The Plucked Duck Back to H Back to main page

Collected by djian
updated jan 10 - 2009

another story by Joy Paine | The plucked Duck | Fraternity Property | The stalet Slave | Tortured Teacher

M/f, FF, nc, anal, humiliation, slavery, voyeurism, torture, maybe more


1-5 | 5-10

The Plucked Duck 0-5
by Joy Paine

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.

Index to The Plucked Duck, with index words

1 in the bar white slave ring
2 into jail (none)
3 the party nudity, bondage, rape
4 the wrapup rape
5 the farmhouse lesbian rape torture/rape recalled
whip breasts pins whip crotch defloration dungeon
6 the game torturer the game whip forced to strip
7 the bargain threat of rape rape: oral/anal pins
8 after forced lesbianism
9 Jack watching a rape
10 job seeker (none)
11 cigarette girl scanty costume rape games
the Workshop uses of a woman
making of a slave rear entrance
sewed up beeper torture targets
incentive program
12 recruiting techniques (generally not needed; this
chapter is pretty high density) nipple erector
13 the interview remembering voyeur
breast abuse stripped
smart-ass
14 the escape (none)
15 the arrest general abuse Big Elsie
doctor
16 bail (none)
17 the workshop abuse the device
18 starter MaidenDeform
19 the key (none needed)
20 entry (none needed)

THE PLUCKED DUCK
by Joy Paine

chapter 1 In the Bar

Good words: white slave ring#

"Look", Jack said to the pimp. "I don't want any of your run-of-the-mill
whores. I can pick up all of the pigs I want, right off the street. For
free, or for the price of a drink or two. If I'm going to pay for a broad,
she has to be something special."

The pimp surveyed his mark for a few seconds, his eyes narrowed. Then he
appeared to reach a decision. "OK", he said. "How about our custom service?
If you're willing to pay the freight, you can have exactly what you want.

"Ex-act-ly what you want", he repeated, with slow emphasis.

"Just how exactly do you mean?" Jack countered.

"Exactly. You point her out, and we'll get her for you."

Jack swallowed hard, fought to control his breathing, to keep the
expression of exultation on his face down to what an ordinary customer
would show at such an extraordinary proposition. This might be the break
that would tear the whole town open, he told himself.

Jack was one of a vanishing breed--a crusading newspaper reporter.
He had moved to this town precisely because it had the reputation of
being corrupt. He and his wife Dorothy gathered news, set type, ran the
presses, sold advertising, and practically delivered the papers themselves, with a
bare minimum of help. They were losing money steadily on the venture,
but had not yet exhausted their resources--their own savings and the small
sums that a few of their friends had committed to the cause of decency.
Jack clung to the quixotic hope that the paper might somehow be able to
break the power of the ruthless and well-entrenched Boss, who ran the
town as his own feudal realm.

There already had been signs that the paper's barb had struck tender
places. Ominous signs. Signs that pointed at a real danger to him and
Dorothy.

They had taken the precaution of sending their daughter Cathy to
college across the state line, but Jack had not been able to persuade
Dorothy to stay away.

"A wife's place is with her husband," she had declared, and would not
listen to any further argument. Jack had not protested too much--he was
glad to have her with him, as much for the moral support she gave him as
for the very real physical pleasure he took from her. But he could not get
rid of the nagging fear that his enemies would try somehow to get at him
through her.

And he was making enemies.

So far, their irritation had been vented in petty ways, such as broken
windows, slashed tires, and the like. Once, a couple of thugs had poured
whitewash over him, and then vanished down a dark alley.

But there was a constant escalation in the incidents--a systematic
stepping-up of hostilities. He remembered how it had been in the War. You
always softened up the beach with an artillery barrage before the
invasion.

And the threats.

The day after the whitewash incident, for instance, the mail had brought
a terse typewritten note: "It could have been gasoline."

He was especially aware of the risks he was running tonight, in this
cheap bar in the seamy part of town. He had taken great care that no-one
detected his change of identity from a clean-cut pillar of the community
to a slightly tired, slightly furtive, and thoroughly frustrated
businessman who was willing to pay a little more than usual for some
illicit thrills.

But he couldn't hope to keep his secret forever.

Jack knew that he wouldn't be able to call on the police for protection.
It was a matter of course that they took orders from the Boss. They were
his private army, existing for the sole purpose of gratifying his
unlimited thirst for money and power.

white slave ring#
And women.

