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THE PLUCKED DUCK 11-15 by Joy Paine
NC, MF, FF, anal, humiliation, slavery, voyeurism, torture, maybe more
This is another story in which no intentional similarity is intended to
any actual person, living or
dead. Again, remember that your imagination often will shape the details.
For instance, does the
victim enjoy her fate, even unwillingly? Only you can tell.
The Plucked Duck
by Joy Paine
chapter 11 cigarette girl
good words: scanty costume# rape games# the Workshop#
uses of a woman# making of a slave#
rear entrance# sewed up# beeper#
torture targets# incentive program#
As Cathy had expected, she had no trouble at all getting a
job at the Seraglio Club. She was to sell cigarettes, a job
that required no experience, but put a premium on her good
looks.
The hatcheck girl took Cathy to the dressing room, and waited
in the corridor outside while Cathy changed into her "uniform".
scanty costume#
When she had finished dressing, Cathy surveyed her reflection
in the mirror with dismay. The costume was far more revealing
then the one the hatcheck girl was wearing. The halter was
little more than a pair of silk straps, showing an alarming
amount of cleavage, both in the center and on the sides. The
bikini panties displayed an amount of firm healthy flesh that
might -- just might -- be tolerated on one of the city's more
daring beaches. And the clinging jersey material left no doubt
as to what was almost hidden beneath the scanty garments.
Even more disconcerting was the flimsy way in which the
garments were secured -- the halter was tied behind her neck and
at the small of her back, while the panties were two separate
panels, joined together -- well, almost together -- at the sides.
And all were fastened with big bows that blatantly invited
mischievous fingers to pull them loose.
Well, Cathy told herself, she'd have to get used to it if she
wanted to get into the Club. With a little moue and a shrug of
resignation, she turned away from the full-length mirror and
opened the dressing-room door.
The hatcheck girl gave a low whistle. "Hot damn, what a
glorious bod!" she murmured. "Baby, if you can stick with this
job, you'll make a fortune in tips alone."
rape games#
"And speaking of tips," she went on in a more serious tone,
"here's one for you. Whatever you do, try not to let any of the
customers or one of the Boss's pet goons get within reach of those
bows on your halter or panties. It's a tradition here for the
guys to try to untie a girl, especially when she's carrying a
tray, the way you will be.
"Every time one of them scores," she went on, "he gives a
special whistle, and the stage manager shines a spotlight on the
poor girl, while she runs for cover. The customers just love to
watch a girl waddle off with a bikini dangling between her
thighs."
"Sometimes the girls like to strip each other, too, either
out of spite or just to liven up the party. Or because
a customer has offered them a tip to do it. And, of course,
human nature being what it is, the new girl is always fair game
for all."
Cathy winced. "But couldn't I tie a double knot, or use a
safety pin, or something?"
"Don't even talk that way, baby. One girl tried something
like that, just once, and the customer yelled foul. They still talk
about her."
"What happened?" Cathy asked in a small voice, not sure that she
really wanted to know.
"The Boss likes for his paying customers to have a good time.
Two of his goons grabbed the girl, and held her while the
outraged John took off her clothes. All of them -- what there was
of them. Then they spread her out on the table, ready for his
attentions. After Romeo had satisfied himself to his heart's
content (or to his prick's content) the guards tied her to the
table -- spread-eagled, of course, and still naked -- with a
spotlight on her, so all the customers had a chance during the
evening to pay their respects to her. They even furnished a douche
syringe and a bucket of water, and some wag put up a sign that said
'please flush after using'.
"She was a gibbering idiot by the time the joint closed for the night."
"The poor kid!" Cathy cried. "Didn't she go to the police?"
The other girl smiled sadly. "In this town? Not a chance. The
Boss turned her over to the cops instead. The police records
show that she was arrested for prostitution. That's one of his
favorite recruiting techniques, by the way.
