Wydawca: Taboo Pulp Press Kategoria: Obyczajowe i romanse Język: angielski Rok wydania: 2017

Her Name Was Valerie: Extreme Taboo BDSM Erotica ebook

Remy Elliot  

(0)

Uzyskaj dostęp do tej
i ponad 25000 książek
od 6,99 zł miesięcznie.

Wypróbuj przez
7 dni za darmo

Ebooka przeczytasz w aplikacjach Legimi na:

e-czytniku kup za 1 zł
tablecie  
smartfonie  
komputerze  
Czytaj w chmurze®
w aplikacjach Legimi.
Dlaczego warto?
Czytaj i słuchaj w chmurze®
w aplikacjach Legimi.
Dlaczego warto?
Liczba stron: 294

Odsłuch ebooka (TTS) dostępny w abonamencie „ebooki+audiobooki bez limitu” w aplikacji Legimi na:

Androida
iOS
Czytaj i słuchaj w chmurze®
w aplikacjach Legimi.
Dlaczego warto?

Ebooka przeczytasz na:

e-czytniku EPUB kup za 1 zł
tablecie EPUB
smartfonie EPUB
komputerze EPUB
Czytaj w chmurze®
w aplikacjach Legimi.
Dlaczego warto?
Czytaj i słuchaj w chmurze®
w aplikacjach Legimi.
Dlaczego warto?

Pobierz fragment dostosowany na:

Zabezpieczenie: watermark

Opis ebooka Her Name Was Valerie: Extreme Taboo BDSM Erotica - Remy Elliot

"Not at all, Mr. Burgoyne. In fact, Valerie has something to say to you. Go ahead, dear."I won't pretend I was not intrigued. I was! Valerie half turned to me, and after a small stubborn silence, recited what I realized was a set speech memorized from other occasions."I have misbehaved, Mr. Burgoyne. I'm to be punished by having my hands switched." The young voice was strangely without emo­tion. "Mother believes it is good for me to be shamed by a witness. We would be pleased if you would watch." Normal 0 false false false EN-US X-NONE X-NONE /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-priority:99; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}**************Table of Contents:CHAPTER ONE - The Prelude. 1CHAPTER TWO - Valerie Norton. 7CHAPTER THREE - Mother's Darling. 31CHAPTER FOUR - Nobody's Darling. 47CHAPTER FIVE – Prison. 73CHAPTER SIX – Caged. 96CHAPTER SEVEN - Twin Slavery. 116CHAPTER EIGHT - Return to Punishments. 136CHAPTER NINE - Garret Burgoyne. 152CHAPTER TEN - The Whip And I 160 Normal 0 false false false EN-US X-NONE X-NONE /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-priority:99; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}

Opinie o ebooku Her Name Was Valerie: Extreme Taboo BDSM Erotica - Remy Elliot

Fragment ebooka Her Name Was Valerie: Extreme Taboo BDSM Erotica - Remy Elliot

Her Name Was Valerie

Remy Elliot

Copyright © 2017

Table of Contents

CHAPTER ONE - The Prelude

CHAPTER TWO - Valerie Norton

CHAPTER THREE - Mother's Darling

CHAPTER FOUR - Nobody's Darling

CHAPTER FIVE – Prison

CHAPTER SIX – Caged

CHAPTER SEVEN - Twin Slavery

CHAPTER EIGHT - Return to Punishments

CHAPTER NINE - Garret Burgoyne

CHAPTER TEN - The Whip And I

CHAPTER ONE - The Prelude

We lived in small town informality. The scene I walked in on was far less remarkable then than it would be now. Mother and daughter faced each other in unmistakable confrontation. Even then, Valerie showed the promise of the poised beauty she has since become. Her cheeks were flushed, her chin rebellious. She did not turn, conceding her mother the floor.

"Ah, Garret, we'd like to ask a favor of you."

I guessed instantly. Mrs. Norton was holding a switch of trimmed willow—gauche and unprepared. "I'm intruding," I stammered. "I'm sorry."

"Not at all, Mr. Burgoyne. In fact, Valerie has something to say to you. Go ahead, dear."

