Loading...He would never forget that day, for as long as he lived. Every time he thought about it, his cheeks burned with shame and his eyes flashed with anger.
It was just a casual get-together for her and her friends, celebrating a college graduation. The drinks flowed liberally, as liberally as the piano music in the background, as liberally as the laughter and merriment.
He had gone to the bar to fetch them both some drinks. As he approached her and her friends, she smiled at him. He returned her smile, never believing how lucky he was to be with her.
* * * * *
Christine Hanna was easily the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Her dark hair hung down in asymmetrical bangs and layers, framing her round face and dark eyes and button mouth to perfection. Her slender frame sported a light tan all year around, and while muscular, were not overly so, thanks to her tennis and horseback riding and golf. She was of perfect height at five feet and six inches, and her clothing was always in the height of fashion.
He’d first laid eyes on her in their Economics 395 class and had been instantly smitten. When he learned that her father was Skip Hanna, Financial wizard and guru, he knew that she was way out of his league. Their professor, Doctor Eisenbaum, recommended Brad Thompson to internship with Skip, and Christine and he often crossed paths.
“Bart, I need you to do me a favor and pick Christine up after her tennis match tomorrow,” Skip intoned as he dashed to the conference room.
“Uh, it’s Brad, sir,” Brad said.
Some ‘favor,’ having the intern pick up Christine at a tennis match on a Saturday. It was Saturday, a day off, and Brad and his girlfriend had made plans to go to the beach. As an intern, Brad wasn’t getting paid for the work he did at the office, and wouldn’t be getting paid for picking up Christine and ferrying her wherever she wanted to go after her match. And Brad would be getting no recognition or accolades from Skip Hanna either.
What he did get was the loss of one girlfriend; Amanda just didn’t understand Brad’s willingness to put Skip Hanna and Skip Hanna’s daughter ahead of his own personal life.
“Amanda, any sacrifices I make today will pay off in the long run,” he had argued.
Christine got into the twelve year old Toyota he drove and asked if he would be a dear and run her to Winston’s for a light lunch she was supposed to be having with her step-mother. He could tell she had played well and defeated her opponent; she was in a happy, playful mood. She could also tell that he was not in a happy, playful mood.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. “Bart, right?”
“It’s Brad,” he mumbled.
“Oh, I am so sorry, Daddy said some guy named Bart would be picking me up,” she apologized.
He proceeded to tell her, truthfully, that he and his girlfriend had made plans to go to the beach that day, but he’d had to cancel because of picking her up.
“Let me make it up to you,” she said and dug her cell phone out of her purse. “What’s Amanda’s address?”
She ordered a bouquet of flowers to be delivered to Amanda within the hour.
“She’ll be ready for you,” Christine smiled and fumbled in her lap for a moment. “And you’ll be ready for her.”
Thus saying, she dragged the middle finger of her left hand under his nose. The smell of arousal was unmistakable and she giggled as he gulped nervously.
“Ta ta!” she gaily said as she got out of his car. She smiled mischievously and sucked her finger clean while looking at him. He nearly pulled out in front of a taxicab and she laughed merrily and disappeared into Winston’s.
Amanda was appeased, until the next time Skip foisted another extracurricular assignment onto the intern.
“Aw, what’s wrong, Brad?” Christine cooed as she flounced into his car.
“Same shit, different day,” Brad said and put the car into drive.
“This Amanda is completely unreasonable,” Christine announced. “But, don’t worry, I’ll make it up to you.”
She had him pull over by a clump of trees. She leaned over the console of his car, so close he could smell the horse’s scent on her, smell her sweat, and the smell of the bloody marry she’d just finished drinking.
“Did you like the way my pussy smelled ” she whispered.
His erection was immediate and hard.
“Then you’ll love the way it tastes,” she whispered and giggled as she kicked her boots off, then struggled out of her jodhpurs.
He shot a load into his shorts while he feasted on her sweaty, hairy pussy. Finally, she grunted in a short orgasm, petted him on his head, then pulled her riding slacks back on.
“Here,” she giggled and shoved her panties into his shirt pocket. “Now, come on, I need to get home in time for the Westminster showing. It comes on at three, you know.”
He got to his feet and brushed his knees clean of the grass and debris. She giggled again and closed his car door. She pulled her riding boots on and playfully snapped her fingers at him as he climbed back into the driver’s seat.
“Come on, I don’t want to miss the opening rally,” she smiled.
“Hey Bart,” Skip called out as Brad downloaded the latest files from a newly acquired account. “Christine needs an escort to the Metropolitan Ballet tomorrow night.”
“It’s Brad, sir,” Brad mumbled.
“Hmm? Oh, yes, of course, my mistake,” Skip said as he strolled away. “Black tie, you know.”
