, having slighted their employer, were reported to the Judge at a time when Tony Rocco, the syndicate contact in New Orleans, was in need of about six new girls. As a consequence, these sisters' employer preferred charges against them of soliciting his patrons for the purpose of prostitution, they were arraigned and brought before Judge Black in the Municipal Court, and sentenced to three months for vagrancy and solicitation. Their protestations of innocence and their attempt to call some of their waitress colleagues as defense witnesses did not help whatsoever and they found themselves fingerprinted, mugged, and driven over in a police wagon to the Island, from which a motor boat at the bank took them across the moat and thence into the hands of the grim matrons who marched them into Dr. Marjorie Sayers' office.
A week after their incarceration during which they had spent the time in complete isolation from each other and in solitary cells, Johanna and Margaret Eames were brought into Dr. Sayers' office again to be interviewed by Tony Rocco. He was a little man, black-haired, about forty-eight, with a scar on his left cheek and a husky voice, an inveterate pimp and lecher, but despite his lack of prepossessing qualities, he made a fortune for the syndicate and was highly regarded by the upper echelon of the Cosa Nostra. Tony Rocco ingratiatingly suggested to the handsome young women that if they were reasonable and would forget the supposed injustice done them, he could arrange for excellent jobs for them upon their release when their time was up. Johanna defiantly demanded to know what kind of jobs these would be, to which Tony Rocco had slyly retorted, "Why, you'll work in one of the best houses in New Orleans, my dear. And with your beauty, and after we've had a chance to restyle your hair, give you some fine clothes and teach you a few tricks, you'll be one of the most sought after girls in town, believe me."
Joanna Eames had indignantly denounced him as a rogue and villain, and had said that she would die before she agreed to become a prostitute. He had shrugged, given Dr. Sayers a knowing glance, and had then left the office. And on the following night, that Saturday night when Ray Hickey had had to postpone his celebration with his beloved Irene, Johanna and Margaret Eames were "presented" to a select masked audience in the arena in the subterranean level of this grim castle which was in reality a dungeon without hope for the beautiful and unfortunate prisoners incarcerated within its gray walls.
They had been blindfolded and brought out into the center of the arena. Each had been tied with her back to an upright round wooden post set in the earth. Judge Austin W. Black, whose vivid imagination led him to evoke fantasies out of the historical past, had designed the arena so that it could be used much as the Romans used their own coliseum in the terrible days when Christians were thrown to the lions, ravaged by baboons and wild donkeys, and made to endure atrociously obscene ordeals which caught the fancy of the bloodthirsty populace.
Their clothes were then torn away and they were left naked, crying out in their terror and shame. There were about fifty men and women present, all elegantly dressed and all wearing masks, sitting in the comfortable loge seats, they were served refreshments by charming young girls, dressed much as Martha Cronkite was generally dressed, in black nylon shortie tunics and highheeled pumps, and if the spectator so desired and for a price, these charming Hebes would be available to them in a private suite elsewhere in the castle when the spectacle was ended.
Ray Hickey was handed a long carriage whip made of fine silk and knotted all along its last foot, by the red-haired Lesbian superintendent of the institution, and told to flog Johanna, while Sam Talbot was handed a similar whip and bidden to flog her sister Margaret. When Ray hesitated, Dr. Sayres acidly told him that if he refused, he would not only be discharged but also blackballed so that he could not find another job anywhere in the state. She also intimated that Judge Black had been looking over the title to his parents' farm and might possibly find some flaw therein, so that this property too might be taken away from him.
Ray Hickey capitulated. And once he began to whip the beautiful and mature Johanna making the thin stinging lash wrap around Johanna's titties and belly and loins and thighs, once he heard her plaintive cries and saw the frantic wrigglings of her delicious naked body, the venomous poison of sadistic lust was filtered into his own system and he became as avid a devotee of this erotic papchant as Austin W. Black himself. For after he had flogged the half-fainting Johanna Eames, he had been ordered to rape her then and there before all the massed spectators, while the Negro guard did the same to poor Margaret.
At the conclusion of that night, the two sisters were dressed and taken out of the prison and driven by Tony Rocco to New Orleans to begin their work as prostitutes in one of his most elegant houses. As for Ray Hickey, when he returned the next day to his farmhouse and reunion with his beautiful black-haired wife, he made such passionate love to her that Irene was thrilled but also left wondering what had made her husband turn into such a domineering and predatory lover, for he had never until then shown such roughness and brutality. Hitherto he had worshipped her, believed her to be unattainable, and even in their sweet games in bed as man and wife, he had laid gentle hands upon her body, hardly believing his good fortune in being given so beautiful and desirable a mate.
But Ray Hickey had not yet paid the full price for his job and his entrapment. That price would soon be collected from him, in a kind of incredible Tantalus in which he would see his own wife delivered up to the Judge and the perverse Dr. Archibald Fenwick... and would against every shred of moral decency and honor find himself secretly ecstatic over the fate of his virtuous and beautiful bride!
Chapter Nine
After Judge Austin W. Black had taken the maidenhead of beautiful mature Edith Garvin as we have already seen, he forced the unfortunate young woman to continue gamahuching the pretty teen-aged goldenhaired Martha Cronkite until the latter had achieved a climax under his gloating eyes. Then, changing his personality completely into that of a fatherly and benign confidant, he guilefully bade Martha take Edith into the bathroom and give her a bath and solace her hurts. This done, Edith was given a costume which she was to wear on Welfare Island: it consisted of white nylon bra and matching panties, black cotton stockings which rose high on the thighs and were held in place by old-fashioned elastic garters, a white cotton slip, and a drab gray cotton-dress whose hems reached to midcalf, and finally a pair of low heeled work shoes. Thus the outer garments, in the event that any official visitor should suddenly take it into his head to inspect the state's correctional institution for women, would convince him that all the prisoners were decorously attired and equitably treated, whereas those clothes, to be sure, a provocative and filmy white nylon bra and panties left these captives in a highly vulnerable state in the event that the superintendent or the Judge himself or any of his secret crime-syndicate associates wished to amuse themselves by whipping or violating these hapless females.
When Edith Garvin at last emerged from the bathroom, her eyes red and swollen from crying, walking unsteadily because of the shock of her flogging and rape, Judge Black solicitously complimented her on her attractiveness and told her that he had finished with her for the time being. She would, he declared, be put to work at once for him, and she would go to Welfare Island that very night, there to be interviewed by Doctor Marjorie Sayers, to whom she would be a secretary and, if need be, personal maid.
In vain poor Edith Garvin pleaded to be set free, swearing she would never tell anyone what had been done to her, but the Judge was adamant. "Don't try my patience, Edie girl," he had thundered. "All I have to do is snap my fingers, and you'll be taken off to a whore house in New Orleans or maybe even in South America, never to be heard from again. Your fiance Ben Rosenzweig won't ever be able to find you, that's for sure. I'm being lenient with you, because you finally asked me to fuck you, even if it did take a little switching of that big juicy ass of yours to bring you to such an unladylike request."
Crushed, agonized, but conquered by this accomplished whoremaster, the lovely brown-haired Jewess had passively submitted to his will. His Japanese valet had entered the room at Judge Black's call, handcuffed the weeping brownette with her wrists behind her back, and led her off to the Judge's limousine, which he drove to the desolate creek. Meanwhile, Judge Black had telephoned the prison and advised Dr. Sayers that she was to have another prisoner, who would be held there under indeterminate sentence and who was to work for her as secretary and as maid. "She's not to be part of any of the entertainment projects we have for our guests, Marjorie," he had told the red-haired Lesbian dominatress, "and if you have occasion to punish her, just store it up until my next visit. I think that perhaps by the next weekend I'll spend some time with you and your charming charges, my dear Marjorie. By the way, how is Ray Hickey behaving himself?"
Upon being told that the young brown-haired guard was cooperating to the fullest extent and even showing an enthusiasm for taking part in some of the private "shows" which the Judge regularly staged for syndicate visitors and amateur buyers of slaves, the white-haired lecher chuckled: "Excellent, my dear! Well, I want you to keep Mr. Hickey in Saturday evening, mind you now. I'm going to let him see his delicious wife being entertained by Dr. Fenwick and myself. If I have any time left, I'll deal with Edith Garvin. Take good care of her. It's taken me five years to catch up with that haughty little spinster, but you can take my word that this evening she's had a great start in her education in being a woman, ha ha ha!"
Dr. Marjorie Sayers had hung up the phone with a grimace of annoyance. A confirmed Lesbian, she had, for reasons we already know, no love at all for the male, and the only pleasure she derived in witnessing or participating in scenes in which her female charges were put to the lash and delivered up to the violation, sometimes in the underground arena, sometimes in the handsome, soundproofed small assembly hall on the first lower level of this medieval-looking edifice, was that she bore an unwavering hatred of all lovely young women exactly because she had caught her husband in the arms of such a scheming female. She had not forgotten her rancor towards Laura Williams, the former secretary of her husband and the woman whom she had found in bed with him that fatal afternoon. Without that discovery, she might today not be the superintendent of this prison, not in league with the lecherous Judge and his crime-allied henchmen. And yet, seeing how her perverse and precocious daughters, Jackie and Betty thrived in this unhallowed atmosphere and how they too took after her in applying the lash and torture to insipidly lovely young females singled out for punishment, Dr. Marjorie Sayers found her post eminently tolerable. Her town living quarters, a suite of beautifully furnished and soundproofed rooms, were located on the first floor at the left wing of this sprawling stone building, and Betty and Jackie each had their own suite down the hall from hers.
As she hung up the phone and prepared to receive the new prisoner, Edith Garvin, she thought of the Judge's remark about Dr. Archibald Fenwick, who made her flesh shudder-but not, it was true, in the diabolical ways he had of making his victims shudder, as he would poor Irene Hickey's within the week....
Claire Ralston looked up from her typewriter as Sally Dalby entered the city desk room of the "News-Gazette and demurely took her place at her desk. The svelte brunette's eyes narrowed, and her lips tightened with fixation. Sally's red-haired beauty and gorgeous figure made her spitefully jealous every time she saw that goody-goody little bitch.
She new that Jack Harkins was sweet on Sally, and she wished there was a way of eliminating the girl at the other end of the room... maybe even permanently. Because if Sally were out of the way, she herself would have the field clear of any rival and she would go after Jack Harkins and make him hers. An idea grew in her mind, but it was much too fantastic, too improbable. She knew Judge Austin Black, and she knew that as head of the Municipal Court of Catayunga he was empowered to sentence women to the prison of Welfare Island. Now if only Sally Dalby could be arrested on some charge or another and given a taste of what prison was really like, maybe with big brawny matrons taking a strap to that plump behind of hers and making her get down on all fours and making her scrub the floor like a slavey, then she herself could really pitch woo to handsome Jack. She couldn't understand why a virile man like him had never really given her a tumble.
Claire Ralston was not a virgin, and she had had affairs not only with several men but also with a number of attractive women. Claire had just moved into a handsome furnished apartment on Elderberry Avenue, one of the prettiest residential sections of the Arkansas town, and she had hired a seventeen-year-old farmgirl, Wilma Deering to take care of the apartment and to help her with the cooking when she felt out of sorts, which was most of the time lately because of her frustration over the editor of the News-Gazette.
Wilma Deering had lived on a little dirt farm which produced potatoes and seed corn, about ten miles to the southwest of Catayunga, with her stepfather. Her mother had died about six months ago, and the pretty orphan discovered that her fifty-two-year-old stepfather intended for her to take her mother's place in his bed. She had already resisted him several times and tasted the strap in the woodshed for her pains. He had finally given her an ultimatum one stormy winter evening that either you come across, you teasing little bitch, because you know you're hot for it anyhow, so there's no need to carry on like you're high-priced cherry-or else I'll tie you up in the barn and use the strap on your ass and tits till you beg me to cuke you good and plenty, you hear, Wilma?"
Wilma was spirited and had decided to run away rather than meet this ultimatum. Unfortunately for her, she had been apprehended by one of Sheriff Mack Dawson's deputies, and brought back to town. There the Sheriff, one of Judge Black's cronies and as corrupt as his overload, had interviewed the frightened but still defiant light-brown-haired girl and promptly returned her to her stepfather.
Wilma had been tied up by her wrists to a beam in the barn, her gingham skirt dragged up over her head to blindfold her and to muffle her outcries, her panties dragged down to her calves and strapped ferociously on her naked bottom until she had fainted. Then, overcome by his insensate rut, her stepfather had fucked her, despite her still valiant attempts to ward him off by kicking at him. He had cuffed her to unconsciousness and then had his way with her and left her there all night long bleeding and slumping in her bonds, her bottom livid from the crisscrossing weals the heavy black leather strap had laid upon it.