One of the developments that had prodded Jack finally to take action
was the recent dramatic increase in disappearances of young women--women
that the grapevine said were procured to satisfy the Boss's lust, and
then imprisoned in a life of shame, where their earnings and favors
contributed to the Boss's power base.

The pimp's offer might have a real bearing on the subject, Jack
thought. He cleared his throat nervously.

"You mean that you'll get me any woman I want, whether she's willing
or not? What do you do, kidnap them right off the street?"

The pimp raised his hand in protest. "Please", he murmured. "We like
to use businesslike language. No need to stoop to the gutter. Let's
just say that we'd make an acquisition for you.

"As to your question, there are limits, of course. We couldn't very
well get you the Queen of England, or the President's daughter. And if
you wanted a Miss America or a famous movie star, the price might be
prohibitive, because of the publicity we would have to cope with.
You can understand that we like to keep a low profile in an operation
like this."

"Well, let's suppose it was just the Girl Next Door. Or my neighbor's
wife--or my wife's sister. How much would that cost?"

"Let's take an actual case," the pimp replied. "No names, of course,
just generalities.

"One of our clients recently coveted a friend of his daughter's. She
was pretty enough, but completely unknown outside of a small circle of
family friends and high school companions. So her disappearance didn't
cause any fuss outside the state, and very little outside the town.

"Besides, she was a naive girl, and incredibly easy to pick up. So
the costs of acquisition were literally no more than the salaries of
two men, and the cost of gasoline to bring her in. Plus a shot in the
arm to quiet her down.

"Now, we supply merchandise on two plans--either off the shelf, as
it were, or, if the customer prefers, we'll train her first. Teach her
constructive attitudes, and some of the more specialized skills.
Contrary to what you might expect from ordinary business experience,
the trained girl is less expensive than the fresh one, as the process
of training brings in considerable incidental income from clients who
pay for the privilege of helping with her on-the-job training. Not to
mention the fringe benefits our employees derive. And the droit de
seigneur, so to speak, that our General Manager enjoys.

"But this client wanted her untouched. He elected to use our
boarding facilities, and to take advantage of our equipment while
he was breaking her. His tastes weren't too demanding--he was
satisfied with the equipment we keep on hand as a matter of course to
maintain discipline, and to satisfy the tastes of our more--ah--
adventurous customers. Whips and paddles, of course, breast clamps
and cattle-prod dildos--ordinary run-of-the-mill stuff like that."

The pimp paused for a moment, and licked his lips. "All told,
counting acquisition costs, upkeep and maintenance, and overhead for
the three months he was interested in her, she cost him a total of a
few thousand dollars. And he got a discount off that, because he was
willing to pass her around, toward the end."

Jack frowned. "But why only three months?" he asked.

The pimp shrugged deprecatingly. "Oh, he just got tired of her, and
wanted to trade her in on a new model.

"That's the way it tends to go with customers who want their girls
unbroken," he went on. "It's great fun until the experience loses its
novelty for the girl--while she still struggles and squirms and screams
in outrage. But sooner or later their spirit is broken, or they get
sullen or blase--or sometimes the John damages them so they're no longer
attractive.

"In this case, the guy had been relatively gentle--at least
physically--and hadn't marked her up, and she still had a lot of the
freshness of youth, so her salvage value was quite high. This was an
ideal case. Sometimes they're damaged, physically or psychologically,
to the point where their only residual value is in a terminal situation."

"What do you mean--a terminal situation?"

"It's a little painful to discuss," the pimp murmured. "Some of our
clients derive their entire amusement from administering ever-increasing
doses of pain, until final destruction. But fortunately, in this case,
the girl could be remotivated and trained--upgrading her proficiency in
standard techniques as well as introducing her to the more esoteric ones--
which, for some reason I've never been able to understand, her owner had
neglected to do. Believe it or not, he had never fucked her anywhere but
in the cunt.

"So all in all, her residual value was quite substantial. If the John
can do as well every time, he'll be able to keep an unbroken succession
of full-time slave girls for about what it would cost to put a kid
through college."

Jack rose to the bait. "Look," he said. "I've been itching to get
into my wife's sister's pants for a long time. How do I get into the
club?"

The pimp's eyes shifted uneasily. "Sorry, but I can't give you the
final go-ahead on the deal. I'll have to clear it with my branch
supervisor."

