Aurora was a high-fashion model of ravishing beauty who was madly in love with a successful screenwriter named Jason. But Helen Corday wanted to spoil all that. For a few hellish days, Aurora's lesbian photographer made a ruin of Aurora's life, arranging for her abduction to a remote country estate where the depraved sadist, the multimillionaire Pedro Peligrosa, trained and chained his slaves.
Helen allowed herself to become one of Peligrosa's slaves in the hopes of having the Signor, as he called himself, convert Aurora to a similar status. She made a contract with the wealthy degenerate: she responded to the ad he had placed in the S&M magazines she read. The ad contained a unique, satanic proposition - a proposition which Helen's lust for the model drove her to accept.
The proposition was a simple one, or so it seemed. The Signor spoke of "Chain Letter Chains". His chain letter was not the old ruse used to gull suckers of their hard-earned money by countless con artists. The Signor had done that, too: it was the way, in fact, that he had amassed his huge, illicit fortune.
No, the Signor did not want to steal people's money: he wanted to rob them of their freedom. Be his slave and send out the chain letter to five more suckers. Once they join the chain by enslaving themselves to the Signor, you win the right to become their masters. Once they each find five more suckers, they, too, become masters in their turn. But only the first to respond can expect to make a profit. Only if Aurora succumbed, would Helen be promoted to mastery. If Aurora resisted the Signor's brutality, Helen would be a slave forever. And Aurora wanted to resist!
CHAPTER ONE
The man at the wheel of the armored car saw her walk out of the lobby of the modelling agency at precisely one o'clock. The short, revealing dress she was wearing rode half-way up her sleek, slender thighs. It was held to her narrow waist by a thick strap of black, glossy plastic. A sheer, pale blue blouse emerged from the top of the belt. Only the bottom three buttons were done, and the braless softness of her bosom rolled temptingly behind the thin material, puncturing the fragile surface with the delicate points of her perfectly round nipples. Through the deep blue lenses of her swept back glasses, her eyes peered nervously at the watch strapped to her limply held wrist. The high spikes of her heels were beating an agitated staccato rhythm on the concrete sidewalk. She was waiting for someone. Someone was late. She was obviously wondering why.
The man gunned the engine and moved the armored car along the street leading up to the agency door. He kept his eyes on her in the rear view mirror as he parked a few feet in front of her. He knocked his knuckles lightly on the back wall of the cab, and heard the return knock that meant the others were ready. His eyes watched them step out of the rear door of the car and walk over to her. The rear view mirror showed him that she was confused by their presence, and didn't know why they were there. One of the men put his hand over her mouth while the other grabbed her around the waist. They hoisted her roughly into the back of the van. He heard the door slam shut. She screamed, and he gunned the engine again to muffle the sounds. He went through a red light and made his way quickly out of the city.
The man drove the armored car for hours. He passed through the suburbs at the outskirts of the city. He drove on and on, watching the density of housing diminish, while the density of the trees and high rocks increased. Soon, there were no more houses. Only trees and rocks, and an occasional brook, could be seen.
An hour past the last houses, a narrow gravel road could be seen leading up to the highway. The man turned the car into the road and began to bounce in the seat from the impact of the ruts and stones that interfered there with the smooth spinning of the wheels. When he was two or three miles down the road, he saw a large electric gate jump out from the overhang of trees and block the path of his vehicle. He stopped the motor and pressed down heavily on the breaks. He stepped out of the cab and walked over to a small metal box that sat atop a four foot cable of coiled steel that was braced to the trunk of a tall oak. He opened the front of the box with a silver key and pulled out a red telephone receiver. He pushed a few numbers on the inner surface of the receiver and spoke a few brusque words. He replaced the receiver in the box and relocked it. He returned to the cab of the car and turned the ignition key. He waited.
There was a whirring sound emanating from the gate. The gate swung open and he drove through. He saw the gate shut behind him in the rear view mirror and kept driving.
There was a large Tudor mansion emerging into view as the armored car followed a sharp bend in the road. The mansion was surrounded by a cluster of small shacks. All of the windows of the house were shuttered. There was an oval driveway with a mammoth oak tree in its center. The man drove the armored car around the oval, parking in front of the heavily bolted door that marked the front entrance to the mansion. He pulled the emergency brake and extricated himself from the cab. His boots bit into the black gravel that filled the oval as he made his way to the back door of the van. He opened up the door and stood aside to allow the men inside to emerge with their cargo.
She was gagged and blindfolded, and all of her clothing had been removed. She could not walk in the heavy leg irons, and had to be carried. The men could not carry her by draping her arms over their shoulders, as her wrists were tightly bound together in barbed iron cuffs. They draped her across their extended arms and brought her to the door.
Her hair dragged across the steps as the men carried her slowly to the man in the long black flowing cape who had unbolted the door and come down to them. He raised a gloved hand into the air. Leather-wrapped fingers swooped down on her upraised breasts and pecked at her nipples. More dark fingers dug into the tufts of blonde curls that cloaked the space between her thighs. A grim smile darted across the opening in the base of his mask and disappeared. He walked to the van while the others froze in place by the door. He extracted the blouse, the skirt, the silky undergarments and hose, and sprinkled them across the lawn. Two huge mastiffs ran out of the door past the immobile men and the captive woman. They pounced on the garments on the lawn, shredding them between their fangs. They came over to the man by the back of the van. He pointed his hand to the door and they returned inside.
The man in the leather mask put his hands behind his back beneath his cape and walked slowly after his dogs. When he had entered the foyer of the mansion, the still forms by the door came to life and marched behind him to a book case in a high-ceilinged den. He removed a heavy tome from the shelf and pulled at a lever that lay hidden behind it. The shelf began to swing around an invisible vertical pole until it had half disappeared into the wall. A stone stairway could be seen leading up to the opening made by the book case. The masked man walked down the stairs, followed by the others.
They came to a low and narrow tunnel, lit by torches that jutted from the earthen walls. The leader came to the end of the tunnel. There was a thick metal door. It had a screen three quarters of the way up from the floor. Four vertical bars of steel could be seen behind the screen. There was a great iron latch half way down from the screen, and a key hole.
The leader reached inside his cape and removed a long key which he placed in the hole in the door and turned. He squeezed the latch with both hands and the door creaked open. He stepped inside, followed by the others. The man carrying the manacled legs closed the door behind him.
There were steps leading down from the door. They opened on to a vast natural cavern. Its floor was pock-marked by small, fetid pools, and the men weaved their way through them and the stalagmites that sprouted at irregular intervals from the stretch of cold, dank limestone between them.' A faint light glowed from a crevice in the far wall of the cavern. They headed toward it, then into it. They were in another chamber. Its inner trappings gave evidence that it had been visited by similar parties many times before.
The chamber was as high as the one they had left behind, but it was narrower, and not as deep. There were numerous chains dangling from the ceiling, and numerous pieces of machinery along the floor and attached to the walls. One of these was a high, flat rack of wood, with metal braces and straps. The leader waved his hand above it, and the others deposited their burden upon it. The leader removed the irons from the legs and wrists of the captive, intending the braces and straps to take their place. He removed the blindfold and gag, giving her liberty to note her surroundings, and to speak if that pleased her.
The man in the mask snapped his fingers, and the others turned and departed. They threaded their way through the pools in the outer cavern, crouched up the narrow tunnel to the library above, passed out the front door to rejoin the driver of the armored car, resumed their places in the van, were locked in by the driver, who went into the cab and started the motor. The departure of the car could not be heard in the cave far below where the man and his new slave were at. The man poked her breasts with the handle of a riding crop and admired their full perfection with his eyes. He flipped the crop and lightly grazed the mounds and tufts of her crotch with the lash at the other end of the handle, making the hips above twitch slightly. Then he moved the lash in and out of the spaces between her toes, and across her soft soles. Her contours gave him pleasure, and he bared his teeth.
"How do you like your new home?" he inquired.
The woman was afraid to speak. He repeated his question. She remained silent. He dragged the lash across her stomach, then raised it into the air and held it above her. He repeated his question again.
"You must speak now, while I am in the mood to allow you that liberty. How do you like your new home? I hope it pleases you, as you will be residing in it for some time to come."
A shrill scream pierced the silence of the cave, echoing for many seconds from the walls. The man laughed darkly at her answer and retrieved the gag. He forced her to take the wad of cloth into her mouth, then tied a knot tightly at the back of her neck. He started to walk away from her. He raised his eyes to the ceiling, moving them in slow, attentive circles about the room.
He saw the men perched in the high hollows of the upper stretches of the walls. He raised his hands above his head, then dropped them to his sides. The men took the headphones from their ears, and placed caps over the lenses of their cameras.
"You have gotten all of it so far?"
The men nodded their heads in silence. The masked figure staring up at them placed his hands together behind his cape and nodded his approval. He was pleased with the initial sequence, and began to plot out later scenes in his mind. He paced for a time, then decided to leave and contemplate alone in his study.
He really wanted her to have time to grow more fearful. Her first screams were appropriate testimonies to her initial terror, but they would have to be refined. He wished for her to develop a wide spectrum of fearful emotions. The subtlety of her anguish must be tutored, it must grow to match the subtle methods he had carefully developed over the years for torture, humiliation, and gradual enslavement of his victims. She had the matchless beauty that he needed for his present work. She would serve him well, and he looked forward to a rewarding partnership with this future slave.
He returned to the library and replaced the book case to its normal position within the wall. He entrenched himself in the heavily padded Morris chair behind his writing table and took a folder from the top drawer. As he thumbed through the clippings and sheets inside the folder, he would occasionally find one that he wished to peruse, and place it on the polished ebony surface of the table.
The clippings were advertisements he had placed or answered in various of the sado-masochistic magazines to which he subscribed. To each clipping he had stapled a page of notes and whatever letters of inquiry or response the ad had elicited. The one marked P. O. Box 373, Grand Central Station now held his attention. It was one of the first responses he'd gotten to the chain letter he'd circulated among the frequent advertisers in the magazines. The respondent was currently strapped into a body-length plastic sheet and dangling by her hair from a chain attached to the ceiling attached to one of the sheds outside the mansion. According to the proposition he'd announced in the chain letter that she'd answered, she needed to supply five unsuspecting victims for him to train before she could be released from her bondage and allowed to become the master of the next link in the chain of responses. Being one of the first to respond, she needed to be his slave for only a few weeks before there were sufficient further answers to his circular, and sufficient victims supplied by her own efforts prior to her arrival at his fortress, for her to expect freedom and mastership to be awarded her. In fact, her first four victims had already converted, and started to supply further links in the chain for his pleasure and - as they hoped - eventually their own. The fifth and final victim was now strapped to the bed of planks in the cavern below. Once she had been tamed, the woman in the shed outside would have fulfilled her contract. Then the woman in the caves would become her slave. Pedro Peligrosa chuckled to himself as he reflected on the success of his circular. The woman in the shed was the last of the first set of five. Once she won her liberty, there would be five times five forced to seek the same hard-won freedom. Then there would be five times five times five: a number that would require the many sheds he had erected on his large, secluded estate. Those who responded late to his letter, those who were many links removed from the start of the chain, would be forced to suffer not weeks, but months and even years of his discipline before they could hope to meet the obligations of their contracts with him.
Signor Peligrosa had made his large, illicit fortune some decades ago by the device of such letters. Then, his letters were concerned with more mundane sorts of appropriation: send five dollars to each of the five names above your own in the chain letter, enter your own name beneath the last of those, -and send out five copies of the letter with your name affixed to its bottom line. You will then take five dollars from each of the next links in the chain. A very simple and attractive sounding proposition! Being always the first name, the first link in the chains his letters began, he was able to amass a rapid fortune. Those who answered at further removes from the source sent out much money, and received little, if any, in return - and what they received took a long stretch of time to come back to them.
That, of course, was why chain letters were illegal now. Their logic had not the least taint of the Christian mercy that Signor Pedro Peligrosa so despised. The heavenly riches that one reaped were not equally doled out to the early and late arrivals to the faith in the chain letters that he sent out to those heathen he had made his fortune manipulating and deceiving. The first links grew fat at the expense of the later links' sustenance.
But Peligrosa no longer needed to concern himself with the accumulation of such crude prizes as dollars and cents. Thanks to the illegal device of the chain letters he had concocted in his early years, he no longer needed to give the slightest thought to money: the tainted millions he had made by his simple gimmick were now safely invested in the most solid and lucrative securities; their initial value, large in its own right, was now multiplied many times over. He need never worry about money, even if he lived to be a thousand, even if he spent those thousand years living in the luxurious style he had been accustomed to for the past twenty years.
But Peligrosa had a fondness for the chain letters that had done him such splendid service in the past. The illegal device of the chain letter he now used for an even more disreputable purpose: no longer in need of dollars, he now used them to procure more animate, priceless treasures. He used them to procure slaves - and slaves in great number!
Peligrosa was not one to give compliments lightly, but he was willing to give credit where credit was due. And he was more than willing to give the credit for his recent and highly successful venture to his late wife, the Signora Yma Peligrosa. He would always remember with great fondness the night that she had died of pleasure in his arms. As he unravelled her from the stud-riddled chains that had held her above the sharp metal spikes that had worked their way too far into her shredded flesh, she had rolled her eyes back into her skull and spoke her last words of love to him Her words were simple: "Chain letter chains!" It was the final visionary pronouncement, crowning a life devoted to the pursuit of pleasure through the most fantastic degradations and torments. Her words were simple, and the inspirational fervor with which they were pronounced gave her husband food for much thought in his period of bereavement.
Her vision had been a great gift. He would cherish that gift until the time for his own final pleasure arrived. And he would make use of that gift with great energy and devotion until that time. He was making stern use of it now, as the inhabitants of the sheds and caves on his estate could attest.
The Signor rose from his table and went out for a walk among his sheds. He came to the one with the woman dangling by her hair from the ceiling chains, and entered it.
"Well, my dear, the last installment of your payment has been delivered. If she serves me well, you will soon win your freedom. Soon, if she turns out to my liking, you will be awarded your own slaves, and your own sheds in which to discipline them.
The woman made no move to answer him. She could not move at all. The thin, skin-hugging plastic made all movement impossible for her. Peligrosa could see every detail of her tormented flesh through the transparent wrapper. She, however, could not see him. Her eyes were covered by thick black patches. But for the plastic, the spiked bracelet that bit into her neck whenever she expanded the walls of her throat by swallowing, the heavy chains that dented the flesh around her ankles and the wrists behind her back, the massive double- ended dildo whose two ends were stuffing the two orifices of her lower body, and but for the thin spindles of silver that perforated the plastic and the scabrous nipples beneath, the thick black patches on her eyes were the only garments that she wore.
"You must tell me you are pleased, my pet. Your last offering is a choice morsel, a woman of perfect beauty, as perfect as your own, Valencia!"
Valencia - for so he called her, and as she no longer had clear memories of her previous life, such she had come to call herself - opened her cracked lips and tried to speak. She had to whisper, lest her adam's apple protrude and suffer punishment from the spikes of her collar.
"I am glad she pleases you, master!"
Peligrosa pushed her gently with the butt of his riding crop. The light thrust sent her body slowly spinning, twining her hair in an ever tighter bundle that gathered up her roots and pulled painfully at the woman's scalp. Her lips hung open, and began to be coated with a thin smear of drool.
"Ah! You do enjoy this little recreation.
Valencia! It pleases me to see you so happy!"
As the chains creaked above her, she moved a dry, coated tongue toward the front of her mouth and spoke in a hoarse murmur.
"Yes! Yes! It pleases me to spin!"
Peligrosa peered into her bloodless face with his idiosyncratic substitute for tenderness. He reached to a lever on the wall of the shed, and held it down. The chains moaned, and lowered her.
"Your lips are so dry, Valencia, I would not like your luscious mouth to become brittle and hard. You must drink, you must have exercise. You will have them now!"
When her body had crumpled onto the dirt floor of the shed, Signor Pedro peeled her out of the plastic, first removing the pins in her breasts and the spiked collar, and the double-edged instrument that filled her crotch and anus. The latter he removed slowly, watching her face move through a series of contortions that gave proof of the exquisite pleasure and agony that were mixing together in her brain as she was relieved of their tormenting mass and pressure.
"When we have returned from your walk, you must remember to watch the television screens as you dangle in your hutch tonight. You will see how well she performs. Let us hope she performs well for us! It will mean much for. you if she does - and much if she does not!" He undid her cuffs and unwound the chains from her feet, then removed the patches from her eyes. He gave her a few moments to recall how to coordinate her limbs, then lifted her to her feet and took out the leash.
As she stood dazed and immobile, he draped the leather loop of the leash about her neck and tightened it, leaving just enough slack to permit breathing and small swallows. There was a small ring on the loop to which a long and slender cord was attached. The loose end of the cord clipped onto the ring that Peligrosa had threaded some months ago through the ruffles of her lower lips: one of the first rites of initiation into the mysteries of his order of pain.
When he wished to change her course, he would pull on the leash in such a way as to constrict the cord. The spur of pain that would shoot through her loins then would let her know in no uncertain fashion that she was not obeying his whims properly. He seldom needed to engage in that practice any more, Valencia was, by this time, exceptionally well trained.
He led her naked through the front acres of his estate. This was their common practice, to go on walks thrice daily through the tall grasses of his land. He did not wish her supple muscles to atrophy. Pain was of no value if it led to the loss of vital functions. Such disuse would be self-defeating: what pain can be inflicted on limbs that can no longer respond well enough to feel?
Valencia did not speak, nor did her eyes move. She stared vacantly throughout her walks, only changing the focus of her orbs when the Signor led her to the spring at the back of the house and bade her drink. The spring was adjacent to the kennels where the mastiffs stayed when not confined to the mansion. When she had quenched her thirst, the Signor would let her eat there with the dogs.
Valencia's arrival was always noted by the great hounds. Her arrival meant it was their dinner time. When they smelled her approaching with their master, they came out of their coops as far as their chains would allow, and let the drool drip from their sharp white fangs. A shudder used to pass along Valencia's spine whenever this moment arrived, but she had become accustomed to it now. She no longer knew such feelings. She had passed beyond the innocence of fear.
The raw meat that Peligrosa kept stacked on silver platters a foot beyond the maximum extension of the dogs' metal leashes was soon being tossed to the beasts. They ripped and gnashed it greedily as Valencia stared vacantly in their general direction. Signor Pedro dropped some in the dirt at her feet, and directed her to eat. She dropped obediently to her haunches and began to cram the dripping red flesh into her mouth, showing no care for the way the juices dripped down her neck and splashed across her breasts. When she had had her fill and returned to the spring to wash down her meal, Peligrosa led her back to the dogs. He unloosed the chains from the necks of two of the hounds and signalled them to watch for the command.
"Valencia, my dear, your friends are eager to show you their affection. You will not disappoint them, of course!"
A slight twitch streaked across her left cheek for an instant, but soon it departed, leaving no trace on her face. Peligrosa raised his hand, then dropped it to his side. The mastiffs lunged at Valencia, mauling her breasts and stomach with their paws as they pushed her down to the ground. They licked the thin streaks of blood that their claws had unwittingly drawn up from her flesh and walked about and over her, waiting for the next command.
There was another twitch running through the musculature of her face, and its echo remained discernible in the tension of her cheek for a few seconds longer than the last. The next command was given, and the larger of the hounds developed an erection and climbed between her legs. Peligrosa pulled the leash to widen her orifice for the inflamed animal, and watched with keen interest and the small red hose flicked out of the end of the creature's phallus. The dog entered the motionless, mute slave and began to fuck her.
Valencia began to writhe and gurgle, continuing to do so like a marionette whose strings were caught up in a revolving fan when the dog had finished. She was still gesticulating wildly when the second hound began his turn. It took her a few minutes to resume her immobile posture on the ground when he had left her legs.
"There, Valencia! Your fellow beasts have awarded you their deepest affection! You are pleased, of course!"
She gave him a timid look, but there was a glint of terror in the depths of her eyes, and the Signor, well-practiced in these matters, detected it.
"Tell me you are pleased! Tell me how totally your carnal lusts have been satisfied! Tell me, Valencia!!"
She was stammering, and her eyes were jumping erratically in their sockets. She furrowed her brows and found the word.
"N-n-n-no! N-n-no! No!!"
The Signor hissed and lifted the riding crop above his head.
"That is a lie! You must not lie to me!!"
He swung the lash down brutally across her legs and shoulders, leaving red welts that filled with grit as she rolled helplessly in the dirt.
"No! No! Y-y-yes."
She was heaving heavily, and the blank look and mechanical movement resumed their control of her. She had stuttered the new answer, but it was the proper one. Peligrosa grinned and laughed at her viciously.
"You must not lie, my pet! Only masters may lie! Lying requires cunning, and the comprehension of power! These things are still denied you! Your contract, my darling, has not yet been totally fulfilled!" The Signor tugged at her leash and led her away from the dogs. She was forced to crawl for thirty yards, until he slowed his pace enough to allow her time to scramble to her feet.