"After all, he jokes, that's exactly what he's having her
arrested for -- for the purposes of prostitution. While she's in
jail, he arranges for her to have paying visitors -- no matter
whether she wants to or not. And sometimes he will rent her out
for parties and other private affairs. So by the time she has
served her sentence she is, in fact, an experienced prostitute.
"Or sometimes the record shows that she was given a suspended
sentence, and it's presumed that she left town in disgrace,
without leaving any forwarding address.
the Workshop#
"That's what happened with this girl. Nobody's seen her
since, but the rumor is that the Boss put her into one of his
houses down South -- after he had finished with her in the
Workshop."
Cathy's eyes brightened. Maybe this was her chance to get the
goods on the Boss. "The Workshop?" she prompted.
"That's his cutesy name for the recreation room in his
penthouse apartment. Actually, it's a fully equipped torture
chamber, with all the instruments of torment that his sadistic
mind can conceive.
uses of a woman#
"To the Boss," she went on, "a woman is good for two things.
The second one is torture. Or maybe that comes first. I don't
think that the Boss himself knows which he likes more -- he
usually manages to combine the two, anyway."
making of a slave#
"Have you ever actually seen this Workshop personally"? Cathy
probed.
"Honey, for a while I was his live-in victim.
"I was just a kid," she reminisced, "and all excited over the
prospect of a date with the Man. I thought I was pretty
sophisticated, but some of the things he wanted me to do turned
my stomach. If I'd had the sense to hold my tongue, he probably
would have been satisfied with just raping me, and enjoyed it
all the more because of my resistance. But I had to go and call
him a pervert. He's never forgiven me for that.
"By the time he'd finished that first session with me in the
Workshop, I'd seen it all. But that wasn't enough for him. In
between his other cute little tricks, he tortured me into posing
for some blackmail pictures that he's used to turn me into a
full-time whore. This job as a hatcheck girl is just to keep me
around between tricks. Plus it tickles his perverted sense of
humor to make me greet my customers in a social situation.
"And he said if I call him pervert, he'll show me pervert. He
picks out my customers himself. He always sends me a man -- or a
woman -- with, let's say a highly developed sense of experimentation.
And just to make sure they get the point -- look here . . ."
rear entrance#
Slowly, she pulled down the waistband of her shorts,
exposing creamy white skin. But tattooed on her belly, just
above the point where the pubic hair began, was a picture of a
signboard, ornate in design and artistically executed, with the
message: "Please use entrance at rear".
sewed up#
"And just to make doubly sure, he sewed me up. I've just about
forgotten what normal sex is like," she finished wistfully.
"Wait a minute!" Cathy cried, horror in her voice. "You say he
sewed you up? You can't mean . . ."
"Tight as a rat's ass, and without benefit of anesthetic, too.
Made a great joke about it while he was doing it -- how not every
girl gets a second chance to be a virgin."
"But -- but -- how can you . . .?" Cathy faltered.
"Oh, he left a small opening. Enough for the natural fluids
to pass through, and big enough so he can put in a probe to
recharge my batteries."
"What do you mean -- recharge your . . .?"
beeper#
"He's a great joker, he is. He said that since I wasn't going to
be using my cunt for fucking any more, he might as well put
something else into it. You know those little radio controlled
pagers that doctors wear on TV? They give a little beep when the
doctor is wanted in surgery, or whatever. Well, he said that he
wanted me on call 24 hours a day. So he had a beeper specially
made up, encased in plastic and stainless steel so my body
wouldn't react to it, and sewed it up inside. Only it doesn't
beep. It's much more persuasive than that. An electric shock is
hard enough to take anywhere, but believe me, that's the last
place a girl wants one. When that little wonder goes off, I
run -- don't walk -- I kid you not.
"He likes to give me a little burst now and then just for
fun, too -- usually when we're in the middle of a bunch of people
who aren't in on the 'joke' -- just to watch me jump. And of
course he likes to play cat and mouse with it -- just keeps
his hand in his pocket, so I'll know that he's going to zap it, but
I won't know just when.