He was introduced to her circle of friends, all young people born into their money, all with no real idea of who to work, how to support himself. He felt included into their circle, though, as Christine did not introduce him as ‘My Daddy’s Intern,’ but instead as ‘My dear friend, Brad.’ If they thought him out of place, they did not let on. They listened intently as he discussed the merits of diversifying, making sure to parlay some into precious metals. They discussed politics and did not belittle his position against abortion.
The evening was finished and he walked her to her apartment door.
“Thank you, Brad,” she gushed at her door and opened it.
“I had a lovely time,” she whispered into his ear, then lightly pressed her lips to his.
“Hi Daddy,” she chirped as Brad and Skip sat at the breakfast table on Monday morning, going over the week’s agenda. She kissed her father’s cheek, and then stepped back.
She smiled at Brad over Skip’s shoulder, and raised the hem of her sundress. After showing him the slightest hint of her profuse bush, she dropped it again and giggled at Brad’s consternation.
“Daddy, I have another tennis match this Saturday, okay?” she said and leaned over to show Brad that she was not wearing a bra.
“Um, okay, okay, um, a tennis match, that’s the twenty third, right?” Skip mumbled as he looked at his PDA.
“Gee I wonder who’ll be picking her up,” Brad muttered to himself.
It came as no surprise to him when he was delegated that task on Friday.
“Oh, poo, I lost,” Christine sniffed when Brad asked her how it went, then brightened considerably. “But Ned’s having a party, a little get-together at his place tonight. Please tell me you can come! That is, if Amanda won’t mind?”
“Amanda’s history,” Brad admitted. “So, black tie, suit, what?”
“Blazer and tie is fine,” Christine said and squeezed Brad’s thigh, dangerously close to his cock.
When his internship with Skip Hanna ended, there was no party, no fanfare, just a handshake and a ‘good luck with your future, young man.’ But a moment after he left the building, his cell phone rang and Christine invited him to a luncheon the following Saturday.
“Don’t think you’re going to get rid of me, now that you’re no longer Daddy’s intern,” she waggled her finger at him over the artichoke salad and watercress sandwiches at Winston’s.
Even though it had been Christine had invited him, Brad was stuck with the forty-nine dollar bill.
Their relationship progressed over the next five months; often he was an overnight guest at her private apartment. She never allowed him intercourse, but was fine with him performing oral sex on her. Once, she performed a hand job on him, and screwed up her face in disgust at the sight of his semen.
“Oh, hi, Bart,” Skip said as he walked past Brad and Christine as Brad, Christine, and Christine’s step-mother, Dottie, sat at the breakfast table on the veranda.
“Daddy, it’s Brad,” Christine snapped and Brad’s heart leapt with joy; his woman was defending him.
“We’re just having a little get-together; Ginger’s graduating from college,” she cheerfully said. “Coat and tie’s fine. Pick me up at nine, okay?”
‘Ginger’ was the not so secret name they called Jennifer O’Brien behind her back. Her father, Doctor John O’Brien was a world-renowned plastic surgeon, very instrumental in the advances in non-invasive fat removal. Unfortunately, there was little he could do for his daughter. Ginger was a fitting nickname for her. Her pale skin was nearly non-visible under the splotches of orange freckles. Her long, limp hair was a bright carrot orange in color. But she was sweet, funny, and her father was beyond wealthy, so she was deemed ‘one of them’ by the crowd that Christine ran with.
“Here, be a dear and get us some more drinks,” Christine said and thrust her empty glass into his hand.
She smiled at him and he returned her smile as he approached the small throng.
“Here, boy, come on, here boy,” she said loudly and several people laughed. She whistled and patted her thigh, as if calling a dog.
He put the drinks down on a low table, turned and left the party, the laughter ringing in his ears.
>>>
Brad graduated with honors, then sought a Master’s Degree and again graduated with honors. A small investment firm considered themselves lucky to acquire him and he immediately set to work. Within two months of his coming on-board at Norman’s and Associates, their clientele had doubled and the profits of their clientele had increased as well.
Skip Hanna frowned. The reports that had come over from his London affiliate was disturbing, to say the least. According to them, someone at his firm had authorized the unloading of several key stocks, at a time when their values were artificially depressed. His Tokyo branch called, highly irate over his unwarranted withdrawal from their holdings. Tel Aviv did not bother to call or e-mail, simply sent the files via courier.
“What in the fuck is going on here, Hank?” he thundered at Frank, his newest intern.
Within a month, Skip Hanna’s personal investments were wiped out and he was in arrears to the tune of five billion dollars. The investment firm that he had built from the ground up was bankrupt and filing for Chapter eleven. This filing was denied and their assets were seized and liquidated.
“Don’t worry,” he smugly told Dottie. “I’ve got about one hundred million in the Bahamas, we’ll be fine.”
