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THE PLUCKED DUCK  16-20 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.


chapter 16 Bail
good words (none)


Cathy was dismayed, though not at all surprised, to find who
her "new owner" was -- it was the Boss, of course. After he had
made sure that her arms were properly secured, he turned to the
desk sergeant.

"I want to make sure that there's no fuck-up in the paper
work,"  he growled. "The record will show that she was pulled in
for questioning, and then told to get out of town. Right?"

"Just like usual," the sergeant grinned. "Just between us,
though, what do you have in mind for this one?"

The Boss leered at Cathy for a long moment. "This one's
personal. She's going to be a resident in the Workshop."


The sergeant shrugged. "Too bad. I was hoping that you were
going to go public with her. You don't run across a piece of ass
like that one every day of the week. I'd give a month's pay to
find out whether her cunt is as snug as her asshole."

"Well, don't hold your breath waiting for her," the Boss
rasped. "We're going to have a real long, sweet honeymoon. Tell
you what, though. If I do go public with her, I'll arrange for
you to have the first go. It's possible, though, that you
wouldn't find her so desirable by that time. After all, I do
have some pretty romantic plans for her."

"Yeah," sighed the sergeant. "Well, you can't stop me from
dreaming, as the saying goes. Anyway, we're all grateful to you
for letting us have a limited go at her last night. That was a
fuck that we'll all remember for a long time. I guess little
Cathy will remember it, too," he added. "By the way, we let her
spend the night with Big Elsie."

The Boss roared with laughter. "So I'm glad you had the decency
to give her a shower afterward," he grinned.

"That gives me an idea, though," the Boss continued. "I'd
like to borrow Elsie again for a while. Maybe for an extended stay,
this time."

The sergeant smirked. "I didn't think that Elsie was exactly your
type," he ventured.

"I mean as a helper, not as a playmate," the Boss snapped.
"Get her over to the Workshop right away, will you? And for
God's sake, see that she has a shower first."

"No trouble at all," the sergeant grinned. "I know that Elsie will
be so delighted with the idea that she won't even mind the shower.
Well, not too much, anyway.

"And by the way, if you ever need any man-type help, I'm
always available."

"I'll bear that in mind," the Boss agreed. "Well, it's time to
get going now. I expect that my little bride is as anxious as I am
to get to the fun and games. How about it, darling?" He pinched
her breast viciously. Clenching her teeth against the pain,
Cathy turned her head away. "Oh well, we'll teach you good manners
in no time at all." Grabbing a handful of pubic hair, he dragged
her toward the door.

"Just one more thing," the sergeant called after them. "Doc
says that she really is a virgin. It would play Hell with our
public relations if the word got out that we arrest virgins as
whores."

"Don't worry," the Boss called back over his shoulder. "Less
than an hour after I get her to the Workshop, she'll be able
to pass any medical examination you'd want to give her."


chapter 17 The workshop
good words   abuse#   the devise#

Apparently they weren't going to cover Cathy's nakedness,
even when they took her to the car. She wondered if the town's
citizens were so blase' that they would just look on unconcerned
while the Boss and his henchmen dragged a naked, screaming woman
across the sidewalk. Then she realized that there would
be no need to take her outdoors. There was a parking garage
downstairs, inside the building, she remembered, where the cops
had unloaded her last night.

Sure enough, her captors marched her down the stairway to the
garage, where they shoved her into a recreation vehicle that
was waiting there. And she could guess exactly what sort
of "recreation" the van was equipped for, Cathy thought bitterly.
                                                        abuse#
The Boss didn't waste any time. He didn't even wait for the chauffeur
to pull away from the curb before he started working on her. Obviously,
he had learned the doctor's lessons well -- he knew exactly what to do
to mix the maximum amount of pain and humiliation into his coarse
caresses.

His pokes and pinches followed an easily predictable pattern,
getting ever more and more insultingly intimate and painful,
until she was sure that his probing fingers were going to make
good his promise that she would be able to "pass" any
examination.

But he stopped just before he rammed his finger into her. It
obviously took a supreme effort of will, but he muttered something
about "doing it right", and diverted his attention to her tits and
asshole for the rest of the ride.

When they reached the Boss's apartment house, they drove
again into an underground garage, where they hustled Cathy into
the Boss's private elevator. Express to the penthouse, with the
Boss abusing her body all the way.

Cathy got a brief look at the luxury of the apartment as the
Boss and his chauffeur marched her to the soundproofed
recreation room. While he worked the special lock on the door,
the Boss crooned, "Just a little while, my darling, and then the
honeymoon will begin. But first I want to slip into something
more comfortable, as the cliche goes.

"Then maybe we can slip you into something a little more
uncomfortable," he added. "Or maybe slip something a little more
uncomfortable into you," he added as an afterthought.