"So let's ask him. I've got my car outside. I suppose you can locate
him at this time of night?"

The pimp looked at his watch. "Only 9 o'clock. OK, let's go."

After paying for the drinks, Jack led the pimp to his car, started the
engine, and pulled away from the curb.

Toward his date with destiny.



Chapter 2 Into Jail

Good words: (none)

(author's note: this chapter is something like those long stretches
in some of Richard Strauss's tone poems -- rather pedestrian, but
they do get you from one high point to the next.)

They had driven only half a block when a police car pulled up
behind them, red light flashing. The cruiser's uniformed passenger
motioned Jack to the curb.

Jesus Christ! Jack thought, this is all that I need! His faked
license might pass a cursory inspection, but if he was booked
and fingerprinted his real identity was sure to come out sooner
or later. And he could just imagine the fun the Boss's tame
newspaper would have then.

CRUSADING EDITOR ARRESTED WITH PIMP! He could picture the
headlines.

The officer was polite. After glancing at Jack's license, he
returned it without question. "I'm sorry to bother you, sir, but
I saw you come out of that bar and start driving, so we'll have
to take you in for the sobriety test. If you'll just park
your car there, we'll drive you down to the station."

Jack could see no alternative but to follow orders. Anything to
keep from attracting attention.

During the ride to the station, the policeman gave Jack the
out he had been praying for.

"Look, sir," the officer said. "It's a nuisance to set up all the
equipment for the breath test, to say nothing of the hassle of
getting the technician out of bed,and all. So we've worked out
a system that takes care of the DUI arrests without all that
trouble."

"DUI?" Jack asked, pretending ignorance.

"Driving under the influence," the cop explained.

"Now, if you insist on the test, you can have it. If we find
that you're sober, we'll let you go, with our apologies for the
delay. If you fail the test, you won't drive again in this
state -- legally, that is -- for a long, long time.

"On the other hand, you look like a borderline case. Under the
circumstances, we don't want to be particularly hard on you.
All we want to do is keep you off the street until you're completely
sober. So if you're willing to spend a few hours in jail sobering
up, we'll let you go without even booking you. That way, you can go
along without a spot on your record.

"We'll even let you call your wife to explain things, if you
want. Or to tell her some cock and bull story, if you prefer,"
he added slyly. "Suit yourself on that score. If you tell her the
truth, we'll back you up. If you give her the runaround, we won't
blow the whistle on you."

Jack though it over for at least two seconds. If he put them
to the trouble of setting up the test, they might give a drunk
report just out of spite. And he had downed a couple of beers,
so it was just possible that the meter would give an honest
indication of intoxication. And worst of all, there was the
very strong probability that they would find out who he was.

Better not to rock the boat.

"OK", he shrugged. "I'll be your guest for the night."

His only worry was for Dorothy. She'd be worried half to
death when he didn't show up. But he'd rather take that risk
than to give his phone number to the police. He'd explain to her
tomorrow.

He emptied his pockets into the envelope the desk sergeant
provided -- money, keys, and false identity documents. He also
surrendered belt and shoelaces, and lay down on the hard
mattress to pass a restless night.

Chapter 3 The Party
index words: nudity# bondage# rape#

Jack had been right about one thing -- Dorothy was worried half
to death. She waited up until midnight, then finally decided to
get ready for bed. She had taken off her dress and stockings,
slip and bra, and was just starting to step out of her panties
when she heard Jack's key in the lock.

Thank God, she thought, starting toward the door to greet
him.

But it wasn't Jack. He had Jack's keycase, she noticed, but
he was a total stranger. My God, she thought -- maybe Jack has
been mugged, and this guy has taken his keys and come to
burglarize the house!

And the pistol that he was pointing at her tummy looked very
unfriendly indeed.

"Not a sound, doll," he said roughly, "or it'll be your last."

nudity#
Dorothy froze as he crossed the room, the pistol holding her
gaze hypnotically. It was not until he was within arm's reach of
her that she remembered her near-nakedness, belatedly moving her
hands to cover her breasts.

bondage#
The man chuckled. His fist moved only a few inches, but it
exploded into her solar plexus with paralyzing force. While she
crouched in a painful heap, unable to struggle or scream, he
calmly pocketed the pistol and twisted her hands behind her back,
where he made them fast with a pair of handcuffs. Taking a wide
roll of adhesive tape from his pocket, he tore off a length and
gagged her.