“You mean, the money you had transferred back to our U.S. accounts?” she shrilled at him.
He paled as she waved the bank statement under his nose.
“If you leave me now, you leave just as broke as you were when you got here,” he snarled at her.
“Bull shit,” she laughed. “My attorney said if I filed before a judgment is levied against you, I own everything I received in the marriage.”
She was right, but the judgment was filed ten days prior to her petition for divorce.
“Mother of God,” Skip groaned as he glanced at the empty safe deposit boxes. Dottie had beaten him to the vault by three days. Unfortunately for her, the US Marshals anticipated the existence of safe deposit boxes and had picked up up right outside of the bank.
Skip locked himself in his bedroom. Outside, the Marshals were removing all things of value.
“Ma’am, if you do not step aside, I will have you arrested,” one of the marshals told Christine as he dumped her handcrafted tennis rackets into a box. They both heard the gunshot.
They had to kick the door down and inside they found Skip Hanna, gun stilling his hand, eyes wide open and unseeing. The Marshals were unperturbed as Christine screamed at them, declaring them all murderers.
Skip’s funeral was a somber one. Most of his business associates, having abandoned him in the last days of his life, also abandoned him in death. They too were being stripped of their earnings, judgments were being levied against them, and clients that had lost their own investments were suing them. Many of them put the blame squarely on their mentor and leader, Skip Hanna.
Christine Hanna sat primly and tearfully accepted the condolences of the few that did attend. She squinted, a little surprised, at the appearance of Brad Thompson at Skip’s funeral. He looked at the casket, the meager floral arrangements, and the sparse gathering of people, and nodded in satisfaction.
“Bet you remember my name now, self-centered bastard,” he said to the corpse, then with a smug smirk to Christine, turned and left.
Brad was actually surprised at how easy it had been. Like most people in power, Skip believed himself to be invulnerable and used the same password for all of his accounts. Like most people, he never believed it could happen to him. But all it takes is someone with the right information and a cell phone and laptop computer.
Christine was thoroughly unprepared to be a pauper. She had a college degree, true enough, but had never worked a day in her life and did not have the faintest idea of where to go or what to do.
As many of her friends were suddenly in the same shape as herself, Christine had nowhere to turn when the court ordered her from her home and her apartment. Jobless and penniless, she was now homeless. Dottie Hanna had simply disappeared, back to Omaha, Nebraska, and did not return her former stepdaughter’s repeated calls.
“What do you mean, ‘denied?'”? Christine shrilled as the waiter grim-facedly told her that her credit card had been denied. Fortunately for her, a nearby patron graciously paid her bill.
“Christine, I’d love to help, but I’m looking for work too,” friend after friend told her.
“I’ll do my best,” Christine tearfully promised the unsympathetic woman at the employment agency. She’d seen more and more of these spoiled little brats tramping in here looking for work ever since the financial institutions in New York began folding and collapsing.
Brad enjoyed a leisurely lunch at Winston’s, enjoyed the fawning treatment the waiters gave to him. He dropped a hundred dollar bill and did not wait for the change.
“Oh, thank you sir,” the waiter practically lapped at him as he left the restaurant.
“Ginger!” he called out as a familiar face strolled past.
He remembered her; it had been at her party that Christine had thoroughly humiliated him. He remembered all the faces at that party, all their reactions at his humiliation. All had laughed at him, except Jennifer O’Brien. She had looked absolutely stricken at Christine’s cruelty. For that reason, and that reason alone, Doctor O’Brien had been spared Brad’s skillful manipulations and buyouts.
“Sorry, I know Ginger’s not your real name, but I never did hear anyone say what it was,” he said as he walked up to her.
“Uh, it’s Jennifer,” she stammered. “I’m sorry, do I know…?”
“Brad, Brad Thompson. I dated Christine Hanna shortly,” he said and began to walk with her, step for step.
“I’m sorry,” she shook her head again. “I still don’t…”
“At your graduation party,” he said tightly. “‘Here boy! Come here!'”
“Oh, my God!” she laughed out loud. “How have you been? You look great! When did you grow that beard?”
She told him that she was working at Simon and Schuster, translating literature from French into English; her major had been French Literature. With smiles and hugs, she agreed to see him for dinner that evening.
At dinner, Jennifer smiled and laughed and Brad found that hard veneer he’d put on after Christine’s humiliation fading away.
“Thanks, Brad,” she smiled as he walked her to her apartment. “I don’t remember when I’d ever had so much fun!”
“Well, I hope we can do it again,” he smiled at her as she unlocked her door.
“You mean, like a date?” she gasped and looked at him.
“Uh, yeah, yeah, like a date,” he stammered. “I mean, what did you think this was?”
“This was a date?” she asked, in awe. “I’ve never been out on a date before!”