I won't pretend I was not intrigued. I was! Valerie half turned to me, and after a small stubborn silence, recited what I realized was a set speech memorized from other occasions.

"I have misbehaved, Mr. Burgoyne. I'm to be punished by having my hands switched." The young voice was strangely without emotion. "Mother believes it is good for me to be shamed by a witness. We would be pleased if you would watch."

"That was well said, dear. You won't mind, will you, Garret?"

I was still young enough to be shocked and embarrassed and as pink as Valerie. Half of me longed to turn and run, but the other half did not, and Mrs. Norton had a commanding presence. I did my best.

"Well, if s that what you'd like, but I really don't think—"

"Garret is being kind, dear. Hold out your hand."

Only a faint hint of disobedience could be detected in the slow raising of the young arm and the stretching of feminine fingers. The blow was vicious. My own gasp matched that of the girl who had receive it.

"Now watch your manners, dear."

The manners of the youthful delinquent were impeccable. No writhings or contortions, only regular breathing and the thrusting of her wounded palm against a slender hip. Then there was the slow raising and extending of her other hand to receive another cut as unkind as the first. This time Valerie placed both injured members within her armpits and hugged them tightly. Her eyes caught mine only briefly, but I knew they held a message I could not read.

"Valerie has been unusually difficult, Garret. She is to receive two more."

Mrs. Norton's authority was as compelling on me as upon her daughter. I stood rooted, shamingly conscious of a flood of lust such as I had never known.

"You've had a short rest, dear. We may as well get this over with."

I watched in disbelief. The girl's hands must have been hurting abominably, but Valerie delivered them to the willow with the same studied calm as before. Her tears were unostentatious, staining her cheeks in lieu of pleadings. A swift slash hit her, then another.

"Thank you, Mother."

"You're welcome dear. And what about Mr. Burgoyne?"

"Thank you, Mr. Burgoyne. I'm sorry to have bothered you."

The second instance by which Valerie Norton was etched upon my mind came two years later, this time by phone. It was the girl herself.

"Mother wonders if you'd drop over, Mr. Burgoyne." A pause. "I'd be so grateful if you would."

Valerie met me at the door, a sleek slenderness now hinting at a maturity not far distant, cheeks pink, eyes brightly troubled.

"I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Burgoyne. But Mother wishes—"

"Don't let it bother you. I'm sorry too."

Mrs. Norton's maternal authority was very much there, but as gracious as ever. This time two switches were draped across a chair.

"Good of you to come, Garret. Now, Valerie, please."

"I've grown up since last time, Mr. Burgoyne, and I'm taking piano lessons, so Mother thinks it shouldn't be my hands this time. I'm terribly ashamed about where I'm to be punished."

"Please don't be. I'm sure Mrs. Norton knows best."

My heart was thudding like all get-out as maiden panties were tugged down over lush young legs. The girl's face was set in grim determination as she set the flimsy thing aside, then bent over and touched her toes, knees as stiff as rods, bottom reared. Her final motion was to flip up her dress and gather it above her waist.

At that age and in that place maiden derrieres had rarely come my way. The taut twin cheeks now exposed to the air and to my startled gaze were exquisitely round, possessing a blush all their own. I was not then as familiar with the female anatomy as I am now, and standing discreetly to one side I failed to observe those girlish secrets so beloved in Victorian reference. But what I did see impacted with a surge of passion similar to my memory of that other time. This was vivid stuff.

f "You will hold that pose, dear. Wriggle as you wish."

"Yes, Mother."

Again the swift, enigmatic glance came before Valerie fixed her attention on the rug. The willow whined its song and bedded itself for a moment in virgin skin. Hips swayed, young lips gasped, and a sob acknowledged agony. I watched, enthralled, as Valerie absorbed six strokes upon bare skin not normally exposed to public view, skin which now bore six shameful scarlet stripes.

"You may stand up, dear."

"Thank you, Mother."

I recall being amused by a young girl drying her cheeks with her panties before tugging them back up on her wounds. Nor was I forgotten.

"Thank you for watching my punishment, Mr. Burgoyne. I really am sorry to be so much trouble, but Mother thinks it will shame me more if whoever watches is not too old. I mean, you're only—"

"That's enough, dear. I'm sure Garret understands."