Dorothy's senses had cleared a bit by now. Enough to realize
that a handful of men had followed the first intruder into the
house. Some of them carried suitcases.

They worked with smooth efficiency, like a team of commandos.
One of them put on a telephone operator's headset, and she heard
him making contact with someone he called "lookout", and
another called "command post".

Another of the men opened the suitcase he was carrying, and
took out a set of aluminum tubes, which he began to assemble
like a child's construction set. When he had finished, he had
made a table-like rack, two feet wide and some two and a half
feet high. Maybe 5 feet or so long.

A couple of the men dragged Dorothy over to the rack, and
fastened her ankles to the bottom of the framework so she was
standing with her legs spread wide apart, her wrists still
handcuffed behind her back. One of the men roughly fondled her
naked breasts; then, at a command from the leader, returned to
business.

And what a business! Systematically, working as from a
well-rehearsed plan, they went about giving the room the
appearance that a wild party had taken place. One of them opened
the bar and poured drinks, spilling a good deal onto the carpet and
the upholstery; then he turned most of the liquid down the sink.
He left the glasses here and there around the room, in places
where they were sure to leave rings that would mar the furniture.

Another man unpacked and distributed cigarette butts, some
standard, some rolled in coarse paper and smelling like rope.
He carefully stained some of the latter with Dorothy's
lipstick. Then he lit several other cigarettes, leaving them
on the piano and other expensive pieces of furniture, where they
would leave ugly burns. In the middle of the coffee table, he carved
a rough heart, with the names "Dorothy" and "Bill".

Another of the men went into the bathroom, and flushed a couple
of towels down the toilet, making sure that they clogged the drain.
Then he used the toilet and flushed it again. He swore when he didn't
get out of the way fast enough, and got some of the overflow on his
shoes. The emphatic monosyllable he muttered seemed sort of appropriate,
under the circumstances.

One of the men was the official breaker. The glasses and
bottles at the bar were obvious targets, as was the big mirror
behind the bar. But other targets showed greater creativity.

For his masterpiece, he brought a hammer from the basement, donned
a motorcyclist's protective helmet and face mask, and proceeded
to smash the TV screen.

By the time the men had finished, the room was a total shambles.
Dorothy stood weeping, in a state of near hysteria, forgetting her
semi-nudity and undignified position. She noticed vaguely that
one of the men had focused a video tape recorder on her.

rape#
The leader of the group came over to her, cruelly pinched one
of her nipples. Then he squeezed the entire breast, laughing
coarsely as she screamed into the gag at the excruciating pain.

"Just a little lesson, doll, to people who don't mind their own
business. And now for the crowning touch. One more piece of
Jack's property to spoil"

He reached for the waistband of her panties, tore them from her
body with one savage pull. Someone grabbed her wrists and bent
her body backward, fastening her in that undignified and totally
vulnerable position.

"Old hubby will really go ape," the man gloated, "when he watches
these movies of his wife's infidelity."

Dorothy heard the sound of a zipper. The man's hands closed on her
breasts, squeezing brutally. He stepped between her thighs . . .


Chapter 4 The Wrapup
good words: rape#

Finally, there was a moment of respite. Several times,
Dorothy had fainted during the ordeal, only to be revived again
before the monsters continues their gang rape. "After all,"
one of them commented, "it's no fun screwing a broad while she's
unconscious. Half the fun is seeing how much she hates it."

Now they seemed to have satisfied their lust. The leader spoke
again.

"Anybody else for seconds -- or thirds -- before I give her a
shot of horse to put her out?"

No takers.The men were busily packing the equipment into their
suitcases.

They unfastened Dorothy's numb and profaned body from the
framework, which they folded and put away. Holding her arm against
her feeble struggles, one of the men pierced her vein with a
hypodermic needle.
"There," he growled. "That'll hold you until the cops get here."

As she felt the narcotic taking effect, dragging her into a
stupefied sleep, Dorothy was vaguely aware that the men were
visiting one final indignity on her. Tearing off her gag, one of
them forced a hard rubber tube between her teeth. Then he fed a
long brush through the tube, and tickled the back of her throat.
He withdrew the tube as she vomited, letting the nauseating mess
spill all over her body and the carpet.

