Yolanda Bervez felt as if she were falling through a black, churning void in which the distant, echoing sounds of voices and noises intermingled. Her body felt weightless and without will, and it seemed to her that leaden weights were attached to her eyelids. She had no consciousness of time or space or placement within either. And yet it seemed to her that she could feel her own irregular, warm breath on her skin and yet she could not see where or what or how she was.
All she could remember-and it was as if it had happened centuries ago, with tiny fragments fitting in slowly with each new moment of consciousness like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle-was that she had been riding the cable car down California on her way towards Golden Gate Park from Powell and Taylor Streets in San Francisco's thriving and bustling business center. The grip man, she seemed to remember, had been a very young man with an amazingly large black walrus mustache incongruous for his sensitive and almost wistful face and his mournful eyes. There had been a girl in a yellow sweater standing holding one of the upright rails at the side of the open entry-exit of the quaint old car, a girl whose jet black hair floated behind her in the gusty wind that had suddenly sprung up this early May evening. The girl had tilted back her head and laughed, a soft husky laugh. And for the rest, Yolanda could remember nothing.
It was maddening and frightening. She seemed to be suspended in a terrestrial sphere millions of miles above the earth, as if placed in suspension though in orbit. Around her was the immense black void, yet it was filled with sound that was recurrent. At moments,. she heard whispered voices, with a word here and a phrase here which made no sense whatsoever and could not be pieced together. And yet it seemed to her that she could still recall with an acute awareness the smell of freshly baked sourdough French bread and crabs down at Fisherman's Wharf, and the scent of lavender at the City of Paris. And certainly her skin felt cold, as it always did when the sun began to go down and the fog engulfed the City by the Golden Gate. But now it was so thick that it was black and it left her still in the void, without knowledge and only the scarcest consciousness against which she still could not open her eyes.
Into her distraught mind, fragmentary knowledge drifted. She told herself fiercely that her name was Yolanda Bervez, that her mother was French and from Marseilles, and that her father was a retired captain of detectives who had visited France twenty-five years ago while on one of his summer vacations and met her mother and fallen desperately in love with her and brought her back to San Francisco with him.
And yet it was so strange that she could remember very little else. What had happened to her? Where was she now? What had happened after she had left the cable car at 34th Avenue? Or, most terrifying of all, had she ever reached her destination where the lovely two-story quaint old house stood in splendid isolation next to a vacant lot?
Her nostrils crinkled, for a pungent, astringent odor had suddenly been wafted to them, penetrating and almost acrid now. She groaned softly and she could hear her own voice in the foggy distance. And now it was coming closer and she heard herself groan again. She tried once more to open her eyes, and this time the weights seemed not quite so heavy, but she still could not see.
And then there was a sharp smacking sound and she felt a sudden hot stinging pain in her cheek, and with a startled little cry that was shrill and anxious, she found that she could open her eyes and she did so.
Then her eyes bulged and were dark with the shadows of sudden irrational terror. She was in a strange room. It was painted glaring white, and it at once banished the terrifying blackness of the void into which she had been plunged and suspended so long, and yet it now was more frightening than the void itself. And the walls were padded, and so was the floor. There were no windows, and the ceiling was high. And as she slowly lifted her eyes, she could see metal hooks and pulleys fixed into the ceiling. There, on the wall opposite her, were strange iron bracelets separated by a short chain and soldered to a round, heavy metal peg which projected out and seemed to be a dark eye staring at her with implacable intent. And as she slowly turned her head to the right, she uttered a hoarse gasp. There was a row of pegs, just like the one across the way from her; yet from these there hung an assortment of whips, some with heavy stock handles, and fine cords sewn to the ends so that they might be looped around the pegs. Short and long whips, braided and plaited, some with many thongs which tapered to fine, cruel points; and, more than these, leather paddles, some rectangular and some oval, and the crooked handles of flexible, thin canes no thicker than a pencil.
Shuddering, she stared around the room, and the only furniture she saw was a high footstool, with a padded leather top and buckling straps at the feet and at the sides of the top. And then slowly she became aware that she was stretched upon a kind of St. Andrews' cross made of metal, and that the coldness of the void had really been the coldness of the metal substance against which her body was pinioned.
Her arms were stretched out in the wide X of the frame, as were her legs. Her wrists and her ankles were corded tightly, till it seemed to her that there was no circulation in her limbs. Yet she could freely move her fingers and toes, and she saw that she was wearing only a pale peach-colored nylon slip, and her matching bra and panty set, together with the garterbelt which hooked to the tops of equally matching beige nylon hose. Her pumps were gone, as were her dress and the chic little turban with the rakish feather tilting at bold, defiant angle from its brim.
Now she seemed fully conscious once again. And as if by compensation after all the oblivion and then the cold dark void and then the gradual, painful restoration to this nowness, Yolanda Bervez heard a faint kind of whirring sound which she could not identify.
Her eyes moved this way and that around the room, surveying it considering it. And then, at her left, she saw, fixed in a panel, an upright tape recorder whose reels were moving. And the whirring sound was coming from that machine.
Her head had begun to thud loudly, swiftly, erratically. She felt herself awkwardly and painfully stretched and straddled. She glanced down at her legs, and she saw that the metal frame of this X-like cross was black and sinister and gleaming, and that it set off by contrast the pale whiteness of her skin. It burnished, too, the pale-honey colored bun of her hair, drawn back carefully from her high-arching forehead, parted along the middle, and formed into an exaggerated oval.
But where was she? And how had she come here from the cable car and why were her dress and pumps removed, and finally, most terrifyingly finally of all, why was she bound so tightly to this metal frame in this dreadful white room?
There was no ticking of a clock, there was nothing to tell her what time of day it was, or even what day or night. A congealing, cold terror seized her then, and she suddenly heard herself call out, "Who are you? Why have you done this to me?"
And there was no answer. There was only the faint whirring of the relentlessly moving tape recorder reels. The tiny red light on the panel indicated that the recorder was in action.
But what hand had turned it on, and to what purpose? Was it the same hand that had removed her dress and shoes and bound her here in this ghastly, silent, padded room? It was like the chamber of an insane asylum for the violent and homicidal maniacs. She knew that because her father had once tracked down a psychotic murderer, who, at his trial, had gone berserk and vowed hideous vengeance against all his captors and the judge who had sent him to confinement in a mental institution for the rest of his natural life. They had taken him, her father had told her, in a special wagon with padded walls and floor so that he could not do harm to himself, and they had locked him away in a padded cell with a straitjacket on his body to prevent his doing bodily harm to those who would treat him, ask him questions, as well as to himself.
But why? And how? She closed her eyes and whimpered, suddenly terribly afraid.
And then the door opened, and Yolanda Bervez opened her mouth to shriek, but her voice was strangled in her throat by sheer terror.
A tall man advanced, naked except for sandals and a black hood which fitted snugly over his head and was bound round his neck by white cords, such as might be used with Venetian blinds. There were slits for the-eyes, the nose, and the mouth. His penis was enormously rigid, and her dilated eyes fixed with horrified fascination on the throbbing, angrily purplish veins which bulged along the shaft and threatened to burst the tight skin. And in his right hand, the forefinger of which was missing, he gripped the heavy, short leather stock handle of a three-thonged black whip.
Yolanda Bervez stared incredulously at the terrifying apparition before her. The obscene jut of his fiercely swollen cock, and, indeed, his startling nudity which was made the more shocking by the black hood which completely concealed his head, left her numb with terror and an irrational dread of the unknown. For Yolanda Bervez herself, even though twenty-two years of age, was a virgin. Oh, to be sure, there had been dates at college and even in high school, and her adored mother had frankly encouraged the honey-haired girl to find a true love, just as she herself had met Matthew Bervez on his visit to Marseilles and given up all her French traditions and family love to accompany him back to San Francisco. But Yolanda had always been interested in poetry and the arts, painting and sculpture. Moreover, an only child, she was intensely introspective, and so she could live in a world of fantasy, finding life in books that were favorites of hers like "Cyrano de Bergerac," and of course Victor Hugo's "Les Miserables." The dream prince, the knight in shining white armor, had simply never presented himself into her world of fantasy and introspection.
With her mom's death seven years ago, she had been drawn all the more closely to her adored father. Now that he had retired from his arduous work as head of the detective squad, he mourned her mother deeply, she knew. And so she had tried to be a constant companion to him, urging him to accompany her to the symphony concerts and to the San Francisco Opera performances which they both found so enjoyable, particularly "Faust" and "Louise." That last opera especially she loved so much, as did he; it told the story of a young girl in Paris, seeking love and finding it at last, with heartbreak followed by romance. And there was just enough nostalgia in the music of Charpentier to recall to her how thoroughly Gallic her mother had always been even for all the years the latter had lived in San Francisco, and how her father, who himself had been born in that city of a Basque mother and a Portuguese father, had managed to be so appreciatively sensitive of Jeanne's mercurial French temperament, with all its changing moods and caprices.
Thinking of her father and mother thus in this flashback of memory which came with the horrifying awareness that she was a captive in some kind of terrible dungeon and with this naked man approaching her with a whip in his hand, Yolanda Bervez now desperately worried about her father. He would expect her home from her job as a social worker in the Fillmore district. Her idealism and sensitivity for people, taken out of books to be sure, but nonetheless deeply felt, had attracted the head of the agency two years ago when Yolanda had felt that she should do some work to prove her usefulness to the society which had nurtured her so long. She felt a deep agony for so many miserable people who, poverty-stricken and without hope, still tried to shape their lives into something meaningful. Her almost ethereal beauty had almost got her raped on several occasions, but in that district where there were rough ex-convicts, Negroes and Puerto Ricans, drug addicts and "flower children," her gentleness and candor and honesty had won her strongly protective friends. They had seen to it that she went unmolested, even though several times, unknowingly, she had been in real danger.
But her father would be terribly worried that she wasn't home by now. Oh God, who was this man and why had he kidnapped her and what was he going to do?
He had stopped about three feet away from her, and she could see through the slits in the hood a pair of bright, narrowed eyes, and through the slit which allowed his mouth to be seen, thin, tightly compressed lips. Although she had never before seen a man naked, she judged that he was perhaps in his late twenties. His chest was sturdy, and matted with coarse black hair, and his thighs and calves were sinewy and also hairy. And there was a kind of youthfulness to him which led her to believe that he certainly was not older than her first estimate. "Please-why am I here? Where am I?" she quavered.
"Your name is Yolanda Bervez, isn't it?" his voice was rough, hoarse, and seemed to be trembling with an inner excitement.
"Yes-yes, it is. But who are you? And for God's sake, why am I tied up like this, and why are you like that?"
"You really don't know, do you? I'll try to refresh your memory, Yolanda baby." Now his voice had taken on a kind of sniggering intimacy, as if they were already friends and acquaintances of long standing. He brandished the whip, lifted it in the air and brought it down with a twist of his wrist so that the thongs clacked wickedly. She shivered and pressed herself back against the St. Andrew's cross. "Don't be scared yet, Yolanda baby," he went on. "You're going to get to know me real well before you get out of here, don't think you won't. Just as I know a lot about you already."
"But who are you?"
"The name doesn't matter. Let's say that your father knew my father pretty well. Too well, Goddam his soul!" She was suddenly started by the vehement, explosive, and spiteful way he had uttered that curse against her own father. "Oh yes, Yolanda, I've made a study of you the last year or so. I told myself that one day I'd find you and get you here. It took a lot of doing, don't think it didn't. Why, I've been following you for weeks. You work in the Fillmore district. You're a social worker, aren't you?"
"Y-yes, yes-but oh please, my father's not too well, he's old, and he expects me home by now. If I don't have dinner for him-"
"It's well past his dinnertime, Yolanda baby. It's about ten at night. That shot in the arm I gave you when I was on the cable car really put you out like a light. It's a kind of sodium pentothal. It hits you when you don't expect it, and puts you into a real deep sleep. Oh no, your father's had his supper by now, and he's probably got every cop in San Francisco looking for you. But it won't be very easy to find you. And by the time they do-if they ever do-it won't matter to you any. Or to me either, you'll see."
"But why have you done this to me? I've never hurt you, I don't even know who you are.
"You'll know a lot more about me than your father does, Yolanda baby. Look-yes, you were looking at it when I first came in, weren't you? My prick. It's a big one, isn't it, Yolanda? Take a good look. You're going to feel it in every place in your body that a prick can go, and a few you never thought a prick could go into, either, before I'm done with you."
"Oh God, you must be-you must be insane-please, let me go before you're sorry. You know in California, the penalty is death in the gas chamber for kidnapping."
"Just like your father, you know the law, don't you, Yolanda baby? And you're right. That's how my father died. You didn't know that, did you? I don't imagine your father ever told you-well, there's lots of time to learn those things. But let's learn a little more about you. You've got a lovely body, and I want to see more of it. I'm going to have my little girlfriend Kathy help wake you up. She's the one who slapped you a few minutes ago to get you ready to open those beautiful big blue eyes of yours and see me come in. And right now, she'd just love a piece of prick in that hot little snatch of hers, wouldn't you, Kathy?"
Yolanda glanced around the room, but at first she could see nothing except that tape recorder and the padded-leather-topped footstool and the panoply of whips and whipping instruments. But suddenly, to her left, a concealed door opened into the dungeon, and a girl came out. A petite but lush girl with olive skin, long black hair down to her waist, black leather boots to her knees, shoulder-length gloves of the same gleaming material, and otherwise naked except for a skimpy white nylon bra and matching panty briefs which showed off the base of her rather opulent buttocks. Her eyes were black and sparkling, her nose snub with the nostrils sensuously wide and thin, and her mouth lasciviously sensual and even over-ripe. The bra generously exposed at least half of her round, closely spaced, gourd-like titties, showing the narrow valley and the dark, ripe nipples prodded out the thin fabric of the sheath. Her panties left bare the plump curves at the base of her spacious though seemingly firm bottom, made visible a very thick, black muff of pussyhair, and fitted tightly into the widening crease between the bottom globes. She was perhaps five feet two and a half inches in height, and her thighs were somewhat short for perfection but elegantly rounded and lasciviously quivering, while her jouncily rounded calves bespoke an ardent temperament. She wore no mask, and she stared contemptuously at Yolanda Bervez on the St. Andrew's cross. "Give me that whip, amorcito," she said in a hoarse, vibrant voice. "I'll bring her back to life for you, see if I don't!"
"No, you don't. Not till I tell you to. Besides, this is my vengeance, my vendetta. You're just a part of it because you're my bitch, my cunt. And when I call you Conchita, which is your rightful name, just remember that's all you are. When I want you to be more of a lady, like just now, I've rechristened you Kathy. See that you don't forget it."
"You're a dirty dog, but you know I'm crazy for you."
"I know that. That's why I want you to help me with Yolanda, but on my terms. Besides, I'll let you work on some of the other girls who are so crazy for me. They'll be coming here in due course, don't worry. Right now, you can see the state my cock is in, can't you, Conchita?"
"You mean in front of her?"
"Why not? It'll be a good lesson for the virgin. I'm sure that's what she is."
"I'd love to find out right now," the girl viciously interrupted, turning to give Yolanda Bervez a spiteful look, baring her fine white teeth. "I'd just love to stick the handle of a whip up that fancy pussy of hers and see if there'd be blood. And then maybe a cotton swab with alcohol so the little lady doesn't get an infection. Oh, I've lovely things planned for her if you'll only let me do them-please let me!"
"Be careful you don't say my name. I'm not yet ready to tell Yolanda who I really am. Let's let her stay in suspense a little while longer. But right now, you know what I want, Conchita. Or would you rather be whipped in front of her?" The hooded, naked abductor raised the three-thonged black leather whip meaningfully.
Conchita blushed with angry shame, gave Yolanda another hostile look, and then sank obediently down on her knees. Her gloved hands gripped the backs of the hooded man's naked thighs, and she leaned forward, furling out her soft pink tongue to brush the glans of his prick.
Though horrified, despite herself Yolanda Bervez watched this act of fealty, this fellatio which was performed as a kind of contemptuous insult to herself-this, she sensed, though still a virgin. But as she saw the man's body shiver, saw his free hand plunge into the thick cascading black tresses of the kneeling, booted and gloved Mexican girl, her breath began to quicken, and the flame in her cheeks bespoke a kind of revolted fascination with what she saw.
"You're very good at that, Conchita. Not too fast, now, and don't be greedy."
"But I want you to fuck me, you devil!" the kneeling girl almost gutturally exclaimed, glancing up at him, running her gloved hands up and down his hairy thighs.
"There'll be time enough for that if you do a good job now. I want Yolanda to learn a few things. Now go ahead and French me, but don't blow me. If you're a good bitch, I'll save the juice for your cunt."
Yolanda shuddered, for these obscene words prickled her sensitivity, and though she had often heard them in the Fillmore district during her welfare work, they seemed strangely new and lasciviously inflammatory. She felt herself blushing, and she could not help staring at what the girl was doing.
He lifted the whip and let it trickle down the kneeling girl's back, till the tips of the three black gleaming thongs brushed her plump, white-nylon-sheathed bottomcheeks. And Conchita in turn seemed to shiver and squirm a little on her knees as she crawled forward, gripping his thighs firmly and now rubbing her tongue boldly against the meatus, against those lips from which the source of life spurted in all its seething violence at the moment of triumphant climax.
His fingers twisted in her hair, lofting the thick burnished mass up to the back of her neck, letting the thongs of the whip play across her back and shoulders, grazing her flesh and making it ripple with the presentiments of a perverse and as yet-to Yolanda-unknown passion.
And now the Mexican girl had taken the tip of the hooded man's prick between her lips and was beginning to suck it with slurping and noisy wet sounds that made Yolanda shudder and for a moment close her eyes in offended modesty.
But his gasps and groans made her once again stare at what she saw, the most intimate and perverse act that man and woman can perform between each other if done in calculated lust and not in love.
The slurping sounds grew faster, noisier, till suddenly the hooded man raised his whip and brought it down with a deft flick of his wrist, so that the tips of the thongs darted against the cheekbone of the kneeling girl. With a hoarse cry of pain, Conchita twisted round, her eyes blazing, and put one hand up to rub away the sting. "You bastard!" she panted, "Just when I was going to suck your juice!"
"Shut your mouth, puta, and get down there on the floor. Take those panties off and give me your cunt!" he said thickly.
Her face was suddenly radiant, and then unexpectedly, she moved quickly towards Yolanda and, her fingers gripping Yolanda's titties, squeezed them painfully as she hissed, "Now, you watch, you fancy, high-toned bitch, and learn something! I'll show you what a woman can be like with a man that's muy macho!"
Then, turning back, she shucked down the panty briefs, and flung herself down on the floor with her knees up and hugely straddled, pillowing her head on her gloved arms.
The hooded man cast aside the whip, sank down on his knees and crawled to her. His hands grabbed her swiftly rising titties, and he thrust his swollen, glistening prick against the open, moist and twitching lips of Conchita's cunt.
And again despite herself, Yolanda watched, her face flaming, the bruising clutch of Conchita's fingers still tingling on her rapidly swelling titties, as she saw them coalesce. And again with a gurgling cry, Conchita flung her booted legs over the hooded man's naked buttocks, and he began to fuck her, she meeting his thrusts with arching movements of her supple, though opulent, naked body.
Their shouts of tumultuous rapture deafened the ears of Yolanda Bervez, and she watched them roll over and over, threshing about as their climax came upon them simultaneously. And all the while the whirring of the tape recorder went on as a kind of background cadence to this scene in a dungeon somewhere in San Francisco.
CHAPTER TWO
The petite brunette had languorously risen from the dungeon floor, her gleaming black leather gloves slyly fondling her belly and thighs, and then with a sigh, had opened the dungeon door and disappeared. Now Yolanda remained bound to the St. Andrew's cross, with her abductor still on the floor nearby. He too rose, and slowly approached her. The black hood which he wore and which was his only covering except for his sandals suddenly reminded her of old pictures she had seen in some of her father's criminal history books, for it was the kind of hood that was fitted over the head of a man condemned to be hanged. She recalled now, almost irrelevantly, that her father had once shown her a picture of Charles Guiteau, the disappointed office-seeker who had assassinated President Garfield and who had paid the price of his dreadful act on the gallows.
"Well, now, little Yolanda," the man's voice drawled in a smug, satisfied tone, "what did you think of what you just saw? Conchita is very good, isn't she? But before I'm done with you, you'll learn to be a great deal better. I might even let Conchita teach you. She'd love to do that."
"Oh, dear God, please-won't you tell me who you are and why you've kidnapped me and are keeping me tied up like this? At least if I could understand, I wouldn't be so afraid."
"Ah! Then you admit you really are afraid, dear little Yolanda. The girl who is the daughter of a retired police captain, who was so very distinguished for the wonderful work he did to apprehend the worst criminals of San Francisco, and to bring them to justice. No doubt he's quite proud of himself as he looks back on his earlier life and his career, Yolanda. Right now, of course, he's wondering where you are. He's probably already called his former cronies on the police force and got them started looking for you. Only he'll never find you, I can tell you that. We will never let him see you again!"