"Mother asked me to enquire if you'd join us for coffee."

The third encounter came by pure chance, but left me more puzzled about this girl than had the first two. Valerie must have been eighteen or eighteen. I was home on vacation from my training for the Agency, and that had already modified my capacity for shock.

I was seeking nostalgia by a ramble through a favorite bit of deserted woodland when I heard the voices. Unblushingly, I spied.

Valerie was totally naked. Her hands were tied and drawn up above her head to a handy branch. She was being laughingly whipped by three girls of her own age, two with switches, the third with a belt. From neck to knees the tied girl's skin bore blushing evidence of what was being done. I was about to stride angrily to her rescue when she turned to show a face as gaily involved as those who punished her.

"See, I haven't screamed. You can't make me."

I recalled the covert glances. Was this their answer? Here was a game between girls in which I had no place. I watched the playful whipping of the naked Valerie Norton before I stole away. But I carried with me a memory of ineffable beauty. I have it still.

The Agency absorbed me. The Agency has no official name, and the things it does have no names either. It's best that way. I had been lucky to qualify. The Agency picks its young men with care. The years slipped by, and my visits home were few. Except for those three incidents, the Nortons faded into limbo. I was thirty-two when I saw Valerie again.

I hadn't known she was in Washington or in the service. Why should I? She was one of thousands, just somebody's stenographer. But the moment I caught sight of her I knew. Among a multitude of girls she had a quality of her own. I knew what that quality was. I knew right then that Valerie belonged to the Agency. I had been looking for a girl.

"Why, Garret, how wonderful!"

I kissed her, and it confirmed what I had known. I studied her as we talked. She was perfect.

I suppose I'm a bastard, but in my work you see and do a lot of things, and you come to know that the end justifies the means. What's one single girl count in the stakes we play for? And afterwards she would be glad it had happened. At least I thought she would.

For Valerie Norton I was the Agency, and what the Agency wanted it took. The following day I arranged for the taking of the girl.

CHAPTER TWO - Valerie Norton

IT happened in that little street joining Prowse Avenue and Latimer Drive. It's so respectable, no one ever there—just parked cars and me. It was dark and I was late, hurrying on my way. I never saw who did it. I still don't know, but he was strong and he held the pungent pad over my face while I fought and faded. I've just woke up.

This can't be true. I'm naked!

My feet are joined by anklet and a chain.

Naked means a boudoir or a brothel. Chained feet means a dungeon. This place is neither. It's a pleasant, well-furnished lounge. There's even a bar. But the windows are barred and well up in the air, and the door won't open. I've tried it. And it's the weirdest sensation trying to walk with these things on my ankles, sort of like a kid's game we used to play. They won't come off; I've tried that too.

I've been kidnapped. What else! It could be a joke, but I don't think so. There's someone coming. Good gosh, suppose it's a man! And there's not a rag in sight, and I've never been naked with a man! It's a girl. Well, thank goodness for that! A very lovely girl too, and she's got a bit of paper from which she reads.

"Why, hello! I looked in earlier, but you were sleeping. You're Valerie Norton. I'm Opal Rennie. Isn't this nice—just the two of us alone? Let's see, you're twenty-four, aren't you?"

She's a bit breathless. I suspect I'm a job of work for her. She carries on.

"You were with the Department of Cultural Services as a steno, eh? Well, the boys will easily look after that."

"Who are the boys?"

"Oh, well, they're the Agency, of course. You'll have to get used to the Agency."

"I don't have to get used to anything. I want to go home. I want clothes, and I want these things off my feet."

"Yes, of course." I can see she thinks I'm a nuisance. "That's the way I felt, but that's more than two years ago." She looks at me brightly. "Two years is all we have to put up with in this job. My term was up a month ago."

"Term?"

"Well, sentence, if you prefer. I'm afraid you're a prisoner. I'm terribly sorry."

"You're sorry! What about me?"

"I do understand. I mean, I've been there." She looks distressed. "I'm no good at this, but Garret asked me to drop by."

"Garret?"