In the morning, when he came out to tend her wounds, she had feigned submission and agreed to be his bedbitch. Overjoyed and tricked by her apparent docility-which he naturally attributed to his own domineering skill-he had allowed her to take a bath and then, locking her in her room, had gone to town to buy her a new dress, a kind of bribe which he had promised in return for her "being nice to me like your Mom used to be."
Wilma had managed to break a window with her shoe and crawl out, scratching herself rather badly in the process. She had gone into town on foot, made her way to the small employment agency where a motherly widow was in charge, had told the widow her story of beatings and violation, and the shocked woman had promised to find her a job and to hide her identity in the event that her stepfather made inquiries after her. At about this time, Claire Ralston had decided, jaded as she was by her lack of sexual adventures, to hire a maid, and so Wilma Deering entered her household.
Claire found the pretty seventeen-year-old quite piquant and desirable, and amused herself the first few weeks in changing Wilma's hairdo, buying some new clothes which would accentuate the young girl's physical charms, and teaching her also certain amenities in service as well as in the intimate care of her mistress. She saw to it that Wilma was frequently summoned to undress and dress her, to help her with her bath, to apply perfume and powder and even makeup, and even to do her hair. Gradually, the pretty brownette, as Claire had slyly conjectured, began to be attracted by the sensual allure of the svelte brunette. Wilma Deering was of slightly more than medium height, with a round, sweet face, dimpled cheeks, expressive, large hazel eyes with very thick brows, a straight nose, and a full sweet mouth. Her skin was an adorable carnation tint which is found in the darker blondes, and her body was delectable enough already to explain her stepfather's inordinate lust for it. High-perched, solid round young titties, with strawberry-pink ripe young buds set amid narrow pale coral aureolae, a slim waist which flared into round, solidly resilient and compact buttocks, long but deliciously curvaceous thighs and saucily high-set calves, together with a plump mount of Venus over which only a crisp and not overly thick cluster of dark brown pussycurls shielded the adorable pink fig which was the sweet fruit of her cunt.
Her voice was seductively low-pitched, even a trifle husky and tremulous, caused no doubt by her atrocious months of subjugation by her stepfather. Under Claire's aegis, however, she had regained much of her spirit and grace, though she was still quite ingenuous as to the ways of man and maid. And she knew absolutely nothing about the ways of women with their own kind.
On this Friday afternoon, exactly a week after Edith Garvin had been apprehended and brought to the Judge's house for the long-awaited "reunion," Claire Ralston took another look at Sally Dalby, rose from her desk and marched into the office of Jack Harkins, wearing her sweetest smile and her jauntiest manner.
"Hi there, Claire," he greeted her, looking up from a proof of the front page of the next edition of the News-Gazette. "What can I do for you?"
"A lot more than you think, Jack," was Claire's blunt answer as she seated herself at the side of his desk and promptly crossed her long sleek legs, elegantly sheathed in smoke-colored nylons, the most expensive she could buy and which had been ordered especially from Little Rock. "What are you doing tonight?"
"Nothing, so far as I know. Why?"
"Why don't we go out to dinner and maybe dancing? There's a little combo down at the Palace. I know it's not like New York or Chicago or Frisco, but we could make believe?"
"Claire, I like you very much and I think you're a swell girl," Jack Harkins said, laying down his blue pencil and looking directly at the provocative brunette. "I'm very flattered that you seem to take a liking to me, and I can reciprocate if it weren't for the fact that I happen to be engaged."
Claire's smile faded. "To Sally, I suppose?" She poutingly asked.
"That's right. There's no use kidding you, Claire. This is a small town and everybody knows what everybody else is doing, which sometimes isn't too good for all concerned. But Sally and I are engaged, and I hope some day I can marry her. What I want, before anything else and even before that, though, is to get a real scoop and make the News-Gazette important so the big papers will pick it up. I'm working on an idea right now."
"May I know what it is?"
"I'd rather you didn't, seriously, Claire. It's top-drawer stuff, though, I can tell you that."
"You're aiming high, aren't you? I wonder if it has anything to do with Judge Black."
He scowled. "Now what makes you think a thing like that, Claire? I didn't mention Judge Black, did I?"
The provocative brunette shrugged, uncrossed her legs, smoothed her skirt, then crossed her legs the other way, this time making sure that her skirt rucked up above her suave, dimpled kneecap. "I just happen to know you don't especially like him," she drawled. "So I thought maybe you'd like to pin something on him."
"This is a newspaper, even if it is for a small one. Where I learned journalism, Claire, you report the facts, not what you want to happen. Sure, I'd like to see him impeached and run out of town, but until it's proved that he's a no-good politician whose making more money than his salary pays him for sitting on the bench and sending a couple of unfortunate women off to that hellhole of a prison, I certainly am not going to do any distortion of the facts."
"You're a noble crusader, is that it?" she said peevishly, staring angrily at him. "Why don't you relax, Jack honey? If you're going to stay around and wait for a smart guy like Black to make a mistake, you'll be wearing a gray beard and still running this crummy little paper. Now if you're as smart as I'm sure you are, you take a job in New York or St. Louis or New Orleans or Chicago, get yourself a decent salary, and team up with a girl who knows the ropes. Sally's fine, but she's a small town hick, and don't you forget it."
"I think that's quite enough, Claire. Let's keep personalities out of this. I happen to be engaged to her and I'm going to marry her."
"Fine. I'm sorry you won't take me out tonight. I'd even pay for it."
"Thanks anyway, but no thanks."
"All right. I know when I'm licked. But one day, I'll lay a little bet that you'll be sorry you turned me down, Jack Harkins. I don't usually throw myself at a man the way I just did at you, and I don't particularly like being given the brush act. Why, I could be nicer to you right now than Sally will ever know how to be, if you want to know something."
She rose, smoothing her dress over her thighs, looking at him with langurous eyes. He flushed hotly, for there was no doubt that she was a stimulating piece of cunt. Indeed, Claire Ralston had figured in many of his nocturnal fantasies, but there had never been any love attached to it. He knew her for a scheming, cool, sophisticated bitch, a fine mistress or one-night-stand-girl, but not wife material, not really.
"I'm not looking for that in a wife," he said rather stiffly and cursed himself for being so ingenuous.
Claire tilted back her head and laughed merrily. "My, aren't you a real Sir Galahad, though! I guess I overestimated you, Jack darling. I thought you were a real swinger, and that you wouldn't tie yourself down to a sweet little homebody who'll bear you a couple of brats and get fat and stupid and-"
"I think that's quite enough, Claire. Don't make me say something that we'll both regret. You know, if you don't like it here, you can always resign."
"I know that. You're not going to fire me because you know I'm doing a damn good job and I'm doing it for peanuts. I don't need the money. I'll tell you one last thing, since this is our moment of truth, Jack Harkins, I've got a yen for you, and, as I've just told you, this is the first time I've ever come right out and told a man I felt that way about him. You can understand that I don't feel too kindly at being shown the door. But I'm going to fool you. I'm going to stay round this office and do my job and just wait for developments. Because one of these days, you're going to be sorry you turned me down, you'll see. So thanks a lot for your time, boss man."
She walked out, went over to her desk, tore the page out of the typewriter roller with a vicious grimace, crumpled it up into a wad and flung it into the wastebasket, then walked out of the office. Sally Dalby, wide-eyed, watched the entire scene with both wonder and dismay. She might indeed be a virginal "goody-goody" as Claire Ralston had just termed her, but Sally Dalby happened to guess by intuition that Claire Ralston was her rival for Jack Harkins' affections....
It was evening and Wilma had just finished washing and drying the dinner plates and silver, while Claire Ralston lounged in a black satin negligee on the wide low couch in the attractive spacious living room of her apartment. Her face was dark with anger and she puffed at a cigarette, impatiently flicking the ashes into a copper ashtray on the glass-covered coffee table before her. It was as she had thought. Jack Harkins wanted to be a little hero. And about the only person you could attack in this crummy little high town was Judge Austin W. Black. There were no two ways about it; Jack Harkins was out to get the Judge, by fair means or foul. She hadn't fallen for his noble speech about not distorting facts, not one little bit. She also knew that Jack Harkins, as editor of the paper, had been dead set against locating a woman's correctional prison so close to Catayunga, and that he had also had suspicions that somebody had made an enormous profit in acquiring the property for a song and then selling it back to the state for the purposes of creating the institution.
Maybe it wouldn't do any harm to have a little chat with the Judge, just sort of know which way the wind was blowing. Maybe there were certain favors the Judge could do for her in exchange for this newsy little bit of information. She began to smile as she leaned back against the couch. She was naked under the negligee except for fluffy mules, and her body tingled with an impatient desire which the memory of Jack Harkins' rebuff had aggravated.
"Wilma? Have you finished the dishes, dear?" she called.
A moment later, the charming young brownette entered the room. She wore a glossy black satin skirt and sleeveless white satin bolero jacket which left her midriff bare and buttoned tightly over her swelling young titties. Gunmetal gray nylons sheathed her delectably curved legs, and her feet were shod in a pair of glistening black leather pumps with spike heels. A pretty little lace maid's cap was on her light brown hair, which had been cut in a pert, fluffy upsweep, feathercurls which were most sophisticated and chic. Claire's eyes narrowed and shadowed with desire. "You look very pretty this evening, dear. But you know you broke a cup the other night and I didn't say anything about it."
"Oh I'm so sorry, Miss Claire!" Wilma was instantly contrite.
"I'm afraid I shall have to punish you, darling. Go to my bedroom and prepare yourself. I'll be in a few minutes later."
Wilma turned crimson to her throat and ears as she meekly lowered her eyes and stammered, "Why -yes, M-Miss Claire."
After she had disappeared, Claire Ralston lit another cigarette and, crossing her elegantly lithe legs, pondered for a few minutes as she sent ring after blue ring of smoke wafting to the ceiling, lost in thought. Yes, it would be very smart to make a friend of Judge Austin W. Black. He could do a great deal for her. Maybe her fantasy of having Sally Dalby locked up and away out of circulation could even come true...
She crushed out her cigarette and rose, her heart beating quickly as she went down the hallway to the bedroom. As she opened the door, her pear-firm titties rose and fell with erotic rhythm as she saw Wilma stretched out on the bed, naked except for garterbelt, hose and pumps, her head pillowed in her folded arms, her carnation-pink-and-white buttocks gleaming and palpitating under the soft diffused ceiling light.
On the bed beside her lay a black wooden oval-shaped hairbrush and a buckling leather strap.
Claire Ralston unbelted her negligee and let it slither to the floor and was naked in her mules. The thick black triangle of pussyfur marked the apex of her long sleek legs, whose muscles nervously raced and rippled under the finely grained smooth skin. Her nipples had darkened and stiffened, and her lips were moist and quivering as she moved towards the bed.
"Get ready," she announced crisply, but her voice had the inflection of sensual anticipation. Wilma instantly put her hands behind her back, clasping her fingers as in supplication, while Claire took the strap and made it tight around the slim soft wrists. Then, kneeling on the bed, she took the hairbrush in her hand and commanded, "Count twenty-five, and after each one, say, 'I'm so sorry, Mistress Claire, that I broke the saucer!' Are you ready, my dear?"
"Yes, M-Mistress C-Claire," quavered the naked young beauty.
The hairbrush began to rise and fall slowly, with crisp sonorities, as gradually the carnation-smooth purity of those jutting and tempting round buttocks changed to angry scarlet, while the stockinged legs kicked up and down and the naked, luscious hips of the young victim jerked and twisted and arched under the spanking. But Wilma counted out the spanks and added the ritualistic formula after each, though towards the last ten spanks her voice was flurried with sobs and tears and whimpering little pleas for mercy.
When it was over, she lifted her head to kiss the hairbrush and then the hand that had yielded it. Her eyes were humid, and her titties were panting as Claire bent and cupped the girl's chin and lifted her head to stare into those exquisite, dilated, tearblurred hazel eyes: "Do you want me to console you now, darling?" she breathed.
Once again Wilma could not suppress the violent blush that suffused her cheeks at once, and as she closed her eyes, she whispered, "Oh yes, oh please yes!"
Claire shivered, as she tossed the brush to the corner of the bed and then walked slowly towards her dresser. Opening the top drawer, she took out a black rubber dildo fixed to a webbing of sturdy nylon and leather, and affixed this phallic simulacrum about her loins. Then she turned back to the bed. Wilma had rolled over onto her back, her wrists still strapped and buckled behind her, and spread her thighs very wide, her eyes fixing on that bobbing simulated male spear.
