Cruel Vengeance	Back to M	Back to main page

Collected by Djian

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Cruel Vengeance
By unknown



CHAPTER 1


Peter Granatt was a man in trouble of the most serious kind. His business teetered on the brink of bankruptcy and he was heavily in debt to the kind of man for whom failing to keep up repayments on a loan meant it was not just his home that was at risk.
Delbert Lord sighed heavily. The weight of responsibilities, such as sometimes playing God, seemed to push his bulk deeper into the shiny black leather armchair. Neatly groomed and immaculately dressed in a dark blue pinstriped suit, the silver haired fifty-year-old could have passed as a major player in some City institution. But Lord was a criminal to the core.
Peter's first mistake - the act of a desperate man - had been allowing him to get his greasy tentacles into the club. When Lord and forty grand were involved, few were permitted a second error of judgement.
"Things don't look good, Peter," the gangster said, in a voice that was as tailored as his suit and as genuine as the regret he somehow managed to inject. "Happy hour is well and truly over for the Purple Pearl, wouldn't you say?"
"I'm going through a bad patch at the minute," Peter admitted, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. "The club is having trouble attracting big spenders. But I've taken on a couple of new girls and things are going to improve."
"Don't talk to me like I'm a fucking bank manager," Lord snapped, leaning forward on his desk. "Your arse is to the wall and you know it. The trouble is, I'm the one getting screwed. Getting screwed hurts, Peter, and I have a very low pain threshold. Am I getting through to you?"
"You'll get back every penny I owe you," the sweating man promised. "I just need more time."
"That's what you said last month, and the month before," Lord reminded him. "I have no more time to give you and you have no money to give me. Nor are you likely to have any. Not even enough to pay the interest on the original loan. That places you in a rather precarious position, my friend."
"There's the house," Peter said.
"I already have a house," the fat man retorted. "Any other valuable assets you'd care to tempt me with?"
Peter's shoulders slumped. "I have no other assets. You know that."
"You have Vanessa."
"What?"
"Vanessa," Lord repeated. "Your lovely lady wife. Perhaps you should consider using her to pay off your debts."
"Vanessa doesn't have that kind of money," Peter protested.
"It's not money I'm thinking of" Lord answered. "I've been keeping tabs on the lovely Vanessa. From a discreet distance, of course. She is one very sexy lady. The more I think about it, the more I'm convinced that she's all that stands between you and a very unpleasant penalty for loan default."
"What exactly are you getting at?" Peter was becoming more nervous by the second and doing an extremely bad job of looking like anything other than a man in danger of soiling his trousers.
"I have something of a weakness for big titted brunettes," the gangster continued. "Now, I can understand why you wouldn't want another man getting his sweaty hands on a peach like Vanessa, but you're not in what we might call a healthy bargaining position. As you obviously can't pay back the money you owe me, we need to agree on an alternative method of payment."
Peter had expected to be threatened, had been prepared to grovel on his knees, if necessary, but the audacity of Lord's proposal left him speechless.
"A ... a night with Vanessa, in return for a clean slate," he finally stammered. "She'd never agree to it. Not in a million years."
Lord smiled. "Who said anything about asking for her consent? Did I say anything about spending a night with her? You jump to too many conclusions, Peter."
"What is it you want then?"
"I just told you," the gangster replied impatiently. "I want your wife. For keeps. You'll never see her again."
"You're joking!" Peter cried.
"Comedians joke," Lord retorted. "Do I look like a fucking comedian?"
"It's impossible," the other man protested. "I mean ..."
"In my line of business, nothing is impossible," Lord interrupted. "Think of Vanessa as your last disposable asset. Your last hope of salvation, in fact. You should consider yourself fortunate. I don't usually give second chances."
"But I love Vanessa," the other man protested.
"More than you love breathing?"
Peter had a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach. Lord might as well have been pointing a gun at his head. No matter how outrageous his proposition, he knew that if he refused, or even took too long thinking it over, he would be signing his own death warrant.
"I don't have much choice, do I?" he finally murmured.
The fat man's smile was like a razor blade. "You have no choice at all, my friend."

From Delbert Lord's point of view, it was easy to understand why he would wish to possess Vanessa. The tall, slender, twenty-seven year old was as close to physical perfection as most women could hope to attain. Regular visits to the gym and careful attention to her diet ensured she remained in optimum shape. With Peter's money and plenty of time on her hands, she could afford to pamper herself. After all, the good life was what he had promised her, before they got married.
It wasn't often she was required to play hostess to his business acquaintances and it was not a role in which she felt comfortable. The instant she met Delbert Lord, she felt even more uncomfortable. The manner in which he leered down the front of her dress as he shook her hand made her flesh crawl. He might wear the trappings of refinement, but his eyes were that of a rapacious brute. Despite her unease, Vanessa managed to keep her smile fixed. Peter had repeatedly emphasised this man's importance as a business associate. Though she herself had no involvement - did not even approve of her husband running a strip club - she knew the Purple Pearl was going badly and their finances were in a precarious state. If this unappealing fat man could help in any way, she could force herself to smile all night.
To calm his nerves, Peter had already downed several large brandies.
Five days had passed since that fateful meeting, at the end of which he had agreed to sell his wife to Lord. The intervening period had provided ample time for attacks of conscience, but no alternative had presented itself. It was Vanessa or bust and Peter had no intention of going bust, especially if it meant losing more than just his livelihood.
His pact with the devil was a peculiar twist of fate. Just two months earlier, Peter had been forced to grovel as he had never grovelled in his life, to save his marriage. Vanessa had accused him of having an affair with a hostess in his club. Her sister had seen them together. Peter had given the girl a lift home on a few occasions, but had not once even tried to kiss her. However, encouraged by her sister, Vanessa was inclined to believe otherwise. Christine had never liked her brother-in-law and would have been proud to contribute to the break up of his marriage. Only by firing the girl and demeaning himself had he saved their five-year relationship. The resentment he had harboured ever since was directed squarely at Christine. If only he could have arranged for Lord to take her instead!
The couple had been married for less than three years. At twenty-four, Vanessa was twelve years his junior. Though Peter never doubted that he loved her, she was closer to a trophy wife than a soulmate. He had never been particularly successful with the opposite sex, so the fear that he would one day lose her was always at the back of his mind. However, he had never imagined she might be taken from him as if she were the losing stake in a poker game. What Lord intended to do remained a mystery, but Peter suspected he was shortly to become an accessory to a most unpleasant crime.
"She's looking particularly sweet tonight," Lord said quietly, as soon as Vanessa was out of earshot. "One would almost think she got dressed for the occasion."
"You won't hurt her, will you?" Peter pleaded.
"Once I've taken ownership, I'll do exactly as I please with her," the gangster calmly replied. "You concerning yourself about her welfare won't do any good. I'm sure she'll learn to adapt to her new situation."
"But what if she doesn't? If she escapes, we're both fucked."
"The only one getting fucked will be Vanessa," Lord told him. "Now, let's change the subject, before you start to annoy me."
While Lord contemplated his prize over dinner, Vanessa cast frequent curious glances in her husband's direction. Peter had been on edge all week, but refused point blank to tell her why. Tonight, he had the appearance of a man close to breaking point. It did not take a genius to figure out that the fat man was the cause. With every passing minute, her dislike of Lord increased. He could not take his eyes off her and Peter was making an enormous effort to appear blissfully ignorant.
Vanessa decided she could wait until their guest had left. Then, it would be time for a serious talk with her husband. His business affairs and those he chose to conduct them with were his own affair. But he had better not think she was going to tolerate being treated like a whore in her own home. As far as she was concerned, he was still walking on thin ice. She wanted to believe he had never been unfaithful, but the nagging doubt remained. Perhaps Christine was right. A man who had served a jail term for fraud could never be trusted, even if it had happened before she knew him.
At the end of the meal, Lord sat back, dabbed his lips with a napkin and fixed her with a look that made her want to spit in his face. "Excellent meal, excellent wine and a hostess, to whom the word excellent does not do justice," he smiled, before belching loudly. "You're a very lucky man, Peter."
The younger man merely grunted in response. He had scarcely touched his food and consumed almost a full bottle of wine. He could not bring himself to look Vanessa in the eye, but he knew his guest was deliberately trying to antagonise her. One way or another, he just wanted this to be over.
"I'll get the coffee," she said abruptly.
Feasting his eyes on the sensual sway of her slender hips beneath her tight fitting dress, Lord licked his lips.
"Cheer up," he said. "All your debts are about to vanish into thin air, thanks to that sexy slut of yours. She's an expensive investment, but I'll see to it that she's worth every penny."
"This isn't right," Peter grumbled.
"It's right for me," answered Lord. "And, as I hold all the aces, that's the only right that matters."
While Vanessa poured the coffee, Lord lit a cigar. It would have been polite to ask first, but he was not a polite man. He met her disapproving glare with a patronising smile. In the few moments it took her to find an ashtray, he had taken a small glass phial from his jacket, uncapped it, reached across the table and poured the contents into her cup. The white powder took only seconds to dissolve.
As she raised the cup to her lips, Peter was tempted to snatch it from her grasp. But his instinct for self-preservation was stronger. Lord could not conceal a triumphant grin. Vanessa's fate was sealed.
"You know Vanessa, you should consider taking a job at the Purple Pearl," Lord said, exhaling cigar smoke in her direction. "Have you ever danced?" "Not in the way you mean," she replied. He smiled. "Pity. You have beautiful tits. Not surgically enhanced either, I'll bet."
"Mr Lord, are you deliberately trying to be obnoxious?" she demanded.
She glared at her husband. Peter stared into space, acting as though he had not even heard the sexist remark.
"I was paying you a compliment, you silly bitch," the fat man protested.
"I'd hardly call that kind of remark a compliment," Vanessa argued. "Perhaps that's how you talk to the women in the Purple Pearl, but ..."
"But you're not that kind of woman," Lord interrupted, with a sneer. "What kind are you then? I look at you, I see tits and an arse, just like any other woman."
"You ignorant pig!" the outraged woman cried. "Get out of my house. Now!"
She tried to rise to her feet, but her legs seemed unable to respond.
"That mouth of yours would be better employed sucking my cock than insulting me," Lord told her, savouring the moment.
"You bastard! How dare you come into my home and talk to me like I'm some whore! Tell that fat pig to go, Peter. If you don't, I'm going."
"As a matter of fact, you are," her husband murmured, refilling his wineglass.
Vanessa's face turned ashen and she began rubbing her eyes, hit by a sudden, overwhelming drowsiness. She tried to move, but her brain felt like a giant ball of cotton wool. Her surroundings grew blurred and her body felt impossibly heavy.
"I don't feel well," she groaned. "Peter, help me!"
"I can't help you any more," he replied. "Sorry."
His voice sounded curiously distant and his expression was one of helpless resignation. What was happening to her? Why was her husband refusing to help? She started to panic.
"I ... there's something ...." Vanessa's voice trailed off, the effort of forming a sentence becoming too much.
Lord grinned. "That's right, my lovely. You relax and get ready for the party. I know you don't like me, but I certainly like you. I like you so much, I've bought you. What do you think of that?"
The helpless woman heard his voice, but his words made so little sense, he might as well have been speaking Chinese. Her brain grew increasingly muddled as the powerful drug took full effect. She forgot the name of this stranger in her home, found herself wondering how and why he was there. She thought Peter was nearby, but could no longer be certain. Past and present were becoming an indistinct blur. She heard voices and saw shapes, but nothing was making sense any more.
"What have you done to her?" Peter demanded.
"Just rendered her manageable," Lord replied. "It was either that or take her by force and that particular option could have turned nasty. I know this might be painful for you to watch, but just think about the alternative. You wouldn't have the luxury of worrying about what was happening to her, if you were turning to worm food in the ground."
The younger man shuddered at the image. "Maybe you'd be better off going to the club and leaving the slut in my capable hands," the fat man suggested.
"I think I'd rather stay, if it's okay with you," Peter answered.
Lord shrugged. "Please yourself. Just make sure you don't get in my way. Remember, she's my property now."
Nodding miserably, Peter poured himself another drink. He had never felt more impotent. No matter what this animal chose to do to his wife, there was nothing he could do to save her. If he tried, Lord would almost certainly kill them both.
"Time for bed," the gangster announced, rising from his chair. "Show us to the marital bedroom, Peter."
By now, though her eyes remained open, Vanessa was in a helpless stupor. Lord had carefully measured the dosage of the drug he administered, to ensure she remained conscious, yet utterly helpless throughout the ordeal ahead. An unconscious victim held no appeal for him.
He raised the unresisting woman to her feet and flung her like a side of beef over his right shoulder. She struggled as weakly as if her arms and legs were tied. Even if she had been fully conscious, she would have proved no match for the strength of the much bigger man.
Peter had been prepared to swallow enough pride to make himself bear the degrading charade of a polite meal, before his unwelcome guest took Vanessa away to whatever den of horrors awaited her. But he had never imagined Lord would choose to molest her under his own roof, while he was forced to watch.
The gangster flung Vanessa carelessly into the double bed, then grabbed the front of her expensive dress and ripped it open to the waist, exposing her large, firm breasts, straining against half cups of wet look black silk.
"My god, you are a beauty!" he drooled, licking his lips like a ravenous beast.
"Surely I don't need to watch this," Peter pleaded. "At least leave me with that much self-respect."
"I've always believed that rape should be a private act between the victim and her master," Lord replied. "My car is parked outside and there are two men in it. They'll take you wherever you want to go. Just don't say anything that might upset them."
Peter took another moment to study his helpless wife, sprawled like a sacrifice on the bed. Then, he turned and left. There was nothing more he could do for Vanessa, except hope that whatever drug Lord had given her would numb her suffering.
The fat man watched from the bedroom window as Peter climbed into the back seat of the waiting car. His men would see to it that he did not get back until well into the early hours. That gave the beast ample time to become intimately acquainted with the object of desire that now belonged to him.
"Alone at last," he grinned, gazing hungrily at the figure on the bed as he started to undress. "How are you feeling, my darling?"
Vanessa groaned, shaking her head in a vain attempt to clear her fogged brain. "Wha ... who ... are you?" she murmured weakly.
"The man you'll soon be calling Master," he replied. "It'll all become clear in time. And time is something you and I are going to have plenty of."
She tried to rise, but her body felt as heavy as lead. Though his words were indistinct and her surroundings only vaguely familiar, she sensed the menace emanating from this blurred figure. But she could not even cry out, much less offer any resistance.
When he was naked, the fat man tore off the remainder of her dress and flung it to the floor. The tiny panties that matched her bra could have been moulded to her perfect body and her dark silk hold-up stockings did full justice to her long, shapely legs. As he roamed his eyes over his prize and traced the outline of her nipples through the thin fabric that covered them, Lord silently thanked his good fortune for a man as weak and stupid as Peter Granatt. It would have been easy to break his legs or kill him, just like he deserved, but taking his beautiful wife was a much more satisfying form of revenge. For a man who had always dreamed of owning his own slave, the Purple Pearl was looking like the best investment he had ever made.
Knowing Vanessa loathed him made his conquest all the more pleasurable. From the moment he had arrived, she had been looking at him like he were a giant slug that deserved to be crushed for having the temerity to slither across the threshold of her middle-class pristine palace. Putting the arrogant bitch in her rightful place was going to be an experience to relish.
She squirmed as he kissed her, forcing his tongue into her mouth. At that moment, he was sorry he had drugged her, instead of taking her by force. He would have loved to hear her scream as he overpowered her, tied her up and raped her. But there would be plenty of time for such sport in the future. After all, this was just the first night of her new life as his slave.
With sweating hands, he mauled the helpless woman, savouring the repugnance he knew she was feeling. For the past week, he had hardly been able to sleep; such was the height of his anticipation. His rock hard penis brushed against her hip, wetting her with a trickle of pre-come.
He could have stripped her gently, as she was in no position to offer more than minimal resistance, but - as the many whores Lord had used and abused over the years could testify - gentle was not the gangster's style. Instead, he grabbed the half cups of her bra with both hands and tore open the garment. Her firm, round breasts, capped with coffee brown nipples, were even more delectable than he had imagined.
He squeezed the soft globes so hard they bruised, sucking and biting the nipples, while Vanessa squirmed and whimpered softly. She probably thought this was just a bad dream. Before long, she would discover she was living a nightmare from which there was no escape. With his lust reaching fever pitch, Lord tore off her panties and stuffed them into her mouth. Her eyes widened in panic and she tried to raise her hands to remove the gag, but her heavy limbs refused to respond. Crouched between her forcefully spread thighs, he spread the crinkled pink lips of her dark thatched sex.
"Oh Jesus, you're a beauty!" he groaned. "I've won the fucking jackpot!"
His fingers explored her warm treasure, with the same brutish lack of finesse as he had mauled her breasts. Even the strong drug could not fully block out the pain. He opened her wide, roamed his tongue over her slit, then plunged deeper. Peter might be a fool, but he had excellent taste, especially when he feasted in this honey hole. Unfortunately for him, he was never going to taste this sweet slut again.
Lord was ready to claim his prize in full, but she wasn't yet quite right. Her creamy skin was soft and unblemished. Being a fully-fledged sadist, he liked to mark his women before he fucked them.
Removing his belt from his discarded trousers, he rolled Vanessa onto her belly and went to work on her hindquarters with the thick black leather strip. The flailing belt cracked loudly against her quivering buttocks, harvesting ripe red furrows on the pale flesh. Her muffled cries grew louder and she made a renewed effort to move, but Lord ensured she remained in place by clamping his free hand on the back of her neck.
He continued to thrash her bottom until not an inch of pale skin remained. He then dropped the belt and subjected her roasted flesh to a second assault with his palm, vigorously spanking her until his arm ached. Once again, he found himself wishing she could scream, but that detracted little from his sadistic pleasure.
"Now, my little beauty, time to sample your master's cock," he grinned, rolling her onto her back again. "Do you hear what I'm saying, eh? You're about to get fucked by this big, fat, ugly bastard and there's not a thing you can do about it. Isn't that terrible? So degrading for a woman with such pride and good taste."
With a vengeful fury, he rammed his thick, nine-inch shaft to the hilt in Vanessa's tight orifice. It hurt more than he had expected, but the fact that she was dry provided him with additional pleasure. It meant that she was not even subconsciously enjoying what he was doing to her. And, unlike the whores who insulted him with their bad acting, she was unable to fake it. That particular craft might have worked with her pathetic husband, but would never have any place in a slave and Master relationship.
Snarling obscenities, squeezing her breasts and painfully twisting her nipples, he stabbed her hard and deep with his cock. He raped her with such brute force, she would have been screaming in agony, had she not been gagged and sedated.
A few minutes later he grabbed her by the hair and spat in her face, his spasming rod spewing semen into her hot depths. Lord groaned ecstatically, the cream of his manhood christening her subjugation. Now, she was truly his. When he finally withdrew from her, Lord wiped his sticky cock in her hair, then urinated over her face. The hot, salty liquid stung her eyes, gushed into her nostrils and down into her throat. By the time his bladder was emptied, Vanessa's face and hair were soaked, along with the pillow on which she lay. For Lord, this act of desecration was the perfect rape dessert.
Seeing that she was choking, he removed her gag, though not out of kindness. He was not about to let his prized possession expire without being allowed to fulfil her full worth as his slave.
"Did you enjoy that?" he asked, smacking her dripping face with his semi-flaccid cock.
All the stricken woman could manage by way of response was a muffled groan.
"We can talk later," Lord continued. "You might not remember what happened tonight, but I'll be glad to fill you in on all the details. I know you'll probably find this very offensive - being a respectable lady - but you have a mouth that just begs to be stuffed with cock. Oh yes, I'll bet you're a first class cocksucker. Let's find out, shall we?"
Turning Vanessa's head sideways, he yanked her panties from her mouth, then fed his thick veined tube of meat between her lips. Then, gripping her by the hair, he moved her head slowly back and forth, using her mouth to masturbate him back to full stiffness.
He fucked her face as aggressively as he had violated her vagina, hitting the back of her throat with each deep thrust. When his cock had swollen to full erection, she started to gag, but that just heightened his excitement. Even if she were to get sick, the beast would not be diverted from his purpose.
Having sated his initial animal lust, Lord took his time to enjoy this particular pleasure. When he was close to climax, he withdrew from Vanessa's mouth and turned his attention to her breasts. So large, so beautiful, so inviting to torture! He regretted not having thought to bring some of his specialist equipment to use on the slut, but an imaginative sadist would not be deterred by such minor details.
"Don't go anywhere, sweet slave," he grinned, squeezing her left nipple. When he returned, ten minutes later, Vanessa was still lying on the bed. She had made several attempts to get up, but the sedative was as effective as any manual bondage.
"I found some useful playthings in the garage," he announced. "I hope my slave is ready to play rough." He leaned over. "What's that you're trying to say, slave?"
"Help me!" Vanessa croaked. "Please ...!"
Lord laughed cruelly. "Sorry, sweetheart, you're asking the wrong man. The only help I'm here to provide is helping myself to your beautiful body. You're wasted on a worm like Peter. You belong with a Master who can use you to your full potential and train you to become what any good woman should be - an obedient and submissive slave."
The defenceless woman continued to feebly struggle and protest as he tied two strands of thick rope to the posts at the head of the bed, then bound her breasts, pulling the ropes so tightly, they dug painfully into the soft globes, squeezing and spreading them. When they were securely tethered, he attached a pair of red plastic clothes pegs to her nipples. Throughout the torture, her whimpers grew louder, confirming that she was not incapable of feeling the pain.
He tugged on the ropes a few times, to make sure the knots were secure, before twisting her arms behind her back and using her bra to bind her wrists. When the effects of the drug wore off, she would recover her strength, but would remain powerless to move.
Balling up her panties, he stuffed them into her semen seeping vagina. Then, he used a further dozen brightly coloured clothes pegs from the basket he had found to clamp her puffy labia, attaching six to either side. For Lord, this was the most delicious foreplay imaginable. Torturing women was always a pleasure, but consenting masochists were not nearly as much fun. Knowing the slave was deriving even a modicum of pleasure from the abuse and humiliation being inflicted upon her always detracted somewhat from his own enjoyment. But he would not be wasting his time with such women again, now that he had taken possession of his very own and very reluctant slave.
He pushed his stiff cock into Vanessa's mouth again and pinched her nostrils tightly, rendering her breathing extremely difficult. As his thrusting member filled her throat, she began to struggle more agitatedly. Her eyes bulged and her face turned a deepening shade of crimson. She was in a position where it would be possible to kill her - to literally fuck her to death. For one insane moment, Lord actually contemplated the idea. But, enjoyable though it might be, it would be an appalling and unforgivable waste of a slave.
Vanessa was close to unconsciousness, before he forced himself to withdraw from her warm mouth again. Straddling her chest, he cupped her roped breasts with both hands and squeezed his cock in the tight valley between. As his erection slid back and forth, he yanked on the clothes pegs attached to her nipples. The stricken woman was too busy gasping for breath to utter even a mild whimper.
He pleasured himself in this fashion for a few minutes, before deciding his victim was not feeling sufficient pain. His belt offered a ready remedy. Vanessa's cries grew louder as he flogged her tethered globes to a raging shade of crimson. However, even then, his taste for senseless brutality was not fully satisfied. He considered his options for a few minutes, but there was nothing in the bedroom to suit his purposes. The bathroom might prove more fruitful.
When Lord returned, he was carrying a bottle of bleach. Chuckling like a maniac, he poured the abrasive fluid over Vanessa's inflamed breasts. It burned like raw acid, bringing forth agonised cries that gladdened his black heart.
When the plastic bottle was nearly empty, he stuffed the neck into her vagina. Vanessa wrenched violently against her bondage, feeling like she was being burned alive. Just when she needed it most, the drug was beginning to lose its numbing edge. The figure of her torturer danced before her eyes. In between her hoarse shrieks, she could manage only a single word.
"Why?"
"Why?" Lord repeated. "Because - my sweet - I have the power. Oh my, you're burning up!"
He wanted to resume fucking her tits, but as she was drenched in bleach, that would have been the act of a masochist. Instead, he masturbated over her. When he ejaculated, he made certain she got a few shots of semen in her eyes. Though it would not cause any permanent damage, it would sting like hell for a while and make her think she was going blind.