"Why do you hate him? Is it because-you said your father died in the gas chamber, didn't you?"
"I did."
"Well, do you blame my father for that?"
The naked man standing before her stiffened, and then he picked up the three-thonged whip he had been carrying when he came into the dungeon. He regarded her through the slits of the hood, and his eyes were dark and brooding and they seemed to narrow with intensity as if he were studying every line of her face to memorize it. Finally he spoke: "Oh, I told you there was plenty of time to learn everything, sweet innocent little Yolanda. But I want to know more about you. Of course, as I told you, I made a study of you for about a year. I learned your habits, and that's how I was able to get you off that cable car. With the help of Conchita, of course. It was ever so easy. I just told the conductor that you had epileptic seizures from time to time, that we were good friends of yours, and that we'd take you to a clinic where you could get treated right away. Of course, when Conchita brushed against you after you'd got on the cable car, she gave you a little hypodermic needle right in the thigh. Don't you remember that little prick, Yolanda dear? I know you must have, because you turned around with a little gasp. You were so very charming then, so innocent and unsuspecting."
"Oh, my God, you-you've planned all this then for a long time-"
"Now you're beginning to catch on, Yolanda! Very good. But then, with your father's background behind you, I do expect a certain amount of intelligence from you. And you're going to acquire a great deal more, though I'm sure you might say that it would be in acquiring a knowledge of things which up to now haven't really mattered to you. But oh, how they are going to, my lovely, charming, innocent girl!" Now, his voice seemed to tremble with a kind of anticipatory relish, and Yolanda shrank back against the cross, trembling fitfully, her eyes wide and staring as a gnawing fear began to take hold of her.
"So far as I can tell, Yolanda girl," he went on in a rough, self-assured tone, "you're a virgin. You haven't screwed any guy yet, have you?"
"Oh course I haven't! Oh my God, you've no right to torture me like this. Won't you at least tell me who you are and why you've done this? There must be a reason for you to have picked me out of all the girls you could have done this to-"
"Oh, there is, the best reason in the world, Yolanda," he angrily interrupted, taking a step closer to her and brandishing the whip in her face. "But don't rile me now, baby. I'm going to do this in my own way, stretching it out nice and slow. And when I'm ready for you, then you'll understand everything. Oh yes, there's a very good reason. I hate cops, and you're the daughter of one. A particularly good one, by his standards-but not by mine. He railroaded lots of nice guys off to the pen and the gas chamber, and he's probably proud of it. Only I wonder if he ever stopped to think of what the people who liked or were related to those people he sent to jail ever really thought about it?"
"If they were criminals, they deserved to be punished," Yolanda said firmly.
"Of course, I'd expect the daughter of a cop to say that," he said scornfully. "But you're just mouthing things you've learned from being a little girl growing up with a daddy who was a cop, Yolanda. You haven't said a thing yet that really makes sense, that really lets me know who and what you are and what makes you tick. That's one reason you're here, baby. I'm going to find out everything about you. I've learned a lot, of course, just preparing for this day. But there's so much I don't know, and you're going to have to show me and teach me. And what fun it's going to be-for me, anyway!"
"Are you going to-are you going to kill me?" she quavered.
"That depends on you. Try to escape, give me any trouble, and I might have to do that. It'd be a shame to waste such a nice sweet piece of virgin pussy, but if I had to, I would, just remember that. But now let's go back to your lovelife. Did you ever have a boy kiss you?"
"Of course I have. And it's none of your business!"
"Now we're getting the real Yolanda," he chuckled mockingly. "Did you ever see a guy before with his prick sticking out so you could reach out and touch it? Did you, Yolanda?"
Her face turned scarlet and she closed her eyes. He was standing directly in front of her now, and his greased cock was beginning to stiffen and to tilt up towards her loins. "N-no," she murmured huskily, feeling her heart pound erratically. "And if you had any decency to you, you'd put some clothes on. I don't especially care to watch what you and that girl did. It-it's an insult to me, and it would be to any decent girl."
"Ah, but what we have to find out, don't we, is whether you really are decent way down deep inside, little Yolanda," he smiled through the slit in the hood which showed her his mouth.
Now there was a silence, and she could hear her own breathing, quick and fearful, in the terrible and oppressive silence. Finally he spoke: "Don't you feel a little warm in here now, Yolanda? It is warm, you know. There's a special thermostat which controls the temperature down here, and I've turned it up just a bit."
"Yes . ... it is-it is warm. Oh, how long are you going to keep me like this? I have to-I have to-"
"Go to the bathroom, eh?" he finished for her with a lewd snigger. "Well, little Yolanda, I'm going to keep you here all night. It's about eleven o'clock now, and you'll be here until breakfast time. So if you have any pressing little needs, just go ahead and do them naturally."
"Oh! You-you're absolutely horrid, detestable!"
"You've read a lot of books, I can see that. You know all the words, but you don't really know their meaning. I'll bet you've never known what hunger is, or what it's like to have maybe a dime in your pocket and to walk outside a restaurant and see a nice juicy cut of beef turning in a spit, and fat greasy people sitting at the tables with their napkins tucked under their fat chins putting their knives and forks into a big thick juicy steak. I'll bet you've never wondered how you were going to pay the rent, and I'll also bet you've never had to apply for a job and been told that, no, they didn't have a place for you because you didn't exactly have the background they wanted. What they meant, of course, was that you came from parents who really were a social disgrace, and they were terribly afraid you might turn out to be worse. So don't complain to me if you have to pee in your panties, little Yolanda."
"Oh, you-you're cruel, you're taking it out on me-something I don't know anything about, and it's wrong, it's wrong! I've never hurt anybody in my life, I don't even know you, and yet you know me and you're making this some kind of vengeance-why? Oh dear God, why?"
"I think," he said, ignoring her agonized question, "we ought to make it easier for you if you really have to take a piss tonight when I'm not here to help you. Let's get this slip off, shall we?"
Tucking the whip under his left armpit, the hooded naked man now seized the shoulder straps of Yolanda Bervez' slip and ripped them off, then tugged the nylon from her leaving her in white nylon bra and panty combination and the narrow, binding garterbelt whose tabs held up her sheer beige nylon stockings.
"M-mmmm, now that's a lot better, isn't it? It'll keep you lots cooler tonight when I'm not here to cool you off, baby. Also, from my point of view, I can really see what sort of snazzy shape you've got, Yolanda." His voice was husky now as he stepped back, gripping the handle of the whip, and studying her quivering, scantily clad body against the cracks.
"Yes," her abductor chuckled, "you really have a gorgeous body, Yolanda. In some ways, it makes my prick ache even more than Conchita's does. For a blonde with that pale yellow hair of yours, you've got remarkably white skin. You find that usually with brunettes or redheads, but I like it on you.
And those titties-nice big round juicy handfuls, and I can see your nipples big as anything prodding right through the bra, Yolanda baby. And your cunt-it's a nice plump little cunt, and it's very hairy, because I can see some of the tiny hairs sticking out through the nylon of your panties."
Yolanda closed her eyes and blushed violently at this cataloguing of her charms. And her titties began to rise and fall with an erratic rhythm. She could feel beads of sweat in her armpits, and she was suddenly conscious of her body as she had never been before.
"I suppose you're thinking I'm going to tear your pants and bra off and fuck you right now, aren't you, little Yolanda?" his mocking continued. "Not yet, you can have one more night as a virgin. It might be your last, so make the most of it. Think about things, Yolanda. Because tomorrow morning, when Conchita and I come back and bring you your breakfast, we're going to ask you lots of questions about yourself. Whether you've used your finger on that soft plump little pussy of yours when you're all by yourself in bed at night. What you feel when you've kissed a boy, and whether you've ever gone down on a girl. Yes, you've got a lot to learn, and you've got a lot to tell us, Yolanda. So I'll say goodnight right now, baby, and sweet dreams."
She uttered a sobbing groan, as she saw her naked captor turn and stride to the door of the dungeon, open it, and then lock it. She was alone again, but the strange thing was that even though he had told her it was almost midnight, the room remained glaring white as if time had stood still for her in this her chamber of incarceration in an unknown house by an unknown enemy.
CHAPTER THREE
Now she was alone. There appeared to be no light in this dungeon in which her unknown abductor had locked her and bound her to the St. Andrew's cross, and yet the white paint which completely covered the walls and ceiling made it seem as if it were day instead of night. Her muscles had begun to ache from the long duress of her standing position, arms drawn high above her head and legs straddled. And now, just as she had dreaded, she "began to feel an uncomfortable and embarrassing pressure in her bladder.
Besides this, she suddenly realized she was hungry. They had given her nothing to eat, the masked man and the girl he had called both Kathy and Conchita. She hadn't had anything since lunch, when she'd stopped at a little hamburger stand in the Fillmore district and had a sandwich and a cup of coffee. And now it was past midnight. Her father would be frantic with worry by now, and there wasn't any way she could let him know she hadn't been hurt ... at least, not yet.
It seemed terribly warm here, and she was conscious now of the film of perspiration in her armpits and along her sides, and even on her belly. What was he going to do to her? And why did that girl seem to hate her so much? Now the faint worrying sound of the tape recorder came back into her consciousness, and again she wondered what the reason was for its presence here. Why was he taking down whatever she said and whatever he said, and that girl, too, and then of course there would be the sounds. She closed her eyes and her face colored hotly at the recollection of what she had seen that girl do with him there on the floor. There was a sudden burning twinge in her quim, and she groaned aloud. And now it was beginning to become atrociously painful. She tightened the muscles of her thighs, closed her eyes because the glaring white walls made them ache, and she prayed for sleep. If she could only fall asleep until he came back, and then, maybe, beg him humbly at least to let her go to the bathroom. Oh, this was terrible!
Yolanda Bervez tried to lean back against the cross and ease the tension of her tractioned arms and straddled legs. But all that she had seen and all that she had heard flooded her memory now, kept her from succumbing to the fatigue of the long, enervating day. And then there was a tiny buzzing sound, and she felt something on her collarbone crawling along her chest and down to the valley of her titties. She opened her eyes and glanced down, and saw a horsefly. With a gasp, she tried to twist herself, and then blew at it, the maneuver worked, the fly disappeared, only to swoop back at her with a vengeful buzzing.
Now it was on her bare shoulder, and where the multi-legged contact lingered, she felt her flesh crawling, felt as if it were burning as from an insect's sting. And then it did bite her, and she uttered a cry and blew at it, then wrenched her shoulders this way and that.
"Oh please!" she whimpered aloud in her distress. Now all these tiny nuances of discomfort seemed to grow cumulatively, and now her pussy was burning her, and her thighs twitched spasmodically. She was conscious of the trickling drops of sweat from her armpits trickling down her thighs. Tears brimmed in her eyes, and she exhaled a long, poignant sigh. What was he going to do to her? Why did that girl hate her? The two questions interminably forced themselves into her reeling mind and with this came the intensified physical awareness of her stressed and overtaxed half-naked body.
Once again she heard the loud buzzing of the horsefly. It darted down and settled on her left breast, over the brassiere. She twisted herself, but it was tenacious this time. It continued to crawl until it reached her naked skin between her swelling titties, and again she felt its cruel little sting.
"Ohh-ohh-oh please, somebody, help me!" she called out in a sobbing voice. If he were going to do something to her, let him do it now, let him please come and do it now! Anything would be better than this torture, this long, sleepless night with the white walls and the whirring of the recorder and the buzzing of the fly and the feeling of her sweat and the growing urgency in her spot.
That was what the virginal Yolanda Bervez called her pussy. She had rarely heard the lewd vocabulary of lust, though she recognized its connotations. Because her father had been morose and not too well ever since his retirement, she'd tried to be very close to him, given up any social activities, except of course for the welfare work she did for the agency. Even at that, there were times when she'd considered resigning the job to stay home and look after him. He missed her mother so, and now how terribly worried he must be not to hear from her, not to know where she was and why she hadn't telephoned.
She groaned aloud in her anxiety, and her body shuddered against the wooden cross. Her muscles ached from the long, wearisome tethering to her enforced altar of captivity. The fly buzzed near her again and she whimpered. Oh, if only this awful man would tell her why he was keeping her here, or what he was going to do to her, so that she could understand it and know how to prepare herself!
But he had said that he wouldn't be back until morning, to bring her her breakfast. How could she sleep, standing like this with her arms and legs spread and tied? And now it was really burning her between her legs; she just had to go.
Gently bred, always fastidious, Yolanda ground her teeth and tried to hold back the urgent pressures of her bladder. And then once more the fly settled on her bare shoulder, and began to crawl over her white flesh. She twisted and squirmed frantically, and the movement, failing to dislodge the insect, also intensified the torment of her pussy. She couldn't bear it any longer. With a sobbing gasp, she announced her defeat. Her head turned to one side, she closed her eyes tightly, and then she eased the tensions: she felt the warm flow of her own urine in her panties, trickling down to the floor of the dungeon. And then she wept in shame and self-disgusted, ashamed of her own weakness and worried even more as to what might happen to her and how her poor father would be taking her disappearance.
Her stockings were wet with it, too, and she blushed with shame to realize how she had befouled herself. Yet all the same, the pain had gone now, and there was a kind of bodily well being, and she felt better for it. The fly had gone now, and with a sigh she kept her eyes closed, bowed her head, and tried to sleep. But it was almost impossible. The terrible sensation of falling, even though she knew her limbs were bound to the cross, kept her awake. The hours dragged pitilessly; and every now and then, haggard, perspiring, weary and aching, Yolanda would open her eyes and see again only the glaring white walls of this dungeon somewhere in San Francisco which had become her entire world.
At last sheer fatigue made her drop off into a fitful slumber, and then suddenly she wakened as she heard a key turning in the door of the dungeon. Oh thank God it was over, thank God someone was going to come now and untie her and let her go-or would that be what would happen?
She saw again the man in the hood, and beside him the girl he had called both Kathy and Conchita. She was wearing just a black nylon nightie now, and slippers, and she was carrying a tray on which there was a bowl of bread and milk. She sat it down on a little stool which the masked man drew up before the cross, and then she stared boldly at Yolanda: "Good morning, sleeping beauty! Did you have a nice night? Did you dream about what you saw us doing last night, maybe?" she mockingly asked.
Yolanda did not deign to answer. She closed her eyes and uttered a deep sigh. The man chuckled: "She hasn't woke up yet, Conchita. Maybe breakfast will help."
"This naughty girl deserves a good spanking, not breakfast, honey," the petite brunette giggled. She put a hand to her long cascading black hair, tossed her head, and then, hands on hips, studied the blonde captive. "Just look at her panties. She peed in them after we left, honey."
"Why, I believe you're right, Conchita." He came forward now, squatted down and stared at Yolanda's panties, while she uttered a groan of deepest shame and, closing her eyes as tightly as she could, twisted her face away from them both. Then she felt his finger prod the moist crotch of her panties, and she gasped out, "Oh, for God's sake, what are you going to do to me? I can't stand this any more, I just can't! At least, in the name of mercy, let me phone my poor father! He must be terribly sick from worrying about me-oh please, if you've any humanity in you, let me call him!"
"Never you mind about that, Yolanda baby," the young man said with a mocking laugh. "I've seen to it that he'll get the news in good time, don't you worry. You just worry about what's going to happen to you, baby. Yes, Conchita is quite right. You did pee in your panties, and that's naughty for a big grownup girl like you. You really ought to have a good sound spanking. Though we'll let that go until after you've had your breakfast and we've asked you a few questions all about your personal life, Yolanda. All right, Conchita, go ahead and feed her."
Conchita had a spoon, and she now lifted the bowl in her left hand, dipped the spoon into it, then proffered it to Yolanda's mouth. "Eat hearty, baby," she taunted.
"Yes, I think you had better, Yolanda," the young man added. "Otherwise we really will have to give you a good sound spanking; eat up every drop."
Humiliated by being treated like a child, Yolanda uttered a groan and reluctantly opened her mouth. Docilely she consumed the contents of the entire bowl, and only then did the petite brunette move away, smirking at her in gloating triumph. Through the thin nightie, Yolanda could see the girl's thick triangular pussy muff, and the sight made her blush and remember the shameless act of copulation which this exotic young woman had enacted before her very eyes last night with that masked man who had been the one to capture her and bring her here and hold her prisoner against her will.
Conchita now perched herself upon that little stool, crossed one lovely leg over the other, clasped her upraised knee with both hands and studied the blonde captive. "Shall we find out more about her now, darling?" she looked towards her lover.
"Of course. Go ahead, Conchita. As for you, Yolanda, I want you to answer all her questions. If you don't we'll have to persuade you. All right, go on!"
"Now pay attention, you blonde little goody-goody!" the brunette's voice dripped sarcasm. "Have you ever had a boyfriend?"
"No," Yolanda quavered, her face crimsoning.
"That sure figures," the brunette laughed sarcastically. "All right, listen carefully. How old are you, anyway?"
"Twenty-two." she turned, "A virgin that old? Maybe she's just kidding."
"Well, you have my permission to find out, Conchita," the masked man laughed.
"You mean it? oh boy! I've wanted to get a good look at Yolanda's snatch ever since we brought her in here darling. Am I going to have fun!" the petite brunette giggled. She rose from the stool, her fingers inserted themselves inside the waistband of Yolanda's panties, and then she ripped them off. The blonde captive uttered a startled cry of mingled fear and shame, tried to grind herself back against the cross, tried to clench her thighs to hide the dark-golden bush of her virgin cunthole. Indeed, sensitive as she was, Yolanda had always been very self-conscious about the extremely thick growth of her private hair.
"Hey, she needs a shave, darling," Conchita giggled. She put out her right hand and pressed her palm over Yolanda's cunt.
"Oh don't-don't do that to me-please-please, I don't want you to," Yolanda panted, twisting and turning frantically.
"My she's a sensitive bitch!" Conchita jeered. "Let's see if she's got any right to give herself airs like that. Let's find out if you're really cherry, Yolanda baby!"
And then, to the blonde captive's consternation, Conchita seated herself on the stool which she moved directly in front of the cross. With her left thumb and forefinger, she pried open the soft pink lips of Yolanda's vulva, and then protruded her right forefinger into the soft twitching gape. With a groan, Yolanda twisted and turned frantically, rubbing her naked behind against the wooden cross, but in vain. She felt Conchita's finger thrust into her sheath till it came up against the barrier which proclaimed that she was truly a virgin.
"Well, what do you know!" the petite brunette shook her head. "She really is cherry, after all! Why don't you let me give her that spanking now she had coming for wetting her pants, darling?"
Even in her shame, Yolanda could not help but notice that Conchita was not uttering the name of her lover, the masked man who had imprisoned her.
"Not yet. Let's give her something to really be naughty about and then we can really give her a good sound spanking," he chuckled. "Go ahead and ask her some more questions."
"I will, darling," Conchita smiled. She prodded her forefinger against Yolanda's pussy, till the blonde captive groaned aloud in shame and tried desperately to wriggle away, and demanded: "You've got feelings there, haven't you honey? Well, if you haven't got a boyfriend, what do you do at night when you get the itch down here? Tell me!"
"Oh please, please let me alone!" Yolanda gasped, her face crimson with embarrassment, for she saw that the masked man was looking at her, his lips curved in an amused grin.
"Make her tell!" he said to the petite brunette.
"Sure, honey!" Conchita now applied right thumb and forefinger to the dark-blonde pussy muff, and suddenly tweaked out a sprig of hair. Yolanda Bervez uttered a piercing cry of mingled pain and shame: "Oooouuuu, oh please don't, oh make her stop, please, whoever you are!"
"That's a hot one Yolanda," the masked man laughed. "When you find out who I am, you'll wonder why you bother asking me for mercy. Go ahead, Conchita. Do it again until she talks!"
"Oh no, oh don't, don't touch me there, oh don't, its a-it's a sin!" Yolanda groaned. Her eyes, haggard and swollen from her long night of virtual sleeplessness, lowered and fixed on Conchita's soft little hand which now advanced back towards her cunt. Tied as she was on to the cross with her legs hugely widened and her arms spread high above her head, she could offer no resistance except to twist her hips back and forth. Giggling, Conchita pretended to pluck here and there, and Yolanda let out a series of frantic little squeals while the masked man laughed in hilarious amusement.
"All right, this is for real," Conchita at last decided. "If you don't tell me what you do at night when you get the itch, I'm going to pull them all out-like this!" And suiting action to word, she reached out suddenly and yanked out another sprig.
"Eeeyeowww, oh you awful, cruel girl, it hurts, it hurts!" Yolanda wailed.
"I'll pull them all out if you don't start talking, bitch," was the petite brunette's answer. Once again her thumb and forefinger pressed against Yolanda's cunt, and in desperation, the captive, almost naked, blonde (for now she wore only her bra, garterbelt, hose and pumps) capitulated: "Oh stop, don't do it again, I-I don't think about boys, I don't!"
"You liar! I bet when you watched my honey and me fuck last night, you were wet in your pussy, I'll bet you were!" Conchita sneered. "I'll show you!" Then, taking Yolanda by surprise, she inserted her forefinger in the captive blonde's cunt, found the clitoris and began to rub at it.