"I have perhaps been too stern with you, my precious. You are excitable today, now that your final friend has arrived. You are anxious to see how she progresses, and I feel it proper to pity you for that cloying weakness. I will bring you to see her, then, if that will please you!"
There was a flicker of understanding in the dull sheen of her eyes. Some buried part of her knew who the friend was, and what it would mean to see her stretched helpless and naked before her. There was a time when that buried part of her had wanted this. The memory of that time was too terrible a burden, and refused to surface into the remnants of her consciousness. The memory, like that of her true name, was kept from her by the secret knowledge of the dread she would feel upon recognizing the foul motives that had brought her willingly to this place. She must remain a slave, she must not think about the enormity of her outrages, she must willingly receive the outrages that the Signor was pleased to inflict upon her as just and wanted punishment for being what she was.
A harsh, sudden tug at the leash brought her back from the dangerous brink of thought. She became docile, she followed him into the mansion, she crawled as he commanded through the tunnel that led to the caves, she wallowed in the pools in the main cavern as he walked on the limestone and led her through the stagnant waters. She revelled in the pain and humiliation as she had been trained, and pleased him as she was required.
When they came to the dim light of the inner chamber, Valencia had returned to her proper frame of mind. She heeled behind her master and let herself be led to the place where Aurora was strapped and gagged.
Aurora's gag was removed, and she was allowed to cast her eyes upon the Signor's slave. Aurora shook beneath her bonds and shrieked.
"Helen! Helen Corday! You!!"
Valencia began to twitch, but the master smashed her buttocks with a bludgeon he took from the rack of instruments that adjoined the wooden bed on which Aurora was struggling.
"She calls you Helen! Do you know anyone who uses that name?"
Valencia stammered, but the upraised bludgeon inspired her to give the correct response. Her eyes resumed their vacant glassy sheen. Her face drained of all expression, and then she spoke.
"No, Master. I know no one who uses that name."
Aurora yelled at her, calling her over and over by the name. There was no response. When Aurora had exhausted herself, when she became to hoarse to prolong her repetitious dialogue, Peligrosa tugged the leash and led Valencia away. He signalled to the cameramen in the hollows of the walls, and smiled darkly to them. "You have done quite well today," he said to her as they made their way through the outer cavern. "I will have the technicians replay that scene for you on the screen tonight. You will be pleased to see how well you have obeyed me!"
She was twitching again, but a few slaps of the lash brought her back to her expected pattern of behavior. Peligrosa brought her back to her shed, draped her again in her familiar clothes, and raised her up on the ceiling chains according to the established ritual. He left off the eye patches and turned on the television for her to watch.
She dangled there alone for a few hours, her eyes unable to leave the blank white screen. Then she saw the program she had been promised begin. But she did not see the last part of the show very clearly. For reasons she could not unravel, there was water in her eyes and on her cheeks, and all she could see were blurs.
CHAPTER TWO
Peligrosa replaced the gag and blindfold on Aurora before he left the cavern with his slave, leaving Aurora to live in the darkness of her own tormented thoughts until he, or some other, returned.
Aurora's thought unwound through the scenes of the day, back to the scene of her abduction, beyond that time to earlier moments of her life, moments she had shared with Helen Corday.
Aurora remembered her first meeting with Helen. Aurora was modelling for a fashion spread in a major magazine; Helen was the photographer assigned by the magazine. Most of the photographers she had worked with before had been men. She needed time to adjust to the change, and many reels of film were wasted as she tried to adjust to Helen's peculiar requirements.
Helen was more demanding than the men Aurora knew. She made her pose over and over again for the same sequence of shots, made her change garments rapidly, giving her little time to rest and reorient herself between her poses. She exhausted her,-sought to squeeze all the life from her with her demanding lens.
There was a strange concern with jewelry. Helen required that she wear heavy bracelets, and weighty lengths of metal about her slender neck. She would place her in awkward poses, goading her to hold them in spite of the oppressive bands of silver and gold, gloating when she could not take the strain and pleaded for rest. Then Helen would lower her camera and glare at her, reveling in the weaknesses she had forced her to display.
Helen wore her down slowly, over many hours of shooting. Helen herself had shown up late, as if intending to intensify the pressure of the deadline they had to meet together. Aurora was forced to change and contort for her into the early hours of the morning. She was unbearably fatigued, yet still Helen demanded more.
As dawn was nearing, Helen subtly changed her tactics. She required sequences that called for scanty clothing. These had been planned before, but Helen kept them for the final hours of their session. She wished Aurora to be worn out for them. She wanted her resistance to be low. The last set of shots were of Aurora in lingerie. Aurora would have to change in and out of many sets of panties and sheer hose. There was little time left in which to complete the assignment, and Aurora was compelled to make the rapid changes now required without the convenience of a screen. Her breasts were bare for the last series; she was instructed to cover them with her hands and stretch her legs to display the transparent body stockings that were the focus of the pose. When she changed from stocking to stocking, she would have to stand naked for a minute or so, waiting for Helen to decide upon the skimpy garment that would serve as the centerpiece of the next photograph.
Aurora felt uneasy at this, but was unable to articulate a complaint. She was too tired. Helen began to torment her with further demands. She did not like the hand of the thin gauze on her thighs. She wanted to adjust it herself until it suited her own austere designs.
Helen came to her haughtily, laden with jewels. She commanded Aurora to stand immobile in her nakedness while she draped the heavy baubles about her neck and limbs. She moved her arms and legs as she pleased, forcing the small of her back to push in and out to satisfy her image of the pose. She slid the hose up along her legs with tense, cloying fingers, rolling the thin mesh with meticulous, probing concern. When the stocking had been peeled to the joints of her thighs, Helen brushed her finger-tips lightly across the tufts and mounds of Aurora's sumptuous crotch, rubbing the crease there so deftly as to arouse her in an apparently accidental manner.
Helen made her sigh against her will. She felt a thin ooze of fluid leave the lips of her tender mounds and laughed at her. She stared at her then with cold, motionless eyes. Aurora was so tired. She wished to swoon. But still Helen demanded her to keep her pose.
When the stocking had been rolled to her waist, Helen began to place the jewelry. An ungainly rock-laden necklace was placed about her throat. Large leaden bracelets, from which spars of emerald dangled, were hasped to her wrists. Then came the golden chains. These were hooked atop Aurora's ankles. Many strands of the thick gold links were wound about the upper reaches of her feet. Aurora was so tired. She could not move beneath the burdens now overlaying her complete fatigue. She was not allowed to move. Her limbs, and the arch of her back, were set by her photographer at angles that Aurora thought impossible to maintain. Yet she was commanded to maintain them. She felt faint, and was given no respite.
Helen clicked the shutters of her camera with ferocious speed. She circled her frozen prey on her toes, capturing her motionless torture from many heights and angles, barking reprimands when Aurora shivered as her limbs threatened to buckle from the ceaseless, mounting strain.
Helen wished all of her muscles to bear the pain. When Aurora reached the limits of her endurance in a particular pose, Helen would swoop down on her and wrench her limbs into a new configuration. Then she would begin her dance again around the glistening white statue in the center of her sinuous path.
When all of Aurora's frame was screaming for release, Helen demanded of her the most impossible pose. She must stand on one leg, her back twisted to the right, her neck bent backwards toward the floor, her left hand covering her perfect breasts while the right made a fist and rested in the hollow of her hip. Helen kept her in that pose for a third of an hour, snapping the shutters at ever closer distances, till Aurora could feel her breath steaming on her raw, stretched neck.
Suddenly she fell. Helen glowered down at her with the cold fire of a vulture in her eyes. There was one more change of lingerie to be made for the final shooting. Aurora was moaning, and could not move.
She could see Helen stooping over her. Her hands had fallen from her breasts to the floor, and Helen's heavy hot breathing washed over her nipples until they tingled and rose. Helen stroked them with the edges of her nails as her hands prepared to move below to the elastic upper ridge of the stocking.
Aurora twitched and shivered as she felt her nipples swell and stiffen. Next came sharper, more overwhelming sensations. Helen had pried the nylon loose from her hips. Her hands were rolling it over her soft, blonde pubic curls. Her hands did their work slowly, torturing Aurora with swift, darting stabs at her slit and clitoris.
Aurora's hips began a jerky motion that she could not control. Awareness was passing out of her, and she felt unable to resist the probings of the lenswoman's fingers. She was drenching in her own sweat, and could feel hot froth spraying from the tender hole that Helen was manipulating now, and attempting to fill. Spasms of unwanted pleasure twittered through her overloaded nerves. Her muscles contracted against her bones, shaking her frail skeleton and chattering her teeth.
Helen licked at her opening and tickled her tender nub with the sharp caps of her teeth. Aurora was shooting come into the stocking, and felt herself slip helplessly into orgasm while Helen sat on her haunches and froze the moment of her frenzy with the cold metal clicking of the camera.
Helen shamelessly witnessed her victim's deepest privacy through her lens, continuing to do violence to Aurora's modesty with the fingers of her free hand. She forced her helpless prey to further, deeper spasms, and brought her to the edge of total release.
When Aurora's complete surrender to the invasion of forced lust approached, Helen suddenly withdrew from her and sprang to her feet.
Aurora was babbling incoherently, her mind was drowning in an unbearable torrent of bestial frustration as she felt Helen's hand slip away from just when a final flurry of strokes were all she needed to explode. Her eyes glazed from the painful, stifling fog that her denial brought to her. Then the dull glaze was bathed with her tears. Her body sobbed and shuddered against the floor as Helen danced, making her camera click from many points above her throbbing body.
Helen dropped down on her haunches and swept her fingers through Aurora's tangling hair. She stared into her eyes and moved her lips down her face. Helen forced her tongue into her mouth, swirling it about in the saliva of her prey, locking her mouth over Aurora's and making her gasp.
Helen pushed herself away and rose. She looked down at Aurora, and spoke to her.
"Prepare for the final sequence," she hissed. She stepped away from Aurora's writhing form to gather more jewels. She returned with an ebony box, inlaid with mother of pearl and studded with small flecks of blood red rubies. She opened the box by Aurora's side as she kneeled next to her thighs. She took out her ornaments, and began to drape her with them.
Aurora felt her hands being gathered together and lifted. She felt a burdensome weight lock about her hands and bite into the tender tissue of her wrists. More metal was locked about her feet, and then a massive iron collar was padlocked to her neck.
"Why... Why?" she moaned, but her exhaustion was too total to allow more than a short, hoarse whisper to emerge from her throat.
"Our assignment for the magazine is done, Aurora. But we are free to plan further, more challenging ones now, my dear!"
Helen lifted her to her feet and dragged her to the center of the trapezoid of floor delimited by three white screens. Above the screens, an umbrella was poised, used by the photographer to control the light that fell on the scene. The screens and the umbrella moved to Helen's touch as she prepared the depth and intensity of the lighting she would use in her next series of shooting. She bathed Aurora in the heat of hard red lights that she placed before her on the floor. Then she positioned her camera slightly left of center of the line leading from the screens to a wide, full-length mirror at the back of the studio. Aurora could see herself reflected in it, could see herself chained and manacled on her knees. She could see Helen's back in the mirror, bending over the camera, while Helen's eyes peered darkly at her from behind the red lights.
"Hold the pose, dear, it becomes you so!"
Helen had set the camera to fire automatically every ten seconds. Once it began to function, Helen leaped over the red lights and roughly contorted Aurora's frame. She would leap out from the gaze of the lens when she had forced Aurora into the posture that suited her, then return to inflict a new one upon her after the tell-tale click of the automatic shudder.
She captured moment after moment of her humiliations, varying them gradually until they attained a horrifying degree of degradation - a degradation Aurora was forced to observe in the mirror propped against the far wall.
In one shot, Helen stretched her lengthwise between the screens and put the spike of her high heel to her neck, pulling at a leash which she had fastened to the iron collar. Helen liked the sight of herself dominating Aurora in the mirror, and chose to remain in the ensuing set of photographs.
She took two large gold earrings, earrings on which long frills of silver dangled and swung, and stabbed the pins of the rings through the tender pink globes of her nipples. The rings hung through her flesh and drew small droplets of blood. Aurora groaned and whimpered. Each moment of her agony, each fresh dripping of her blood, was captured by the cold eye of the camera.
Helen had an automatic control that she held in her hand. She made the camera snap two stills a second once she had hung the rings from Aurora's nipples. Then she pushed and stroked her breasts, directing the flow of her blood, setting the swaying silver to trace out a painful series of pendulous arcs.
Helen watched herself drool over Aurora's blood. She began to lap up the crimson leakage with her tongue, and sucked at the base of the rings and held her teeth and lips poised in wait for the camera.
When the bleeding ceased, Helen laid her on her back and spread her knees. She kept them apart with a gleaming metal bar, which she attached with leather cords to the inner hollow of her joints.
There was a hole in the middle of the bar. Helen threaded it with a thinner one, and strapped one end of it to the links of gold between Aurora's ankles. The strap had ample slack for Helen's purposes, and she began to slide the bar in and out of the hole in the cylinder that separated the knees.
The loose end of the sliding bar was narrow and sharp. The bar between the knees was of adjustable length, and by pushing at some small buttons on its surface, its ends could be teased into lengthening, spreading Aurora's knees still further as they did so.
But as her knees spread, the gleaming, sharp end of the sliding bar was forced to come closer and closer to the wet hole in her loins. Finally, Aurora's knees were spread so far that the next upswing of the needle could not fail to impale her. That is when she screamed.
"Don't be a child, my love," Helen crooned. "I will not let it enter very far! Just a lick of pain, and the look of terror on your face - those will satisfy me, and make for precious pictures!"
Aurora's hands were cuffed behind her back for this sequence, and the leash at her collar was held firmly, and without slack, by the handle of the white umbrella that loomed above the screens. It was impossible for her to move without causing herself terrible pain. Yet she was forced to move to escape the next thrust of the needle, and found herself choking brutally as her movement jarred her neck into a strangling compromise with the tension of her leash.
Her lips turned blue, and foam bubbled from her lips as Helen tightened the leash and kept her in her awkward pose. Helen wrenched the helpless model's face toward the mirror, puckering her own lips for the camera. When Helen felt Aurora's throat rattling, she let her have some slack, allowing her some painful gasps with which to fill her burning lungs.
The rapid, violent gasps forced the walls of Aurora's throat to inflate and press against the hard inner lining of the iron collar. Each gasp brought her pain, the pain made the rhythm of her inhalations get choppy, the choppiness tortured the muscles of her neck, knotting the strings of her tendons around her adam's apple until she found the impulse to swallow unbearable.
That is when Helen forced the wad of silk into her mouth. Aurora's nostrils flared violently, desperate for the air that her mouth was now denied. Then Helen skewered the unbulbed end of a dildo on the needle of the swinging bar, and adjusted the spread of her knees until the dildo was forced to maul into Aurora's cunt without Helen needing to touch or direct it.
Helen swung Aurora's hips around so that the impact of the dildo into her cunt could be recorded by the camera. Then she began to work the dildo in and out with her hands, using one to work the bar, while the other wound the shaft of the dildo around the buried needle.
The shutter clicked furiously as the dildo licked into the drenching ditch of Aurora's stuffing twat. The infernal engine dug deeply into her, and she dared not resist its thrusts, lest she wrench the plastic prick loose from the sharp shaft of the needle and gore herself.
While the dildo bit into her cunt, Helen worked her teeth into the punctured flesh of her tits, wiggling the rings of metal and sliding them in and out of the holes in the stiff, bleeding nipples. Aurora was shrieking, and begging her tormentor to free her. But Helen had no mind to, and brutalized her with a hard rain of caresses that sapped her already flagging energy of all its vitality. Then, totally drained, Aurora fell into a faint. Helen needed to prop her up against the screens then to continue the scene.
The wad of silk, long since fallen from Aurora's mouth, lay dripping on the floor between her loins. Helen extracted the dildo from her stretched walls and pulled it off the needle. Then she skewered the silk on the point, and worked it up to the lips and prodded them. They bled as the point slipped between them, and Aurora screamed, awakening the sharp new pain.
"Don't contort your face that way, beautiful! You'll ruin my photographs!"
Aurora rolled her eyes across the face of her tormentor.
"You're out of your mind, Helen!! What makes you do these things to me?"
Helen curled her lips and sighed. "Because you are so beautiful! I cannot bear to see such perfection, I must tamper with it, deform it, until it takes on a more human appearance!"
The camera shutter stopped its incessant clicking. The film had run out, and Helen stood to tend to her tools.
"What good is your beauty if it knows no limits, has no boundaries? I want to capture the limits, freeze the moments when your body becomes ugly with pain! I will preserve those moments, Aurora! They make up the secret of your human failing! Only I will know that secret! Only I will possess it, Aurora! I created it, I forced it from you! You can never hide from me behind the exquisite curves of your body again! I will always know you as you truly are."
Helen inserted a new cartridge of film and removed the metal bars from between Aurora's limbs. Then she undid the leash, the collar, the chains and bracelets.
"You can go now, if you feel capable of leaving me," Helen whispered.
Aurora tried to move, but her limbs were too wracked with pain and stiffness. She was so tired, and could only flail about without coordination.
"So, my dear, you don't wish to leave me! I am glad for that! My camera will now record a tender sequence: your final surrender to me!"
Helen slowly removed her clothes as she faced the camera. She threw them casually to the floor, and dropped on top of Aurora.
"I have given you many orgasms this morning, Aurora! I will watch them later when I have gone to bed, after I have developed my film!"
Helen was naked now, and pranced about the prone form of her victim, making an unabashed display of her own luscious body, daring Aurora to desire her.
"I will drape the strand of negatives in a chain between the pillars of my bed, I will blow up the moment of your first spasm of lust and tape it to the ceiling over my head. Then I will masturbate as I soak up the sight of you, I will drench myself in come as I look upon your moaning face and watch the instant that your own come starts to ooze from your lovely, soft snatch!"
Aurora's eyes were shut. Her cheeks were covered with tears, and Helen leaned down over her to lick them dry.
"But now, you must give me more pictures. You must lap at my cunt, you must give me orgasm, and let the camera see how you have surrendered to me!"
Aurora tried to rise up and escape from her, but Helen held her down and put the bracelets and chains on her limbs again before she could summon the power to resist.
Helen sighed, and fought back tears of her own.
"I was hoping you would give me that willingly! But you fight me, Aurora! I want you, and I will have you here, now, even if I must have you in chains!"
Helen placed her knees to the sides of Aurora's head. Then she lowered her pussy into Aurora's face and edged it toward her lips.
"Eat me, Aurora! Give me love!!"
Aurora clenched her teeth. She refused to offer her tongue to the moaning woman.
"Lick my slit, Aurora! I will beat you brutally if you refuse me!!"
Aurora wailed and sank her teeth into Helen's snatch. Helen shrieked as she looked down at her captive's mouth and saw tufts of her own hair clinging to the bloody teeth.
"Yes! Bite, lover! Chew and bleed me!"
Helen's passionate reaction to the pain she had just received made Aurora shudder with revulsion. Helen relished torment, even her own! Aurora found it unbearable. She did not wish to be given pain, and she did not wish to give it to Helen, even though she loathed her utterly now.
But Aurora dreaded the brutalizing she knew she would be subject to if she did not comply with Helen's craven demands. She could not bring herself, though, to play the game the way that Helen did. She could not let herself become the cruel, demonic creature that Helen would doubtless love to turn her into. She would have to lick the cunt that was pressing into her face. She would have to give it not love, but at least the physical trappings of loving.
Aurora began, reluctantly, to lick. Helen cooed and drooled, and spread apart the lips of her hungry pussy with unsteady fingers. She wanted the tongue to reach far inside her, to fill up her cave and take away the load of hot scum she was yearning to release into her face.
"Aiee! Lap up my juices! Slap into me hard! Hard!!"
Helen knew how much this disgusted her, and burned with lust as she watched Aurora's face betray her loathing in the mirror. She wanted Aurora to grovel in her disgust, to feel disgust for her own participation in this act, and to bring her torturer to a delirious peak of pleasure at the same time that she hated the achievement.
Helen shut her eyes and listened to the clicking of the camera. She would be able to let her eyes linger on these moments later in the dark room. Each would be captured on a sleek white sheet which she would bring to life slowly with her fingers, rolling the sheet in the chemical bath of the developing tray, teasing out each detail of Aurora's luscious body, here writhing in agony, there oozing sexual slush into her own fingers, now wailing with pain as the blood trickled from her hot nipples, there biting into the inflamed dripping lips of her tormenter's gaping cunt.
Snapshots of forced love and torment raced through Helen's mind as she felt the tongue licking into her box. She started to heave and toss as orgasm began to take her out of the moment and carry off into the infernal world of her most inhuman instincts. "Ah! Ah! Ah-aaaah!"
Helen's neck fell back and rolled over her shoulders. The long black strings of her hair swished against her breasts. She was stuttering words of infernal passion, and no longer heard the clicks emanating from the tripod beyond the red lights.