Her kisses were clumsy but very enjoyable and she breathlessly agreed to a second date. With a few more kisses, she finally let herself into her apartment and he walked down to his Mercedes-Benz with a smile and an erection.
The next day, Jennifer was absolutely stunned by the elaborate floral arrangement that was brought to her tiny cubicle. It was too large to fit on her desk, so she had to set it on a table in the employees’ lounge. She had difficulty walking with it, but refused to let even one petal fall from it as she lugged it the thirty-two blocks to her apartment.
“Oh, Honey, I am so sorry!” Brad moaned when she laughingly told him of her trouble getting it home. “Next time I’ll have them delivered to your apartment!”
“Better not!” she laughed. “Everyone at work was so jealous!”
If they were jealous of the flowers, her new diamond bracelet really raised the jealousy bar to a new level. She laughed and cried at the simple note that accompanied it. “This may be a little easier to carry home.”
^^^
Christine walked home tiredly. The first time that bitch at the employment agency had called about the waitress job, Christine had told her that was too far beneath her. A month later, witnessing wasn’t beneath her. But the manager had told her that someone new had just bought the diner and her job might be cut.
“I mean, I could be persuaded to try to keep you on,” he said while looking at her chest.
^^^
Brad smiled as he looked around at his newest acquisition. He’d bought the diner with his own personal wealth; Norman & Associates had nothing to do with this. The manager was trying to grovel and assert himself as a leader at the same time, quite amusing to Brad.
“And here’s Betty, she’s been with us for, what, going on ten years?” the manager was saying.
“Yeah, you know, while I’m waiting for Broadway to come calling,” the brassy blonde said and smiled.
: There is one more waitress, Christine, but she’s not on duty right now, just got off in fact,” the manager said as Brad looked over the work schedule.
“”Uh huh,” Brad said and smiled. The manager shivered; it was not a nice smile.
^^^
Jennifer looked around at his apartment in awe and in trepidation. They’d been dating for three months and she was finally in his apartment. They were going to do it; they were going to make love. The furnishings screamed wealth; the carpet alone, she knew, had to cost well over fifteen thousand dollars. She knew the hardwood floors that went from his foyer through to the living room were Australian hardwood, at least thirty five thousand per room. Yet, none of it was ostentatious or pretentious.
He smiled at her and handed her a glass of champagne.
“We don’t have to.” he began softly.
“No!” she cried out, and then softened. “Brad, I want to. I think I’m in love with you.”
“Baby face, I KNOW I’m in love with you,” he smiled and lightly kissed her fingers.
Christine had taught him well; Jennifer was completely spent from the many orgasms his tongue brought her to. She curled up into his arms and wept silently at how good love felt.
“But you didn’t, um, we didn’t,” she murmured as he pulled the covers over them. “You didn’t stick your weenie in me.”
“What?” he laughed out loud.
“You know,” she blushed hotly. “We didn’t fuck.”
“We can fix that right now,” he smiled and she gasped as his cock rested against the mouth of her pussy.
She looked down into his soft brown eyes and smiled. Suddenly her smile dropped and her green eyes opened in shock. The pain was sharp at first, and then slowed to a dull throbbing. His fingers touched her face, her shoulders, her back, and her arms.
Within moments of the pain coming, it was gone and a deep pleasure welled up in her.
“Now, now you can say we fucked,” he laughed as she grunted and writhed on top of him. She smiled down at him as he cupped her twenty-nine a cup breasts in his hands.
“I know, they’re kind of small,” she murmured.
“They’re perfect, just like the rest of you,” he said and lightly kissed each one before bringing his mouth to a small nipple.
^^^
Christine had done cocaine before; what socialite hadn’t? But it was a recreational thing. The new owner was dogging her, dogging all of them, making them work such screwy shifts they could barely catch up on their sleep before the next shift started. So when Gil produced the magic powder, Christine gratefully took a deep snort of it. The next time it was offered, she gratefully did the line, and then returned to the dining floor.
“Going to cost you,” the manager smiled when Christine approached him about letting her has some more coke.
At first she was horrified and disgusted. The second day of pulling a double shift, though, she willingly sucked his small, sweaty cock for a line of the powder.
“I can offer you as much of the nose candy as you desire,” the gruff voice said.
Christine sobbed into the phone. Gil had flatly refused her any more of the cocaine, telling her that it was beginning to affect her work. She had sobbed and begged and pleaded and promised and finally he punched a number into his cell phone and silently handed her the phone.
“All you could ever hope for,” the voice promised again.
“What do I have to do?” Christine sniffled, unmindful of the excess mucus that ran from her nose.
“What’s it worth to you?” the voice asked.
“Anything,” she promised, without thinking.
“Your freedom?” the voice asked.