Yolanda uttered a cry of stupefaction, twisting frantically to evade this libidinous caress. Her eyes closed, her teeth chattering, she wildly tried to clench her legs together. Since she could not, she twisted and weaved her hips about as if indeed she were experiencing the lascivious sensations which this tickling meant to produce. And indeed, she had begun to feel them as Conchita now continued the torture.
She burst into tears, head bowed, her body shaking as with ague. Immediately desisting, the petite brunette now again seized a sprig of pussy hair and yanked it out.
"Ahrrrrr! oh stop it, stop it, what do you want me to say? Oh you cruel, wicked girl, I only wish you could suffer like that!" Yolanda Bervez tearfully burst out.
"Maybe you'll get the chance to do it to her, Yolanda, if you behave yourself," the masked man ironically called out. "Hurry up, Conchita, if you can't make her tell, it'll be you who gets the spanking and I'll take over."
"You hear that, bitch? You'd better tell me or else," Conchita hissed. And once again she pulled out a sprig of pussyhair. "I swear I'll tear them all out, one by one, unless you tell us right now what you do when you get an itch here, when you see somebody fuck or wish you were doing it! Tell me now, you snooty bitch you!"
The pain now became excruciating. Squirming and jerking, the blonde captive sobbed, "All right-all right, I do touch myself there-everybody does-I hope you're satisfied, you horrible thing you!"
"So you masturbate, do you, Yolanda?" the masked man laughed. "Well, at least it changes my opinion of you a little. So you are human after all, even if your father isn't."
"How dare you say that! He's a kind, good man. Just because he goes after criminals like you-yes, you are one, to keep me here and to torture me like this-doesn't change things. It was his work, and he gave his life to it. What did you ever do?"
"Eat my heart out because my father died and I couldn't do anything about it," the masked man said savagely. "But you wouldn't understand anything like that, Miss High and Mighty. You've had a sheltered life from the day you were born, and maybe now you're just beginning to understand what it's like to be afraid to feel pain."
Yolanda bowed her head and burst into tears. Conchita rose now, and pulled off her nightie and was naked. "Fuck me, darling," she breathed to her masked lover. "Playing with Yolanda's pussy has got me so ready, I just have to cream."
"I'll be glad to oblige. She made me sort of ready myself," he chuckled hoarsely.
And once again Yolanda Bervez watched. cheeks scarlet with shame, as her two captors made obscene love there on the dungeon floor before her. And when they had finished, they went out of the dungeon arm in arm, leaving her still tied to the cruel cross, her panties ripped off, her pussy still throbbing from the mingled pain and pleasure which this interlude had caused.
CHAPTER FOUR
Now once again she was alone, and this time a still more agonizing need made itself known to her. The breakfast she had been fed like a child by the sensual little brunette sweetheart of her abductor had suddenly begun to work in her bowels. Indeed, the embarrassment and fear of having a bowel movement, tied as she was to the St. Andrew's cross, had haunted her all these long, agonizing hours, and now it became a cruel reality. But the relief she had had in emptying her bladder-even though she had died of shame to have to do it in her panties-her sphincter muscles now seemed to be more sensitive and irritable than ever. She groaned aloud in her despair, and her body was damp with sweat as she squirmed uneasily against the cross.
This time it was even more distressing, for she was conscious of her almost-nakedness now, her bare behind pressing tightly against the wood of the apparatus to which she had been bound for so long. She tightened her ass-muscles, frantically trying to halt the inexorable descent of the fecal matter in her rectum, and a queasy sensation lodged in the pit of her stomach. Conchita's frigging of her clitoris had left her shaken and distraught, closer than she knew to the point of orgasm. And it was true: never in her life had she known such sexual climax through any other means than that of her own stealthy finger. Then again she groaned aloud, remembering how she had been forced by that malicious brunette to admit to having masturbated. And the masked man had heard her make that shameful admission. She bowed her head and wept softly, and now her fears for herself began to outweigh those for her father. What was this man going to do to her? Why was he prolonging it? How long would he keep her tied to the cross, unable to attend to herself? Would he hold her for ransom, or was he going to-to kill her? Or would he torture her first?
Her mind, made still more active through this long night of fear and shame and exhaustion, now conjured up nightmarish images, and sweat dampened her quivering bare flesh even more.
Once again time seemed to drag pitilessly for Yolanda. But now it was made the more excruciating because of the sudden physical pangs which beset her. Her lovely, expressive face twisted in anguish and shame, and she closed her eyes and bit her lip as she forced her naked bottom back against the wooden cross in a supreme effort to disperse the animal urge of her voluptuous young body.
And then suddenly the dungeon door opened and the petite brunette walked in. She wore a black silk mesh leotard, which dipped at the valley of her titties to show the lovely hollow and the sides of those enticing love gourds and which gusseted her between the thighs so snugly that the plump fig of her cunt was lasciviously outlined and it seemed to Yolanda that she could even see the thick muff of black fur which marked that temple of Venus. Red leather highheeled pumps elevated her by four inches, and she moved forward tauntingly, hands on her hips, studying the agonized, perspiring features of the beautiful almost naked captive. "I'm back, Yolanda baby," she mocked as she came forward. "My boyfriend told me to see that you got some exercise. I guess you must be sort of stiff from being tied up here all this time, hm?"
"I am-oh please let me go, please! I want to talk to my father, won't you please let me call him? I won't tell him where I am, I don't even know-but please, he's getting old and he's not well-"
"Save it, baby," Conchita fiercely interrupted. "I'm not going to shed any tears for you. Personally, I hate your guts as much as my boyfriend does. He's got even better reasons. For my part, you get in the way when we want to fuck. You and your goody-goody ways, a big girl of twenty-two who has to play with her pussy when she gets randy, instead of going out and screwing the way any honest girl would do."
"I don't want to listen to you, I don't! If you've come here just to say nasty things to me, you're wasting your breath!"
"Oh, am I?" Conchita pulled up a stool and seated herself before the squirming captive. "What's the matter, dear? You got ants in your pants? Oh I forgot, you haven't got any pants on, have you? Maybe I ought to pull out all those pussyhairs, one by one. That would really make you squirm and beg me for mercy, wouldn't it?"
"Oh don't! You horrid girl, I don't know why you treat me like this!" Yolanda wailed as she saw Conchita extend right thumb and forefinger perilously close to the thick bush of her cunt. She pressed her naked behind back against the cross as much as she could, but this strenuous movement only served to reactivate the dully insistent urge in her bowel. She knew she couldn't hold out much longer, and she was ready to die of shame.
"I bet you want to go to the bathroom again, bitch," Conchita purred as she leaned forward and put her palms against Yolanda's upper thighs and rubbed them slowly. The captive moaned and closed her eyes, tightening all her muscles and trying to make herself impervious to this humiliating ordeal.
"My boyfriend says I can let you go and take you to the potty, Yolanda dear, but you have to pay a forfeit. Are you willing?"
"I-I don't know what you mean," Yolanda quavered.
"I'll tell you then, sweetie. I'm just mad about that quimmy of yours, and that nice sweet ass. I want to girl fuck with you, Yolanda. If you'll let me do it, I'll let you go right now and take you to the John. Is it a go?
"How can you talk like that, you wicked, sinful girl! I won't ever do anything so shameful!"
"Ah, I see you know the words. So you know what girl fuck means, do you, Yolanda? It's when two girls do it, instead of a fellow and a girl. Of course I know you know what fucking is, you've seen us do it twice now, haven't you? And I bet you've been jealous as hell." Conchita giggled, and then slapped Yolanda's bare belly with the flat of her hand till the girl gasped and squirmed uneasily.
"Don't tell me that quim of yours doesn't get all wet and hot when you watch me fuck him. Oh we'll do it again, don't worry. He's got some other girls, too, so you're going to learn plenty about fucking before you're finished here, Yolanda. But now you've got to answer me. Do you want to go to the John and take a crap for yourself? I know you haven't done it since you came here, and it's been a good twenty-four hours, just about. Well?"
"Oh I hate you, I hate you! No I won't do any such thing with you, I'd rather die!" Yolanda groaned.
"Suit yourself, honey. You can just stay here and let it come out the natural way, and I won't be around to wipe you off with toilet paper and put talcum powder on your booty," Conchita jeered. Now both her palms were rubbing Yolanda's belly, and then they moved down to glide over the thick fleece of the captive young beauty's cunthole. Her teeth had begun to chatter now, and Yolanda averted her face to one side, keeping her eyes tightly closed so that she wouldn't see that mocking, taunting face, which she had learned to hate so much.
"I tell you what, Yolanda," the brunette got up from the stool and faced the helpless captive. "I'm going to show you what girl fucking's like. After you've seen it, then I'm going to ask you again if you'll do it. If you don't, I'll give you a good sound spanking. You can just imagine how that's going to make your ass feel when you already have to take a crap. But in the meantime, you've got too many clothes on. I want you to be in the mood when you and I rub pussies together, honey. Here, we don't need this at all, now do we?" And with this, she reached up and ripped off Yolanda's bra. Now the beautiful mature blonde was naked except for her garterbelt, stockings and pumps, and she uttered a cry of alarm and shame, tears welling to her eyes, as she pressed herself tightly back against the hard wood which would not yield and whose pressure against her bare tensing bottom reminded her only too agonizingly that the call of nature was not much longer to be denied.
Conchita left the dungeon now, and returned a few minutes later pushing an extremely young girl ahead of her. Yolanda's eyes widened with surprise at the sight. This newcomer was auburn-haired, and her hair was styled in a dainty, short bob. She was about five feet six and a half inches in height, with long lovely legs, and a minidress, highheeled pumps, and bobby socks. She could not be much more than seventeen if she was that, Yolanda told herself.
Her skin was pale, with a suggestion of tawniness to it. The calves were sleek and long, the thighs slender as they disappeared under the confines of the miniskirt, which clung to the roundness of her young, full hips. Her boobies were small oranges, but there was a kind of piquancy to her because of that provocative slenderness. Her face was demure and pretty with a dainty little uptilted nose, a full mouth, freckled cheekbones, and a firm though deeply dimpled chin. Her eyes were hazel, very large and wide and well-separated.
"Get over to that stool, pull up your skirt and bend over, Peggy," Conchita arrogantly directed.
"Please don't spank me, please don't! I'm gonna do what you want, Conchita," the auburn-haired teenager pleaded.
"Do you want me to call him in here to attend to you, you little bitch? Now march!" Conchita snapped.
The auburn-haired girl sniffled, glanced uneasily at the imperious petite brunette, then reluctantly walked over to the stool and, with her own hands-to Yolanda's astonishment-pulled up the miniskirt and tucked it neatly at the small of her back, then bent down over the stool. Under that miniskirt, she wore nothing. Her jouncy, oval-cheeked bottom, broadly cleft with a deep and amber groove, upturned the most salaciously imaginable way. Her hands gripped the lowest rung of the stool, and her legs tensed, and Yolanda could see rippling quivers run up and down those long sleek calves and thighs.
"You've got fifteen swats coming, Peggy," Conchita announced as she walked over to the panoply on the wall and, after a moment's deliberation, took down a leather paddle.
Walking back to the stool, she laid the paddle squarely across the roundest curves of that lovely jutting naked ass and announced, "I want to hear you count them all off loud and clear, Peggy, or you get extras. Get ready now, here the first one comes."
The paddle landed with a wicked crack, and Peggy seemed to lunge forward, with a wailing cry of "Oww, one! Oh please, not so hard, please, Conchita, I'll do what you want, sure I will, only lemme off so many with that awful paddle, won'tcha?"
But Conchita showed no leniency. Deliberately and slowly, she applied the paddle to the youngster's naked ass, and at times Peggy straightened, at other times kicked up first one leg and then the other, wailing out and sobbing for mercy, though she did not forget to count the angrily sonorous swats which flattened the jouncy curves of her reddening naked ass.
After the last spank, which was announced with a piercing cry, Peggy promptly straightened up and began to rub her swollen hindquarters with a feverish urgency, while Conchita giggled: "My goodness, Peggy, what an indecent little bitch you are, right in front of Yolanda. But since you want to show yourself off so much, take off that dress. You won't be needing it now."
"I'll do anything you want, only please no more spanking," Peggy sobbed. She hastened to pull off the minidress and let it fall to the floor.
Naked in her pumps and bobby socks, she exhibited a considerable amount of dark auburn pussyhair, and Yolanda found herself fascinatedly staring at that slim nubile body which was that already of a woman.
"Want some, Yolanda honey?" Conchita taunted. She was beginning to tug off her leotard, yanking it down past her hips, her heavy boobies jiggling as she stopped in front of the cross. "Maybe I'll let you after you've taken care of me. Peggy's only fifteen, you know. But she can out fuck and out suck you any day in the week and twice on Sunday. She's my cousin, if you want to know something. Only my boyfriend thought it would be fun to have you see how other girls get it, Yolanda. You can think about what's going to happen to you from what you see."
"Ohhh, my God!" Yolanda gasped, her face turning crimson.
Now Conchita was naked, and she stood with her thighs straddled, her hands on her hips as she stared commandingly at her younger cousin. "You know what to do, bitch, come do it," she hissed.
Peggy crawled on her bare knees over to the olive-skinned brunette, put her hands on Conchita's ass, and dutifully and humbly began to gamahuch the brunette. Conchita's hands gripped the back of her cousin's neck to force Peggy's face right into her muff, panting, "That's it, stick your tongue against my bottom-mmmm, that's good-make me cream, or back you go over the stool for double swats!"
Peggy had no desire to experience a return to the spanking stool. Gasping, she feverishly did her best to satisfy her demanding cousin. And when at last Conchita shuddered and groaned in climax, she raised anxious eyes to her cousin to await her fate.
"You didn't do too bad that time, Peggy. Maybe I'll let you go down on Yolanda before we're finished. But now I've got a little business with Yolanda first." Then, moving back to the cross, she demanded, "Are you ready to girl fuck like I want, or do you stay there on the cross and not go to the John?"
"I can't-it's too indecent-I'm not that sort of a girl-you're heartless, you're wicked," Yolanda sobbed.
"Sure, but at least I'm honest about it. You, such a fine lady, playing with your pussy in bed at night. Twenty-two, Peggy, and this piece here is cherry, would you believe? Tell you what, Peggy, go put that nice hot tongue of yours up against her quim and make her jump. Maybe she'll find out she likes it," Conchita instructed.
"Oh no-I don't want her to-stop it-oh you heartless, wicked, horrible creature-no, don't touch me-I don't want you to, please, oh Peggy, don't do it to me-ohhhh!!!!"
Yolanda struggled and twisted as she saw the naked auburn-haired youngster crawl forward on her knees towards her. And then she felt Peggy's slim hands grip her by the thighs just above the hips, and suddenly she felt Peggy's avid hot mouth on her cunt, felt the youngster's tongue stealthily delving between the lips of her virgin vulva. Moaning, her head tilted back, her eyes rolling in their sockets, Yolanda fought the frenzied sensations which permeated her. And now the urge to defecate was intolerable.
"Don't make her come, just get her excited," Conchita hissed. "That's enough!"
Indeed it was. When Peggy at last rose to her feet, Yolanda Bervez's teeth were again chattering, and waves of shuddering repugnance mingled with secret desire swirled through her.
Conchita languidly moved in front of the cross to stare at the shamefaced, naked captive. She put out her right forefinger and pressed it into Yolanda's bellybutton, and then slyly insinuated, "You know what I told you bitch. So you're still too hoity-toity to ask me to take you to the potty, are you? Well, I promised you a good spanking, and that's exactly what you're going to get. Only I'm going to let Peggy give it to you just to shame you. Imagine, Yolanda, you, a grown twenty-two-year-old woman, lying over the lap of a fifteen-year-old girl and getting her bare ass tanned! Come on, Peggy, help me untie her, and then we'll put her over the spanking stool. You'll sit on it and she'll go over your lap and I'll hold her hands while you whale her bare ass."
"Can I use the same paddle you used on me, cousin Conchita?" Peggy giggled, her own burning bottom momentarily forgotten in this greater pleasure of being able to humiliate the lovely, mature honey-haired young woman.
"No, just your hand, Peggy. It'll be a lot more humiliating for a grownup bitch like Yolanda. Come on now, we'll untie her."
But the thought of this humiliation was too much even for the proud virginal Yolanda Bervez. "Oh no-wait-for God's sake, don't do that to me. All right, please, please take me to the bathroom!"
"Oh no, honey, aren't you forgetting something?" Conchita mocked. She kept rubbing Yolanda's bellybutton, while Peggy stood there giggling. "You'll have to girl fuck with me, or else you can just stay where you are and let it come out the natural way. And when my fellow comes in and sees you and how you've dirtied yourself, what do you think he'll think of you?"
This dilemma was annihilating to Yolanda's pride and modesty. Agonized by the prospect, since either alternative was equally shameful, she groaned and sobbed.
"You're really stupid, you know that, Yolanda?" the petite brunette jeered. "Now if I were in your spot, I'd sure as hell want to go take a crap if all I had to do to earn it was a little girl fucking. But you, no, you're so high and mighty you're saving it for your husband. Only I'm afraid he's not going to get it Yolanda. If you think you're going to walk out of this place with your cherry still left, you've got another couple of thinks coming."
"I'll say she has, cousin Conchita," Peggy piped up with another silly giggle. One hand was still rubbing her inflamed bottom from the fifteen swats the brunette had administered, but her eyes were knowing and sly despite her tender age as she contemplated the struggling victim attached to the St. Andrews' cross.
"That'll be enough out of you, youngster," Conchita smiled. "Well then, Yolanda, I guess it's the spanking for you. Come on, Peggy, we'll take her down.
But as they reached for her bonds, Yolanda felt a sudden wave in her bowels, cramping her atrociously, and sweat oozed from her as she moaned, "Oh God, no, don't do that, no, no, oh please hurry, I have to go, I really do-I'll do what you want-anything-oh hurry!"
"That's more like it. Okay, Peggy, let's untie her wrists and then her ankles."
"The cords are awfully tight, Conchita," Peggy complained after trying them.
"Guess we'd better cut them. Wait, I'll get a knife." Conchita walked out of the dungeon and returned in a moment later with a jack-knife. Very carefully, she cut the cords round Yolanda's wrists, and then squatted down and cut those binding the slim ankles.
Peggy, already forewarned, grabbed the sobbing naked blonde young woman with both hands against her waist to steady her, for after this long bondage Yolanda Bervez was weak and unsteady. Slowly the circulation flowed back into her limbs, and she knelt down, one hand over her pussy, the other arm crooked in front of her tearstained face in an attitude of absolute desolation.
She was exquisite thus, clad in only the garterbelt and beige nylon hose. Her pale white skin glistened with sweat, and she could not control the fitful trembling which besieged her.
"All right, I'll take you to the John first. But when I get you back here, you just better girl fuck, or you'll really get your ass spanked, Yolanda," the brunette declared. Then she made a gesture to Peggy, who promptly seized Yolanda's wrists, drew them behind her back and buckled the strap tightly around them. "That's just so you don't try any tricks like running away. Not that you could find your way out of here," Conchita informed the prisoner.
Then, reaching down and yanking at Yolanda's honey-haired pageboy, she dragged the young woman to her feet with a cry of pain, and the two naked cousins led the unfortunate captive out of the dungeon.
Blinking her eyes after the constant glare of those white walls of her place of incarceration, Yolanda Bervez could make out only a narrow corridor. A bare electric-light bulb was set in the ceiling, which was low, and it starkly outlined what seemed to be an old basement with storage compartments. At the very end of this corridor, there was a metal door, and Conchita quipped, "If you could unlock that door, you might get upstairs and maybe find your way out. Only he's got the key, and he's not ready to take you upstairs yet, baby. Here's the John." With this, she opened the narrow door to her right and Peggy, at her cousin's sign, pushed the naked blonde captive into a little bathroom which had just a shower stall, a washbasin and a toilet.
"We'll give you a little privacy, bitch," Conchita sneered, "Sit down and do your business. But don't forget, for all this service, you're really going to girl fuck. When you get done, just yell, and we'll put you in the shower and wash you good, you stink anyway with all that sweat. All right, have fun!" And with this, she closed the door and locked it.
Yolanda closed her eyes and bowed her head in abject shame. But the almost exquisite sensation of being able to have relief after these long hours overcame her agonized recollection of the forfeit she was going to have to pay. She evacuated her bowels noisily, and she could hear the girls outside giggling at her discomfort. She bit her lips and tried not to hear those mocking sounds.
Yolanda was five feet six and a quarter inches in height, and her lovely shimmering honey-colored hair fell in a thick sheaf in a pageboy with curls turned under which caressed her shoulder blades. For a blonde, she had unusually pale white skin, and her body was magnificently beautiful. Her titties were high perched, widely spaced, superbly rounded, with wide aurolae which centered soft full dark-coral buds.
