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From: anakha@clara.net (anakha)
Subject: Best Of The Net: REPOST - NEW Mortgage 9/10 (nc, m/f, f/f, bd)
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***************************************************************************
Hi,

I have been downloading stuff from Usenet for some time and haven't
really been putting an awful lot back so I decided it was time to
repost the stuff I have.

There are a number of reasons for this. Firstly it is for those who
have only started using Usenet since the stories I have were
originally posted, secondly for those who may simply have missed them
first time round and lastly my contribution to fighting the ever
increasing spam which now saturates all of the sex newsgroups.

The vast majority of the stories I post will be plain bondage
orientated with a few subfem & femdom ones thrown in. Anything a
little stronger in terms of s&m isn't really my scene so there won't
be much like that. Also please note I am NOT the author of any of the
stories so the copyright notices of ALL of the original authors still
apply. (Also there is nothing that I can see from the original post
which says I can't repost this story. If you are the author and you do
NOT want it reposted then I suggest you let me, & everyone else,
know).

I hope you enjoy whatever I do post.

Bye for now. 

Anakha
http://home.clara.net/anakha/index.html
****************************************************************************
Subject: NEW Mortgage 9/10 (nc, m/f, f/f, bd)
From: an225040@anon.penet.fi (marlissa)
Date: Sun, 23 Jul 1995 15:00:52 UTC
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories

The following story contains adult material.  If below the age of 18,
go outside, get some fresh air and do something healthy (g).

If you ARE 18, then  you should know the following story is about a
young woman who is forced into non-consensual sex, public humiliation,
and b&d, in both m/f and f/f situations.  Both the characters and
occurrences in this fiction are completely fictitious.

The Mortgage- PART NINE, by Marlissa

"And so to teach that cretin Wendell a lesson, I'm hereby evicting
your poor old in-laws as of five o'clock today."  Kathryn's cover girl
smile was a twisted, feral thing, a smile that tasted blood.

Amy shook her head.  "You can't!  Please!  they're old!  They don't
have any money!  They--"

Kathryn waved a manicured hand impatiently.  "They're gone already.
Off to section eight housing in the city.  Welfare will cover some of
their needs, but as for the rest, who cares?  Not I.  Wendell must
learn who his superiors are, and never, ever to treat them with
disrespect again, don't you think?  Especially his new boss."

"WHAT!?!" Amy's mind was rolling on a rough sea of unreality now,
reeling with each new revelation.

The manicured nail ran itself through curtly trimmed blond bangs.
"Daddy owned the little factory Wendell works at.  And so I own it
now.  I'm Wendell's boss."

Amy looked at the wedding band, HER wedding band, on the desk.  Her
eyes were brimming with tears.  She had sacrificed almost everything--
her dignity, her pride, her self-respect.  She would do this for
Wendell.  With sad concentration, she played her last card.

"If you let my in-laws keep their home and let Wendell keep his job,
I'll divorce him.  He's yours.  I'll disappear.  It's what you've
always wanted.  And you'll have it-- all."

Kathryn clapped theatrically.  "Bravo!  The heroine bravely gives her
all!  True love triumphs!  Just one question," she added mockingly.
"What makes you think I want him?  He's fat, drunk and stupid.  If I
wanted a husband, I'd have kept the one I had, my dear.  He was much
prettier than Wendell ever was.  Too independent, but certainly
prettier.  Alas, I had to give him up. But just for your peace of
mind, he'll be allowed to keep his job, though only with a demotion--
to janitor."

Amy's pulse raced.  There was more, there was more coming. She had to
be brave.

"As for your in-laws-- too late.  They'll disappear into nothingness
with time.  I've already forgotten about the whole thing.  But your
other suggestion was intriguing.  Divorce?  I'm amused.  Yes, you'll
divorce Wendell.  Men don't marry whores like you-- they fuck them."

Amy stood up.  "I'm not listening anymore.  I'm not divorcing Wendell.
I'm going to get my in-laws right now. "

Kathryn shook her head with mock regret.  "No, bitch, you WILL listen.
You WILL forget about your in-laws.  And you WILL divorce Wendell--
the reason will be how he is unable to satisfy you sexually.  You will
be graphic about just how MUCH sex you require to be satisfied.
Wendell won't fight hard-- I doubt he has money for a lawyer!  And
he'll have to bring up those nasty used condoms he found, won't he?
It should be an interesting trial, don't you think?  Who do you think
will win-- him because his wife is such a whore, or you because your
husband is such an effeminate wimp?"  She cackled in delight at the
scene.