It was almost four am when Peter finally returned home. He found the bedroom ransacked and his wife still tied to the bed. Beaten and bruised, semen and solidified candle wax splattered on her roasted flesh, she presented a truly appalling sight. The bleach bottle protruded from her vagina and her anus was stuffed with three pairs of her own panties. Hours of pain and relentless abuse had taken over where the drug had worn off, leaving her weakened and sobbing pitifully.
"Had a good night, Peter?" Lord asked cheerfully, as he finished dressing.
"Not particularly," he replied, averting his eyes from his wife. "I'm not proud of what I've done."
The gangster grinned. "That's your problem. I've had a great night with the lovely Vanessa and I feel proud enough for both of us. Take a good look at her. When I come back later today, this is exactly how I expect to find her. If you feel like making the slut suck your cock, you have my blessing. You can give her water, if you're feeling merciful, but she's not to be fed. Neither is she to be untied or allowed to go to the bathroom. Are you listening?"
Peter nodded. "I hear you."
"Good. What you need to remember is that this isn't your wife any more. This slave is my property now. You forget that and you'll be making matters a damn sight worse for both of you. Fatally worse!"
Peter shuddered. He could not have been more terrified if he had been confronted by the devil himself. That overcame any pity he might feel for Vanessa.
"Don't worry," Lord continued. "You won't be babysitting her for long. This time tomorrow night, she'll have disappeared forever." His eyes narrowed evilly. "I'm very good at making people disappear, Peter."









CHAPTER 2

During the hours that followed, Peter did not sleep well. As soon as Lord was gone, he switched off the light and left his wife to suffer alone in the bedroom. He could not bear to look at her again, at least not for a while.
Though everything she had suffered had been at the hands of the gangster, Peter could not escape the reality that he was the real culprit. If it weren't for him, Lord would never have got his filthy hands on Vanessa. It was a fact he would just have to learn to live with.
It was nearly midday before he finally summoned the courage to return to the scene of the crime. In the harsh daylight of a horrible hangover, the wrecked bedroom and its tortured inmate appeared even more terrible.
The drug had long since worn off, leaving just the pain and the horrible feeling of helplessness. Vanessa knew she had been beaten and raped, but the memories were no more than fragments of a ripped photograph. Her assailant was a nameless, faceless spectre. For all she knew, there could have been several.
She was almost convinced that the worst had happened to Peter. When he finally walked into the bedroom, her relief turned to puzzlement. Why did he not rush to untie her? Why did he appear more concerned about the state of the bedroom than the fact that she was tied naked to the bed?
"Peter!" she groaned. "Peter ... Peter."
He studied her for a moment, before crossing the room and crouching by the bed.
"I brought you a drink of water," he said, raising a glass to her lips.
"Untie me," she cried. "Peter, untie me!"
Her husband sighed. "I'm afraid I can't do that. Uh, do you remember what happened last night?"
"It hurts!" Vanessa pleaded. "Hurts so bad! Why aren't you helping me? Can't you see what they've done? Help me!"
"Shut up!" he snapped. "I can't help you. It's out of my hands. You belong to Lord now."
"Lord. Who....?" She stopped as the memory of a visitor who might have been from another year abruptly returned. With the recall of the fat man came a wave of panic and nausea. She knew then who had inflicted such brutality upon her defenceless body. Even more horrifying was the growing realisation that her husband had been somehow complicit in this terrible crime.
"You let him do this to me!" she whimpered.
"I owed that bastard some serious money and you were the only thing I could pay him back with," Peter told her.
"You don't own me!" Vanessa protested, her voice growing louder.
"You're right - I don't," he retorted. "Lord does. He's coming back for you later, so you can forget about me setting you free."
"You fucking prick!" the trussed woman shrieked hoarsely. "If you don't untie me ..."
"You'll do what?" Peter demanded, his throbbing hangover exploding into rage. "Make me get down on my knees and grovel, like I did when you accused me of screwing Andrea Penstone? Maybe if you hadn't treated me like a piece of shit, I'd have been less willing to sell you into slavery."
"I can't believe this!" Vanessa cried. "This is your sick idea of revenge."
Until that moment, Peter had never thought of it in such terms. But now, the months of resentment he had so carefully suppressed came flooding to the surface. There was indeed a kind of poetic justice in Vanessa's predicament.
He flung the contents of the water glass over her face. "If you want to blame somebody, blame your sister. I'm just sorry she can't see you now."
"What's this got to do with Christine?" she demanded.
"What's anything got to do with that fucking bitch?" Peter spat. "She's always hated my guts. She did a damn good job of convincing you I was fucking around. I bet she got a real kick out of hearing all about how you made me crawl and beg forgiveness for something I hadn't even done. Was that her idea?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Vanessa pleaded. "Don't let that animal touch me again. Please!"
"I was telling the truth when I said I'd never been unfaithful," her husband said. "If you don't want to be still lying here when Lord pays a return visit, you'd better start telling the truth as well. Was it your sister's idea to humiliate me?"
Vanessa was not to know that Peter had no intention of freeing her, regardless of what she told him. But this might well be his last chance to discover for certain whether or not his despised sister-in-law had acted to poison his marriage and strip him of his dignity.
"I know you don't like Christine," Vanessa began. "But ..."
"I hate the fucking bitch!" he corrected. "Now you'd better start answering my questions. The fat man could be back at any time and you don't want to be waiting for him."
"Christine ... she, she felt you needed to be taught a lesson," the bound woman said hesitantly. "I knew you had all those sexy girls dancing at your club and I was worried you wouldn't be able to resist temptation. Christine suggested I should take steps to make sure that didn't happen."
"But you already thought it was happening," he interrupted. "You thought I was fucking Andrea."
"I knew you weren't fucking Andrea," she replied. "I followed you one night. You drove her from the club and dropped her off at her flat. That was all."
"But ... but you went ahead and humiliated me anyway." Peter was practically choking on his anger.
Vanessa nodded miserably. "I'm sorry, Peter. I'm so sorry. I should never have listened to Christine."
"You're sorry now," he shouted, the veins in his temple throbbing. "Now that you're tied up and helpless, you're fucking sorry. Well, darling, it's too fucking late. I was feeling guilty about selling you to Lord, but now that I know you're no better than your sister, I'd be happy to let him have you for free."
"You can't let him touch me again!" Vanessa screamed.
"He can do whatever he damn well likes with you," her husband spat. "You can beg if you like, but when he returns, he's going to find you still tied up and waiting for him. You're his whore now and you deserve him, you paranoid bitch."
"I know what I did was wrong," she pleaded. "I'll do anything to make it up to you, I swear!"
"You're already making it up to me," he replied. "I'm just sorry I didn't stay here last night, to watch Lord working you over."
"You don't mean that!" she cried. "You can't!"
"Oh, I mean it all right," he assured her. "I had respect for you. I was faithful to you. I worked my fingers to the bone and got myself into debt with that scumbag Lord, to give you the lifestyle I thought you deserved. And how did you repay me? You humiliated me and laughed about it with your fucking sister. Would you like to call me a wimp now?"
"You are a fucking wimp," Vanessa retorted, her fear giving way to anger. "If you were a real man, you'd stand up to that fat bastard. What kind of man allows his wife to be raped and tortured?"
"Go on," Peter prompted, her insults feeding his rage. "Get it all of your chest. You won't get another chance."
"Christine was right about you," she continued, unable to halt the tirade. "She said you were a worthless scumbag, that I should never have married. I should have listened to her. If you weren't screwing that slut in your club, it's probably because you knew she would have laughed at your little boy cock. This is what gets you off, isn't it? Seeing a woman tied up and abused. You weren't even man enough to rape me yourself, you pathetic shit."
"So you want to be raped, eh?" he shouted. "You want me to prove I can do that? Well, I don't think your owner would mind me having a little fun with you." He began unbuckling his belt. "I never imagined you were the kind of woman who could enjoy that."
Only then did Vanessa realise she had pushed him too far. His hate-filled expression was even more terrifying than that of Lord. She started to plead for mercy again, but only succeeded in further fuelling his excitement. Peter was looking at the helpless woman on the bed, but seeing Vanessa on that evening she had accused him of being unfaithful.

He could still feel the sting as she slapped him across the face.
"Don't lie to me!" she yelled. "I know all about you and that whore from the club. You make me sick!"
He had been the helpless one then, falling to his knees before her, tears streaming down his cheeks.
No matter how he protested his innocence, Vanessa refused to believe he had not betrayed her. Unable to bear the thought of losing her, he had grovelled and pleaded like a slave. He kissed her boots, begging for forgiveness even when there was nothing to forgive.
Vanessa allowed him to completely degrade himself, before finally relenting. She was prepared to give him the benefit of the doubt, provided he fired Andrea and swore never to see her again.