Her bellybutton was wide and shallow, on the sweet goblet of that white belly, and then there began the dark-blonde tufts of pussyhair which framed the soft pink lips of her maiden cunthole. Her buttocks were jauntily rounded, upstandingly set, with a gradually widening crease between the globes. She had long and yet very full and womanly thighs, with high set, sinuous, nervously muscled calves. Her eyes were dark blue, very large and widely spaced, her nose small and dainty with just a hint of uptilt, and with widely flaring wings. Her mouth was sweet and generous without a hint of sensuality to it. Her face was more heart-shaped than rounded, her chin dimpled and round and firm, and she was breathtakingly lovely as she was now, the more provocative because of this scanty attire of only garterbelt and hose.
She leaned back, weak and sweating from the long ordeal. Yet there was an intense physical relief, and never before in her life had she been so conscious of her body. One takes for granted all the phenomena of existence until one is denied them or hampered in achieving them; just so with Yolanda Bervez. The simple luxury of a bowel movement after these endless hours corded to that wooden cross seemed now like a bounty and a joy.
But now shame once again seized her, even more intensely, since she was aware of her own unattended condition and her helplessness with wrists bound and strapped behind her back. With a groan, she called out, "All right!"
The door was unlocked at once and Peggy and Conchita entered. They were stark naked now except for sandals, and Yolanda blushed violently when she saw their pussyfur and boobies, as they lifted her from the toilet seat and pushed her into the shower stall. Peggy took a washcloth while Conchita turned on the spray, intensely cold at first, and Yolanda squealed and began to hop about.
She burst into tears when the fifteen-year-old girl lasciviously rubbed first her pussy and then her asshole with the cloth, and then Conchita turned her by the elbows so the spray would cleanse her properly.
At last it was done, and, soaking wet, her stockings clinging to her and the garterbelt heavy with moisture, she was led back into the dungeon which had become her world.
"And now you're going to keep your part of the bargain, bitch," Conchita promised. "Now you're going to girl fuck me. And if you don't do a good job, I'll let Peggy take you over her lap and spank that big white ass of yours!"
CHAPTER FIVE
Peggy and Conchita hadn't bothered to towel Yolanda dry after her shower, and so her stockings and garterbelt were soaked and water glistened on her bare white skin. Her face was scarlet now as she found herself confronted by these two naked girls.
"Time to pay up, Yolanda baby," the petite brunette smirked, moving over to the wall and taking down a black leather taws, split at the applicating end into three fingers. "Only I'm going to let you do it with Peggy. You have to get some practice before I let you work on me, bitch!"
"But that's terrible!" Yolanda broke out.
"Watch it, baby, or you'll get a real thrashing, not just an ordinary spanking. This taws used to be used in England, and it could tan girl's hides very easily, yes it could," Conchita threatened. Contemptuously she swept it out, and the fingers smacked stingingly against Yolanda's left thigh, just below the stocking top. The honey-haired captive gasped and rubbed her leg indignantly, moving back with fear in her eyes.
"Now," Conchita gloatingly resumed as she swished the taws in the air, "you lie right down there on the floor and Peggy will get on top of you. You'd better do it, Yolanda, or otherwise I'll have my boyfriend come back and really whip ass on you. Go ahead."
Shamed and yet cowed by the ferocious threat, the virginal honey-haired captive slowly stretched out on the floor of the dungeon, and the fifteen-year-old cousin of the petite brunette at once stretched over her, tantalizingly rubbing her crotch against Yolanda's. Her soft little hands reached for Yolanda's firm, round titties, and she taunted, "Doesn't that feel nice, bitch? It's a lot nicer than getting your ass burned up with Conchita's whip. Now be really nice and put your arms and legs around me and let's go for a ride."
"Oh, this is shameful, shameful!" Yolanda groaned as tears came to her eyes. Peggy's fingers were digging into her heaving titties, and Peggy's furry slit was rubbing lasciviously against her own. Despite herself, she could not help feeling the sensations of lascivious arousal which this fuck-friction was intended to engender.
"Now that's more like it," Conchita counseled, brandishing her taws in the air. "You're going to learn a lot before you leave here-if you ever do, Yolanda."
Peggy now was enthusiastically fixed in Yolanda's saddle, and her fingers were squeezing Yolanda's titties, while she rubbed herself to and fro over that virgin cunt. Yolanda now had closed her eyes, desperately trying to be impervious to what was going on. But now Peggy slid a finger down between their bodies, and with her forefinger slyly ferreted out Yolanda's clit. A startled gasp broke from the helpless young woman, her eyes widened with horror to discover what was being done to her, and then she tried to wriggle and twist away.
"Oh no! Please don't do that to me, please-"
"Keep your mouth shut and girl fuck," Conchita hissed. "Go to it Peggy honey, or I'll use this whip on your cute ass, see if I don't."
Peggy glanced nervously back over her shoulder and accelerated her grindings back and forth over her unwilling partner's cunt.
Her fingertip continued to prod Yolanda's clitoris, and the honey-haired young woman twisted her face to the wall of the dungeon and clenched her fists, trying to give her younger partner not the slightest satisfaction. But she could not hold back her own emotions, and as the tickling continued, she began to groan and then to sob as her body arched and squirmed under this consistent frigging.
At this moment the door opened, and the male abductor of Yolanda walked in. He wore only his mask and black leather boots to the knees. He was virtually nude, his prick in formidable erection. In his right hand was a short oval-shaped leather paddle. Approaching quickly, he dealt Peggy a resounding smack against both asscheeks, and Peggy continued to grind frantically. Seeing the man, she immediately scrambled to her feet and stood before him, ruefully rubbing her bottom while he chuckled: "That's enough of that. Well, Conchita, what's going on now?"
"Yolanda had to go to the potty, darling, so I told her she would girl fuck better if Peggy got to her."
"Not a bad idea, Conchita honey. But you've got me very randy. See my hard-on? Suppose you do something to take care of it. No, not fucking. I want frenching this time, and you, Peggy get behind me and give me a trip around the world."
Trembling, the honey-haired young girl sat up and clapped a hand over her pussy to conceal it. With stupefied eyes she watched her as Conchita knelt submissively before her masked lover, put her hands to his prick and began to suck it.
Meanwhile, behind him, fifteen-year-old Peggy was kneeling, opening up his ass cheeks and slowly sticking out her tongue and prodding his bunghole. He began to groan and squirm with delight, and Yolanda heard the sounds of Conchita's sucking.
"Drink it all down, Conchita, every drop," he hoarsely commanded. Then with a cry, he exploded, and Yolanda's crimsoned face told her emotion as she watched Conchita's Adam's apple shift as the petite brunette downed his copious jet.
"That's the way to do it, girls," he complimented them both as he moved over towards where Yolanda sat up, shrinking back from him. "You're going to be broken in just like these two, baby, before I'm finished with you. That is, if you want to stay alive. All right, Peggy, Conchita, put her over the spanking stool and she can think about what she's just seen and bring her some food later. And hurry up!"
Yolanda sprang to her feet and began to stumble to the door of the dungeon, but Peggy and Conchita seized her and dragged her back to the tall stool and forced her down on it.
Sobbing as if her heart would break, thoroughly abject and submissive, Yolanda found herself most lasciviously posed, her bottom stuck up in the air and her wrists and ankles tightly strapped. Peggy gigglingly applied two slaps over that temptingly upturned bottom, and bade Yolanda, "Wait till we come back, I'll show you what a spanking's like, you bitch. I'll bet we got you all hot and bothered. Bet you wish we didn't strap your wrists together so you could play with yourself and frig yourself to creaming as soon as we get out of here, eh?"
"Ohhhh, you horrible girl, how can you be so young and yet so wicked!" Yolanda tearfully cried out. But only the last of the trio heard her as they opened the door of the dungeon, passed through it, and the dungeon door clanged behind them. And once again she was alone with her terror and her speculations.
CHAPTER SIX
Now it was even more shameful for Yolanda Bervez. Because now she found herself draped over the leather-padded spanking stool, her wrists and ankles tightly bound to the legs, wearing only her water-soaked garterbelt and stockings, and realizing that not only those two awful girls but also the masked abductor had seen her achieve sexual climax in the arms of the fifteen-year-old girl Peggy.
Her face was burning with shame, and tears were running down her cheeks. They had posed her so that her bottom faced the door when it opened, and she didn't know how long it would be before they came in to release her or to feed her again. Now she wept wholeheartedly, like a child, because her resistance and patience had been crushed, and all she could pray for was a final end to this mystery. Even if it meant torture and violation, she would almost rather face them now than be put through more days and endless nights of this terrifying captivity.
It was noon, although by now Yolanda could no longer reckon time. The glaring white walls of this dungeon, which her masked, unknown captor had apparently painted as an adaptation from the terrible tortures of the Spanish Civil War (in which a prisoner was put into a narrow cell in which he or she could neither lie nor sit comfortably, and where the walls were painted in such a way that it always seemed light even in the deepest night), seemed to have made her eyes squint as if to protect themselves from the uncomfortable glare and gave her a headache. But now, with her head down towards the floor, she felt the blood begin to rush towards it, and a sick nausea gripped her and she began to sob again. She had the horrible feeling that she would never see the outside world again.
Now the door opened, and her masked captor entered alone. He wore only the hood with slits for his eyes and nose and mouth, covering him down to the shoulders, and his sandals. His prick was in violent erection, and in his hand he carried a worn-out leather sole, which had been often used, judging from its appearance.
With her bottom thus upturned and projected, Yolanda showed him unwittingly the sinuous crease of her amber-shadowy asshole groove and the pink lips of her virgin cunt peeping below and framed by the dark-golden curls of her pussy fur.
"Well, well, little Yolanda. Hardly the way you would present yourself to a man in your own house, isn't it, you lovely bitch?" he chuckled.
Yolanda uttered a cry of shame and horror. "Oh God-oh please, please untie me-oh, this is dreadful-if-if you're going to kill me, just do it!"
Trembling, the honey-haired girl let the tears fall easily from her eyes.
"Kill you?" he laughed. "That's much too melodramatic. Besides, it's not half punishment enough." Now his voice grew grim and serious. "After what happened to my father, I'm not likely to be very sentimental.
"As a matter-of-fact," he continued, "if you understood the totality of the situation, you would comprehend how it is impossible for me to have that feeling. No, girl, I greatly want you to know every possible shame and degradation it's possible for a chaste, well-bred, mature young woman like you to suffer. Do you understand me?"
"No, I don't, oh dear God in heaven, why have you picked me? What have I ever done to you that merits such furious punishment?"
"I must use you as the guinea pig, my dear young woman. Come now, little lovely-can't you see, Yolanda?" he came close to her, standing at the front of the stool and looking down at her bowed head as he spoke.
"I-I don't think so-no-I don't know-I don't remember-oh in the name of mercy, let me go, please, please, my wrists and ankles hurt so, and I have a headache and I feel sick like this-"
"I wonder if you know what it feels like-no, of course you wouldn't. But try to think, Yolanda. A man is in a cell, along Death Row. There's a clock outside and there are guards. They're playing cards or talking, and sometimes you can hear them. Sometimes they're talking about him. There's an open toilet there, and there's nothing at all in the room that he can use to hang himself or cut his wrists or do anything to escape the official death that the law has prescribed for him. Are you beginning to understand this?"
"Oh please-please, why are you telling me all this?"
"Shut up and listen!" he angrily interrupted. "All right. You can imagine the man in that cell. Maybe fifty feet away the clock ticks out its deathly time for him, and he listens to it, sweating and trembling. And quickly, they tell him. Maybe forty seconds. And then all of a sudden the time has come. The warden raises his hand, and the masked man pulls the lever. There's a sort of coughing sound, and three little white eggs drop out of that spout into the trough, and they run along that glass tube into the container. The container is full of hydrochloric acid, Yolanda. And the minute those eggs hit the acid, they start to melt and smoke. And the smoke comes into the room."
"Don't-oh in the name of God in heaven, don't!" she sobbed.
"He's frightened, he sees them, sees the smoke, and he starts praying, and maybe he starts screaming that he's innocent. And the smoke is coming around him, and he has to breathe, his eyes are bulging, but he has to breathe. And his head falls forward, and his face turns blue, and maybe his bowels evacuate-yes, Yolanda, my gentle, prissy, clean, neat little virgin. And then he's dead. Later after they fumigate the chamber and clear out all the deadly smoke, the prison doctor comes in. Only these days, with their modern science, they've got a stethoscope strapped against his heart and it's wired outside so the doctor can tell without even having to go into the cell that he's legally dead. And that's it, Yolanda."
Yolanda uttered a cry of shame and horror.
"What's the matter, Yolanda? Can't you stand the reality of it? I remember how it happened the sixth of May, in the year of Our Lord 1959. I was fifteen then, Yolanda, and I was the last to see my father alive. My name is Stan Lorendo."
She uttered a strangled cry: "You-oh God-but I never knew you-neither you nor your father. Why have you brought me here and tied me up as if I were the one who had tortured your father? Can I help it if he committed a crime and paid for it with his life? It's not my fault."
"I didn't say it was, bitch. But it was your father's. You see, Yolanda, your father tracked him down. He was a captain of detectives then, as we both know. My father was accused of murdering a little girl and having sex with her. A ten year-old girl. He had an alibi, and he wasn't that sort of man at all. But the evidence was circumstantial. He managed to get away, to escape when they were taking him to the lockup. But your father ferreted him out the way a terrier gets a rat in hiding, and brought him in, and testified at the trial. Oh, the governor had an appeal from my father's lawyer, all right, but he turned it down. There was one stay of execution, and can you imagine what it's like, Yolanda, to know that you're going to die on such a day and at such an hour and to be led to that door and then to have the warden come in and say that it's all off. And then you have to go through it all over again?"
"No, please!" cried Yolanda. "Don't say those things!! Stop!"
"Why should I stop, Yolanda?" questioned the masked man who approached her more closely with every word he spoke. "Why should I stop? What's the matter, little pussy virgin. Can't you take it?"
"Oh, leave me alone!" cried Yolanda. Her whole body was trembling. Nothing she could do would change the situation.
How could she ever capture the importance and force of what Stan Lorendo was saying? Certainly she could not believe in her own father's guilt. What sort of a daughter would do that, after all?
"If you could only understand," she sobbed to Stan Lorendo.
"Understand!?" he cried, outraged at her innocence and lack of understanding. "What is there for me to understand?"
"Understand that I can do nothing about my situation or my lack of knowledge, and I am only equipped to tell you what I know, and this is not much."
Stan Lorendo moved towards Yolanda and reached out one hand. He touched the softness of her body and let his fingers play around her small, virgin piece of womanhood. He was determined to have this girl, no matter how long it took.
Yolanda sobbed to Stan Lorendo. "If you could only see that I have no idea about this, that I don't know about you or your father or anything about the past. I have no idea of your pain."
"No, of course you wouldn't know what it's like," he went on after a pause. "But I do, because I saw my father as often as I could. My grades were lousy in school that semester, I know that. Well anyhow, maybe you don't know and maybe your father doesn't remember either, but about three years after Esteban Lorendo went to death in the gas chamber at San Quentin, some derelict on Mission Street confessed to the crime. He was in a drunken fog, but he knew enough of the details and he even described the little girl's dress and panties, but of course it didn't do any good by then. They couldn't bring my father back. Only, you see, I heard him, and so did the bartender, because for months after my father died I walked the streets at night like an animal, not knowing where I was going, trying to track down my father's murderer, praying that God would let me find him if only to clear my father's name."
"Oh God-I-I'm so sorry-but please-please, it was my father's duty-he had no choice but to bring your father in if that's what the law was-"
"I know. But he was so sure at the trial, and it was his testimony more than anything else, on some of that circumstantial stuff, that really convicted Esteban Lorendo. And you see, the man I found, he retracted his confession, and he died about a week later in a hospital. An incurable alcoholic with a liver disease. Oh yes, the deck was all stacked against Esteban Lorendo from the very start. He was a Mexican to begin with, and he married a white woman, and that didn't set so well with the fine citizens of San Francisco. He got fired off jobs because they thought he was a greaser. And I haven't had such a good time either, not with jobs. I haven't changed my name, and there's still a few old companies that remember names like my father's, because it's unusual enough. And that's why you're here, Yolanda. Because you know what month this is and what day? It happens to be the fifth of May, 1971, Yolanda. And tomorrow is the twelth anniversary of my father's death, to the day."
"I'm sorry-but please, please, whatever you're going to do, do it to me and kill me and get it over with-I wouldn't have wanted your father or anybody else to die like that-"
"I know. You're very aristocratic, and you're a virgin. But I'm going to have my fun with you, Yolanda, and I'm going to keep you wondering what I'm really going to do to you. Maybe I will kill you, I haven't decided yet. But right now, with that beautiful big naked ass of yours turned up in my direction, you can't really blame me if I give you a good sound spanking, now can you?"
She uttered a cry of shame. He moved behind her now, and he put his left hand on her chinkbone, and then with the leather sole he began to spank her naked behind violently, swiftly and brutally, with a flurry of blows as if the very sight of her fulsome naked, satiny flesh aroused a very demon in him. He could hardly bear to be near her as she writhed in her pain, when her body lunged and twisted relentlessly over the whipping stool, quickly, furiously, sensually. He watched her for an instant, and then grabbed her, flung her to the floor of the dungeon. Then he turned on his heel and walked out, locking the door behind him, leaving her to weep and sob and groan in her shame and terror.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Yolanda Bervez groaned aloud in her despair. Since her masked abductor-and now she knew his name, Stan Lorendo-had spanked her so cruelly with that leather sole and then walked out and locked her in the dungeon cell must have been long hours ago. Bent down over the stool with her bottom facing the door, her head ached intolerably. Her flesh still smarted and stung mercilessly, and even now it did not seem to be allayed.
The tautness of her body in this bent-over posture was, of course, what aggravated the pangs of that humiliating and terribly painful spanking, she knew. Oh, if only he would do something to her, kill her or do whatever he wanted, but get it over with! And tomorrow ... tomorrow he had told her, was the anniversary of his own father's death. And he had blamed her father for having done his duty as a captain of detectives in finding a murderer who had escaped and who was to go back to the gas chamber in San Quentin. For this she was held accountable, and for this she was suffering now in her shame and her terror.
Then suddenly the dungeon door opened, and she raised her head and uttered a cry, "Oh my God, let me up, I'll do anything you want, only let me up, I can't stand this any longer!"
"Can't you, honey?" It was the voice of that awful young girl, Peggy. "But you're going to have to. Stan says we can change you round when it's time for supper. And it's only four o'clock in the afternoon. You can't be hungry after the nice breakfast you had, Yolanda honey. My goodness, he really spanked your big ass, didn't he? You should see how red it still is. Golly, I'm glad he didn't spank me that way."
"Oh please, P-Peggy, for God's sake, untie me just this once, I've got such an awful headache bent over like this all the time, please be kind and let me go-I can't escape, you know I can't!" Yolanda Bervez helplessly sobbed.
"Tell you what," Peggy jauntily decided. "I'll let you stand up a little, but I'll still keep you tied up, okay?"
"Oh, yes, anything, oh thank you, oh my head hurts so!"
"Is that all that hurts, honey?" the young girl jibed. She stepped to the side of the door and pressed the button. A trapeze bar began to lower from the ceiling, with a creaking sound. At its end there were riveted two nickel handcuffs attached by very short chain links no more than three inches in length. When this was at the proper height, Peggy halted the descent of the trapeze bar and went back to the spanking stool over which the beautiful honey-haired captive was bent. Untying Yolanda's wrists, she seized the victim's left wrist and raised it up to the corresponding handcuff set into the trapeze bar, sprang it open and then locked it firmly round Yolanda's slim wrist. A moment later, the other wrist was as tightly ensnared.
Then returning to the wall, Peggy pressed the button and the trapeze bar rose slightly until Yolanda's magnificent body was stretched as tightly as it could be, her ankles still bound to the rungs of the spanking stool, until she was gasping with the stress and traction on her lovely nude body.
All she wore were the water-soaked nylon hose and garterbelt, and never before had she been so conscious, so wretchedly aware, of the garments that he had put her in and of the indecency of her nudity. It seemed so ugly to the young woman who had never in her life seen such a display of brazen sexuality.
Peggy now pranced in front of her, and Yolanda gasped, her face turning scarlet. For Peggy wore only a black nylon bra and matching panties, so brief that they exposed the base of her bottom cheeks, and red leather boots up to her dainty knees, with extremely high heels sos that she actually towered over the captive.
In her gloved right hand-for she had matching gloves to the elbow-she held a long white feather, and in her left a pair of tweezers. "You have to pay a forfeit, Yolanda honey," Peggy announced gaily. "That's what Stan says, and I have to do what he says or else. My goodness, you sure have a hairy pussy, Yolanda honey!"
"Oh please-don't talk like that, how can you be so unspeakably nasty?" the honey-haired victim groaned.
"Now you watch your tongue, you bitch, or I'll give you something to yell about," the precious teenager hissed. "Conchita doesn't like you any more than I do, and she's jealous. I'm jealous too of Stan. He's a great guy, and he had a raw deal. You come in here so uppity, you'll go out a lot humbler, believe you me. And now I'm going to start teaching you what I mean."