Helen lifted her pussy when she was done. She lifted it slowly, so she could watch the long string of slime slowly stretch and break and release its mist into Aurora's face. This was a snapshot she would blow up, she decided, this would hang on the ceiling next to Aurora's first moment of spasm. Aurora's first spasm from Helen's probing fingers, Helen's last from Aurora's reluctant tongue!
She wanted one last batch of pictures. She bent over Aurora's twat and began to lick her. She pried apart the flaps of the box, folding back the blonde rug to let the camera gaze deep into the glistening hole. Helen posed for it, poking and tugging at the pussy of her prey with the cold, analytical precision of an anatomist at the dissecting table. Every private detail of this cunt must be revealed, exposed, violated! There must be no part of her left only for herself to know and keep guarded. Helen wished to devour her with film!
Helen stared into the lens and took a handful of her own hair down between Aurora's thighs. She wiped the ends of her locks over Aurora's clitoris, buffeting it lightly into a frenzied agitation that Helen knew would force her into orgasm. She reached to her remote control panel and commanded the lens to ZOOM. She wanted close-ups of the clitoris, she wanted to freeze its slightest twitch, she wanted to capture the moment when the gray film of slop would rush out of the ruffled lips of Aurora's twat.
Aurora could not forebear for long against the onslaught. Her body begged to spurt, though her mind refused. But her mind could not stay in command, it succumbed to Helen's skillful torment and allowed the orgasm to convulse Aurora's body.
Helen was overcome with lust as she saw the juice start to ooze out of Aurora's slit. She forgot the camera and covered the cavity with her lips, scooping up all the sludge she could and gulping it down with fevered gasps. But the flow soon stopped: Aurora regained control of herself, and refused her more of her come. She turned off her body and became cold, limp, unyielding.
Helen moaned and whimpered. She wanted more! But she knew now that she had taken all she could force from Aurora, and so she rose and left her alone to tend to her camera.
She packed up her equipment and took off the cuffs and chains that bound Aurora. Then she tossed her the clothes she had worn to the session, and dressed herself.
"I want you, Aurora!"
Helen was panting. There was a frantic, dazzled look in her eyes as they swept across the perfect folds and arches of Aurora's frame.
"I want you to leave," Aurora spat.
Helen was inflamed with jealousy. Aurora was meant to be hers, she had no right to claim her body for her own! It was too beautiful, she did not deserve to be the owner of such flawless beauty! Helen wanted her, and swore she would come to possess her, by whatever means: it mattered to her little how she came to win her, only winning her mattered at all.
"I want you to leave," Aurora had said. So Helen left her. But she intended to return some other time. And until that time, she had her rolls of film, her precious photographs to give her satisfaction. She had no assignments for the next few days. She would be free to develop her pictures, to dote on them, to blow up the ones that pleased her most and hang them on the ceiling and walls of her bedroom, then to grow hot and bring herself to countless orgasm as her eyes glazed from too much sight of them.
Aurora avoided her after that night. She let it be known at her agency that she would never work with her again, not at any price. Helen did not trouble herself about that at first. She had the photographs. But soon she began to tire of them. She began to know them too intimately, and wished the intimacy of the perfect flesh she came to realize was all too imperfectly represented in the countless bounty of images that littered her room. Once she had drained them of all the stimulation they could offer her, she began to worry. She began to want more, and found herself unable to procure it.
She began to dream of Aurora. She followed her career, came to know who she knew, to insinuate herself into every cranny of her life, desperate to insinuate herself more deeply into it. But soon Aurora's friends were told about Helen, and soon, they, too, were avoiding her. Helen's dreams began to shatter. She became morose, and withdrew from the small circle of her friends and lovers. She stayed alone, moping and hoping, until her lust began to grow sour, and turn to hate.
She began to seek out her enemies: the many men who had desired Aurora, and been rebuffed; the many women who envied her success and easy beauty, and wanted an end put to them. Helen made herself known to Aurora's old lovers, and made them hers. She learned everything they had learned of her, and when she had drained them of confidences, she would discard them, and move on to others of Aurora's former loves.
But none of this could ease her longing. She was never satisfied. She knew the man who was Aurora's now, knew that she was happy with him, and wished to keep him for herself forever. Helen would poison his love for her with lies, then take him for herself, and then throw him off like the others.
But he knew about Helen, and dismissed her professions of love with contempt. Helen grew terrified of her own black passion, but could do nothing to rid herself of it. She sought to torment herself, and to seek out those who would give her the cruelty she craved. She lived a life of late nights and studded leather, became familiar with the weight of chains and irons. The deeper she mixed her lust with pain, the more deeply her yearning for Aurora became. At last, she thought she had found a way.
She was chained naked to a pier in an abandoned wharf. The tide was rising, and she knew she might drown if her lover, Raoul, chose that fate for her. He was whipping her with a lash made of the shells of barnacles, scooping out large chunks of her flesh with each brutal swing of the lash. The surging salt water of the sea would burn in the gashes, making her scream with delirium, and swallow the water that was splashing now at her throat.
"Raoul! The tide! The tide!" Raoul stood to his chest in the water before her. He leered at her, mocking her for the fear she was displaying.
"You are afraid of death, my Helen?"
The water was cascading into her mouth. She struggled wildly to keep her head above the swirling brine. Raoul wrapped his massive arms around the pier and squeezed her hard against its moldering bark.
"You want pain, yet you have not conquered fear! You have much to learn, my love, and so I mustn't let you die!"
He quickly unwrapped the chains that held her, and threw her limp, soggy body over his broad shoulders and climbed up to the dry boards of the wharf.
Raoul pressed down on her welt-riddled belly and blew his breath into her mouth. He sucked the water from her lungs and spat it back into the ocean, pressed and sucked over and over again until her breath returned and she revived.
"You are game, my slave, but you have much to learn. I will try to teach you what you need to know. Come with me now. You must recover, and listen to my instructions."
She dragged her fingers through the matted hair of his chest, tracing out the contours of the tattoos that hid beneath the damp rug. She would listen to him, and do as he bid her.
He brought her back to her apartment and placed her in her bed beneath the photographs of Aurora. Then he left a bundle of magazines for her, and books bound in black leather. Then he left her. She would never see him again.
Helen ached everywhere. She needed many hours to regain her composure, to realize where she was lying. She reached for the pile of magazines when she felt more herself, and began to thumb through them with a dark, bestial lust.
There were pictures inside, pictures of women in chains, of whips and spikes and endless, loving torture. She was transfixed by the images, desired to live inside the moods they conveyed to her seething emotions.
When her mind was overladen with the stern burden of the images, she turned to the pages of text and began to read. There were long columns of advertisements there, placed by slaves in need of masters, masters in search of slaves, sufferers in search of suffering.
But there was one advertisement that captured her eyes, forbidding them to leave it until it had hypnotized her with its offer. Its heading read: "Chain Letter Chains". Helen knew she must answer it.
She would learn to be the perfect slave, and then use her knowledge to teach Aurora. With Aurora in chains, she would find it easy to learn mastership: she would be inspired.
And so, Helen became caught in the web of Peligrosa's macabre machinations. She sent him a letter of surrender, and sent four more to lovers she had had who would be willing to join the chain. One of them was Raoul, and he was the first to pass Peligrosa's demanding tests.
But according to the requirements stipulated in the ad, the fifth link in Helen's length of chain must enter unwillingly. She would receive no letter. Her name, her place of residence, her hours and habits would be sent to Peligrosa in the letter of surrender. Her name was Aurora. It was her name that came to Helen's mind when she was captured by the ad. It was her name that compelled her to write her letter. It was her name that echoed in the silence of her mind as she dangled by her hair from the ceiling of the shed: the only name she still could remember from her earlier life.
But these things were unknown to Aurora.
She did not hear them in her mind as she lay helpless, mute, and sightless in the metal straps of the hard wood bed in the cavern. She would only learn of these things later on in her captivity.
CHAPTER THREE
Valencia, as Helen was now known, was left hanging in her shed for many hours after the screen on the wall before her went blank again. It was dark now outside her shed, and very cold.
Something had been triggered by the things she had viewed on the television. Something that brought on the tears that blurred the final moments of the spectacle. Something that brought on an internal spectacle that filled her mind more totally than the last scenes on the television could have hoped to fill her.
Fragments, frozen moments from her recent past, drifted up from the subterranean depths of her nearly extinguished memory. She knew not what they meant: only pain was suggested by them, but a pain without reason or focus at first.
As the fragments began to cluster and shuffle about in her brain, though, they began to take on the semblance of a vaguely felt continuity, a continuity stretched between the poles of two magic names.
* * *
One name was Peligrosa's. The other was Aurora.
First fragment: tied to a stalagmite in the cavern. Peligrosa wraps her breasts in chains, slender golden links that squash the meat of her tits into taut, long fingers. Mood: still, gamey and resilient.
"How much meat do you have in your pants, Signor?"
A blindfold is quickly strapped around her eyes.
"I will show you now," he said.
Second fragment: strapped bottoms up with barbed wire to the arms of a cross. Pedro Peligrosa crams a knotted coil of hemp into her cunt, and tugs gently at the loose end of the twine.
"I don't wish you to feel excessive pain, my dear. You must tell me when it becomes unbearable."
The Signor inserts a ball gag into her mouth and begins to yank roughly on the dangling piece of cord.
Third fragment: buried to the base of her throat in sand. There are clouds overhead, and the sky grows dark. Valencia speaks.
"If it rains, Signor, I will surely drown. Would that not deprive you of your pleasure?"
The Signor signals his dogs to approach. Then he peers down at Valencia's head and gives the dogs another cue. The dogs begin to piss on her hair and shower her eyes with yellow droplets.
"On the contrary, my dear," he chortles, "the rain will give you a much needed bath."
Many such images of her early enslavement coursed through Valencia's imagination. They formed so many snapshots of a past too benumbing to bear remembering. But she began to remember in any case, and the snapshots came rapidly enough to create the illusion of a motion through time, of a demonic progression from initial willingness to reservation, and from there to terror, to pain that no longer brought ecstasy in its train; and from there, to a surpassing of all limits of absorption, to a white, blank sheet of time that held no marks, no memories at all.
Was this what she had wanted? The question was framed in her mind now: it was not framed in the past tense, or any tense, but it was framed. And it was answered: the word "No!" rebounded from one wall of repressed reminiscence to another, gaining in momentum until she was able to form an unbearable wish to scream. But she could not scream. That was implicit in her need to form the question. It helped to motivate her answer.
There was a hum of static in the still air of the shed. It fractured the feeble line of thought that was trying to extend itself in Valencia's mind. Her eyes focused automatically at the stimulus of the hum, focused on the television screen as it came to life again.
Peligrosa had returned to the cavern. He was about to begin his first lesson with Aurora. Valencia saw her, and knew her name. An unbearable desire twisted her body to the limits that the body-wrap of plastic would allow. She started to twist in small arcs that sent searing messages of pain through her scalp. She stilled herself as soon as that became possible. She wanted to stay in view of the screen.
The Signor was pacing beside the wooden pallet on which Aurora's naked flesh was pinioned. He was prodding her cunt with his gloved fingers, testing her ability to withstand the power of forced, unwanted stimulation. His first test was always this: if his victims suffered orgasm, they would prove likely candidates for a quick conversion. All that would be necessary followed easily, logically, from Pavlov's results with his dinner bell and starving dog. When pain proved too unwelcome, he would interrupt it with a stimulus. The stimulus would be continued until the victim was writhing with orgasm. Then the pain would resume, would be interrupted with forced pleasure, and resumed again. Stimulus, response: the simplest and surest of his training techniques!
But if Aurora resisted, if she would not be teased into dripping reluctant come on his leather-draped fingers, then the Signor would be even more pleased. Such resistance indicated that the conversion would not be the usual routine affair that bored him so quickly. It would mean a long, protracted struggle, requiring great ingenuity. It would exercise all of his talents for subtle and not so subtle persuasion. Such resistance would give him great pleasure!
Peligrosa fondled her deftly, slowly, gazing in anticipation at the soft lips of the sumptuous blonde snatch of his newest acquisition. Her beauty was a great prize, surely. But what of her will? Did she have great strength, did she have enough to force him to test the limits of his own? He had known no such woman since his late wife, the lovely Signora Yma. She had died of pleasure in his arms, but not before giving him much pleasure that was his to keep and cherish in his black soul!
Aurora had suffered such abuse before, from the one now called Valencia by the Signor. But she had not expected it then, and she was not so rested then, and she had not known the limits of her own repulsion so thoroughly at that time. The pure mechanics of the Signor's probes brought out a small quantity of clear fluid from her cunt. But there would be no more: that would require the pliant participation of her mind, and her mind refused.
The Signor laughed at her resistance. He moved over to the rack of infernal implements that was inset into the stone wall that stretched behind the wooden platform.
"You will be all too pleased to show me your capacity for bestial pleasure once you have felt the pain that I can substitute for it when the mood suggests that to me!"
He turned a crank at the base of the platform that made it turn and rise until it was vertically aligned. Then he grabbed her labia and secured them, one by one, in the jaws of small pincers that he tightened. When the lips of her cunt were firmly secured in the pincers, he spread the pincers outward from the hole at their center, until the lips-had been stretched as far as their elasticity would allow.
Aurora's slit was transformed into a yawning crevasse, one whose pink interior showed clearly on the television screen in the shed where Valencia dangled and fought back the saliva that was welling in the bound cavity of her mouth.
A shrivelled bladder was taken from the rack and filled with oils until it bloated and took on the appearance of a monstrous phallus. Peligrosa held it before Aurora's eyes, letting his own eyes bask in the supreme terror that radiated from her face.
"There are tiny perforations in the bladder, my pet, that will let the soothing oils seep through the skin of the bag into your own. They will lubricate your vagina, and tempt it into rollicking response. Surely you cannot resists such an invitation to delightful abandon!"
He chuckled grimly, and began to insert the prod into her enlargened orifice. He slid in close to a foot of its length, and began to slowly twist and turn it inside of her. Her hips began to twitch as the oils filtered out of her cunt and wettened her clitoris. This the Signor began to rub with light, tender strokes of his gloved thumb, compelling it to stiffen and dance. Aurora was trembling, and her breasts began to quiver as bursts of unwanted sensation ravaged her helpless body. But she gritted her teeth and thought only of refusal, and she was adamant in her wish to thwart the Signor.
She had to think of other things, she needed some mental anchor to attach her resolution to, to keep her mind in place, so that it would not drift along in the sea of sensations that buffeted it.
She thought of Helen Corday, and what her earlier visit had shown her what Helen had become. She reconstructed the details of the moment in which she had recognized her as her earlier tormenter, and placed that frozen image alongside that of her first instant of realization of Helen's plans for her on that dreadful night of the previous year.
As the threat of wretched pleasures teased her with ever greater force, her mind wobbled between the two repulsive images, leaping to the one when her hold on the other was loosened. And so her mind wobbled for an eternity of minutes, until the Signor relented and removed the bladder from her cunt.
"You are strong," he said. There was sardonic pleasure in his voice, and Aurora recognized it, and despised him.
"Let me kiss you for your strength, my dear! We will see how long it remains in your possession!"
Peligrosa strode to the rack and replaced the bladder. Then he leaned over Aurora and pursed his lips. He drew them close to her own, and let the tip of his tongue emerge and flick across the sleek red lines of her mouth.
Aurora's eyes burned with hatred and scorn. She jerked her mouth away from his, and spat in his face.
"Loathsome pig!"
The Signor started, then retreated. He took a kerchief from the pocket of his cape and wiped the spittle from his eyes. Then he glowered at Aurora and smiled crookedly at her.
"Perhaps my manner is too refined for your tastes. More earthy means of delighting you can be found, however. I want so much to give you pleasure!"
He retrieved the bladder from the rack and unstoppered it. Then he held it over her, and wrung the oils from it, coating her flesh with their lingering fragrance.
He rubbed the oils into her with the kerchief he had used to wipe his face. He daubed her full, rounded breasts with slow circular sweeps of his hand, massaging the points until they shot out and hardened. He moved his hand downward over her stomach and groin, soaking her there with the sweet, tempting balm, and dropped the kerchief into the blonde, palpitating triangle that rose and fell between her thighs.
She sagged limply in her bonds, her mouth opening and closing slowly, releasing soft, hot gushes of air that were filled with the sounds of welling passion. Her muscles began to flow in harmony with the strokes of the kerchief. Her pussy began to drip with more than the oils that the Signor had doused her with. She was gurgling, and the Signor felt the leather tighten around his left leg as his own excitement began to take on a physical form.
"Ah! You will achieve your orgasm soon! It will bring great joy to Valencia, who watches you now on the screen in her cold, miserable shed!"
Aurora filled the cavern with the echoes of her wordless but deeply felt opinion. She shut off the nervous circuitry that was menacing her with the dire threat of a demeaning and overwhelming pleasure. She clamped the muscles of her snatch against the three gloved fingers that were probing her there, forbidding them the easy access they had won for themselves with the oils they had brought before them.
The Signor pulled his fingers roughly from her box, and removed the soiled glove. He clutched it at its base, and smacked her cheek with the thick, studded leather.
"One who desires so little pleasure must truly crave pain!!"
It was Aurora's turn to jeer. She directed her gaze at the mask she knew was covering a quickly reddening face, and laughed at him.
"You're a total ass, Signor!"
Peligrosa was silent. The crudity of her response had shattered the delicate mood he had been so careful to construct and elaborate. The lump in his leather breeches exploded, and drenched his crotch with his own passion. Aurora was indeed a prize, he decided. He must give careful thought to her training. He would have to retreat to his study and ponder the matter at great length. He had had enough of this introductory lesson. He would leave her now.
"You disappoint me with your prudery. But it will pass, as all good things do in due course. Good evening, my dear, I take my leave of you now."
The echo of his footfalls lingered in the high chamber for many minutes before fading. Aurora, left ungagged and without the blindfold, watched Peligrosa leave hen Then she saw the technicians climb along the walls above her, and make their exits through dark tunnels that gouged into the limestone in a faraway corner of the cave. She wondered what sort of men they were, and how they had come to be the Signor's slaves. She had yet to hear any of them speak. She wondered if their tenure on the Signor's estate had driven them to lose that, and other, distinctly human capacities - if their powers of speech and thought were now totally possessed by the mad lord of this shadowy realm.
She had seen Helen, and wondered what she had been thinking as she watched her on the screen the Signor was so careful to mention to her. She wondered if Helen was still capable of recognizing her, if she was still possessed by her demented passion for her love - or what she thought of as love.
Aurora would not let herself become like her. Helen was somehow involved in her being carried off to this dungeon, and she would not allow her the satisfaction of achieving her ends in such a depraved surrounding. She pitied and loathed her, but wished she could be brought back to her senses, and made to comprehend the enormity of her sick desires. But perhaps she had already comprehended that much: perhaps that explained her present zombie-like captivity.
Aurora did not wish to dwell on such thoughts. She had pitied Helen once before, when she should have fought her instead. Now she would fight, and not timidly, or by any rules.
But the fight would certainly not be an easy one. She had few resources at her disposal. The only thing she still possessed, the last weapon still at her command, was her mind.
But what could she do with it? She could leave this place with it. She could shut her eyes, relax her senses and let her thoughts carry her elsewhere.
But where did she wish them to take her? There were many places she could go, but she could not afford to dabble in a host of mild reveries.
Where, and with whom, did she most long to be? Could she bring herself there? Could she go to him?
She conjured up the image of a tall, lean, tightly built man. She summoned him by name into the chambers of her mind: Jason! The hero of the ancient Greek fable, the wanderer who sought the golden fleece, the lover she wished to come to her and take away her chains.
She directed her will to evoke the fond memories that Jason's name suggested. Jason! The dark-haired man who had coaxed her away from her casual habits of love and rejection, who had held her emotions to a single focus so relentlessly that she had come to forget that they were once inclined to have many others.
Jason would be her refuge, she would think only of Jason as her torturers teased her, threatened her, tempted her, punished her.
The vague outlines of his body began to fill with detail and movement as she wrapped her thoughts around its image. She began to thumb through the calendar of their months together, seizing the weeks and days and writing the events they contained across the numbers of their pages. She would construct the story of their time together, amplify its scaffolding until the snapshots of fragmented moments began to move rapidly from one to another, began to weave a cinematic tapestry that she could unreel in her mind, over and over, to anaesthetize her senses, to turn away the stimuli the Signor would attempt to inflict upon her.
Jason!
CHAPTER FOUR
Where to begin? Aurora initiated her reverie with the memory of the first moment when she had become aware of the intersection of her destiny with Jason and the fate that had brought her into conflict with Helen of Corday. In that moment, the mystery of her present subjugation and her future release must be contained. In that moment, she could decipher the riddle of her imprisonment. She could use that riddle as a bludgeon to wield against her torturers. For Peligrosa could only know a part of it. What could he know of her life with Jason? And what could she uncover about her interment here with the Signor?
* * *
Jason arrived late at Mazim's where Aurora was to meet him for dinner. He had been busy for the past few days, seeing agents and producers about his latest screenplay. She had hardly seen him all week, and was anxious to be with him that night.