When he had the door unlocked, the Boss unfastened the strap
from Cathy's waist and wrists, and shoved her unceremoniously
into the darkened room.

"I'll be back in a few minutes, dear," he taunted. If you get
too impatient, feel free to start without me."

Cathy stumbled into the darkness, barely managed to keep from
falling. As her eyes became accustomed to the dark, she realized
that the room wasn't pitch black, as it had appeared at first,
but was dimly illuminated by a red light -- a light that had no
definable origin, but seemed to radiate from everywhere at once,
bathing the room and its contents in a sinister aura.

This, then, was the famous Workshop, where the Boss had
tortured and ruined uncounted numbers of innocent women. A chill
ran through Cathy's young body as she speculated on the fate in
store for her -- a chill that had nothing to do with her nakedness.
Well, no physiological connection, anyway.

Shaking her head to clear the panic, she ran to the
door, hoping against hope to find a way of escape. No such luck,
of course -- not only was the door securely closed, but there was
no trace of a handle, or even a keyhole. If it could be opened
from the inside, it was only by some secret mechanism, known
only to the initiated.

A window, then. Either her eyes had become more accustomed to
the darkness, or it had imperceptibly been growing brighter,
because Cathy could now see quite clearly around the room. And
what she saw was most discouraging. Even when she walked around
the circumference of the room, carefully inspecting the walls,
she could find no reason for hope. Windows there were, but they
were securely covered by metal panels, and there was no more
indication of how they could be opened than there was in the
case of the door.

Apparently escape was out of the question. Perhaps a weapon, then,
to defend herself with?

Or, if worst came to worst, to kill herself. Death was a
repugnant thought to Cathy's young and vital brain -- yet, from
what she had heard about this satanic hideaway and the demon who
presided over it, she knew that death would be a preferable
alternative to the agony and shame that awaited her.

Her search for a weapon led her to examine the fixtures and
equipment that made up the furnishings of the room. All of the
classical instruments of torture were there, plus a lot that
Cathy had never heard of, or dreamed of. She recognized the whips,
the chains, the rack, the wheel, the devices that would
restrain her body in every imaginable position. Plus a number of
positions that she would rather not imagine. The fiendish tools
and instruments that would cut, crush, stretch, break -- the
phrase "fold, mutilate, and spindle" ran foolishly through
her mind.

Somehow, the "spindle" part of that phrase seemed particularly
appropriate.

And there were other, less familiar, creations. She could only
guess at the use of some of them, but the design of some of the
others left no room for doubt. In one corner of the room was a
small electric furnace, and a nearby cabinet held an assortment
of branding irons -- some plain, some fashioned into weird designs
and monograms, some obviously designed to fit various parts of a
woman's body. She recalled what the hatcheck girl had said about
the Boss being a specialist: "when he tortures a woman, he likes
to keep reminding her that she is a woman."

But everything that would move was carefully put away in
glass-covered cases. She tested the glass panels with her fists,
with her bare heel, even with her head, but she was unable to break
them. Evidently the glass was shatterproof.

The big items were not under glass, of course, but they were
permanently attached to walls, ceiling, or floor. The one
exception was a device that was laid out on a table in the
middle of the room, apparently for immediate use.
                                                  the devise#
Curious, Cathy picked it up -- instinctively repulsed, yet
driven by a compulsion to know what he was going to use to begin
her destruction. It was a strange device indeed -- a pair of metal
hemispheres joined together by a network of light chains. Its
resemblance to a brassiere was not lost on Cathy.

The cups were painted in an obscene caricature of human
flesh, and the illusion was heightened by the short knurled stud
that protruded like a nipple from the center of each cup.It
looked for all the world like something a female impersonator
might wear.

But what could it have to do with her, Cathy wondered. She
was amply endowed by Nature in that department. Besides, if the
Boss put it on her, he would be covering up what the hatcheck girl
said he liked to make his primary target. And the experience she
had had with him certainly bore out the girl's comments.

Perhaps he would wear it himself? She imagined the ludicrous
spectacle it would make for him to have these hanging out over
his paunch. In spite of her terror, she gave a short hysterical
laugh at the prospect.

Idly, she turned the device over.

Her blood ran cold as she realized the diabolic purpose for which
the fiendish creation had been designed. Inside each cup was
a pair of powerful clamps, which closed inexorably as the knurled
stud was turned!



chapter 18   starter
good words    Maiden Deform#

Cathy felt giddy, and almost slumped to the floor in a faint.
A pair of hands grabbed each of her upper arms, kept her from
falling. Apparently, someone had silently come up behind her
while she had been examining that satanic device. The Boss's
deep voice boomed out behind her.
                                                  Maiden Deform#
"Fascinating little garment, isn't it, dear? I call it the
Maiden Deform, with proper apologies to the copyright laws.
You'll find wearing it is a gripping experience." He laughed at his
own atrocious joke. "All right, my harpies, turn her around."