"So that's the way it is. And every now and then he takes me
back to the Workshop for what he likes to refer to as a
'refresher course.'"
Cathy looked rather dubiously at the girl's skin, flawless except
for the tattoo. "I'd think that treatment like that would leave
marks on your body," she observed skeptically.
torture targets#
The girl snorted. "That bastard's a specialist," she spat.
"When he tortures a woman, he likes to keep reminding her that
she is a woman. I've got marks, all right -- plenty of them -- but
they're all in places where nobody ever sees them. Except my
customers, of course."
Cathy felt a chill as she suddenly realized the reason for
the conservative cut of the girl's halter and shorts.
"He's even got me marked off," the girl continued, "to show
what areas are fair game. Those creeps that he lines me up with get a
big kick out of trying to find room for one more bruise, or one
more pinprick, or one more burn, without going off limits. He
likes to joke about it, too. He says that the Almighty wouldn't
have given women tits and cunts if He hadn't meant for them to be
used. Believe me, that sadist has thought of some uses for a woman's
parts that the good Lord never intended.
incentive program#
"And then to make for even more fun, he has an incentive
program. Ten percent off, he offers, to anybody who comes up with a
new torture for my tits or cunt. Ten percent, plus a certificate
that says something like 'In appreciation of the efforts of
So-and-So who invented a new torture for the Seraglio Club's
hatcheck girl; namely . . .' and then it goes on to describe the
torture, and he encloses complimentary photos to show the torture
in use.
"He says that the gesture is well worth the modest cost, because
it keeps them coming back to demonstrate their new ideas, or to try
them out. And it encourages them to spend all their spare time
thinking about new ordeals, which makes them all the hornier. Which
keeps them coming back. As well as making life even tougher for me,
which is one of his goals, of course.
"And one other cute little trick," she went on."He makes me
swallow a dose of mineral oil every day, so my asshole stays
nice and slippery, and my lovers don't have to waste any
time with lubricating jelly, or anything like that."
Cathy shuddered. "I don't see how you can stand it. Why don't
you run away, or something?"
"Or something." the girl echoed sarcastically. "Some time when
it gets too hard to bear any longer, I'll probably kill myself.
But running away is out.
"The Boss has connections all over the country. And he can always
turn on that lovely beeper to make me want to come home. Plus it
puts out a radio beacon signal that would help him to find me.
And his agents all over the country would send the activating signal,
so it would get to me no matter where I was.
But it's worse than that. Even if I could be perfectly sure of
getting away, I couldn't live with the thought of the consequences.
you see, he's already chosen my successor."
"And who's that?"
"My kid sister. We were left orphans when I was a teenager,
and I'm the only mother she has ever known. She's 16 now, and just
beginning to blossom into womanhood, both physically and
emotionally. The Boss has her all set up to step into my shoes
if I run away or kill myself -- or if he loses interest in me.
"I'm not worried about his losing interest, though. All he
needs is a pair of tits and a cunt that he can torture, and an
asshole to stick his pecker into. Plus a tongue to clean him off
afterward.
"Of course, I have to keep my face and figure in shape, but
other than that all I have to do is show up for his torture
sessions. All he cares about is the struggling and the screaming,
and that comes naturally, believe me."
chapter 12 Recruiting techniques
good words: (generally not needed) nipple erector#
Cathy remembered something the girl had said earlier --
something that puzzled her. "Look, this business of
arresting girls for prostitution. Don't they tell the world that
they were framed? I mean, I could understand the public
accepting a case like that once or twice, but if it got to be a
habit, surely people would start to be suspicious."
"Yeah, I guess they would, if his tame newspaper ever let
that side of it get printed. But the Boss is too smart to let
most of the cases come to trial. Here's the way he operates:
"For personal pleasure, he likes them young -- first or second
year of high school, preferably. But for business, his favorite
victim is the young housewife, because they know how to treat a
man. And they know how to stay out of trouble. Or if they do get
into trouble, it can be blamed on the husband. And it's easier
to keep a married woman under control usually -- they have more to
lose.