To Yolanda's anguished shame, the teenager now extended her right gloved hand and began to tickle one of her nipples with the feathery plume. Yolanda closed her eyes and squirmed, but the feather continued its manipulations, till she could feel the twitching and tingling in that erogenous zone. Now the feather wafted to the aurolae of both boobies, and Peggy began to caress the other nipple until it became as flint-hard as its sweet mate. Pausing a moment, she now sent the feather gliding along Yolanda's sweating armpits, and the naked young woman groaned and squirmed frantically, jerking at her handcuffed wrists.
"Oh don't-it tickles. Oh please don't, please let me be, Peggy, please!" she begged.
"Save your yelling for Stan when he comes in for you after supper, bitch," Peggy said viciously. Now she reached out the tweezers in her other hand and caught up Yolanda's right nipple. Instantly the honey-haired young woman stiffened, her eyes huge with terror as they fixed with fascinated horror on that gleaming little implement. Peggy's lips bared her shining teeth, as she relished the victim's anguish. "I ought to pinch it off or tear it off," she hissed vindictively.
"Oh please don't, oh Peggy, I'll do anything you want, oh please don't, I'm not mad at Stan for doing what he did-I understand now-about his father-oh please, I haven't anything against you, please don't treat me this way, I'd be kind to you if I could," she babbled feverishly.
"That's it," Peggy jeered, "go on and sweat!
I just love to hear you come down from that pedestal of yours, bitch. You think you're so high and mighty, so fancy because your dad's a captain of detectives. Sure, maybe he is, but all the same he sent an innocent man to jail and condemned him to death. If you want to be proud of that, then go ahead."
"But how could I have known that?" Yolanda wailed in despair, squirming fitfully as she tried desperately to get Peggy to release the jaws of the tweezers which had clenched against her nipple bud.
"It's just you, and I don't like you one bit. Yeah, maybe I will pinch it good, like this-"
"Aiiowwahrrr! Oh my God, oh stop, oh you're hurting me terribly, oh please take it away, Peggy, I'll do anything you want. Please take it away!" Yolanda shrieked, rolling her eyes ceilingward and clawing at the air with her slim fingers.
Now the tweezers left the throbbing lovebud and moved to the other nipple. Yolanda tried to throw herself back, but the range of the bar was limited and besides Peggy followed her, eyes shining with sadistic glee. The tweezer jaws closed slowly over the palpitating lovebud, and then tightened. A strident, prolonged scream of agony tore from the naked honey-haired young woman as her face twisted from side to side: "Owouuahrrreee! Oh stop, oh have mercy on me, oh Peggy, please don't, take it away, I can't stand the pain, I'll do anything you want me to. I swear I will, only stop!"
"You really mean anything, bitch?" Peggy teased. Now she lowered her left hand so that the tweezers grazed Yolanda's bellybutton, and the naked honey-haired young woman shrank back with a gasp of fear. Her eyes fixed on the gleaming metal instrument, saw Peggy's gloved hand lower it still more towards the thickening fur of her cunt hole. "Oh no, not there, oh for God's sake not there, don't do that to me, no, pleeeassee!!"
Her last words soared into a frantic, prolonged shriek, for the precocious auburn-haired teenager had suddenly seized a sprig of pussyhair and yanked it out. Yolanda's naked body jerked and quivered, threshing about wildly. Globules of sweat glistened in her armpits, which were tautly distended so that one could see the dark-blonde private hair in tangled curls, and rivuleted down her ribcage.
"You sure are a squirmy piece, Yolanda, and I know what you need. A good hard fucking from Stan himself. Only I'm not so sure he's going to do that to you. There's lots of other ways to make a girl suffer besides fucking her, you know," Peggy confided. Then again, without warning, she yanked out another sprig of pussy hair. Once again, Yolanda shrieked and threw herself this way and that, but the heavy stool to which her ankles were still strapped limited the range of her maneuvers.
She was sobbing now, wildly and feverishly trying to break loose from her handcuffs, staring through tear-blinded eyes at the mocking, saucy face of the teenaged tormentress.
"It was awful nice when I made you come that other time, wasn't it, Yolanda? I'll bet you're hot to be gammed and frigged till you cream down, aren't you, right now?" Peggy teased in a husky whisper. She moved closer now, and now the tweezers grazed Yolanda's belly, while the feather stroked the young woman's naked sides from armpit down to the edge of that lovely hip and back again. The titillations made Yolanda's skin crawl, made her body jerk fitfully.
"I really ought to give you a shave, just in case Stan wants to screw you or something. Or maybe whip your pussy a little-that really hurts when he does it to a girl," again Peggy confided. So saying, she seized a thick patch of dark blonde pussy fur and tore it out. Yolanda's cry was piercing and prolonged, and again the trapeze bar creaked with her frenzied struggles to get loose.
But just as soothingly now, as if to console Yolanda for the torment, the feather swept down and began to glide against the soft fig of her virgin twat. Now gasping little moans and whimpering sighs escaped the blonde captive, and once again her tear-blurred eyes fixed on that red-gloved hand which conveyed first pain and then pleasure to her most intimate parts.
She had never in her life dreamed that a girl only fifteen could conceive such horrid and obscene games to torment her so. But now Peggy, grinning cruelly, concentrated on frigging Yolanda's pussy with the feather. The edges of it grazed the soft pink twitching lips, and the naked young woman closed her eyes and held her breath and tried to make herself as small as possible, to diminish herself before this tantalizing, humiliating goad.
But once again her flesh betrayed her, and she began unmistakably to feel the pangs of carnal wakening in her cunt. Her nostrils dilated and shrank more noticeably now, and the cords of her throat strained against the soft sweating skin, while her boobies rose and fell agitatedly, the nipples already dark and stiff as if with longing.
Now the feather caressed the insides of her shuddering thighs, just to the stocking top and back, around the groin and then the perineum, that exquisitely sensitive region which connects pussy with asshole, and now Yolanda Bervez truly began to be conscious of the attunement of all her carnal senses, virgin though she was.
Head tilted back, eyes closed, breathing hard and quickly, she tried to endure what she must. And then suddenly in the midst of this lulling arousal, there was a sudden searing twinge of pain. Peggy had slyly opened the tweezers, gripped a thick sprig of dark blonde pussy hair and yanked it out.
"Ohhahh-owwwouuu-oh please don't, oh don't, P-Peggy, please, oh why are you so cruel to me? What have I ever done to you?"
"I just hate your guts, that's all, because Stan hates you. You wanna know something? He's had a crush on Conchita for about six months, and she's the first real steady girl he's ever had. I'm her cousin, and I can do better for him than she can, only he doesn't know that yet. But as long as you're here and he's got you on his mind because of what your dad did to his dad, you're in my way and I'm jealous. I just hate your guts, Yolanda. I'm gonna make you squeal every time I come in here, you better believe it."
Having finished this vindictive yet candid declaration, the auburn-haired teenager returned to her sadistic alternation of pain and pleasure; first the feather tickled Yolanda's pussy, moving even inside to frig her clitoris. Then, even as Yolanda began to gasp and groan and squirm her hips agitatedly in the inchoate rhythm of fucking-which her body secretly and subconsciously yearned for-the tweezers suddenly attacked her over-sensitized nerves by pulling out another sprig or two of cunt hair.
Her body was bathed in sweat, and she could smell it, fastidious as she was. Weeping bitterly, groaning and sobbing, twisting and squirming, repeatedly dragging on her handcuffed wrists from the unyielding bar, she faced her tormentress.
But now Peggy moved behind her, and in desperation, Yolanda turned her contorted face to see what this teenaged tormentress had next in store for her. Now the feather glided along the crease of Yolanda's still reddened ass cheeks, tickling the secretive and furtive lips of her bumhole, and she let out a squealing "Ahooouuu!" and lunged forward. But as she returned, her body swaying and shuddering, Peggy thrust out the tweezers and nipped that dainty asshole and just squeezed the jaws enough against one lip to make Yolanda utter a wild shriek and shake her body till her boobies danced, her eyes mad with suffering: "Awrrowweouuu! Oh please not there, oh please not there, oh Peggy, Peggy, mercy, I'll do anything you want, anything in the world, if you'll only stop!"
"You mean it?" Now the auburn-haired teenager came round to stare at her, grinning like a little fiend of hell. "You really mean you'll do anything I tell you to, you bitch, if I don't pinch your bumhole and pussy any more?"
"Oh yes, oh my God, yes, only stop, stop, please stop!" the honey-haired captive wailed.
"That's fine. I'm going to have you suck my cunt then till I come. And if you don't do a good job, I'll take both my gloves and make a whip out of them and sock it to that big red ass of yours until the skin's all off, Yolanda," Peggy promised.
Going back to the wall, she lowered the trapeze bar, then unlocked the sobbing young woman's wrists, only to drag them down to the front base of the spanking stool and strap them tightly as before. Then, slipping down her nylon panties to expose her own plump, well-haired pussy, she plunged her gloved left fingers into Yolanda's disheveled hair, yanked up the tear-stained, contorted face, and pointed to her cunt: "All right, start sucking, and you better make it good!"
Yolanda gave up all pride and self-esteem now. Her body throbbed, tortured in a thousand different ways, the pain of the spanking and the traction, the pain of the frigging and frustration as well as the tweezing, all cumulatively adding up to excoriated nerves. She fused her mouth to Peggy's cunt hole and began avidly to suck. Peggy, gasping with delight, huskily murmured her instructions: "Mmm, that's the way, but not too fast, you'll spoil it. Stick your tongue in now, and find my button. Oh that's good, Yolanda, you dirty little bitch, I'll teach you how to be a good gammer. When I get done with you, you can even do it to Conchita! Higher with your tongue, yes, that's right, ohh, mmmm, that's lovely!"
And then suddenly her body convulsively stiffened, and her fingers yanked cruelly at Yolanda's hair as her other hand pressed against the back of the blonde captive's head and crushed Yolanda's mouth into her cunt as Peggy came.
Just then the door was unlocked and the masked man strode in. "What the hell is going on? Peggy, who told you, you could have fun with Yolanda that way? Just for that, you're going to get punished right now!"
CHAPTER EIGHT
"Oh S-Stan, I-I thought you were asleep with Conchita," Peggy nervously quavered, backing away and hurriedly stooping to pull up her panties.
"Leave your panties down where they are, you saucy little bitch! You're not going to be needing them for a while anyway," Stan Lorendo chuckled grimly. He moved round to face Yolanda Bervez, glanced upwards at the ceiling and saw the trapeze bar with the dangling handcuffs. "You really took a lot on yourself, didn't you, Peggy? You've got to learn a lesson. When I give you an order to come in here and pester Yolanda, that's one thing. When you do it on your own, you're getting a little too big for those panties. Step out of them."
"Yes, St-Stan, please, not hard," Peggy began to whimper as she hastened to comply.
"What did she do to you, Yolanda?" Stan demanded. He wore knee-length black leather boots, tight-fitting and shaping out his sturdy calves. And he was stark naked except for the black mask-hood over his face.
"I-I don't want to say," Yolanda panted. "I'm not a tattletale."
"I commend you for your integrity," he said mockingly, "but in this case it's to your own best interest. If I don't punish Peggy hard enough, next thing I know she'll be in here really pestering you. Now what did she do? I want the truth, or else you'll get another spanking. I can see that you're tied down to receive it, Yolanda, just like the last time. Do you want that?" So saying, he reached behind her, raised his right hand and applied a sonorous slap of his palm. It stung the still inflamed naked ass cheeks, and Yolanda uttered a wailing ay: "Oh no, no more, for God's sake!"
"Then talk!"
"She-she was tickling me with a f-feather and she was pulling out my h-hair with twin tweezers," Yolanda whimpered.
Peggy couldn't help giggling at that, then clapped her hand over her mouth, but not till Stan Lorendo had given her a long searching look which made her quail.
"I think we are going to let you change position, girls," he said. With this, he unstrapped Yolanda, only to order her to stand up and hold her hands above her head. Then, adjusting the descent of the trapeze bar, he once again locked her wrists in the handcuffs and touched the button until she was forced to stand on the tiptoes of her stockinged feet. Her face turned scarlet as she saw his eyes burn with admiration, fixing on her titties and her cunt, sweeping her belly and thighs, and she closed her eyes and averted her face in a sudden access of overwhelmed virginal modesty.
Taking Peggy by the earlobe, Stan Lorendo now bent her down over the spanking stool and strapped her ankles and wrists into place. "Now then, Yolanda, since Peggy inflicted punishment on you that wasn't called for, I'm going to give you the right to set her punishment. What kind of spanking do you want her to have?"
"Oh please, please let her go!"
"How very noble of you, Yolanda," he sneered. "You aren't forgetting what tomorrow is, I trust?"
"Oh why must you always refer to that thing which I had nothing to do with, which I regret with all my heart, but why do you penalize me for it?" she burst out and then began to sob.
He stared at her a long moment. His prick was violently swollen, and for a moment he stood irresolutely, as if he felt like flinging himself upon this honey-haired virgin, fucking her and taking her cherry. Then he said in a dull, angry voice, "I don't have to repeat it, Yolanda. You know the score. You'll know it even better by tomorrow. Okay, Peggy, a good hard swatting on the naked ass for you, young lady. Just because you're Conchita's cousin doesn't give you any special rights around here, remember that. I know you're jealous, but you're underage."
"I can still screw just as good as she can," Peggy defiantly retorted in a tone of bravado that paid no heed to her own very vulnerable position, bent over the spanking stool as she was, in only her bra, gloves and boots, her saucy bottom upturned and quivering.
He took up the leather sole he had used on Yolanda's bottom and gave Peggy a tentative whack over the upper right bottom summit. She gasped and squirmed uneasily. He gave her a harder one on the other cheek, and she uttered a stifled groan and sobbed, "Ohh, oohh, that hurts, please, not hard, Stan, please!"
"I wonder how you'd like to have your cunt hair pulled out by tweezers, just the way you did to Yolanda," he reflected. He turned back to the trembling, tractioned, naked young woman, then squatted down and began to examine her cunt. Yolanda drew a deep breath and twisted her face away, while a furious blush suffused her face and throat, as she tried to make herself invisible. He saw the reddish splotches where the pussy hair had been yanked out, and the sight of the conch-shellpink cleft of her virgin twat made his prick throb savagely. He touched those sore places, and Yolanda groaned and Jerked convulsively in her mounting shame. "Don't worry, I'm not going to fuck you-not yet, anyway, Yolanda," he chuckled mockingly. Then he turned back to the saucy teenager bent over the spanking stool, and went about the business of watching her undergo her punishment.
Yolanda Bervez was only a foot or two away from the spanking stool, so that she had an unimpaired view of the proceedings. Stan Lorendo stood at the left of the stool, his left palm bearing down hard on the teenaged girl's lower back, the leather sole upraised in his right hand. Yolanda could not help but see the flaming splotches which the first two spanks had left on the young girl's voluptuous naked ass. She could also see the ambary groove and then, below it, the palpitating, slightly distended pink lips of Peggy's exquisite twat. She shivered, a manifestation of the carnal attunement which had begun to pervade her. In this constant aura of lascivious sensuality, of almost fearful reality, the chaste young woman had begun to become aware of sexual arousal. Indeed, she even felt a kind of secret pleasure in watching her young tormentress in turn undergoing punishment.
The sole smacked down hard on the tops of Peggy's upturned bare ass, and a howl of pain was torn at once from the pretty auburn-haired youngster. She twisted her tear-stained face back up towards the masked man, sobbing, "Oh please, Stan, I didn't mean to make you mad, honest I didn't! Oh please, if-if you're gonna spank me, will you please fuck me afterwards, please, and show you're not mad at me? Please, after all if I can take the punishment can't I have the pleasure, too? Oh, please, Stan, please fuck me?"
"Absolutely not, baby," he said with a husky chuckle, "that would make it fun and games for you, you horny little bitch. You're gonna have to learn discipline, even if you are my girl friend's cousin. You didn't earn a fucking, anyhow. Now shut up and concentrate on trying to be a good girl next time." And with this the sole smacked down again, leaping across the sinuous furrow which separated Peggy's voluptuous young ass cheeks, pinching the inner edges of the globes together and leaving a fiery-red splotch as testimony of the efficacy of the sole. A strident cry of pain was heard again, and Peggy squirmed frantically back and forth over the spanking stool, tightly bound down as she was and with her behind provocatively upreared and defenseless. And very soon our Yolanda Bervez found herself watching fascinatedly the contractions, tremors and violent flexions which surged over the jutting globes of that satiny young posterior, watching with almost malicious joy the springing up of the bright red marks which the sole imparted to the girl's smooth flesh.
Stan Lorendo accelerated the tempo of the chastisement now, and the sole danced wickedly all over Peggy's upturned, bare behind in a flurry of noisy cracks. She began to jerk fitfully now, her hips tossing and twisting in every direction, as sobs and cries and doleful plaints, like those of a little girl in discomfort over her mother's lap, exuded from her parted lips: "Owww, oh my heinie, it hurts, Stan, I'll be good. Oww, ahhharrr, oh please, that hurts a lot, not there so much, oh please, Stan darling, I won't ever disobey again, honest I won't. I'll be good. Awwarrrr, eeeoouuuu!! Oh please, oh quit it, that's enough, I'll be good, I swear I will!"
But the masked man did not grant Peggy mercy until he had inflicted some forty stinging whacks all over her wriggling, weaving bottom which left it flaming from the chinkbone to the tops of her charmingly rounded thighs. He left her dissolved in tears, laying the sole on the small of her back, and then turned back to Yolanda. She could see that his prick was in savage erection, and that his eyes were glittering through the slits of the hood. "There now, Yolanda," he told her in a hoarse, shaking voice, "I've avenged you. In fact, I've given her a harder spanking than I gave you. Let's see if the marks have left that lovely ass of yours yet."
"Oh please don't, oh please, do what you're going to do to me and get it over with quickly, I can't bear all this agony, this suspense, this waiting! And my poor father, he must be nearly dead with worry about me," the honey-haired young woman tearfully pleaded.
Stan Lorendo had gone behind her, and she could not help twisting her face back over her shoulder to stare at him and at the same time to edge forward, for she had just felt his sinewy fingers grip the cheeks of her bare behind. A startled, anguished gasp escaped her, and her face was crimson with shame for now his fingers had begun to caress and stroke, to pinch and tweak the velvety-smooth globes of her bottom. "It's a nice lovely pink, Yolanda," he informed her. "It probably doesn't even feel hot any more. Maybe I ought to revive it."
"Oh no, please don't, oh don't!" she impulsively wailed, trying to squirm away from the grip of his fingers. And then she uttered a shriek of utter consternation: he had just slipped his right forefinger into the crease between her bottom globes and prodded her dainty, furtive asshole: "Ahrreeowww-oh don't. Oh stop that. Oh take it away, you horrible brute you, to shame a girl so!"
She had violently lunged forward, so much so that she very nearly brushed against the bent-over teenager bound to the spanking stool. Stan Lorendo tilted back his head and burst into ironic laughter: "If you aren't the touchiest bitch I ever goosed, Yolanda! That's what comes of being a virgin so long, I guess." His fingers moved along her bare sides, slipping along the sweat-moistened flesh onto her armpits, and the tips of his fingers began to rub and tickle gently, while the naked young woman squirmed and gasped, her face scarlet with mortification: "Oh don't-oh please don't-this is cruel-why do you torment me? If you want to avenge your father, go ahead and kill me, I'm ready to die. I can't stand any more of this waiting. Oh, please!" she moaned.
"Kill you? I really hadn't made up my mind what to do with you yet, Yolanda. Tomorrow is the anniversary, you know. Maybe I'll let you know then what's going to happen to you, you prissy virgin. But you've already come a long way since you left that cable car, haven't you? You've had to pee in your own panties, and you've come, and you know what fucking is, and you've seen how girls get spanked on their bare asses when they're naughty and don't please their men. I'd say you had had quite a liberal education in a very short time, Yolanda baby," he mocked her.
Peggy's sobs could still be heard as she squirmed uncomfortably over the spanking stool. But in her own jealousy, she couldn't help groaning, "Oh Stan, please, honey, fuck me now, won't you please, show you forgive me, fuck me!"
"Such language in front of a virgin, Peggy girl," he sarcastically turned back to the auburn-haired teenager, his fingers squeezing her inflamed bottom globes. "What do you imagine Miss Yolanda Bervez must be thinking of you, not much older than fifteen and horny as they come? It's a good thing for you that you live with an old deaf and practically blind aunt who can't keep tabs on you, Peggy, or that sweet ass of yours would be kept in a perpetual state of burning heat, if I had anything to do with it." He gave her a playful spank with his bare palm, and she squealed again and then began lasciviously to twist and squirm and weave her hips about to entice him to slake his lust in her proffered, gaping pink cunt hole. "Oh no, baby, it's not going to work. You didn't earn your fucking, you see. You disobeyed, and that's why all you're going to feel is pain. I tell you what, since you're so solicitous about me and want to haul my ashes, I'll keep it in the family and have Conchita in."