Their date was for seven. Jason arrived at eight. She had been getting angry at the long delay, but once he had arrived, she forgot ail that.
"Held up with the producers, Jason?"
He draped his napkin over his lap and buried his face in the menu.
"No," he muttered. "Had a caller."
Aurora swizzled the drink she'd been nursing for half an hour and stared quizzically at her lover.
"Who called, dear?"
Jason dropped the menu on the table cloth and gave her a pained look.
"A... photographer."
Aurora understood. "It was Helen, wasn't it, Jason?" she asked.
Jason picked up the wine list and began to rove his eyes aimlessly over the columns of vintages.
"Yes. Yes, it was, Aurora."
Aurora removed her blue swept-back lenses from her deep blue eyes and clinked the frame against the brandy snifter she had been draining before Jason's arrival. She rested her palm beneath the smooth oval curve of her chin and lowered her long black lashes. She could not look at him now, and her voice was a soft, trembling whisper.
"What did she want of you, Jason?"
She felt his fingers brush across the back of her hand. She opened her eyes and let him see her tears.
"She told me many lies about you. Then she told me one other lie, Aurora: she told me she wanted me. But we both know who she wants, and why she would want me to want her."
Aurora sighed. Her lids drew closed again.
"And what did you say to her, Jason?"
Jason bent over the table top and kissed her cheek.
"I told her I wasn't interested. I told her to leave, and not bother us again."
Aurora cried. Jason whispered many reassuring words to her, and clutched her hand. He knew about Helen, he had coaxed the tale out of Aurora slowly, gently, over their months together, and would never hold it against her. He wished to protect her, and maintain her love.
"Why don't you order the vinaigrette, lover? And a light red wine. Nothing too heady tonight, Aurora. A chablis, perhaps."
He smiled at her, and the upturned curve of his lips lingered enough for her to see, and to be reassured.
"No, not the vinaigrette," she purred. "Something more bland, so that my attention won't be distracted from you, Jason."
"You don't sound as if you have much of an appetite this evening, dearest. Shall we leave?"
Aurora's eyes moved slowly across his gentle, laughing face. She knew what he was hungry for tonight, and she felt similar pangs. His hands were at the edges of his seat. He was ready to go, and she rose from her chair and followed him to the door.
"It is rather late for dinner, lover. And you look so tired. Maybe we should spend the evening at home."
Jason winked at her and took her hand. It was obviously what he had in mind. They walked to his car. Jason turned the key and started off.
They were at his penthouse shortly, and Jason unlocked the door and beckoned her inside. Aurora tossed her wrap across the cushions of the divan sat across from the large picture window that overlooked Central Park. She felt comfortable here, and Jason brought her a tall drink in a thin-stemmed crystal glass to make her feel cozier.
"I talked to Jon Phillips today. We're signing a contract later in the week, and start shooting in the summer. I think I talked him into a two million dollar budget. It won't be 'Jaws,' but I think we'll make out quite nicely."
The hand she was holding the drink with wrapped around his neck. She hugged him as closely as fear of spilling would allow, and kissed him passionately all over his face.
"That's wonderful, lover! If only you'd told me before, we could have stayed at Maxim's and celebrated!"
He took the drink from her hand and placed it on the floor. "We can celebrate here," he purred.
She was wearing a see-through blouse of pale pink lace. It was soon on the floor beside the drink. Jason cupped her heavy white mounds and buried his face in them. Aurora began to moan and scratch him, and reached for the buttons of his black velvet shirt. She undid them slowly as he felt for the zipper at the thigh of her tightcream hip-huggers. He found it with the ease that practice brings, and pulled down the small silver catch until a triangle of diaphanous blue peeked through the spreading opening.
Jason's shirt was soon lying on top of her blouse, and Aurora was tugging at his zipper once her own had come undone. Jason slid her cream slacks down her legs as he felt his own black jeans fold down to his knees. He lifted his legs to get the bunched material to descend to his ankles and over them to the floor. Aurora helped them along, and wiggled free of her own leggings, leaving them crumpled beneath her feet at the back of the couch.
Aurora groped at the jittering lump in his shorts and squeezed it through the stretched white cloth that held it at bay.
"You should buy some looser underwear, Jason, you'll hurt yourself one of these nights!"
"The tightness increases the friction. A little pressure adds to the excitement, sweetheart!"
Aurora hated to let go of the hard, swollen member, but as long as it stayed trapped inside the cloth, she would never be able to get it to give her what she wanted. So she let go, and stuck her finger-tips into the elastic bordering the upper rim of the slim, distended garment. She pulled hungrily at it, and forced it down over the heaving obstacle she wanted so much to unfetter. The swollen organ bounced out of its cage and bobbed up and down wildly until she captured it between her lips and brought its dance to an end.
"Jason! I taste come on it already!"
"A chronic condition that I suffer from only in your presence."
His face was flushed with the red of his racing blood. Aurora panted at the evidence of his heat for her, and the hot air forced through her mouth by her pants baked the aching skin of his cock unmercifully. He wanted to pull out of her mouth and lunge at her pussy. But Aurora wanted his juice now.
"I didn't have dinner tonight, Jason. Be good, and let me nibble your meat."
Jason was past complaining. He wanted her badly, and swore to have his pleasure quickly, the better to get stiff again soon and thrash about in her lovely box.
Aurora still had her panties on, and knew how the confinement- of her twat would inflame her greedy lover, would drive him into a berserk, uncontrollable frenzy of lust for her.
She loved to bear active witness to his unabashed passion for her. She wanted so much to be given the gift of his surrender, and then to answer it with the gift of her own. She would think of how totally she would abandon herself to him once she let him pry into her cunt. Her cunt was already dripping at the thought of it, and the stains her gray droplets of ooze were making now in her skimpy silk briefs were driving Jason to delirium.
He mauled her firm, full breasts with frantic fingers and babbled nonsense as his eyes rolled back and the throbbing of his cock became more urgent. He was suffocating from the stifling pleasure that was teasing his frame, and Aurora knew that she would soon have much of his piping hot sauce to smack her lips on.
"Oh, God! Faster! Faster!"
Aurora's lips were whizzing along the length of his twitching shaft while her tongue tickled the bulging vein of its underbelly and swished across the prickly pink skin of its head. There was a tart, musky tang beginning to wash against her gums, and then there was a series of small, tentative tremors that began to build in speed and tension until there was a massive convulsion that brought screams from Jason's throat and buckets of slosh into Aurora's mouth.
She felt she would choke from the load, and gulped noisily and many times to consume it all before she drowned.
"That was so lovely, Jason! You came like a stud horse! I'm stuffed with your drippings!"
She laughed and grinned impishly at his relieved, relaxing face. Her hands kneaded his cock like dough, squeezing out the last bits of ooze into her palms. Then she licked at her wrists until the last bit of it was gone, all the while keeping her glittering eyes fixed dreamily on the eyes of her lover.
"You forgot something, lover. Come and get it!"
She jumped up from the divan and covered the crotch of her panties with her hands. Jason grunted like a pig in his slop and leapt up after her. He chased her around the couch, but his legs were still rubbery from the work-out she'd given him, and he couldn't quite catch her.
"Don't torture me, Aurora! I want your cunt! Bring it over here!"
He lunged across the couch, but missed her, and sent the couch skidding across the floor toward the window.
The jolt of the landing knocked the wind out of him. Aurora slipped away and ran behind him. She yanked his balls and scampered away to the lounging chair that stood before the fireplace. Jason clambered off the couch and came after her. His balls bounced as he ran, and their wobbling distracted Aurora, and Jason almost got a hold of her then. But she circled the chair, and when he threatened to jump over it at her, she made a motion to push it into his belly, and so he refrained.
"You're slow tonight. Guess you don't want me as bad as you make out!"
Jason's prick stiffened at her taunt and stabbed the air. Aurora gasped and felt her knees grow weak. Jason saw her moment of weakness, and grabbed a tardy chunk of her ass that couldn't quite keep up with the rest of her body.
"Gotcha!"
Aurora whined and whimpered, and began to beat his back with her small fists in mock protest. But Jason ignored the sham. Even if it weren't feigned, he didn't care. He was going to have her, and had no more patience for delaying tactics.
"Down on the rug! Now!"
He ripped off her panties and clawed at her box. It was already dripping wet, and was not in much need of his assistance.
"Liar! You do so want to get laid! Your cunt stinks from wanting it so bad!"
Aurora squealed as her buns banged against the rug. Jason wasted no time, he rammed his angry rod into her as soon as she hit the floor. He shoved it up her slit until it slapped against the back wall of her drenched womb, and then he crunched her cheeks in his hands and bared his fangs at her.
"Tease!"
Aurora pouted and put her thumb in her mouth.
"Aw, you love it!"
They both laughed and grabbed each other's flesh, and rolled across the rug as Jason's bloated prod spun like a top in her twat. She was no longer laughing or pouting, she moaned and sobbed.
"Shriek for me, Aurora! Scream like a fucking animal!"
Aurora soon obliged him, but not out of politeness. She was simply unable to do otherwise. Jason knew it, and grew hotter at the sound of her submission to his lust. He wanted to fuck her more ruthlessly than he had ever done before, he wanted her to writhe like a tortured animal beneath him. He got what he wanted and found himself doing the same.
"Oh, Jason! Jason! Jason!"
She formed his name over and over with her drooling lips, groaning and grunting when she could not find enough air and effort to pronounce the word. Her grunts and groans became more frantic quickly, and soon she could only say the name in her mind, her body only concerned now with emitting squirts of come - mouthing words was no longer of any importance.
A last boisterous binge of spilling, and they were done. Jason collapsed against her, crushing her creamy white breasts beneath his coarse black curls of chest hair. They were done, and they were exhausted, and they couldn't move.
"Oh, what a mess I've made on your rug, Jason!"
He chomped at her ear and chuckled. "If only you'd been nice enough to squirt on the tiles, then I could lap up the puddle!"
"Jason! How crude!"
He chucked her chin up toward his own, and grazed her lips with rapid flicks of his tongue.
"Cut the shit," he said, "you love it!"
Aurora slung her arms around him and pressed her nipples into his.
"Yes, I do," she conceded, and smiled passively.
Aurora's drink was still on the floor, somehow having escaped the mayhem that had uprooted the divan, spun the lounging chair about, and made a mess of the lamb skin rug. Jason reached out for it and took it by the stem and poured it into her mouth.
She choked on the unexpected rush of alcohol, and dribbled it all over her tits. Jason poured what she had left in the glass on her bosom, and began to slurp up the new mess he'd made. Her nipples rose up again as the alcohol soothed and burned them, and were prodded into erection by Jason's lickings.
"Oh, Jason! You've made me drunk so easily!"
"You were never good at holding your liquor, lover. Part of your boundless charm!"
They smooched and petted on the rug for a while, then Jason got up and went to the kitchen. He was there for some time, and Aurora grew curious to see what he was doing, and went looking for him. Jason was cracking eggs on the lip of a porcelain bowl. He jiggled the yolk through "he jagged fractures of the shell, teasing the yellow glob to slither out of its hollow and leave the whites behind.
The yellow stuff plopped into the bowl, and Jason drizzled the clear stuff left in the shells into another bowl. Then he started beating the two messes ferociously with a fork, until the surfaces of the fluids frothed with lather.
He jumped to the omelet pan and coaxed the stove to lick its bottom with a low, blue flame. Then he smeared the recess of the pan with olive oil, and tossed a wad of butter into the slick when it started to bubble.
He twisted the cap from a small jar of rosemary, and began to crunch the dried twigs of the herb in his fingers, sprinkling the debris over the browning broth in the pan. The rosemary crackled as it braised, and Jason stepped back to contemplate the thinly shredded mushroom caps that lay heaped on a plate by the stove.
"Needs more seasoning," he mumbled to himself. "Put it in the butter, or beat it in with the egg whites?"
Aurora crept up behind him and pinched his scrotum. Jason yowled and throttled her neck with a tightly flexing arm.
"What're you doing here, this is supposed to be a surprise. It's also supposed to be the chef's private preserve, which he jealously guards against intrusions by the curious."
"Don't be so gruff, Jason, I can be as curious as I please! Whatcha cookin'?"
Jason scraped the mushrooms off the plate with a wooden spoon, ladling them slowly into the buttered oil.
"Scrambled your eggs, now I'm scrambling mine. Hungry?"
"Very. But you're fibbing, Jason, it's going to be an omelet."
He made a silly face and tended to his mushrooms.
"What were you muttering about more seasoning, Jason? The chef is at a loss for ideas?"
Jason began to stir the eggs again. He had just had an idea and he knew the seasoning he would add now. He would add it to the egg whites, and fluffed them lightly as he turned his eyes toward her.
"Go to the John and douche yourself. I've decided to make a special kind of omelet: a scum-let, my dear, and I need some of your froth to add to the fluff in the bowl."
Jason lowered the flame and dipped the wooden spoon into her still gummy cunt. "Quick," he commanded, "before the butter burns. It's my kitchen, and you cook by my rules!"
"I'm not modest, I can do it right here."
Jason twiddled the spoon and prodded her frilly labia with its edge. "Whatcha gonna do it with, Aurora?"
"With the spoon!" she replied.
"Delicious," he crooned, and slid the small scoop of wood with slight twirling motions into her box.
"Keep twirling, it takes the edge off the pain."
Jason lowered her lightly to the floor and began to swill his spoon in earnest.
"What pain? You love it!"
She didn't answer. She had a shit-eating grin on her face, and felt more like wallowing in the seamy thrill of the wooden fuck she was getting than searching for words.
"This is disgusting," she moaned.
"Oh, indeed! It will make for a disgusting omelet!"
When he felt her spurt, he pulled out the spoon, and brought it quickly to the bowl so as not to lose any of the drippings. He scraped them off with his fork and began to beat them in. Viscous swirls wound slowly in the wake of the tines of his utensil, and slowly the swirls broke up and dissolved into the bubbles of the agitated meringue.
Aurora was writhing on the floor and panting. As Jason beat in the yellows and whites, he spied her limbs heaving below him, and chuckled peevishly.
"Masturbating on my kitchen tiles! Tsk! Tsk! That's disgusting, my dear!"
Aurora's eyes were tearing with bliss. She was gurgling, and paying him no attention. Jason lifted his foot and added some toes to the work force. They nudged between her fingers, and then the big toe forced itself in to the first joint and wiggled about till she made a puddle on the floor.
"Ah-aaaaaah! That's... better, Jason. You didn't finish... with the spoon!"
"Well, don't pout, all is forgiven. While your eggs were cooking, mine were, too. Dinner will be served in a moment!"
"Yes, dear," she sighed, and tried to get up. But she had a bad case of rubbery legs, and Jason had to help her up.
"Sit down at the table and set out the silverware. I'll be with you in a second."
Aurora's mind was still fogged from her orgasm, but she did as he asked, and had the table set when he came over with the omelet pan.
"You've got the forks where the spoons should be, silly!"
Aurora drooped her head against his buttocks and lolled her tongue along his hairy thigh.
"Sorry, Jason, my mind was elsewhere."
Jason laughed and served her. Then he dropped some of the stuff onto his own plate, and sat down beside her.
They ate silently. Both were famished, especially after all the exercise they'd just had, and after they'd downed the eggs, they raced to the refrigerator and reached for whatever seemed ripe for quick gobbling.
Afterwards, Jason popped the cork from a bottle of bubbly and poured his lady a glass. Then he poured himself one, and the two of them spent a happy hour making themselves drunk. When they were starting to get tipsy, Jason suggested they go to bed, and Aurora woozily nodded her assent. Jason led her to his chambers, and helped her climb beneath the sheets. Then she had to help him, too, as he stumbled on the rug and would likely have fallen to the floor if she hadn't grabbed his arm and hauled him in on top of her.
They stroked and petted for a while, but they were too tired to do much more than that, and so they soon grew weary. They were sated in any event, and so they passed off into a deep sleep, nestled closely in each other's arms.
* * *
Aurora thought about that wonderful night as she lay helpless, and unable to move, strapped against the plank in the cavern. Many other memories of her life with Jason came to her then, and she started to patch them together into a quilt of reverie. She patched and sewed in her mind for many hours, until she felt herself tire from the effort, and from the trials of the day. Then she yawned and passed into a light, but much needed, sleep.
CHAPTER FIVE
Peligrosa sat and pondered in his study for many hours. He knew she would resist him strongly, and he relished the challenge that would face him now. After much deliberation, he felt he had finally hit upon the proper course of action.
She had too much fight in her to succumb readily to pain. Indeed, a raw sadistic approach would be liable to backfire, and might, if anything, only tend to increase her resistance.
No, he must do better than that. She would be able to deal with mere pain. But what of enslavement of the purest sort? Would she not be susceptible to light spankings and multiple bonds? Would not confinement increase her isolation, lock her more totally inside herself, give her no ready outlet for her scorn and invective?
Peligrosa pondered the idea, and saw that it was good. It was the tried and true technique that the commandants of concentration camps had brought to such perfection. The most rebellious prisoners were always isolated: mere torture would rally their spirits, would give them too palpable a sense of their enemy. But the isolation of a small, unlighted room, of confinement to a hard-backed chair, of being bound to a stake and left alone and immobile: here was the stuff of which capitulation was made!
Some of those irksome prisoners could cope with even isolation, he knew. They would construct intricate webs of fantasy, epic poems or extended narratives. One famous historian had conceived, in great detail, the outlines of a massive tome whose two volumes, once he was free of his cell and able to write them down, filled a dozen hundred pages. His work was lauded as a great classic; but it was an even greater testament to his capacity to endure.
Did this Aurora have that sort of stamina? Peligrosa laughed at the thought. She was plucky, and brimmed over with fire. But she was no scholar, no poet, no author of great works. She was a model, she lived through her body. How would she fare if that body became useless to her, a mere appendage, pent up in ropes and chains?
The Signor was pleased with his plan. Once her body could put up no struggle, her will would wither. Once her will began to fade, he could kill it with cruelty. Her mind weakened, her body would be tormented; her body ravaged, her mind would suffer sweet ruination. Then she would be his. Then Valencia would be freed - as if she were capable of doing much with her freedom now! No one had succumbed so totally as Valencia. Peligrosa wondered how deeply she regretted the contract she had made with him. She would win her deepest wish, perhaps, and soon - but at a cost that would make it hardly worth the having!
He decided to pay a visit to Valencia. How much of what was happening did she understand? If little, he would gloat at her pitiful failure; if much, he would begrudge her a modicum of respect, and begin the preparations for her release. If Aurora failed to be converted, of course, the preparations would never come to fruition - a perfect frustration that would prove to be for Valencia! She would have failed to wield the last link that she owed to the chain, and would remain in her shed until another candidate was offered. But that candidate would be hard for her to find: how many men in debtor's prison could pay their debts while locked in their cells? Peligrosa thought debtor's prison one of the crudest ironies ever concocted by the human spirit. He did his best to emulate its sensibility in his own prison, and thought how marvelous it would be if Valencia was forced to be the one to make the emulation complete!
He came to the shed and entered. "Well, my dear Valencia, did you enjoy the telecast?" he asked.
"She may prove... too much for you!" the woman answered.
The Signor saw the jealousy in her eyes and roared.
"In that case, my slave, you will dangle from this roof until you die!"
Valencia's eyes filled with rare fire, and she screamed her anguish with such brazen suffering as to make any man but the Signor feel his blood curdle in his veins.
"Oh, hush, my dear! Let us not be so pessimistic. I know her inner charms now almost as well as you once did. Soon, I shall know them much better than you were able to, my pet, and then, once I have won her submission, I will give her to you. You would like that, wouldn't you? You drool at the thought of being her master! Admit it, fool, that thought is what has brought you here!"
Tears filled the eyes of the motionless woman. She was lost in the vacuous stretches of her own feeble reverie, and seemed to have forgotten Peligrosa's jeering presence. But her reverie was taking on a firmer shape: a spark of hope was fighting its was to the surface of her senses, but it gave out little more than a dull sparkle as yet. Her mind would take long in its returning. Peligrosa saw all this, and wondered if it would ever return to her at all.
"You must prepare for your long-sought mastery, Valencia. I will take you down now. You need no longer stay in this shed."
The pulleys on which Valencia's chains were draped began to creak as the Signor pushed the lever that lowered them. Valencia fell in a heap to the dirt floor of her hut, and Peligrosa bent over her and began to undo her bonds.
"Stand," he commanded.
Valencia rose unsurely to her feet. Her limbs wobbled, but she was able to maintain an erect posture, and follow Peligrosa from her hovel.
"Come to my chambers, Valencia!"
She wore but the collar and the leash, and she could feel him tugging at the cunt ring that the leash attached to, and followed him blindly. But Peligrosa felt a twinge of resistance in her hesitant response. Was his pliant slave beginning to awaken into mastery? He chuckled at the idea. He would relish the sight of her tormenting Aurora with her love. He would just as willingly relish the sight of Valencia cowering in dread before him when he informed her that Aurora had failed them, and would not convert to their ways. He preferred the former situation, though, for it would mean much pleasure for himself: he would convert that lovely body in the cavern into his own instrument, and then reward the instrument he led now by the leash with her. The chain would go on, link by link, but still Peligrosa would know himself to be the first, and the strongest, and the most richly rewarded!