Dimly, Dorothy was aware that one of the men was telephoning
the police, complaining about a wild party that was bothering the
neighbors.

She consoled herself with one thought as she sank into
unconsciousness -- thank God that Cathy was safe.

chapter 5 The farmhouse

good words: lesbian rape# torture/rape recalled# whip breasts#
pins# whip crotch# defloration# dungeon#

lesbian rape#
Cathy was having problems of her own. Unable to stand it any
longer, she desperately raised her head from between the girl's
thighs, gulped in a huge breath of fresh air.

"Damn you -- you slut!" her room-mate screamed. "Get that
tongue back to work, you bitch!" One hand, entwined in Cathy's
hair, forced her head back into position; the other hand swung
the long leather strap, driving new pain through Cathy's bare
buttocks.

Cathy bent again to the disgusting task . . .

She had always felt a little uncomfortable in Alice's
presence. A senior who had just transferred to the college,
Alice had invited Cathy to be her room-mate, and Cathy had seen
no reason to refuse. Although the possessive way in which Alice
sometimes looked at her had disconcerted her a bit, Cathy had
shrugged it off. Maybe all upperclassmen looked at the freshmen
that way, she thought. Moreover, although she had occasionally
surprised a hungry look in Alice's eyes, she had never heard the
older girl make any suggestion whatsoever of an improper nature.

Until that day at the farm, that is.

With her native intelligence and the excellent preparation
she had received in high school, Cathy found the freshman work
at college pretty easy. And she had no trouble making friends.
Especially among the male students. Particularly the older
students and the members of the faculty -- her voluptuous
body, her sensuously beautiful face, and her precociously mature
poise tended a bit to overawe the boys of her own age.

So Cathy was having no problems with college. But she was
homesick.

Not only was this the first time that she had been away from
home for so long a time, but she had sensed a disquieting
tension in her parents' farewell.

She knew her father's courage when it came to defending his
concepts of justice, and she was sure that he was running great
risks of physical danger. She had no way of knowing exactly
what form the danger took, but she knew that it arose from her
father's determination to break the political power of the
infamous Boss.

She knew who the Boss was, of course. Even here, across the
state line, his name was a legend. It was even whispered that
some of the older students had been inside his notorious
Seraglio Club, and had brought back hints of unbelievable
debauchery. But to Cathy, the Boss was just a shadowy figure,
of concern only because he was the reason she had to leave her
family. And she was homesick.

It was her longing for family life that had made her accept
so readily Alice's invitation that weekend to drive up and visit
"the old homestead". As the car sped over the miles, Alice was
silent, and Cathy made no effort to interrupt her reverie.
Strong and capable, Alice held the wheel with stern
determination. Almost like a man, Cathy thought.

Strange. This woman was beautiful -- beautiful in every
physical sense of the term. And yet there was something
essentially masculine about her. Her determination to control
every situation; her avoidance -- even revulsion -- of men; she
seemed almost to have been born with a man's mind in a woman's
body. Albeit a very feminine woman's body, Cathy conceded.

Alice finally broke the silence.

"Mom has finally married again," she said, a propos of
nothing. "She lived alone for a long time after her divorce, but
she's finally found a man she seems to love as much as she loved
my father."

Cathy's confusion showed in her voice. "She divorced your
father, even though she loved him?"

torture and rape recalled#
Alice smiled in amusement. "Sorry, honey. I guess I never did
tell you the story. Dad died when I was a kid. It was my
stepfather she divorced -- the one that raped me."

"Raped you? Oh, you poor kid," Cathy sympathized.

"It was pretty grim at the time," Alice agreed. "I was in my
early teens when Mom married the bastard, and he had his eye on
me from the moment he moved in with us. Before, actually. I
honestly think that he married Mom just so he could get at me.I
tried to tell Mom about it, how he would grab me and feel me up
every chance he got. but she said I was being wicked, I mustn't
tell lies like that about my new father.

"Well, he finally got his Big Chance. He arranged for Mom to
spend the weekend at my aunt's, and conveniently forgot to
tell me about it. He didn't waste any time -- as soon as I came
into the house, he just grabbed me and hustled me into the
family room, where he had his equipment all laid out, ready for
use."

"Equipment?" Cathy echoed quizzically.