She hung up and threw the phone at Gil. She stormed out of his tiny office and tried to concentrate on her job. Within an hour, though, she was back in Gil’s office, begging him to make the call again.
“Are you ready to give up your freedom”” the voice asked again.
Christine didn’t even think; she didn’t have any freedoms left anyway. She lived in a roach and rat infested apartment, she barely had enough money for food, and she craved cocaine.
“Yes,” she agreed.
“Good. Take off your panties and hand them to Gil,” the voice ordered.
Gil’s eyes opened wide as Christine, after a moment’s hesitation, shimmied out of her cheap cotton panties and handed them to him.
“Okay, I did it,” she sobbed, humiliated.
“Go outside and get into the back seat of the gold Mercedes-Benz and lay face down on the back seat,” the voice said.
She handed the phone to Gil and walked outside.
“Lay down on the back seat, stupid cunt,” the burly man said as he started the engine.
“Where’s my cocaine?” she sobbed as she complied with his order.
“Reach into the pouch at the back of my seat,” the man said.
She sobbed in gratitude as she located the small plastic bag with the powder. She greedily snorted as much as she could, than smiled, as the relief was immediate.
“Okay”” the man asked, almost gently.
“Yeah,” she agreed happily.
“Okay, there’s a scarf on the floor, by your right hand. Put that over your eyes, and tie the knot tightly,” he ordered as they drove through the city streets.
She did as she was told, almost welcoming the blackness that engulfed her.
“Now, roll over,” the man ordered.
She could swear she knew that voice. Somewhere in the dark recesses of her mind, she could almost put a loving face with the warm voice.
“Now, hike your skirt up,” the man ordered and turned again for the hundredth time since they’d started this journey.
“What?” she asked shocked. If she raised her skirt, he’d be able to see her pussy.
“Get out,” he said as he slowed the car and pulled over.
“No!” she cried out. “No, I was just surprised, that’s all.”
She pulled her skirt up to her waist, baring her hairy pussy to his gaze.
“Good girl,” he said in a condescending voice. “That’s a very good girl. Now, start rubbing your pussy.”
She sobbed in humiliation as she brought her right hand to her pussy and began to rub it. Her pussy was dry when she began, but soon her juices flowed and she sobbed in further humiliation as the wet, sloshing sounds could be clearly heard over the hum of the powerful engine.
“That’s a good girl! Good girl! Think you can come for me?” he taunted as she grunted, so close to her unwelcome orgasm.
She stiffened and came, then felt more waves of humiliation wash over her.
“And we’re hear,” he cheerfully said.
She felt the car come to a stop and the engine turn off.
“Okay, roll over and put your hands behind your back,” he ordered. “No, no! Do not take the blind fold off!”
She felt the handcuffs ands struggled briefly; her fear was overwhelming.
“Stop!” he hissed and delivered a stinging blow to her rump.
She was led outside, up a short flight of stairs, and into a musty building. Then she was led down a series of stairs. By her calculations they were at least three levels below street level.
“Here you go,” he cheerfully said and led her to a small cot. The handcuffs were taken off and she rubbed her wrists gratefully.
She was made to lie down, and again struggled briefly when she felt a collar being placed around her neck. A slap to her face stilled any further struggles. The collar was attached to a short chain, which in turn was attached to the head of her cot.
“You can take the blind fold off when I leave,” he told her. “But before I go…”
She heard a zipper being dragged down and then felt the head of his cock being pressed against her lips. She felt nauseous but bent to the task of sucking him to erection, then milking his cock until he came.
“Swallow,” he ordered and she grimaced as she did so. At least his cock didn’t taste of sweat and cooking oil as Gil’s cock had.
She heard the door click shut and immediately ripped the scarf from her eyes.
The room was a small one. Other than the cot, the only other item in the room was a small bucket. The walls were made of cinderblock and the two doors looked to be made of metal. A naked light bulb shone from the ceiling, dimly illuminating the dingy room. On the small pillow was a plastic bag with some cocaine in it. She lay down on the cot and turned over to get more comfortable, clutching the small bag in her hand.
^^^
“Ready for our date?” Brad smiled as Jennifer skipped to his gold Mercedes-Benz.
Dinner was followed by a short cruise along the harbor. She loved the sight of the city from the water. She giggled happily as he pulled her into his arms and began to dance to the music that poured softly from the boat’s sound system. The deck was small, but she felt safe in his arms.
“Make love to me?” she begged and he did. Out in the open, clearly visible to any other boats if they ventured too closely, she giggled and cooed and grunted as they rolled around on the deck of the boat.
“Oh, God, Brad, I love you so much,” she murmured as he guided the boat back the slip.
“I love you more,” he said and held her hand as she disembarked from his boat.
“Uh uh,” she childishly argued and giggled as he playfully swatted her backside.