"Helen! I am... Helen!"
Peligrosa carefully hid his surprise from his slave. She remembered her true name? Then she had more passion than he had thought. He wanted to test its present strength. She was not free to be the master of her unwilling lover yet: he must remind her of that, now, and see to it that she kept her rightful place in the chain of command he had spun around her and his other servitors.
"Your name is Valencia! Valencia!"
Helen Corday twitched. There was a tremor in her cheek, and her eyes began to glaze again, and go blank.
"Valencia! What is your name?"
She felt the leash tug at her cunt. She tried to form the sound of the letter "H" in her throat, but the air would not leave her lungs to generate it. She gagged from the effort, then moved her lips to form the simpler sound of the letter "V". It required no breath, only the friction of her puckering, shivering lips.
" - V - Valencia."
The Signor pulled roughly at the leash, bringing her to her knees. "Again," he commanded.
"Valencia. Valencia! Valencia! Valencia!"
Muscular spasms contorted her face as the stammered the name again, again, and again, until the Signor slapped her with his gloved hand and made her stop.
"That is better, Valencia! And who is Helen?"
She tried to form the sound of an "H" again, and again, the air in her lungs burned for release, but none would come.
"N-N-No! I don't know!!"
Peligrosa was pleased with her failure. She was wobbling on the jagged edge that separated slavery from mastership. He would let her fall into the latter status when she had earned the right to it. Until that time, she must be kept in her present state of compliant servitude. He had tested her will, it was willing and able to be aroused, but the test was over, and now it must be suppressed again!
The Signor led her through the vestibule of his mansion, led her up the winding spiral staircase to the highest landing, then led her through a massive door that opened into his sleeping chambers.
She heeled behind him as he brought her to the edge of the bed. He motioned her to seat herself there, and she obeyed. Then he looped her leash over the oak knob of one of the bed posts, and strolled across the plush carpet to the tall black closet door.
"You are naked like an animal, my pet. I will clothe you now in suitable attire."
He withdrew spiked shoes, black lingeries, a girdle of many-strapped leather; ropes, thin gilded chains, and a scarlet ball gag. He laid out the apparel on the bed. Then he took hold of her body, spreading the limbs like the limp members of a marionette, and began to dress her.
He began with the lingerie and heels. Then came the girdle of black leather, which he strapped with suffocating tightness about her diaphragm and stomach, forcing her breasts to stuff out of the upper reaches of lacing. They pushed their fat outward like bloated melons, spreading the dark pink of the bases of her nipples into taut, streaked circular sheets.
But Peligrosa was more interested in the gorged red cylinders that jutted like cow's udders from the heaving mounds. He took out coils of thin nylon, and began to wind them with tight pulls around her tits, tweaking the nipples and pulling them like taffy to make a space for the cordings of the rope.
The tiny prickles of her aureoles now inflated into hard pimply balls of sensitive red. The thin strands of nylon gouged out rows between, in, and over them, and sought in their sinuous fashion to capture and compress all the fatty flesh of her horribly distended breasts. When they had been wrenched and warped to the limits of the strength, Peligrosa tied multiple knots, and dropped their knobs into her cleavage. Then he poked the underside of the tight space between her pressurized tits, and pulled the hard knots through, twisting them into the hasps of the laces in the upper stretch of girdle.
Now came the turn of the gilded chain.
They clinked against the rug softly as he drew up lengths of the small, glittering links, and wound them around her ankles. They cut deeply into her bones, rupturing the hosiery that lay between the links and her thin, denting skin. He was careful not to let them lie in the grooves made earlier by the heavier leggings she had borne in the shed. There could be no pleasure for either of them in such tame measures!
Her legs did not require all of the chain. Nor were they meant to. The Signor lifted Valencia from the bed by the shoulders, and bent them over to the floor. Then he wrapped the remainder of the chain around her wrists, then bound the linked wrists to the linked ankles, then stepped back to admire his handiwork.
Her buttocks were bare before him, he could see tufts of her pubic hair cropped below her anus and between her thighs. He wrapped them in his fingers and yanked, bringing some of them free from her flesh to reside between his fingers before he dropped them casually to the floor.
He lifted her now, moving her out to the limits of her leash, causing her collar to tighten about her neck, and the ring in her cunt to cut into her pubic mounds. The end of the leash had been twisted earlier, so that it came through her thighs and up the crack of her ass before it wound around her left thigh and up through her cleavage to her neck. The hair of her crotch that could be seen from behind her spread into two thin rugs, parted by the small line of the leash's leather. The line curved about her thigh a half inch or so below her ass hole, and this was adequate for Peligrosa's purposes.
"Oh, Valencia, I have forgotten your pretty red ball gag. Would you like it now, or have you something you'd like to say to me?"
Valencia was breathing with great difficulty. The multiple constraints on her midriff, and the painful awkwardness of her posture, made it hard for her to furnish her lungs with air. But she wished to speak, if only to demonstrate her mettle.
"No... gag... Want to... able to scream my... passion!"
Pedro Peligrosa sneered. But there was a hint of respect in his sneering. She was beginning to show some spunk. Good for her!
"Very well, my Valencia, I will find some other use for it!"
As he spoke, he began to poke at her ass hole, making some room there to receive the red rubber ball of the gag. The ball was three inches in diameter, and was hardly a comfortable fit, but he had had many months to play with her bowels, and they were stretched enough now to accommodate the ball. Given Valencia's strained posture, however, the accommodation was hardly roomy. Her first scream of passion could be heard as the ball was sucked into her ass.
The Signor decided he was ready now to take his pleasure with her. He unstrapped his tight leather pants, and peeled them down to his knees. Then he removed his gnarled, welt-riddled penis and stuck it into her hole. Thanks to the ball now floating somewhere in her intestines, her hole was a wide tunnel, and his entry was disappointing in the lack of pain it caused Valencia. But as soon as he shoved it deep into her, the crown of his shaft rammed into the ball. He steered his strokes in the direction of the ball, making it oscillate with agonizing perturbations that brought fresh screams from Valencia.
The Signor dug his claws into the small of Valencia's back as he sloshed his maimed instrument through her turds. He began to bellow like an enraged bull, and wasted no time in lingering titillations. He came directly, violently, dousing her brown walls with sticky streaks of gray.
"Haaaa-ah! Squirm, slave, squeeze out the last drops of my slime!"
Valencia wiggled the walls of her bowels obediently, and Peligrosa retracted his grossly colored member from her shitter. Then he grabbed her by the waist and turned her over, so that her back lay against the floor and her legs and arms stretched together into the air.
"Your ass is foul with dirt! Look how you have soiled my loving prick!"
He dangled his organ above her face, then bent his knees and crouched over her.
"Suck it clean, you disgusting toad!"
The brown hose fell into her mouth, and she did as she was told. It was harder to breathe for her in this position than the other, and when she was done, she gasped and sputtered, soaking her lips in umber spittle.
"Don't shirk your responsibilities! Swallow!!"
Valencia winced, but swallowed. Peligrosa was satisfied. For the moment.
"Your tunnel must be washed," he leered. "Don't go anywhere, I'll return shortly."
The Signor went to his dresser and extracted a tarpaulin and a bulbed bone. He placed the tarpaulin under Valencia's bottom, then filled the bulb with water from a ewer that sat on his night table.
"Now for the bath," he sneered.
He shoved the thick bone into her ass, then squeezed the large bulb, sending a jet of water into her hole.
"Hold that in, you will need more if we are to remove the ball!"
He refilled the bulb with water, and shot another jet of fluid into her crack.
"Hold that in, you will need still more!"
Valencia's strain showed all too clearly on her face. She was fighting desperately not to shit, knowing well enough how displeased the Signor would be if she shat too soon, and knowing better than most what his displeasure would mean for the one who had incurred it.
Peligrosa shot a final wash of water into her bowels, then stood back, lifting the end of the tarpaulin to catch the scatter of wastes he expected to fly from her soon.
"Let us see how long you can hold it in now, slave. You have done well so far. How thoroughly can you please me? If you can hold in the water long enough for me to prepare and administer another dosage, I will be pleased indeed!"
The Signor knew how impossible that would be! Already he could hear the grunts that signalled her surrender to the overpowering urgency that she felt in her bowels. Her putrid wastes erupted from her ass with a roaring fart, and splashed against the tarpaulin, making a steaming puddle. The puddle was swirled with the gray sludge of the Signor's wad, and in its middle was the bright red ball.
Signor Pedro drooled with evil delight. He cackled with merriment, and jumped up and down on the floor, his eyes welling with tears of demonic joy as he stared at the puddle and the still dripping hole of his slave.
The Signor was in a generous mood, and wished to share his pleasure with his captive. He twirled her around on the floor, until her head came to the edge of the tarpaulin. Then he arched her back so that she could gaze on the sight that had pleased him so much.
"A chocolate sundae with whipped cream and a cherry! Hee hee! How is your appetite, my dear?"
Valencia had had enough. She fainted with a whimper and closed her eyes.
* * *
In the morning, the Signor rose from his bed and stroked his chin. Valencia was still lying in a faint on the floor. He noted with amusement that she had not partaken of the repast he had left for her. Perhaps she wished to save it for her breakfast!
Pedro Peligrosa was in excellent spirits. This was to be an exciting day, and he looked forward to a stimulating session with Aurora.
Valencia had provided him with an edifying work-out. It had been a good rehearsal, and it had given him the warm-up that he needed if he was going to be at his best with the sumptuous strumpet in the cave!
He donned his best leathers, then packed a bag with many useful items, and headed for the caves. The cameramen would be there by now, he had instructed them of the time he expected to arrive, and they knew better than to be unprepared for a taping when he was ready to begin.
He strolled to his bookcase and entered the tunnel. He took his time reaching the caves. He was in no rush, and he wished to be fully relaxed for his session.
He was thoughtful enough to have the large television screen above his bed hooked up the night before. He didn't want Valencia to miss any of the goings on. She was still somewhat comatose when he had left her, but she was well trained, and would awaken on cue when the static began to hum from the screen.
As he strode into the inner cave where Aurora was bound, he scowered the upper walls with his eyes and saw the camera crew awaiting his signal. He raised his hand, and they removed the caps from their lenses and began to move their machines in slow arcs, recording his arrival and following his footsteps as he approached the slumbering goddess strapped vertically to the pallet.
How should he awaken her? He mulled the question for a minute or two, revelling in the thrilling sense of power that the choice gave him. He wished to constrain her body. Why not begin by soiling it?
The Signor pried his prick free from the leather and pissed on her perfect, round tits. Aurora, unbeknownst to him, was already awake, and was merely biding her time, waiting to see what odiousness the wretch would choose to thrust upon her. As his stream rose up to her neck, she prepared herself. He was drawing nearer to her,' and she saw her moment. As the piss began to spill against her lips, she opened her mouth suddenly and gathered up a mouthful, then spat it into his face.
"It sits better on your ugly flesh than mine, Signor!"
The Signor was flustered. How dare she spoil his game this way? He would teach her to behave in such an unbecoming manner to her master!
He decided to play the pleasure game, to see if she was less able to resist him while still half asleep. He did not know, though, that she had been awakened a half hour earlier by the arrival of the camera crew. And so, he was unprepared for her next trick.
He pulled off his glove and began to fondle her cunt. She pretended to moan with incipient orgasm, and so, taking the bait, Peligrosa slipped his fingers far into her snatch.
But suddenly, she clamped her cunt walls down hard on his digits, and began to piss a torrent on his hand.
"You should have kept your glove on, swine!"
She was mocking him! And his hand was swimming in piss, to boot! He began to bluster, but then regained his usual control. She was no pushover, he must be careful with her, he decided. He must think fast, however, the momentum was hers now, and he must reverse that state of affairs rapidly, lest his morning pleasures be spoiled, and with them, the mood of the day.
In his haste to recoup his losses, Signor Pedro made another mistake. He fell into the trap of an easy retort, and Aurora played her part well.
"So, you enjoy your animal functions, do you? But you still have others you have not indulged yourself in yet! I will be only too pleased to assist you in your bestial pleasures!"
The Signor rushed feverishly to undo her straps, and began to bind her wrists and ankles in the familiar manner. He was too heated to bother with the hose, the high heels, the girdle, and all the rest. Just the chain clamping down on her wrists and ankles, the rope squashing her tits to a distorted pulp, and so forth.
When he had her in perfect jack-knife diver position, he spanked her all until it turned scarlet, then reached into his travelling bag and took out the enema bone and bulb.
"We'll see how long you can hold back your pleasure from my probes, my dear."
He drenched her ass with a torrent of water, then another. Aurora moaned with feigned humiliation. She couldn't see feeling shame for what he was forcing on her. None of this was of her own making or design, it was solely an expression of the Signor's sordidness. No act of her own will was involved in this, and as she had not the least timidity or fear of her own bodily functions - for she knew too well what a splendid piece of natural art her body was! -she refused to feel disgust for anything but Peligrosa and his perverted machinations.
Certainly, her bowels were truly putting up a struggle to contain the wastes and water mixing inside them. But she only wished to goad him into wanting to force more into her. When he stood behind her with a third bag full of water, she stopped the play act and let loose an ocean of shit that completely covered the Signor's leather vest and startled face.
She was glad she had remembered that omelet Jason had seasoned with her own sexual juices! The memory of her moment on the floor while he spooned and masturbated her was one of her favorite raunchy memories of Jason. They had no inhibitions with each other: as she reflected on the proofs of that in her memory, it seemed rather difficult to suddenly show reserves about her bodily functions with this vile creature who called himself the Signor!
Peligrosa was furious, of course. His day was ruined! He had failed miserably, he had overplayed his hand and moved without caution, without thinking - and no one knew his failure as deeply as he did then. He had had enough of simple rituals of humiliation. She might require bondage and deprivations to be broken, but before he could contemplate the course of what now seemed likely to be a long siege, he must temporarily reverse his plans and give her immediate - and severe -punishment for her insolence. She would pay for the filth she had coated him with!
He reached to the rack and took down his sturdiest bull whip. He began to lash at her maniacally, raising deep, long welts and high splashes of blood. He was screaming, and though she could not avoid shrieking in agony herself, she would laugh at him in the respite he was compelled to give her between strokes, and soon he was out of control, smacking the lash against her brutally, shredding the lovely flesh of her breasts, until she passed into a swoon and hung in a faint from her bonds.
The Signor stepped back and gaped at her. She had led him to beat her so rapidly, she had tricked him into making her faint so soon, he had no time to gloat, no time to bask in her humiliation! He realized that he had been utterly defeated by Aurora in every way. He slunk away from her pallet in shame, and was furious at the technicians for recording his craven exit. Valencia was seeing this! That was intolerable!
But at least, he consoled himself, at least he had made her scream with pain. That was something!
CHAPTER SIX
Valencia heard the hum from the screen, and started awake. Her eyes locked automatically on the rush of images that began to tumble out of the television. The sight of Aurora's perfect body slumbering in the straps of the wooden platform catalysed her out of her trance-like state. She began to move her eyes freely, with deliberating hunger, across the flat projector of the scene.
She felt the numbing jealousy come to her as she watched the Signor shower the beautiful breast of the one she yearned to love her with his piss. But when Valencia returned his urine to him in a sudden spray, drenching his face with a yellow color that soon was supplanted by a furious flush of red, Valencia's throat began to press against her collar.
The forbidden letter "H" began to escape from her. It came out as the instauration of a laugh: she cackled uncontrollably at the sight of her master's humiliation. She laughed until the pain of the constraint of the leather collar choked the glee from her, and made her gag and wheeze.
But her breath returned to her, and with it, the laughing.
"H - H - Hah! Hahahaaaah! Signor is pissed on!"
When Signor Pedro took Aurora's shower on his hand, soiling his fingers, his palm, and his leather sleeve, and befouling his carefully planned mood, Valencia's tightly strapped sides strained to sunder their binding with gales of malevolent laughter.
"H - H - Helen! Helen sees Signor pissed on! Haaah!"
She heard herself say her true name with astonishment. The fragments that had been welding together so tentatively the day before to lock into place. She began to remember herself as she once had been. Not too clearly yet. It hurt her, it made her head ache, to see too much too quickly. She would hold the flood of memories in abeyance, she would nurse them into controllable shapes and manipulate them when she felt strong enough to handle them.
But she felt herself grow ever stronger as she watched the startling performance on the television. Signor Pedro Peligrosa, master of pain and humiliation, was being spattered with the shit of his latest slave!
She had never seen her master display such weakness - any weakness! - prior to these moments. She felt the torment of her binds, the binds her master had forced upon her, and began to doubt their justice. Her master was not what he pretended to be. How dare he treat her as such an abject bit of rubbish, he was showing her now how miserable was his claim to that privilege!
When Helen - for she was thinking of herself as Helen now - saw the shoddy manner in which the Signor was administering his whip strokes to Aurora, she cooed and gawked at the screen. He showed no subtlety, he let his victim see his heat, his frustration, he betrayed his weaknesses to the one he would convince of his power!
Helen recalled the way she had abused Aurora, and knew that her performance had been much the superior of the two. Aurora had dug her teeth into her captor's crotch, but she had followed up her act of rebellion with begrudging laps of her tongue. She had brought her tormenter to orgasm, and her tormenter and forced her to experience orgasm as well. But Peligrosa had failed in all these things. Peligrosa was an unworthy master. Helen vowed to show him slavery. Her vow was strengthened when she saw how disgracefully he made his exit from the cavern. He would come back to the room soon. Then she would begin to fulfill her vow!
The Signor had been badly shaken by Aurora's triumph, and he hastened to his chambers to renew his strength with Valencia. When he stormed into his bedroom, he glowered at her, and began to taunt her.
He forced himself to be calm, to seem restrained, and tried to make his just-concluded performance take on the trappings of a victory.
"Did you see how quickly she fainted, vermin? Did you see how little pain her weak frame could absorb? Do you understand how thoroughly I have punished her?"
Helen-Valencia lay motionless, her face blank, her voice dry and cold.
"She pissed on you."
Signor Pedro cringed at this insolence from his slave, all the more so because of the truth it contained.
"My mastiffs have pissed in your hair and eyes many times, toad! They will soon perform the same service for the woman you were unable to master!"
Helen-Valencia remained unshaken. Her characteristic facial twitch, the twitch the sent her musculature into spasms whenever the Signor contradicted or threatened her, was not to be observed. She arched her eye brow in disdain, and through her words at him like javelins.
"She covered you with shit!!"
Peligrosa growled and uplifted the tarpaulin containing Helen's fecal wastes and spilled them over her tits and chest. Helen spat the shit out of her mouth, soiling the master's boots.
"These are my turds, Signor. She covered you with hers!"
Peligrosa flew into a rage. He kicked her buttocks, and jabbed the point of his flying boot into her cunt, making her yowl, and shudder with pain. But when the wave of agony had passed over her and rolled away into the depths of memory, Helen smiled viciously at the Signor.
"She forced you to lose your reserve, your precious control, Pedro! Just I have made you do now!"
The master's boot had stopped in mid-air. He gazed at Helen's shit-spattered face with stupefaction. She was taunting him, and justly! His eyes could not keep their focus on her face. They drifted to his boot, and stared in terror at the smattering of his slave's own shit that clung to the leather. She, too, had covered him with her own turds!
"You notice, Pedro? I, too, can soil you! Release me, you no longer deserve to possess me.
And she was calling him Pedro! His slave was addressing him by his given name! His ears could not believe what he was hearing from this one he had trained to be so docile, so wallow so obediently in the pain he lavished on her.
He dropped his foot to the floor and turned from her. He had been humiliated, his humiliation had been witnessed by his slave; and now, his slave heaped further humiliation on his dark soul!
He jumped when he heard what she was saying now. Her voice was cold as steel, and pierced his wounded vanity as sharply.
"Pedro! Undeserving Pedro! Release me! Now! I, who have today earned the right, command you!!"
What was this she was saying? Was it true? His head was pounding, he felt the unfamiliar vertigo of confusion. He turned to her, and found that he was walking toward her helpless body, walking toward it with the intention of releasing it from bondage!
He pulled out of his hypnotic trance. But he could not bear to see her ruthless eyes. He covered his face with a gloved hand and bent over her.
"Look at me if you call yourself master! It is I who am supposed to cower and hide! Look at me!!" Helen spat out her words like venom. They poisoned his mind, infected him with lethal shame.
He had to shake off the mood that he was started to fall into. He was desperate to concoct a cover, to find some means to excuse what he was about to do, to make it seem as if it were appropriate, as if it fit into his schemes for her.
"You are beginning to sound like a master, Valencia."