"Mr. Burgoyne. This is sort of his department. But you won't see a lot of him. He's so involved—"

"You mean, Garret Burgoyne had me kidnapped?"

"Well, yes. That's the way it happens with us girls." She actually chuckles. "None of us are going to say yes to a proposition like the Agency makes."

I take a very deep breath and wonder how much Garret remembers and if there's a connection. If he's in on this, there can't be very much wrong. It could be a joke on me, or the department, and Opal seems fun. But just the same!

"Why are my feet chained, Opal, and why am I naked?"

"An introduction, dear. Get you in the mood."

Oh, damn, she's taking it for granted I know things, and she's so sweetly patient. The only thing I know is those two times with Garret long ago. But surely he never guessed, and I'm certainly not going to speak of it. I'll try and be patient too.

"Opal, set me free—let me go. There's still time before I get angry or the police are involved."

"It's good you're not too frightened, Valerie. They try so hard not to frighten us at first. I remember I was only puzzled and angry and frightfully embarrassed. And that reminds me... " She shuffles in her bag and produces handcuffs, at the sight of which I cringe. "I'm supposed to put these on you. You won't mind, will you?"

"Of course I'd mind. Put them away."

"I'm afraid you have no choice."

There's something in her voice. Maybe I'm in trouble, more than I think. Desperately, I complain, "This whole thing is silly. It's kid stuff. What can you do if I refuse those handcuffs?"

"Whip you until you accept them."

I know I heard that, but I don't want to believe it. "You and who else?" I demand with more courage than I feel.

"Valerie, please! Let me put them on. They don't hurt."

"Opal, no!" I look at her askance. "I'm not that much of an idiot."

The long lean riding crop is withdrawn from beneath the couch apologetically, but it slashes across my naked shoulders with excruciating pain. I leap up, but instantly fall flat, tripped by my chained feet. Before I rise I am cut again and again until I yowl in anger and frustration, and leap once more to try and grab the crop. Once more I fall and the awful slashes continue until I gasp, "All right, all right, I'll do what you want."

"I'm terribly sorry, dear, but look on it as lesson number one." Opal gazes remorsefully. "Hurts horribly, doesn't it?"

What am I supposed to do! This place and the girl defeat reason. She's just whipped me with the same patient air as if offering coffee or modeling a dress. Now she's looking at me with a raised eyebrow while she fiddles with those horrible shining things she wants me to wear. I hold out my hands.

"Behind your back, Valerie."

I pull my hands back as though bitten. There's no way I'll make myself that helpless. Good gosh, with her arms in back, a girl's a nothing. I suddenly feel all breasts.

Resentfully, I whisper, "No, please don't. Please don't make me do this."

"It's orders, dear. You simply must."

Smiling her winsome smile, Opal reaches for the crop. My weals still scorch. I turn and deliver my wrists to cold steel and a series of metallic clicks. I face her once more, helpless.

Sulkily, I ask, "Why? What good will it do?"

"There's a reason, Valerie. Garret will be here any moment now. He wants to talk to you."

I freeze. It can't be possible! My hands are behind my back, and I can't cover a thing, and I'm naked. It is borne upon me that my hands are fighting a battle of their own, tugging and twisting.

"You can't get free of them, dear. It's no use chafing your wrists." Opal is sweet reason personified, gazing at me in rueful admonition.

"But Garret's a man!" I exclaim stupidly. "I'm naked! He mustn't see me like this."

"He helped me remove your clothes, dear. He wanted to confirm his original assessment. You're a lovely girl, or haven't you realized?"

So Garret's seen me naked! All I have left to lose is to be raped.But I'm not even a virgin. Oh, shit! Opal's back with her bit ofpaper.

^ "It says here you're sort of into the scene, that you've been tied up and whipped, and, well, you like fun and games."

Damn Garret Burgyone! He's stripped me more than naked. But I'm not going to tell him a thing. He only saw me those two times with Mother, and they don't prove what he's thinking.

For Opal's benefit I mutter, "So what?"

"Valerie, you're halfway there. You won't need nearly as much training as I did. You're not going to throw hysterics and think everyone's insane. Gee, I think it's wonderful."