At the time, Peter had not believed she could have actually enjoyed seeing him grovel. Now, he thought differently.
"Know what I'm going to do when you're gone?" he taunted, unzipping his jeans. "I'm going to give Andrea her job back and give her all your nice jewellery by way of an apology. When Lord is fucking you up the arse, you can think of me fucking her in this bed. Who'll be laughing then, eh?"
Seizing Vanessa by the hair, he mounted the bed and forced her mouth towards his semi-erect cock.
"Suck it, you fucking whore!" he growled. "Your owner gave permission."
"That's the spirit, my friend."
Peter reacted as though he had been shot, tumbling to the floor.
"The door wasn't locked, so I let myself in," Lord grinned, stepping into the bedroom.
"I wasn't expecting you back so soon," the younger man spluttered, stuffing his penis back into his underwear as he dragged himself awkwardly to his feet.
"I missed my slave," the fat man explained. "But I see now she was in capable hands. Don't let me interrupt you. Carry on with what you were about to do. It'll be your last chance before she's gone forever."
"Forget it," Peter stammered. "Just take the bitch with my compliments."
"Keep him away from me!" Vanessa screamed, struggling frantically as Lord stepped towards the bed.
"What kind of welcome is that for your Master?" the gangster growled. "You're going to have to start being nice to me, now that you're going to be living in my house. And I want you to be nice to your husband too. Show the man some respect. Untie her."
The other man did as he was told, keeping a wary eye on Lord. When Vanessa was free, he helped her from the bed. Before she could even think of running, Lord immediately pushed her to her knees.
"Down where you belong, my pretty slave dog," he leered.
"You stay away from me!" she shrieked.
Lord tutted. "You're so beautiful. Pity for you you're such a slow learner. Have you ever whipped a woman, Peter?"
The other man shook his head.
"Then it's about time you did." Lord opened his briefcase and produced a coiled whip. "This'll soon have her doing whatever you want. Let me show you how it's done."
Peter stepped aside as the fat man uncoiled the whip and cracked it on the polished wooden floor. Vanessa scrambled for cover on all fours, but the thin, braided leather whip tongue was faster. It hissed through the air and slashed across her buttocks.
"Yeeeeowwwwwwwwwwwwwwww... !"
The burning pain restored her voice. As she scampered across the floor, Lord lashed out again, pursuing her with an evil grin. Peter barred her path to the doorway and when she tried to get up, pushed her back down with his right boot. He no longer felt the slightest sympathy for this defenceless woman that was his wife. Knowing what he now did, she deserved every lick of the whip and plenty more besides.
"That's how you tame a woman," Lord sneered, cutting a blazing welt across the backs of her thighs. "Here, you give her a taste of it."
Peter took the whip, his fingers closing around the hard plastic handle. Though he had never handled such a weapon before and had never contemplated inflicting such punishment upon any woman, the whip immediately instilled him with a sense of power.
"Don't spare it," Lord told him.
Peter didn't. His first few lashes fell wide of the mark, but he soon got the feel of the whip. Shrieking at the top of her voice, Vanessa reeled beneath a relentless hail of whiplashes. The leather cord bit her like an angered beast and blood trickled from several wounds on her thighs and buttocks.
For Peter, the sensation of raw power was more exhilarating than anything he had ever experienced. He wielded the cruel whip like a maniac, savouring every second of his vengeance. The louder Vanessa screamed, the harder he whipped her. One lash struck her in the face, dangerously close to her right eye. But even had he blinded her, Peter would have shown no mercy.
He would probably have seriously injured the woman, had Lord not finally commanded him to stop. As Peter reluctantly dropped the whip, the gangster seized Vanessa and twisted her arms behind her back.
"That was quite a thrashing, wasn't it?" he grated. "Lucky I was here to save you."
"Let me go!" the whipped woman sobbed, tears and snot streaming down her face.
"You know I can't do that," Lord responded. "You're coming away with me. But before we go, I want you to say goodbye to your loving husband. How would you like her to say it, Peter?"
"With her cocksucker mouth," the other man replied, unzipping his jeans again.
With Lord holding her arms in a painful lock and Peter seizing her by the hair, Vanessa could offer no resistance. The fat man chortled delightedly as her husband rubbed his cock over her face, stroking it to full stiffness in preparation for an assault on her mouth.
When he was ready, he forced his stiff shaft between her lips and began fucking her face. Vanessa shut her eyes. For an instant, she contemplated biting down with all her remaining strength and severing Peter's manhood with her teeth. But if she did that, she would almost certainly be killed. Beaten and humiliated she might be, but she was determined to survive this horrible ordeal, if only for the satisfaction of making them pay.
Peter neither knew nor cared what was going through her mind. This was how he would remember his wife, kneeling before him, choking on his cock as she paid a heavy price for thinking she could walk all over him.
Vanessa gagged as he climaxed in her mouth, his spasming cockhead touching the back of her throat. He did not withdraw until every drop was spent. As his wife tried to catch her breath, semen oozed from her nostrils and the corners of her mouth.
"Right, time to get this beauty wrapped up and delivered to her new home," Lord announced, taking a mobile phone from inside his jacket.
A few moments later, two heavily built men in overalls arrived in the bedroom, bearing a large wooden crate. Peter watched as they assisted Lord in wrapping Vanessa in strong silver duct tape, from her shoulders to her ankles. By the time they were finished, she looked like a mummy. After she had been fitted with a black rubber ball gag, a heavy canvas sack was pulled over her head and secured around her throat. Peter thought she would probably suffocate before she arrived at her destination, but he was not about to say anything. Whatever happened to her, he knew he would not be seeing her again.
After she had been wrapped, the men stuffed her into the crate, then nailed down the lid. Not a word was spoken throughout the entire operation and the two heavies did not even glance at Peter as they lifted the crate of human cargo and carried it from the room.
Lord extended a hand. "Congratulations, my friend. Your debts are no more. Good luck with the club."
Peter shook his hand. "Thanks. I hope you ... uh ..."
"Enjoy the lovely Vanessa," the gangster finished. "Don't worry, I will. Now, I'd advise you to turn your mind to the small matter of explaining your wife's disappearance. How you go about that is entirely up to you, but take a word of warning. If the police start asking questions, my name had better not come up in any of your answers. I make myself clear, don't I?"
As he spoke, he squeezed Peter's hand so hard it hurt.
"You have no need to worry about that," the younger man assured him.

Once Vanessa was gone, Peter set to work on a plan to explain her disappearance. After he had carefully cleaned the bedroom, he packed two cases of her clothes, jewellery and makeup. Along with these, he packed her passport, credit cards and any other documents he thought a runaway wife might take. The luggage was then taken to a remote spot and burned.
When he returned home, Peter telephoned Christine, sounding appropriately anxious as he enquired if she had seen or heard from her sister. He explained that he had come home to find Vanessa gone, along with most of her belongings. The only possible explanation was that she had left him.
Under different circumstances, Christine would have greeted the news with unconcealed pleasure. However, the fact that she had not been party to her sister's plans considerably diluted her joy.
"When Vanessa contacts you, would you ask her to call me?" Peter asked. "Please! Surely I deserve at least that much."
"I'll pass on your message," his sister-in-law replied coldly. "But don't get your hopes up. If she left you, she must have had a good reason. Perhaps you've been fucking around again."
He slammed down the receiver. How could that bitch accuse him of fucking around again, when she knew full well that he had never done such a thing in the first place? Whatever Vanessa was suffering, Christine deserved in multiples of ten. Never had he felt such loathing for another human being.
He forced her from his mind. It was time to pay a visit to Andrea Penstone.































CHAPTER 3

Naked and shivering, more from terror than cold, Vanessa was kneeling on the floor of a windowless cell that was no larger than a toilet cubicle. Covering the concrete was a coarse carpet of fresh straw. There was no furniture of any description and the walls and ceiling were unpainted concrete. The only illumination was provided by a strip light above the heavy black iron door.
Vanessa had no idea where she was or how long it had taken her to get here. She could not even tell if it was night or day. Several hours had passed since her captors had broken open the lid of her crate, dragged her out semi-conscious and removed her bonds, painfully plucking her skin as they peeled off the tape. Then, they had left her, without saying a word.
Since then, she had screamed herself hoarse, then tried the steel door. Of course, it was locked. Whoever these people were and whatever their devilish purpose, there was no chance that their captive would be allowed to escape.
When all hope was gone, Vanessa slumped to her knees and began crying softly. Only Peter knew where she was and his part in her fate was already clear. She could be tortured, raped, perhaps even killed, and nobody would ever know.
She was still sobbing hoarsely, when she heard the grating of a key in the door lock. The sound caused her to scurry like a rat against the rear wall of the dimly lit dungeon. Unable to either fight or flee, her only remaining instinct was to cower in terror. When the time came to beg, she would beg for a mercy she knew she was unlikely to receive. The time for any show of dignity had long since passed.
The visitor was not Lord or one of his henchmen, but a tall, slender woman with short, spiked and bleached hair. She was dressed in shiny black rubber bikini briefs and black leather combat boots, laced almost to her knees. Otherwise, she was completely naked. Her body was heavily tattooed and a pair of gold rings, joined by a heavy chain, hung from the pierced nipples of her heavy breasts. She appeared to be in her early forties, with the grim countenance of a schoolmistress from the dark ages. Her large, black framed spectacles served only to accentuate this aspect of her features. Around her throat was a lethally spike studded black leather choker. In her right fist she carried a cylindrical black object that resembled a torch.
One look at the woman's face was sufficient to dispel any slender hope the captive might have felt at her appearance. This person was neither friend nor rescuer. She was looking at Vanessa like she was a particularly distasteful form of vermin.
"Come here," she rasped, beckoning with the crooked middle finger of her left hand.
Vanessa did not move.
"I said come here!" the woman barked, her voice like fingernails scraping a blackboard. "I won't tell you again."
"Wh ... who are you?" the prisoner whimpered.
"I'm going to count to three," the woman said. "If you haven't crawled over here on your hands and knees by then, you'll be sorry. One ..."
Vanessa remained cowering against the wall, paralysed with fear.
The woman counted to three, then stepped forward, seized her by the hair and jammed the metallic tip of the object in her right fist against her belly. A jolt of electricity hit Vanessa like a bullet. She jerked violently as a searing ball of white-hot pain exploded in her guts. Her vision blurred and her vocal chords contracted. In that instant, she was certain she had died.
It took her a few moments to recover from the effects of the stun gun. The woman released her hair and she slumped back against the wall, wheezing and gasping for breath.
Her torturer stepped back. "I'm going to count to three again. If you're not crawling over here like a dog by then, I'm going to ram this up your cunt and make you wish I'd cut your stupid head off."
Vanessa somehow found the presence of mind to begin crawling towards the terrifying woman and save herself from even greater agony. The beast glared at her for a moment, then jabbed a finger into her left eye, like a vicious playground bully.
"You've learnt your first lesson," the beast rasped. "Don't touch your eye. From now on, you don't do anything without my permission. That includes speaking. This is your new home. You won't find it a very pleasant place to live, but that's your problem. You came here in a box and if you ever leave again, it will be in a different kind of box. If you understand, just nod."
Vanessa hesitated, then nodded. She wanted to speak, to scream herself awake from this nightmare, but her first painful lesson at the hands of this female sadist was one she had learned well.
"Follow me," the woman commanded. "Don't even think about getting up or making a sound. Just trot along, like the dog that you are. Understand?"
Again, Vanessa nodded.
Moving uncomfortably on all fours, she followed the woman out of the cell. She turned right, through another doorway and ascended five stone steps, into darkness. She waited until Vanessa was crouched at her feet, before turning on the light.
The captive found herself in another windowless room. However, this was considerably larger than her cell and infinitely more appalling. The walls were painted a dark shade of grey. Hanging from the overhead beams was a selection of chains, manacles and hooks.
At the far end of the torture chamber was a wrought iron black table. Lord stood beside it, his upper body bare. To his left was a brazier, filled with glowing coals.
"Hello again, slave?" he grinned. "Enjoying the hospitality?"
"Answer your Master," the woman snarled.
"Let me out of here!" Vanessa pleaded.
"You know I can't do that," Lord replied. "Well, I can, but I'm not going to. This is your home now, so you'd better get used to it. If you learn to behave, we may even treat you like a human being, from time to time."
"You can't do this!" she protested.
"Let's give our slave a taste of just what we can't do," he told the woman.
As the pair seized her and began dragging her towards the table, Vanessa screamed and struggled with all her remaining strength. But another shot from the stun gun, to the small of her back, swiftly put paid to her resistance.
By the time she recovered, she was lying face down on the iron table, with her wrists manacled to either side. While the woman held the stun gun to her forehead, gripping her hair with one fist, Lord chained her knees to the edges of the table. He then tied a rope around her left ankle. Having tugged it upwards and wrapped it around her neck, he secured it around her right ankle. Both ankles were now almost at shoulder height, her splayed legs bent in an extremely uncomfortable position.
"Better not dance, unless you want to strangle yourself," the sadist told her.
Crouching down, the woman leaned close to Vanessa, her face only inches from hers.
"Do you know what we're going to do to you now, slave?" she said softly.
Vanessa shook her head.
The woman slapped her across the face. "Answer me, you ignorant bitch! Do you know what we're going to do to you now?"
"N .... no," she whimpered.
"Take a guess."
"You're going to ... to hurt me."
The woman smiled evilly. "That's right. We're going to hurt you. Brand you, to be precise."
Lord plunged a pair of irons, joined by a length of thick chain, into the coals. While he waited for them to heat, he offered some advice to the terrified captive.
"You're probably hoping you'll eventually be rescued from this hellhole, but you should put such fantasies out of your mind. Nobody but Peter knows you're here and he values his life too much to go squealing to anyone. Besides, Andrea Penstone will be keeping him busy from now on."
"In other words, sweet thing, you're doomed," his female companion added.
"You're going to kill me?" Vanessa croaked.
"If necessary," Lord answered. "How long you stay alive is largely up to you. But dead is the only way you'll ever leave here again, so you might as well get used to the idea."
"What my husband means is, we would think nothing of putting you down like a useless dog, should you give us the slightest excuse," the woman explained.
"Husband!" the prisoner repeated.
"Meet Judith, my good lady wife and your joint owner," said Lord. "She'll be playing a large part in your training."
"And I shall enjoy every minute of it," the woman smiled. "That branding iron should be hot enough now."
The tips of the irons and the length of chain that Lord drew from the fire, with a shower of sparks, glowed bright orange. He dangled it briefly before Vanessa's face, before placing the chain across her buttocks and pressing down on both irons. As a searing spear of nerve shredding agony ripped through her, a long, hoarse scream burst from her lungs. Claws of white smoke rose from her scorched flesh.
Lord held the irons in place for half a minute. When they were finally raised, the chain links were imprinted across the centre of her creamy globes. Vanessa's head slumped, but Judith yanked her upright again by the hair.
"Nice job," she mused.
Lord spat on the slave's left buttock and watched his saliva sizzle on the scorched flesh.
"Looks good," he agreed. "You mind if I fuck her while you brand her forehead?"
"Do whatever you want with the cunt," Judith replied. "Just make sure she doesn't hang herself."
"It wasn't her cunt I had in mind," he grinned, unzipping his trousers.
Vanessa was somewhat revived by the bucket of icy, putrid water Judith flung over her face. By then, Lord had climbed between her legs and was ramming his cock into her anus. To ensure she did not accidentally asphyxiate herself with the rope around her throat, he gripped her ankles tightly.
While she watched the rape, Judith heated a fresh iron in the coals. She was enjoying the captive's plight even more than her husband. In Vanessa, the sadistic gargoyle saw every beautiful, confident bitch that had ever made her feel like dogshit on her shoe. Here were all the girls who had bullied her in school and the women who had treated her like a leper throughout her life, for the crime of not conforming to the accepted ideal of female beauty.
Delbert Lord had never called her ugly and no slender, long legged bimbo had stolen him from her. He was her soulmate - the man who found a twisted beauty in her dark soul and nurtured it to full fruition. Now, he was providing her with this opportunity to wreak vengeance upon one who embodied every imagined slight against her femininity. Vanessa was not the first woman Judith had enjoyed the pleasure of torturing, but none would have endured anything like she was about to suffer.
When the iron was sufficiently hot, Judith withdrew it from the coals. Grabbing Vanessa's hair with one hand, she jerked her head back, then pressed the glowing iron to her forehead, branding her with an inch high letter S. The woman screamed and struggled briefly, before once again losing consciousness. As Judith withdrew the smoking iron, Lord milked the hot cream of his climax over Vanessa's freshly branded buttocks.

When Vanessa opened her eyes again, ten minutes later, she thought her head was about to explode from the pain that split her skull. Lord and his wife stood to either side of her, like a pair of leering demons.
"Want some aspirin?" the woman asked her.
"Please," Vanessa croaked.
"Well, you're not getting any," Judith replied. "In case you hadn't already guessed, we enjoy seeing you suffer."
"And you'll suffer some more, unless you behave like a good little slave girl," Lord added. "Get up."
Only then did Vanessa realise that her bonds had been removed. Groaning in agony, she raised herself slowly from the table. When her feet touched the floor, she slumped to her knees. Standing up required more effort than her tortured body was capable of.
"Get up, you whore!" Lord barked. "Otherwise, I'm going to take a whip to your sorry arse and flog you 'til you haven't a strip of skin left."
"Why don't you just kill me?" she sobbed. "Isn't that what you really want to do?"
"A dead slave is of no use to us," Judith told her. "However, if you test our patience, we can make your every minute with us a living hell. Unless you really enjoy suffering, I suggest you do as you're told."
With a supreme effort, Vanessa managed to drag herself to her feet again. Her captors then grabbed her arms and marched her to the other end of the dungeon, past instruments of torture that she could not even bear to look at.
"You're going to perform a little test now," Lord told her, handcuffing her wrists behind her back. "Nothing too complicated. See those two metal strips on the floor?"
Vanessa nodded.
He slapped her across the face. "I asked you a question, slave."
"Yes, Master," she sobbed.
"The two most important words in your vocabulary," he said. "Don't forget them again."
The two gleaming strips in question ran parallel along the length of the dungeon floor, four feet apart. Following the instructions of her tormentors, Vanessa planted a foot on either strip. Judith then held a white china saucer to her lips and ordered her to hold it between her teeth.
"Walk to the end of the room and back, without dropping that saucer," Lord told her. "If you do drop it, you'll be punished."
Despite the fact that she was in agony and her legs were spread uncomfortably wide, it seemed a relatively simple task. Holding the saucer tightly between her teeth, Vanessa began to walk.
She had taken only three steps, when a bolt of electrical current shot like red-hot darts through the soles of both feet. Yelping in pain and surprise, she dropped the saucer and it shattered on the stone floor.
Lord sighed. "Not a good start. Would you care to punish her, my dear?"
"With pleasure," Judith replied, flexing a riding crop between both hands.
Vanessa shrieked as the crop cut across the backs of her thighs with a resounding THWACK. Had Lord not grabbed her by the hair, she would have fallen again.
"That was an expensive saucer," Judith growled. "You'd better not break any more."
A moment later, holding another saucer between her teeth, Vanessa resumed her agonising walk. Once again, she had taken only a few steps, before another blast of current razed her feet. As the saucer hit the floor, she fell to her knees.
"Useless bitch!" Judith screamed, striking at her breasts with the crop. "Those saucers cost me forty pence each. That's more than you're worth. Get up! Get up!"
The cruel torture continued in this fashion for over an hour. By the time Vanessa had finally managed to stagger to the end of the dungeon and back, her legs, buttocks and breasts had been badly scorched by the riding crop. According to Judith's calculations, she had broken over four pounds worth of cheap crockery. She might as well have broken a precious family heirloom. Her punishment was as humiliating as it was painful. While Judith pinned her down to a nearby table, Lord forced the crown of his cock into her anus and began to urinate. Vanessa grunted as she felt the hot fluid fill her bowels and swell her belly.
"What do you do when your Master uses you as a toilet?" Judith demanded.
Vanessa shook her head. "I don't know ... Mistress."
"You hold his piss inside you, as if your life depended on it," the fearsome woman snarled. "Is that clear enough for you, you retarded cunt?"
"Yes, Mistress," the degraded woman answered.
"You don't want to know what we'll do if you make a mess," Judith added.
As Lord withdrew his dripping cock from her rectum, Vanessa clenched her sphincter muscles. Her stomach ached, but she was more terrified of expelling the disgusting enema than she was of the pain.
Her tormentors forced her to pick up each piece of broken crockery with her teeth and deposit it in the dustbin by the door. Judith wielded the crop, while Lord captured her degradation on a camcorder. Vanessa did not even
notice the small cuts to her lips and barely heard the taunts of the hellish pair. For her, there was nothing but the pain in her swollen belly.
Of course, she could not hold on forever. Before her laborious task was fully completed, she lost control of her bowels. Judith leaped upon her with the whip, shrieking the most obscene names imaginable as she flogged her. She then rubbed Vanessa's face in the putrid mess, before using her hair to clean the floor.
"Only way to train a dirty dog," she grunted.
"Maybe we should show the dog to her kennel now," Lord suggested.



