She was a little puzzled, almost hurt, when he declined to spend the night with her.
“Work day tomorrow, Baby face,” he said and left.
^^^
Christine woke up when she heard the door open. She sat up and looked at the man that entered the room. He wore a hood over his head and his face was not visible.
“Hungry?” he asked and she nodded her head yes.
She looked down at the bowls of oatmeal and water that he dropped to the floor.
“Now, what’s a good name for a bitch like you?” he asked as she slowly bent over to grab the metal bowl that held the oatmeal.
“My name’s Christine,” she said and picked up the bowl.
“The bowl stays on the floor; dogs don’t use their hands,” he said and delivered a stinging blow to her rump with the dog leash he held.
She screamed loudly, the blow was unexpected and it stung horribly.
“Then how am I supposed to eat it?” she sobbed.
“With your mouth, fucking idiot,” he calmly said and grabbed her hair and pulled her off of the bed and onto her knees. He then shoved her face into the mush.
“Now, what’s a good name for my new bitch?” he asked again as he sat on her bed.
“My name’s Christine,” she sobbed through her oatmeal.
“No, your name WAS Christine,” he said. “No, I’m thinking ‘Cunt.’ What do you think? Think you’d like the name ‘Cunt?'”
“No, I hate that word,” she spat.
“Perfect,” he said. “Okay, Cunt, want some coke?”
“Yes, sir,” she mumbled and he produced a small bag which he put on the floor by her bowl.
She snorted the small amount that was in the bag and sighed contentedly.
“You know, Cunt, dogs don’t wear clothes,” he mused. “So, why are you still wearing yours?”
“Um, you didn’t tell me to take them off,” she mumbled.
“Oh, I see, you’re too fucking stupid to figure that out on your own,” he said and again lashed out with the dog leash.
She screamed again in pain, but hurriedly removed her waitress’ dress
“And just like a dog, you’re so fucking hairy,” he said in obvious contempt.
“Um, I have to pee,” she mumbled
“So go ahead, who’s stopping you?” he asked.
“Um, in front of you?” she squeaked.
“I own you, Cunt,” he sneered and again lashed out with the leash. “If I tell you to pee, you pee, do you understand me?”
“Yes sir,” she screamed and tried to scurry away from the leash.
“What do you think that bucket’s for, Cunt?” he said when she looked around for some place to pee.
More tears of humiliation poured as she squatted over the bucket and emptied her bladder. She looked up, horrified, as two turds dropped out of her bowels ands splattered into the bucket.
“Good Cunt,” he laughed and she sobbed in humiliation.
Again, she sucked his cock before he left. She lay down on the small cot again and sobbed, not holding the small bag of cocaine he left for her.
^^^
Jennifer’s father was less than warm to the man that professed to love his daughter, but he did not stray so far to be called rude. Brad laughed as Jennifer apologized again and again for her father’s behavior.
“Baby face, I’m not in love with your dad, and he damned sure isn’t in love with me,” he said.
Jennifer lay next to him and listened to his light snoring. Softly she kissed his shoulder, then his nipple, and then lightly licked it. His snoring stopped for a moment, and then resumed again. She trailed light kisses down to his belly, and then took his cock into her mouth. It began to swell in her mouth and she hummed happily as it grew to it’s full length.
She squealed lightly, and then laughed as he grabbed her hips, and then pulled her wet pussy over to his face. They locked in a sixty-nine until she pulled his cock from her mouth and keened loudly as she came. She screamed in laughter as his sperm splashed onto her face and struggled to get the jerking, spacing cock into her mouth before she wasted any more of his wonderful semen.
^^^
Christine woke as the door opened and scrambled to kneel in front of him. He smiled to himself; he’d not taught her this.
“Hungry, Cunt?” he asked, knowing the answer. It had been two days since her last meal.
“Yes, sir,” she said and gratefully bent to eat the savory roast beef and gravy, along with the mashed potatoes and carrots. She stuck her face into the water bowl and drank deeply of the cold liquid.
“Thank you, sir,” she said as he brought out the long belt and began to rain blows across her back and rump.
He kicked her lightly with his boot and she lay on her back, legs spread wide, hands at her side.
“Oh, God!” she screamed out as the belt lashed viciously at her breasts.
Still she did not bring her arms up to protect the tender flesh. The heels of her feet drummed on the hard concrete floor as his belt landed squarely on her hairless pussy, but still she did not bring her hands up to protect herself. Blow after blow landed on her swollen pussy and she screamed and grunted and thrashed in orgasm, but did not move from her splayed open position.
“You stink,” he said and pulled the ring of keys from his pocket. She rolled over, winching as the rough concrete bit at the welts on her breasts, belly, and thighs. He unlocked the collar but still she lay. He then unlocked the second door and swung it open for her to enter the bathroom.