Opal's sweet, even though I'm still scorching from her crop. Before I can dampen her enthusiasm, the door opens and in walks Garret. The son of a bitch's smile is warmly welcoming.

I'm on the rug, sitting back on my heels. The only way I can hide my important parts is to stretch out flat on my face and talk back over a bare shoulder. But that's too high a price to pay for modesty or purity or shame. Piss on it! I turn, my breasts in profile. I take a deep breath. At least he can't see my sex.

"Opal briefed you, sweetheart?"

"She's told me some things, and I'm not your sweetheart. Look here, Garret—"

"Run along, Opal. Best I talk to her alone. I'll ring when I need you."

Opal quietly exits. I'm alone with a man, and I'm naked. What's more, I don't even have hands. Vehemently, I hiss, "I never thought you were like this."

"Like what, sweetheart?"

"That'd you kidnap me, and strip me naked, and chain me."

Garret holds up a warning hand. Damn him, he's got the nicest smile, and I'm wondering what he remembers. He's almost laughing. "All in the line of duty, Valerie. You've been chosen."

"Why me?"

"I like you. You're what we need. The Agency approves."

"You know what you can do with your Agency!"

"Oh, sure. Thing is, what's the Agency going to do with you?"

I am conscious of breathing heavily under this man's unabashed interest in all I am. This is something new. I've been blushing since he walked in. Sulkily, I retort, "So, all right, what is it going to do?"

"Keep you prisoner for two years. Salary one hundred thousand dollars per year. Your duties mostly hurt."

"Thanks, but I'd sooner go home."

"You can't."

We stare. I understand why they gave me the handcuffs. They reveal me totally and make me helpless. Probably the most perfect way for a man to interview a girl. My store of courage wanes. It's not a bit hard to let a tear trickle down my cheek.

"What was that quote?" Garret waves a careless hand as though to pluck some word of wisdom from the air. "If ye have tears, prepare to shed them now." He grins disarmingly. "I suggest you do this, sweetheart. The Agency has got you for two years. Your duties are to entertain VIPs, regardless of their tastes."

"Be a whore?"

"That will be the lesser of your chores."

I'm too angry to sit here on the rug. I scramble erect and discover it's no longer that easy. But now my pubic patch stares Garret in the face and he stares back. I plump myself in a chair and cross my legs.

"You're a very beautiful girl."

"Thanks. I still want to go home. And, as for being your whore, hire a call girl. They only charge a hundred."

"Valerie, get your head out of the sand. This isn't a bad dream, and nothing's going to go away." Garret's voice has turned sober. "I want you to look straight at where you're at and take it from there." His grin returns. "Oh, and you don't have to cross your legs. I've seen a good many of those little facilities you're trying to hide."

"You're being a bastard."

"No. I could have a plug ugly in here who'd beat you around until you'd agree to anything, and be more respectful to boot. Would you prefer that?"

"No." I look at him distractedly. "But we knew each other when I was still a kid—"

"Try thinking of the hundred thousand a year for a change."

"I can't. It frightens me. For that they must expect something awful. And why this two years business?"

"We figure it's the two best years of your life. You're the perfect age, and our VIPs recognize quality. And you're right—we do expect a lot for the money." Garret sighs. "But remember, you're selected. You don't have any choices any more."

"All right, tell me what your lousy VIPs expect."

"The whole spectrum, short of injury. Mostly they're addicted to the whip or the crop."

"So I'm picked because you watched my mother cane me a couple of times! Garret, for god's sake—"

"I watched some girls string you up to a tree stark naked and whip you. It was in that patch of trees we called Apache Wood."

Oh, shit, what else does he know! Bitterly, I accuse, "What you spied on was fun—this isn't."

"Your mother really hurt you. That wasn't fun."

Damn him, I'm almost panting. "You saw me being punished, and it hurt like all get out. Since you've already guessed—sure, it made me hot between my legs. There's lot of things that make a girl hot down there. They don't make me eligible for your VIPs."

"Are you quite sure?"

"Okay, by your standards, I suppose. Garret, you're being mean. Take these beastly things off my hands and feet."

"And have you flouncing around as though you owned the place? Hell no! Those bits of metal and your nudity are the only reasons you've listened thus far."