"You can't make me do ANYTHING!" Amy screeched.  "Not anymore!  Never
again!  I'm free-- free-- FREE!" Amy babbled.  She was hysterical now,
unable to control herself.

"''Fraid not, Amy.  Take a look."  Kathyrn coolly pushed a stack of
video tapes, a photo album and a stack of legal papers toward her.

Amy looked at the photo album.  The cover read "Amy's Scrapbook."  She
knew what was inside, but forced herself to confirm her worst fears.
There were scores of candid shots, all of Amy-- on her back, playing
with one of her 'toys', stripping for the photographer.  There were
letters she had written-- all to an anonymous "Big Cock" from "Your
Loving Fuckhole, Amy Walenski."  There were details of things the
writer fantasized about doing, awful things, all sealed with big wet
kissmarks and scented with Amy's perfume.  

She calmed herself.  It didn't mean anything, she told herself numbly.
There could be explanations.  Or she could move, that was it, she
would move away from Bentson...

Kathryn pushed the rest of the pile toward her.  Amy unwillingly
picked up a video.  It had a cleanly printed label on it:  "The
Adventures of Amy Walenski."  

"Daddy had the whole lot produced commercially.  You star in your own
series, Amy."  Kathryn mouthed the names as Amy read them off: "Call
Girl Cums On Command", "Dildo Darling Does It Deep", "Amateur Amy:
Striptease Slut," "Cheap Motel Quickie Girl",  "Horny Housewife Hump
Fun",  "Date Rape Dream Girl",  "Blow Job Bimbo",   "Sassy Schoolgirl
Gets Spanked"...  There were four or five more.  

Amy put the tape down.  A tentative smile blossomed.  "You can't use
these.  They'd show your father doing all these things to me. You
wouldn't DARE ruin him--"

The heiress smirked.  "Try again, cupcake.  Daddy's nowhere in these
tapes.  It's all Amy going solo.  No faces, no names used.  Just you
and your favorite part of the male anatomy-- up close and personal."

But Amy's angry smile refused to die.  It hung on stubbornly. "You use
these and I'll sue you.  Big time.'

Again, Kathryn shook her head.  "No, no you won't.  Because I have a
perfect right to produce and distribute these commercially."  She
pointed at the stack of legal papers.  "Too bad stupid little
secretary Amy didn't read everything she signed for the Boss.  You
gave his dummy off-shore corporation complete power and authority over
your 'performances' in exchange for fifty dollars a piece-- your
'allowance' I believe it was.  As Daddy's sole heir, I now hold those
rights."

Amy's brown eyes narrowed, her thin, too-long nose was quivering with
frustration, her small mouth clamped shut.  At last she spoke.
"Fine-- you want me to divorce Wendell or you'll prove what a slut I
am-- what your father turned me into?  You pushed me too far Kathryn.
There's no reason for me to do anything you say.  Either way I turn,
you'll show me up as a whore-- whether you use the tapes OR make me
divorce Wendell the way you said.  I can't win.  Which means in a way
I can't lose either.  I'll leaving.  Do what you want.  I'm leaving
town.  I don't know why you want to hurt me, but I'm going someplace
you'll never find me."

The blonde didn't say a word, merely smiled coldly.  "Good luck to
you, Amy.  Where will you go?  No matter, I'll track you down. And
wherever it is, I'll make sure these," she pointed at the stack of
videos," are given FREE OF CHARGE to EVERY FUCKING VIDEO RENTAL STORE
in a fifty mile radius.  Your new neighbors, new co-workers, new
boyfriend, and yes, your new BOSS will know just what you are, Amy
Walenski.  A porn star.  A slut into the kinkiest kinds of sex.  You
should be a popular gal, Amy.  You're right about the situation,"
Kathryn acknowledged, "In Bentson you'll always have the reputation a
being a cheap little slut.  But that's still better than being known
as an outright prostitute and porn star, isn't it my dear?"      

Amy's last desperate smile disintegrated.  She looked down. Defeated.

"What do you want?" she whispered pitifully.

Kathryn reached out, stroking Amy's golden cheek.  "Just what is
rightfully mine, what I have inherited from my father.  I want you,
Amy.  You're working for me from now on."