"Yeah, he'd been getting ready for me for months, and he had
made all the stuff with his two hands, just for me. Leather
straps with my name tooled into them. Special torture
instruments built to my exact measurements. I suppose I should
have been flattered," she added bitterly.

"He knew that he had the whole weekend to work me over, and
he took his sweet time about it. It seemed like hours before he
even got around to taking off my panties. He wanted to do a
thorough job on top first.

"Talk about foreplay!

whip breasts#
"After he had torn off my dress and bra, he fastened me to
what he called his whipping post -- actually a sort of
framework of wooden poles. He tied my ankles wide apart,
and fastened my wrists up over my head, with my body arched
backward."

Cathy gasped. "But -- backward? Then how could he whip you?"

Alice smiled ruefully. "You've got a lot to learn, honey."
she murmured. "He even put a couple of blocks behind my shoulder
blades to accentuate the bend in my body. My boobs weren't very
big in those days, but this position thrust them forward so he
could get a good swing at them with that damned leather strap
of his.

pins#
"After he'd thoroughly warmed them up, as he put it, he
pinned on a couple of tassels, and made me keep them there all
weekend."

Cathy felt weak. "Pinned? You don't mean . . ."

Alice shivered in recollection. "Actually, the tassels were
held in place by flesh-colored adhesive tape -- practically
invisible -- and the pins were only long enough to just break the
skin. But it was enough to hurt like fire every time my tits
moved. And you can just bet that bastard found lots of ways to
make them jiggle, over the next couple of days.
whip

crotch#
"With my legs spread apart the way they were, he had to use
Mom's sewing scissors to cut my panties off. Then he started whipping
me again.

defloration#
"By the time he got around to raping me -- and believe me, he
was really brutal about it -- I was so sore that I didn't even
feel the pain when he broke my cherry. Mental anguish, Hell
yes, but physical, no.

"Well, he finally pulled those damned tassels out, just
before Mom got home, and after lots and lots of fun and games.
And then he told me that if I ever breathed a word to Mom or the
police about what had happened, Mom would just about die of
shame. And I'd die of something a damned sight more painful.
And he meant it. I don't think that Mom knows to this day what
happened that weekend.

"He must have been afraid I would squeal, though,
because it was his suggestion that I go away to boarding
school. And you can bet that I was just delighted to get out of
that house. And since that day, I've hated all men, with him at
the top of the list."

"Have you ever heard from him again." Cathy asked.

"Sure, I've followed his career in the newspapers. He's
become something of a celebrity in the past few year. But also,
strangely enough, he got in touch with me last Spring, and
offered me a deal. It seems that he wanted me to introduce him
to a certain person. Well, it sounded sort of fishy to me,
because he's so influential that he could meet anybody he wanted
without my help. But then he explained that he wanted the
meeting to take place under very special circumstances, and I
could do it better than anyone else he knew. And he made me an
offer I couldn't refuse, as the saying goes."

"And you introduced him to the fellow?"

"Not yet. I -- Oh, here's the old plantation," Alice
interrupted herself.

She launched into a series of animated reminiscences, as she turned
easily into the long driveway, drove up to the front door. They carried
their own baggage into the house. "Sorry, no servants," Alice explained.

Cathy was a little puzzled that no-one was on hand to greet
them, but Alice explained breezily that "Mom is probably out
shopping. Here, let's go down to the rec room for a cool drink.
No, don't bring the luggage. We'll take it up to the bedroom
later. Oh, if you'd like to freshen up a bit first, the bathroom
is right there."

After using the bathroom -- a welcome break after the long ride --
Cathy followed her friend down the cellar stairs, along a dimly
lit hall, and into a darkened room. Lights blazed up as she
followed Alice into the room, momentarily blinding her. Then
she gasped at the bizarre arrangement of the room.

dungeon#
It was a veritable dungeon!

The floor was covered by something like a huge wrestling mat,
with metal rings sewed into it at odd intervals. And there were
other rings securely embedded in the walls and ceiling. Racks
along the walls held whips and manacles and other diabolical
devices of torment.

The whole was dominated by a motion picture camera that
swiveled from a frame attached to the ceiling.

As she gasped in disbelief, Cathy heard a door slam shut
behind her. She whirled, terror mounting in her throat, almost
fainting as she saw the grotesquely clad man who was taking the
key from the lock and slipping it into his pocket.

Alice's voice was husky with emotion.

"Cathy, meet my stepfather."

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