"First, he makes sure that hubby won't be around to spoil the fun.
An out-of-town business trip can be arranged, or something.
As soon as hubby's plane takes off, the police wove in on the wife.
They don't always tell her that she is being arrested. Maybe she's
wanted as a material witness. Or to identify an accident victim,
or some other plausible excuse. At any rate, the uniform disarms her
fears, and she gets into the squad car with them. And that's all
they need.
"They don't take her to the station, of course. Usually, it's
to the Workshop, although sometimes the Boss decides to let her
start her new career by starring in one of the special
performances at the Club. Or possibly at a private party.
Wherever it is, the plot is about the same.
"As you can imagine, a girl is kind of shaken up after a few
hours of rape and torture. Or it could go on for days, if hubby
can be kept out of the way that long. Well, after she's been
broken, they take her to the police station, where she's
photographed and fingerprinted. And then they offer her a choice.
"If she agrees to work for the Boss, he guarantees to
schedule her appointments so her husband won't find out. And her
friends will never know that she's in the business, unless they
happen to be her colleagues -- or her customers. In either case,
they're not likely to talk.
"That's a favorite trick of his, by the way. He gets a
special sadistic kick out of setting up a date for a girl with
someone she sees every day -- her next-door neighbor, for
instance, or her butcher, or her husband's boss. Or maybe the
boss's wife. Or with her classmates, if she's still in school.
Or one time he fixed up a young high school teacher with a gang
bang with practically her whole senior class.
"Sometimes these dates are at the customer's specific
request, of course. Like that high school gig -- the class thought
it was a great way to finish off the evening after one of the school
dances.
"Anyway, he doesn't tell the girl who the client is, and the
first hint she gets of his (or her) identity is when the client
walks into the room where she is waiting, naked and stretched out
on the bed.
"Or on the torture table, if that's the way her customer gets his kicks.
"But suppose she refuses to co-operate?"
"In that case, he points out that wide publicity will be given
to her trial -- and certain conviction -- for prostitution. And he
points out further that there will be public testimony on all
sorts of lurid details -- like lesbianism and sodomy, for instance,
with a lengthy prison sentence the only possible outcome. And, she is
reminded, once she is behind bars, she'll be available for service
whenever she's wanted -- 24 hours a day, every day of the month.
That's the worst of all worlds. There's no question which alternative
any sensible girl would choose in a situation like that.
"Especially if she loves her husband, and has a respectable position
in the community, and maybe has a kid or two. And remember, her spirit's
been pretty well broken by the orgy. Besides, the Boss and his goons are
right there, helping her to make the 'right' decision -- by squeezing
her tits and sticking pins into her cunt, and all those other playful
little tricks that they're so good at.
Once she has agreed to play ball, she has to prove her good faith
by taking part in a series of degrading acts. Probably
nothing that she hasn't already gone through during her
initiation, but this time she has to co-operate, with a smile on
her face, while they take pictures that can be shown to her
husband -- or to a jury -- if she gets any fancy ideas.
"And then he always arranges some sort of backup security. Like my
kid sister. He lets the poor girl know in no uncertain terms
that if she successfully runs away, or kills herself, or blows
the whistle on him, her kids or her parents or some other loved
ones will suffer.
"But look, honey. we can't go on talking like this all day.
The Boss wants to talk to you before you go on the floor -- he
always likes to check out the new talent. His office is the
first door to the right as you go down the hall -- the big oak
door marked PRIVATE."
Cathy debated with herself whether she should back out while
she still could, but decided that she owed it to the memory of
her father and mother to go on. She started for the door, but
the hatcheck girl called her back.
nipple erector#
"Hold on, dearie -- I almost forgot." She reached into a desk
drawer, brought out a small cartridge, something like a perfume
atomizer. "The Boss insists that the girls use these every time
they go out among the customers -- and before they go into an
audience with him. Also, a lot of the customers carry them, to use
whenever a girl comes near them. In fact, you'll find that
the customers buy more of these from you than they do cigarettes."