With this, he went to the door, and whistled. A moment later, the petite brunette entered, wearing black leather boots and gloves to the knees and elbows, and nothing else. "Oh Stan, this is really cute!" she giggled as soon as she glanced at the scene before her. "You want me to spank Peggy or Yolanda first?"
"Neither baby. You see what spanking both of them already has done for me?" He pointed to his prick. "Think you can take care of that?"
"Oh my yes, oh darling, I sure do! I feel itchy myself, and I'm ever so glad you want me!" Conchita exclaimed. She knelt down, stroked Stan Lorendo's wiry, hairy thighs, then put her lips to the tip of his bulging prick and kissed it delicately. "Is that nice for you, lover?"
"Very nice, but I want it in your cunt."
"So do I, Stan dear! Shall I get on my back on the floor in front of Yolanda so that she can learn something?"
"Yes, and just off to the side so that your cousin can watch and regret the fact that her disobedience cost her a chance to take my hard-on down," he joked.
Conchita promptly, and with a feline agility of movement, spread herself on the floor, her knees up and widely spread, holding up her arms to him. Stan Lorendo knelt down, cupping her titties, then bent his head to kiss her on the mouth. Her arms locked round his neck, and she groaned, "Oh give it to me, don't keep me waiting, baby, oh how I need it!"
And once again Yolanda Bervez watched, hypnotized and fascinated by the obscenity which took place before her in that dungeon where she had been a prisoner for what seemed ages now. She could not take her eyes off his bulging ramrod as it neared the pink gape of Conchita's cunt. And when she saw it brush the pussy hairs and then make contact with the soft lips of the vulva, she gasped as she saw Conchita arch herself up, offering her body in self-impalement and sacrifice. She shuddered, too, when she heard Conchita's long-drawn groan as Stan Lorendo buried himself to the hilt inside her cunt sheath. And then the brunette's booted legs wove round him, her arms locked him, and their mouths met and the sound of sucking, draining kisses rose to Yolanda's ears, and she groaned aloud and squirmed in her shame and her own secret yearning.
For by now virginal Yolanda Bervez had been wakened and was amorous and even envious of what she saw being done there on the dungeon floor before her.
CHAPTER NINE
Peggy and Stan Lorendo had left the dungeon, and once again Yolanda Bervez found herself alone. Alone and even more vulnerable and helpless than before, it seemed. But her wrists were shackled in handcuffs which in turn were affixed to an overhead trapeze bar, and her ankles were bound to the rungs of the spanking stool. In garterbelt and stockings, otherwise naked as the day she was born, she remained a captive of this man who had identified himself as being the son of a murderer whom her own father had captured and sent to the gas chamber in San Quentin. And tomorrow was to be the anniversary of that man's death. What, then, would be her fate?
She was weak and exhausted from the tensions and the mental anguish and the soul searching since her captivity. And yet curiously enough, her flesh was aroused as it had never been before by what she had seen and by what had been done to her. The pain of the spanking he had given her with the leather sole had diminished, and it was only a warm and not unpleasant tingle in her flesh now. Even the tweaks of the tweezers which Peggy had inflicted on her pussy hair no longer ached so much as they had. But instead there was the treacherous awareness of her own weakness, of her own fascinated desire for the lure of the flesh. And as she squirmed there, beset by a thousand different fears and a thousand different physical sensations, chaste Yolanda Bervez found herself yearning for the ultimate knowledge between man and woman before her death.
For now she was convinced that he was going to kill her tomorrow, to mark that anniversary on which his father had been put to death by the State of California. He would exact vengeance upon her own body. And she did not mind, if she had to die, if it would wipe out the crime that might have been done, for now she had begun to doubt that his father had been guilty. No son, however loyal, could so defy society by actually kidnapping her who was the daughter of so important a police official, and keeping her here so long without really harming her while trying to make her understand why he had done what he had done ... it could not be possible unless there was truth to what he had said, that perhaps his father had not been guilty after all, but that her own father had hounded him and brought him to the terrible legal death prescribed for those condemned by the highest courts of the land.
But if she had to die, she wanted to experience just for once the rapture and the torture of physical love, such love as she had seen him and Conchita enact upon the floor of the dungeon before her. She could die in the midst of such rapture which would open the doors to a world she had never known, a world she had feared and shunned because she had been brought up to be chaste and to show no impulses of lust to anyone save the man who should be her husband.
No, Yolanda Bervez was not afraid of death, but she was afraid of dying a virgin and never knowing the release and the passion and the consecration of body to body in the throes of oblivious lust-fulfillment.
Gray-haired Matthew Bervez, who limped and had to use a cane when he walked, was haggard and red-eyed from lack of sleep. He was on the phone constantly with police headquarters and the Hall of Justice. His daughter had been missing for over forty-eight hours, without any trace or word. If she had been kidnapped, by now there ought to be some kind of ransom note, or telephone call from her abductor. "Listen, Markheim, it's not just because she's my daughter, don't you understand, man?" he was saying in a hoarse voice. "She's a fine, decent young woman, twenty-two, and I've sheltered her. You know what could happen in a city like this. Some white-slaver might have drugged her and taken her to Chinatown, or maybe in the Mission Street area. Or maybe she's out near Brisbane in the hills, with some drug addict who's got the fancy notion that maybe he can trade her for a million dreams from the big H. You've got to find her, man. Damn it, I'd like to go along with you and some of your squads. Don't forget, even though I've been retired for quite some time now, I know this city better than most of you young fellows. All right. Then keep in touch. I'll doze a little, but don't be afraid to call me no matter how late it is, understand?" he disconnected and plunged his face into a bowl of cold water, and exhaled another heavier sigh. The elderly housekeeper approached him timidly. "Mr. Bervez, you just have to eat something. Please let me bring you some good soup and maybe a little wine."
"All right, Mrs. Tilden. I guess it wouldn't do me any harm. My God, what could have happened to my girl?"
"Maybe-maybe she got sick or something. You-you know."
"I don't think so. She's perfectly healthy, never had a day's illness in her life.
"I just don't know," he continued, "She may be in some sort of danger, and still, they keep me here. And they won't let me do anything to help find my own daughter, Mrs. Tilden!"
"There, there, Mr. Bervez, you mustn't get so excited, it isn't good for your heart. Come along and lie down, and I'll have some good strong minestrone and some wine for you when you wake up from your nap."
He sighed again, and then, shrugged disconsolately, allowed the gentle white-haired woman to lead him to his own bedroom....
It seemed hours later when the dungeon door opened again and this time both Peggy and Conchita entered to find Yolanda with her head bowed, her shoulders shaking with sobs. She had resigned herself to death, for her imaginative and sensitive mind had aggrandized the vengeance which Stan Lorendo might well exact from her because of his father's death.
"Cheer up, Yolanda baby," Peggy loudly, chipperly called out, "we're first going to give you a change of scenery. First, you're going to have supper."
"Oh please, can't you tell me what he's going to do to me? I'm so afraid, oh why can't it be over?" Yolanda groaned.
"Because tomorrow is the day, baby," was Conchita's mocking retort. They lowered the trapeze bar and then unlocked Yolanda's wrists from the handcuffs which dangled from it. Peggy took up an oval-shaped leather paddle and commanded, "Now get down on all fours, Yolanda, or I'll swat your big ass good! Conchita's going to bring you your supper."
"Oh please, please be kind to me. I've never hurt either of you. Oh why-" Yolanda began.
"Stan will answer all your questions, honey," Conchita called out as she left the dungeon and closed the door behind her.
Peggy wore high-heeled pumps, gunmetal-gray nylons high on her sleek thighs, and a pair of wispy red nylon panties, bikini style, with a matching bra. She looked extremely provocative and sensual, and she preened herself in front of the kneeling, trembling, honey-haired captive. "You're going to have a nice supper. You know, just like the condemned man in Death Row. Steak and everything," she confided.
"Oh my God, how can I eat thinking that? Oh how is he going to kill me, please tell me, so I can be brave and ready for it!" Yolanda moaned.
"It's going to be a surprise, honey. And don't you fret, because you've got a great big juicy steak coming and French fries and everything else. The works. Even strawberry shortcake and lots of yummy whipped cream," was Peggy's taunting reply.
A few minutes later the dungeon door opened again, and Conchita entered with a tray. She placed it on the floor beside the trembling captive, and then ordered, "I've cut up all the pieces of meat and potatoes and things for you, bitch. Get down on all fours and lap it up like the bitch you really are. If you don't feel like eating, Peggy there will help you along with her paddle." So saying, she whisked off the cloth over the tray to disclose a platter on which bits of filet mignon, French fried potatoes and asparagus were piled in abundance, buttered hot rolls cut into quarters, and a bowl of coffee which had been cooled with milk and sweetened with sugar. There was also a plate with several petit fours. And for appetizer, sections of a cantaloupe were in another smaller bowl.
"All right, Yolanda, go to it," Conchita directed. Peggy placed herself behind the trembling honey-haired young woman, gripping the paddle gleefully. She reached out and patted Yolanda's naked behind. "Better hurry up, Yolanda, I'm just itching to use this paddle on your big ass," she maliciously informed the trembling young woman.
"Oh please, can't you leave me to eat in peace?" Yolanda groaned.
"Give her a good hard spank, Peggy honey," Conchita ordered.
Instantly, the pretty teenager applied the oval-shaped leather paddle squarely across the plumpest curves of both upturned, jutting ass cheeks, and Yolanda uttered a strangled cry of pain, glanced back feverishly at the mocking youngster, and then hurriedly began to eat in the manner of an animal. Never had she known such crushing shame, such helplessness and loneliness, and such terror. For now her mind had monumentalized what was to happen to her on the morrow, the anniversary of Stan Lorendo's father's death at the hands of the State of California.
Yet she found that she was ravenously hungry, and the food was superbly tasty. When at last she finished, Peggy called out, "She had a better appetite than she figured, didn't she, Conchita? Now we better take her to the biffey so she can be all ready for a nice long night. Come along, Yolanda honey." She applied a light, playful swat across the magnificent posterior of the mature captive, and Yolanda uttered a cry and got to her feet, her hands furtively rubbing the stinging areas which the paddle had kissed. Conchita produced now a dogcollar and a leash, fixed the collar around Yolanda's neck, and then led her out of the dungeon and to the bathroom. And to her dying shame, the unfortunate naked captive was compelled to perform her functions in the full view of her two mocking temptresses.
Then they put her under the shower, while she still wore the garterbelt and hose that had already been soaked the day before. Peggy toweled her, and this time, putting back on the dog collar, Conchita led her by the leash down this gloomy narrow corridor to a metal door which was painted black. It opened at once, and Conchita led Yolanda inside.
The honey-haired young woman uttered a stifled cry of terror. The walls were painted black, as were the ceiling and the floor. In one corner was an iron cot with a thin mattress and nothing else, no sheets or pillow. In another was a tall heavy straight-backed chair. But in the a kind of gibbet, with three steps ascending to a platform at one end of which was a cal round wooden post and a cross arm at the very top from which dangled a noose. A few feet away from the gibbet, there stood a metal triangle with buckling straps at the base and a pair of dangling handcuffs at the very peak.
"Oh my God, he's going to hang me!" Yolanda burst out sobbing as she covered her face with her hands and bowed her head.
"Don't, fret, Yolanda, maybe you can get him to let you off if you give him a good fucking," Conchita giggled. "Now go lie down on the cot, like a good girl or Peggy will spank you hard." With this, she removed the dog collar, and the honey-haired captive hurried over to the cot and flung herself down upon it, and began to sob hysterically.
"Pleasant dreams, sweetie," Peggy called as the two girls left the dungeon and locked the door behind them. And now Yolanda's terror knew no bounds. The gloomy foreboding appearance of this grim cell and the sight of that terrible gallows obsessed her. She could think only of the fact that tomorrow would be the fatal day, her last day on earth, and that the young man who had had her kidnapped and brought here for these days and nights of endless torment was to be not only her judge but also her executioner....
"Look, Markheim, " Matthew Bervez exclaimed as he gripped the receiver and leaned forward across the desk of his study, "We have no leads at all, you know that as well as I do. Why the devil don't you try to go through the records of my cases? Maybe it's somebody I sent to the pen, maybe it's one of his relatives coming back at me for revenge. It's as good a motive as any, God knows. There still hasn't been any mail, and there haven't been any phone calls except yours. Yes. I'm sure of it, Markheim. I'll tell you one suspect that's come to mind already. You remember the Lorendo case, don't you? The fellow who went to the gas chamber for the murder of a little girl. A brutal sex murder. And you remember he had a son by the name of Stan, who had some wild cock and bull story about meeting a derelict in some cheap saloon and getting a confession from him which would have cleared his father's name. Well, I didn't buy it then and I'm not buying it now. Lorendo was guilty as hell, and that's what the courts decided and he didn't even get a stay of execution. Yes. Why don't you find out where this son of his is living and go question him? Let me know. Of course he's a greaser just like his father. Probably hasn't got any address at the Bureau of Records. You'll just have to put out an all-points bulletin. All right, let me hear from you. I'm going crazy here."
CHAPTER TEN
Yolanda had fallen asleep out of sheer exhaustion, and yet it seemed to her that she was dreaming. She saw herself naked and standing on the gallows in this very cell where she had been imprisoned by the son of the man whom her own father had sent to the gas chamber. Her hands were bound behind her, there was a blindfold over her eyes, and she could feel the harsh cling of the noose around her soft neck. She could hear the sounds of kisses and of slaps and of giggles, and then of groans and sighs. It was as if on her last day on earth, her abductor was agonizing her by fucking either Peggy or Conchita in front of the gallows to torment her with the knowledge that soon she would know nothing, never again experience sensation, and that she would die a virgin just as she had lived.
But the sounds grew louder, and they were so realistic that she suddenly sat up with a cry of alarm. There was a blackness everywhere, and she realized that it was because the walls had been painted that somber hue, and it added to the terrified desolate mood into which she had been plunged. But now she could see that at the opposite wall, stuck into a metal bracket, there was a red candle burning. And by its flickering light, she could make out what was going on before her, at the foot of that gallows to which she felt herself inevitably condemned.
Gradually, as her eyes adjusted to the darkness broken only by that candlelight, Yolanda could see that there was a handsome, mature woman seated in the heavy straight-backed chair beyond her. The woman was dressed in a red satin gown, which left her shoulders bare and was cut daringly to show the valley of two big round, closely spaced boobies. Her hair was brown, coiffed in an upsweep which left her nape and ears bare. From her earlobes there dangled a pair of ruby pendants. Her face was haughty and aristocratic, with a straight nose, insolent mouth, high-set cheekbones and a high-arching forehead. Her eyes were dark brown and they were wide with anger and shame, Yolanda saw.
But in front of the gallows, lying on the floor on a thick woolen rug, was Conchita, naked except for her boots and gloves, and atop her was Stan Lorendo. He still wore the mask-hood and sandals, but his wiry body was naked, and Yolanda watched with a kind of terrified fascination as she saw his hips rise and fall and knew that he was fucking the petite brunette.
Conchita, her arms and legs clinging around him, gave herself with abandon. Her moans and gasps and sobs were what Yolanda had heard in this seeming dream. And as she looked more closely, she could see that the woman in the straight-backed chair was gagged, by a kind of flesh-colored adhesive which went over the mouth and yet her lips were seen. Her wrists were tied to the arms of the chair and her ankles were corded to the lower legs. And finally, there was a thin cord around her neck which forced her to sit upright and stiffly, watching yet unable to speak or move.
But now Yolanda's eyes went back to the two naked bodies beyond her, and she heard Conchita groan "Ohhh, oh lover, fuck me quick, oh give it to me harder, I'm almost ready to come, oh Stan, Stan, oh do it good, oh I'm so close now, oh it is wonderful!"
The woman in the chair moaned, trying to speak and could not. At the same time, Stan Lorendo seemed to reach his climax, speeding up his pace, as he thrust himself up and down, digging vigorously into Conchita's sheath. Suddenly her booted legs locked around his bottom, and the naked brunette uttered a piercing cry as she felt herself drawn towards ecstasy. They seemed to merge together, two bodies becoming one, and then they lay panting in their shared rapture.
Slowly the masked man rose and moved over to the cot on which Yolanda lay, still naked and in only her stockings and garterbelt. "I see you are finally awake, little Yolanda," he chuckled. "Don't worry, it's not the last day yet, it's just about midnight."
"Who-who is that w-woman, there in the chair?" the naked honey-haired captive gasped.
"That one? Why, that's Aurelia, Conchita's mother. She's quite a dish, isn't she, baby? But you see, this is her house, not mine."
Yolanda's eyes widened, and at the same time, the masked man bent down to her and, putting a hand on one of her titties, said intimately, "I know what you are thinking, honey. Now you figure that the cops won't find me or you either. Well, you're right. You see, Conchita comes from a pretty well-heeled family. Only, her mother has been away in Europe, and just this morning got back. Naturally we had to make sure she didn't run out and call the fuzz. Oh you're going to meet her, all right, Yolanda. In fact, I am going to make Aurelia agree to let me love her up, just the way I've done with her sweet little daughter here and with Peggy."
Conchita had got up now and also walked over to the cot to look down at the captive. Burning with shame, Yolanda covered her pussy with one hand, crouching back against the wall beside the cot, her eyes wide with anxiety.
"But don't you worry, I'm not going to hurt you yet," he mockingly told her. "Conchita, baby, why don't you go get some wine for all of us? I think we can use it."
"What about Peggy?"
"Let her sleep. Go get the wine."
"Yes sir, coming right up," Conchita giggled as she left the dungeon.
Yolanda Bervez could not believe her ears. All this time she had thought herself in a house or apartment belonging to the man who had kidnapped her. Now she found that it belonged to that woman in the chair who was the mother of his mistress. And her eyes strayed back again to the woman in the chair who was very beautiful.
Stan Lorendo noticed her gaze. "You're wondering about Aurelia, aren't you, baby?" he chuckled. "Well, the vital statistics are that she's forty-one, but very beautifully preserved. She divorced her husband about ten years ago, and he left her a lot of money. Also this house, which as you know is very useful. Of course, she travels so much she's never down in the basement, so I had the chance to do some remodeling and work here and get all these dungeons ready for you, Yolanda baby, just as soon as I made up my mind I was going to pay your father back. Now maybe you're beginning to understand all I have done."
Yolanda felt sick with horror. All the work that must have taken place to turn these rooms in the basement into actual dungeons and punishment chambers; how much time and effort and money it must have cost, and what it meant in the way of vindictive hatred and the desire for vengeance! Long before she had been kidnapped, long before that needle had beer stuck into her on the cable car, this young man had planned to kidnap her and to hold her here as a prisoner so that he could exact his vengeance.
"Oh my God, oh my God!" she repeated softly, dazed with her discovery.
"Don't get the idea that I've been a bum all this time, Yolanda. I have had jobs, and my father did leave me a little money in a vault, money which the State of California never got, thank God. But I'm still tainted with his crime, the crime he didn't ever do, the crime which took his life, all because of your father's excessive zeal. So you can't blame me if I've been thinking all these years of getting back at him and you, baby. Ah, here's Conchita with the wine."
The naked, booted and gloved brunette entered the dungeon now, carrying a tray in which there were four glasses filled with red wine. It was a sparkling Burgundy, and she first brought the tray over to the cot so that Yolanda might take a glass. "Go on and take it," Stan Lorendo urged.
Hesitantly, the honey-haired girl obeyed, and, at his fierce look, took a hesitant sip.
He took a glass, and then Conchita walked over to the chair, leaned to it and with one hand ripped away the adhesive tape which sealed her mother's lips. "And here's one for you, Mummy," she giggled. "I'll hold the glass for you, though. Stan wants to keep you tied up a little longer, you see."
"You-you wicked girl, how could you do this to me?" her mother gasped, her face very pale.
"You never really cared about me, Mummy. You were too busy going to Europe and meeting handsome gigolos after Dad died. You were ashamed that you'd married a greaser, yes Mummy, a man just like Stan here and Stan's father. But I'm proud of being a greaser, do you hear me? And I just love it when he fucks me, and I hope you watched and learned something, Mummy, because you're going to let him screw you too!"
"You nasty bitch. I never dreamed you had such a filthy mind," her mother panted.
"Filthy, Mummy? I don't think so. You won't either, once you feel Stan's prick inside that snooty cunt of yours. Yes, Mummy, does that shock you? Because, you see, I am going to help Stan give it to you when he wants you."
"Oh, you horrible, unspeakable creature! I wish I'd never given you birth!"
"I know that, Mummy. It was awfully convenient of you to tell Dad that the doctors told you, you couldn't ever have another kid after me. Of course that was a lie. You don't know that I spied on you once, just about a year before Dad died, and I followed you to a motel and I saw you go in with that tall brown-haired man-didn't he work in the law office that handled Dad's estate or something?"
"Keep your mouth shut! Oh, you horrible girl!" her mother gasped, and turned her face to one side and closed her eyes.
"You know what, Stan?" the petite naked brunette said to the masked man, "I think Mummy deserves a good sound whipping on her bare ass to take her down a peg or two. You know something else? I think I hate her even more than I do Yolanda there."