He's right, but there's no way I'll admit it. I almost wish he'd sent in his plug ugly first thing. By now I'd be broken and bleeding and saying yes to anything. I can go on quibbling this way all the rest of the day, but I don't suppose he will. I'm about due to get some sort of boom lowered. Slowly, I sum it up.

"I'm kidnapped. I'm sentenced to two years servitude. I have a job, which demands that I submit to punishments from guys I've never seen before. And, as a bonus, I get raped."

"Excellent!" Garret gently applauds. "On the rape, though, it's only about half. The rest are impotent."

"How lucky can I get! And if I refuse?"

"Opal told you. In fact, I notice she's given you a sample. You get whipped until you realize what a wonderful position you've been offered. We're making it as easy as we can."

That's the hell of it: I suppose he can. These cains say it's real, and the scalds left by Opal's crop still hurt. Well, I can't deny it happened. But I have to wonder about a girl who didn't know Garret or who'd never had my mother.

"You start work in five minutes, sweetheart."

The bomb is deliberately casual, but it hits me like a blow. My ironed wrists tug, and my ironed feet uncross themselves in shock. If he sees my pussy, so what!

I muster all my appeal and say, "Garret, you're not going to toss me to the lions, are you?"

"He's not a bad guy. Perfect English, though goodness knows what he is. We've told him he's your first."

"Rape of the virgin, huh?"

"Well, you know about that, sweetheart. Oh, and he's got a thing about caning hands and soles of your feet. Hope you don't mind."

"Garret, you're being a bastard."

Once again we stare. I seem to have progressed since last time. I am on the payroll and have a job. I expect I'll come to know this is for real, right now I'm not too sure. Garret helps.

"Would you like me to fuck you, sweetheart? I always think it helps."

"Don't be disgusting."

"Four letter words bother you? Why not pretend it's rape? It'll salve your conscience in case you enjoy it."

"Garret, you're giving me some sort of shock treatment."

"Anyone ever take you forcibly?"

"Yes. It happens toe very girl—until we know the signs."

"You see, you're halfway home. Let's get you started."

This is it! It's happening! There's always this moment in everything. Garret picks me up with frightening ease. Cradled in his arms, I am kissed again and again. I kiss him back, hoping for a reprieve and because I need comfort. It is good to be carried in male arms, but for me there is no reprieve.

"Miss Valerie Norton, may I present Mr. Fazwiri Atollah."

"Call me, Bill," Mr. Attolah says wearily. "Saves a lot of trouble. I hear you're a new girl. First time, eh?"

I may as well tell him yes. I stand, naked and feeling foolish, for his approval. I wouldn't stand this way if I wasn't scared I'd trip. And, oh gee, I'm so damn helpless!

He nods, and I'm piqued by his apparent boredom. After all, he's got a naked girl—me! "I'd offer you a drink, Valerie," he continues, "but I want you alert—your sensations acute. Do you understand?"

"I think so. You're going to hurt me."

"Right, but I'll fuck you first." He beckons. "Come here, I'll take those irons off your feet."

I could not obey more gratefully. When the second anklet falls away, I leap for the door.

I hadn't noticed the whip. I notice it now. Mr. Atollah uses it with skill and vigor on my naked skin. I scream in anger and pain, but wherever I turn the snaking lash follows, blow after blow. When he seizes an opportunity to cut it up between my legs, I sob in hopelessness and lay on my cuffed arms on the rug, my feet widespread. I am trembling and sweating with fright.

"That's better, Valerie. Now I'll give you five for not being sensible in the first place. Don't move or it becomes ten."

I don't know how I stay still, but I do. I'm shockingly frightened about my breasts. Laying on my arms makes them stick up. But it's my belly, my loins, and my thighs where I am punished. I close my eyes and clench my teeth.

"Hmmmm, not ad. I think you've been whipped before."