"But -- but what is it?" Cathy asked fearfully.
"Oh, don't worry, kid. It's just pressurized carbon dioxide. The stuff
that you breathe out all the time. It won't smell, or stain, or
anything. The trick is in the cold temperature.
"Cartridges like this are used every day for cooling wine
glasses. It'll even leave a layer of frost on the glass, if you
spray enough of it on."
Without warning, she raised the cartridge and sprayed Cathy's
nipples, which immediately became violently erect, in reaction to
the cold. With the flimsy material of the halter that she was
wearing, the effect was very impressive.
"OK, honey," the girl murmured, "now you're ready to meet the
Great Man."
chapter 13 The Interview
good words: remembering voyeur# breast abuse# stripped#
smart-ass#
One of the Boss's goons opened the door at Cathy's knock,
then left the room, closing the door behind him. No need to
frisk her for weapons in that costume. Pity, he thought -- it
would have been great fun.
The room was soundproof, Cathy noticed -- the sound of the
club's band faded to nothing as the door closed. She stood
timidly at the entrance, somewhat awed by the richness of the
room's furnishings. The Bass looked up from his desk.
"Yes, my dear? What can I do for you?"
He looked like a spider sitting in the middle of his web. For
a moment, Cathy though that she had seen him somewhere
before, had heard his voice. And the recollection was a vaguely
unpleasant one.
She shook her head to clear away the thought. Probably it was
just an association from the descriptions her parents had given
her. Or possibly from TV, or the newspapers. She found her voice.
"I -- I'm the new cigarette girl," she faltered, giving him the
false name under which she had applied for the job.
He looked even more sinister when he smiled. "Ah, yes." He
stood up. "Please come over here so I can get a good look at
you. Before the effect of the carbon dioxide spray wears off,"
he added, making her blush furiously.
As she walked across the room, Cathy noticed the two-way
mirror that was exposed by the parted curtains. There was
something familiar about the brilliantly-lighted cell beyond.
She recognized her own clothes, hanging from the hooks where
she had left them.
remembering voyeur#
Cathy stopped in her tracks, her blush deepening with her
realization that it was the same room in which she had changed
her clothes a few minutes ago. And he had been watching her
strip to the skin!
The Boss's laughter broke her trance. "Yes, my dear," he said
in answer to her unspoken question. I always keep a close watch
on our employees. Especially the pretty ones. After all, as
their employer, I have the responsibility of seeing that they
don't get into trouble.
"At least, not into any unplanned trouble," he added. "If you
believe those stories I had the hatcheck girl tell you, you
might suspect that I cause trouble myself, from time to time.
"But don't cry over spilled milk. You'll find that nudity is
not frowned on here -- in fact, it's one of the chief commodities
we offer at the Seraglio Club. As an appetizer, of course --
strictly as an appetizer. The full meal costs extra."
He walked across the room toward the girl, hand extended.
"Welcome to the Club," he boomed. Cathy reached out
automatically to complete the handshake.
breast abuse#
His movement was too fast for her to follow, but Cathy felt a
blinding pain in her shoulder, suddenly found herself kneeling
at his feet, while he twisted her right arm behind her back.
He held her there with one hand, while his other hand flicked
downward as if he were shaking off a drop of water, his
fingertips grazing her breast in an excruciating caress. She
screamed again as he repeated the torture on her other breast.
"So, the daughter of our late fearless editor comes to work
at the Seraglio under an assumed name," he gloated. "I'll be
glad to have a good-looking cunt like you under me" (he chuckled
at the double entendre) "but I think that a little lesson might be
in order first, to teach you the value of honesty."
He drew a pair of handcuffs from his pocket as he spoke,
fastened her wrists together behind her back.