The young wife gasped and shook violently, shrinking from the caress
and shaking her head.  Her mouth formed a horrified "O" as
comprehension settled on her.  "You are offering me the choice
between being a slut or being known as a slut?  No way.  I'm not
working for you.  There's no way.  Let people talk-- it's still better
than, than, than," Amy couldn't verbalize what things she imagined
Kathryn would want from her, would have her do---

"Better than prison?  Or maybe execution?"  Amy stood up, sat down.
It was a bluff of some kind.  What kind of stupidity was this bitch
babbling about now?  But Kathryn's slate eyes were narrowed in deadly
earnest.  She passed a stack of papers toward Amy.  It took her a
minute to fix on them, what they were.  As she reviewed them, Kathryn
filled in the last bitter details.

"Daddy's business dealings outside the community were extensive.  I
believe you met some of his associates some time ago.  South American
gentlemen very interested in laundering some particularly dirty drug
money through a bank in El Norte. Daddy was happy to oblige-- for a
fee.

But as you can see, his name isn't on those documents, the ones
opening the large commercial accounts in which their money was
washed."

Amy could see that.  It was her name instead.  She had willingly
signed the papers-- as a witness she had thought.  But hers was the
only signature now-- just hers and those of the South American
"businessmen."  Kathryn continued, in a stern, public voice, from a
law book produced from the bookshelf.

"Criminal Code Statute 77-A-551 states 'Any individual involved in the
transfer of moneys related to the sale of narcotics shall be
prosecuted as would an individual directly responsible for sales of
those illegal substances to the legal limit of the law.'  That means
you go down for five million in drug sales, honey.  Big time.  And
there's a death penalty in this state.  The war on drugs takes no
prisoners, Amy.  And shows no mercy to drug dealing scum---like you."
Kathryn gently took all the documents and placed them back in the
safe.  

"But I didn't-- I never--  how could I--" Amy half-mumbled,
half-whined.

"You worked in the bank-- the perfect cover.  Signing documents was a
regular part of your duties.  You simply took the opportunity to make
some money on the side-- a bribe maybe. Drugs maybe.  Who cares why
you did it?  You're just a slut--nobody would be surprised, believe
me," Kathryn promised her with certainty.

"So, Amy-- what's it to be?  Slut or convict?  Either way I'm
delighted.  Even if you do chose to go the can, how long do you think
you could stand being some diesel dyke's bedmate?  How
long before you begged me to arrange a pardon?"  Kathryn reached out
to caress her former classmate.

But this time, Amy did not shirk from the caress.  She endured it. As
she would learn to endure a whole new kind of living hell. Being a
slave to a man had been unbearable.  Amy could only imagine what being
the possession of a woman would be like, especially one like Kathryn.
Unremitting sheer agony.  But there was no longer a choice.  Like her
father before her, Kathryn had laid out the facts.  Prison would be
worse, far worse.

"I have something in mind for you Amy.  I'll need a tarty secretary to
attend to my needs as I run Daddy's business concerns.  You'll do
quite nicely I think.  You'll obey my commands, do I'll the things
I've thought about doing to you since you crossed me.  Both in the
office and after-hours.  I have soooo many ideas, Amy.  You'll be
surprised.  Creativity runs in my family that way."  Kathryn's blood
red lips offered her prize a ripsaw smile.  

"And you'll soon learn that there's just one difference between me and
Daddy.  I always thought he was too, too much of a softy."  With that
promise made, Kathryn opened the top desk drawer and pulled out a
riding crop.  She pushed her chair back and patted her lap.

"Ready to learn your first lesson, Amy?"  

Amy rose unsteadily.  She had been here before, it was deja vu.
"Y-yes, Ms. Baines," she answered, void of resistance.  The words came
easily now that her fate was sealed.

"A smile, if you please, Amy." 

Amy reached into her recent memory, found all the equipment she'd
need-- the feelings of worthlessness, the whorish eagerness to obey
and please, the humiliating wetness between her legs spreading...
Amy Walenski let it all fall naturally, comfortably into place:  the
smile-leer, the misty kept-woman eyes, the licking lips, the
out-thrust chest.  The pants were pulled down, the blouse removed
without even an order.  With docile resignation, the secretary draped
herself over her new mistress's lap.

As Kathryn let the crop fall, Amy tensed.  Then she began to sob
helplessly, then she began to beg for mercy.  Kathryn merely smirked,
as she stroked the hard crop against the small, shapely
ass of her new pet.  

"He would have wanted it this way, don't you think, Amy?"

In Part Ten, the conclusion of THE MORTGAGE, Amy performs well for her
new boss, Ms. Baines.

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