Claire Ralston clambered onto the bed, and her hands began to knead Wilma's panting titties. "Now I'm going to love you, darling, and make you forget that cruel spanking I had to give your beautiful bottom," she crooned.
And then she thrust herself as a man would into the already moistening vulva of her lovely teen-aged maid. Wilma's face twisted to one side, not in pain but in a kind of sensual ecstasy, as her body arched to meet that impalement.
Her knees up, twisting and moving from side to side, she wriggled her flaming buttocks as Claire Ralston dildo-fucked her, but at last Claire's own furious passions made her fall upon the groaning and sobbing naked girl and silence those cries into ecstatic moans with her own avid mouth and voracious tongue.
Chapter Ten
Ray Hickey had driven off to the prison shortly after having lunch at home on Saturday noon with his luscious brunette wife. He was still very much down in the dumps over having to postpone their celebration, but Irene teasingly consoled him by nibbling at his earlobe and whispering, "Cheer up, darling, we can always do it next Saturday and it'll be just as nice. And if you don't come back home too late, I'll wait up for you and we can have a little party in bed. Would you like that, lover?" And then she had blushed, for until Ray had bedded her, she had been a virgin, and yet now she adored him and despite her natural shyness, she had learned to give vent to all her passionate latencies in his arms when the lights were out.
He looked at her adoringly, and Irene Hickey blushed adorably and lowered her eyes. She was twenty-one, five feet five and a half inches in height, and a perfect 36-22-36. But those dimensions, which a beauty contest judge would exclaim over, were only abstractions until one saw Irene in all her mouthwatering loveliness. Her hair was almost bluish-black and extremely glossy, and she wore it in a thick ponytail with the curls combed away from the top of her forehead and with a little silver barrette just at the back of her head from which it swung down to her shoulderblades in a thick sheaf.
Her face was heartshaped, but there was a certain piquant sauciness to her features, exemplified in the coquettish dimples which came and went fascinatingly in her cheeks and her firm little rounded chin, and in the delicious uptilt of her small straight nose with its thin but widely flaring wings. Her eyes were an intense dark brown, set closely together, very large, with finely pencilled brows and short but very thick and curly lashes. She had no need of mascara to heighten the loveliness of her face, for her skin was a warm, creamy white that was extremely voluptuous.
Her figure was absolutely breathtaking, although she still had not progressed in the short term of their marriage to allow Ray to have the light on when she was naked and she invariably insisted upon wearing a nightie, though to be sure, his reverent fingers lifted it above her hips to bare the thick, crisp, curly triangle of her exciting cunt. Her breasts were highperched pears, set widely apart, with very wide pale coral aureolae and delicate little nipples which Ray had discovered were extremely sensitive during intercourse and which, at the slightest touch of his fingers or his mouth, instantly firmed as if in imitation of the male erection.
Her waist was quite slim, her bellybutton wide and shallow like a jewel set in a magnificent goblet. Her thighs were perfection themselves, sleek and gradually rounding columns, nervously muscled, with skin so flawless and smooth that one could see the delicate tracery of the pale blue veins. Irene's calves were those of a showgirl, high-set and sinuous, and she had very dainty feet with beautifully tapering toes and slim, chiseled ankles. Her buttocks would have tempted a flagellant, and rightly so, for they had a sensual and challenging jut to their spaciously but perfectly proportioned rotundities, with a very sinuous cleft whose mysterious shadows would surely have lured the sodomite to venture into that other crevice in his quest for a lust-chasm to receive his bubbling tribute.
She had an adorable little birthmark, a tiny oval brown patch, high on her left inner thigh near the groin. Ray was fond of tickling it with his finger and once or twice had grown so bold as to put his lips to it, though he had not yet taught her the sweet perversity of oral love.
She watched from the kitchen window as her brown-haired, sturdy young husband got into the car and drove away in the direction of Welfare Island, and then poured herself another cup of coffee, sat down at the table and blushingly smiled as she recalled the naughty promise she had made her husband about tonight.
She could not know that he would not come home that night but that he would see her all the same, and that he would endure the most diabolically torturing Tantalus which any virile and adoring young husband could endure...
It was midafternoon and the heat of the sun beat down upon the little bungalow. Irene had decided to take a nap for two reasons; first, because the heat was oppressive and sapped her energy, and secondly, because then she could stay up late tonight and wait for Ray in bed. She had fallen asleep dreaming of tonight, how she could sneak into bed before him in her nightie and lie there turned on her side, waiting for him to enter the bed and clear his throat and then timidly kiss her neck and tickle her armpits, a little trick he had which invariably made her giggle and turn swiftly to him to kiss him hotly and welcome his advances. Her nipples tingled at the thought of his fingers on her breasts, and her belly shivered as she seemingly anticipated the weight of his firm, lean belly grinding against hers while his virile manhood ploughed the tender, tight furrow between her squirming thighs.
She was having a lovely dream about it, and she moaned softly in her sleep, for it seemed that somewhere in the far distance a bell was ringing. It rang and rang again insistently, until she finally opened her eyes and realized that it was not a dream but her front door.
She shook her head a few times because she was still drowsy and it was difficult to tear herself from that lovely dream in which Ray had been making love to her. She had a kind of trembling enervation along the cords of her inner thighs, and she shivered, biting her lips, at her awareness of how dependent she had become on her young husband. She, who had often slapped an overly impetuous suitor who had tried to be too free with her because of her stunning beauty. She hoped that one day they would have a child, on whom she could lavish much of her love, for it was really sinful, she thought, to love Ray so much. He was all she had.
She wasn't especially happy about this small Southern town, but then, if she hadn't come here, she wouldn't have met Ray.
She went to the door and slowly opened it. A wiry, bespectacled Japanese stood before her; not recognizing Judge Black's manservant Yoshio she was a little taken aback.
"You must not worry. It will be all right. I drive you to the prison. Dr. Fenwick is looking after him. You come now, Mrs. Hickey," the Japanese valet urged.
Irene paused only to lock the front door of the house and then got into the limousine. Silently it rolled away towards the desolate creek in which the castle-like building known as Welfare Island rose to dominate the lonely landscape.
The valet got out of the limousine and opened the door. "The motor boat will come for you. They know I am bringing you," he explained. Courteously he helped her down the bank and she saw the motorboat setting out from the platform dock near the heavy pilings that supported the foundation of this remarkable structure. A flight of stone steps led from that dock to the huge and medieval door which was the main entrance of this fortress-like building. Two men were in the motorboat, neither of whom Irene Hickey recognized; one of them was the Negro guard Sam Talbot.
The motorboat turned back towards the dock, the two guards led her up the stairs and opened the heavy door and went down the corridor. There a third guard was waiting, also a man whom Irene Hickey did not recognize.
"This way, M'am," he told her. He led the way midway down the huge hall to a metal door which, when opened, exposed a flight of narrow stone steps. It was well lighted, for the Judge had had the building thoroughly modernized and an excellent conduit and electrical system installed, along with his own ingenious accoutrements for the edification and entertainment of his influential guests. The three guards led Irene down a narrower corridor, on each side of which, at wide intervals, were heavy metal doors... each of them leading to a specially furnished dungeon or to an elegant salon equipped with every convenience for the enjoyment of carnal passion.
At the end of the long corridor and at the left, the third guard opened the door and gestured for Irene to enter. No sooner had she done so than the two other men seized her by the elbows, and dragged her in, heedless of her struggles and screams.
Ray Hickey had been at work on his shift on the second floor of the building, where many of the more attractive and younger female prisoners of Welfare Island were incarcerated and, as already indicated, put through a very different regimen from that which the older and less attractive women, not at all of interest to the syndicate and the judge, followed. At about five o'clock he was relieved by Sam Talbot, and the brawny Negro guard grinned and winked and jerked his thumb towards the stairway, saying, "Doc Sayers wants to see you, boy. Front and center. You lucky stiff, you!"
"What are you talking about, Sam?"
"Huh! As if you didn't know, Ray boy. Why, everybody knows around here you're Doc Sayers' favorite errand boy for the nicest kind of errands, too. Don't I wish I was called on for this little chore! My oh my!"
"Make sense, Sam. What's it all about?"
"Okay, I'll tell you. Remember that snippy little blonde tramp they picked up at the bar a couple of weeks ago and sent here for three months and sent here on a vag charge? Myrtle Pellis, that's her name."
"Sure I remember her. She just about scratched my face when I put her in a cell," Ray chuckled reminiscently.
"That's sure the one, boy! Well, Doc Fenwick just examined that little bitch, and he told Doc Sayers she could stand a good whaling. So now Doc Sayers wants you to come down and take care of Myrtle good. And I do mean good! And that's why I say you're a lucky stiff. And you'd better be stiff, too, 'cause you're supposed to break her in. There's a rich customer paying a nice fat chunk of dough who's gonna be watching in the cell next to the one you're supposed to do Myrtle in. Get me?"
"One of those, huh? Well, some people get their kicks out of watching. Me, I'd rather perform," Ray Hickey chuckled and gave his Negro colleague a broad wink.
Six months of marriage had given Ray Hickey a greater self-assurance, and to be sure, his work at the prison had forced him into taking part in many punishments of particularly attractive young girls and women. Now that his sensuality had had free rein with his beautiful bride Irene, he was, to quote his own private expression, "more pussy-conscious" than he had ever been before. And remembering the blonde spitfire whose voluptuous young body he had felt struggling against his hands and who had indeed scratched his face as he had shoved her rather roughly into her cell, he began to experience a delicious anticipatory itching in his private parts.
"Don't stand there dreaming about Myrtle, boy.
Hurry down to Doc Sayers and find out what she wants you to do to that little hell-cat. If you need help, tell Doc Sayers I'm ready," Sam Talbot lecherously intimated.
Ray Hickey clapped the Negro on the back, affably countered, "Fat chance, Sam! They sent for a man to do the job, not a boy," and went whistling down the stairs on his way to the red-haired Lesbian superintendent of Welfare Island.
Dr. Marjorie Sayers was studying a sheaf of papers as Ray Hickey entered. She kept him waiting a moment, then put aside the papers and stared insolently at him as she remarked, "You took your time, Mr. Hickey. However, I have a task for you to perform which I hope you will execute a little more efficiently than you've just done in following an order to report to my office."
"Excuse me, Dr. Sayers. Sam Talbot held me up a bit."
"Let me remind you that I am your superior, not Mr. Talbot. Now then, you will go to Cell D in the lower level, where you will find the girl Myrtle. Yesterday, when Matron Matthews brought her her lunch, she actually dared attack her. We can't have that, Mr. Hickey. Insubordination and mutinous conduct are immediately punishable, and as it happens, there is a buyer who has agreed to take Myrtle on parole from this institution and give her a job as servant in his household. He's an elderly man, you see, Mr. Hickey, and he wants the girl to be gentled a little so the lesson will last once she starts to work for him. You understand?"
Ray flushed and lowered his eyes. "Yes, Dr. Sayers, I understand."
"I don't wish to hear the details. However, officially I am ordering you to give the girl a good whipping. Dr. Fenwick has just examined her and tells me that she's quite able to stand a sound thrashing. However, don't mark the skin permanently. And as to the rest, you needn't report to me what you've done but simply do it. You may go now, Mr. Hickey, and I trust you will carry out this order efficiently and quickly."
He gulped, nodded, and left the office of the red-haired Lesbian superintendent. By now, having participated in several such scenes, Ray Hickey understood perfectly what was meant: this young prisoner was a troublemaker and had probably been purchased either for a brothel or for a private buyer who wished to have a lust-slave. Since her sentence had been a mild one for vagrancy or a similar inconsequential charge, just enough to jail her, probation could be easily granted and release made at once to a responsible citizen. This was how the syndicate operated and how Judge Austin W. Black was able to amass huge profits which went into the coffers of the crime-linked network. By "gentling," Marjorie Sayers had given him an unqualified freedom with the defiant blonde teenager: freedom to fuck!
He was remembering his beautiful wife and her whispered promise to him to be waiting tonight so they could have a "party." He only hoped that the business with Myrtle Pellis wouldn't tax his virility too much, so that he could give his lovely black-haired darling all she wanted. He'd heard that sometimes if a man got some extra pussy on the side, he wasn't quite up to snuff when it came to taking care of his home duties. Not that Irene was experienced enough to be able to tell if he was cheating, but just the same he didn't want to go limp on her, not with that sweet, tight little snatch of hers already to welcome him. The very thought of this made Ray Hickey's prick stiffen with longing anticipation.