"Now let's have a look at that appetizer without the wrappings."
stripped#
Slowly, with insolent deliberateness, the man untied the bow
at Cathy's neck, and drew the top part of her costume from her
body. Then he pulled her roughly to her feet, so he could take
off the lower half. Licking his lips, he reached for her naked
body.
Panic-stricken, Cathy whirled, tried to run away. And tripped
over his suddenly outstretched foot.
The Boss laughed triumphantly, then grabbed her ankle and
dragged her across the room. The rough carpet scraped her
breasts painfully.
Humming a love song to himself, the Boss flipped Cathy over
onto her back, and strapped her ankles to a pair of rings in the
floor, spreading her legs far apart. He feasted his eyes for a
few seconds on her nakedness, then took a small jar from the
desk drawer.
smart-ass#
"Just a small precaution," he grinned. "No, it's not a
contraceptive cream, or anything like that. That's your
concern -- I look out for my pleasure, you take care of yours."
"Most girls struggle and squirm enough spontaneously," he
went on, "to add the necessary spice. Especially the first time.
But once in a while -- just once in a while -- some smart-ass
broad gets the idea that she can cheat me by playing dead. She
gets appropriately punished afterwards, of course, but it spoils
the fun. So I've worked out this way to make them all smart-ass . . ."
He dipped an applicator in the jar.
"I've developed this special salve," he explained. "Just a
little bit, carefully spread around your asshole. We'll
wipe it off later, before I get around to screwing you there."
Cathy screamed, her buttocks contracting involuntarily as the
burning sensation ate into her tender mucous membranes. Then she
started writhing uncontrollably, as the pain gave way to an
intolerable itch. She struggled vainly against the straps
holding her ankles, tried to scratch herself on the carpet,
wriggled wildly in the futile hope of finding some way to ease
the torture.
By the time the Boss had his clothes off, she was squirming
to his entire satisfaction.
chapter 14 The Escape
Index words: (none)
As the Boss lowered himself into position above her
helpless body, Cathy made one last desperate move. Bracing her
ankles against the straps that held her to the floor, she
tensed her body, bending at the waist into a sudden sit-up. It
was impossible to get much leverage with her legs so widely
spread, but her desperation gave her strength enough to drive
her head into her would-be rapist's jaw. He fell across her
body, losing consciousness with a grunt.
Desperately pushing his gross body aside, Cathy squirmed into
a position where she could free one ankle, then the other. It
seemed like an impossible contortion to work her legs back
between her wrists so that her arms were in front of her,
but somehow she managed to do it.
Praying that the man would nor regain consciousness too soon,
she fumbled in his coat pocket for the key, and managed to
unlock the handcuff from one wrist. The other one could wait.
Already the Boss was showing signs of returning to life.
Working with desperate speed, she buckled the man's wrists to
the rings that had held her ankles. Only then did she grant
herself the luxury of wiping that hellish cream from her
asshole, using his handkerchief for a rag. More self-assured now,
she took time to unlock the other handcuff, then paused to
take stock of her situation. Thank God for the soundproof door,
she thought, as the Boss started shouting threats and curses.
Clearly, she would have to leave town in a hurry, if she didn't
want to share the hatcheck girl's fate. The large wad of bills in the
Boss's pocket would pay her fare to the other side of the country.
But speed was essential. She hastily put on her abbreviated costume,
and headed for the door.
As an afterthought, she turned back. She owed the bastard
something for her parents' deaths, and for the agony he had
caused her and countless others. Hell, she owed him plenty. She
took the steel letter opener from his desk, laid it across his
throat, and smiled as he begged her for the mercy that he had never
granted others. She should kill him, she knew, but she just
couldn't do it. She couldn't even bring herself to cut off his prick.
At least she could humiliate him a bit.
She spread large gobs of the itchy cream on his prick,
counting out a little litany with each stroke. "One for Mom, one
for Dad, one for me . . " His prick began to stiffen from the
irritation, but Cathy could tell that there was no pleasure in
it. Reversing the heavy letter opener in her hand, she started
beating him about the cock and balls with the ivory handle. And
then, as a final touch, she left the jar impudently perched
on his erection, like a bucket turned over a fence post.