CHAPTER 4

Peter did not need to employ any great detective skills to find Andrea Penstone. The young woman who had so aroused his wife's jealousy was working as a dancer in a rival strip club. Despite the fact that he had given her a farewell present of a thousand pounds, she was not particularly pleased to see her former employer. She refused to even consider returning to the Purple Pearl, until Peter offered her another sizeable cash gift. He could ill-afford to part with five thousand pounds, but Andrea was more to him than just a very beautiful and talented stripper. In the past, when he had driven her home from the club, only the fear of Vanessa finding out had given him the strength to resist the ample temptations of the twenty-three year old redhead. Had he made an advance, he had no doubt he would find her responsive. This time around, he was not going to be so foolish. While Vanessa suffered at the hands of Lord, Peter would enjoy his new plaything, without remorse. Having Christine find out would be the sweetest revenge of all.
"Why go to all this expense to tempt me back to your club?" Andrea demanded suspiciously, having carefully examined the bulging envelope of cash.
"It's my way of saying sorry," Peter replied. "I should never have fired you. I never would have, if it hadn't been for my wife."
"Go on," the stripper told him, lighting a cigarette.
"Vanessa thought you and I were having an affair," he explained. "I couldn't convince her it was all in her imagination. She gave me an ultimatum. It was you or her. I was a stupid, spineless fool, Andrea, and I'm sorry."
"So what's changed?"
"Vanessa's left me," he said. "Probably ran off with whoever was screwing her, while she was having those fantasies about you and me. I don't know where the slut is gone and I don't give a shit. If I never see her again, it'll be too soon. Come back to the club, Andrea. Please."
Were it not for the cash, Peter would have been wasting his time. Andrea was not even sure she believed his story. But she was a professional. She didn't have to like the man she was working for, any more than she had to like the men she was dancing for. In her line of business, money was the only language that meant anything.
"There's one other thing," Peter continued. "If you come back to work for me, it won't be as a dancer. I want you to be my floor manager. That means you'll be in charge of hiring the girls and seeing to the smooth running of that end of the business. How does that sound?"
"Sounds like there's a catch," Andrea replied.
"No catch," he assured her.
He knew she did not believe him, but that was fine. If she thought she was being offered the job because he wanted to do what he had already been accused of doing with her, and she still accepted, his plan would be falling neatly into place.
The stripper smiled. "In that case, the answer is yes."

"No! No!" Vanessa groaned.
"Eat it!" Lord commanded, pushing the bowl of dog food towards her.
The prisoner crouched on all fours, the iron collar around her neck chained to the wall of her small cell. A steel spreader bar was manacled to her ankles, another to her wrists. Both bars were connected in the centre by a third long bar, which ran between her breasts and down between her thighs, severely restricting her movements. If she attempted to stand up, she would be cut by the shards of glass inside the pink strips of bandage wound around her feet.
Having decided that Vanessa should live as a dog, her captors now treated her as such. Her bed was a small pile of coarse straw. One of her red plastic bowls was filled with tepid water, the other with the dog food Lord was now attempting to force her to eat.
"I said eat it, you fucking bitch!" the fat man roared, cuffing her across the back of the head.
"Can't eat, Master!" Vanessa whimpered.
"Do we have a talking dog?" he demanded. "Or just a stupid whore who can't understand all we told her?"
"Please, Master, don't hurt me any more," she begged.
"You say another word and your Mistress will sew your lips up," Lord warned her. "As long as you continue to live like a dog, you bark and you whine like a dog. You're going to be taught a lot of tricks, but none of those tricks will involve talking. If I hear one more word from you, I'm going to drag you back to the dungeon and give you a few hours of electric shock treatment. Do you think you could stand that?"
Vanessa miserably shook her head.
"I thought not," Lord growled. "Now, are you going to eat your food, or am I going to have to make you?"
The thought of eating dog food made the captive feel sick, but she knew that if she refused, she would be forced to endure even worse. Lowering her head to the bowl, Vanessa took her first mouthful of the pungent, soggy meat. Somehow, she managed to chew and swallow it without retching.
"There's a good dog," her master sneered. "Maybe we won't have to beat you again tonight, after all." Vanessa was spared another beating, but being forced to eat a full tin of dog food and lick the bowl clean was as nauseating as anything she had so far experienced.
"Sleep well," Lord said. "You'll need all your strength for tomorrow's training."
Sobbing on her uncomfortable bed of straw, the helpless woman tried not to contemplate what horrors the morning might bring. Instead, she forced herself to think about her freedom. Sooner or later, she would be rescued.
No matter what they did to her, she had to believe that she would be delivered from the clutches of these bestial people. Without that fragile thread of hope, she would lose her mind.
As far as her captors were concerned, they had committed the near-perfect crime. Their fantasy of owning a slave had come to fruition and she would never be allowed to escape.
"Do you think Peter can be trusted to keep his mouth shut?" Judith asked. Sitting in their comfortable lounge, sipping drinks and listening to a Mozart symphony on the hi-fi, she and Lord could have been any respectable middle class couple, unwinding at the end of a long day.
"I've got Granatt better trained than that dog in the basement," he assured her. "He won't give us any trouble."
"But what if the police put pressure on him?" Judith asked. "If he's that spineless, he might just break down and confess."
"He might be spineless, but he's not stupid," Lord argued. "Besides, we have our spies in the club. If Peter looks likely to step out of line, I'll know about it."
Though Judith played the dutiful wife to the macho gangster, she was actually the backbone of his criminal empire. Without her ruthlessness and determination, Lord might have remained forever in the minor league. It was Judith who had masterminded some of his most lucrative operations, as well as the elimination of his major rivals. Where Lord might sometimes hesitate to use violence when diplomacy might pay dividends, his wife despised such niceties. None of Lord's enemies had died without her knowledge and she had personally participated in several brutal murders. Few of their victims were allowed to die without being slowly and horribly tortured. Over the years, the fat man had learned to stomach her excesses and respect her grim determination. With Judith by his side, he was invincible.
Had it been up to her, Peter would have repaid his debt with his life. Fortunately for him, Lord's suggestion that they take Vanessa instead had held more appeal. Owning a slave would allow Judith to fulfil her fantasy of complete control over another human being.
"Keep a close eye on him," she said. "If he looks like he's going to give the game away, we'll have to deal with him."

Peter was sure he would be hearing from his sister-in-law again. But he hadn't bargained on Christine bursting into his office, when he was talking business with his new Floor Manager.
"Hope I'm not interrupting anything," the raven-haired woman said frostily.
"If you're looking for a job, you'll have to talk to Andrea," he replied.
"You didn't take long to get over Vanessa," Christine said, glaring at the other woman. "Or were you screwing this bitch all along?"
"Who the fuck are you?" Andrea demanded angrily.
"I'm Vanessa's sister," Christine replied. "You know who Vanessa is, I presume."
"You have no right to come barging in and talking to Andrea like that," Peter said, rising to his feet.
"I'm sorry if I've offended your whore," Christine sneered. "Maybe she should leave."
"You're the one that should leave," he retorted. "I've got nothing to say to you."
"Well, I have a few things to say to you," the grim faced woman replied. "If you want her to listen, that's fine. I'm sure she already knows the kind of scumbag you are."
"I'll call security," said Andrea.
"Give us a few minutes," Peter told her. "You throw her out, she'll just come back, like a bad smell."
As Andrea left the office, the two women exchanged glares like daggers.
"So, have you heard from Vanessa?" Peter demanded, when they were alone.
"No, I haven't heard from her," Christine replied. "But I think you know that already."
"How should I know that?" he snapped. "She didn't even leave a note when she walked out on me. I don't know where she is or who she's with and, to be brutally honest, I don't care any more."
"Don't waste your bullshit on me," his sister-in-law retorted. "If Vanessa was planning a disappearing act, I would have known about it."
"Maybe she had some secrets from you too," he suggested.
Christine shook her head. "You're the one with the secrets, Peter. You and Andrea. I don't know what has happened to my sister, but I know you and that slut had something to do with it."
"You watch too many soap operas," he retorted. "Now, I'm a busy man, so if you don't have any more fantasies to share, you can use the door. If I hear from Vanessa, I'll let you know."
"I won't be far away," Christine promised.
Outside the door, Andrea listened to the argument. Even before Christine had left, she was on the telephone to Delbert Lord.

The following morning, after another bowl of dog food, Vanessa was led on a leash out to the back garden of her new home. Lord was gone for the day, leaving her in the custody of his wife.
Judith was dressed in a dominatrix uniform of black leather jacket, matching shorts and knee high motorcycle boots. The stun gun was tucked into her shorts and she gripped a coiled whip in her right fist. Vanessa wore only her collar and two sets of manacles and chains on her wrists and ankles.
"Now for some serious doggy training," Judith announced. "When your master comes home this evening, you'll be greeting him like a real four-legged friend. We'll start by giving you a new name. Bitchy sounds quite appropriate, don't you think?"
Vanessa nodded, knowing she was no longer permitted to speak.
Picking up a short stick, Judith tossed it to the far end of the garden.
"Fetch, Bitchy!" she shouted.
Vanessa scurried across the grass, as swiftly as her chains permitted. When she reached the stick, she picked it up between her teeth and returned it to her captor.
"On your hind legs, Bitchy," Judith commanded, cracking the whip against her boot.
Vanessa obediently raised herself to her knees. After she had taken the stick, Judith tossed it away again and ordered her to fetch.
This humiliating game continued for over an hour, leaving Vanessa panting and sweating. She had felt the bite of the whip on several occasions, when her tormentor decided she was not moving fast enough.
Judith pointed her whip at a nearby puddle. "Have a drink, Bitchy. You've been a good dog."
When Vanessa hesitated, the whip slashed her breasts.
"I'm ordering you to have a drink!" the ugly woman snarled.
The captive shuffled towards the puddle, lowered her head and began lapping up the water. Fortunately, it was relatively clean, though the taste was far from palatable.
When she was finished, Judith presented her with a large bone and ordered her to bury it. She watched intently, whip held in readiness, savouring the spectacle of the beautiful young woman breaking her fingernails as she clawed at the earth. From her point of view, this was more exciting than sex and more fulfilling than any torture she had ever inflicted.
Vanessa's fingers were hurt and bleeding, but she clawed stubbornly at the ground, until she had dug a hole several inches deep. She then picked up the bone with her teeth and deposited it in the hole, before scraping the soil back into place.
Several more gruelling hours of training left her exhausted and filthy. Judith washed her clean with icy water from the garden hose, then ordered her to stand in the sun until she had dried off.
"When you're dry, you can come inside," she told her.
Left alone, Vanessa surveyed the garden. The perimeter walls were at least twelve feet high and topped with lethal steel spikes, making escape impossible. Even if she could find an escape route, she knew she would not get very far. It was better not to even think about it.
As soon as she was dry, she crawled into the kitchen, where Judith had just finished preparing lunch. The smell of fresh food was mouth-watering, but Vanessa did not expect to taste any. Allowing her to watch her eat was just another of the sadistic woman's cruel tricks. Crouched beneath the table, she was forced to lick Judith's boots. Her reward was a few scraps tossed from her plate, which Vanessa savoured.
Afterwards, Judith found a new use for her pet. Peeling off her shorts, she sat on a chair in the centre of the kitchen, with her legs wide open. Gripping her slave by the collar, she commanded her to lick her pussy.
"Not every dog gets a treat like this," she breathed. "You're a very lucky Bitchy. I just hope you appreciate it."
Vanessa had eaten dog food, drunken stale water and urine, but the other woman's wet, hairy slash was still repulsive. However, she knew better than to show even the slightest reluctance.
"That's my doggy!" Judith grunted, twisting her hair and smothering her in her humid sex. "Make Mistress cum and she might not treat you too badly for the rest of the day."
Vanessa spent over half an hour with her tongue buried at full stretch in her tormentor's wet hole. She succeeded in making Judith climax twice, but wished instead that she could tear out her clitoris with her teeth.
By the time Lord returned home, early that evening, Vanessa had been taught how she should greet him. Raising herself to her knees, she grabbed his thighs with both hands and nuzzled his crotch with her nose. Unfortunately, in her eagerness to please him and avoid punishment, she had forgotten to wipe her hands before entering the house. Lord's pinstriped trousers were soiled where she had grabbed him.
"Look what you've done, you stupid mutt!" he roared, pushing her roughly away. "My fucking trousers are ruined. Have you been training this dumb animal, Judith?"
"All day," his wife replied. "But it's a slow business with such a stupid dog. She should have known to wipe her paws, before coming inside."
Of course, Judith should have reminded Vanessa to wipe her hands, before ordering her to greet her master. But that would have spoiled the fun of seeing her punished for her unthinking indiscretion.
"Looks like Bitchy has earned another good thrashing," the bespectacled woman said, drawing her riding whip.
"I have a better idea," said Lord. "See if there isn't something tasty in the laundry basket."
Knowing exactly what he meant, Judith smiled.
"Out, you filthy mutt!" Lord barked, kicking Vanessa's backside.
The sobbing slave scampered towards the door, hurried along by another bruising kick and a tirade of obscene abuse. Moments later, they were joined in the garden by Judith.
"Have a sniff," she said, holding a pair of soiled white lace panties to Vanessa's nose.
The slave instinctively recoiled. The crotch of Judith's panties was stained with yellow and they smelled like they had been worn for several days. In fact, Judith had worn this particular pair for an entire week, for the sole purpose of preparing them for her slave.
"Sniff them, Bitchy!" she snarled, slapping the helpless woman across the face.
Vanessa tried not to breathe too deeply as the soiled lace was rubbed over her nose. When Judith was satisfied she had taken the scent, she commanded her to shut her eyes. Lord ensured they remained shut, while his wife found a place to conceal the garment.
"Now, Bitchy, you have a chance to prove just how good a sniffer dog you are," Judith announced. "Find my panties and bring them to me."
"You heard your Mistress," Lord added, smacking her buttocks. "Go! Now!"
Vanessa did not have to spend long crawling around the garden, before she located Judith's discarded underwear. The panties had been placed in the middle of a large rose bush. There was no way she could retrieve them without getting badly scratched.
"Now, fetch!" Judith screeched. "What are you waiting for?"
Vanessa turned pleading eyes in the direction of her captors, but knew they would show no mercy. Whip in hand, Judith hurried towards her.
Vanessa yelped as a lash cracked across her buttocks.
"Fetch, damn you!" Judith cried, striking her again. "If you don't do as you're told, I'll skin your miserable arse with this whip."
Knowing she had no choice, Vanessa thrust her hands into the bush.
"Get them with your mouth, stupid dog!" Judith yelled. "Fucking imbecile!"
The riding whip slashed Vanessa's defenceless rear cheeks as the thorns of the rose bush clawed at her face, hands and upper body. Whimpering in pain, she shut her eyes, blindly seeking out the object of her mission. Though the panties were less than two feet away, reaching them with her mouth was an exercise in the purest agony.
When she finally emerged from the rose bush, her arms, breasts, shoulders and face were bleeding from numerous small lacerations. Tears joined the rivulets of crimson that trickled down her face as she dropped the ripped panties at the feet of her mistress.
"Now eat them," Judith commanded.
Vanessa responded with an expression of disbelief.
The woman sighed theatrically. "I thought we'd made some progress this afternoon, but it seems I was wrong. I'm getting extremely sick of repeating myself."
"What your mistress means," Lord explained, "is that if you don't start doing what you're told, when you're told, you are going to suffer some extremely nasty consequences. For example, if we have to tell you again to eat those dirty knickers, we will drag you to the dungeon and pull out a few of your teeth."
"Your canine teeth," Judith added.
Vanessa did not doubt for a second that the evil couple would carry out such a threat. They had already proved that they were capable of anything. Resting one bleeding hand on the panties, she began tearing at the soiled lace with her teeth. The thin fabric ripped easily. She sobbed loudly as she began chewing on a small wad.
"I bet her husband would love to see this," mused Judith. "We should send him a videotape."
"Not a good idea," her husband replied. "Peter is so stupid and greedy, he'd probably try to sell copies. Besides, he's too busy with his girlfriend to worry about this mangy mongrel."
"He's back with Andrea Penstone then?"
Lord nodded. "He ran back to her, like a rat out of a trap. She's back working in the club already, as Floor Manager. I shouldn't be surprised if he's already fucked her"
"Sounds like a cosy little arrangement," said Judith.
"With Vanessa out of the way, they make the perfect couple," he answered. "I talked to him at the club this afternoon and he never even mentioned her. For all he cares, she could be dead. In fact, he'd probably be much
happier if she was dead."
Listening to them talk, Vanessa felt the anger boil within her. Every lash of the whip, every obscene degradation she had suffered, was thanks to Peter. He had sold her like a piece of meat, in order to be with his whore. When Vanessa regained her freedom, she resolved that she would take as much pleasure in killing him as his accomplices did in raping and abusing her.
She spent half an hour ripping up Judith's dirty panties with her teeth, chewing the lace and then swallowing it, washed down with mouthfuls of dirty water from a puddle. But before she was even close to completing the task, her stomach rebelled and she vomited.
When she had finished retching, Lord planted a foot on the back of her neck and pushed her face down into the messy pool. He and his wife then dragged her indoors and down to the basement.
"You can take a break from being a dog now," Lord told her. "That means you can speak and scream like a human being. Is there anything you'd like to say?"
Vanessa shook her head. "No, Master."
"You don't even want to beg for mercy?"
"I know you'll show me no mercy, Master, no matter how much I beg."
"So, you have learned something, after all," he smiled. "It's nice to see a slave resigned to her fate. But I think you might change your mind when you see what we have in store for you."
The shackles were removed from Vanessa's ankles and she was ordered to stand on a three-inch wide wooden beam, which hung from a heavy chain at either end, three feet above the ground. Suspended from two smaller chains was a pair of fishing hooks.
Lord held Vanessa in place by her thighs, while his wife pushed the first fishing hook through her right nipple. The young woman shrieked in agony as the cold steel skewered her tender bud. After she had hooked her left nipple, Judith jumped to the floor.
"Do you like it up there, slave?" Lord asked.
"No, Master," Vanessa sobbed.
"Why don't you come down then? We won't punish you. Come on - jump."
"My ... nipples!" she whimpered.
"That's the catch," said Judith. "Unless you think they'll stretch like bungee cords, you might be better advised to stay where you are."
Taking a fiendish delight in her predicament, the sadists slapped and tickled her, in an effort to make her lose her balance. Vanessa could only grit her teeth and pray she could somehow maintain her footing.
It was a fight she seemed destined to lose as Lord began pushing a three-inch thick, purple dildo into her anus. As inch after inch of the greased monster stretched her tight canal, pain gripped her bowels and her knees began to tremble. Judith looked up, like a wolf about to slaughter a new-born lamb. Vanessa averted her eyes and concentrated on retaining her balance and remaining attached to her nipples.
Lord buried the full ten inches of the dildo in her rectum, then slapped her buttocks with his open palm.
"You can come down any time you like," he chuckled.
Visions of Peter swam before Vanessa's eyes. Visions of his leering face as he raped her, before giving her to Lord. Visions of his tear streaked face as he begged her to forgive him for an infidelity he had never committed. Visions of him begging for his life as she pressed a gun to his forehead and squeezed the trigger.
When Judith took up a claw hammer, she thought she was about to be knee-capped. But the intent of the vicious bitch was more subtle, if hardly less cruel.
Placing a six-inch nail between the large and second toe of Vanessa's right foot, she raised the hammer high. The slave whimpered through clenched teeth. The hammer hit the nail, with a resounding whack, driving the metal spear three inches into the timber.
Cold sweat was streaming down Vanessa's face and she was trembling so violently, she was in danger of collapsing. Judith hit the nail again, then her husband handed her another.
With each crack of steel on steel, Vanessa came closer to losing her balance. If Judith missed even once, she knew she would jump and her nipples would be ripped like a pair of ripe cherries as she fell from the plank.
There were eight nails between her toes, but the slave was still standing. The dildo in her rectum felt like it was growing inside her, but that was the least of her agonies.
Lord branded her buttocks with ten vicious strokes of the riding crop, as though determined to make her fall. But Vanessa held on for dear life.
"You're a stronger girl than I thought," he panted, finally laying down the whip. "Tell you what. If you jump, we'll let you go. How's that for a deal?"
Vanessa shook her head. Even if she hadn't known he was lying, she would not have considered such a terrible option.
The evil pair continued to taunt her for several more minutes, promising her freedom if she jumped and even more hideous tortures if she didn't.
Finally, the hooks were withdrawn from her nipples and she was allowed to fall to the floor. When her hands were freed, Judith clipped a chain to her collar.
"Back to being a dog again," she announced. "I trust you know what that means?"
Vanessa nodded miserably. She was glad she would not be required to speak again, as it would require just too much effort. Besides, nothing she could say or do was likely to save her. Her fate was completely beyond her control. All she could do was hope she could survive long enough to be rescued.
The couple returned her to her cell, leaving her alone to lick her wounds. The training of their slave was not the only matter that concerned them. Vanessa's husband was on a different kind of leash and Lord decided a friendly reminder was in order.