He went down the stone stairway, where he met Sam Talbot who clapped him on the back and enviously wished him luck. Descending to the lower level and going down the long corridor with its rows of steel doors, all alike, he arrived at last at Cell D. It was on the left side of the corridor, the next to last door. About his belt was fixed a key-chain, and he chose the master key to this tier of cells, inserted it in the lock, turned it and let the door clang shut behind him.
Myrtle Pellis uttered a piercing cry as she saw Ray Hickey enter. At eighteen, she was magnificently developed, and it was plain to see why she had interested wealthy prospective buyers who, as in days of yore when women could be acquired much like slaves on the auction block through the legal practice of indenture, could obtain for themselves all the conveniences and comforts of having a combination maid-of-all-work and bed companion by paying a fee and obtaining the girl's services for a stipulated period of years. In this case, the buyer of Myrtle Pellis would enjoy her until he tired of her, and then the syndicate would offer to buy her back-naturally at a reduced price because of "depreciation" and send her to one of the larger houses where the clientele was not so discriminating and the fees not so high as for the fresh merchandise.
The cell was large, naturally soundproofed, and it had only two articles of furniture in it-if a whipping post could be so designated. The other was a low, wide couch, beautifully upholstered and comfortably inviting. But the whipping post was in the center of the stone floor, a round wooden stake which rose about eight feet high with a metal ring set into the wood about a foot from its top. There, her wrists corded to that ring and drawn up on tiptoe, Myrtle Pellis stood, her insolently pointed, widely spaced titties pressed hard against the unyielding wood, clad only in a white cotton slip and, beneath it, white nylon panties. Her legs were bare.
Her honey-colored hair was disheveled, and there were bruises on the soft pink flesh of her arms where the angry matron had gripped her after Myrtle's attack upon her. She was about five feet seven, slim and agile and lithe, with a beautifully supple waist and deeply hollowed slim back. Her buttocks were broad ovals, very tightly set together, and her long thighs and sinuous calves made Ray Hickey think of the lovely litheness of his bride. Tractioned and on tiptoe as she was at the post, Myrtle's body was mouthwateringly delineated by the clinging slip and the tight diaphanous panties under it.
On the couch there lay a broad black leather strap, a leather paddle and a slim murderously flexible rattan cane, with curved cane-like grip for the wielder's hand.
Ray Hickey took off his guard's cap and tossed it onto the couch. Myrtle, her face turned over her shoulder, stared fearfully at him, her nostrils dilating and shrinking, her lips parted, but as yet she had spoken not a word. Her face was delightfully mutinous, with a turned-up nose, an insolent, small, ripe mouth, highset cheekbones, and a high-arching forehead. She had run away from home a few months ago when her sluttish mother had remarried, first having had a procession of casual lovers, all of whom had attempted to enjoy the daughter's charms on the sly. And she had seen the lust in her stepfather's eyes just before he had gone into the bedroom to claim his marital rights of her buxom, amoral mother. The next day, when her mother had gone into town to shop, her stepfather had cornered her in her room and wheedlingly tried to make love to her, squeezing her bottom and titties, trying to slip his hand under her dress to feel her pussy. Myrtle had kneed him in the groin, and run away. She had been apprehended by one of Sheriff Dawson's deputies and brought before Judge Black as a vagrant.
The Judge's investigation had indicated what kind of home she had fled from, and he was certain that her parents would hardly press a claim to have her back. Consequently, the sheriff's deputy was dispatched to the stepfather and mother of the girl with an offer of a thousand dollars in return for which Myrtle would be made a ward of the state... a euphemistic term which in reality meant she would be sold to carnal bondage. The greed of Myrtle's parents led them to haggle with the deputy, who had been authorized to raise the price to fifteen hundred dollars and not a penny more, and on that price Myrtle's mother and her new husband cheerfully abandoned the lovely teenager...
Ray Hickey wore a blue coat with silver buttons and matching trousers, the obligatory uniform of all male guards, while the matrons wore blue cotton dresses with very short sleeves to allow freedom of movement-especially useful when it came to subduing a rebel like Myrtle Pellis.
He unbuttoned the coat and laid it down on the couch while Myrtle continued to watch him with growing apprehension in her dilated hazel eyes. Then he glanced back at her tethered body straining at the post, and picked up the rectangular leather paddle, considering this the best instrument for the firm, beautifully muscled, spacious ovals of that luscious bottom which awaited punishment.
"Oh no! You aren't going to whip me? But it's not fair! Matron Matthews said something nasty to me and then she tried to slap me. I don't deserve to be whipped for that-she's the one who ought to be punished!" Myrtle passionately declared as she tugged uselessly at her bound wrists high above her head.
Ray Hickey did not think this comment worthy of an answer. Transferring the paddle to his left hand, he approached the shuddering teenager, set / his right hand to the neck of the slip and ripped it off her body. The sight of her almost naked loveliness, covered only by that diaphanous pair of clinging white nylon panties which shaped out the luscious cheeks of her bottom and even the very narrow crease between those sweet globes, made his prick harden with ferocity.
Then he put his hand to the waistband of the panties and ripped them off, and Myrtle Pellis was naked. His eyes fixed on the contracting globes of her behind as the young girl ground herself against the whipping post and uttered a hoarse cry of shame and anguish: "OHH NOO! OH, PLEASE DON'T! I don't deserve it at all, truly I don't. I ran away because my stepfather wanted to have me! It's not fair, I tell you! I want to see the superintendent, you haven't got any right to do this to me!"
At this point, Ray decided to speak: "The superintendent was the one who had me come here to give your bottom a good sound smacking, Myrtle. You've been sentenced to prison, and prisoners do not strike a guard or a matron, not here they don't. I'm sorry, but I've got my orders."
So saying, he placed himself to the girl's left, and drawing back his right hand, swept the leather paddle across the fullest curves of both huddling bare pink buttocks. The sonorous crack of the polished leather implement against naked, firm young flesh made him shiver with mounting lust, which Myrtle's naked beauty had already so keenly incited. The victim uttered a piercing cry of pain, twisted her face back towards him, and sobbingly implored, "Oh my Lord, it hurts, it hurts! Please, please don't do it to me!"
The smooth pink flesh was instantly marked by the outline of the fustigatory implement, and Myrtle ground herself against the hard wooden post, her eyes blurred with tears and very wide in anguish.
Ray Hickey applied a second stroke, a little lower down, against both globes, and again a strident, agonized wail was wrested from the young sufferer. And seeing those marks, watching the magnificently contoured naked bottom ovals of the teenager convulsively jerk and tighten and then relax in the inevitable choreography of flagellation, tore away Ray Hickey's tenderness and idealistic nature, and became a kind of insidious cantharide in his system which made him as unscrupulously lustful as Judge Black himself.
His arm swept down repeatedly, spacing the blows about ten seconds apart, laying a broad horizontal pattern of red splotches across both huddling bottomglobes, then attacking each cheek in turn from right to left and starting from the tops of Myrtle's hips to descend to the bottoms of her long, supple thighs. Her shrieks and tears, her babbled and incoherent supplications for mercy only added fuel to the flame of his inordinate and perverse rut, for by now his prick was straining viciously at the fly of his uniform trousers.
"There!" he panted, dripping with sweat, after he had given the shrieking, naked girl about thirty-two vigorous strokes and left her bottom furiously inflamed and a darkening red, "Maybe that will teach you not to go around hitting guards and matrons!"
He flung the paddle aside and then, taking out a jackknife from the pocket of his trousers, cut Myrtle's wrist ropes.
Sobbing hysterically, the naked young girl crumpled to her knees, and then began to rub her inflamed bottom feverishly. Ray Hickey stood above her, his face dark and twisted with rut as he drew down the zipper of his trouser fly, unbuttoned his shorts and let his virile prick emerge, throbbing and swollen with lust. The meatus was elongated and narrow, like a kind of singular spear point affixed to a dark veined shaft by a narrow, circumcisional groove, and it was as turgid as it had ever been when the young guard made love to his beautiful brunette wife.
He stood for a moment contemplating the weeping, half-fainting girl crouched on her knees with her head pressed against the whipping post, her slim fingers still frantically rubbing the reddened, swollen, pain-seared bottomglobes. Then with a muttered oath, he lifted Myrtle Pellis up by the armpits and dragged her over to the couch and flung her down upon her back.
"Oh no! Oh Lord no! What are you going to do-oh please-Mom, help me-OWWWW-Oh don't-I don't want you to-EEEYEOWWWW- Oh please!"
For Ray Hickey had kneed apart her struggling thighs, clamped her chafed wrists with his left hand and pinned them behind her back, his right hand cupping one of her perky titties and, his handsome face contorted with a demoniac lust, had thrust his prick through the soft pink lips of her virgin vulva and, violently surging forward, burst through the hymeneal seal of her maidenhead...
In the cell at the very end of this corridor, next to the one in which Ray Hickey had carried out the perfidious orders given him by the Lesbian dominatress, Irene Hickey stood transfixed with an incredulous horror and stupefaction. She was fully clothed, tied with her back against the wall of her cell, her wrists pulled high above her head and locked into metal gyves which were fixed into the wall. Behind her, the wall at which she stared connected with the cell in which Myrtle Pellis was undergoing her punishment for rebellion. A one-way opaque glass panel, five feet square, enabled her to see but without being seen, all that was transpiring in that other cell. It was her husband whom she beheld whipping the naked blonde runaway and then fucking her. She could not believe her eyes at first, and no sounds were transmitted from the other cell. But at the very last, when she saw her husband's handsome face twisted in that infernal mask of sadistic rut, she nearly swooned and yet it was with a kind of vague sensual sublimation, mingled with the overweening horror of what she beheld, that made her own breath come more quickly now, her thighs tremble and twitch, and the lips of her own delicious and passionate pussy moisten with a feverish yearning! It was the beginning of the night of Tantalus.
Chapter Eleven
Ray Hickey, after flogging and fucking Myrtle, had gone back to report to Dr. Marjorie Sayers that his assignment had been completed. She received him impassively and told him that he might have supper and then take a nap, from which he would be awakened about ten o'clock, for she wished him to take over the shift on the lower level of the castle-like prison. His relief, she indicated, would come at midnight, and then, she added, her face expressionless, "You'll be able to be with your wife, I'm sure you'll like that, Mr. Hickey."
He ate in the kitchen, which was presided over by a fat gray-haired woman named Kate Drummond, and he had far better fare than most of the prisoners, though it must be said that the attractive captives on Welfare Island were given plenty of good food to keep them physically fit-for reasons which, as we can well guess, had nothing to do with their eventual rehabilitation back into society! Sam Talbot, the Negro guard, was there with him and plied him with excited questions on his experiences with the blonde rebel. Ray found himself blushingly relating his sexual conquest of the attractive teenager, and relished the plaudits of the older guard.
Supper over with, he went to a little room on the first floor toward the end of the hall at the right, in which there was a comfortable bed and couch, an armchair and ample reading material for the guards off duty, stretched out and went fast asleep. He was awakened by someone's jerking at his shoulder and urging him to get up. Sleepily he sat up, blinked his eyes until he was accustomed to the light, yawned and then followed the man-who was Sam Talbot-down the stairs into the lower level. "I've got some business in one of these cells, Ray boy," the Negro chuckled, "but, shucks, I just don't have your luck, seems like. Dr. Sayers just told me to peel the girl down and get her ready for an examination. Guess Dr. Archie is gonna look her over and see if she's fit to fuck, haw haw haw!"
"Can I see who you've got in there?" Ray asked, his sensual curiosity by now being full-blown.
But the Negro guard shook his hear. "Sorry, Ray, can't let you. Doc Sayers' orders, not mine. I just do my job. You know how it is, boy. Anyhow, no use your fretting, neither of us is gonna get this little cute piece of poontang nohow. Anyhow, you already had your share. Don't be greedy, man. Then after you get done, you get on home and have yourself a time with that nifty little broad you got married to, so don't come feeling sorry for yourself just 'cause you can't look a new piece of snatch over." Clapping Ray on the back, the Negro strolled towards the cell door, opened it and went inside, clanging the door shut. Since it was soundproof, there was no way for Ray Hickey to hear what was transpiring behind that door...
A few minutes before midnight, as Ray Hickey concluded his monotonous pacing back and forth along the long narrow corridor of this level just below the main floor of the building, Sam Talbot and Jason Carpenter came down the stairs and headed for him. Ray brightened, "Hi there, you guys! I'm sure ready to quit this shift, I can tell you. Little Reenie's waiting for me."