Her luck continued to hold -- she slipped out of the office
without being seen, and hurried down the corridor to her
dressing room. Assuming that the helpless Boss was watching
her through that damned two-way glass, she deliberately
flaunted her body as she dressed, and raised her middle
finger in a final gesture of derision as she walked out
of the room.
Walked out of his life.
chapter 15 The arrest
good words general abuse# Big Elsie# doctor#
It didn't work out that way, though. Cathy didn't waste any time
not even going to the hotel to check out and reclaim the few
possessions she had brought to town. She went directly to the
bus station, and bought a ticket for the first bus that was
leaving. Never mind where it was going, just so long as it was
going soon. Then she sat down for the agonizing wait until
departure time.
And she almost made it. The bus had just started loading when
the two policemen came up, looked carefully at Cathy, and then
asked her to step out of line. Panic stricken, she looked about
like a trapped animal, but there was escape. She was pretty
sure what they wanted, but they dispelled all doubts, after
checking her identification, by telling her that she was under
arrest for prostitution.
"But you've got to be kidding!" she protested. "How could I be
a prostitute? I'm a virgin!"
The officer chuckled. "That's what they all say, honey."
"But I really am!" she insisted. Doubly thankful that she had
managed to preserve her virginity that horrible day at the
farmhouse, even at the cost of those ugly perversions, she wen
on, "Look, I can prove it! Just take me to a doctor who will
give me an examination."
By now they ad the poor girl in the squad car. "We'll do better than
that, honey." one of the officers snickered. "We're going to
take you to the interrogation room of the station and play
doctor for ourselves. That way, we can give you a couple of
'injections', and be completely sure that you're not a virgin."
Cathy gasped in dismay. What an irony! After all she had gone
through to preserve her maidenhood, she was going to lose it at
the hands of a couple of brutal policemen. Well, not their
hands, exactly.
But wait. She had avoided defloration once before by "being
nice" to her attacker. Maybe it would work again.
The cops guffawed at Cathy's suggestion. "OK, honey," one of
them said. "Maybe you really are cherry if you're willing to go
through all that to get out of a screw, I guess we'll have a
party at the station."
general sexual abuse#
And party they did. First, the two arresting officers claimed
their "finders' fee" by taking Cathy into the interrogation room
and "warming her up" for the main event. Then they passed her
around, so all the cops at the station had a turn at a French
or Greek lesson -- as well as a number of off-duty policemen who
came in to join the fun as the word got around.
When they all had taken as many turns as they had strength
for, they made Cathy stand for a long time at parade rest -- feet
wide apart, hands clasped behind her back, shoulders back, chest
out -- while they looked at her nakedness, making lewd remarks
about her youthful beauty, playing "feelies" with her helpless
body. And other, more painful, humiliations.
Big Elsie#
Finally they began to tire of their sport."I've got an
idea." one of them suggested. "How about giving her to Big Elsie
for the night? After all, we can be pretty sure that His Nibs
won't be around to bail her out until tomorrow."
The watch commander agreed. "Just make sure that Big Elsie
understands the rules," he warned. "There'll be Hell to pay if
the cunt's body shows any signs of abuse when he comes to get her."
They didn't give Cathy a chance to get dressed again. Goosing
her with their billy clubs, they herded her along the dark halls
of the jail, finally stopped in front of a solid door, opened it,
and pushed Cathy inside.
Big Elsie was a revolting old crone, grossly fat and
stinking. It was apparent from the rich furnishings of the room
that she enjoyed some sort of privileged status in the jail. It
was also apparent from the way her greedy eyes ran over Cathy's
body that she welcomed the prospect of having a "guest" for the
night.
She eyed Cathy's young beauty possessively, didn't waste any
time on unnecessary words. "Usual terms?" Her voice sounded like
fingernails screeching on the blackboard.