CHAPTER 5

The fat man and his unappealing companion were the last customers Peter wanted to see walk through the door of the Purple Pearl. Having discharged his debt to Lord, he had thought he was free. But the gangster continued to linger like a bad smell and Peter knew this was not a social call.
"Peter, I'd like you to meet Judith, my wife," Lord said, after they had been escorted to the best table and served a bottle of the best champagne.
"Pleased to meet you, Mrs Lord," Peter smiled
Ignoring his outstretched hand, Judith lit a cigarette. She felt no need to exchange pleasantries with one of her husband's puppets and made no effort to hide her contempt.
"Business appears to be on the up," Lord observed, filling three glasses of bubbly.
"Not bad for a week night," Peter admitted. "Andrea has hired a few new girls that are proving to be quite a hit."
At that moment, two of the girls in question were on stage. The big-breasted blonde pair had already stripped each other down to their minuscule G-strings and were now locked in a lesbian clinch, to the delight of the audience.
In reality, the girls Andrea had "hired" had been supplied by Lord. They had graduated from one of the brothels he controlled and dancing was just one of the tasks they would be performing at the Purple Pearl. Peter wouldn't even know they were using his club to solicit clients. Andrea acted as their manager, which meant acting as intermediary between their earnings and Delbert Lord's sticky palms. She was on a good commission and knew better than to double-cross her real employer.
"Where's your girlfriend?" asked Lord.
"She left twenty minutes ago," Peter replied. "I suggested she take an early night. She's been working very hard, since taking over as Floor Manager."
"Getting Andrea back was one of the best moves you made," Lord smiled.
"Next to getting rid of your wife," Judith added.
"How is Vanessa?"
The instant he asked the question, Peter regretted it.
"What do you care?" Lord demanded, eyes narrowing. "Not having any regrets, I hope."
"No, no regrets," Peter hastily blurted. "As far as I'm concerned, that's done business. That bitch was no good for me."
"Has anyone else been asking about her?" the gangster demanded.
"No."
"Nobody at all?"
The club owner shifted nervously. "Nobody's been asking about her. Nobody has any reason to suspect anything happened to her."
"So what was her sister doing here?" Lord asked. "Looking for a job?"
"How did you know she was here?" Peter retorted, fighting to control his rising panic.
"I make it my business to know things," the fat man told him. "So, what did she want?"
"She was asking about Vanessa. But I told her nothing. As far as she knows, Vanessa walked out on me and I have no idea where she is."
"Did she believe you?" Lord demanded.
"Christine is a very suspicious woman," Peter answered. "If I told her the sky was blue, she probably wouldn't believe me. Just between us, it might be better if she was dealt with too."
"Dealt with?" the fat man repeated. "What does that mean?"
"Well, maybe you could arrange some kind of accident," Peter tentatively suggested. "With that nosy cow out of the way, we could all sleep more soundly."
"You've been watching too many gangster films, my friend," Lord replied. "Christine is your problem. You'd just better see to it that she doesn't become mine. That could indeed lead to a nasty accident of the kind you definitely don't want happening."
Peter felt the all too familiar tightening in his gut. Judith's vampire smile was like a blade against his throat. If she hated him this much, having only just met him, he pitied anybody who got to know her better.
"I need to visit the Ladies," she said. "Do excuse me."
Lord waited until she was out of earshot, then leaned across the table. "What do you think of Judith?" he asked, with a conspiratorial smile.
"Your wife is a very nice woman," Peter replied. "I'm glad I got to meet her."
"Would you like to fuck her?" Lord asked.
"Jesus, no!" the other man answered, gripping his glass so tightly he was in danger of breaking it.
"No," Lord repeated. "And why is that? Do you think she's ugly? Is she not as pretty as your dearly deported wife?"
"That's not what I meant!" Peter cried. "Your wife is a very attractive woman, but ..."
"But what?" the gangster hissed. "She's not your type? Doesn't meet your standards? What is it?"
"It's nothing like that," Peter said, squirming in his seat. "It's just that I don't think messing with your wife would be a good idea."
"What if I gave you permission to fuck her? What if I ordered you to do it?"
Peter could hardly tell him the truth - that he would rather dip his cock in boiling oil than screw Judith Lord.
"That would be a different matter," he answered carefully.

While her husband continued to toy with Peter - like a bulldog with a tattered rag doll - Judith leaned over the sink in the ladies bathroom and casually poured a line of white powder over her left wrist. Then, lowering her head, she snorted half of the line through her left nostril, the other half through her right. She exhaled contentedly, wiped her nose, straightened up and saw the near naked woman standing right behind her. The big breasted, young blonde was obviously one of the dancers, as all she was wearing was a gold coloured G-string and matching nipple tassels.
"Got a problem?" Judith demanded, turning to face her.
"No problem," the stripper replied. "You look like you're having a good time, though. Can I have some?"
The ugly woman smiled. "Of course you can. As long as you're willing to pay."
"How much?"
"It's not a question of money," Judith told her. "I came in here for a piss. I haven't had one yet. If you were to be my toilet, I'd be happy to give you a line of this sweet powder."
"Fuck off, you sick cunt!" the blonde spat. "I'm not that desperate."
"What does that mean?" Judith demanded. "Are you saying I'm not good enough for you?"
"Look in the mirror," the stripper smirked. "I wouldn't mate you with my Pit Bull Terrier. No wonder you're a fucking lesbian."
"Is that how you talk to all of your customers?" asked Judith.
"My customers, I can pretend to like," the stripper retorted. "But I don't do bestiality, so don't even try to bargain."
Judith left the bathroom in a hurry, her head spinning. She was back in school - the ugly little girl being bullied by her classmates. The defenceless ugly girl. Defenceless before she met Delbert. They got away with mocking her in school, but there was no reason why they should get away with it any more.
When she returned to the table, her husband was still talking and Peter was looking like he was close to soiling himself. The club owner wasn't to know that - had it been up to Judith - he would be now part of a building foundation. Peter was only alive because Lord had convinced her that it was better to have him thinking he was in charge, while being convinced he was an accessory to murder. It was not a long-term arrangement. Within three months, Peter would be dead and Lord would own the Purple Pearl. I
n business, patience paid dividends. Judith had only agreed, on condition that she was present when Peter became part of a concrete foundation. If they gave him two months thinking he was in charge of the club, husband and wife could be buried together. By then, Vanessa would probably be glad to be put out of her misery. As far as Judith was concerned, the life span of a slave was conditional on how long she continued to provide her with amusement. As a child, she had enjoyed crushing insects. As an adult, she enjoyed crushing people like Vanessa.
"Something wrong?" Lord asked, as his wife rejoined them.
"Nothing that can't be sorted," she replied.
"Peter's been telling me he'd like to fuck you," he said. "Isn't that right, Peter?"
"Well, um, Mrs Lord, you are a very attractive woman," the red faced and sweating man stammered.
"Dream on, wanker," Judith spat contemptuously. "Stick to what you can afford. Now, piss off."
Smarting from the insult, Peter made a hasty departure. Judith's put-downwas like a kick in the balls. Could the ugly bitch really believe any man in his right mind would want to have sex with her? Not satisfied with taking his wife, Lord now seemed intent on completely humiliating him.
"See that blonde slut coming out of the Ladies?" Judith said quietly. "Take a good look at her."
The stripper passed close by their table, with a derisive smirk in Judith's direction. Obviously, she did not know who Delbert Lord was.
"I see her," Lord murmured. "What's the problem?"
Judith told him how the stripper had insulted her, without omitting the reason why. Lord would not think she was being unreasonable in wanting revenge.
"She's not getting away with it," she said quietly. "I want to pay her back tonight. We can do it together. Who the fuck does she think she is, talking to me like that?"
"Taking her back to the house might not be such a good idea," Lord argued. "Why don't I get Joe and his friends to pick her up and do the business on her? I'll even have them videotape it for you."
"Why should your baboons have all the fun?" his wife hissed. "It was me she insulted. I want the pleasure of making her scream."
"You have the slave," he reminded her. "You can take out all your frustrations on her. A fucking stripper isn't worth the risk."
"You owe me," she reminded him. "I wanted Peter the prick embalmed in concrete, but I listened to you. We can let the slave watch. Let her see what we're capable of."
"And just what do you want her to see we're capable of?"
Lord already knew the answer.
Judith smiled. "Capable of murder, darling. Just this once, it would be nice to have a witness. It's not like she's ever going to tell anyone."
It wasn't that Lord gave a damn about the stripper who had insulted his wife, but Peter and the Purple Pearl were making his head ache. He was beginning to think he should have listened to Judith in the first place. Killing the club owner would have been so much easier than taking his wife as a sex slave. But easier didn't put money in the bank and he wanted to keep Peter's balls in the vice a little longer. Besides, Vanessa was proving to be a most enjoyable plaything.
"It's a nice idea," he said. "But ..."
"But nothing," Judith interrupted. "If you want to save that stripper cunt, you can say goodbye to our slave tonight. Because I will go home and I will fucking kill her."
She might have been stoned, but Lord knew she wasn't bluffing. Confronted with a helpless victim, Judith was more bloodthirsty than the worst of his hard men. He still shuddered when he thought about Stevie the Blade and his voluptuous redhead girlfriend. Stevie was a small time gangster with big ideas who had shot one of Lord's men during an argument in an East End pub. Three days later, he and his girlfriend had been abducted at gunpoint, as they left a restaurant. Stevie had been hideously tortured for a few hours, then shot in the head. His girlfriend was less fortunate. She spent three days in Lord's basement, as a guest of his wife. The tortures the hooded Judith inflicted upon her were truly horrendous. Edited highlights of her final hours were fetching huge prices in the underworld of extreme pornography and the rumours concerning Stevie The Blade's bloody demise served to reinforce Delbert Lord's legend as a man who should not be crossed. "We didn't go to the trouble of buying the slave, just so that we could kill her after a few days," he said. "Remember what we discussed?"
"So we use the stripper to teach her a lesson," Judith argued. "Letting her see what we do to that bitch will be better than a thousand beatings. I don't know about you, but I love the idea of having a witness that can talk to nobody but us."
Lord could probably have talked her out of her murderous scheme. But, in his heart, he too was enamoured of the idea. The stripper who had insulted Judith wasn't one of his girls. But if she was working in the Purple Pearl, she was unlikely to be missed. Sooner or later, she would meet with a bad end. It was a hazard of the trade.
"If it's what you want," he sighed, reaching for his mobile phone. "I'll have her picked up when she leaves the club."

While Peter was sweating at the club, unaware of what was being plotted just out of earshot, Christine was busy playing detective. A few months earlier, Vanessa had given her a key, which she used to let herself into the house. She knew she would have ample time for a thorough search before Peter returned home. She had no idea what she was expecting to find, but she knew her brother-in-law was not clever enough to have erased all traces of his missing wife.
The house was a mess. Empty bottles littered the kitchen and living room. Christine checked the answering machine. There was only one call - from somebody called Sarah - reminding Peter that his subscription to a Pay-TV service was due for renewal.
She moved upstairs. The main bedroom was in the kind of state that would have had Vanessa screaming in horror. Items of clothing were strewn on the floor and not all were male. A large black latex dildo lay among the rumpled bed sheets. Christine could not bring herself to touch the repulsive object, but the dried stains told her all she needed to know.
"Fucking pervert!" she hissed.
Further inspection of the room provided no clues. Peter had done a good job of making it look like her sister had disappeared. Practically everything that had belonged to Vanessa was gone.
Christine was about to continue her search of the house when she heard a noise from downstairs.

With the implicit encouragement of Lord, Andrea had decided it was time to lay on a special treat for Peter. She had walked into her new job with no illusions and everything was panning out as she had expected. Having done nothing but encourage his attentions, she was already familiar with his kinky desires. Though she had no idea what had happened to his wife and even less desire to find out, she was happy to dress like Vanessa and do all the things Peter claimed Vanessa would never have done. For her own peace of mind, she chose to believe his story of her having walked out on him.
Anal sex was his pet kink. Andrea's bottom was still sore from the dildo he had forced her to sodomise herself with last night, while he masturbated over her face. He had been too drunk to actually do the deed himself. For the wages she was being paid by Lord, she was happy to indulge his creepy perversions. Once he was out of the picture and she was running the Purple Pearl - as she had been promised - it would all be worthwhile.
Peter would not be home for a few more hours, which gave her plenty of time to prepare his surprise. If the sick bastard wanted Vanessa, then that was what he would get. Andrea had spent several years working as a whore, so catering to the whim of a pervert came as second nature.
She poured herself a large vodka and tonic, then went upstairs and laid out her ensemble on the bed. She had picked up the cream coloured wedding dress in a charity shop. It was an almost exact replica of the dress Vanessa had worn on her wedding day. Peter had shown her the picture. He had already given her the pearl necklace Vanessa was wearing in the photograph.
Glancing at the dirty dildo on the bed, Andrea grimaced. There was nothing she would like more than to ram the huge object all the way up Peter's miserable arse, just so that he would know what it felt like. But she consoled herself with the knowledge that he would shortly be suffering a far worse fate at the hands of Delbert Lord. Andrea wasn't privy to the running of the gangster's business, but she knew enough about him to know that he was an extremely dangerous man. Had Peter not been such an obnoxious scumbag, she might have felt sorry for him. If his wife had indeed run away from him, she was a very lucky woman.
Andrea finished her drink, then began to strip, discarding her clothes on the floor. Stepping out of her tiny, black lace panties, she touched a fingertip to the tender bud of her anus and winced. Peter would no doubt wish to inflict further abuse upon that particular orifice, later tonight. If she were lucky, he would use his cock, rather than some foreign object.
Before she was ready for him, she needed a relaxing bath. Afterwards, she would require a more prolonged soak, just to make her feel human again.
Crouched inside the closet, Christine watched the other woman, through the narrow slits in the door. Her heart was pounding so violently, she was sure it could be heard throughout the room. She had barely managed to take cover before the bedroom door opened. Now, she was trapped. Fortunately, Andrea appeared to be alone.
Christine waited for several minutes after her departure, before finding the courage to emerge from the closet. As she studied the items laid out on the bed, her fear gave way to cold anger. Vanessa was gone only days and this whore was already making herself at home - using her bed for her sick games with Peter.
Christine's first instinct was to leave quietly and call the police. But they would need more than her suspicions that her sister had met with foul play. Peter and his slut might be the scum of the earth, but that alone was not a criminal offence.
A woman to woman talk might yield more results, she decided. Dealing personally with at least one half of the criminal duo would be far more gratifying than seeing her being taken away by the police, so that she could lie through her back teeth about what had happened.