She crawled, on hands and knees, to the bathroom and paused by the small tub. He picked up the hose and attached one end to the faucet of the tub. The other end was roughly shoved into her rectum. She moaned as the warm water flooded into her and filled her.
“Please, sir,” she sobbed as more and more water filled her.
“Oh, God,” she sobbed as she was sure she would burst.
Finally, he shut off the tap and she scurried to the small toilet. With a nod from him, she relaxed her sphincter muscles and emptied her bowels.
She lay in the tub and luxuriated in the warm water for a while, then soaped herself and used the razor to remove all hair from her legs, underarms and pubic mound. She pulled the stopper and let the soapy warder empty.
On hands and knees, she returned to the bedroom. He was asleep on her cot, so she lay on the floor and also napped. Moments later, he gently shook her awake, and then pulled her up into his lap.
“Do you think you’d like some nice nipple rings?” he asked her as he toyed with her large nipples.
“Do you want me to have nipple rings?” she asked him, warm and safe in his embrace.
“To mark you and show that you are my favorite bitch?” he went on.
“Your fav… How many bitches do you have?” she asked, her jealousy springing to the surface before she could stop herself.
She froze; she knew that laugh. She’d heard that laugh before. The hood muffled it slightly, but she knew that laugh. Why couldn’t she place that laugh? She shook her head to clear her thoughts.
“Yes, sir, I would like to have some nipple rings, especially to mark that I am your favorite bitch,” she said and rested her head on his shoulder.
“The next time I come, I will bring some nice nipple rings for you,” he promised.
“Really?” she said, elated.
He smiled as he closed the door behind himself. It had been nearly three weeks since the last time he’d supplied any cocaine to her, but she didn’t seem to notice. His balls still tingled from where her tongue had lapped at and sucked them.
^^^
Brad signed all the papers and smiled at his secretary. She was a dowdy looking old woman, but she was extremely efficient. If she had any reaction to the papers, she did not let it show.
“You’ll be staying in Paris?” she asked.
“Yes, but they’ll have Internet and cell phone access,” he agreed.
“Very good, sir, enjoy your honeymoon,” she let a rare smile escape.
^^^
“Christine,” she heard, and awoke to find him standing by her cot.
She scrambled to kneel before him but he put a hand on her shoulder and stopped her. She then realized that he had used her real name, Christine.
“Everything that has been done to you, you wholeheartedly agreed to,” he asked, not really expecting an answer.
She thought back. The first time he had put his cock to her lips, he did not force her to suck him, she had done it. The first time he had put his cock in her pussy, she had orgasmic as soon as he entered her, and had screamed and begged him to fuck her.
He had pressed the head of his cock to her ass hole and she froze. With a sob, she forced her ass back, taking him into her virgin ass. Once he was fully in her squirming, protesting bowels, he gripped and cruelly twisted her clitoris and she screamed in orgasm, an orgasm that wouldn’t cease. From that moment on, she craved him in her ass most of all, as much as she loved him in her pussy, as much as she craved the taste of his come, she wanted him in her ass.
The nipple rings he toyed with had been given to her at her begging. He had presented the idea, but it had been her to ask for them, to beg for them. The same was true of the six rings that pulled at her heavy pussy lips and the large ring that weighed at her clitoris.
She had lay as still as possible on the cot as he dabbed rubbing alcohol onto her nipple. With a gasp and a groan, she felt the large needle pierce through the rubbery flesh and groaned again as she orgasmed. The ring was a shiny gold and she looked up at him, love in her brown eyes. He repeated the process on her left nipple and she knew she didn’t deserve the beautiful rings, but was so grateful to him for giving them to her.
She had been the one to bring the idea of her pussy rings to him. She had actually blacked out from the pain, but squealed and hugged him when she came to and saw the beautiful rings hanging down.
“Yes, everything was of my own volition,” she finally agreed.
“Including living here, in this room,” he went on.
“Yes sir,” she admitted.
“And the beating you received,” he continued.
The first few times he’d struck her, it had started with the dog leash, it had stung horribly, but she had not told him not to hit her. The leash gave way to a broad leather belt, but again, she never said ‘No’ when he used it on her. The rattan cane he had bloodied her ass and thighs with had been a bit extreme, but again, she never asked him to stop.
“And you knew that you were free to go at any time; all you had to do was ask,” he said.
“But I didn’t,” she said.
“Didn’t what?” he asked. “Didn’t know that? Or didn’t want to go?”
“Didn’t know that, but it wouldn’t have mattered,” she said.
At first, she may have wanted to leave; the hours of isolation dragged on and on, but then he would be there, and there would be food, and then the cocaine she wanted. Then it slowly became the physical contact she craved.
“Well, Christine, you are free to go now,” he said and swung the door wide open.