"Usual terms." the cop replied. "Your credit is good. You can
put it on the cuff until the end of the month."
"Uh-huh. And how far can I go with this pretty one?"
"Well, there's a bit of a rub. Little Cathy has a date with
the Big Guy first thing in the morning, so you'll have to be
gentler than usual. No marks of any kind, even in places where
they ordinarily wouldn't show. Sorry if that craps your style a
bit. But maybe her freshness will make up for it.
"Oh, and one more thing. Little Cathy claims to be a virgin, and
desperately wants to keep it that way. So much so that she was
right co-operative with her mouth and her asshole with the guys
downstairs. So if she's a little reluctant -- and I'm sure she
will be -- just tell her that you'll stick your finger into her
if she doesn't put out."
Big Elsie didn't let Cathy get much sleep that night. It was with
a big sense of relief that Cathy finally heard the officers come
down the hall and open the door.
"OK, honey'" one of them said. "Busy day ahead of us. Too bad
that we won't have time to give the day shift a go at you. Well,
maybe another time . . ." He turned to Big Elsie. "How was she,
kiddo?"
Big Elsie chuckled lasciviously. "Best little tongue I've run
across in months. Or maybe I should say the best tongue that's
run across me. I don't know when I've had such a glorious come
in a longtime. And I feel beautifully cleaned out. I'm just
sorry that you didn't let me use my whip and other goodies on
her."
"Well, that's the way the cherry ruptures," the officer
grinned. "But this cunt isn't going to be around long enough for
any marks to heal, and the Big Guy was quite specific that she
shouldn't have any bruises, and that her cherry should be intact.
So you see, " he smirked at Cathy, "you really wasted all
that beautiful effort trying to please us last night. We were
ordered in no uncertain terms not to screw you under any
conditions. Not in the cunt, that is. Nobody said anything about
those ruby red lips and that tight little ass hole. But thank you
for your superb effort, anyhow," he added smugly.
"Anyway, that's all over now. Time for your shower and that
visit to the doctor that you were so anxious to have."
doctor#
They didn't let Cathy get dressed this time, either. They
just marched her, mother-naked, down the hall. In broad
daylight. First to the shower room, where they supervised her
ablutions -- very closely, and with lots of lewd remarks. And
then, still naked, to the doctor's office.
The doctor was very professional, very thorough. He checked
Cathy carefully for communicable diseases -- a little late, she
thought, after last night's orgy -- and verified that she was,
indeed, a virgin.
Almost as an afterthought, he spread a soothing cream around
Cathy's asshole.
"There, my dear." he cooed. "That'll make you feel as good as new, while
getting you ready for your next lover. After all, we can't
have you showing, or even feeling, that our City's Finest have
been less than kind to you during your stay here."
She was a bit surprised, in view of the behavior of the other
officers, at the doctor's professional attitude. He completed
the most intimate examination without any indication that he
seemed to regard her as an attractive young woman -- or even as a
woman at all. It wasn't until he had completely finished that he
started fondling her, and hinting about the "fee" for
the examination.
Cathy tried to resist, but the doctor reminded her -- by word
and by demonstration -- that his medical training had made him
aware of many ways in which a woman could be made to feel
excruciating pain, without showing any after effects at all. "A
knowledge that is invaluable when it comes to interrogating
women prisoners," he pointed out. "And, as a matter of fact,
your new owner has come to me many times for advice in this
field."
At the mention of her "new owner", Cathy wanted to ask a few
questions, but the doctor shut her up by sticking his prick into
her mouth and pumping it vigorously until he came. After he had
finished raping her face, he gave her a mouthwash, and then
pressed a button on his desk, to tell the policemen waiting in
the corridor that she was ready to be taken to her "new owner".
As a precaution against any attempts at escape, the cops
buckled a stout leather belt around Cathy's waist, and strapped
her wrists to loops in the belt, at her sides. Once again they
showed their cynical disregard for the forms of decency by
parading her, stark naked, through the station to the reception
desk.
--
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