"I think you do at that, baby," he said softly. He straightened, and Yolanda, who had followed this scene with mingled horror and disbelief, uttered a gasp as she saw that his prick was once again stiff and hard and throbbing with rut.
"Yes, I think you do," he repeated. "Besides, I've always wanted to whip a grown-up woman like your mother. I think that will be next on the program, baby."
"Oh no! You can't-you can't do such a dreadful thing to me. I know who you are now. I told my daughter not to have anything more to do with you. Oh, that treacherous little bitch! If only I had known-" the woman in the chair cried out.
"Maybe if you'd stayed home and looked after me a little more, Mummy, you would have known," Conchita laughed. "But I'm going to help him whip your ass, too, did you know that? Now you just lie there like a good girl and keep your mouth shut and be good, Yolanda, because if you don't, when I get through with Mummy, I'm going to whip you too!"
"I think maybe we better have Peggy in here to help us with Mummy," the petite brunette giggled as she stared at the handsome, haughty brown-haired woman fixed in the straight-backed chair.
"All right, go get her, and make it quick," Stan Lorendo decided.
As soon as Conchita had left the dungeon, the woman called Aurelia looked up at the masked man who had abducted Yolanda and gasped, "My God, you can't be serious about this! You're just as much a criminal as your father was, Stan Lorendo! Conniving with my daughter to take over this house, to kidnap that girl over there on the cot, and then to make me a prisoner! And how in heaven's name were you able to get all this work done in my cellar?"
"Your cute little daughter answered that question already, Aurelia," he said mockingly. He stood before her in only his sandals and the mask-hood, his wiry body naked, his penis in full erection, and the captive in the chair shrank back with a grimace of disgust on her lovely, aristocratic features. "You seem to like to travel a good deal, and besides you don't keep tabs on Conchita the way you should. I've known her for a long time, you see."
"And you've ruined her, you filthy, horrible creature, I know you have!" her mother broke out.
"Not entirely. Conchita is nineteen, isn't she? I've known her about a year, Aurelia. We met quite by accident down on North Beach and we started talking. We found we had a lot in common, besides having greaser blood in our veins. I know you don't like to think about that because you're white. But the fact remains that you did marry a Mexican, and for his money. You tried to be a hypocrite by telling yourself that he had some white blood in him and that made it fine. But you really knew the reason, because it was for money. You didn't even want Conchita. And as soon as you got rid of your husband, you started playing around and traveling and being Lady Bountiful to charitable organizations and things like that to cover up your own infidelities."
"Stop it, I don't want to hear another word!"
"I know you don't, Aurelia. The truth always hurts, doesn't it? But you know, your daughter hates your very guts. I might even marry her, though I'm not so sure."
"You, the son of a murderer, an executed murderer, dare to say that to me?"
"Correction, Aurelia. My father was executed on the charge of murder, yes, but I myself heard the confession of a wino a few years after that. The only trouble was, the poor old fool died before I could prove it to the satisfaction of the courts. So technically you're right. Only I happen to know my father was innocent. He was despised because he was a greaser, just as I have been. But I'm not ashamed of my blood and neither should you be. So I'm going to give you a little taste of the revenge I've planned on that girl over there on the cot. Do you know who that is? It's Yolanda Bervez, the daughter of the now retired captain of detectives who hunted my father down like an animal and made sure he went to the gas chamber. He was so smug and sure that my father had to be the murderer, just on circumstantial evidence. Well, tomorrow is the anniversary of my father's death, and Yolanda is going to pay for it. But you're going to pay just a little for your own crimes against Conchita and the Mexican race, which she and I are part of. Yes, and which you were part of too, except that you always denied it. Ah, here's Peggy now."
The charming fifteen-year-old auburn-haired girl entered now, wearing only black leather knee-length boots and shoulder-length matching gloves, audaciously naked otherwise. At the sight of her, the brown-haired matron in the chair uttered a cry of disbelief: "Peggy, oh my God, has he got you too?"
Yolanda Bervez, lying there naked on her cot, speechless with surprise at the turn of events that was taking place, could only listen and watch with all her soul, her heart pounding wildly. Stan Lorendo had just told that woman that tomorrow she was going to atone for her father's crime against his father. She stared up at the gallows, and then she began to sob softly and to cover her face with her hands in terror.
"Peggy has been back in San Francisco for over a year, didn't you know that, Aurelia?" the masked man taunted. "Yes, that's your sister's daughter. Your sister married a perfectly respectable Caucasian, didn't she? And he died a few years ago, and then she came to San Francisco about two years ago. Only, because you were a little ashamed of the man you had married, you never did get in touch with her again. Isn't that right, Peggy?"
"It sure is, Stan honey. Hello, Aunt Aurelia! Fancy meeting you here!" Peggy said sweetly.
"Oh God, what's happening? How could you get involved with an awful man, my poor little Peggy?" the matron gasped.
"Don't you poor little Peggy me, Auntie!" the auburn-haired teenager hissed vindictively. "My mother's dead now, she died two months ago from pneumonia. Much you care. I've been living with her old housekeeper, and I've been friends with Cousin Conchita for a long time. We didn't want you to know about it, because we thought you would have the decency to get in touch with my mother, only you never did, just like Stan says."
"Oh God, this is dreadful!" Aurelia moaned. "You're only fifteen, and you go around naked with him-I suppose both you and Conchita have been his sluts!"
"What if we have?" the auburn-haired teenager defiantly answered. "At least we're honest. We like him, dear Auntie Aurelia, because he's a real man and he's not ashamed of being a greaser. I think it makes him sexier, if you want to know something. But you're going to find out pretty soon, because Conchita says we're going to give you a good spanking. You don't know how I've wanted to do that, ever since my poor mother died."
"Oh no, you can't-my God, help me get out of here, go call the police, Peggy!" the captive in the straight-backed chair cried out, struggling at her bonds.
"Not on your life!" Peggy sneered. "Don't feel sorry for me, Aunt Aurelia. My folks left me plenty of money, and I even gave some of it to help Stan build this place so he could have his revenge when the time came. Besides, my housekeeper is a sweet old soul, and she doesn't bother in other people's business. My father's lawyer is handling my estate, and when I come of age, I won't have to worry, not like poor Stan had to all these years, and his father before him. But we've talked enough. Where do you want her, Stan?"
"On the triangle, girls, stripped down to her undies," Stan Lorendo laughed.
Conchita and Peggy now came forward and began to untie Aurelia's bonds, while the aristocratic matron struggled and cried out, imploring them not to hurt her, not to give in to that dreadful man's wickedness.
Meanwhile, Stan Lorendo went back to the cot where Yolanda lay, hands still pressed over her pussy, her eyes huge with astonishment and fear. "You've just found out a lot about us, baby," he said hoarsely. "Aurelia happens to be Aurelia Montanez. Her husband was a greaser, just like my dad and me. And what you heard Peggy and Conchita say about her is very true. What you don't know is about two years ago Conchita was madly in love with a nice decent guy, only he was a Mex too. He was a young lawyer, the sort of guy who could have helped my father if he had been practicing back in those days. Only because he was a greaser, Aurelia here broke up the romance and wrote the boy's father a nasty note and just about alienated them forever. Then I met her a little bit afterwards, and that's why we got together. And now you know just about all you're going to know, Yolanda, so watch and learn something."
With this, he went back to help the two naked beauties, who had succeeded in dragging the struggling brown-haired matron towards the metal triangle and, aiding them now, he swiftly corded her wrists above her head and tied the end of the rope to the little ring set at the very peak of this isosceles triangle.
Meanwhile Peggy and Conchita ripped away Aurelia Montanez's dress and slip, leaving her in a white nylon bra and panty girdle, whose tabs hooked to the tops of tan-colored nylons. She screamed and struggled frantically, but Peggy and Conchita crouched down and tied her ankles to the lower legs of the triangle, thus stretching her obscenely.
She was a magnificent creature thus. Her skin was a pale white, still very glossy and satiny despite her age. Her breasts were pantingly thrusting against the tight bra, showing brownish-orange aurolae and plump nipples in the centers of those love-haloes. Her belly was still smooth and suave, and her navel was wide and shallow. Her thighs were long and stately, with a graceful rounding as they neared the compact, upstandingly rounded cheeks of her behind which the panty girdle hugged like a second skin. Her calves were nervously muscled, high-set, and the muscles could be seen rippling and flexing frantically as she struggled in her bonds.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Conchita went behind her and now ripped away the bra, and Aurelia Montanez uttered a scream of fear and shame as she jerked and twisted against the triangle. Her boobies jiggled with her maneuvers, and she writhed and tried desperately to clench her straddled thighs.
Peggy stood in front of her and now reached up her gloved hands and squeezed her aunt's heaving titties. "She still has a terrific shape on her, Stan," the auburn-haired girl maliciously commented. "I bet when she makes all those trips to Europe, she has a boyfriend in every port. I bet she hasn't been a good girl since my uncle died, have you, Aunt Aurelia?"
"Let go of me, you wretched girl, you horrible, depraved little slut! Oh stop it, stop it! Conchita, I'm your mother, in the name of heaven, I order you to let me go and to go call the police! Don't you see what this horrible monster has brought you to? He's tricked you, he's told you lies about his father, and now he's kidnapped this other girl over there-to do with her God knows what! Oh please, Conchita, you're my own flesh and blood, surely you aren't going to help him hurt me?"
"Save your breath, Mummy dear," the petite brunette mocked. She drew back her gloved right hand and applied a hard stinging slap to her mother's spacious, resilient bottom which made Aurelia Montanez utter a cry of humiliation and lunge forward till the triangle creaked its protest.
To Yolanda Bervez there on the cot, ignored by these participants in a drama which she had not till this moment comprehended, the scene was like a singular nightmare. She watched Peggy squeezing and kneading Aurelia Montanez's titties, and she watched Conchita playfully apply several hard slaps of her gloved hand against the woman's bottom, then crouch down and pinch the widely stretched shaking thighs. She saw Aurelia's face turn scarlet with shame, the eyes bulging, the mouth gaping, her wrists overhead jerking at the bonds which held her to the top of the triangle, and she saw the thick dark-brown tufts of private hair growing in Aurelia's armpits.
"Shall I get her naked now, Stan darling?" Conchita urged.
"By all means. Just leave her with her stockings on."
"Ohhhnooo!!!! Oh my God in heaven, Conchita, don't do it to me, how could you be a party to this crime? Oh my God, what are you going to do to me?" the woman shrieked as she lunged and twisted frantically about on the triangle.
"I'll tell you, Mummy, once I get you all nice and bare," her daughter giggled. Now unfastening the tabs of the panty-girdle, she began to draw the zipper and then grasping the hem with both hands, yanked the sheath down slowly till it cleared those jutting bottom globes, which contracted violently in the woman's desperate mortification. Because of the straddle of Aurelia Montanez's legs, the sheath would go no further down. Angrily, Conchita seized the material and began to tear it until finally she ripped into it and let it fall to the floor, leaving her mother naked except for stockings and pumps.
Yolanda's eyes fixed almost unwilling and yet fascinatedly on the thick fleece of curly dark-brown pussy hair which covered the woman's snatch. Aurelia Montanez, her face turned to one side, her eyes closed, her body trembling fitfully, moaned and sobbed in her despair and shame. She was in a position she had never assumed before.
For the first time since she had been abducted, awakening to find herself in a dungeon in an unknown house and at the mercy of an unknown masked man, Yolanda Bervez felt herself to be a spectator at a tableau which somehow had everything and nothing to do with her own fate. Nothing, in the sense that she had never known any of these people before, least of all the handsome, mature brown-haired woman who was tractioned naked except for stockings and pumps at the triangle and with her legs hugely spread apart to receive punishment from her own perverse daughter and niece. Everything, in the sense that this sadistic vengeance which Conchita and Peggy were about to wreak upon Aurelia Montanez was perhaps a symbolic precursor of her own ordeal tomorrow, which would mark the anniversary of the death of Stan Lorendo's father.
"I'll say one thing for you, Mummy," the petite brunette jeered, as she passed her gloved right hand over the stately, haughty, naked captive's shuddering pale-white skinned bottom. "You've got a terrific shape at your age. And I'll bet you went all over Europe showing it off to your gigolos, didn't you, Mummy dear?"
With this, she drew back her hand and applied a furious, noisy "Smackkk" on the woman's upper right bottom cheek which made Aurelia Montanez lunge forward with a strangled cry of both humiliation and discomfort, turning her congested face back over her shoulder as if she could not believe the testimony of her own eyes and the other senses that her daughter would so demean and torture her.
"How could you do a terrible thing like this to your own mother?" Aurelia Montanez groaned as her eyes now turned back to stare at the grinning auburn-haired Peggy who, standing in front of her, was continuing to squeeze and pinch her panting titties. "And you, Peggy, my own niece, to deliver me up to this maniac, this son of a murderer!"
"You had better hold your tongue, Mummy, or Stan will really give it to you," Conchita remarked behind her. "I think the first thing we have to do is humble you a little. I don't think you've ever been spanked, Mummy. Have you, now, honest and truly?" and, punctuating her question, she applied two stinging slaps, one to each ripely rounded ass-summit which drew cries and groans from the naked captive, who squirmed and swerved herself back and forth on the triangle, all the while her niece kept on palpitating her big full boobies with her gloved hands.
"You heartless girl, I wish to Heaven I'd never given you birth!" Aurelia Montanez cried exasperatedly.
"That's the first honest thing you've ever said to me, Mummy, if you want to know something, and you've said it twice," the petite brunette mocked her. "It's mutual, believe me. The only good thing about being alive is when Stan takes me in his arms and fucks me, Mummy dear. And out of the goodness of my own daughterly heart, I'm going to let him do the same thing to you. And I'll tell you one thing more, he's a hell of a better man than any of your gigolos. But now for your good sound spanking. I don't want to wear out my hand, even wearing a glove, on that big ass of yours, Mummy dear. Peggy, go find me a nice leather paddle. Mummy is really built for it."
"Aw, just when I was having so much fun," the auburn-haired teenager pouted. Now, with thumbs and forefingers, she tweaked the mature woman's nipples till the latter uttered a scream of pain and arched and squirmed herself violently in her desperate attempt to break free. "Oh, then, all right, but I'll be back in a jiffy, Auntie Aurelia, don't go away now!"
"Conchita, oh my goodness, Conchita get me out of this, if it's the only thing you ever do for me." Aurelia Montanez gasped, as again she struggled with her bonds. Her boobies jiggled with the effort, and the cheeks of her behind, lasciviously marked by the splotches of red inflicted by her own daughter's gloved hand, set off the magnificent opulence of her naked milky-skinned posterior in the most enticing way. Stan Lorendo stood at one side, stroking his chin and watching intently through the slits of his black mask-hood. His prick was in savage erection, and Yolanda could see that the victim's eyes were spellbound as if hypnotized by the vigor of that male emblem.
Peggy returned now with an oval-shaped leather-covered paddle, which she handed to the petite brunette. At the sight of it, the naked woman uttered another cry of disbelief and terror, "My goodness, no, please don't, don't hurt me, Conchita, how can you do this to your own mother?"
"It's awfully easy, Mummy," Conchita purred as she moved slightly more to the left and behind the victim, balancing the paddle in her gloved right hand and considering the magnificent target before her. "You've got a real big butt on you, just the kind that begs for a thrashing. And oh boy, you don't know how I've dreamed at getting back at you for all your nastiness and your snottiness, especially breaking up that affair between Julio and me. I'd have made him a good wife, and now he's a good lawyer and people think a lot of him, but just because he was a greaser, you were so ashamed. There you are, Mummy! That's what I think of you!" And with this, she directed a furious blow which danced across the ripest curves of both bottom globes, driving Aurelia Montanez forward with a shrill cry of pain, as her head tilted back and her eyes bulged, filming with tears at the furious sting of that noisy spank.
Instantly Conchita regaled her mother with a second, then a third and then a fourth application of the paddle. Each of these horizontally made impact across both huddling cheeks, staining the pale milky skin with an angry, bright crimson that outlined the format of the fustigatory instrument. And each of them drew an anguished, hoarse cry of torment from the victim, who jerked this way and that, turning her face back over her left shoulder to beg for mercy.
"Give it to her good, and a couple extra for me," Peggy enthused. Now she had returned to the torture of her aunt's breasts, squeezing and pinching the nipples, slapping the inner and outer curves, gripping both of them from the outer curves and forcing them together while she grinned maliciously up into the tearstained, flushed, agonized face of this haughty, aristocratic matron.
"I will. If you're a good girl, I might even let you give them to her yourself, Peggy baby," Conchita merrily replied. Now, taking a deep breath, she applied the paddle in a diagonally slanting stroke from the top of her mother's right hip down over the narrow ambary groove which separated the globes and on towards the base of the left buttock. A plaintive scream was torn from the naked woman who again lunged forward, the muscles of her calves and thighs flexing violently.
"This is a real workout you're getting, Auntie Aurelia!" Peggy quipped. "You might take some weight off your tummy and ass, wriggling around like that. Then you won't have to wear that awful panty girdle."
"Don't give Mummy any idea like that, Peggy, because she'll only go out and try to find more gigolos," her daughter cattily countered. Once again the paddle smacked wickedly, but this time horizontally over the base of both huddling ass cheeks.
"Eawwrrrowwwouuu!!! Oh, Conchita, oh please stop, you're hurting me terribly, I beg of you to stop, please!" was the agonized supplication.
"No use trying to beg off, Mummy," was Conchita's airy answer. "You've had this coming for a long time and you know it. Now see how brave you can be. You told me that I would forget Julio and that I would learn to mature and grow up. I think those were your words. Let's see how good a job you can do taking your own advice, my dear revered Mummy!"
With this vindictive sally, the petite brunette, her lips compressed and her eyes narrowed, stepped back and delivered a swat with all her might across the base of her mother's naked ass cheeks. A frantic scream was torn away from the sufferer, and even as she lunged forward and then flung herself back, Conchita instantly applied a follow-up spank which lodged the paddle squarely across the ripest curves of both by now vividly scarlet bottom globes. Once again Aurelia Montanez plunged forward, her belly and loins arching out as if inviting a fucking, her boobies jiggling, her eyes mad with suffering and her face upturned to the ceiling as tears ran uncontrollably down her flushed cheeks.
"You've always been ashamed of me because I had Daddy's good Mexican blood in me. I know that Stan has tried to call me Kathy when he wants me to be a lady, which means a nice white racist like you. But I never did like that name. Didn't you know that, Stan honey? Well, I didn't. I want to be Conchita, because it's a fine name from south of the border and I'm proud of it. And you know it was Daddy who named me, not you, my dear Mummy." Now again she lunged forward with the paddle, and once again her mother's shrieks rang out as three furious swats resounded in the dungeon, each applied to the base of the woman's huddling, swollen ass cheeks.
The triangle creaked noisily as Aurelia Montanez flung herself this way and that, her body damp with sweat, her eyes bulging and glassy with tears, her mouth gaping with raucous cries which were now wordless. Her thighs shook, and her boobies rose and fell with violent turbulence. And all this time, mocking her, naked auburn-haired Peggy stood before her to squeeze those juicy love globes and to palpate them and to pinch the now darkened, stiff nipples.
"Aren't you getting a little bit hot, Auntie Aurelia?" Peggy maliciously inquired.
"Wouldn't you just love to have Stan give it to you now? Because Conchita's going to make your ass hot and then she's going to start on your titties, I happen to know that, dear Auntie Aurelia. And the only way you're going to get her to stop is to beg Stan to screw you good and hard. Isn't that so, Stan lover?"
"More or less," he chuckled. He had seated himself on the edge of Yolanda's cot, and his eyes were following keenly every nuance of the tableau. In this room there was an aura of sensuality and sadism, because all the participants were naked. And Yolanda, feeling and seeing him so close to her, shivered and clamped her palm even tighter over her virgin cunt hole as she seemed to shrink back against the wall. But all the while, her eyes drank in this incredible scene.
"Look, I think maybe I can give you a lead," Matthew Bervez said hoarsely as he gripped the telephone, staring at it as if it were his mortal enemy. "The last report I had on Lorendo's son, he was pretty thick with a cute little greaser girl by the name of Chita or Conchita or something like that, and the last name was Montanez. Now as I get it, her mother was a rich bitch and didn't much care for her associating with Stan. But I'll bet a dollar to a doughnut that if you pick up this Montanez girl, you might find out where Stan Lorendo is. And if you do that, maybe you'll find my daughter. Now get with it, for heaven's sake! I'm going crazy here, I can't sleep, I can't eat, and that bastard-if it really is he-hasn't even called me or sent a note for ransom. What's he going to do to my daughter, anyway? Get with it, Corrigan!"
Little did the once-detective know where his beloved daughter was that very night. He never could have-the thought would never enter his mind that she was watching a paddling such as she'd never seen before.
Conchita had resumed the paddling. Her mother was babbling hysterically now, her face constantly turned back over her shoulder, her eyes drowned in tears, her face haggard and twisted in pain. The noisy "Smackkk-Thwack-Crackkkk!" of the leather implement against her thighs and opulent naked behind had been resumed with a regular, agonizing cadence. After each blow, she lunged forward wildly, screaming out pleas for mercy, and then as she returned to position, pitifully babbling entreaties for mercy, she uttered a new cry as she saw her daughter raise the terrible paddle and prepare once more to assail her tortured, inflamed, burning, naked flesh.
