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 HELOISE Chapter 1



   She woke up naked, gagged, blind, duct-taped into a hard wooden chair.
She couldn't move at all -- even her fingers were taped down to the arm of
the chair.  It was hot and sweat was pouring down her.  She moaned and kept
trying to tug against her bonds but they were too tight.  Suddenly she
heard a door open.

   The tape was ripped off her mouth and someone held a bottle of water to
her mouth.  She drank gratefully, she was being rescued!  Then she heard a
female voice, familiar but she couldn't place it.

   "What's your name?"

   "Heloise," she answered.

   SLAP!  hard across her face.

   "You are nobody!  You don't have a name," the voice said.

   "Are you a man or a woman?" the voice came again.

   "A woman, of course," she said, confused.

   SLAP!

   "You are a CUNT!  A filthy, dirty, little cunt!  What are you?  Where
are you from?

   She hesitated before replying, any answer she gave was probably going to
get her smacked again.

   "I am ...  from Haiti, uh, black," then she guessed what her captor
wanted to hear, " . . .  I mean I'm a nigger.  I'm a nigger!"

   No slap.

   "Very good, that's exactly right, you're nothing but a lowdown nigger.
Now, what do you do for a living?"

   She hesitated.  There was only one thing she could say and it would get
her hit again.

   "I am housekeeper for Mrs.  Forrest in," she said with a certain pride.
She had been with the old lady for almost three years, companion and nurse
as well as maid.  Then she recognized the voice, it was Mrs.  Forrest's
daughter in-law.

   WHACK!WHACK!WHACK!  a wooden board clobbered her shoulders and the back
of her head, stunning her.

   "You are a slave!  For the rest of your lousy, stinking life you are our
slave.  I am your Mistress and my husband is your Master and you will
always address us that way,

   "You will cook and clean and do whatever else we order you to do.  You
will perform your work perfectly or you will be punished.  And believe me,
I can make you hurt until you wish you were dead without breaking a bone or
even leaving a mark."

   The woman moved around behind her reached down and gently caressed her
breasts, purring, "And we are going to USE you, me and him, any way we
want, anytime.  Oh, we're going to have fun!"

   More than anything else the rapture in her mistress' voice as she
delivered the last sentence terrified her down to her bones.  Mistress
continued kneading her tits and gently rubbed her palms over the slave's
nipples and they hardened involuntarily.

   "Oooh, my little nigger likes that," Mistress observed, "good, we're off
to a fine start.  Now what are you?"

   NO!  she wanted to scream, don't touch me, get your hands off me!  The
very idea of being touched by another female repulsed her but she knew
better than to protest



   She paused, looking for the right thing to say.  "I am . . .  I am," she
stuttered.

   The gentle hands suddenly pinched, pulled, twisted her nipples, making
her cry out in pain.  "Come on, I told you," Mistress insisted, "what are
you?"

   "I am . . .  I have no name . . .  I am a dirty, filthy, lousy nigger
cunt slave," it took a supreme effort to force the words out, to describe
herself in such degrading terms, ". . .  your slave, Mistress, for life."

   "Very good," Mistress said, "right on the first try.  And don't you ever
forget it.  You know, I think we'll let you have a name . . .  all right,
from now on your name is `Fuckhole', no, just plain `Hole.' Now who are
you?"

   "My name is Hole," she came back quickly, "and my Master and Mistress'
dirty, filthy, lousy nigger cunt slave."

   She was disgusted with herself that the slave mentality had already
taken her over, trying to please Mistress, trying to anticipate what she
wanted and make her happy.

   "That's right, for life," Mistress agreed, "and don't you forget that we
decide how long that is."

   Mistress' hands kept roaming over her breasts and arms and shoulders. 
She was grateful that her thighs were taped together or Mistress would
surely invade her private parts.  "Do you like that?  Are you getting
turned on?" Mistress whispered in her ear.

   Tell the truth or lie?  Truth.

   "No, Mistress," Hole said timidly, "I do not enjoy it at all . . .  it,
it does not arouse me."

   "Good cuntslave, never lie," Mistress told her, kissing her on the
mouth, "and don't worry, you'll learn to love it."

   "Now just in case you have any hopes of being rescued, forget it.  Do
you know where you are?"

   "At your -- Master and Mistress' home?" she guessed.

   "Uh-huh.  In the nicest, whitest town in the state.  If you get out of
the house no one will believe a word you say.  If you scream no one will
hear you, the nearest house is a quarter mile down the road.  Even if you
got away no one will believe a word you say.

   "And even if you escape, even if you got back home to California you are
wanted for murder.  My mother in-law is dead, poor thing.  She was murdered
by a burglar.  Your boyfriend, in fact.  Did you know he has a long
criminal record?"

   "No, no, Mistress," she answered, shocked.