"That so?" Sam Talbot laconically said. Then, glancing at Jason, he growled, "Let's get him in there, Jase!"
At this, both men seized the astounded Ray Hickey by the elbows and propelled him forward to the door of the very last cell on the left-hand side of the corridor, opened the door and pushed him inside.
"What the hell are you guys doing?" he stormed. But he got no answer. Again they seized him and dragged him to the middle of the room where a tall round wooden stake was set into the stone floor, very much like the one to which Myrtle had been pinioned when he had flogged and ravished her earlier that night. Cursing and struggling, Ray found himself helpless to overcome the combined strength of the Negro and the lanky, black-haired Jason Carpenter, and in a few moments he found himself with his arms drawn behind his back and tethered tightly to the stake, a rope lashed around his waist and one over his chest, and finally one just below his knees around the post. Then, with a lewd chuckle, the Negro guard bent to him and dragged down the zipper of his blue uniform trousers, completely opening his fly. "Just in case you get a real hard-on, Ray boy, won't do to go off in your new uniform. Doc Sayers'll make you pay to have it cleaned if you do, haw haw haw! Come on, Jase, let's go get some poontang of our own in town, huh? I hear tell over at the bar on Main Street, Sheriff Dawson once in a while lets a new young hooker try her tricks till he gets the word from the Judge to put her in the hoosegow and get her sent out here. Me, I like my pussy when it's fresh, and not used up like when it gets here. Let's go!
Ray Hickey heard the door clang behind him, and strained frenziedly at his bonds, but in vain. He was aghast at what had been done to him, and he racked his brains to figure out a reason, but he just couldn't.
He was facing the wall on whose other side was the victim in the next to last cell whom Sam Talbot had been ordered to prepare for a medical examination by Dr. Fenwick. What in hell was this all about anyhow? He was supposed to go off duty and go back home. Reenie would be waiting, and he was right in the mood for another piece, after knocking off that cute little hotheaded Myrtle.
Suddenly he heard a click, and then he stiffened with horror. There was the sound of a girl sobbing as if her heart would break. It was so real it seemed to be right here in the cell with him, but it wasn't. My God, she was really in anguish, whoever she was! Who was she and what had they done to her? Or what were they going to do? Again he tugged at his bonds, but all he did was to chafe his wrists and make his muscles ache in a useless cause. Ragingly, he ground his teeth and told himself that he was going to have it out with Dr. Sayers, having a stunt like this pulled without a word of explanation. He did his job, he came back here late on a Saturday night just to help out, and this was the thanks he got. And for what?
"Oh please! Oh help me, someone!"
Ray Hickey froze. That voice... that soft sweet tremulous quality to it... there was something about it which made his blood run cold. No, it was fantastic, impossible. Of course it couldn't be-
"Oh, won't anyone help me? It hurts me like this -what have I done, why are they doing this to me? I want to go home-oh, poor Ray, I won't be there when he gets home-and he won't know where to find me-oh help me, someone, help me!"
"Oh Jesus Christ!" Ray shrieked aloud. For the voice he had heard and now the words that voice had just pronounced could only belong to his beautiful brunette wife Irene!
And then, as in a hideous nightmare that was all too real, he heard another click, and suddenly the wall just in front of him seemed to slide away and in its place was a rectangular panel of glass. A glass panel through which he could see clearly... with terrible and paralyzing detail.
It was Irene. She was stark naked, and her body formed a kind of living hammock. She was on her back, at about waist-height to a standing man, and there were cords at her ankles and at her wrists, drawn out to pegs set in the walls, so that she was sustained in the air entirely by her four limbs, her body tractioned to the utmost. The creamy, ivory skin of his wife's naked body, the thick crisp black curls of her cunt, the magnificent pertly tipped pear-like turrets of her bubbies, the yawning chasm which her straddled thighs made of that intimate nook entry to which was his alone.
And she was blindfolded, a black bandanna tied over her eyes and knotted tightly at the back of her head.
Ray Hickey did not know that in her office, Dr. Marjorie Sayers had pressed two buttons in a panel inside the top drawer, turning on a secretly camouflaged public address system which connected both cells, and then sliding out the stone section of the wall in favor of the one-way glass. Thus Ray Hickey would be able to see and to hear everything that would go on in the cell beyond him... but conversely Irene could neither see nor hear her husband. And this was the true beginning of the night of atrocious Tantalus!
Chapter Twelve
Ray's eyes bulged as he heard the click of a key in the lock of the door in that cell next to his, saw the metal door swing open, and saw to his consternation Judge Austin W. Black and Dr. Archibald Fenwick enter and close the door behind them.
Dr. Archibald Fenwick wore sandals and a white intern's blouse and trousers-under which he was stark naked. The white-haired Judge wore only a silk bathrobe and sandals. Dr. Fenwick, squinting behind his thick-lensed spectacles, carried a black bag which he now placed on a metal footstool near the door. Then he rubbed his hands and glanced at the Judge and remarked in an oily voice, "Really, Austin, this is a charming specimen!"
"It is indeed," Judge Black chuckled. "She's to have special treatment, Archie boy. You see, she's not a regular convict, not like the others. She's the brand-new bride of one of our young guards, a very personable fellow, but unfortunately a little dense. Got himself into quite a mess, that young Mr. Hickey."
"Judge Black! Oh in Christ's name, I'm here, I'm here!" Ray bellowed at the top of his voice, straining at his bonds. But the sound of his own voice reverberated back to him, mockingly echoed by the stone walls of the cell in which he was tied, forced to watch the degradation of his naked young bride by these two lecherous perverts.
It was as if he had not even spoken, or of course the sound was not conveyed into that next cell, thanks to the ingenious electronic engineering which the Judge himself had arranged and for just such intimate little seances as this.
"You see, we expect our guards to be models of propriety. After all, we ought really to have nothing but matrons here. But sometimes you need a strong man to do work that a woman can't do," the Judge was explaining to the smirking physician. "But when we do have to hire a man, we screen him pretty well, Archie. And so it shocks me to think that one of our new guards, especially a man just married to such a gorgeous little piece of ass as this you see before you, would play around with some of the prisoners just because he has the unfair advantage of being alone with them."
"You don't say, Austin! Tsk, tsk! He certainly should have known better," the fat bald doctor lisped. His speech was unctuous and his voice mellow but with an affectatious and almost childish mannerism of slurring and accenting. "I take it, then, Austin, that this is by way of a little punishment for the young lady. It does seem such a pity, though, if she's not a prisoner."
"That's true. But in a way I'm doing them both a favor. Ray is going to learn a good lesson not to get himself involved with the pretty bitches he has to work with here and whom he should treat only as prisoners. Do you know that after he whipped one of our young eighteen-year-old blonde vagrants, he actually went ahead and raped her?"
"No!" Dr. Fenwick breathed, "my, my, you just can't trust anyone nowadays, can you, Austin? Well now, what do you want me to do to Mrs. Hickey?"
"I want a complete examination. A gynecological, quite thorough. I want to have a look at her uterus and the cervix, just to make sure she can have babies. I want her thoroughly stretched and lighted up and poked out so we know what makes her tick. Then maybe we can give Ray a few tips about her."
Again Ray shouted until he thought his throat-cords would shatter, his face was red and swollen as he lunged madly at the cords which bound him to the round post. But the two perverts in the next room went on tauntingly discussing their imminent prey without the slightest concern or awareness of his presence so nearby.
Ray wanted to protest, to tell the Judge that Dr. Sayers had ordered him to flog and then ravish Myrtle, and that he had only carried out the order. It wasn't fair, oh those dirty bastards, to treat poor Reenie so! He ground his teeth savagely, and again lunged at the bonds, but they had been tied much too expertly to allow the slightest freedom. Panting, sweating, his eyes bloodshot and dilated, he stared through the rectangular glass one-way panel at the sight unfolding beyond him, powerless to avert it in the slightest iota.
Hearing this ironically casual discussion of her helpless, naked body and of her husband, Irene Hickey raised her head, her mouth gaping in a wild cry of terrified shame and anguish: "Oh Lord, J-Judge Black-oh what are you going to do to me? What are you saying about Ray? Oh please, let me down, my legs and arms hurt so terribly, and I'm naked-naked-oh please, it isn't right-I'm a decent girl-I haven't done a thing-please don't hurt me, please!"
"We haven't the least malice towards you, dear Reenie," Judge Black purred, "but your impetuous young husband has to be taught a lesson. Just think, you've only been married six months, and he's already cheating on you. Why, that young rogue has sneaked off into the corners of a couple of our cells and, would you believe it, screwed some of the prettiest girls we've ever had sentenced here. I should know, I sentenced them myself. Now I should think, with a girl like you in bed, Ray wouldn't be looking around for any other brand of pussy."
"I don't believe it! It's not true-he loves me-he certainly wouldn't go with any other woman-oh please, let me down, let me down, put some clothes on me, for God's sake!" Irene's voice broke with tearful sobs as she writhed and squirmed in midair.
The play of her muscles along the thighs and calves was fascinating to both men, whose eyes blazed with an unholy lust as they watched her magnificent creamy buttocks contract in spasm, exposing glimpses of the adorable plump little pink cleft of her still virgin asshole. For Irene Hickey, though wed six months to her virile husband, retained two of her maidenheads: those of mouth and anus. Tonight they would be sacrificed to the perverse rut of the white-haired ruler of Welfare Island and his perverse and expert medical advisor.
"Archie, I'd like you to examine Reenie's quim. Tell me what you think about her clitoris and what degree of sensitivity she's likely to have," the white-haired Judge drawled, clapping the fat bald doctor on the back.
Dr. Archibald Fenwick walked calmly between Irene Hickey's hugely straddled thighs, while Ray Hickey in the other cell shrieked and foamed at the mouth in his delirium: "Oh God, you dirty son of a bitch, don't you dare touch Reenie! Let go of her, or I'll break your fat neck, you dirty queer! Judge, Judge, listen to me, for Christ sake, this is a terrible mistake-whatever I did to those girls was done on orders, and you know it! You've got no right to treat my wife this way, not poor little Reenie, oh my God, you dirty bastard, you scum, kidnapping my poor little wife and bringing her here to use her with your dirty little games!"
Dr. Archibald Fenwick placed his soft moist fingers on the insides of Irene Hickey's creamy thighs, and at once the blindfolded brunette uttered a choking cry, "Oh no, don't, don't touch me, oh I'm so ashamed! My God, Judge, don't let them do this to me, I don't deserve this, and I don't believe that Ray did what you said, I can't believe it!"
"Now that's a loving loyal little wife for you," Austin W. Black purred sadistically, "but you see, dear, we've taken some movies complete with sound tracks of your husband's little extra-marital fun and games. If you'd like, we'd be happy to show them to you-but not till you've had a little lesson how to be a real sexy wife who'll keep her husband in bed with her where he belongs from now on. Proceed, Archie."
The bespectacled doctor's fingers moved towards the furry cleft of Irene Hickey's cunt, and Ray shrieked aloud, his face red and twisted with agony, as he saw them graze the delicate pink petals of Irene's lovecleft. Frantically, the blindfolded naked brunette twisted and arched her body in midair, trying desperately to evade the sullying and obscene touches of the fat doctor. And then she uttered a piercing cry; his right forefinger had just probed inside her cunthole, and was attacking the dainty little nodule of her clitoris, rubbing it slowly back and forth, pressing it back into the soft moist cowl of protective pussyflesh, drawing convulsive squirmings from the shamed, crimson-faced and weeping young woman.
"Quite a good clitoridial development, Austin," he pronounced didactically. "Not abnormal in the least, but quite sensitive. You can see for yourself how she's jerking about. I'd say that intercourse with concentration on the clitoris would bring about a very satisfactory orgasm. But of course I'll need the speculum to make a thorough examination, as you suggest."
By all means, Archie. Use whatever you need to make sure that Reenie's built for fucking," Judge Black said with gloating obscenity.
Mad with shame and powerless rage, the young husband struggled at the post in the other room while he saw and heard what was taking place. He watched the bespectacled doctor now withdraw his forefinger, only to tickle the tender perineum of the sobbing and squirming young brunette, and then delicately prod it between the puckering lips of Irene Hickey's virginal asshole, which produced a new piercing shriek of indescribable humiliation and shame: "Eeeyarrrhhhh!! Oh take your finger away from there, oh please, Judge, don't let him shame me like this, oh God, I'm so ashamed, I want to die, oh please take it away!"
"Before you try the speculum, Archie," Judge Black proposed, "let's see what a little feathering will do for this sweet piece of creamy-skinned cuke-meat. Did you remember to bring one along in your medical bag?"