Andrea sighed contentedly as she sank into the warm embrace of the bath water, the scented foam lapping around her large breasts. Bliss was a bubble bath fit for a queen.
She shut her eyes and gave herself up to the simple, sensual pleasure. She never saw the bathroom door swing slowly open, or the barefoot figure step cautiously into the room. She knew nothing of Christine's presence, until a fist slammed into her face.
"Enjoy your bath, bitch!" Christine snarled, grabbing a fistful of her hair and submerging her in the water.
Blood from Andrea's nose turned the bath foam pink as the shocked woman struggled for her life.

"So, we meet again," Judith smiled, high heels clicking on the stone floor as she stepped slowly towards her terrified captive. "Can I count on some good manners this time?"
Until that moment, the blonde stripper had no idea why she had been kidnapped as she left the club, or by whom. Her first thought was that the two men who had bundled her roughly into the back of their car intended to gang rape her. But, apart from a few slaps and a little groping, they left her unharmed. Gagged and blindfolded, she had been brought to this chamber of horrors and chained by her ankles to the wall. Before leaving, one of her captors had warned her that if she screamed or attempted to escape, she would be killed.
The former seemed futile and the latter was impossible, without the key to the heavy iron manacles around her ankles, so she kept quiet and waited.
"You're that cunt from the club," the girl said quietly, glaring with loathing at Judith.
"No, you're the cunt from the club," Judith corrected. "I'm Judith Lord, the woman you offended tonight. Does that name ring any bells?"
"Why should it?" the blonde retorted, with more bravado than she felt. "Did you win best of your breed at Crufts last year?"
Now that Judith had her captive exactly where she wanted her, the insults lost their ability to hurt. In fact, she welcomed them. They merely served to stoke the fires of her irrational hatred of any woman she perceived to be her better in the stakes of skin-deep beauty.
"Funny girl," she sneered. "Enjoy it while you can. You won't feel like cracking jokes for much longer."
"What do you want from me, you sick old dyke?" the stripper demanded.
"You'll find out soon enough," Judith replied. "What's your name?"
"Fuck you."
"Nice name for a slut that earns a living showing her cunt on stage," said Judith. "Well, Miss Fuck You, that sweet cunt of yours has made its last public appearance. You're about to find out that it doesn't pay to insult the wife of Delbert Lord."
"Who the fuck is Delbert Lord?"
"That would be me," came the reply from the doorway.
Lord stepped into the basement, hauling Vanessa on a chain and dog collar. At the sight of the naked and whip-scarred woman, with wrists and ankles chained, the newly arrived captive paled. Whoever this fat man was, making his acquaintance promised to be a far from pleasant experience.
"This is our dog," Lord said, pushing Vanessa roughly to the floor. "In her previous life, she was the wife of the man in whose club you work. You might have heard mutterings about her recent disappearance."
The girl had heard something about Peter's wife leaving him, but she didn't concern herself about the private life of her boss. Her sole concern was that he paid her wages.
"What have you done to her?" she cried, staring in horror at the wretched and terrified woman.
"A mere fraction of what we're about to do to you," Judith told her.
Cowering at the feet of her master, Vanessa gripped a large bone between her teeth, just like a real dog. When Lord turned his attention to her, she began to tremble violently and appeared to shrink beneath his loathsome glare.
"What you are about to witness will not be very pleasant, to put it mildly," he told her. "But if you lie there like a good dog, keep chewing on your bone and don't say a word, you'll be the slave that suffers the least. Understood?"
Vanessa nodded vigorously.
"Good dog," Lord smiled, patting her on the head.
"You're insane - both of you!" the second captive shrieked.
"What's your name?" he demanded.
"Emma," she replied.
"I like the other name better," said Judith.
"You can call me Master," Lord told her. "And my good lady wife, you address as Mistress. Do I make myself clear so far?"
"Fuck you," Emma spat. "When I get out of here ..."
"What makes you think you're getting out of here?" snapped Judith. "It's not like you can run away and your boss isn't likely to send out a search party."
Lord jerked a thumb in Vanessa's direction. "You see that slave dog there? She was like you when she first arrived - full of bravado, telling us to get fucked and suchlike. But, as you can see, we taught her to show respect. Slave, lick the floor!"
As though stimulated by an electrical switch, Vanessa bowed her head and began licking the concrete.
"That bitch would lick my arse clean now, if I told her to," said Judith. "Isn't that right, slave?"
Vanessa nodded miserably. In the grip of her own pain and humiliation, she was unable to find any sympathy for her fellow captive. She wanted to tell her to obey and to grovel before this bestial pair, for her own sake, but she wasn't about to risk condemning herself to further torture for the sake of a stranger.
"You'll soon be a dog just like her," Lord promised. "As you can see we have all the means necessary to break even the most stubborn bitch."
As he spoke, his wife selected a riding crop from the rack. Turning to the still defiant captive, she flexed the slim but deadly weapon between both hands.
"I want you to apologise to me," she rasped. "Tell me you're sorry you insulted me and that it won't happen again. This is your last chance."
"Go fuck yourself," Emma retorted.
Judith nodded. "As you wish."
Planting his right foot between the stripper's shoulder blades, Lord pinned her to the floor. Then, his wife began whipping her buttocks and legs. The flailing crop carved the air, each lash a mini explosion, branding her yielding, creamy flesh.
"I'm sorry!" she screamed, clawing at the floor. "I'm sorry!"
"It's too late for that now," Judith responded, drawing back the whip again. "I believe the expression is - go fuck yourself!"
Vanessa winced involuntarily each time the whip struck the other woman. Though grateful that she was not the centre of attention, she could not shut out her natural empathy for another human being. She no longer counted her captors as members of the human race. Lord and his wife were some horrible manifestation of pure evil. Should the opportunity ever arise, she was certain she could kill them both, without feeling the slightest remorse. She chose not to dwell on the fact that such an eventuality was extremely unlikely.
Emma's buttocks and thighs were bleeding by the time the savage whipping was finished. However, the sadistic desires of her captors demanded far more torture and degradation.
"Good manners cost nothing, you know," Judith smirked, crouching before the helplessly prone woman. "It's being a snooty bitch that got you into this mess."
"I said I was sorry," Emma sobbed. "Let me go, I'm begging you."
Judith looked at her husband. "What do you think? Has she learned her lesson?"
"Well, she did say sorry," he replied. "And she sounded like she meant it. The problem is, if we let her go, she'll run straight to the police. She'll tell them what we did to her and she'll tell them we're holding another woman prisoner."
"I won't!" the captive shrieked. "I swear I won't say a word to anyone! I'm really sorry I offended you. Let me go, please!"
"I think we should let her go," said Lord.
"I suppose you're right," his wife conceded. "We don't have enough dog food to feed two slaves anyway."
Emma could hardly believe her ears. A few minutes earlier, she had been contemplating all manner of horrors. Now, her shackles were being removed and she was being helped to her feet.
"I'll get my men to drive you home," Lord said. "Just remember - not a word to anyone."
"Not a word," Emma promised. "Uh, where are my clothes?"
"Upstairs," Judith answered, taking her arm. "Come on. I'll show you the way."
As the young woman walked towards the steps, blood trickling down her buttocks and legs, Lord withdrew a cylindrical metal object from inside his jacket.
The bone fell from between Vanessa's teeth.
"Look out!" she screamed.
Emma turned around. But, before she could register the danger, the cattle prod slammed into her belly, delivering a shock that brought her crashing to her knees.
"You stupid cunt!" Lord snarled, turning to Vanessa. "All you had to do was keep your fucking mouth shut!"
"We can deal with her later," Judith snapped. "Let's get this one trussed up before she comes to her senses."
Vanessa's reaction had been instinctive. She had no wish to suffer further torture, but the manner in which her captors had given the other woman false hope seemed more cruel than almost any form of physical abuse.
Emma struggled like a punch-drunk boxer as she was splayed across the black iron bars of the most diabolical apparatus in the dungeon. Thick leather straps bound her wrists to the bar beneath her shoulders. The manacles for her ankles hung from either end of the bar beneath her buttocks, ensuring her knees were bent and her thighs splayed uncomfortably wide when she was secured.
Vanessa had seen the rack, but had so far survived becoming a victim of the horror. However, she had a feeling that - once the other captive had been broken - it would be her turn to suffer the horrible device.
For now, at least, she was ignored, as the sadists concentrated their attentions on subjecting the other woman to the full terror of the rack. Emma's large breasts were fitted with a pair of C-shaped steel clamps, with dozens of tiny pins on the inside. A similar pair of clamps was fitted to her upper thighs. But the most horrifying attachments chained to the rack were the pussy clamps. These consisted of two pairs of steel jaws -one on either side - with needle sharp studs.
By the time this was ready to be fitted, Emma had recovered from the shock and was screaming for mercy again.
"Do you want to rape her first?" Judith asked.
Her husband contemplated the pink slit that split the dancer's dark blonde pubic curls.
"Why not?" he decided. "Might as well do her while she's still in one piece."
Pulling his trousers and underwear down to his ankles, he stepped between Emma's thighs and guided his cock to her vaginal folds. Her body jerked and she expelled a whimper of protest as he penetrated her.
After what she had already suffered, the sight of the helpless woman being raped did not shock Vanessa. She was just pleased that she was being ignored, at least for now. But she knew that, when her turn came, she would suffer even greater abuse. After all, she had committed the cardinal sin of disobedience, so she knew she could expect no mercy.
Lord was raping Emma and his wife was engrossed in torturing her, using a lever to tighten the clamps around her breasts. As the spikes dug deeper into Emma's globes, blood trickled from beneath the steel jaws.
Vanessa looked at the door behind her. It was only a few yards away. Even chained and shackled, she might make it, provided she did not attract the attention of her captors.






























CHAPTER 6

Andrea was in the bedroom, bound naked to a chair with her own stockings and underwear. Blood streamed down her chin, but a broken and swollen lower lip was not her most pressing concern. The woman that stood before her looked as if she would enjoy nothing more than ripping her head from her shoulders.
"Where's my sister?" Christine demanded.
"I don't know," Andrea replied. "I swear, I ..."
A backhanded slap across the face cut her off in mid-sentence.
"You know what happened to her," Christine rasped, digging her sharp fingernails into her right breast. "And I don't care what I have to do to make you tell me."
"I can't tell you what I don't know," the other woman protested. "You should be asking Peter."
"Don't worry, I will," Christine replied. "But, in the meantime, you can enlighten me. Where is Vanessa? Is she alive?"
"I don't know," Andrea pleaded. "If I did, I'd tell you."
"Oh, you know," the dark haired woman declared. "The only question is what I'm going to have to do to you before you tell me."
Andrea's protests of innocence fell on deaf ears. Christine looked around, saw the heavy brown leather belt on the floor and picked it up. She had never tortured anyone, or ever imagined she would wish to do so. But, where her younger sister was concerned, she was ready to kill.
"Got anything to tell me?" she demanded, wrapping the belt around her right fist.
"I swear to God, I don't know what happened to your sister!" Andrea whimpered.
Christine was in no mood for further argument. She had hoped that the shock of being beaten up and almost drowned would have brought Peter's whore to her senses, but she was obviously made of sterner stuff. However, she was about to discover the lengths to which Christine was prepared to go, in order to find out what she wanted to know.
In between pleas for mercy, the blonde woman shrieked in pain as Christine began flogging her breasts with the belt buckle. Her expression was one of grim determination. The longer Andrea held out, the more she would suffer.
Finally, after several minutes of savagely beating her, the aching in Christine's arm forced her to drop the belt. Andrea's formerly perfect breasts were swollen and bruised.
"You're not such a pretty sight anymore," Christine quipped. "When Peter sees you like this, he's liable to drop you like a hot potato. He's not very loyal, you know."
"Why won't you believe me?" Andrea wailed, tears mingling with the blood on her chin. "If I knew anything about your sister, I'd tell you. You think I'd sit here suffering for that bastard?"
"That's not a very nice way to talk about your boyfriend," Christine retorted. "After all he's done for you. Taken you into his home, made you manager of his club, given you his missing wife's jewellery."
"It won't be his club for much longer," the blonde woman said. "He just doesn't know it yet."
"Go on," Christine prompted.
"I'm working for Delbert Lord," Andrea continued. "This love affair with Peter is just part of my job. I can't wait to see him get what's coming to him."
"Who's Delbert Lord?" Christine demanded.
Andrea forced a smile. "Delbert Lord is somebody you don't want to meet."
"Does he have anything to do with my sister's disappearance?"
She shook her head. "It's Peter he's interested in. Though he might want to talk to you, after what's happened tonight."
"I'll worry about him when the time comes," Christine said. "For now, my priority is Vanessa. Are you sure you don't know where she is?"
"If I knew, I'd tell you," Andrea repeated.
"Oh, you'll tell me all right," the other woman vowed. "Unless you think Peter is worth dying for."
She could have resumed beating her, but it seemed unlikely to yield results. Instead, in the makeup case on the dressing table, she found something that might prove more effective.
"I imagine these could inflict quite a lot of pain," she mused, holding the eyebrow tweezers before Andrea's face. "What do you think?"
The unfortunate woman continued to insist she knew nothing. When the tweezers nipped her right breast, like steel claw pincers, her protests became a scream of agony.
No matter how badly she was tortured, Andrea could not tell Christine what she wanted to know. Unfortunately, the revenge-crazed woman was otherwise convinced.
Andrea strained against her bonds, shrieking as the tweezers were repeatedly applied to her already sore breasts, crab picking a tiny piece of skin at a time. After ten minutes of this particular torture, Christine was becoming bored. Either Andrea was telling the truth about her relationship with Peter, or she was a hardcore masochist. She decided it no longer mattered. She was going to have to wait for Peter anyway, so she might as well amuse herself in the meantime.
"Hurts, does it?" she sneered, squeezing the tortured breasts of the screaming woman, digging her fingernails into her soft flesh. "Imagine how my sister must be feeling - if she's still alive, that is."
"I - don't- know - where - she is!" Andrea groaned.
"Perhaps you don't," she responded. "But you know something happened to her. You know she didn't just pack up and leave that scumbag. He must have said something to you."
"He never talked about her," she answered.
Christine began plucking at her with the tweezers again. "You lying cunt! Why were you wearing her stuff then? Why were you getting dressed up like her tonight? What has he told you?"
"He told me he was glad she was gone," Andrea yelled. "He said she ..."
"Said what?" hissed Christine, yanking on another piece of skin with the small jaws.
Andrea howled again. "He said she was a selfish, frigid, domineering bitch. He said he hopes she's gone for good and wishes he'd raped her before she left."
Christine smiled coldly. "Now we're getting somewhere. I take it you're fulfilling all those sick fantasies Vanessa refused to take part in."
Andrea nodded miserably. "It won't be for long. Like I told you ..."
"There's only thing I want you to tell me now," her tormentor interjected. "What has he done to Vanessa?"
The other woman swore she had told her everything she knew. But, by admitting what she had, at the end of a prolonged bout of torture, she had only succeeded in convincing Christine that she was still holding something back.
Christine flung aside the tweezers and left her captive whimpering behind her, while she searched for a fresh instrument of torture. Once again, the dressing table provided what she needed. The cylindrically shaped electric hair curler perfect for what she had in mind.

Peter had just opened the front door, when he heard the shrill scream. He froze momentarily. Had he not had several drinks at the club, to restore his equilibrium in the wake of Delbert Lord's petty humiliation, Peter might have left her to her fate. Instead, he rushed into the living room, grabbed a steel poker from the fireplace and made his way upstairs, as quietly as possible.
He was expecting to find his girlfriend being raped by a burglar. Instead, he found her tied to a chair, screaming as Christine plugged in the electric hair roller she had thrust up between her thighs.
At the sight of his reviled sister-in-law, Peter lost all control. He charged into the room, swinging the poker high above his head. Christine spun around, instinctively raising her right arm to deflect the blow that had been meant for her head.
She howled in pain as the metal rod smashed into her arm. At the same time, she lost her balance and fell backwards, banging her head against the wall.
"You're dead, you fucking bitch!" Peter snarled, standing over her, the poker poised to deliver the second lethal blow.
A few feet away, Andrea was screaming at the top of her lungs, as the steel rod stuffed into her vagina grew hotter by the second.
"Help me! Help me, Peter."
He turned around, eyes roaming lewdly over the naked, tortured woman. Lord himself could hardly have done a better job on her.
"Take it out!" she screamed. "It's burning me!"
Peter did not immediately respond. He was becoming quite partial to the sight and screams of a beautiful damsel in distress. However, he could not afford to risk getting into even more trouble. Reluctantly he yanked the device from between Andrea's thighs, with such force that she lost control of her bladder. A fresh scream of agony burst from her throat as the hot urine stung her blistered inner flesh like battery acid.
Peter did not waste time untying her. He had Christine exactly where he wanted her and did not want to give her a chance to recover. But the distraction had saved her life. The moment of murderous fury had passed. Looking down at the dazed woman, Peter was suddenly seized by an urge of a different kind.
Groaning loudly, Christine blinked her eyes open. Her head was throbbing and her arm felt like it was broken. The sneering figure of her brother-in-law loomed above her. His trousers were around his ankles and he was masturbating. Christine tried to rise, but he leaped upon her like a wild animal. Pinning her down, with one hand to her throat, he tore her tee shirt open, then began clawing at her jeans.
"No!" she gasped, struggling feebly against him.
Had she not been injured, she might have succeeded in fighting him off.
"Missing your sister, eh?" Peter grunted. "Don't worry, you'll soon be reunited. As soon as I've finished with you, I'll give Delbert Lord a call. I'm sure he'll find accommodation for the two of you."