He heard the quaver in his voice, and felt dread. His cover, barely formulated to the slave girl who must swallow it, already sounded hollow. His words rang false, but they were his only hope, and he must continue them. To stop his flow of explanation was to admit its inadequacy before it had even been tested. He could not let himself capitulate so easily.
"You feel she will be conquered soon, and your freedom justly won. These are healthy signs of your maturation in the rites of mastership, Valencia. I will unfetter you now, I will give you a taste of liberty, the better to deserve the slave I soon will win for you."
Helen laughed dryly and locked her eyes with his, daring him not to the one to break the stare. Their eyes clung to the sight of each other, neither master nor slave flinching or succumbing to the urge to blink.
"You will not win her for me, I who failed to win her before, I had achieved much more with her in one night than you will reap in many months! And for all I achieved and failed to achieve, I never suffered her to befoul me with her excrement! She pissed and shat on you!!"
Helen knew what the effect of her words would be. Pedro blinked, ending the contest. When he realized she had beaten him with the weapon of truth, he blinked all the more rapidly, as if in a daze. She bade him once more to release her, letting him know how well she knew already that his "gift" of her temporary freedom was her right, and her command!
He started to unlink the golden chains. Her arms and legs fell free of one another. As the Signor unwound the remaining links, Helen felt freedom come separately and at once to- all four of her limbs.
"The chain is broken! Helen is free!"
She climbed to her feet while Peligrosa was still kneeling down next to the spot where she had lain helpless. Her spiked heels dug into his face, puncturing the flesh beneath the eye and sending him screaming to contortions across the floor. Helen pulled off her leash and swung the looped end against his neck as she feasted on the sight on the blood gushing from his shredded face.
She let the leash dangle from her cunt and grabbed for the metal rod he kept by the bedside for her spankings. She leapt into the saddle of the small of his back, and began to pound his thighs and shoulders with the metal, smashing with the awesome power that fury can unleash, listening heatedly for the sound of crunching bones.
Her fire dwindled as she heard him whine. He was begging her to leave him be! When she heard his wretched pleas, she jeered at him, and buffeted his back with further strokes. But her fire had dwindled: she did not wish to shatter his bones. That was the sort of crude hot-headedness he had displayed in the cavern. Her heat must be low, and slowly released. The Signor would be made to know true punishment!
"Give me a ride to your closet, donkey!"
The rain of blows from the rod compelled him to obey. She placed the noose of her leash about his neck, tightened it, then began to use its twin lengths of leather and cord as so many reins to steer her beast of burden, so many reins that she steered with the jerks and contractions of her cunt!
As she rode toward the closet, she plucked up the chains that had been strewn on the rug, she marched him through the lumps of shit that still remained on the floor, the groped beneath his belly and started rolling down his breeches.
She took the enema from the closet, and shoved the bone into his freshly exposed crack. Then she bound the hooves of her pony in the golden chains. She did not bind him as he had bound her before. The chains dug into his wrists and tied them behind his neck. Then the chains reached round and down across his chest, one tightly around his balls, and then left red zippers of dent marks on his calves and knees.
She lavished the most attention on the binding of his balls. She tested their sack with her fingers, prodding and poking to see how much freedom of movement how much sensitivity to pain, the genitals within possessed. Then, only then, did she wind the bonds of gold. She pulled them to the degree of tightness that seemed to bring him most precisely to the brink of the unbearable. Not so much as to maim him forever, but enough so that he would never forget this agony!
Peligrosa was drenching in a cold sweat. He had never felt such excruciating pain since his nights of love with his late wife. She had been the only one who had ever attained the severe discipline he demanded of anyone who would be his master. And she found in him an equally skilled artist of loving torture. Theirs had been a perfect match, an idyllic union which he never hoped to find again on this earth. Yet this Valencia -- docile, obedient Valencia! - had taken back her true name. Valencia was no longer; now Helen squeezed his nuts with gold, making his phallus bloat with pain and shoot wet love into the soiled rug.
Helen had filled the enema bag with water, and added some of the burning shame that was spilling from his cock. She rammed the bone in deeper, and squashed the contents of the bag deep into his bowels.
"I took three loads, Pedro! Can you take four?"
He writhed deliriously beneath her weight, and screamed his answer to her challenge.
"Yes! I can take anything a slave can give!!"
She refilled the bag and squeezed a second river up his ass. He was shivering, he was not used to being the one abused, he had to fight with all his strength to contain that load. And yet it was only the second: one less than she had taken on the previous night. What would be his shame if he could not only not surpass, but not approach her!
She let him suck in the ringed muscle of his sphincter for many minutes, delighting in the shudders that shot through his spine and brought her twat to delirious excitation. She was slopping her come on his back, and as he shuddered, it began to send out rivulets that trickled to the sides of his frame and dripped down his stomach to the rug.
She wailed as her orgasms buffeted her nerves, wanting him to know what bliss his pain was bringing her. When she had doused his back with pools of her slime, she regained her sense of cold purpose, and reached for more water for the bag. The bag refilled, and was squeezed. A third douche of water sprayed up his crack. He must take it, or admit his inferiority to his former slave.
He ground his teeth and gasped, rolled the muscles of his diaphragm and stomach, reeled in all the slack in his ass - and shat on the floor. His gushing turds spattered across the rug, down into his breeches, his boots, into the cracks between the boards of the floor. He was defeated. He wept.
She rolled him over and around, sticking the back of his scalp down into the foul muck he'd released. Then Helen reeled in the slack of her leash, until her snatch was flat against his lips, the cunt ring pressing into the cartilage of his nose.
Helen dripped what remained of her backside orgasm into his shivering lips. She did not need to give him the next command. His tongue reached out and licked the walls of her twat. She panted, convulsed her walls, sucked his tongue down deep, and slopped more come on it.
Helen took the ring now in her fingers, and placed it over the tip of his tongue. She inverted it, so that the hollow of the ring lay over her hole.
"Thread the ring with your tongue," she commanded. "Make it bleed and chafe as it gives me pleasure!"
Pedro obeyed her. His tongue curled into a pink tube on its way through the ring. Her fingers pulled his tongue as far out of his mouth as it could be pried with being ripped out completely. She forced it to pass through the ring to its root. The root of his tongue began to bleed. Peligrosa was unable to swallow, and it was nearly impossible for him to breathe through his mouth. Helen knew that very well. That is why she pinched his nostrils shut, and commanded him more sternly to eat pussy.
She watched with delight as his lips took on a blue tint. She felt herself peaking, and was able to control herself well. She made only a whimper, and kept her eyes, glazed as they were, riveted to his lips. Her come was slithering down the hollow in the center of the curled tube of his tongue. It mixed in the back of his mouth with his blood, and floated there in a sea of saliva that he could not swallow. Just before he was about to pass out from lack of oxygen, she released his nostrils. He snorted uncontrollably, and sneezed mucous-laden strings of snot into her groin.
Peligrosa was gasping and gulping with involuntary rapidity. Helen ogled his torment fondly, and laughed softly. Once he was sufficiently recovered to be given more torture, she dropped her facade of gentleness, and barked new commands at him.
"I have come now, and you have swallowed my come. Now! Eat your snots!!"
His eyes rolled back, and he drooled and whimpered. His tongue pushed the ring around her groin and through her pubic hairs, catching up the nasal filth that he had delivered there.
When he had finished this labor, Helen gave him a moment of respite, to let the ignominy of what he'd been forced to do sink into his awareness completely. Then she yanked his tongue from the ring, and undid the leash from it and let it drop to the rug.
" Pedro thought this was her signal that she was satisfied, and wished to end their session. He sighed, and the tension eased out of the furrows of his face.
Helen pissed into the furrows. She wagged her cunt all over his face, pissing into his eyes, his nostrils, the deep puncture wound she had given him earlier, and into his mouth and down his neck.
She stood up and jeered, arms akimbo with triumph. She undid the last of her own bonds -the tit rope, the leather girdle, the heels and the hose - and stood with her legs spread apart over his crotch.
Then she took a shit on his mangled balls.
When his balls and cock were thoroughly stepped in brown steam, she pulled off his gloves, turned them inside out, then wiped her ass with their fur. She held the fur beneath his nose, then forced the gloves into his mouth, and took up the ball gag from the tarpaulin. She crammed in the gloves with the ball, then hooked the ball around his head and left him gagging on his own turds.
She went to the closet and took out a bull whip. She lashed him with it, until his clothing was reduced to tatters. Then she removed the tatters, until he was stark naked, but for the implements of his bondage.
Helen pranced around his helpless form. She was satisfied. She would leave him there like this. She would think of things to do to him in her shed later, but now she had another purpose.
Helen strutted to the closet and took out new garments for herself to wear. A black leather jump-suit appealed to her, and she bedecked herself in its tight folds. There were splendid tall boots with high heels, and she pulled these on slowly, with great pleasure.
She took the finest bull whip, and prepared to go. But she had second thoughts. Her Pedro was not enjoying himself sufficiently. Now was as good a time as any for her plans for him!
She dragged him across the rug by his ankles, dragged him to the stairwell and let him dangle precariously on the edge of the landing. Then she rolled him beneath her boots like a barrel, following him closely as he tumbled down three flights of winding stairs.
When he crashed against the wall of his study that abutted the first floor landing, he passed out and grew limp. This did not please Helen, she would have to carry him now. But her purpose required that, and she required the fulfillment of her purpose. So Helen bent down over Peligrosa and pulled him over her shoulders.
She carried him to the hovel where she had been confined, and began to wrap him in the plastic sheet. Then she wrapped the ceiling chains about his ankles, and hoisted him head down into the air.
"I would like to hang you by your cock, but then you would lose it, and I would lose a valuable piece of my property!"
Helen left him there and ran victoriously toward his study. She wanted to have a look at his library shelves. But reading was far from her mind as she thought of them!
Peligrosa dangled in a stupor for many minutes. When he had revived sufficiently to fathom what had happened and where he was now, he stretched his throat to scream. But the foul gloves, and the ball gag, choked the sounds. The blood was rushing into his head from his feet; his feet, his legs, his torso seemed to be asleep.
The pounding of too much blood in his head was insufferable. He vowed he would thrash her to the edge of death for this, but then he knew how slim the chances of fulfilling that vow would be.
It slowly dawned on him that he was now her slave. He had certainly performed like one upstairs! Where had her power come from? Could her lust for Aurora be so great, that she faded and seemed to wish only his torments while Aurora was far from her - so great, that her pining and passivity could reverse themselves so abruptly within a day of her learning that Aurora was near her at last?
Peligrosa could not fathom such a mad passion. It was not concerned with bondage and humiliation so much as it was centered on a specific body. It was not like his passion for the dead Signora. He had worshipped her for her mastery, for her discipline. But his lost Valencia seemed to worship this Aurora for her flesh. It was because of that fleshly vision that she wished to know and give pain. It was strange to mix such passions together, he thought. Mixed in such a manner, neither the discipline nor the devotion could be pure. Helen's lust was a corruption. Peligrosa could not grasp such things. Unless Helen knew somehow that this Aurora could be a perfect disciple? But that, he felt, was impossible. Helen was deluded. She operated not from cold calculation, but from some lustful urge that was prior to her control Helen would fail. He would have her again. The grim prediction gave him comfort.
But Peligrosa worried. He was trying to console himself by admitting his ignorance- of Helen's passions and motives. Was that not admitting that he had no control of them? And if he had no control, he could have no hope. He was lost. He had failed. He was a slave now. He must take his consolation from that realization. And he must be a good slave, a worthy slave, if he were to earn the right to regain his mastery over Helen.
Such thoughts were unfamiliar to him; they left a bitter taste in his gagged mouth. But they had a certain fascination, a strange appeal. It was astonishing to contemplate that he, Signor Pedro Peligrosa, still had much to learn.
He heard a humming sound. It came from the screen on the wall above him. He rattled his chains until he had swung his head into a position that would let him see. There were forms dancing on the white, flat surface. Who were they? It was hard to tell. Everything was upside down.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Helen found the lever in the bookcase, and pulled until the case rolled back into the wall. She sauntered down the tunnel, and came to the door of the cave. She had- Peligrosa's keys in her hand, and turned the largest one in the lock. She pulled at the heavy latch with both her hands, and slowly swung open the massive door.
She strolled through the outer cavern, gazing into the still, rank water of the pools there. She had suffered great debasement in those pools. She remembered the way Peligrosa had dragged her bleeding through their filth the first time he brought her to the chamber where the cameras were. She remembered being the way he had forced her to wade through them en route to the first confrontation with Aurora. He had made her eat the eyeless fish that swam in the pools, whipping her with a cat-o'-nine-tails until she caught one in her hands, then forcing her to take the pale, wriggling creature into her mouth and biting off its head.
The pools were giving her ideas for future torments: torments she would afflict her Pedro with! She would make him swallow fishes with his ass, she would chain him to the stalagmites with his waist deep in the water, and let his scrotum be nibbled by eels! And she would leave him there for many days, eating blind fish, releasing his excrement into the foul water, letting his hair grow white from the droppings of the bats!
But there would be time for all that later. Her immediate purpose involved Aurora. Helen hastened to cross the narrow straits of, limestone that would take her past the pools to the inner room. She would show Peligrosa the way to administer pain. She would show her Aurora what love not given lightly could be!
She was at the mouth of the inner room. She entered, and looked up to the walls. The gnomes who operated the video equipment were sitting inertly against the stone: some of Pedro's other slaves. But she was Pedro's master now, and his slaves belonged now to her.
Helen clapped her hands. The sound reverberated through the length of the high, dark room. The technicians stirred to life, and looked at her. They had seen her before. But they had seen her taking punishment here, not preparing to deliver it. They moved about in confusion, robots whose control box had short-circuited. Helen laughed at them, and let them know her to be their new master.
She knew who they were. They were the four other links in her piece of the chain! Peligrosa had tamed them readily, for they were willing enough to serve such an experienced master. One of them was her own Raoul, the one who had chained her to the pier as the tide came in to drown her. But which one she did not know. They wore masks, and were covered in identical uniforms of black leather. And they never spoke. Peligrosa had forbidden them that liberty.
There had been no cameras and screens before Helen's arrival at the mansion. They were an innovation dating from the time of her captivity. They had been installed expressly to record and monitor it. For Peligrosa gave much thought to the treatment of his slaves. He knew well what her career was, and what weaknesses and vices she brought to it. He had required of her a detailed exposition of her session with Aurora, of the pictures she had taken, and the uses she had made of them in bed. He made his punishment suit her passions. Even the crucial night by the docks with Raoul had a symbolic weight, contained a secret insight into her flaws, that he could utilize. The dangling in the shed was his variation on the theme. Peligrosa knew his slaves intimately, and used his knowledge well!
But he was no infallible. What could such a man - any man - know of her passion for the other woman? Peligrosa had failed to read that properly, and to his cost. Peligrosa, who had seen so much, had missed the most seminal detail. Helen gloated over that. He would know her better when her next session with Aurora was done!
Aurora! At last, Aurora! Helen would have her now, and the thought made her tremble. She was Aurora's master, to do with as she pleased. Helen could see her now, see her Aurora's bloodied flesh strapped against the pallet. She could hear her moaning now, moaning with the pain of the whip she had tasted before.
Aurora moaned, but she was not awake. Her mind was too heavy with pain, and she drifted beneath the surface of consciousness, fluttering faintly through the twilight land of fantasies and dreams. She could hear sounds, but they were blurred like records playing at the wrong speed. She could see vague shapes, but they were stretched and clouded, swimming across her field of vision like objects observed at the fringe of a fish-eye lens.
There were bubble bursts of nearing sound tapping on the drums of her ears. Their rhythm was different from the thrumming of the blood in her ears, and they were louder, and growing more distinct. Footsteps. Peligrosa's, probably. Who else ever came into these caverns?
Aurora was so tired. Yet she must not let fatigue and pain govern her now. She must steel herself, prepare for further punishment, gird herself for resisting her tormenter. Aurora was so tired. It would be difficult for her, but she had no choice.
She could see a shape in black leather that moved in cadence with the sounds. There was something familiar in the carriage of the person nearing her, but she could not make out much more than fuzzy contours and the sense of blackness. The form circled around her and placed gloved fingers over her eyes.
Helen savored the deliciousness of this long-awaited moment. Aurora was unaware that it was she, and Helen thought it would be the height of delight to continue the ruse. She would blindfold Aurora, then begin the rituals that Peligrosa had failed to perform properly. Helen would enact the rites correctly, she would make Aurora shriek with lust, she would make Aurora beg the Signor to pity her, she would take off her blindfold and make Aurora see who the Signor she was pleading with truly was. Helen would bask in her shame and bewilderment, she'd have the blonde goddess without her even knowing who her conqueror was. And when she discovered who it was she had succumbed to, she would be humiliated beyond her capacity to endure it, she would be chastened, and become her slave.
And Peligrosa would watch in chains, dangling from the roof of the shed he had prepared for Valencia. And Peligrosa would see her achieve what he had failed, he would wallow in the shame and irony of Aurora's pleas for the Signor's mercy. He would flounder in the cup of his poisoning defeat, he would writhe in the dregs of his abjection.
Helen returned to the front of the pallet, and stood back to take in the vision of Aurora's sweet bondage. She folded her arms across her breasts, and felt desire. She leaned over Aurora, and began to lick her. She wanted to cleanse her of her blood, to see the perfect body of the captive radiate its beauty with the purity of glistening, unsoiled nakedness.
Ah! But what to do about the welts that the lashes of the whip had made there? Helen went to the rack, and filled the bladder with oils. These she doused Aurora's flesh with, opening the mouth of the bladder over her, and spilling the balm across her breasts, her midriff, her thighs. Then she peeled off her gloves, and began to rub the oils into her loins, into her nipples and diaphragm, into the golden locks of her tender pubic mounds. She brought a sheen to the pure white marble of her limbs, she made her flesh slick and silky, she made the welts shrivel and narrow, and begin to heal.
Her fingers toyed with the ruffles of Aurora's lips, played with the walls of the crevice they opened up on, probed inside the lustrous tube that reached into her womb. She dripped viscous drops of balm on her clitoris, and started to massage the precious nub with her finger-tips, summoning it to arise and stiffen and twitch lightly at her touch.
Aurora was sobbing. She was so tired, it was so difficult to resist the threat of pleasure. Helen knew the ways of her womanly body.
Helen knew better than the Signor how to waken the passion of another woman, how to cajole her crack into wetness and fire. Helen would show the Signor how well she knew these things, she would make him watch as she gave orgasms to Aurora, as she gave her cause to moan with delirious ecstasy. Aurora would weep tears of pleasure, and Helen would lap of those tears as they trickled from the blindfold. Then she would remove the blindfold, and lick the heavy eyes that made the tears, lick them until they were dry, until the opened and saw who was bringing her this unwanted joy!
Aurora was wracked with tremors of the incipient bliss she wished to deny. She fought to form the image of Jason inside of her, struggled to form and hold the details of the memory of Jason's tender strokes, Jason's heated passion, Jason's eyes clouding with lust for her, Jason's love. She conjured the cold image of the Signor, and gazed into the cruelty in his eyes, the coldness of the lines of his hard, contemptuous face. She floated between the two images, and found refuge in the face of Jason. She clung to it, forcing the face of the Signor to fall to the depths of her mind, to tumble down to her loins and depart from her. She felt the fingers inside her, and they were not Jason's, knew they must be banished from the registers of her senses, knew that they must not violate her soul by bringing her the dread of forced passion.
She begged the face of Jason to speak for her, to exorcise the demon that threatened to steal her lust away from its rightful object. She made Jason tower over the face of the Signor in her mind, to kick at the dark, cold visage of her tormenter, to gouge his eyes and rend the flesh from his bones. She made Jason chase the evil one out of her body, she made him shut down the muscles of her snatch and force him from her body. She felt the brutal fingers scratch inside her, and she begged Jason to trap them, to cut them off and toss them to the ground.
Helen withdrew her hand from Aurora's cunt. Aurora had terminated her swelling lust, she had stopped herself before the orgasm came. Helen was distraught, but not defeated. Aurora would find it harder to resist the fullness of her tongue. She parted her lips and placed the nib of her tongue on the sensuous nub of the clitoris, and slid the edge of her instrument into the walls of the well-oiled pussy. The tunnel was coated with a thin film of oil, and the oozes that had reluctantly been forced from her glands. Helen pressed Aurora's lips against her tongue with the rolling strokes of her thumbs, sinking her blade into the softness of the pink cavern she wished to make echo with pulsations that would ring in answer to the throbbings of her tongue. Helen slapped about inside Aurora, shivered her upper lip against her nub of pleasure, teased her labia with her thumbs, commanding her slave to yield up pleasure for her to drink.
Aurora felt the tongue invade her, and fled to Jason. He wanted her to think of the wooden spoon he had ladled her come with on the kitchen floor. Think of the tongue as made of wood, think of it as offering you not prickles of pleasure, but hard, painful splinters. It is a lifeless utensil, it can only bring pleasure if wielded by the one who loves you, it is the centerpiece of a game, and one accepts or rejects it according to the rules of play that one chooses to abide by. Do not accept these rules, Aurora! The Signor rapes you with wood, he wishes to tempt you to surrender to pleasure, only to riddle your organ of love with piercing splinters. This can bring you no bliss, Aurora, think of it as torture. The strokes of wood, the strokes of a lash: not strokes of love, not to be answered by the spasms of love. Do not answer, make your body quiet, refuse the rules of the game, do not play, do not answer, make no utterance, make no response!