"All right, Mummy, my arm is getting tired now. But I'm going to keep it up until you beg Stan to fuck you. Do you understand me, Mom? I'm only trying to do what is best for you. You've asked plenty of guys in Europe to do that to you, so I'm sure you won't mind a real man this time. Go ahead, Mummy. Otherwise I'm going to give a turn to Peggy, and she's fresh and young and she'll really swat that ass of yours!" the petite brunette hissed.
At this, Peggy left off palpating Aurelia Montanez' panting bubbies and moved around her. She reached out with a hand and touched the woman who had given birth to her, moving, then, behind the sobbing, groaning naked woman. "Oh, gee, Conchita, lemme have it now! I'll spank it out of her, you'll see!" she enthusiastically volunteered.
"All right, Peggy. Lay it on her thighs a little. She seems to feel those more than on her big ass, and I've just about used it up, anyway," Conchita heartlessly declared as she handed the paddle to her cousin.
"Ohhh noooo!! Oh, Stan, can't you stop them? Oh please, please, they're killing me, they're killing me!" Aurelia Montanez wailed as she turned her congested face towards the cot on which the masked, naked young man sat waiting.
"I'm not running things at the moment, Mrs. Montanez," he told her with a mocking chuckle. "You better do what your daughter and niece tell you to, or I'm afraid you're in for a long, hard night." At this very moment, Peggy, setting her teeth, stepped back and then swung the paddle out in a flashing stroke which drove the weapon solidly against the broadest curves of her aunt's opulent, naked ass. A wild, prolonged scream rang out at once, as once again the brown-haired matron lunged forward, sobbing hysterically. Just as she returned Peggy again sent the paddle smacking brutally, almost wickedly over the base of her bottom and a third time across the top of the right thigh.
"Awwrrroohhouuu!! Aiiii, oh stop it, I'm dying, I'll do anything you want, only stop it!" Aurelia Montanez screamed.
"You know what to say, if you want me to stop, Auntie Aurelia," Peggy giggled and once again the paddle flashed out, this time smacking cruelly over the top of the other thigh.
It was too much. Aurelia Montanez flung herself this way and that, and then, her voice shaking and breaking with sobs, gasped out, "Oh I have to, I can't stand it anymore-all right-oh please, f-f-fuck me, fuck me and get it over with, anything except this horrible beating-oh please, I'm begging you, I'm begging you, Stan Lorendo, to fuck me!"
"There, you see what a bitch she is, Stan dear?" Cnnchita laughed. "Go ahead and oblige her. You'll be giving her the first real honest-to-goodness screwing she's ever had. You should have seen some of the guys she picked up in Europe. She used to write me letters about them and she thought I wouldn't ever snitch. Well, I didn't, but I've had my own opinion of her and I think I've shown it now. Go ahead, Stan, give it to her good!"
"That I will," he said huskily as he left the cot and moved towards the triangle.
Yolanda was gasping, her heart pounding so wildly she felt it must burst. She clasped her hands together against her pussy, and she watched, her eyes straining, as she saw the naked masked man stand before the straddled, pinioned naked woman. Now his hands rose up to cup and squeeze her titties, and then he moved forward, jabbing the thick brown thatch of pussy curls with the glans of his swollen prick. Aurelia Montanez whimpered and closed her eyes, turning her face to one side, her fingers clawing the air as sobs shook her body and made her titties heave agitatedly.
"Keep that paddle ready, Peggy, if she changes her mind," he called to the auburn-haired teenager. Then, his fingers caressing and squeezing the woman's bare boobies, he looked mockingly at her and demanded, "Is that what you want now really, Mrs. Montanez? Should I go ahead and fuck you? I want you to be sure now, you know. According to you, I'm the son of a dirty greaser murderer, no better than he was, and I want to hear again from your own lips that you've chosen me to do your cunt the honors. Well?"
At this same moment, Peggy enthusiastically improvised. She drew back the paddle and smacked it cruelly against the inner side of Aurelia Montanez's left thigh.
"Eowwwwouuu! Oh, yes, yes, oh please, I want you to-I want you to f-f-fuck me, oh anything if you'll only have those awful girls stop spanking me like that!" the woman screamed.
"That's fine. I just don't want there to be any doubts about your willingness to service me, Aurelia baby," he adopted now a mockingly condescending and intimate tone to the shuddering, groaning woman. Now, he slipped his hands down along her sweating sides and onto her flaming, swollen naked ass cheeks. His fingers digging into the globes until she yelled out in pain, Stan Lorendo thrust his prick against the thick bush of her cunt hair, and found the plump, twitching lips of her sex. She caught her breath and gasped, then groaned and squirmed. "Give her a couple more, Peggy," he called, "she's starting to change her mind."
"Oh no, don't please, Peggy, I want him to f-f-fuck me, I do, I really do! Oh no more spanking, in the name of Heaven!" the matron fairly shouted.
For already Peggy had applied two noisy thwacks across the lower summits of both naked, huddling ass globes, and Aurelia Montanez jerked forward with a shrill scream of torment. Stan Lorendo stood there unyieldingly, and as she forced herself forward, she impaled herself upon his stiff weapon. With a grunt of pleasure, he thrust forward, hiking himself to the balls inside her tight warm cunt.
She moaned and gasped, her head turning from side to side, the glassy eyes fixing on the ceiling. Now, mercilessly digging his fingers in the swollen cheeks of her behind, he leisurely began to fuck her.
Yolanda could not believe what she saw.
After a few moments of his slow and deliberate thrusts in and out of her, Aurelia Montanez began to whimper, and to groan, and then suddenly to arch and squirm and twist herself as if forcing herself forward onto this mighty spear which hafted itself deep in her love sheath. She began to whimper and to gasp out inarticulate words, and her nostrils twitched, and her eyes were closed, and her mouth gaped as she lunged constantly forward.
Now he seemed to quicken his gait within her sheath, his fingers ruthlessly digging into her flaming hindquarters. Her moans and groans of pain were mingled, now, with the overtones of lust. For the whipping had roused her perhaps even despite herself-or perhaps because of it and her own hidden nature. No longer was she abhorrent of his maleness. Indeed, she seemed to seek it, to anticipate it, as she plunged her quaking body to his so as to take all of himself into her.
And then with a cry he felt himself explode, as with a last sobbing gasp, Aurelia Montanez lurched forward and her body quaked with the violent tremors of a responding climax.
CHAPTER TWELVE
After Stan Lorendo had violated Conchita's beautiful, haughty mother, he ordered her untied from the triangle and taken to another one of the dungeons down the hall to be locked in for the night. Peggy and Conchita dragged the half-fainting, sobbing woman out of the dungeon, and Yolanda found herself alone with her captor.
Her eyes scanned his virile, hairy wiry body, and she could see his still somewhat stiff prick, greased from its sojourn in Aurelia Montanez's cunt. Once again, though she blushed violently, she could not take her eyes from that prodigiously potent male weapon. His hands on his hips, Stan Lorendo watched her intently for a long, silent moment. "Well, now, little Yolanda, you are beginning to learn all about life, aren't you? You're twenty-two, and I'm not much older, but sometimes I feel twice as old, and by now I think you know why. Well," now he glanced at his wristwatch, "it's practically midnight. In a few minutes, it'll be the anniversary of my father's death in the gas chamber. I'm going to leave you here to sleep, Yolanda. And tomorrow we'll see what's going to happen to you."
" 'Wait, don't leave yet, please, Mr. Lorendo!" she quavered.
"What's on your mind, Yolanda?"
"Was my father really to blame? I mean, if it was circumstantial, wasn't he just doing his duty as a captain of detectives? He had to bring back a murderer, so why do you blame him so? It was the man who killed that girl, the man you found in that saloon, he was really the one that did everything to your father by not confessing before it was too late. Why do you blame us both so much? Why do you hate me, Mr. Lorendo?"
"Perhaps it's because you represent a life I could have had. You heard just now what Conchita's mother thinks of greasers. But you see, she is one herself by marriage, and she's tried to deny it all her life, even while she was married to him and having Conchita. Do you know something else? This Conchita didn't say, because she couldn't stomach it. But I can. Mrs. Montanez had a hysterectomy so that she wouldn't have to have another child after Conchita was born."
"Oh no!" Involuntarily Yolanda Bervez gasped out that sympathetic and horrified ejaculation.
"Oh yes," he smilingly corrected. "You see, when you're a half-breed, a mestizo, which means half-white and half-Mexican, you're nothing. You're rejected by both sides, just the way the Negro is. I'll tell you something else. My father married a white woman. That's why I don't look entirely Mexican, Yolanda. Only my mother was proud of my father and of me. Only my mother died of grief about eighteen months after my father went to the gas chamber, you see. I was brought up by her sister, a fine, decent woman who believed that if a man or a woman was decent, that's all that mattered, not what the color of the skin was or religion."
"Oh God, I feel so useless, and yet I never would have hurt a person like you or your father, I wouldn't!" she groaned.
"In a way, Yolanda, you're just a victim of circumstances. You've been pampered and sheltered, which isn't really your fault. This perhaps is the first time in your life you know what life is really all about, one week of suspense and lust and hatred and jealousy and revenge. You've seen a little bit of that just now. Tomorrow, I'm going to decide what to do with you."
"Oh, please, won't you at least let my father know what I'm all right?"
"No, that's to be his punishment. He was so sure my father had to be guilty, he wouldn't even check any of the circumstantial evidence. As a captain of detectives, it was his duty to investigate every possible angle. An innocent man is innocent until proved guilty in this country, but your father believed that because my father was a greaser and was the type who might have committed that terrible crime against that poor little girl, he just had to be the one. Oh, the prosecutor was involved too. He wanted to get a triumph for his record so he could go on and maybe be governor someday. Only God punished him before I could do anything about it, Yolanda. He died of a heart attack three years ago."
"I don't know what to say-I wish I could bring your father back, I know it sounds silly, but now, now I don't hate you, no matter how much you've shamed and hurt me."
He stared at her for a long time in silence. "That's quite an amazing confession for a girl of your background to make, Yolanda. I'll think it over. Meanwhile, get a good night's sleep. You want to go to the bathroom?"
Suddenly she turned scarlet. She had moved her hands away from her pussy, clasping them in her passionate declaration of wanting to help him and she had left herself unguarded. His eyes had fixed on her maiden-hood, and now, like a chaste innocent who knows nothing of the male lust, she felt both outraged and wanton. Quickly covering herself again with her hands, she nodded.
"I'll have the girls take you to the John. And I'll see you tomorrow-rather, today, because it's just now midnight. Goodnight, little Yolanda."
A few moments later, Peggy and Conchita returned to take her to the bathroom, but this time they turned their backs and let her perform her functions in privacy for which she was pathetically grateful. And then she went back to that cell in which the gallows awaited, and was locked in for the night and flung herself down on her cot. The exhausting emotions of the day plunged her soon into a deep and dreamless slumber.
She woke to find both Peggy and Conchita bending over the cot. "Lazybones, get up," Peggy quipped. "Get ready to eat your last meal."
"Oh God-is he going to kill me, then?" Yolanda groaned as she wanly sat up.
"He'll tell you. Here, I've brought it on a tray, this time you don't have to lap it up on all fours. You can eat like a lady. I've even brought you a knife and fork. But they're dull, so don't try to cut your wrists or anything stupid like that," Conchita giggled. She set down on the side of the cot, a tray containing a pot of coffee, a grilled minute steak, salad, pie and a bowl of steaming minestrone soup. There was also a glass of red wine.
"We'll go out and let you eat in peace, Yolanda honey," Peggy said almost sympathetically. "I hope you'll enjoy it. We made Conchita's mother cook it for us."
"That poor woman-is she all right?"
"It's funny you should be concerned about Mummy," the petite brunette sneered. "She didn't give a damn about you, you'll notice. All she was worried about was her own skin last night. Oh, she's fine. Her bottom is a little sore and so is her cunt, but she had both of those coming. In fact, she's already tried to bribe Peggy with lots of money to let her get out of here. Of course she'd go tell the cops, and then we'd all be picked up. Anyway don't let that food get cold. Come on, we'll be back soon enough when Stan wants to take over."
The dungeon door clanged behind Yolanda, and she began to tremble. Yet she forced herself to eat, for she was terribly hungry. It was strange, she thought to herself as she sipped the wine, how much the little things in life meant now, when she was at the point of renouncing them forever. Because if he was going to kill her, this was her last day on earth. She had eaten at the finest San Francisco restaurants, expected them almost as her due, seen wonderful plays and heard concerts and operas. Now all that would be gone forever. And perhaps her father would never see her again and know what she had endured, know what she had learned about the man who had captured her.
She didn't want to die, oh God, she didn't! Because she had made a terrible discovery. As she finished her meal and shoved away the tray, she buried her face in her hands and wept. The discovery was that she cared for this strange man, young and moody, so passionately wanting life and justice, so vigorously determined to avenge his father. Was it really true what he had told her about all that circumstantial evidence and her own father's eagerness to hound an innocent man to his death? Oh God, if only she could talk to her father now, ask him about the case!
But there wouldn't be time. Nobody knew where she was now, nobody could find her. And when she raised her tear-swollen eyes, she saw the gallows looming before her.
* * *
A squadrol moved slowly down Lombard Street, just at the edge of the Marina. The officer at the wheel stared intently at the stately, vine-covered houses to his left, while his fellow officer watched the other side of the street as intently. "Maybe this is the Montanez house, Joe," the driver said, gesturing with his left hand towards a huge house at the corner. "It's got the address we had from the Bureau of Records."
"Let's take a looksee. Looks dark, and the shades are drawn in front," his partner said. The two men parked the squad car, and walked across the street, went up the heavy stone stairs to the porch, and the driver rang the bell. There wasn't any answer. "Let's go round in the back and see what's what. But it really looks deserted to me, Joe," he said glumly.
"Well, if any of those people are in on this snatch of Bervez's girl, they've probably found a new hiding place by now," the other officer suggested.
"That would be my guess, too, Joe. I'll stay here, you go round to the back. Then we'll have to go back to Captain Markheim and tell him the lead wasn't too hot."
There wasn't any answer at the back door, and there wasn't a light or a sound in the house. The two officers hesitated a moment. There was a wide lawn and then a big garden at the back. The basement seemed to be unseen entirely, under the foundation of the old house. It had a Gothic attic at the top above the second floor. Only darkness and age was suggested by gloomy windows that weren't shaded and by those that were. And there was an utter silence. Even the garden had been neglected and the flowers were dead. "We could break in, maybe," the driver suggested.
"Better not without a warrant. This is a touchy case. All this guff about Esteban Lorendo's being innocent all these years has got the Commissioner mad as a wet hornet. We better not go against the rules of the book. Let's go back to the Hall."
* * *
Stan Lorendo entered the dungeon, and this time Yolanda stood up from the cot and, clasping her hands against her swelling titties, uttered a cry of anguish. This time he wore the full cowl and hood, the black robe of an executioner, and his sandals. She could see only his eyes and his lips through the slits in the mask, and his lips were tight and his eyes were grim. Peggy and Conchita entered behind him, and they too were clad in black tunics which went down to their upper thighs and just concealed their pussies. They were both in high-heeled pumps, and black leather gloves to the shoulders.
"Blindfold her," Stan Lorendo said curtly.
"Good heavens, are you going to kill me, then? Oh please, Mr. Lorendo, please, can't I have a priest before I die-if I'm going to die?" Yolanda begged.
"I'm sorry I can't accommodate that request of yours, Yolanda. You can see it wouldn't do. The police have been nosing around the neighborhood lately, and a squadron stopped here and two officers snooped around for a little while and then went back. If I held things up, they might be back before it's over. You can appreciate my situation. Go ahead, blindfold her!"
"I beg of you, won't you give me a few minutes, just with you?" Yolanda pleaded, clasping her hands and kneeling down on the stone floor of the dungeon before her implacable young executioner.
"What's the point? We've said all we have to say to each other. I've got money enough to leave the country, maybe to a place like Rio or even Africa, where I can't be extradited. And I'm not going to involve either Peggy or Conchita. I'll get away after it's over, and then it'll be forgotten."
Even as he spoke, Conchita had pulled a black bandanna over the honey-haired captive's eyes and knotted it tightly at the back of her neck. Now Peggy stood beside the cot, with a cord in her gloved hands.
"Tie her wrists tightly behind her back. We don't want her to pull the noose away, do we?" Stan Lorendo said in an impassive voice.
Conchita and Peggy now approached the now sobbing honey-haired captive. "Don't fight it," Conchita said almost gently. "It'll be over quickly. There's a trap door, and we'll put the noose around your neck so it'll break your sweet little neck cleanly. You won't suffer at all. Just a shock and then blackness. It'll be just as fast as Stan's father died, you'll see. Come on now, don't fight. You know it won't do you any good. I'll have to give you a spanking first if you try any tricks, you know."
Yolanda was weeping bitterly now as she dropped her hands at her sides. Quickly Conchita seized them and dragged them behind her back while Peggy made the rope fast. Then, bending to her, each girl lifted her up by an armpit and steadied her on her feet and marched her towards the steps of the gallows. She felt her legs fail beneath her, and groaned aloud, "Oh God have pity on my soul!"
"Amen to that," Stan Lorendo muttered. They placed her now, and though she could not see the noose dangling before her eyes, she knew it was there. It had been there when she had awakened this morning and stared beyond the two girls standing at her cot to the grim gibbet.
"Any last words, Yolanda?" she heard him ask.
"I never wanted to hurt you. I'm sure my father didn't want to, either. Nor your father. It was his duty. I wish-I wish things could have been different. I-I don't hate you-I know how you must feel. All that bitterness inside of you all these years. And then your mother-I lost mine so young, and I had only my father. But I wish-oh God how I wish now I could have had a fellow who would have loved me-the way Conchita loves you. I shan't have that now, not ever and I'm sorry for that. And I forgive you."
"That's very touching, Yolanda. All right, Conchita, put the noose around her neck."
She felt Peggy steady her shoulders with her gloved hands, and then she felt the chafe of the black noose, the hempen cord which would snuff out her life in few moments. She groaned aloud, and her knees wavered beneath her once again. Then she felt Conchita firm the rope, till the noose slowly and inexorably tightened around her slim neck. It was adjusted with a knot to the left, beneath the jaw, which would mean the breakage of her neck once the trap was sprung. And suddenly she felt her own urine flow down her thighs, and burst into tears of shame at her weakness in this last terrible moment. "Oh do it quickly, get it over with, oh my God, have pity on me for I've suffered enough-do it!" she cried out hysterically.
Then she heard the sound of footsteps ascending the gibbet. And then Stan Lorendo's voice was very close to her: "You're really ready to die, aren't you? You're braver than I thought you would be, Yolanda. You're quite and amazing girl. So you wish that maybe you'd had a different life, maybe had a guy like me the way Conchita does, do you?"
And then she gasped as she felt his hands cup her naked titties, and then move down along her sides to her hips, then behind her to smooth over her quivering bare buttocks, and then moving back in front again to lave her lower abdomen and finally her pussy. Then his fingertips brushed the insides of her thighs, and she whimpered and sobbed, "Oh please, don't torture me this way, I'm ready to die, let it happen, don't mock me, don't torture me, it's too cruel, I don't deserve it!"
"Yes, that's rather true, all things considered," his voice was curiously calm. "But tell me now, if you had your life to live over again, what would you do, Yolanda?"
"I-I'd get married and have children, I'd give money to charity, I'd try to fight injustice and poverty and hatred. I-I'd try to be useful and to love someone dearly, the way I do my poor father. Oh at least, now that I'm going to die-won't you get word to him somehow? Tell him-that my last thoughts were of him. Tell him-tell him that I don't hate you for what you're doing to me and that I wish he would go back and read the records of that case and see if maybe he hadn't made a mistake after all. Will you please tell him that?"
"Of course. Yes, you are an incredible girl, Yolanda. I've never met anyone like you before. And so you really wish you had a guy like me, do you?"
"Oh yes I do! My father sheltered me all the time, he didn't want me to go around with fellows. He thought I'd get into bad company. But now-I-I've seen how happy you and Conchita are with each other, and I've never known anything like that. And I felt-I felt so ashamed to be like this, and now-I feel just a little-how crazy it is to say this at a time like this.
"But say it anyway, Yolanda-you must!"
"I wish you'd made love to me before this," she finished, and burst into sobs.
Stan quickly told Peggy and Conchita to leave the room, and he held Yolanda in his arms, letting his fingers roam all around her soft body.
"Take me with you," she said to him, over and over.
"No," was his constant reply, because he couldn't fathom having her with him always, and always being able to whip her sprightly body.
But at her final urging-"Please Stan, take me! I want your child! I want you to fuck me always, always! "-he could no longer resist, and he spread her legs and let his rampant prick shove up into her virgin piece of womanhood ... and she was with him, then and always.