"Oh my goodness yes, Austin," Dr. Archibald Fenwick almost giggled like a woman. He scurried back to the black bag, opened it and took out the long curly, fleecy ostrich plume, and returned to his post between Irene Hickey's straddled thighs. The plume began to glide along the insides of those ivory columns, which shook and flexed and shuddered violently while Irene whimpered, turning her face this way and that, lifting her head, trying to see through the bandanna and constantly imploring in the most tearful and stammeringly anguished words a reprieve from this atrocious profanation of her wifely modesty.
As the ostrich feather began to glide over Irene Hickey's inner thighs and then capriciously rasp over her bellybutton, the naked blindfolded young brunette groaned and sobbed unceasingly, her fingers clawing the air and her body shaking like veritable living hammock. In the other cell, his eyes glazed and bulging, her husband watched this nightmarish phantasmagoria which he was powerless to avert whatever those two sophisticated sexual perverts cared to perpetrate on that voluptuous ivory-sheened body which up to now only he had had the right to bare, caress and fuck.
But the public address system which had been so ingeniously filtered into his cell had enabled him to hear Judge Black's taunting commentary to Dr. Archibald Fenwick, and with a kind of guilty anguish Ray realized that he had been neatly diabolically trapped. In the pursuit of his duties as guard of Welfare Island, he knew perfectly well that he had been ordered to carry out not only the flogging of certain obstinate and rebellious young prisoners but also to violate them... yet now this had been turned against him and movies had been made of his assaults upon these prisoners, movies which were to be used as heinous blackmail which would be held over not only his own head but poor Irene's as well!
"This young woman is quite sensitive, I'd say, Austin," the fat bald medico presently remarked as he halted the tickling of the ostrich feather over Irene's shivering naked body. "She's a very cooperative specimen and I should say that, now that you tell me that she is married, her husband is a very fortunate young man."
"Indeed he is," the white-haired judge cynically retorted, "because he has her in bed every night, and yet that greedy young scoundrel isn't content with such a lovely piece of ass as Reenie but has to go sniffing around for all the pussy he can find on the side. That's why, Archie, I believe that he really shouldn't object if just once he shares the wealth with us less fortunate mortals. Now, before you pursue your examination with those instruments you brought along in your black bag, I want to ask Reenie a few intimate personal questions. I think the answers will be most edifying in advance of your thorough inspection of her many little love secrets, Archie my boy."
With this, the Judge turned to the footstool on which the black medical bag reposed and picked up a little birch switch, the bark from which had been peeled off. It was about twenty inches long, tapering into a very stingy and flexible end. Grasping this in his right hand he took his stance between Irene Hickey's straddled naked legs and, posing his left palm on her shuddering belly, purred: "Now then, my dear, in your own best interest, let me advise you to answer my questions as truthfully as you can, or I am afraid that we shall have to use persuasive means."
"Oh God, oh Judge Black," the naked brunette sobbed heartrendingly, "for God's sake, why are you doing this to me? Oh please let me down, those ropes are cutting into my limbs so horribly, I can't stand it much longer! Oh please, I've done nothing wrong, I'm just Ray's wife, he loves me, and I love him! It's shameful of you and that other man to keep me tied like this without any clothes on, it's so dreadfully shameful!"
"No more shameful, Reenie, than your husband's playing around with these underaged little tramps who were sent to this prison to be reformed and not to be fucked the way Ray has done to them," was the ironic answer.
"Ohhh! I don't believe that, I can't! He loves me, he's a decent man, he wouldn't do a thing like that!"
"Oh no? Archie, didn't we bring along a canister of film and a movie projector?" The Judge turned to the fat bald Doctor with an ingratiating smile.
"Why yes, I believe we did. I think that nice Negro guard, Sam, has already brought them in. And there's a screen too, folded up on it's stand- yes, I see it all there."
"Fine. Why don't you set it up like a good fellow, Archie, and I'll take Reenie's blindfold off and I'll let her watch for herself how her husband spends his time when he's being paid to guard the prisoners and not to screw them?" Judge Austin Black sardonically declared.
Ray felt beads of sweat begin to pour off him and stand out on his forehead, while his throat went suddenly dry, at the mention of the film. If only he could get into the next cell and tell his darling Reenie that he had been ordered to do what he had done... it didn't mean that he didn't love her, it had nothing to do with that. It was his job and the job was making money for them and giving them comforts in the little farmhouse. Oh God, what would she think of him? What film were they going to show?
Meanwhile Doctor Fenwick had set up the screen at the door of the cell and placed the projector on another metal footstool. There was a power generator into which the projector was plugged and Judge Black now carefully untied the black bandanna and whisked it off. Standing behind the straddled horizontally pinioned naked brunette, he put both hands to the back of her lovely head and tilted her head up saying, "Why, this is as good as a loge seat in our little arena, darling. You're going to get a private preview of a very tasty little stag movie which a lot of my important guests are going to enjoy next weekend. Start it up, Archie!"
"NOOOO!!!! Oh you dirty fucking bastard you!!! Stop it Reenie, don't pay any attention to it, I had to do it, they made me, it was my job!!" Ray Hickey shrieked at the top of his voice as he lunged against the cords which held him to the wooden stake.
But only the echo of his own hoarse cries came back into his buzzing ears as with beating heart and throbbing temples he saw the fat bald Doctor flick a switch and then heard the whir of the projector and saw suddenly on that screen by the door the scene-the scene of himself and blonde young Myrtle Pellis whom he had flogged and fucked this very evening!
Irene Hickey uttered a startled cry as she saw the movie beginning with the scene in which Ray opened the door, closed it and then walked towards the young prisoner who had been tethered with her wrists dragged high above her head and fixed in the metal ring set in the shipping post. And he saw himself again draw back the leather paddle and direct its wickedly flexible applicator across Myrtle's naked, huddling bottom globes, saw her body contract and jerk under the infernal kiss of an instrument which did not cut the skin but which inflicted unspeakable burning torment throughout her tender young flesh.
Irene Hickey was sobbing wildly: "Oh no-I don't want to look-turn it off-I can't believe- Oh my God-please have mercy-it isn't Ray-I know it isn't-oh God, please have pity on us both-!"
"It's no trick, Reenie dear," Judge Austin Black hoarsely proclaimed for from where he stood he could gaze down on the panting ivory titties of the beautiful captive and see the thick black triangle of her cunt. He could smell, too, with the nostrils of a connoisseur, the flavorful aroma of Irene Hickey's sweat and of her own naked womanflesh, compounded in an exquisitely salacious distillation, and under his bathrobe his prick was gigantic with rut.
"You'd better watch, you pretty little bitch, or I'll use a switch on your bare titties," he muttered. Supporting her head with his left hand now, he lifted up the peeled little birch switch and flicked it first against her right tittie, then the left.
"Eeeowwuuu! Oh not there, oh Judge, oh don't hurt me like that, I haven't done anything!" Irene screamed as her body jerked in the air.
"Then keep your eyes open and watch until the movie is over, baby," he panted.
Ray Hickey was bathed in sweat and his muscles were aching as he stood against his stake of Tantalus and watched the film unfold, loosing not a single detail of his whipping Mrytle and then his fucking her. He closed his eyes when the last of the film was finally run off, and uttered a low sobbing groan. What would he every say to Reenie when he came face to face with her... and how could he dare tell her that he had seen not only that film but also what those bastards were doing to her?
"Well, you've seen it for yourself, Reenie," Judge Black chuckled. "Now, we're going to start our little question and answer game. I'll ask the questions, you give the answers and if you don't you'll feel this good switch over your big white titties. And maybe between you squirmy straddled bare legs, too, Reenie honey. Archie, get the speculum ready and put it up against her twat!"
"NOOOOO!!! YOU GODDAMN FUCKING BASTARDS YOU!!! LET MY WIFE ALONE, YOU DIRTY COCKSUCKERS!!" Ray Hickey bellowed, mad with frustrated agony and shame. And once again only the booming echo of his own frenzied cries came back to him, for in the cell beyond the two men pursued their relentless dalliance with his naked helpless young wife.
The ostrich feather lay abandoned on Irene Hickey's belly, ready to inflict its diabolical dalliance again as desired.
Doctor Archibald Fenwick had taken out of his black bag, a curious gleaming metal instrument, which looked very much like an egg beater with a wooden handle. It was the famous speculum used by gynecologists to examine the womb and the vagina of the female. Stepping between Irene Hickey's hugely distended bare legs, the fat bald medico applied his left thumb and forefinger to the twitching pink plump lips of the captive's vulva and with his right hand pressed the oval-shaped end of the implement against the widened orifice.
The touch of the cold metal made Irene's body jerk convulsively, and she lifted her head and uttered a piercing scream when she saw exactly what was being done to her: "Ohowwwouuu!!!! Oh don't do that!! Oh my God, what are you going to do to me? Oh please, don't hurt me, please, Judge, don't let him, don't let him! Oh Ray, oh Ray, come help me, I'm afraid, oh my darling Ray, where are you?"
"I'M HERE, OH GODDAMN THOSE BASTARDS, REENIE DARLING!! OH YOU BASTARDS SONS OF BITCHES YOU, YOU LET MY WIFE ALONE! Ray Hickey shrieked as again he flung himself against the ropes which pinned him immutably to his stake of Tantalus.
"Just keep it posed right there where it's handy," Judge Black said hostily, for by now he was at the point of losing all his heroic self control. "All right, Reenie, here comes the first question. You've been married about six months, haven't you?"
"Why-yes-yes-oh God, don't let him hurt me, please, I haven't done anything! Oh please don't let him touch me there!" Irene Hickey whimpered. Her entire body was contracted as she summoned all her muscles to defend herself. Her neck ached from the strain of lifting her head from this prolonged horizontal pose in the air, and her wrists and ankles were cruelly chafed from the cords which kept her aloft and on her back, placed at the height of the waists of both her perverted torturers.
"If you honestly answer all my questions, Reenie girl, Archie won't stick that thing into your cunt, I promise," Judge Black purred while his left hand continued to press against Irene's soft neck to keep her head erect, and in his right hand the devilish little switch flourished, ready to strike like an adder. "Now then, how often does Ray fuck you every week? Three or four times a week, or more? I want the truth, you lovely black-haired little bitch you!"
"Oh God! How can you be so unspeakably cruel? I'm a decent g-g-girl, Judge Black. I-OHHHH NOOO! EEEEE!! OH TAKE IT OUT OF ME, IT'S TEARING ME TO PIECES, OH JUDGE HAVE MERCY, MAKE HIM TAKE IT OUT OF ME THERE!"
"Take it out of you where, honey!" Judge Black mockingly queried.
"OHHH PLEASE!! OUT OF ME, OH IT'S RIPPING ME, IT'S TEARING ME, OH MAKE HIM TAKE IT OUT OF ME!" Irene Hickey piercingly screamed again as her hips lunged and twisted in the air.
For Doctor Archibald Fenwick had very adroitly pressed home the eggbeater end of his medical instrument until it had entered the vaginal sheath and there he hovered it, his thumb on the little lever which would open the steel wands and distend and stretch the tender cavern of her sensitive young cunthole.
"You really will have to be more explicit," Judge Black drawled. "Where do you want him to take it out of, Reenie? Answer me!" And lifting his right hand, he brought the switch down with a cruel whisk across both her heaving titties.
"AIIII! Out of my spot, out of my spot!" the naked brunette screamed as again she jerked and squirmed violently.
"My, such a modest little darling! A young married wife ought to have a better vocabulary than that. Do you mean out of your pussy or your snatch or your cunt or your quim or your sweet little hot twat, Reenie baby?" the white-haired Judge greedily mouthed. "Answer me!" And once again the switch darted down to flick over the panting ivory turrets, biting over both tender nipples.
Irene Hickey's body described a living arc as, her eyes exorbitant and her mouth gaping in a strident hysterical shriek, she assented: "EEEOWW!! Yes, yes, only have him take it out of me there, oh my God, it hurts, I'm afraid, oh Ray, save me!"
"All right, now you're being a little more frank with us, honey, but you'd better try a little harder to do better than that. We know now where the speculum is. But you still haven't answered my original question Reenie baby. How many times a week does Ray fuck you in bed? I'm going to count to five real quick, and if you haven't answered by then Archie is going to open up the speculum and stretch your cunt a yard wide!"
