From “A Dirty Deed”:
The fat man grunts pleasantly and looks into my eyes. The smile on his face causes my
stomach to churn. He has no use for my requests, regardless of how much he enjoys hearing
them. I slowly realize that he wants to hurt me...he is doing this for no other reason. He
takes a few measured puffs on the cigar and continues to gloat.
“I’m a rich man, Susie. And rich men get bored easily. We must constantly find ways to
amuse ourselves,” he purrs, rolling the cigar in between his gloved fingers leisurely, his
mouth turning downward in a parody of meditative thought. “And I amuse myself by causing
people…especially beautiful young girls…incredible pain!” His eyes glaze over with a
ravenous satanic sheen as he bites off his last word. He accentuates it by shoving the
cigar in his mouth and languorously drawing back the whip.
He seems to give it no more than a cursory flick with his hand, but the wide leather
flap cracks harshly on my right breast, leaving a huge red gash.
The sting afterwards is worse than the blow. I gape incredulously at him, no longer
seeing him as a man…only a monster. My reserve shattered, I begin to weep openly, mostly
at my converging fear. His grin only gets bigger in return.
“I don’t care about anything you have to say,” he says flippantly, wagging his bulbous
head. “No one can save you. Not your daddy…not the law. I own the lawmen for miles around.
They’re well aware that I have you here. It’s just you and me, darling, just you and me.”
He nods. “String her up, gentlemen.”
I cry out as I’m suddenly lifted from the wooden floor. His henchmen are cranking a
wheel attached to a long rope and my wrists are traveling upward. The pain in my arms
becomes more intense and finally I stop moving when I’m on my tiptoes.
Hofstetler casually flips away his smoked cigar and gets closer to me.
He takes two clothespins from his jacket pocket and displays them, snapping their ends
seductively. Of course, I realize what he’s planning and writhe in my chains.
“You’re a fiend!” I hiss, turning away. “Someone will stop you. You can’t just kidnap
people and…and…torture them...for your pleasure! You’re a repulsive, sick, evil….”
I feel myself getting faint as the tears start up again. I’m almost ready to pass out
at the thought of what he’ll do to me. He must know I’m a virgin…he must. And he’ll take
me…him and his men…eventually. But after they’ve had their fun.
This thought piques my anger and I spit into his face, but he just smiles and rubs it
into his cheek, into his stubbly beard, drinks it with his lips. He loves it. I cringe,
pinching my face in disgust.
Mercilessly, he takes the pins and clamps them to my nipples and I scream out from the
continuous pain. For a mere bit of wood, their bite is vicious, the pressure relentless.
Hofstetler moves into me, fondling my tits, squeezing them, gradually intensifying the
burn in my already swelling nipples.
I gasp and moan, feeling the warmth ripple through my lower body. I have no idea what
this sensation is and have never felt it before except when….
I blush with shame at first, then with anger, as I realize what “this” is.
Yes, I have touched myself in the past…been sinful. Many nights. And now this sin has
come back to revisit me…perhaps a test from our good Lord. But why it’s coming over me
now, only heaven, or the devil himself, knows. And if this beast isn’t the devil, I’ll be
damned.
I can barely breathe, the pain is so strong. When I do, it’s in feeble, short puffs.
Hofstetler reaches behind me and grips my ass in one mighty hand, pulling me toward him.
It’s almost as if he were a god. The thought that he could do anything to me here, and I’m
helpless to stop him --- it makes me weak.
He grasps my face with his other hand and I can smell the cigar smoke emanating from
the leather. My eyes go wide with revulsion as he plants his fat lips forcefully on me,
giving me a long, wet, sensuous kiss.
Oh God help me, the heat in my loins gets wider, wetter…I simply can’t stop myself! I
start to move my hips involuntarily, unable to control my sinning body any longer.
I throw my head back and gasp for air, and he releases me, then smiles.
He makes that awful grunting sound and his grin becomes that of a jackal.
“So, you’re not such a prude after all, my hot little tease!” he sighs victoriously,
plucking the gloves daintily from his hands, grinning mischievously. “Good. You may just
find that you enjoy this as much as I do…after a while. And we have time…lots of time…to
get to know each other…and to play.” He lets out another deep, rumbling laugh and reaches
inside his jacket for another cigar.
“You son-of-a-bitch!” I scream. The anger and humiliation have been augmented in an
ugly way by my desire for him. I couldn’t say for sure right now if I would kill him or
make love to him, given the chance.
He answers my indecision by chewing off the end of a fresh Havana and spitting the
crumbs in my face. I despise him anew as he haughtily snaps his fingers and looks to his
henchmen. The lazy bastard can’t be bothered to even light his own smoke. His overpaid
idiots readily comply and he puffs thickly, blowing the rich fumes over my face with
indolence.