As the hands forced Cathy to turn around and face her captor,
she realized that the light was now quite bright, although still
touched by that hellish red cast. She gasped in sudden recognition
when she saw how the Boss was dressed.

It was the same costume he had worn -- of course it had been
he -- why hadn't she guessed it long ago? -- that fateful day in the
old farmhouse, when she had first been introduced to the pain
and shame that were now going to become a way of life with her.
Only the mask was missing. The shorts and cape, gloves and boots
were the same.

The women holding her -- and they were unmistakably women -- were
similarly dressed, their capes thrown back over their
shoulders, their breasts arrogantly exposed. Cathy was not
surprised to see that one of them was the hatcheck girl. The
hitherto concealed wounds and scars on her breasts were now
quite evident. Cathy shivered. Soon she too would be equally
disfigured.

The other woman was Big Elsie.

Cathy made a great effort, managed to squeeze out the words.
"So it was you," she accused the man.

"Of course, darling. Do you think that I would let any other
man defile my bride-to-be?

"I had two things in mind when I planned that little
divertissement," he gloated. "Besides the pure fun of it, of
course. One of them was to see whether today's main event was
worth setting up.

"And believe me, darling, what you have to offer is worth far
more trouble than I've had to go to in fixing up this
rendezvous." He bowed in mock gallantry.

"The second reason, of course, was to get the pictures. You'd be
delighted to know how thrilled your parents were when they watched
that movie."

"You -- you showed those picture to my mother and father?" Cathy
asked in dismay.

"Certainly, my dear. And made them read those charming little
love notes you wrote to Alice after each lesbian session you
had with her.

"It's hard to say which moved your father more, your
escapades or watching me have fun with your mother. I was
planning to let him watch you entertain me, too, but he finked
out on me. Died of a heart attack before I'd half finished with
your old lady.

"She was stronger, though -- she held together until we'd gone the
whole course. And what a course! She wasn't as young and tender
as you are, of course, but she was pretty well preserved.
And she knew what a man likes. And she really put out, too,
after a little persuasion. Just as you're going to put out after
a little persuasion, sweetie.

"And, as you have seen, we've got all the little persuaders
right here. All made to your exact measurements."

Cathy recalled those humiliating plaster casts he had made of
the intimate parts of her body on that horrible afternoon.

"I think," the Boss went on, "that we'll start with the
Maiden Deform. That's the one that your mother found most
stimulating. Later on, we'll get to the other half of the
bikini. But I'm afraid it would rather get in the way right now.
First things first, you know.

"And I do have to keep that promise I made to the police --
that one about the examination you insisted on."
He addressed the women that were holding Cathy's arms. "Now,
my harpies, suppose we get on with it."

He unlocked one of the glass cases, and handed a leather strap
to each of the "harpies". "I think that fifth position would
be right for a starter."


 chapter 19 the key
good words   (none needed)

Cathy struggled wildly as the two women dragged her to the
appointed place, but to no avail. Her captors held her
inflexibly, easily evading her kicks, pulling her irresistibly
to the middle of the room, under a large ring that was fastened
into the ceiling.  She thought that she detected a gleam of pity
in the hatcheck girl's eyes -- she was probably compelled to go
through this out of fear. But in Big Elsie's face she read only
excitement and lust.

Big Elsie was a fitting helpmate for the Boss. For her, this
was a labor of love. And, judging from the way she kept rubbing
her body against Cathy's, there was going to be plenty of what
passed for "love" in her warped scheme of things.

The women fastened one of the straps around each of Cathy's
wrists; then. drawing her arms behind her, they passed the
straps through rings in the ceiling, drew them taut, and made them
fast, holding the poor girl in the classic strappado position. Cathy
moaned in pain, as her arms threatened to tear from their sockets.

She was held in a very provocative position, her butt jutting
out, her breasts pulled to extreme fullness by their own weight.
the Boss stood in front of her, enjoying her discomfiture.

"Does it hurt, my dear?" he mocked her. "Don't worry -- you'll soon
forget it. A curious thing about the human mind: it can focus
on only one pain at a time -- the minor pains just disappear.
And I assure you -- you'll find that the present pain truly
is a minor one."

His hands roved over her helpless body, pinching, prodding, insultingly
intimate.

"Never," he mused, "have I seen such a perfect body -- one that
cries out to be tortured. and I have seen a lot of bodies in my
time -- some of them superb. But yours . . .

"How beautifully these hips and thighs will dance under the
whip. And how you'll scream when I shove in the hot dildos, both
front and back." His hands followed his monologue. "And these
tits . . . but enough talking. Let's show you what these glorious tits
are good for."