I quietly sob while he strips and mounts me. He has a good body. His lips are amused. I suppose I could fare much worse. But I have to keep telling myself this is truly happening to me. Mr. Atollah thrusts deep inside me as though assuring me of the reality of rape. But is it rape? I don't suppose it real is. it's just a prelude to something worse. Mr. Atollah kisses me with surprising gentleness. In gratitude and because I'm so damn scared, I try to put my arms around his neck, but I can't. I'm handcuffed with my arms behind my back and laying on them. I'm lost, just plain lost. How the hell can I rationalize while I'm being rapes! But I'm feeling excitation. It's beginning. He knows what he's doing. I'm lost.

In the quiet aftermath, Mr. Atollah mixes himself a drink. I do not yet rate one. Perhaps later. He instructs me about kneeling, so I kneel before his chair in the fashion he approves. He keeps the riding crop where I can see it. I broach what is most demanding in my mind.

"I suppose there's no use asking you to help me escape?"

"None at all, my dear." He chuckles. "You belong to the Agency, don't ever forget it." He cocks an enquiring eye. "Don't suppose you've had any training?"

"I've only just been kidnapped. I don't want training there could be to this. I'm kept naked and chained and used."

"There are nuances and subtleties, my dear. Stand up."

I can see what's happening. An order here, another there. First thing I know I'll be their good little puppet. I ought to reject Mr. Atollah's peremptory demand that I stand. But there's the crop, and I'm naked, and it hurts so damn bad! I make my awkward motions of rising and feel ashamed.

"Step close. Spread your legs. They're not chained for the moment. Protrude your pubic area for my attention."

My blush must reach my breasts. Mr. Atollah's demand is something I cannot possibly do. It's a hateful obscenity, an indecency for whores. Hands twisting unhappily against steel cuffs, I plead with him.

"Please don't make me do things like that. It demeans us both."

Mr. Atollah reaches for his beastly aid. That's exactly what it is: an aide in the control of girls.

"Nonsense, girl. It's in your mind." He flexes the crop. "I could just as reasonably plead with you to not compel me to use this on your pretty skin."

"But I'm so helpless."

"What's that go to do with it?"

"It means that if I could, I'd run out of her so damn fast!"

"Still irrelevant, Valerie, Obey!"

"I'm sorry. It's something I can't do."

The whole thing flows in a horrible sort of slow motion. I know what's going to happen, but there's nothing I can do. When Mr. Atollah rises, I make a frenzied look around without the faintest hope of escape. Then, in desperation, I sink down and flatten myself face down on the rug. I'm so scared for my breasts, so terribly frightened they'll be cut. I sacrifice the rest of myself in their defense. My fists clench tight with their bracelets.

"A defensive posture, eh, Valerie?" I swear he's laughing at me. "I could make you stand, you know, but this will do for starters."

I thought he'd use my bottom, but he cracks a fearful blow across my shoulders where my cuffed arms aren't much help. I absolutely curl up and writhe in animal agony enabling Mr. Atollah to cut me here and there in places I'd never have dreamed. I can't lay still and take it, simply can't. When he finally uses my bottom and slices me from hip to hip, I scream and scream and scream!

The whipping stops. "You've forgotten why you're being whipped," the suave voice reasons. "But I haven't. Shall we take a moment to reflect?"

I can't stop jerking and twitching, but I cock a curious eye at the man who stands above me with the crop. He is plainly amused by my behavior. Now the whipping has stopped. I have the most urgent wish that it not be resumed.

"Please don't whip me any more," I whisper humbly.

"As you wish, my dear. I will count to twenty." He resumes his seat, the crop draped across his knees.

The clever bastard! Pain to dissolve shame, marks on my skin to counter modesty! I have been conditioned. I scramble back on my feet, toss my hair from my face ,and stand in front of this influential male with my feet a mile apart. I lean back and thrust my pelvis hard at him. I hope he likes what he sees; he's getting a better look at it than I ever have. I suppose he gets a kick out of knowing he was in there. Mr. Atollah has taken me a step downhill.

"Charming, quite charming. Stay as you are for a moment, Valerie. You are remarkably well formed."

He's probably seen a hundred girls like this. I'm annoying myself by feeling proud that he thinks mine is nice, and I'm hoping I don't have to stay like this for too long. Without hands, it's hard to balance. I am smitten by the hateful realization I could have done this in the first place. Mr. Atollah reads my mind.