Helen felt Aurora's resistance, and grew angry. What could be done to lessen it? What would make her succumb? What could she do to break Aurora's will?
Helen extracted her tongue. She took a dildo from the rack, choosing one that was soft and supple. She would be Jason, she would fuck Aurora in Jason's name, she would make her think of Jason and surrender to her!
She strapped the dildo to her hips and started turning the crank that controlled the pallet on which Aurora lay. She brought the platform to an almost horizontal position, leaving it inclined slightly upward, the better to climb up into Aurora with the dildo. She would make her breasts roll, her nipples jump out from the soft folds of the tits they were mounted on; she would fondle and flex the white bosom while the dildo worked inside her. She would kiss the lips, bite the lobes of her ears, shower caresses across all of her flesh, and speak the name of Jason, use the words he would use, lower her voice and whisper endearments with the husky voice of a man.
Helen slid across the greased surface of Aurora's body, bathed the dildo in oils and worked it inside of Aurora's cunt with slow, slippery strokes. She enveloped her body in her own, clenched her fingers in her own, robbed her nipples into hers, ground her twat into Aurora's and pressed her stomach into hers and sucked the air in and out to match the risings and fallings of Aurora's middle.
"This is Jason, Aurora! Why are you hear, Aurora? I have come to rescue you, to bring you love, and pleasure. Let me feel you lust for me, let me fuck you, darling, before I release you from your bonds!"
Aurora swooned. She knew well the voice was not Jason's, but the mime was well executed, and sounded to much like her lover's to make her feel comfortable. She felt so terribly confused, she found it difficult to concentrate on the image of Jason while another, false, image of her lover filled her ears and slid across her flesh.
But the voice was not his, and the prick inside her was not his either. Aurora realized, too, that the prick was not that of a man. She felt the strap of the dildo rub against her thighs as the ersatz Jason rolled across her. She felt the nipples brushing against her own, and knew that no man could have breasts such as those. This was not Peligrosa on top of her, it was a woman!
What woman could this be? Who would the Signor choose to torment her in this way? She listened closely to the deceiver's voice. She knew who it must be. Who but Helen, the one the Signor had led by a leash to her side the day before, the one who wore the slave ring in her cunt, the one who responded to Peligrosa with the obedience and blank expression of a robot: the one who had brought her shame before, and who had brought her here!
Aurora wondered where the Signor was. Was he watching silently in the back reaches of the cavern? Was this his way of tormenting her to feel shame, to surrender, to become his slave?
But there were no voices in the chamber, there were no tell- tale footfalls to indicate the presence of the other. -Was he watching this at a distance;, was he seated before one of his infernal screens? Had he so enslaved Helen that she could be sent here alone, to do his bidding, to force her love on her, to let him watch her lavish passion on her body? Helen, who had made the photographs of her own intimacy? Would Helen, so jealous and private, allow her captor to relish her despair? Had Helen been reduced to this? What was the nature of the mad alliance between the Signor and the one he called Valencia?
Aurora didn't know. She would ask. She wanted to see if Helen was in control of this situation, she wanted to know how Helen could play the master after so recently playing the slave.
"Where is the Signor, Helen?"
Helen hugged her and cackled.
"The Signor is watching, Aurora!"
"He is not in the cavern."
Helen rammed the dildo hard into Aurora's cunt and made her yelp. She laughed again, and reached behind Aurora's neck to untie the blindfold and make her look at her.
"He is chained in the shed he keeps me in. He is my slave now, as you are mine!"
Aurora was overwhelmed by this revelation. Helen had stopped the tempting strokes to gloat, and Aurora was given a respite: enough of one to clear her head and search for some strategy to employ on the wench who was fucking her.
Aurora must keep her talking. She must pretend to be dazed, to feel utterly helpless. Helen would enjoy that, and prolong their dialogue, giving Aurora more of the precious time she needed to find a way to locate and exploit the weaknesses of her torturer.
"How did he come to be in chains? And how did you come to lose your own?"
Helen's eyes burned into hers. She smiled viciously as she stared into the face of her prey. She would let her know what power she had now. She told her of the chain letter chains, told her of the months she had suffered from the Signor's domination, told her of the victory she had had over her possessor before coming to Aurora. She spoke rapidly, in broken syntax, with manic heat. She would smash Aurora's hopes with a torrent of satanic revelations. Aurora would beg and plead, and Helen would give her stern terms she must meet if she expected release. She would become her lover, and would be compelled to accept that status. She would slide from acceptance to embracing of her role, she would lose her memories of Jason, and the promised release would be denied her forever. The promise was a lie. Slaves must never lie, but masters must indulge in the practice as they pleased!
Aurora pretended to cower, to beg. She must inflate Helen's vanity, she must have her think she would taste victory, she must have her release her from the platform. But she knew there could be only one way to convince her of her surrender. She had not the Signor's pride and decorum, she could not be defeated by jeering. Her lust was of a different kind than Peligrosa's. Her lust was of a woman for a woman, not that of a man for the torture and humiliation of anonymous victims. One could befoul such a man with excrement and mockery, and shatter is pride and control: for he would be confronted with the personal defiance of an impersonal victim, and would find that intolerable. But Helen would not be willing to leave her unless she was indulged in a different manner. Aurora would have to accept her sick love, this one time at least, if she were to convince her of her surrender.
The thought sickened Aurora. She would have to give herself to this woman, she would have to accept pleasure, allow the orgasms to overwhelm her, and listen to Helen grunt and gloat. If she didn't, Helen might leave her here in the cave, leave her hungry and thirsty and in pain, until she would be ready to surrender for real. Thus, Aurora saw how little choice she had. She would accept the illusion that it was Jason, she would shut her eyes to the reality of Helen and think Jason. She would come wildly, wildly with Jason. Helen would not know this, and Helen would be told a lie: Helen would be told that Aurora was willing to be her love slave.
"You will learn to love me, Aurora, before very long!"
Aurora winced. This would be hard to take, but she must put up a convincing front. Helen's hot breath was wafting against her ears, and her fingers were crawling toward her cunt. She was screwing the dildo around in her hole, and was ready to try her again. Aurora's eyes unleashed a stream of tears, and Helen's tongue was scooping them out of her lashes and swallowing them greedily. Aurora must let her have her way now. But she must think of Jason, she must grow hot from the thought of her true lover, she must not feel any passion for the depraved woman who was straddling her now, and who was beginning to pinch at her breasts and with her teeth and stoke her furnace with her dildo and her hard, sharp nails.
Aurora began to respond to the grinding motions of Helen's instrument. She let herself enter into their strokes, and bathe her thoughts in the warm image of Jason. She wondered where Jason was now, if he knew that she was gone. She had been waiting for him the prior afternoon, she was expecting his arrival when the men in the armored car had taken her away and brought her in chains to this place. She wanted him now, she wanted him to come to her, she would come now to his image!
* * *
Helen could feel the muscles of Aurora's cunt begin their contractions about the phallus. Aurora had had enough, she was wearing down; soon, she would come. Helen would make her come again and again, make her suffer countless orgasms from her, make her faint from pleasure - make her want it!
Helen suckled Aurora's hard nipples, drew them out from the globes from which they grew, crushed them lightly in her teeth and held them there while her tongue grazed their surfaces and bent them against the ridges of her gums. Her fingers took up her clitoris, and rolled it inside the flaps of her squeezing labia, buried and unburied the agitated bud within the doors of her cunt, tickled it into growing tense and hard. Her nipples were hard now, her clit was hard, and the dildo inside her squirming snatch was hard: all of her tenderest spots were hard, and her juices began to flow with ease.
Helen's own juices were flowing now, too. Her come was welling up at the base of the dildo, and squirted out from its sides. It mixed with Aurora's in greater and greater quantities, lathering her blonde tufts until the scraggly curls matted and stuck to her skin. As Aurora's pubes matted and clumped, Helen could feel the sliding friction build up and coax greater releases of sauce from her own slime-laden slit. She was dizzy with the rushing of her blood and scum, and bit into Aurora's tits and scratched at her loins. The whole front of her body was now lubricated with the same oils she had doused Aurora with, and the sleekness made her motions feel like she was rubbing into crushed velvet with a damp chamois rag. Her body flowed over Aurora's like a scuba diver in a hot jet of underwater current. Her mind was swimming in a warm bath, and the moans dripped from her throat like bubbles.
Helen released the nipples from her mouth and spread the softnesses of Aurora's breast against her cheeks. Helen's tongue dragged down the furrow of her cleavage, riding lightly over the ridges of her ribs until it came to the depression where Aurora's stomach scooped downward and heaved.. Helen wrenched her back and twisted to get at the navel with her tongue. But she could not contort herself into the right position, and she wanted to roll her tongue in more deeply carved depressions than the navel of her slave, and so she slid the dildo out when she heard Aurora shrieking with unrestrainable lust, unstrapped the contraption from her waist and thighs, grabbed the sides of the lower end of the platform and swung her pussy into Aurora's face while she implanted her own face in Aurora's drenched crotch.
Helen's hot jelly smeared across Aurora's flushed face and spattered across her lips. The illusion of Jason that Aurora had been offering her spasms to was shattered by the clumps of pussy that were brushing her lips. The soaked bristles came through the spaces between her teeth as Aurora opened her mouth and readied her tongue for thrusting. She wanted to suck cock, not cunt, and Jason's cock, not Helen's detested slit. But she must, she must give Helen that, she must give Helen tender licks, she must drive her into a hot frenzy, she must convince her she was loved, if she were to gain release!
She pretended she was driving her tongue into Jason, into Jason's crack, the crack in his ass. She would shove her blade far inside, up to the prostate gland she must imagine to be there. She would be making Jason come, she would be forcing the motor of his prick to trigger his pistol to fire gray pellets at her neck, to shoot his steamy load across her tits. She had often stuffed Jason's ass this way while, he rammed his tongue into her snatch. She would upraise her large, lovely tits then, and squash the tip of his prick between her white mounds. She moved her hands now to her bosom, and pushed them down over her stomach and grabbed for Helen's jugs. Then she crunched them between her own, squashing nipple into nipple, pretending the hard bits of tissue were Jason's, were his cock, his hot and trembling cock ready to shoot scum into her cleavage.
But it was hard to pretend that those small hard lumps were Jason's sturdy tool. They were his balls, Helen's breasts were Jason's balls now, two monstrous genitals separated by the deep seam of Helen's cleavage. She thought of Jason as a giant, a huge and overwhelming object of love, a man with a cock as large as her thigh, and as thick and smooth and rigid. Helen's tits were Jason's balls, her cunt was the anus of her giant lover, situated far behind the swaying sack of Helen's tits, and even farther removed from the head of the rod, Helen's head, that was banging against her box now.
And Aurora's giant Jason was a beast of the wild. He had a red cone of meat that shot out of his aroused phallus, that shot out and danced like a dog's, a cone that was poking now into her slit. Helen's body was reduced to the dimensions of Jason's splendid hunk of hot male meat. Helen was merely a part of him now, and Aurora could choose to ignore her as the giant Jason's tree trunk thighs ground into the slopes of her shoulders. Helen was merely a grotesque and disembodied prick. Aurora thought the pun appropriate. Over and over in her mind, she repeated the demeaning joke: Helen is a prick! Helen is a prick! Aurora would give that prick a good beating when this ordeal was done!
Aurora's hatred for Helen had inflamed the passion of her body. She felt herself falling beneath a spraying tidal wave, she was tumbling in the ferocious breaker and being tossed and battered with the pounding rushes of the surf, she heard herself screaming and babbling and fighting for air. She was being flattened by the power of her crashing orgasm, went down beneath the foam spilling out of Helen's turgid twat and was carried out to sea.
Helen did not know Aurora capable of such passion. She was in awe of the torrent of wails and spasms that were contorting Aurora, and she imagined it was she, Helen, inspiring her bestial fits of raw lust. The burden of such a total gift of submission weighed heavily on her, and she collapsed down heavily into Aurora's body and whimpered. There were tears streaming down her cheeks, and they dripped into Aurora's cunt and made small spattering sounds against the hard, unpolished wood beneath her thighs. Aurora had given herself to her master. Aurora was hers, totally hers. Forever.
Helen would never let her go now. She climbed off the limp body of her possession, her love slave, and placed her feet heavily on the cold limestone floor of the cave. She limped to the rack and found the sharp needle that she wanted. She lit up the small furnace that adjoined the rack, and put the point of the needle into the flicking tongue of the flame. Then she took a small silver ring from the rack, and brought the needle and ring to the pallet.
But Helen stopped. This was what Peligrosa had done to her when she had first submitted to him. She wanted to make the mark of her possession of Aurora something more meaningful, more complete, than an echo of her own earlier possession by the Signor. She wanted the Signor to notice this, to notice the superiority of her own gesture of mastership. She returned to the rack, and found another bauble. She fondled its hard metal lines with selfish, jealous hands. Now she was ready, ready to make Aurora hers totally.
Aurora awoke from her sated slumber. Her thoughts were dark and unclear, they were still burdened with the deadening weight of the orgasm she had just had. She felt the absence of Helen's mass, her flesh tingling in the patches where Helen's had clung to hers. She parted her lids and rolled her eyes slowly over the ceiling and walls of her dreary, cold dungeon. She was ashamed that she had let herself rollick with such abandon beneath her enemy, but she swore she would show the same unabashed lust to her lover, her Jason, when she found the way to his side again.
Helen's come was drying on her face, and she wanted to wipe the foul stuff from her face before she returned. But her hands were strapped in metal, and she would have to suffer the outrage of Helen's wastes until she was free.
Where was Helen now? It was so dark in here, her head Celt so empty, she was unable to fathom what was happening here. Did Helen see through her sham somehow? Was she going to torture her now? How could she enter into such a demented, evil mind as Helen's and guess its will? She closed her eyes and sank into a deep depression. Helen was a prick indeed!
She wanted to sleep and recover her energy and control. She felt lost, and doubts of her possibilities for release began to gnaw away her will. She must fight such doubts, but she could not fight them now, she was so tired! And so ashamed.
But she must terminate that sense of shame abruptly. Better to convert it into hate. Hate for Helen! Would she release her now? Bring her somewhere, somewhere where there was light and open air, somewhere where she could run away? If Helen chose to coop her up somewhere to keep her handy for the moments when she wanted to indulge her wretched lust, would Helen pen her up in a place where she would have some chance of escaping her? Aurora didn't know. But certainly she wouldn't leave her here!
She could feel Helen's breath now, beating against the flesh above her snatch. Was Helen going to eat her out, or was she going to play with her cunt for a while, poking and prying into its walls like an infernal anatomist? What did Helen want of her now? She could feel her labia being pulled and stretched. Helen's nails were biting into the thin flesh, and she was pressing them tightly together as she tugged them. Then Aurora felt a sharp, surprising pain down there, a brutal jab from the needle that Helen was lacing through her lips. Aurora shrieked, filling the cave with the echoes of her agony. Then something hard, thick and cold pushed through the holes that the needle had made, and then she was wrenched by a final rough jolt as she heard something click and snap shut. Aurora looked down and saw the padlock that had sealed up her pussy. Helen held up the key to the lock and bared her teeth. The ring glinted dully in the faint light of the small flame at her back, and then Helen reached down into her own cunt and rolled the metal ring there through the holes in her own lips, rolled it until the small fissure in the body of the metal came up to the top of the ring. Then Helen pulled at the sides of the ring, widened the fracture line of the fissure until Aurora could see a small break in the circle. Then Helen took the key to the lock on her cunt, slid it onto the ring that threaded her own, and left it there to dangle in the wet bristles of her twat.
"I own your pleasure now, Aurora," Helen chortled. "It is mine to grant or deny!"
Helen turned away to face the cameramen.
She wanted to make this moment tell. This was the ultimate victory, and Peligrosa must be made aware of it in no uncertain terms. She signalled the camera crew to zoom in on the scene after a lingering close-up on her own exultant face. Peligrosa was given a vision of two cunts, still wet with each other's juice, clinking their metal baubles against each other. The zoom on the cunt lock and the cunt ring with the jiggling key grew closer, closer, until only the closely pressed key and padlock could be seen filling the screen. Even upside down, there could be no mistake about the meaning of this image in the mind of the dangling Signor!
Helen signalled the technicians to pan from the two twats to Aurora's face. She wanted to catch every detail of Aurora's submission. Aurora knew she must act this part well. If her performance pleased Helen, Helen would be in a generous mood. If she couched her desire for release in the appropriate way, she would be able to con Helen into granting it. She knew what would be appropriate: she would suggest a joint venture that she felt sure would please Helen immensely.
She had to conceal the immense hatred and disgust she was feeling now for Helen. But she fought down her loathing and remembered her years of modelling: she could pose for any scene, even in this setting! She wrinkled her face into an expression that meant defeat, degradation, capitulation, exhaustion. She turned the mask to Helen, and spoke in a sultry whisper.
"Yes, my pleasure is yours now, and you may do with it as you will. But it is a great gift, and I beg you to give me a small one in return. I want to see Peligrosa in chains. He is your slave, let him be mine for a little. I defeated him, and I have earned the right to pay him my respects!"
Aurora had guessed Helen's mood correctly. The thought of seeing her love slave torture her own former master appealed to her immensely. Such a favor Helen would be only too willing to grant. Aurora's servitude would begin with an appropriate act of irony!
"So, my dear! And how will you- torment the Signor? Tell me your plans, Aurora, if they please me I will be happy to grant you your favor!"
This part of the play would be easy. No internal rehearsal would be necessary. Aurora could fit into the role without having to act at all! The thought of meting out pain to the Signor was an easy one for her to dwell upon. She would have no trouble convincing Helen of her sincerity!
"I want to piss in his eyes, I want to shit in his mouth and make him swallow it, I want to wrap his prick in chains and squash his balls into jelly, and then I want to flail the foul skin off his back with the same bull whip that he used on me!!"
Helen was delighted. These were almost the identical punishments that she had dealt to the Signor herself! Aurora was filled with hate for him, and with hatred of such strength, she wasn't very far away from the state of mind that would come to know and understand the joys of sadism! This would be an excellent training session for Aurora. Aurora, so gentle, would learn to give pain! Later, Helen would teach her to enjoy the receiving as well. But one step at a time, she thought, the rest will come in due course!
Helen undid Aurora's bonds - except, of course, for the padlock - and walked her around the cavern until the strength returned to her legs. Aurora clung to her tightly: she wanted Helen to feel that she needed her, and in fact she was feeling so weak that she did, at least for physical support.
Then she had a devilish thought. She was too weak to attempt escape now, of course, and she needed more time to recoup her strength. She knew what Helen wanted from her, she had already compromised herself a great deal in that department anyway, why not give her more, now that she was unshackled, to convince her completely of her slavishness? A little grovelling could go a long way, she mused, and let herself slip and fall.
Helen bent over her to help her up, and then Aurora began. As Helen's breasts bobbed over her own, she reached up her hands and tugged at her nipples. She pulled her by her breast to the floor beside her, and soon had her face in Helen's crotch. Jason, forgive me! she thought to herself, and began to eat out her captor in earnest.
Helen was startled at this sudden display, but she was hardly displeased. Everybody knew that models were empty-headed mannequins, she chortled to herself, but who would have guessed that this divine golden puppet would be brainwashed so easily? But she soon stopped complimenting herself to concentrate, instead, on the pleasure of Aurora's roving tongue.
Aurora was surprised to find how much fun it was to make the bitch grow hot and writhe brainlessly on the floor of the cavern. She got a kick imagining herself as Jason, and Helen as herself. She was beginning to understand why Jason was always so willing to suck her pussy: it was quite a power trip to be in your right head while your partner went out of control and had spasms like an epileptic whenever you licked and bit her in the right places! It wasn't quite as much fun as blowing a strapping big stud like Jason, but it would do until she was with him again!
Aurora was enjoying this lie a great deal: Helen will have her guard down later on, her love would seem requited, and thus she'd be manageable. Aurora didn't like to be such a conniving con artist, but she felt no one as depraved as Helen or the Signor were worthy of honorable treatment, and so had no compunctions about exploiting their weaknesses to the limit. Aurora knew that Helen was enjoying this scene immensely, but her memory of her pleasure now would taunt her later, once Aurora let her know what she really thought of her, and how she had taken advantage of her lust to take control of her! Helen would learn soon enough what sort of slave she was dealing with!
"Oh! Oh-ooooh!"
Moan and grunt, you pig, Aurora thought, and dug her teeth deep into Helen's twat. She knew how Helen relished pain. No more nice stuff, Aurora giggled to herself, I'll be only too happy to make you bleed!
"Arggh! Bitch! Oh, Aurora!"