“Bring over the rats,” he says whimsically, looking deeply into my eyes and smiling, as
if this thought has just occurred to him, though I’m sure he’s been rehearsing it and
looking forward to my reaction all day. And I don’t disappoint him.
From “Rent-a-Thug”:
When they opened again, his eyes were fixed on a beautiful blonde who was kneeling on
the plush carpet of the limousine before him. He felt her touch upon his cock and almost
began to hyperventilate.
“What the fuck?” he gasped out. He instinctively tried to disengage her hand but her
lips immediately found his glans and gave it a sensuous lick. Charlie’s hand moved away
and he studied the woman.
The longer he stared at her probing eyes, felt her tongue returning over and over again
to his manhood, like a thirsty mare to a water trough, he realized who she was: she was
the woman who had been at the terminal only eight hours before.
She puckered her red lips and gave him another suck, then pulled away.
“Are you hungry, sir?” she asked. “My name is Irina. Mr. V send me to you with
compliments. You like this?”
Her voice was deep, the accent Russian. She was no longer wearing the business suit.
She had gone from looking like a successful executive to nothing more than a slut, and a
hardcore one at that. She sported a black leather mini-skirt and white, see-through tee
shirt that exposed both of her magnificently formed breasts, the nipples like budding
cherries; Charlie began to understand where the double-breasted suit-wearing man got his
money.
She continued to kiss his cockhead, rotating her tongue around it in between caresses.
Finally she began to move her lips back and forth, her tongue tickling the tip. He was
harder and longer than he’d been in some time, certainly bigger than the last time he’d
screwed Peggy.
He gripped the seat and cried out when he shot his load. He glanced down briefly to see
the woman’s face drip with his come and her tongue began to fiercely lap, as if his bounty
were water from the fountain of youth. He felt himself harden all over again.
When he had gone another round, she smiled and pulled herself up, running her
fingernails slowly down the front of his shirt, tracing them around his nipples.
“You hungry? We go to lunch. Anyplace you want. But first, we fuck. OK?”
Charlie nodded his head vehemently. He was on a high now --- the limo, the scotch, and
this spectacular woman --- they were better than any drug he’d ever sampled.
He hit the recliner switch, slapped his hands roughly on her buttocks, and pulled her
in tight. Her legs spread like a gymnast’s and he needed no guidance to find her hole.
Only semi-hard by this time, he focused on her nearly flawless facial features and let
himself go, losing himself in her kisses and fondling.
He found his groove and began riding her steadily, his pre-cum doing its work,
complimenting her silky wetness with just the right amount of moisture.
Rain beat a steady rhythm against the tinted glass and he watched with pleasure as
scads of ordinary commuters, ordinary businesspeople, sat in their cars on their way to
their humdrum destinations, while he luxuriated in immeasurable pleasure before their
casual glances, at the same time being remarkably obscured from them.
From “To the Manor Born”:
“Sissy, darling,” Forrester crooned, gesturing to his thugs, “you’re not going
anyplace, anytime soon. You are in a very bad situation and have only two options. The
first is to sign a complete confession, detailing your transgressions at my club. You may
or may not have noticed, but the amount of money you are accused of stealing just
coincidentally happens to be enough to warrant a felony charge. Have no doubt that as soon
as you are sentenced---and you will be found guilty---you will receive the maximum jail
time.”
Sissy gasped, feeling her bowels clench involuntarily. Jail! He couldn’t possibly be
serious! It had to be a joke…another display intended to make her grovel for him.
“And also believe me,” he continued, “when I tell you that I will do everything
possible to ensure it will be a more than unpleasant experience: you’ll be assigned two
guards who will have orders to take ‘special’ care of you…you see, the warden and I are
quite good friends, as will be the judge at your criminal trial.
“On the other hand, you can avoid that nightmare completely by remaining a prisoner
here, where I will personally supervise your incarceration. Unfortunately, there is a
downside to that as well, in that my method of discipline tends to be a bit
more…corporal,” he smirked. “But, if you show me the respect I deserve, you could learn to
enjoy it here. Everest can be heaven or hell for you…it is entirely in your hands.
Gentlemen, show her the confession,” he finished, gently chuckling.
She scanned the document, reading through the trumped-up charges, as Forrester occupied
himself with blowing the perfect smoke ring.
Sissy’s head swam. A million emotions flew at a billion miles per hour around her
brain, but only one thing was certain: this maniac was completely serious, as serious as
the heavy firearms sported by his thugs, as serious as the valuation of everything around
her---he had the money and power to do whatever he wished.