"Don't worry. You salved your conscience. You made me whip you first. Okay, stand easy."

I do as I'm told, my whip marks burning. I don't feel the least bit sassy. Mr. Atollah is a lucky man. I stand before him naked with my wrists handcuffed behind my back. He can do what he likes with me. What incredible power this man wields!

"Now, my dear, you must ask me politely to suck your nipples." Oh, for Pete's sake! Can't this idiot think of something sensible? But this isn't supposed to be sensible. It's an indoctrination to make me understand my body is not mine any more, but will always belong to somebody else. I suppose, after awhile, a girl's mind remains detached while she's raped and whipped and whatever else some man expects. Mine hasn't got there yet; I'm still thinking I'm me. I look Mr. Atollah in the eye.

"If I do that, I think we are both going to feel silly."

"You're missing the point, Valerie. Sure, we'll feel silly, but we're going to do it just the same. It's not worth getting yourself thrashed over."

Damn it, I'm agreeing with him! Sure, it's one more step down, but it's certainly nothing to get myself thrashed about, not with a man who's just been nine inches inside my body. My words come to my ears as from some total stranger.

"Please suck my nipples, Bill. I want you too."

Mr. Atollah actually does it gracefully, neither too much or too little, simply enough to get my heat started. He resumes his chair, leaving me with wet breasts on which the air is chilly. He tosses a cigar on the rug.

"Return it to me."

I look down at the innocent object. The act demanded is not sexual, simply humiliating. My only decision is lips or fingers. The easiest is lips, but that might sully the virgin leaf. I get down, sit, and hunch to where my fingers can reach the cigar. Then I stand again and turn to offer the cigar from a handcuffed hand.

"Excellent. Now light it."

He holds it, waiting while I search the bar. I surprise myself by what I can do with wrists cuffed behind my back. I strike a match I cannot see, then twist and contort to offer Mr. Atollah the flame. By the time his cigar glows red my fingertips are only slightly burned.

"Surprising yourself, Valerie?" He laughs, reading my mind. "Doing things you never thought you could, eh? You'll be doing them for a couple of years."

"Please help me get out of here. I'm sure you can."

"You're wrong—I can't. You're in a fortress. By the way, I'm supposed to report such importunities. I believe they carry penalties."

I stand before him, breathing heavily in disgust, sick at heart. Penalty! Punishment! That's all my life holds now. Yesterday in the department office with my typewriter... and now look at me! Listlessly, I concede defeat.

"All right, Bill, I'll lay off. But you can understand how hard this is for me. It's just too much too soon. I don't know why I'm not in hysterics."

"Thank the Agency... and me. We're breaking you in easy. Here's my glass; pour me another drink."

I stare askance and tug at my joined hands behind my back. I state the obvious. "Bill, I can't. It's not possible."

"Do it."

This will be another excuse to whip me, I can see it coming. But I remember the match. I make my right hand tug my leg as far as it will go. I twist to help it reach. I clasp the proffered glass. I march to the bar, wondering how many strokes I'm going to earn. I hate the riding crop bitterly. It diminishes me.

"Don't hurry, take your time."

I expect he's laughing to himself, knowing I'm going to blow it and be punished. How wonderful to be a man! I do my twist, my turn, my tug. Suddenly the impossible is modified to a tension of hope. If only I don't spill the glass or drop the bottle! I am shamed by my fear. It now appears a handcuffed girl can do more than I ever dreamed.

The handcuffs are without mercy on my wrists, but I manage to hold the filled glass by a strangely contorted pose and a cautious placing of my bare feet. When it is taken from me, I know victory.

"You see, it was possible."

"Are you trying to tell me something, Bill?"

"Only that whatever is done to you here can be coped with. You won't believe so at the time, but it is so."

"Some men will torture me."

"An ugly word. I hope to be one of them."

"But why? What good does it do? What does it prove?"

"I think you know the answer to that." His eyes drink me in while his lips sip from the glass. "You're talking about the oldest instinct in the world. By the way, mix yourself a cocktail."

"Thank you, but I can't get it to my lips. I'm handcuffed."

"Mix it, then kneel beside me. I'll raise your glass."