In the other cell, Ray Hickey had bitten his lips to the blood and his eyes were bulging and his face was crimson as he twisted and jerked himself uselessly against the unyielding cords. Tears ran down his cheeks, and he was panting hoarsely. And there was still another phenomenon to be observed... his prick was erect and, because the Negro guard Sam Talbot had already dragged open his zipper, his male organ now emerged in all its violent virility... and this was the supreme Tantalus which Judge Austin W. Black had so fiendishly anticipated. For in watching his own innocent young wife put to sexual torture, the helpless young husband would be sexually roused against every shred of moral decency and manner, and would thus be coated with the same brush of perverse and obscene lust that tainted the fat bald doctor and the white-haired Judge of Catayunga's Municipal Court!
"All right, Reenie," the Judge resumed, "here's your count... one... two... three... you'd better hurry, baby... four-"
"Oh no, wait, don't do it to me, don't have him do it to me," Irene Hickey screamed as she tried to twist her face around to implore the white-haired Judge. "I'll tell you, I'll tell you, just don't have him open that horrible thing inside of me!"
"Speak up, then, because Archie is getting impatient," Judge Black demanded.
Irene Hickey closed her eyes and her body shook with sobs as faintly she forced herself to stammer, "He-he-makes-love to me almost every-n-n -night... oh my God, now won't you let me go? Take that horrid cold metal thing out of me, oh please!"
"I don't blame Ray at all for wanting to fuck you every night, you lovely whiteskinned bitch you," Judge Black crooned as he began to flick the little switch here and there over Irene's panting naked titties and waist and tender sides, making her squeal and sob and wriggle in the most naked and salacious way, hoisted in the air as she was and held up only by those four cords at wrist and ankles. "Archie, this Ray fellow must be quite a stud, what with fucking Reenie here practically every night and still having some juice left for our prisoners that we put in his custody. The man must be a satyr!"
"He certainly must be, Austin. Shall I open the speculum now?"
"Oh noooo!" Irene shrieked as she lifted her head and stared down at the fat grinning medico. "Oh please take it out of me, oh my God, I'll tell you anything, only please don't torture me, don't hurt me there, I'm so sensitive there! That cold metal's stretching me awfully, oh please!"
"REENIE, FOR GOD'S SAKE DON'T GIVE IN TO THOSE GODDAMN BASTARDS!!!" Ray Hickey bellowed from the next cell.
"You see, Reenie, when you tell the truth, you don't get punished. Now the next question, and pay careful attention," the Judge continued. He ran his left hand affectionately over Irene's perspiring forehead and then grabbed her thick black ponytail and yanked it viciously, making her cry out with terror and pain. "Now this is the next question. Has he ever put it into you any place else besides where Archie has the speculum right now?"
"I-I don't know what you mean, Judge, oh for God's sake, please let me down, I'm going to faint, it hurts me so, oh please let me down and put some clothes on, dear God-"
"Archie, open it up just a little," the Judge commanded.
Licking his sensual, moist mouth, the fat bald doctor touched the spring and instantly Irene Hickey's naked body wrenched violently against the bonds, her head rose up again, her eyes glassy and bulging, and then her mouth opened in a hoarse wordless, inhuman shriek: "Ahhhoww-wuuueeeyarrahh!!!!!"
The eggbeater-like oval end of this implement had expanded about a quarter of its total diameter and the steel wands had forced apart the tender pink vaginal cavern till Irene felt as if she were being stretched apart and ripped asunder. There was, to be sure, no such danger, but so sensitive was the area in which the speculum was being applied and so aggravated was her nervous threshold because of the long cat-and-mouse game which these two perverts had played with her that it felt like all the tortures of the lowest region of the inferno.
"I told you that you have to speak out frankly, honey," the Judge said solicitously, making a motion for the bald medico to restore the speculum to its original size, at which Irene shuddered and her head sank back and she burst into hysterical sobs at the easing of this unspeakable dilation of her vaginal cavity. "All right, I'll give you one more chance, Reenie. Has Ray ever put his cock anywhere except between your naked legs, right where that speculum is now? Answer me quickly, or you'll really get it good!"
"Oh no! Oh my God no! Don't make me talk about such things, it's not decent, we're married, oh my God, no he hasn't-"
"And he hasn't put it into your mouth or into that dainty little brownhole between the cheeks of that delicious white ass of yours, has he, Reenie?" the Judge persisted.
Ray Hickey was foaming at the mouth now, and his chest was heaving violently as he struggled with the ropes that would not yield. He was mouthing unintelligible curses, he was shouting prayers for salvation, he was imploring his beautiful wife to hold out against those fiends. And no one saw him and no one heard him and this was Tantalus-torment as even the gods of Greek mythology could never have conceived it!
"Well, well, well, Archie, what do you know? She still has two virginities. Now then, Reenie, the last question... pay very close attention, darling 'cause otherwise that speculum is going to open up as far as it will go and you'll feel as if that sweet tight little snatch of yours was made into four!" the Judge warned. "If we let you go now, to punish Ray for his being such a naughty boy and fucking other girls instead of you, will you let us put our cocks in your mouth and asshole? Quickly now!"
"Oh God, no, no, how can you be so filthy, so horrible, so cruel, of course I won't-oh God- what are you going to do-oh please- EEEYYEEEEOWWUUUYYYAHHHYWW!!! her body jerked and twisted frenziedly in the air as the fat bald doctor pressed the lever home and the speculum expanded to its full diameter inside her tender cunthole.
Her mad screeching wordless and poignant clamor made both men shudder with overwhelming rut. At Judge Black's sign, Doctor Fenwick at last closed the speculum, and Irene shuddered and moaned and whimpered, bathed in sweat and tears, almost fainting with the extraordinarily savage martyrdom of her tender womb.
"Well?" Judge Black bent over her contorted, sweat-bathed face, the switch uplifted over her titties. "What's your answer?"
"Yes, anything-I swear, I can't stand it any more-oh Ray-forgive me-I can't stand it anymore-do anything you want but don't hurt me there anymore, oh please, Judge I'll do, oh take it away, oh God, yes!" Irene babbled.
And then, made sick with horror and disbelief in the next cell and through the one way glass panel, Hickey saw the two men strip naked and, each in turn standing on a footstool, pose his turgid prick over the naked young brunette's panting mouth so that she might suck and lick it till as last orgasm was achieved. Judge Black was first and then the doctor.
And when that was done, Doctor Fenwick cradled her panting, shaking, shuddering body in his arms while Judge Black deftly cut the cords which had supported her wrists and ankles, and Irene Hickey was made to kneel on all fours on a low wide bench on the other side of the cell. Then while Judge Black stood before her and grasped her ponytail with his left and tilted up her trembling chin with her right hand, she was obliged to suck his cock while behind her, panting and his face florid with his ignoble lust, Doctor Archibald Fenwick opened up the cheeks of that ivory bottom to expose the dainty puckering fissure of Irene Hickey's virgin asshole and took that maidenhead which even her own husband had not dared to profane. And then Irene was compelled to submit to the same degrading servicing of her two perverted executioners, as Judge Black was next to thrust himself deeply into her rectal sheath while Doctor Fenwick made her perform fellatio on his own limp and greased organ.
And seeing this, Ray Hickey felt his own passion rise blindingly obliterating all thought of the romantic love he had for his beautiful young wife... and watching as a corrupted voyeur, he felt his own seed spurt forth, drained from by the lubricous tableau which took place beyond that one-way glass.
This was the vengeance of Judge Austin W. Black and by his pernicious means of blackmail, he had now taken emprise of Ray Hickey's beautiful wife for whenever he wished, and at the same time held a stranglehold on the young guard to force him to be the tool of his own lecherous and criminal pursuits. Ray and Irene Hickey had indeed become slaves of Welfare Island!
Chapter Thirteen
It was Sunday afternoon, the day after Ray Hickey had been compelled to watch his wife undergoing sexual torment and violation by Judge Black and Dr. Fenwick. The young couple had been sent home, after the judge had had them brought into Dr. Marjorie Sayers' private office, had the door locked behind him and then interviewed them both for nearly half an hour. Shamefaced, blushing, eyes downcast, Irene Hickey hadn't even dared look at her husband, while he had acted in almost the same guilty manner. Each of them now would resume their lives together, but it would never be the same as it had been during that sweet six months of honeymooning rapture. Each of them had known what lust meant, and their physical desire for each other would be warped by that knowledge... and at the end of the interview, each knew with a kind of sickening realization that Judge Austin W. Black would have the power to summon either or both of them back to Welfare Island for a "command performance."
The "stag movies" which the judge had had taken of Ray's "escapades" with condemned female prisoners would remain in his own safekeeping, he had told them. Ray would have his job, and a handsome salary boost in addition, provided he kept his mouth shut and Irene did the same. If she should so much as dare to talk to anyone at the News-Gazette, there would be immediate reprisal; Ray would be discharged and blackballed so that he could never find another job in the state, and she would be branded as a common prostitute and brought before the Municipal Court for a taste of Welfare Island's discipline as a convicted felon...
When the young couple had left to go back to their little farmhouse, the white-haired Judge went into the next room where the Lesbian superintendent was writing out a report on some of the new arrivals.
"I don't think we will have any more trouble with the Hickeys, my dear," he genially remarked. "You can count on Ray as one of the guards in the special program we're going to have in the arena two weeks from yesterday. I've got quite a lineup of important guests coming. There'll be Tony Rocco from the New Orleans syndicate, Jim Hunter from Memphis, Ed Parker from St. Louis, and Bob Delancy from Atlanta. And there'll be some important couples, including Mr. and Mrs. Phelps from Dallas. I understand they're looking for some new slaves. Old Crawford has his usual eye out for a teenaged filly, and Sheila is getting itchy for a new personal maid. Crawford just made half a million in a nice little stock deal through one of his holding companies, so he's loaded, and we're going to take away as much as we can. This is to be an all-out affair, Marjorie. The works. The finest food and liquor, plenty of champagne, the private suites, beautifully furnished, and a few of your properly disciplined little bitches assigned to those rooms for twenty-four hour-a-day service."
"It will be taken care of, Judge."
"I'm very pleased with you, Marjorie. Ever since I put you in here, you've done wonders with Welfare Island. The big boys of the syndicate are grateful, too. You'll have a little reward when the shindig is over. Rocco and Delancy are contributing a couple of thousand dollars-put it into a trust fund for Jackie and Betty when they're ready for college. Though in my opinion, they've just about graduated already, hahaha!"
"You're very kind, Judge. We've been very lucky so far. The last visit we had from the director of penal institutions from Little Rock was over a month ago, and he gave us a very good report."
"No reason why he shouldn't have, Marjorie. I get wind of everything that's going on in this state, and don't you forget it. Nobody is going to pull any raids on Welfare Island while I'm on the bench, not while the big boys have a private wire to my house and can tip me off. There are plenty of payoffs all over the organization, so I don't expect any hitches. You just keep training those girls, because I think the orders are going to increase in the next few months. How's Edith Garvin doing?"
"Reasonably well. I've kept her in an isolation cell, just as you suggested, with bread and water for a week. She's quite humble now. Jackie and Betty have been talking to her every so often, and I think you'll find her quite docile by the time you're ready to take her back into your house."
"I'd like to watch your daughters at work with her, if I might, Marjorie."
"It can be arranged. They've really been restless, those girls of mine," the red-haired Lesbian laughed, "and they're hoping you'll let them exhibit their talents two weeks from now."
"I intend to. Well, why don't you have Edith taken to the same cell that charming little Reenie occupied last night, and I'll just let myself in to the one next door so I can watch."
"Fine, Judge. I'll tell Betty and Jackie."
* * *
Half an hour later, two stout gray-haired matrons entered Edith Garvin's cell and led her down the stone steps to that dungeon in which beautiful brunette Irene Hickey had endured her nightmarish coercion by the white-haired Judge and his fat, bald medical accomplice. The lovely Jewess was no longer the defiant rebel she had been when Judge Black had confronted her for the first time after the five-year separation between employee and employer. Her face was pale, her eyes big and round with terror, and she poignantly begged the matrons to tell her what was to be done with her, spontaneously promising to be very good and obedient if they would only not punish her. Silently, however, they led her into the cell, and then Mrs. Durham, the older matron, in her mid-fifties, authoritatively commanded, "You're to strip naked, Garvin. Right this minute. And then you're to kneel down and face the door and clasp your hands and get ready to acknowledge your young trainers. When they come in, Garvin, kiss their boots and then thank them for spending so much time and trouble with you. You'd better not forget!"
"Oh, I won't, Matron, I won't," Edith Garvin fearfully gasped as, blushing furiously, she began to draw off the gray cotton dress which all prisoners were obliged to wear, and then the cheap cotton slip beneath it. Next came the bra and panties, whose filmy white nylon violently contrasted with the drab and inexpensive outer garments, and now she stood in only black cotton stockings held up by elastic garters on her plump thighs, and work shoes.