“It’s as I thought, all lies,” she said, now on the verge of tears but determined not
to show it.
“Then you…refuse to sign?” he said, the expression on his face that of a little boy who
is about to receive the Christmas present he has been dreaming of all year.
“Yes,” she said, a touch of pride in her voice. At least if she were kept here, she
reasoned, there might be some hope of rescue. And pleading guilty to a false charge was
just crazy, even more insane than agreeing to being held at his mansion. She’d never see
Tim again in prison, and Davison was well aware of it.
Her tormenter’s grin became wistful as he gazed dreamily into his fun-filled future. He
seemed to be imagining the barbarisms he would subject her to, even now.
“I don’t think you fully appreciate the degree of danger you face within these walls,
my dear,” he purred. “But you will, and very shortly. Gentlemen,” he continued haughtily,
“kindly escort Miss Cheswick to the schoolroom, then…lock her up!”
*************************
“What…are you going to do to me?” Sissy asked fearfully.
Over the past forty-eight odd hours, the strength she had drawn from her wellspring of
anger at Davison and Burkholter had gradually begun to run dry. What was left, she could
only describe as true horror, not necessarily at their cheesy, theatrical conceits or the
B-movie aesthetics of her surroundings, but at the reason she was here, in these maniac’s
clutches---she had argued with a very rich man over a cold steak. This bitter truth
somehow made the horror stretching in front of her even more unfathomable.
She was hanging against a wall in the basement-level “playroom,”--- a room much larger
and more well-equipped than the schoolroom.
Torture devices were arrayed like the finest treasures in every inch of the space: an
iron maiden, a rack, braziers, whipping posts, interrogation tables. Clamps, claws, maces,
whips, and other implements for deforming, shredding, smashing, and ripping the flesh of
fair young maidens, such as herself, abounded from the walls. Elaborate, expensive cameras
hung at various points around the room, mounted on flexible positioning arms, specifically
so the Lord of Everest could enjoy the suffering in real time, if he chose, from the
comfort and security of his private office.
Sissy’s hands were tied behind her back, her hands and forearms uncomfortably pointed
upwards. Her ankles were manacled together and anchored to a chunk of concrete by an
extremely long length of chain. A large leather belt was wrapped around her waist and
chained to the handcuffs.
Forrester and the ghoul were facing her, Davison smiling obscenely, looking dapper in a
crisp, white vested suit, its satin-striped material so beautiful (even Sissy had to
admit) that it almost made the fat man look stylish. He drew on his pretentiously styled
holder and swung it carelessly at her face as he exhaled.
“That should be obvious. You don’t know much about medieval methods of torture, do you
Sissy?” he chuckled condescendingly.
Sissy gritted her teeth. “Is this what you learned in all your fancy boarding schools,
master?” she mocked.
Forrester considered this. “Actually, yes. Young boys can be quite cruel, you know. We
never went as far as this, however. All I wish to tell you about this dreadful device, is
that it will be incredibly painful…really hideous! And,” he giggled spitefully, “there is
nothing you can do to stop it. All part of the fun. The next time you are presented to me,
I believe you will be more agreeable to my demands.” He nodded to his henchmen. “Attach
her wrists to the rope.” He returned the holder to his teeth, gently puffing his
cigarette.
The two deputies obediently fastened a hook into the links connecting her wrist cuffs,
still connected to the strap securing her waist, and one of them moved to a large wheel
that was positioned on the floor, to her right.
“I’m going to relax for a while,” Forrester informed her. “I’ll let my assistant
explain your predicament. I love this part!” The obese brute laughed sadistically, melting
into a wide-backed tufted leather chair that sat about fifty feet in front of Sissy.
The ghoul stepped forward, roughly gripping Sissy’s chin with its gloved fingers.
“So beautiful. So lovely. So fucking stupid,” it mocked. “You could have avoided this.
A little boot leather in your mouth or the use of your arms. Any dolt or dimwit could have
made the right choice.”
Sissy blanched. Her arms? What would they do to her arms?
“This is an ancient device, Sissy. It’s ancient because it’s so fucking effective. It’s
called…the strappado. Here’s how it works. Do you want to know…or should I let you
experience it first?”
She screamed. “No…just tell me. I’m sure that you don’t even have to do that. Look,
I’ll lick his boots…the master’s boots. Just…let me down from here. Please!”
Forrester chortled. “Henderson,” he said, summoning his tuxedoed valet, “bring me a
martini, three olives…blue-cheese stuffed…straight up.” He leaned back and lit another
cigarette languorously. This would be glorious.
| 