Yup, she likes it. Maybe I should bite her nipples off and let her die of ecstasy! But I don't want to go too far, she'll start thinking I'm rebelling or something naughty like that. Back to the soft stuff - for now!
Aurora whipped Helen's clit with her tongue tip for a while, heard her screech and yell and such, and started to get disgusted again. Alright she told herself, you've made your point, no need getting carried away. Start sobbing with pleasure at her luscious receptivity to your devotion, or some such rot. Get back to the mainline of the script, and get the hell out of this cave!
"Oh, Helen, your come tasted so wonderful," she lied. "Did I give you pleasure, Helen?"
Helen rose With difficulty to her feet, and grabbed up Aurora in her arms. "I've wanted you to give me your love for so long, Aurora!"
Tell me something more interesting, this is boring me, and you'll make me sick, Aurora muttered to herself. But she kept up her act, and wrapped her arms around Helen, the better to avoid having to look her in the eyes and maybe laughing at the dizzy dyke.
Helen hugged her with the gentleness of a polar bear, and Aurora wondered when she'd stop this crap and lead her upstairs so she could shit on that scumbag Peligrosa. She was looking forward to that, and wasn't looking forward to any more of Helen's revolting advances. Well, I'll have to get her attention so she'll remember the next part of the scenario, Aurora mused, and so she reached under Helen's cunt and gave her buns a good tweeking.
"Please, Helen, bring me to Peligrosa, I want so much to give you a good show!"
Aurora felt Helen's grip relax, and then Helen took her hand and led her out of the chamber. At last! she thought, and scampered after her alleged master with genuine delight. For she was, after all, genuinely delighted to be out of that place!
When they got upstairs, Aurora looked about the study and was amazed. Awfully hokey, it looks like the set from an old B movie. This Peligrosa was quite an ass, I can't wait to give him a taste of his own whip!
Aurora was feeling better and better, but she was still a bit giddy. She'd been wondering if she'd ever get to see the sun again, and her eyes were having trouble adjusting to the glare. While she reeled from the shock, she felt something clank and shut around her wrist. Damn, she's playing those games again, but at least it's only one hand, and as long as her hand is in the other cuff, she won't be able to get away from me once I've finished using the bull whip on the Signor and started giving her a few love pats with the lash! Helen smiled at her like a moonstruck calf, and the sight of the simpering sadist made Aurora want to laugh in her face. But she didn't want to blow it now, so she simpered back at her and started thinking about ways to get out of the damned handcuffs!
Helen dragged her to the shed and opened the door on the prize catch of the day. The Signor must feel rather foolish dangling like a side of beef from his own chains like that, Aurora reflected. I'll make him feel more than foolish soon enough, though! And as for you, Helen, my dear, watch out!
"Let's shit on him together!" Helen purred.
A lovely thought, Aurora thought sarcastically, and then she thought that maybe that would be fun anyway!
"Why don't you take the bastard down, I wouldn't want to waste good turds on all that plastic wrapping!"
Helen had had the same brainstorm, apparently, and was working the lever that lowered the chains. The Signor crumpled on the floor, and Helen started peeling off his cocoon and displaying her handiwork to Aurora.
"How do you like these shit-covered balls? I squeezed them till they turned blue in his damned golden chain!"
"The chains look good on him, Helen, all that pressure makes his cock look larger. Quite flattering, really!"
Aurora heard herself saying these things with not a little amusement. What would dear old Jason think if he heard her now? He could probably use all of the stories she'd tell him to make a fantastically successful movie. Considering the massive success of "Jaws", she figured her own story would make millions.
"You ought to take the gag out of his mouth. I told you I want to make him swallow it, Helen!"
Helen gave Aurora a look that meant here comes a big surprise, and as she pulled out the ball gag Helen winked and pointed to the two shit-stained gloves that were wadded in back of it.
"He's used to the taste by now, don't worry, lover!"
Nice! Aurora felt like throwing up, but as she looked at the docile expression on the Signor's face, it occurred to her that he was probably really enjoying this. Well, here comes a bagful of pleasure for you, creep! Aurora squatted over his hungry mouth and plopped a foot of turd into the cavity. She hadn't had a chance to relieve herself for a day and a half, the accommodations of her recent lodgings not being the best and all, and was pleased to find a toilet at last. Helen, meanwhile, was shitting on his balls for the second time that day.
Lesbians have strange fixations, Aurora mused, and couldn't help watching her do it. She seemed to enjoy her work, and Aurora was enjoying it, too. The way the Signor was licking at her ass hole, she got the idea that he was getting off on this as well. Strange character!
Aurora was anxious to get to the whipping sequence. "Where should I piss on him, Helen?" she asked.
Helen wasn't sure. But she thought that as long as Peligrosa still had a full mop of hair, they might as well give it a shampoo, so the two women let loose a couple yellow fountains on his scalp. Aurora thought the whole business was getting a bit surreal. The things some people do for kicks!
When they were done pissing on the Signor, Aurora thought it was high time Helen handed over the whip to her. Helen took a long time squirting her stream, so Aurora waited patiently for her to wind up her pleasures, and then popped the question.
"May I have the whip now, master?"
She felt awfully dumb calling Helen that, but she didn't want to take any chances, and thought a little fawning couldn't hurt her cause. Helen fell for the ploy hook, line, and sinker, and tossed her the bull whip. Aurora grabbed it in her free hand and gave it a few practice swings. A little heavy, but she'd figure it out soon enough. She cracked it a few times over Peligrosa's head, scaring herself with the loud, sharp noises she heard herself making. This'll do the trick just fine, she figured, and hoisted the thing up into the air.
She took a few chunks of flesh out of Signor Pedro's hide, which certainly got Helen's attention. That was just what Aurora wanted, of course. Now that Helen was distracted, she could get on with her little slave revolt without having to worry about the master figuring it out in time. Aurora raised the whip high and prepared to show Helen how much she truly loved her.
Crack! Helen's unmanacled hand jumped involuntarily to her tit as she felt a piece of it shoot off into the air. Not a very big piece, just enough to make her suspect that Aurora had something on her mind besides the Signor's punishment.
"Darling!" she screamed.
"Fuck yourself!" Aurora spat, and cracked the whip into her crotch.
Helen shrieked and fell on top of the turds she'd just spent so much time and care lavishing on Peligrosa's balls. Aurora had trouble keeping herself from falling on top of her, what with the handcuffs and all, but she kept her balance by swinging her whip arm up and back, and once she had her balance again, she brought it down cracking again.
Aurora smashed her with the lash as hard and fast as possible. She wanted her to faint quickly, so she could get out of that shed as soon as possible. Helen obliged her rather sooner than Aurora had expected.
Aurora had a hard time of it twining ropes and chains around Helen's limbs. She was out cold and didn't give her much assistance, and the handcuffs didn't exactly improve matters. But Aurora had a high tolerance for frustration, and finally had the bitch snug in her straps. Now, Aurora realized, came the hard part. How do I get out of these cuffs?
She couldn't drag Helen, chained, naked, and bleeding, through the woods for twenty miles in search of the nearest locksmith. Aside from the fact that she didn't feel up to that sort of exertion, someone might see her, and she might have a hard time explaining the situation to the typical man in the street. She figured Helen had a key somewhere, and didn't know where it could be. It certainly wasn't tucked away in her watch fob pocket. She didn't have a watch, and she didn't have any clothes on, either.
But Helen's nakedness made things all the easier, she realized. How many hiding places can there be on a woman without her clothes on? She fumbled with the chains she'd just finished wrapping Helen up in, poking in this hole and that, until her fingers came to that chintzy cunt ring of hers, and as she tugged at it, she noticed it had not one, but two keys on it now.
Now all she had to do was get the keys off the fucking ring! She poked and tugged for a bit, then decided what the hell and just ripped the thing out of her lips, figuring Helen would have been only too happy to do the same if she were in her place.
Helen bled a little, but her lips were so stretched out of shape from all the wear and tear the Signor had subjected her box to over the past few months that they hardly had any blood left in them anyway, so they dried up soon enough and Aurora figured she had more important things to think about in any case so she didn't worry herself much about the state of Helen's shredded twat.
Aurora got out of the cuffs and then got rid of the padlock. Helen needs this more than I do, she decided, and so she stooped down over her former master and stuck the metal hook of the lock through an unripped part of her labia. Once she's threaded the hook through both lips, she clamped the hook into the hole and took the key and held it up to the Signor.
"Are you pleased with my performance, slave?"
The Signor gave her a batty look and drooled.
"Helen deserves you more than anybody I've ever known. Why don't you swallow this key for me, and that way, you'll be master of her pleasures for at least as long as it takes her to find a locksmith."
Aurora was speaking his language now, and he gulped the key down with gusto. Aurora figured she'd had enough of all this, and decided it was time to leave. But all at once she realized that she hadn't any clothes. Well, the Signor could fill her in on that easily enough if she asked him nicely.
"Signor, I want to teach you a few more lessons, but it is demeaning for the master to let her slave gaze on her nakedness. Tell me at once where I may find suitable garb to wear for the next installment of your education."
The Signor admired that kind of talk. Aurora had turned out to have great master potential indeed, and he was only too pleased to tell her about the closet full of props and uniforms in his bedroom.
Aurora absorbed the information and promptly departed. She ran up the staircase and got to the top landing. She walked into the bedroom, opened the closet, and found rack after rack of leather jumpers, leather skirts and blouses, leather boots and girdles, leather belts, and even some leather bras of various cup sizes and strap designs. It wasn't quite her notion of appropriate street duds, but they would cover her, at least, and that was something!
When she had dressed herself up in black leather from head to toe, she turned to the full-length mirror that was inset in the inside of the closet door and took a long look at herself. She posed for a while, and tried to imagine what sort of magazine would publish a spread of photographs of such an outfit. She noticed a stack of magazines in the upper shelf of the closet, and soon found out what sort. She'd never seen such things before, and such was her fascination that she couldn't put them down for half an hour. But finally she got a hold of herself. She didn't care how or why people like the Signor and Helen got off on such things. All she wanted to do was leave!
Aurora walked for an hour along the dusty road that led away from the Peligrosa estate, sweltering in the late afternoon heat. The leather was incredibly hot and sticky. But at least it was clothes. She got to the highway around the time the sun was setting, and stood at the side of the road and stuck her thumb out.
Most of the cars were afraid to stop for her.
But finally, a trucker pulled up and opened the door of his cab.
"Lookin' fer action, vixen?"
"Yeah, honey. Let's go to my place, it's in the city."
"Got lots o' equipment, tiger?"
"Stocked like a Nazi romper room, sweetheart!"
"Got some kinky chains myself, on the rear wheels of this diesel here!"
"Terrific!"
Aurora laughed to herself with amazement. Two days of the Signor's hospitality, and she could lie like a politician up for re-election! She'd have to find some way out of this, of course, but first she had to get back to the city. She'd have to find a way to get to a phone and call Jason. She didn't have any money on her, of course, but she did remember her credit card number. If worse came to worse, she could always tell the lug driving that she charged for her services and ask him for an advance.
When they got into the city, she waited for the trucker to stop for a red light, and then made her move.
"Hey baby, got some change? I'm out o' cancer sticks, an' all the jingly fell out o' my pockets this morning when I got carried away with a wrestler friend."
The trucker, gave her a knowing look and winked. He gave her a pawful of coins and she jumped out of the cab and trotted to the nearest drug store. She stayed inside and waited for the light to change. The trucker gunned his engine but didn't budge. He was waiting for her, the sap, and the dozens of cars backed up behind him were beeping frantically. Rush hour in the city! If he doesn't move, he'll be lynched for sure. After a husky brawler in a tee-shirt strutted over to the trucker's window from his stalled moving van and smashed the glass with a beer bottle and cursed for a while, the trucker finally started out into the intersection, casting frantic looks toward the drug store. Aurora waved at him and watched him leave. She noticed she was attracting a crowd in the store, and decided to make her call from the gas station across the street. There were a lot of trucks there, and she figured she wouldn't attract too much attention.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Aurora couldn't decide who to call first: the police, or a cab? She could cover the cost of the latter, thanks to her trucker: he'd been so excited and eager to please that he'd dropped about four dollars in dimes and half dollars into her palm.
She decided on the cab. The police would tie her up all night with paperwork and palaver, and then she'd never get to Jason's.
And she didn't want to see Jason till she'd changed. She was about to feed a dime into the pay phone when she saw a taxi pull up to the gas pump. She put the dime back in her pocket with the rest of the trucker's generosity and walked over to the yellow car and got in the back. The driver jerked his head back and then turned his head around again quickly. As she looked into the mirror and saw the bruises and lash marks on her face, she understood his nervousness. She certainly looked the part that she was dressed for, and she figured she might as well play it.
"Have an early appointment at a gentleman's pad, honey, so put your ass in gear and head for the Upper East Side!"
It was fun to pretend! Aurora blew her act immediately, though, with a fit of giggles. The driver turned his head around again and gave a look that said lady are you crazy and she giggled some more.
"It's a masquerade party, I'm going as Diane Keaton from the "Avengers" T. V. show."
"Diana Riggs," the cabbie corrected her.
"Diane Keaton's the broad what was married to Woodie Allen and starred in 'Love and Death' and 'Bananas'."
Aurora felt ridiculous, which was much preferable to most of the feelings she'd been having lately.
'"The Avengers' or 'Love and Death', who cares, all the same thing."
The cabbie grunted and pulled out of the gas station.
"You don't look like her at all."
"I don't look like which one, driver?"
He rubbed his chin and spun out in front of a Jaguar and rolled up his window so he wouldn't have to listen to the guy in the ascot and sports shirt curse at him.
"I dunno, I remember the names and all, but I forget the faces. But none o' them's blondes, lady, so ferget it. Jane Fonda in 'Barbarella' maybe, I think she dyed her hair blonde in that, and she wore them kind o' clothes before them outer space weirdos took 'em off her and hitched her to the rape machine. No, maybe she didn't dye her hair blonde in that, maybe she's got natural blonde hair an' dyed her hair red in 'Klute' when she played that hooker with Donald Southerland, I dunno."
"Diane Keaton wasn't married to Woodie Allen. She . shacked up with him or does or something, Woodie Allen was married to Louise Lasser who does 'Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman' and she's a blonde," Aurora said.
"Oh."
The driver shut up for the rest of the ride. He was trying to figure out if he'd been having an argument and if he'd lost it, and if he'd lost it what the point was. Whatever it was, it was too complicated, especially with rush hour traffic pressuring his reaction time to start shaving the corners off the split seconds of his decision-making processes if he was going to make time up the East Side quick enough to win himself a big tip from Louise or whatever her name was assuming she told it to him in the first place.
"Number Four Twenty Seven, driver. And wait."
Big tip my ass, she's gonna cop a freebie and split into the building I shouldn'ta letta weirdo like her inta the cab in the first place shit.
"Don't leave now, I'm just running upstairs to change."
"Change? What happened to the party?"
"I've changed my mind, I'm going to go as Louise Lasser's grandfather on 'Mary Hartman' because she's blonde."
"Four twenty lady an' I'll keep the meter runnin'."
"Yeah thanks keep the change."
She dumped the rest of the coinage the trucker had laid on her and got out of the cab fast in case it didn't amount to enough. When she passed through the door the cabbie was still counting.
Where the hell is my key oh there's the doorman he recognizes me I'll tell him I left them in the cab can he let me in to my flat?
"Evenin', ma'am. No problem, ma'am, I'll have you in in a jiffy, ma'am."
"Thanks, Eddie, thanks a lot."
"No trouble, ma'am."
"Thanks, Eddie, thanks a lot."
Louise Lasser's grandfather? Well, why not? Her body was too sore and bruised to look well in any of those sheer pieces of vanity that her closet was overflowing with, where's my trench coat look at the mess in the hamper the laundry basket's brimming do I have my spare keys they're in the other wallet I hope it has money in it thank god fifty dollars I wonder if the cabbie will break a twenty for me?
Aurora dumped out the laundry basket put on the trench coat put the wallet in it and took the laundry basket with her: she had an idea.
"Park and Sixtieth."
"Anything you say, lady."
"Oops that's my agent's place sorry Central Park West and Seventy Fifth."
"Anything you say, lady."
Dizzy dame wonder if she's got anything under that trench coat nice legs hey if I go round the bottom of the park I'll make some fat with waiting time she shorted me twenty cents no underpass and through the park for you lady haha fuckya.
"Can you crack a twenty, driver?"
"Jeesus Holy Christ lady gimme a break you know how many counterfit Andy Jacksons I got stuck with this week this time o' day Jeesus."
"Keep the change and buy yourself a better cab. asshole."
Aurora slammed the door and ran up the sidewalk to Jason's building and found the keys to his place in the wallet.
She got off the elevator at the top floor and rang the bell then slipped off the trenchcoat put it in the laundry basket climbed inside of it pulled the lid down over it heard the door open heard paper rustle as he read the note scribbled hastily on the way out the door tacked to the weave of the straw cover of the basket "This is your baby lecher!" hears scraping felt the basket get dragged across floor lifted the lid a little to peek at Jason he lifted it all the way off he laughed maniacally lifted her out pulled her onto the floor threw off his bathrobe jumped on top of her- my god he's inside me already she thought.
"Aurora, baby, where were you yesterday I waited for an hour I know I was late but only five minutes honey I called you all day nobody knew where you were my god what happened to you darling you're covered with...."
"Can't explain too crazy what a nightmare Helen and this sadist and the armored car oh fuck me!!"
Jason fucked her hard he missed her where was she he said then stopped talking he came ferociously and fell out of her cunt he was so excited he made a mess on the floor but he was still hard oh Jesus get it in me get it in me I want it I missed you I'm so horny Jason oh it was horrible fuck me again I want it oh God oh Jason oh I want it fuck me.
"Jesus Aurora Jesus Aurora Jesus Christ I love you Aurora I love... I... you... ooooh! Uh! G-haaaaah!"
Oh I feel so much better so much better so much better fuck me harder deeper harder oh oh Jason fuck me Jason oh.
"Ah! Ah! Aaaaaa-auuuu-Aurora!!"
"Oh, I feel so much better, so much better, lover, Oh Jason!"
"Aurora Aurora I missed you I thought something happened I called the police this afternoon no one knew where...."
"In the morning not now in the morning talk about it in the morning I'm so tired hold me Jason hold me hug me oh I'm crying oh Jason!"
"But what...."
"The morning I'll...."
"What...."
"The morning in the morning the police come with me I'm so hold me I want to cry hold me hug me Jason love me."
They both felt so much better. So much better. Jason picked her up, she was crying and moaning and babbling nonsense and he brought her to bed and she cried and wouldn't stop and he kissed her and kissed her and she hugged him and kissed him and kissed him and cried and cried and they both felt so much better and Jason told her to sleep but she couldn't.
"Oh Jason she...."
"What did she...."
"Oh I can't talk about it please please will you fuck me Jason fuck me please I want you please please?"
Jason rocked her in his arms he knew something so terrible had happened Helen that dyke at least she's all right now she's here that's all right I love you so please stop crying spread your legs I'm hard again I'll be gentle yes please stop crying baby please spread your legs I want you now I want you too please stop crying.
"Oh please Jason don't leave me you won't want me when I tell you what oh! oh! don't leave me don't ever leave me Jason don't ever ever leave me I love you I need you oh! O-o-ohhh!"
They both felt so much better. So much better. They couldn't fuck anymore they were so tired let me suck your cock I know it's not hard now I don't care I want to suck it hold it in my mouth hold me Jason so awful hold me Jason.
"Feel better now, lover?"
"Yes. Yes. Yes. Jason!"
"Don't cry. Don't cry."
"Jason, it was horrible, marry me, Jason, I love you I need you thank God you were here will you marry me Jason let's make babies let's make love let's make love."
"Aurora. Aurora. I've been thinking about that, too, I wonder what with the divorce rate everybody lives together anyway wonder if I want to bring kids into this stinking world but I'd love to love to anyway maybe I don't know you never talked about this before what about your modelling career oh I love you if you want to well all right you only live once oh I love you well all right."
"Oh! Jason!"
She kissed him. She was feeling better now. She was feeling like herself again. Jason wondered what had happened but he didn't ask. Jason kissed her. She started crying.
"You really...."
"Yes."
"How soon you know we haven't even lived together."
"Who (kiss) cares? (kiss)".
Jason held her face softly in his hands. He stared into her eyes and felt so silly he was crying and she wiped his eyes. He got out of bed after staring at her eyes for five minutes to go to the bathroom he said but he really just wanted to be alone for a while just a minute by himself to think about things.
Jason came back into the bedroom with a sheepish grin painted on his face. There was a bottle of champagne in his hands. He fumbled with the cork, he felt so nervous, and Aurora laughed at him and clapped her hands.
"Silly goose!" she squealed, and laughed some more.
"I forgot the glasses," he said.
"So what?" she said.
They were feeling pretty good now. Relaxed. They kissed. The cork popped off the wall and rolled on the rug. Suds spilled all over Jason. She hugged him anyway.