"You may keep those on, Garvin," Matron Durham decided.
"Thank you, Matron." As the two women left the cell, Edith Garvin hastily knelt down and pressed her soft fingers together in an attitude of prayer.
It seemed an interminable time, her knees aching from their pressure against the cold stone of the dungeon floor, until at last the door opened and Dr. Marjorie Sayers' two precociously sadistic daughters entered the cell. Jackie, at fourteen, was insolently provocative in her attire of a sleeveless white silk blouse, jodhpurs, black leather boots, and black leather gloves to her elbows. She flourished a silver-handled black leather riding crop, a present from the judge on her fourteenth birthday. Her black hair was cut in helmet style, her face was an insolent oval, with small, supercilious mouth and ripe upper lip, a straight nose with very sensuous wings, highset cheekbones, sparkling black eyes which gleamed with exultant cruelty as they fixed on the naked kneeling Edith Garvin. Against the thin silk blouse, her budding, pear-shaped titties arrogantly thrust, for she was naked under the blouse and jodhpurs.
Betty, the Lesbian's goldenhaired elder daughter, wore precisely the same costume as her sister, but instead of a riding crop she brandished a short rubber dog whip in her right hand. Her face was round, almost heartshaped, with large, innocent-looking blue eyes, a dainty snub nose, sensually ripe full mouth, rounded cheeks and deliriously dimpled chin. Her golden hair was formed in a thick plaited braid down to her shoulder-blades, with a sky-blue silk ribbon daintily tied to its middle. Against her blouse, highperched, splendidly rounded titties surged, while from her slim waist there flared upstandingly rounded buttocks, delightfully curved thighs and elegantly rounded calves. Jackie's skin was tawny, Betty's was baby-pink. Between these two girls there was an affinity which their mother had artfully taught them: a pitiless contempt for even the most mature women who should be put into their power. It delighted their mother to turn over some helpless female prisoner-like Edith Garvin, for example, and of that same age-and watch to see how her precocious daughters would expertly strip away the pride and rage and stoicism and heroism from the victim and reduce her to a groveling naked slave-bitch, ready to execute the most degrading orders. She had begun their training with the martyrdom of Laura Williams, her husband's doxy, and since then she had given them many opportunities to acquire a fiendish artistry with whip and fetters, implements of torture and bondage, and even to perform in the arena before the important guests.
While Jackie was a decided Lesbian like her mother, Betty, though also enjoying Sapphic delights, much preferred the male. Their mother, to be sure, had not let them lose their virginity to the opposite sex, understandable enough in view of her own hatred of the male. But Betty Sayers had an almost juvenile "crush" on handsome Jack Harkins, the brown-haired editor of the Catayunga News-Gazette. For three months ago he had visited this prison in the company of the State Director of Prisons, and had written a feature story. Dr. Sayers had taken the two men for a guided tour of inspection to the laundry and the kitchen, to the sewing room and the executive from Little Rock had been impressed and had given Dr. Sayers a very favorable recommendation for her work. Jack Harkins had had misgivings. He had sensed that more went on here than could meet the eye. He had felt there was graft and corruption behind Welfare Island's inception, and he was certain that somehow Judge Austin W. Black was very deeply involved...
Without waiting to be told, Edith Garvin promptly prostrated herself and kissed the booted feet of both her tyrannical young trainers. Then, straightening up on her knees, her hands still clasped in an attitude of prayer, she faintly stammered an expression of thanks for the trouble they had taken with her.
"Oh, that's all right, Edie," Jackie maliciously grinned. "We've got lots of time to work on you, haven't we, Betty? Now, let's see. Yesterday we taught you how to be a ponygirl, didn't we? Come to think of it, Jackie, we did," the goldenhaired older daughter of the Lesbian superintendent giggled. "So as a starter, suppose you show us how good you are today," Jackie concluded.
With this, she mounted astride Edith's back, as the latter docilely went down on all fours and bowed her head. Then, reaching back with her silverhandled riding crop, the black-haired little sadist called out, "Giddyup, horsie! Trot me all around the cell, and you'd better not tip me over, or I'll thrash your big ass to shreds, so help me!"
Edith Garvin at once obeyed. As quickly as she could, she crawled forward on the bare stone floor, with Jackie astride her back. Jackie's left hand had plunged into the unbound dark-brown tresses of the mature Jewess, using that as her reins, while reaching behind her, she nicked Edith's olive-sheened plump bottom repeatedly with the stinging, narrowed flap of the riding crop.
After a tour of the cell had been made, she brought Edith to a halt by yanking viciously on the older woman's hair, then dismounted.
"Not too bad," she pronounced. "Betty, you try it."
Meanwhile, in the adjacent cell, the same one in which Ray Hickey had been bound to the stake of Tantalus the night before, Judge Austin W. Black sat in an armchair before the one-way glass panel, his fly open, his penis throbbingly liberated, fondling it delicately as his eyes devoured the exquisite scene beyond.
"Now, Edie, just to show how nice and obedient you are so the Judgie will like you from now on," the black-haired little despot commanded, as she seated herself on the straight-backed chair in the center of the cell, "crawl over on all fours and ask me to give your big fat ass a good tanning!"
Edith Garvin burst into tears, but helplessly moved forward on the cold stone floor, her voluptuously ripe body all the more obscenely tempting in those black cotton stockings which hugged the curves of legs and thighs. Arrived before the chair, she quavered desolately, "Pl-please, M-Mistress J-Jackie, I-I beg you to g-give my b-big b-bare a-a ass a g-good h-hard-hard sp-sp-spanking to teach me how-how to be a g-g-good little sl-slave."
"I'll be glad to, Edie!" Dr. Sayers' younger daughter gleefully retorted. "Get yourself in position, then."
With a groan, poor Edith Garvin, her face scarlet with humiliation, draped herself across the teen-aged brunette's lap, bowing her head and resting her palms on the floor.
"What did I spank you with yesterday, do you remember?" Jackie guilefully demanded.
Edith's naked body shuddered violently at this mortifying question, but she understood that a truthful answer was imperative. "W-with the-the leather p-paddle, M-Mistress Jackie," she groaned.
"That's what I thought. Betty, lend me that cane of yours. I don't think Edie's ass has been caned all week. Thanks, Bets. Now then, Edie, I'm going to give you a baker's dozen right on the bare ass, do you understand? You're to say thanks for each one, and count them all out. Any ones you don't count are extra, get me?"
In the other cell, Judge Black's fingers were stroking his throbbing meatus, and he licked his lips as he leaned forward in his chair to follow the exquisite scene.
Putting her gloved left hand on the back of the victim's neck and forcing Edith's head still further down as a nuance of subjugation, the young black-haired dominatress lifted the cane in her right hand and applied a quick short stroke vertically, exactly bisecting the plump left hemisphere of Edith Garvin's bare bottom. The victim stiffened, one leg kicked up, and a sobbing: "OWW! OHH! One, Mistress Jackie, th-thanks, M-M-Mistress!"
"You're quite welcome, Edie. Keep counting now, so I can hear it, get me?" Jackie grinned. A vivid bright pink welt had sprung up on that olive-sheened flesh, and Edith Garvin's mouthwateringly opulent bottomglobes were contracting in an instinctive attempt to steel herself against the burning slashes of the cane.
Twelve more times it descended at varying intervals, prolonged the victim's torment to the utmost, and each drew a sobbing cry and, towards the last half dozen, imploring cries for mercy. But so well trained was Edith Garvin by this time that she did not forget to count nor to recite the demeaning formula of thanks.
Released, she went down on her knees, forbidden to rub her blazing bottom, and clasping her hands in prayer as she looked up at the young dominatress, tears streaming down her face, she stammered a formula of thanks for the thrashing and then kissed the cane and the gloved hand which had so ably administered it over her smarting naked bottom.
"Now we're going to give you another lesson in sex education," Jackie pursued. "I think you know enough by now how to take a guy on, but the Judgie might want you to get him all excited by girl-loving some cute bitch he's got invited to his house, see? Now you go over to my sister, open up her jodhpurs and gamahuch her. I'm going to give you three minutes by my wristwatch to make her come, and if you don't, I'm going to put you in a pillory with your bare feet standing on pebbles and thorns for a whole hour, Edie Garvin, and at the end of that hour I'm going to give you fifty swats with the leather paddle on the bare ass."
With a despairing sob, the weeping naked Jewess crawled over to goldenhaired Betty and after first kissing the latter's boots, tremblingly drew down the zipper of the jodhpurs, and with her soft little fingers gaped apart the fly to expose the golden-tufted mount of that delectable virgin cunt. Then, applying her mouth and tongue to the older girl's sexual orifice, Edith Garvin, once so chaste and prudish, proceeded noisily and hastily to gamahuch Betty Sayers while mockingly behind her, Jackie counted out the precious seconds as they ticked away:
"You've got one minute and five seconds left, you'd better get with it, Edie... fifty seconds now... how's she coming, Betty... or rather, how're you coming, teehee!"
Fortunately for poor Edith Garvin, Betty's own lascivious nature had been roused by watching the caning of the mature young woman and therefore just before the expiration of the allotted time she uttered a sobbing groan and, plunging her gloved fingers into Edith's disheveled hair, crushed the Jewess' panting mouth against her quaking cunt as she experienced the hot release of her lovedew. At that same moment, with a cry of rut, Judge Austin W. Black felt himself burst and his seminal outpouring spattered the glass panel through which he had been greedily devouring the scene before him....
It was Sunday evening and Jack Harkins had just taken Sally Dalby to dinner. He was more silent than usual, because just as they entered the restaurant, he had seen a black police wagon pull up in front of Sheriff Dawson's office, had seen the fat, moustachioed Sheriff emerge with two deputies, and unload the van of three attractive teenaged girls. One of them had resisted, and the Sheriff had slapped her across the mouth and then had one of his deputies handcuff her and shove her into the office. It was all very strange. What could those young girls have done to merit such brutality?
"You know, honey," he told Sally as they were sipping their coffee, "I just don't like what's going on in this town. I'm convinced that if I could prove Judge Black is running some sort of racket around this Welfare Island, I could clean up the town once and for all. But how the devil am I going to do it? That old goat is rich and powerful, and he's got syndicate money behind him, I'm sure of it."
"Maybe," said Sally Dalby brightly, "if someone could get sentenced to Welfare Island and keep her eyes open and find out what was happening, she could report back to the authorities on what's really going on."
Jack Harkins set down his coffee cup with a clatter and stared at his beautiful fiancee with delight: "Of course! That's it, that's it, Sally honey! But it would have to be somebody who wasn't known to the Judge and to that stupid Sheriff."
"Why couldn't I try it for you, Jack?"
"You? Good God, I'd just as soon send you into a dry creek full of rattlers as I would let you get into that so-called correctional institution," Jack Harkins shook his head.
"You're afraid they'd recognize me. But what if I dyed my hair? And pretended to be-well, a bad girl? You know, Jack honey. Didn't you tell me that sometimes Sheriff Dawson arrests girls who are soliciting in bars or hotels?"
"Certainly he does. Prostitution is illegal nearly everywhere in the country."
"I was thinking," Sally Dalby crinkled her lovely nose at him, "that maybe if I dyed my hair and put on a real short dress and painted my face and went to a bar and pretended I was on the make for money, I might get arrested and sent to Welfare Island. And you know I'm a trained reporter, darling. I could get the story you want-that is, if there is such a story."
"I don't like the idea. It's too dangerous. Still, at least I could rely on you. But you'd certainly have to dye your hair. That red mop of yours is known everywhere in Catayunga. And it's too beautiful to cut off-you mean you'd really do that for me, baby?"
"I-I'd do just about anything for you, Jack, and you keep putting it off, so I made up my mind I'd help you get this story so you'd get it out of your system and be ready to settle down with little me," Sally Dalby teasingly told him.
He took both her hands in his and leaned across the table and kissed her on the tip of her dainty nose. "You're all right, Sally Dalby. You're terrific! All right, we'll have to make plans very carefully, because if there's one slip, that old goat will be on his guard forever after. And besides, if they find out who you really are, your life wouldn't be worth a plugged nickel. Let's think about it. Maybe I'll have some ideas tomorrow."
And thus the elaborate scheme began which was to send virginal red-haired Sally Dalby into the grim fortress-like castle known as Welfare Island... an adventure which, before its thrilling and incredible conclusion, was to affect not only her virginal young life but also that of her handsome fiance and other leading characters of our story!