Vanessa managed to reach the first step leading from the dungeon before the clanking of her chains gave her away. Roaring like an enraged animal, Judith ran towards her.
"Going somewhere, doggy?" she snarled, seizing her collar.
"No, Mistress!" she shrieked. "I wasn't ...!"
Judith slapped her across the face. "Looks like you need another painful lesson in obedience. Either that, or you actually enjoy being tortured."
Lord's violation of the other young woman grew more enthusiastic as he watched his wife drag Vanessa back across the floor. He might have been reluctant to take a second captive, but now that she was safely in the dungeon, he intended to enjoy a night of unforgettable sport with the helpless pair.
Seizing a fistful of Vanessa's hair, he twisted violently, as he climaxed inside the prone stripper. When he withdrew his dripping cock, he forced the kneeling woman to lick it clean. Then, he pushed her face between Emma's thighs.
"Maybe this is the kind of lesbian show I'll stage at the Purple Pearl, when I take over," he grinned. "Unfortunately, neither of you two beauties will be around to take part."
Semen oozed down Vanessa's chin as she slurped the sticky mess from the raped woman. She could not even taste it. Her eyes were blinded with tears and sobs shook her body. Her dreams of rescue were becoming almost impossible to maintain.
"That's enough, dyke doggy," Judith said, after several minutes, yanking her head up. "This cunt is for our pleasure, not yours." Emma screamed hoarsely as the spiked jaws of the pussy clamps snapped shut over her labia. The chains that held them in place were so short that her slick lips were stretched until they felt like they were being ripped from her body.
Sneering cruelly, Judith rammed the twelve-inch long electric cattle prod into her gaping vagina. The young woman's body convulsed as the first shot blasted her cervix. Emma continued to shriek in agony, until Lord forced her mouth open wider and snapped a double-ended steel clamp over her tongue. He then grabbed Vanessa and forced her face down, until she was almost touching the other woman. When she failed to open her mouth, he gripped her nose between his thumb and forefinger and twisted. Vanessa screamed and the opposite end of the clamp snapped down on her tongue. The two young women were nose to nose, their stretched tongues clamped together. With every bolt of lightning from the cattle prod, Emma whimpered softly. Vanessa tasted blood in her mouth, as her tears dripped onto her fellow captive's face.
The whip Lord selected from the rack consisted of three tails of thick black leather. As he commenced a vicious flogging of the two helpless women, his wife continued to torture Emma with the cattle prod. She used her free hand to explore her anus, opening her up with two thrusting fingers, then three, before gradually forcing her entire fist inside her tight rear orifice.
For a man of his bulk, Lord possessed near-demonic stamina. For ten unbroken minutes, he crucified Vanessa's swollen buttocks and Emma's bleeding breasts with the whip. By the time he was finished, his lust needed to be sated once more.
Vanessa was in such pain already, she hardly felt him penetrate her rectum from behind. But even her agony was mild compared to that of Emma. The prolonged electric shock torture had caused her to lose control of her bladder. Urine trickled down the arm that was buried almost to the elbow in her distended anus.

Meanwhile, Andrea was experiencing a different kind of shock. She was not sure she had heard correctly. But what Peter was about to do was all too clear. She looked away. Had he bashed Christine's brains out with the poker, she might have felt it was justified. But, despite the torture the dark haired woman had subjected her to, Andrea had no desire to watch her being raped.
"Peter," she whimpered. "Don't do that to her, please! Untie me!"
Even if he had heard her, he would have paid no attention. He had already pulled off Christine's jeans and cream lace panties. Now, he was drooling like a rabid dog as he forced her legs apart. The pressure of his hand on her windpipe kept her struggles to a minimum.
"Thought I wasn't good enough for your fucking sister, eh?" he snarled triumphantly, slamming his hard cock into the helpless woman. "See what you think now, you fucking cunt!"
Christine could have endured the physical pain of the assault, but the humiliation of being raped by Peter made her feel sick. He sneered and dribbled spittle, while he lanced her with an aggression that took her breath away. She could shut her eyes, but there was no shutting out the pain and abject humiliation she was experiencing.
She was certain Peter was going to kill her, after he had finished abusing her. He raped her with such force, he seemed intent on thrusting his cock all the way to her heart. The pressure on her throat was so intense, she could scarcely breathe. As she scrambled in desperation, her right hand touched the curling rod. Gripping the plastic base in her right hand, she jammed the hot rod against Peter's neck. With an anguished howl, he jerked upright, grabbing at the searing object with both hands. The shock and pain was sufficiently weakening to allow Christine to push him from on top of her.
He did not get a chance to defend himself. She slammed her right knee into his testicles with a force that made his eyes bulge in their sockets.
While he writhed in agony on the floor, clawing at his scorched neck and bruised balls, Christine staggered to her feet and retrieved her jeans. Before he could recover the strength to fight back, she had bound his wrists together with her torn panties. It had taken less than two minutes to transform the fearsome beast that had been raping her into something that bore closer resemblance to a whipped dog.
"Time you and I had a little talk, Mister rapist," she said, picking up the curling rod again. "Where's Vanessa?"
When Peter did not immediately respond, she pressed the hot rod to his swollen testicles. His agonised scream was the most satisfying sound she had ever heard.
"You fucking bitch!" he sobbed.
"You'd better start talking," she hissed. "Unless you want me to ram this up your miserable arse and roast you from the inside out."
Peter was already in more pain than he could ever have imagined. Like the coward Christine already knew he was, he began to talk.
He told her how Vanessa had been raped and kidnapped by Delbert Lord and was now being kept as his sex slave. But it required a few seconds of the hot shaft against his anus to persuade him to explain his part in the crime.
"I had no choice," he wailed piteously. "Lord was going to kill me and there was no way I could raise the money I owed him."
"So you sold your own wife?" Christine looked as though she were ready to tear out his eyes with her bare hands. "You sick, miserable bastard. I'm going to cut your balls off and feed them to you through your arsehole."
"I didn't want to do it!" Peter protested. "But if I hadn't agreed, I'd be dead now and he would have taken her anyway."
"So, with Vanessa gone, you and he are quits?" Christine demanded.
He nodded miserably. "There was no other way."
She laughed coldly. "Prepare for a shock, fuckface." She turned to Andrea, who had been silent for the past five minutes. "Tell him what you told me about Delbert Lord."
After what she had just seen and heard, the blonde woman took great pleasure in telling Peter the truth. His jaw slumped and his face turned ashen as the woman who he thought was his lover told him how she had been working for Lord all along in a conspiracy to seize ownership of his club.
"But, we had a deal!" the crestfallen rapist whimpered.
"You're a fucking idiot, as well as a pervert!" Andrea spat. "You're nothing but a piece of shit on Delbert Lord's shoe. He's going to take your precious club, put me in charge and put you out of the picture. Permanently!"
"You're lying," Peter cried.
"You know it's true," Christine sneered. "Look at you - you're practically shitting yourself. This Lord character sounds like an extremely nasty piece of work. I don't know whether to kill you myself, or let him do the job."
As the reality hit home, Peter started to sob uncontrollably. Andrea spat in his face. She hoped Christine did put the pathetic wretch out of his misery.
The other woman was tempted to do just that, but now that her initial rage had diminished, she realised she needed Peter. Without him, she would never be able to rescue Vanessa. Of course, she could call the police and tell them what had happened. But, even if they did believe her, she would be leaving herself open to some serious criminal charges. She had already stepped outside the law. Now, she decided, she would resolve the situation in her own way.
"Shut up, you big fucking baby!" she snarled, grabbing Peter by the hair. "You got Vanessa into this, now you're going to help me get her out of it."
"Lord will kill us both," he protested. "He'll kill Vanessa too. You don't know how dangerous he is."
"He doesn't know how dangerous I am," Christine replied, with a steel cold smile.

After some discussion, Lord and his wife decided that a dogfight would provide an appropriate climax to a night of first rate sadism. It would be a fight to the death, with the surviving captive living the rest of her life as their slave. Neither cared if Vanessa should be the one to perish. Emma would prove an adequate replacement.
It had taken some time and a little chemical assistance to revive the two tortured women and get them into some kind of fighting shape. But, as they faced one another from opposite corners of the large steel cage in which they had been locked, neither looked capable of inflicting serious injury upon the other.
Their wrists and ankles were manacled, but the heavy chains were long enough to permit sufficient movement. Just like real dogs, they would be allowed to use only their teeth as weapons. Lord stood behind Emma, holding a long, narrow wooden spear, with a lethally sharp needle tip. Standing behind Vanessa, his wife brandished a similar weapon.
Vanessa's pulse was racing from the effects of the drug with which she had been injected. Whatever it was, the powerful stimulant provided a welcome respite from the pain of her abuse. Lord had already made it clear that only one of the captives would emerge alive from the cage. Winning the fight was the price of her freedom.
Similarly stimulated, Emma clawed agitatedly at the stone floor. She had no reason to wish further torment upon her fellow captive, but if killing her was the only way to save herself from further suffering, she was prepared to commit murder.
"Start fighting, you bitches!" Lord bellowed, prodding her buttocks with the needle spear.
With a pained howl, Emma sprang from her corner, with as much energy as her chained and abused body would permit. Vanessa yelped as Judith stabbed her buttocks with her own spear. But she was still cowering in the corner when Emma sank her teeth into her left thigh.
"Ow, you fucking bitch!" she shrieked.
Under the circumstances, the rule forbidding the human dogs from talking did not apply. All they were required to do was put up a good fight.
Emma could probably have killed her opponent within the first minute, by biting through her jugular vein, but this would not have pleased her bloodthirsty captors. Instead, she chose to torment the shrieking brunette by repeatedly snapping at her thigh and hip, each bite leaving dark red teeth marks.
"Fight, damn you!" Judith yelled, angrily prodding Vanessa's buttocks with the spear.
"It looks like a one dog fight," Lord smirked. "I should have bet a thousand on my bitch."
Vanessa scurried awkwardly around the cage, trying in vain to avoid the spear and the teeth of her snarling opponent. But there was nowhere to hide. Fighting back offered her only hope of survival. The relentless prodding of Judith's spear, along with the shrill taunts of the bespectacled woman and the feral snapping of her drug-crazed pponent finally achieved the desired effect. Feeling a sudden rush of adrenaline that melted into white-hot rage, she turned around suddenly, teeth bared in a snarl. But instead of biting Emma, she slammed her forehead into her face.
"That's more like it!" Lord enthused. "Now we have a real dogfight."
Had the two combatants been able to use their hands, they might have torn each other to pieces. But their teeth proved equally lethal. With blood streaming from her nose, Emma recovered quickly from the unexpected head butt and threw herself at Vanessa. Both women shrieked like wild animals, teeth seeking exposed flesh.
Though Lord had always enjoyed bloodsports, especially of the human variety, it was his wife who most savoured the barbaric spectacle. Two beautiful young women, reduced to the level of crazed beasts, intent on inflicting terrible injury upon one another. Performing for her pleasure. Never had the woman once sneered at by such models of female perfection felt more like a goddess.
Vanessa's supremacy in battle was short lived. She managed to inflict a few deep bites to Emma's upper body, before being overpowered by the other woman. As she pushed her against the bars of the cage, the blonde stripper dived between her splayed legs and fastened her teeth on her pubis. Vanessa's agonised scream was almost drowned out by Judith's shriek of delight.
"Tear off her bitch dog cunt!" she yelled.
Emma seemed intent on doing just that. With all of her rapidly waning strength, Vanessa drew her knees up and slammed them like a vice around her opponent's neck. Emma gurgled loudly, scrabbling at the floor as she started to choke.
"Looks like she's going to finish her off," Lord mused.
Judith did not reply. She was in a state of enchantment, every fibre of her body alive with raw excitement. Without a touch of any kind, she was near the point of climax.
It was Vanessa's lack of strength that saved Emma's life. But when the lethal grip of her knees was relaxed, the bloodied stripper slumped face down onto the floor, croaking hoarsely. The only fight she was capable of now was that of managing to keep breathing.
"Finish the bitch!" Lord roared.
"Do it!" Judith screamed, her face contorted into a demonic mask. "Kill her!"
Vanessa rolled over onto her hands and knees and looked down on her barely conscious opponent. One bite to Emma's jugular vein and she would have won the fight. The other woman would die and she would be free, just as her captors had promised.
Just as they - the twisted, lying, sadistic monsters - had promised!






