   "Yes indeedy, a very nasty thug," Mistress went on, "After some discreet
investigation I discovered he's a burglar, a mugger, a dope dealer, assault
and battery, yes, a very long record.

   "Someone who looks just like him bribed the super for a copy of the key
to the old bitch's place.  This person borrowed his gun and killed her and
threw it away in a dumpster near your lover's building."

   Hole wanted to protest that she and Rashim weren't lovers, that she had
resisted all his advances like a decent woman.

   "The police will be thrilled to have such an easy case!" Mistress
gloated, "the Haitian maid, the gangsta boyfriend, the place ransacked,
jewelry and valuables missing, the old lady shot, it's a cinch.  Oh, and
let's not forget half your clothes and things are gone like you suddenly
decided to head out of town."

   Hole sighed and shrunk inside, all hope fleeing her.  The case against
her was even stronger thatn Mistress knew.  Rashim had shown her his gun
and offered to get her one for protection.  He showed her how to load and
unload it, how to handle it, so her fingerprints were all over it -- and
the bullets besides.  The cops might actually think she had committed the
crime alone.



   "Your boy is missing by the way and he's never coming back -- he is
dead," Mistress told her with vicious delight.

   Hole heard a match being struck and then felt hot wax dripping on her.
Mistress needed to pee and the urge suddenly became unbearable.  She
started to head upstairs but stopped herself and decided to have some fun
instead.  She kicked Hole on the chest, sending her toppling over
backwards, chair and all.  Hole nearly passed out from her head hitting the
concrete floor.  Mistress squatted over her and cut loose a stream of urine
all over Hole's belly and breasts and right into her face.  She laughed as
Hole tried to spit it out and choked on the piss that had flowed down her
nostrils as Mistress kept peeing for almost a whole minute.  Mistress stood
up and almost came gazing at the young girl, bound and helpless, the
candlelight flickering off the wet sheen coating her rich brown skin.  She
wanted to do more to her but promised herself to wait until she and her
husband could break Hole in together.

   "Your Master knows nothing of this," she informed Hole, going back to
dripping wax on her.  She held the flame closer and closer to Hole's
nipples.  She giggled as the wax that had already landed there melted and
coated them with fresh hot drippings.  Even through all the pain, Hole was
glad though, that Mr.  Forrest wasn't involved, he had always seemed like a
good son when he visited.

   "He's paralyzed with grief.  He's flown up out there to arrange things,"
she explained, "I'm sure it will be months before he even thinks of filing
for the insurance or probating the will.  So even if some detective gets a
glimmer that maybe it wasn't you no suspicion will ever fall on us."

   Hole marvelled at how thoroughly evil her Mistress was -- the devil
himself couldn't be any worse!

   "I'm going to give you to him for our anniversary," the demon-woman
announced, "until then I'll just have to keep you down here in the coal
bin.

   "And after he collects the insurance, after the old biddy's condo is
sold we'll all move across the country to sunny California and live happily
ever after."

   Mistress held the water bottle to Hole's lips, telling her, "Drink up,
we don't want you to get dehydrated."

   "Now tell me what you are again," she demanded when the bottle was
emptied.

   "My name is Hole," she recited, "and I am my Master and Mistress' dirty,
filthy, lousy nigger cunt slave for life."

   "Once more, with feeling," Mistress ordered her.

   "My name is Hole, and I am my Master and Mistress' dirty, filthy, lousy
nigger cunt slave for life," she repeated, trying to sound sincere.



   Mistress's hands were prying her thighs apart and she was trying to
force something hard in between them.  A dildo?  Some kind of vibrator? 
Hole couldn't tell, she'd never had to do with such nasty things.  Oh, no,
it's a candle she realized.  Once it was in Mistress lit it and taped he
mouth again and abandoned her.

   Alone again, her only distraction from thinking about what was happening
to her was the candle flame.  It flicked back and forth, almost singing the
hair on her belly.  Before it would burn down, to her bush, her clitoris,
her lips.  Her vagina would be ruined before she had ever even made love to
a man -- surely Mistress wouldn't let that happen!  She and Master would
want to use it without burns and blisters.  Maybe not -- her pain wouldn't
interfere with their pleasure.  She could imagine Mistress laughing at her
torment while Master raped her burn-blistered vagina.  The flame got lower
and lower, singed her pubic hair, the wax dripped onto her lips.  In
another minute the first drops of wax ran down onto her clit and she tried
to scream behind her gag.  Lower, lower, burning the tops of her thighs.

   She didn't hear her Mistress approach but suddenly felt her presence in
the room.  So her tormentor had come back to watch her agony, she thought,
wishing she were dead.  Then Mistress took mercy on her poor slave, put out
the candle and left as silently as she had come.  Just when she thought
things couldn't get worse, she couldn't hold her bladder and bowels any
longer.  The humiliation of having to sit in her own waste was more than
she could bear.  She cried and cried, her tears having no place to go
behind the duct tape until she passed out.