Cathy cringed as he brought those fiendish bra clamps over
from the table, and adjusted the chains about her back and neck.
Carefully positioning the cups, he pulled the chains taut. the
click was like an explosion in Cathy's ear as he padlocked the
chains together behind her, securing the cups in place. Then the
Boss stepped back and admired his handiwork.

"They're not as lovely as the real thing," he mused, "but they're pretty
damned good, all the same. The guy that made this gadget for me is
a real artist. I just can't resist the temptation to give them a little
tweak."

He twisted the knurled studs viciously. In a flash of blinding agony,
Cathy knew that he had been telling the truth when he said that
the previous pain had been minor. She screamed, and did a little
dance of pain. Big Elsie laughed throatily.

Another twist, and new agony. Cathy began to wonder how long
she would remain conscious -- how soon she could faint, and gain
at least a temporary respite from the torture.

Her tormentor seemed to read her mind.

"No use in knocking you out yet," he mocked. "There are
still a lot of things you are going to do for me this afternoon.

"You'll find another ingenious thing about this little garment, by
the way. The clamps are ratchets, so that even after I untie
your hands, you won't be able to loosen them without the key."

He chuckled dryly. "Maybe we can think of some way for you to
earn the use of the key."


Chapter 20 Entry
good words (none needed)

"Just a moment, sweetie, and you'll be able to relax those
arms," he crooned.

He went over to the cabinet, and brought out a length of
flexible cable, like the cable that joins the brake grip of
a bicycle to the caliper brakes, and fastened the cable to the
chain between Cathy's breasts. She noticed that it had a large
bulb on the other end. "Now, my dear, you see that a gentle
squeeze on this bulb . . ."

He suited action to words, and Cathy screamed again as the
pressure, transmitted through the flexible cable, tightened the
clamps. But only momentarily this time -- the pressure dropped to
"normal" -- painful enough in itself -- when he loosened his grip.

"So now we can control the pain without interrupting the fun,"
he snickered. "And just one more thing before we start in.
After all, we want the consummation of our love to be as
comfortable as possible. Comfortable for me, at least. I'm
afraid that the pain in your tits won't let you notice such
little details. Or rather, I should say that I hope so."

Drawing a tube of ointment from a pocket in his cape, he
spread it carefully on the lips of Cathy's cunt. "And a little
around your asshole, just in case we get around to it on this
trip. And you notice that it doesn't itch this time -- I'm
counting on those lovely bra clamps to persuade you to give me
all the action I want.

"OK, my harpies, you can turn her loose now. And then, unless
you want to watch, I suggest that you retire to that couch over
there, Elsie, where you can have a little fun with what's-her-face."

He didn't give Cathy much time to worry about what was next.
Squeezing and relaxing the clamps in a slow and steady rhythm,
he herded her over  to a narrow couch at the side of the room,
were he unceremoniously dropped his shorts to the floor and lay
down on his back. "Now, honey," he rasped, "suck it up, just
like you did for me last time."

Almost insane from the pain, Cathy bent to the task, rousing
him to a state of violent erection in no time at all. Maybe, she
thought, she could postpone her defloration by giving him
such a good blow job that he wouldn't want to stop.

She didn't get away with it, of course. He enjoyed the
sucking, and he let her go on as long as he possibly could without
losing control. But just before that magical moment, he grabbed
a handful of her hair and yanked her head away from its
disgusting ministrations. Then, goading her by applying new
pressure to her already aching breasts, he made poor Cathy
straddle the narrow couch, spreading her cunt lips with one of
her hands, while the other hand guided that repulsive invader to
the very entrance of her temple of love. To the entrance, and
partly inside.

Putting his hands on her shoulders, Cathy's tormentor pulled
violently down, at the same time raising his hips to complete
the loathsome penetration. The girl's wail of pain and despair
was music to his ears . . .

He held her there for a long moment, letting the full
realization of her plight sink in. Then, holding her hips
tightly so that he would not slip out of her, he turned her
unresisting body over, and began fucking in earnest, punctuating
each deep punishing stroke with an extra squeeze on those damned
tit clamps.

She could feel his passion rising, even through the
excruciating pain, and knew that the moment was near when her
defloration would be complete; when his venom would flow
into her womb, destroying forever her dream of chastity.

Her rapist gave one last grunt of rapture, driving even more
deeply within her, increasing the pressure on her tits until
her every muscle tightened in desperate protest, her entire
body shuddering violently in a paroxysm of anguish and pain.

She felt the hot fluid pulsing into her helpless body just
before she fainted . . .

That's all there is for now (March 1998).I have hopes of
finishing, but no promises . . .


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