CHAPTER 7

When Lord walked into the Purple Pearl, the following afternoon, he looked as displeased as he had sounded on the phone. At the sight of the fat man, accompanied by one of his dark suited hulks, Peter's first instinct was to run. But he knew he would not get far. Besides, he had nowhere to run. He was trapped as surely as Andrea, who remained russed up in his bedroom.
"So, what's going on?" Lord demanded, easing his bulk onto a barstool.
Peter wished he had downed a few more brandies, to ease the pain and anxiety that gnawed at his gut. He had always prided himself on being a good liar, but that was only when his life was not in danger.
"Like I said on the phone, Andrea's disappeared," he replied, in a low voice. "She knows about ... about Vanessa."
Lord's eyes turned to flint. "Did you tell her?"
"No, I didn't say a word," he protested. "It was her bitch sister - the one I told you about. She talked to Andrea. She's convinced she and I got rid of Vanessa and she's somehow worked out that you're in on it too. I think she's going to the police."
As he spoke, he glanced at the ash blonde haired barmaid standing just out of earshot. Christine's disguise left her in little danger of being identified. She had dyed her hair and her working uniform of thigh high red rubber boots and matching bikini was like camouflage in this particular environment. She was feeling remarkably calm, despite the danger that Peter might lose his nerve at any moment and betray her.
"Who's she?" Lord demanded, following his gaze.
"New girl," Peter replied. "Her name is Laurie. She's worked at ..."
"I don't give a fuck where she's worked," the gangster interrupted. "What I want to know is, where the fuck is Andrea?"
Peter shrugged. "I don't know. When I woke up this morning, she was gone. She's not answering her phone and none of the girls here have seen her. Maybe she got scared."
"You're the one that looks scared," Lord grunted. "There's something you're not telling me."
Unsheathing a long, slender bladed knife from the top of her right boot, Christine stepped from behind the bar.
"Hi there, Mr Lord," she smiled, sashaying seductively towards the fat man, hand behind her back.
"Do I know you?" he growled, ogling her appreciatively.
"I'm Laurie," she said. "You don't remember me?"
Peter was already edging away from the bar. Christine was within two feet of Lord. Her right hand shot out and she plunged the knife into his belly. With a startled cry, his burly accomplice leaped from his stool at the far end of the bar and whipped a pistol from the holster beneath his jacket. Christine saw the gun, just as she drew back the bloody blade to strike again. Unfortunately for Lord, he spun around on his stool and attempted to rise to his feet in the same split second as the gunman fired. The bullet that was meant for Christine hit him in the chest and he crashed backwards, knocking her to the floor. Screaming customers and dancers dived for cover.
The gunman fired again, the bullet smashing into the bar counter, inches from Christine's head. Then, he panicked and fled in the direction of the fire exit. Hearing the shooting and screaming, his companion burst through the front door, gun already in his right fist. The first thing he saw was his boss lying on the floor, his white shirt drenched in blood. The second thing he saw was Peter, running for cover. He fired three times, but Peter only heard the first bang. The bullet struck him between the shoulder blades, sending him sprawling face down over the bar. The next two shots ensured he was dead before he hit the floor. In the pandemonium, Christine was just another terrified bar girl, fleeing for her life. Unaware of her role in the wounding of his boss, the second gunman paid her no attention.
"Oh, fuck me!" he groaned, falling to his knees beside the fat man. "What happened, boss? Where's Joe?"
"Get that ... bitch!" Lord mumbled, turning his head in the direction of the door through which Christine had just fled.
Her car was parked across the street. Before starting the engine, she put on a long grey raincoat. She had to move quickly. She wasn't sure if Lord was dead, or if his accomplices would follow her. But she knew where her sister was. Peter had given her the address.
The drive to the mansion took her twenty minutes. She wished she had some kind of weapon, but she had dropped the knife in her haste to escape the carnage. However, luck had so far been on her side.
Christine's heart was pounding as she rang the doorbell. Just when she was beginning to hope there was nobody home, a voice crackled through the intercom.
"Yes, who is it?"
"Hello, Mrs Lord," Christine greeted. "My name is Lorna. I'm .., I'm from the cleaning agency." In the momentary silence that followed, she realised she might have been mistaken in assuming she could take Mrs Lord by surprise. The gangster's home was probably a fortress and his wife would know better than to admit a stranger.
Then, she heard the voice again.
"Oh yes. I thought you weren't due until tomorrow. Give me a moment and I'll let you in."
Christine breathed a small sigh of relief. Nothing she had heard about Lord's wife gave her any reason to suspect she was anything more than a passive partner in his evil enterprise. But she still wished she had some kind of weapon. Peter had described Judith Lord as an "ugly bitch" - a summation Christine was forced to agree with, when the front door finally opened. But, she did not catch the bespectacled woman by surprise. Instead, she found herself
staring down the barrel of the pistol in her right fist.
"Cleaning agency, did you say?" Judith demanded.
"Jesus Christ!" Christine cried. "What's with the gun?"
"One can't be too careful these days," the other woman told her. "Do come in. Shut the door behind you."
Christine realised she was beaten. Her fantasy of single-handedly rescuing her sister seemed suddenly extremely foolish. She should have just called the police.
"Right, who are you really?" Judith rasped, when Christine had been marched into the living room and forced to take a seat. To lie would have been pointless.
"I'm Vanessa Granatt's sister," she replied.
Judith smiled. "That's what I thought. I heard you were snooping around, trying to find out what happened to her. Well, I'm happy to inform you, you've come to the right place."
"What have you done to her?" Christine demanded.
"I could tell you," she replied. "But why don't I show you instead? My husband will be so pleased to meet you at last."
"We've already met," Christine told her. "Last time I saw the fat lump of shit, he was lying dead on the floor of the Purple Pearl."
"What did you say?" Judith snarled.
"You heard me," she replied. "But don't take my word for it. Ring the club, or turn on the TV. It's probably on the news."
Judith stared stonily at her for several minutes. Then, she snatched the remote control from the coffee table.
She was just in time to catch the end of the breaking news story.
"Police have confirmed that there have been two fatalities, but as yet, there are no further details."
The news reporter was standing outside the Purple Pearl, with Delbert Lord's silver Jaguar in the background.
Judith looked like she was about to faint. Christine knew it was now or never. She sprang from her chair and crashed into Judith Lord. The startled woman shrieked as the gun flew from her fingers. She did not get a chance to fight back. Christine smashed a fist into her face, then grabbed the fallen weapon. Standing over the shaken woman, she planted a stiletto-heeled foot on her chest and aimed the gun at her face.
"Right, you ugly bitch," she snapped. "Unless you want to see that fat bastard in hell in the next thirty seconds, you'd better tell me where my sister is."
Judith laughed. "Go ahead and shoot me. Without him, I'm nothing anyway. Do it, you cow! I'll die happy, knowing what we both did to your bitch sister."
Christine squeezed the trigger.
The gun boomed, the recoil almost sending it flying from her grip. The bullet slammed into the wall behind Judith's head.
"You're as weak as she is," the ugly woman cackled. "Go on, take another shot. There's five bullets left."
Christine crouched down and jammed the smoking muzzle of the gun against her chin. "Even I can't miss from this range. Tell me where Vanessa is."
"Very well," Judith smiled. "I'll enjoy seeing the look on your face when you see her. She was a very pretty young woman when she arrived here, you know. Unfortunately, being our slave has taken its toll."
"Just take me to her, you sick bitch," Christine snapped.
A few minutes earlier, Judith had been looking forward to dragging this new arrival to the dungeon and inflicting a most horrible retribution. Now, her only - and probably her last - pleasure would be the look of horror on her face, when she saw what had become of her sister and the other slave.
She flicked a switch and the torches that lined the walls flickered into life.
"Oh my God!" Christine gasped.
Her sister and another woman were chained to one of the walls. Both were naked and splattered with dried blood. The iron manacles around their wrists forced them to stand on tiptoe. Their ankles were similarly shackled, forcing their legs wide apart. For one horrible moment, Christine thought they were dead.
"Aren't they a sight for sore eyes!" Judith giggled. "Oh, how Delbert and I enjoyed torturing your sister! You should have heard her scream. We've made a few videotapes. Would you like to take a look?"
"You sick, twisted bitch!" Christine gasped.
Smiling, Judith flung open her bathrobe and slid it down off her shoulders. All she wore underneath were her gold nipple rings. "Do it," she hissed. "Kill me. I'll make it easy for you."
She made a grab for the gun. But, instead of shooting her, Christine hit her on the side of the head with the butt of the weapon. Even as she slumped to her knees, Judith continued to smile.
Christine knew she could not kill her in cold blood. But that did not mean she wasn't going to make her pay for what she had done.
"Killing you would be too kind," she declared. "What you need is a taste of your own medicine. Crawl, you fucking dog!"
Christine considered strapping her to the rack, on which Emma had suffered such hideous abuse, but freeing her sister was her first priority. The barbed wire adorned whipping cross in the centre of the dungeon offered a less cumbersome alternative.
Without the slightest protest, Judith slipped her wrists into the iron manacles above her head. After she had snapped them shut, Christine threw away the gun. Now that the evil hag was secured, she would not be needing it again.
"I'll deal with you in a minute," she vowed.
"I look forward to it," Judith sneered.
The last time the whipping post had been used was during the interrogation of a suspected snitch in Lord's organisation. Rusty splashes of the doomed man's bloodstained the barbed wire.
So much pain, so much torture, so much pleasure, Judith thought wryly. And now, I'm to be the last victim of this little piece of Hell we created together. Remembering the man who had loved her and nurtured her darkest desires, she felt a sudden urge to cry. But she fought to remain in control. Had she intended to kill her, the slave's vengeful sister would have done so already. Even if Lord were really dead, his accomplices would surely come to her rescue. In the meantime, Judith was strong enough to withstand a little amateur torture.
After she had freed Vanessa, Christine unchained the other captive, who appeared to be in even worse shape.
"What did they do to you?" she cried, cradling her sister's face in both hands.
"I'll tell you what we did to her," Judith shouted, her shrill voice reverberating throughout the grim dungeon. "We beat her and we raped her. Oh, how we beat her! You should have heard her scream when ..."
"Shut up!" Christine yelled. "You'll be the one screaming in a few minutes."
"You won't torture me," the gangster's wife taunted. "You're a weak, pathetic whore, just like her. It takes a special kind of person to make another human being scream like they're having their heart torn out. Last night, she showed us how weak she was."
"Weak, am I?" Christine retaliated. "If your fat pig husband could still talk, he could tell you who stuck the knife in his gut. Mister big gangster didn't put up much of a fight against a weak woman."
"You didn't do it," Judith protested. "You couldn't have."
"Oh, but I did," Christine assured her. "It's surprising what you can do when you have to. I'm just sorry I couldn't have made him suffer as much as I'm going to make you suffer."
"Ask those two bitches about suffering," the female sadist sneered. "No matter what you do to me now, it's too late to save them. You'd be doing them a favour by putting them out of their misery. That's what you do with an injured dog, isn't it?"
"Make her shut up. Please!"
Vanessa's groan was scarcely audible, but the brown eyes that stared at Judith were alive with hatred. Had she possessed the strength to rise from her knees, she would have exacted the ultimate retribution with her bare hands.
"Nothing would give me greater pleasure," her sister replied.
Christine knew the police could arrive at any time, but she wasn't going anywhere until the vile creature that had subjected her sister to such horrendous abuse had been punished. Judith Lord was not going to feel comfortable in her torture chamber for much longer.
"See how you like a taste of your own medicine," the raven haired avenger told her, securing the iron manacles at the foot of the whipping cross around her ankles.
"Do your worst," Judith hissed.
The manacles were attached to a single heavy chain, which ran through a pulley on the opposite end of the crossbar to which Judith's wrists were secured.
Christine pulled on the free end of the chain, her arms bulging from the strain. Judith bit her lower lip to prevent herself from crying out as her ankles were lifted from the floor. As the chain winched her higher, her lower body was pulled irresistibly towards the barb ringed pole. The only possible form of resistance was to clench her thighs and arch her back outwards. But that was not a position she could expect to hold for very long. She almost screamed as the barbed wire bit into the pale flesh of her upper thighs.
In common with many sadists, Judith possessed a masochistic streak. In the past, this had manifested itself in a passion for painful anal sex, which her husband had been only too happy to satisfy. However, Delbert had never suspected that his soulmate was also given to indulging in this debased activity with other men - usually male prostitutes whom she paid to sodomise her. These anonymous encounters left Judith with a sense of self-loathing that could only be exorcised through the inflicting of pain and humiliation upon others.
A slave such as Vanessa would already have been screaming for mercy. Judith could not permit herself such weakness. Whatever she was about to suffer, she would bear in silence. Even if the avenging bitch somehow found the courage to put the gun to her head, she would be denied the pleasure of hearing her beg for mercy.
After she had locked the pulley in place, Christine selected a long, sleek rattan from the whipping arsenal. The sight of Judith gripping the barbed pole between her bleeding thighs, her features set in a mask of grim determination, was macabrely amusing. Without even realising it, the gargoyle-faced sadist was already broken.
Emma had begun crawling towards the exit, but Vanessa did not even notice. She crouched on all fours, her unblinking gaze fixed on Judith. As the first lash of the rattan exploded like a firecracker across her former captor's quivering buttocks, she smiled.
"Scream, you fucking vermin!" she murmured, crawling towards her.
Judith savoured the vicious bite of the rattan, responding to each scorching stroke with only a muted whimper. The agony of the barbed wire gouging her thighs and the joint popping pressure on her knees was like nothing she had ever experienced. But she knew that if she relaxed her muscles, she would suffer far more hideously.
The merciless flogging continued for several minutes, until Christine's aching wrist forced her to drop the cane. Swollen scarlet welts flared across Judith's broad buttocks and blood trickled down her thighs and onto the floor. But, despite the searing agony, she refused to show weakness.
"Am I punished, Mistress?" she smirked, her voice quivering.
"I'm just getting warmed up," Christine replied. "You'd just better hope the police get here soon."
Judith laughed harshly. "So had you. Because if my husband's associates get here first ..."
"They won't," Christine snapped. "Trust me on that."
Of course, there was no way she could be sure. Lord's gang must have consisted of more than the two heavies that had accompanied him to the Purple Pearl. Should they or any of the others arrive at his house, there was no need to wonder about the fate she and the two captives would suffer.
"Help me up," Vanessa whimpered, grabbing her right thigh. Wrapping both arms around her sister, Christine helped her to her feet.
"You should go with her," she said, nodding in the direction of Emma, who was clambering up the stone steps to freedom. "Wait for me upstairs. I'll make sure this thing can never hurt you again."
Vanessa shook her head. "I'm staying here with you. I want to help you torture that ugly pig. I don't want her going to jail. Not after what they did to me. Is the fat bastard really dead?"
Loraine nodded. "I killed him myself. I'm just sorry it was so quick."
"And Peter?"
"Dead too."
Christine uttered the words without any trace of emotion.
"That's good," Vanessa said, equally coldly. "So now it's just her."
A glob of saliva hit her in the face.
"Don't you talk about my husband like that, you cunt!" Judith snarled. "You were our slave and you'll always be our slave. Do you think you'll ever be able to forget what we did to you? You'll always remember the taste of dog food and what it feels like to crawl around on all fours, gnawing on a bone. Every time you look in a mirror, you'll see what you've become - what we made you become. You'll never be beautiful again. We branded you. You're ugly and dirty and ..."
Vanessa backhanded her across the mouth, cutting her off in mid-sentence. Then, she looked at the gun lying on the floor. Christine followed her gaze.
"If that's what you want to do, be my guest," she said calmly.
Vanessa remained silent for a moment, then shook her head. "No, let's torture her. I want to hear her scream like she made me scream."
"I wish you luck," Judith cackled. "When my husband's associates get here, we'll see who screams."
The cattle prod was Vanessa's idea. Having watched Judith use it on Emma, she knew it was a most potent weapon of torture.
Judith felt a small tremor of ecstasy course through her body as Christine rammed the cold, steel cylinder into her rectum. But her pleasure was short-lived. When Christine's thumb pressed the red button on the base of the device and the low voltage blast exploded in her bowels, Judith's entire body convulsed. When the next shock hit, a few seconds later, she bit through her lower lip and unclenched her thighs.
Her lower body slammed against the pole and the barbed wire tore at her vagina. She barely heard the agonised scream that erupted from her lungs. Christine cupped her whip scarred buttocks in both hands and pushed her against the wire, savouring her high pitched screams.
Judith had been certain she could withstand any pain, that the sheer strength of her will would prevent her from breaking like a slave. But, as the barbed wire crucified her pubis and her former slave giggled delightedly, she realised she had lost. Before meeting Delbert, she had been just another minor league drug pusher, living in a squalid bedsit. Now that he was gone, she was the same ugly, unsociable girl she had always been.
"Stop it," she whimpered. "Please!"
"Do I hear the pig begging for mercy?" Christine demanded, hitting the button again.
Judith convulsed and the barbed wire cut deeper.
"There's money," she croaked. "In the safe."
Christine paused, her finger on the red button. "How much?"
"A hundred thousand. Maybe more. You can take it all."
"Where's the safe?"
"Upstairs, behind the painting in the living room."
"What's the combination?"
"I'll tell you that, when you get me down off this cross," Judith replied.
Christine shook her head. "Sorry. No deal."
She pressed the button and Judith screamed again. It took a further two bolts from the cattle prod to elicit the combination of the safe.
"Now, let me down," the crucified woman pleaded.
"No, don't!" Vanessa cried.
"Don't worry, I won't," her sister answered. She continued to bomb the helpless woman's bowels with the cattle prod, ignoring her anguished cries. Each link of the brand that Vanessa wore across her whip scarred buttocks and each felt like it were melting her flesh and the smaller mark on her forehead caused her head to throb. Her captors had left her scarred for life. As she glanced in the direction of the brazier, she decided upon a most appropriate form of justice. Judith continued to scream hoarsely as Christine waged war on her anus with the cattle prod, using her free hand to push her against the crucifying wire. She did not ask Vanessa what she was planning to do. As far as she was concerned, any form of torture was richly deserved.
Vanessa's first instinct was to use the branding iron, but then she had a better idea. Holding the tongs in her right hand, she plucked a white-hot coal from the burner. Judith watched her every move through tear glazed eyes. When her former slave stepped towards her, the smouldering coal held aloft, her earlier bravado seemed like a past life.
"Nooooooooo!" she screamed.
Vanessa was tempted to ram the coal into her mouth, but that would have cheated her of the pleasure of hearing the bitch scream. Instead, she touched it to Judith's right nipple, at the same time as Christine dealt her another internal shock from the cattle prod.
The sadistic woman howled in agony, her nipple turning into a flaming spear that burned through her entire body. The heat from the coal and the lightning from the cattle prod that was rammed to the hilt in her rectum fused into a single hideous entity. She scarcely felt the barbed wire that tore at her lower lips as she writhed on the whipping cross.
Vanessa held the coal to her scorched nipple for about thirty hellish seconds, then transferred it to the left. Judith's screams abated to a harsh whimper, then her head slumped to her chest. Had she been dead, Vanessa would not have felt the slightest remorse. But she had merely fainted. Her former victim lacked the strength to torture her further. As the tongs fell from her fingers, Christine grabbed her shoulders to stop her from falling.
"We'd better get out of here," she said. "The police are probably on their way. Don't worry about her. She'll never be able to hurt you again."































CHAPTER 8

By the time the police arrived, forty-five minutes later, the fire that raged through Delbert Lord's mansion was already out of control. Nobody could save the woman trapped inside. The secrets of the chamber of horrors Judith Lord and her husband had shared were consumed by the mysterious blaze.
The arsonist was never found.
Once the physical scars of her ordeal had healed, Emma returned to work in a new club. Her conscience was clear. She had waited until her rescuer and her fellow captive had left the house, carrying a bulging sports bag. Then, armed with a can of petrol she had found in the garage, she returned to the dungeon.

Andrea Penstone was barely conscious, when she was finally found tied up in Peter's bedroom. Nobody asked her any questions, until after she was taken to hospital. When she learned that her former lover was dead, along with Delbert Lord, she saw no reason to contradict the assumption of the police that Peter had tied her up and tortured her. The rapist and the gangster had received their just desserts. She knew nothing about what had happened in the Purple Pearl and made no mention of Vanessa or her sister.

Joe Shallon was less forgiving. Lord's former bodyguard and debt collector would never forget the woman who had stabbed his boss, or that stomach churning instant of horror when he himself had fired the bullet that had killed his employer.
Since that day at the club, Joe had been keeping a low profile, fearing for his life. Lord might be dead, but he left behind friends who refused to believe that his shooting had been accidental. It wasn't long before the word got out that Joe had been the woman's accomplice. The fact that they had both disappeared, along with one hundred and twenty thousand pounds of Delbert Lord's money, lent further credence to the rumour.
Joe remembered fondly the night he and his former partner had bundled the sexy, dark haired woman into a crate and delivered her to Lord's dungeon. His only regret was that he had not been permitted to see what had subsequently happened to her. However, knowing Mr and Mrs Lord, it had been most unpleasant.
Joe knew the identity of the mystery woman who had stabbed his boss. The police and Interpol failed to find her, but the burly gangster was more persistent. Tracking down people was what he did best. Finding them was what he enjoyed most, especially when it fell to him to mete out the appropriate justice.
It took him three months to find the sisters. They were staying in a house on the outskirts of a small town in Northern France. No doubt living off the money they had stolen from Lord.
Joe did not care about the money. But he cared very much about revenge. After all, those two bitches were the reason he would spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder.
Night was falling as he parked his rented car across the road from the house. Through one of the front windows, he saw a woman with closely cropped, bright blonde hair, walking across the living room. She had obviously done her best to change her appearance, but there was no mistaking the woman who had knifed Delbert Lord. And, where he found her, he found her sister.
"Payback time, ladies," Joe muttered, stepping from the car.

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