Beyond the door, she could see a corridor. The light bulb that lighted the corridor was no brighter than the bulb that hung from the ceiling in her room. She looked out for a moment, and then looked back at him. She touched her collar.
“That?” he laughed. “Here, look.”
Thus saying, he reached out and unsnapped it from her neck. He showed it to her; the lock was decorative only. She turned the collar over in her hands and looked at it, then looked back at him.
“But if I leave, where will I go, Sir?” she asked.
“Anywhere you want to,” he said and pulled a briefcase into his lap.
“The Diner at Seventy Eighth Street,” he said and pulled a stack of papers out. “Belongs to you now. As does the building it’s located in. There’s an apartment on the fourth floor.”
“What?” she asked, not comprehending?
“You own the diner, the one I picked you out of,” he said.
“Um, but why?” she asked and began to cry.
“Christine, I wanted to teach you a lesson, and I did,” he said and pulled the hood off.
“Brad!” she gasped. “I knew I knew that laugh!”
“But now it’s time for me to move on, and part of me moving on means I have to let you move on,” he said.
“Oh, my God, Brad! Brad Johnson!” she laughed and wiped the tears away.
“Damn it, it’s ‘Thompson,’ not ‘Johnson,'” he spat.
“Sorry, how stupid of me, of course,” she apologized.
“And, here’s a debit card; account’s offshore,” he went on and put the card on top of the others. “There’s five million in your account.”
“Why, Brad?” she asked. “Why are you doing this for me?”
“Because, believe it or not, Christine, at one time I did love you,” he said.
“At one… You don’t love me any more?” she asked and fresh tears sprang to her eyes.
“I’ll always care for you,” he admitted, but I’m in love with someone else; we are getting married tomorrow.”
“Not if I can help it!” she fiercely declared and hugged him to her. “No fucking bitch’s taking my man from me!”
“No fucking bitch did,” he calmly said and extricated himself from her grip. “You did that all on your own.”
“What? How?” she sputtered and tried to grip him again.
“‘Here, Boy, come on! Here,'” he said and whistled and patted his thigh.
She was pale from the many months without sunlight, but still paled even more as she looked at him and remembered that shameful day. She hung her head and sobbed heartily.
When she came to, she realized that he had left the room. There was a sundress laying at the foot of the bed. On top of it were a lacy bra and a pair of lacy panties. A pair of sandals was on the floor at the door, which was still open. Next to the sandals was the briefcase.
She squinted at the label of the bra.
“Thirty four B?” she said. “That’s too small!”
But it fit her perfectly. She realized that she had lost weight while in confinement. The panties felt odd against her pussy, but she left them on. The sundress hung down to her knees; she had to admire the soft yellow color, very cheery. The sandals fit her small feet and she picked up the briefcase and cautiously made her way down the corridor. There was a flight of stairs and she climbed up them.
Months of inactivity had left Christine muscles slightly atrophied; she was exhausted by the time she reached the street. The bright sunlight blinded her and she had to sit on the steps while she let her eyes adjust to the bright sunlight. She realized, with a jolt, that the rings in her pussy lips pressed deliciously against her pussy as she sat on the hard concrete steps. She smiled, in spite of the blinding sunlight, and rocked lightly back and forth as she sat there.
The smell of food reached her nostrils and she realized she was very hungry. Sir, Brad had not fed her today. She looked around, and saw that she was sitting right in front of her diner. She turned and looked at the building. This was her building. Sir, Brad had said that she had an apartment on the fourth floor. But first things first, she wanted to eat.
“Hay Boss,” Betty cheerfully called out as Christine entered the diner. Gil blanched but pasted a smile on his face.
“So, what you want to eat?” Betty cheerfully asked as Christine looked over the menu.
“Roast beef and gravy, mashed potatoes and gravy, carrots and gravy, peas and gravy,” Christine giggled happily. “I want gravy all over the damned thing!”
“So, um, how you, um, how you been?” Gil asked.
“Great!” Christine said and nearly began to lap at the food as she had done for so many months, but remembered to use the knife and fork.
“Um, you um, going to want to, um, be the manager or…?” Gil asked nervously.
“No, no, not right away,” Christine said, forgetting to chew with her mouth closed. “Damn! This is great gravy!”
“Um, glad you like it,” Gil smiled tightly.
Gil beat a hasty retreat into the kitchen and busied himself with work. Betty laughed at him and finally came into the back to let him know that their boss had left.
^^^
“Hello?” Brad answered his cell phone. Jennifer put the suitcase by the door and smiled at him.
“That better not be work,” she warned playfully.
“Hello Sir, this is Cunt,” Christine whispered into the telephone.
“Oh, yes, yes, and how are you?” he asked guardedly.
“I just wanted to call and tell you thank you and I love you,” she whispered.
The End.