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Subject: {ASSM} Story in text --Rape-Torture
Date: Wed, 5 Apr 2000 20:10:09 -0400
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Hi, Hope this is what you want.
Ken
<1st attachment, "The Necrophiles Have Your Wife.txt" begin>
The Necrophiles Have Your Wife By Willailla
Allison Moore had just stepped out of the shower when the phone began
ringing. She groaned, grabbed a towel off the rack and trotted into the
bedroom to pick up the receiver.
"Hello," she said, clutching the towel around her and sitting down on
the unmade bed, crossing her shapely legs.
There was no response for a moment, and she was about ready to chalk it
up to a crank call, when a raspy male voice said, "I know what happened to
your friend, Karen."
Allison froze. The towel dropped from her hand, leaving her naked.
Karen was one of her best friends. She had disappeared without a trace
six weeks earlier. No one had heard from her since. The police were
baffled.
"Who is this?" she asked, with sudden intensity.
"Who I am," the raspy voice replied, "is not important. What is
important is that I know what happened to your sexy, little friend."
The offhanded crudeness of his remark shocked her and filled her with
disgust. "How could you possibly know anything about Karen?" she asked,
restraining an impulse to shout at him.
She heard him chuckle. Let's just say I'm in a position to know. Are
you interested?"
"What do you mean?"
"In finding out about your friend?"
"Of course I am," she answered, sensing something in the tone of his
voice that told her he wasn't playing games.
"Good, but first there's several things you have to agree to or you get
nothing."
"What?"
"First, you must tell no one--and I mean no one, especially that lawyer
husband of yours--about this call. Is that clear?"
She resented his domineering tone. He made her feel like a child being
dictated to by its parent.
"OK," she said, "that is if you really have something," she added
reprovingly. Touche!
"Granted," he said. "Second, I want you to meet me at Chez 69. If you
bring anyone with you or I see any pigs or anything at all suspicious,
you'll never hear from me again."
"Why can't you just tell me what you know over the phone?"
"Because it's going to cost you, lady, and I like my cash up front and
personal, know what I mean?"
"How much cash?" Allison asked warily.
"A couple of thousand ought to do it. I'm not greedy."
"That's a lot of money."
"Not for a classy, hot-shot lawyer's wife. You keep that much in the
cookie jar."
"How do I know I can trust you?"
"You don't. But if you don't like what I have to say, you don't have to
fork over the money."
She thought about it for a moment; she knew she would have to agree to
his terms, no matter what. She had no choice, if she wanted to find out
what happened to Karen.
"All right," she agreed reluctantly.
"But there's just one more thing," he continued. She heard him enhale
sharply as if he were drawing on a cigarette. "I want you to wear an
overcoat with nothing on underneath and high heels."
It was Allison's turn to enhale deeply. "I can't agree to that. That's
crazy."
"Then you'll never see Karen again."
"What do you mean, you bastard?" she cried, her voice rising. Is Karen
all right? What have you done to her?"
"I haven't done anything to her," the raspy voice replied. "but there
are others who might."
"Others?" Allison was stunned by this announcement. Her worse fears had
been realized. Karen had been abducted.
"Don't puzzle your pretty head over it. Just do as I tell you and
everything will be all right. Otherwise..."
Allison didn't stop to wonder how he knew she had a pretty head--or how
he knew her husband was a lawyer--or anything else. All she could think
about was Karen. She couldn't desert her.
Then she heard him speak again in that irritatingly raspy voice.
"Think about it. I'll call back at noon tomorrow, and you can give me
your answer." With that he hung up, and stunned, she sat listening to the
dial tone for a long time without realizing he'd done so.
Chapter 2 What Friends Are For
That evening when he came home, Allison's husband, Barry, found her
naked, on the sofa, with a half empty bottle of scotch resting between her
thighs. He carried her to bed; found the receiver on the floor and put it
back on the cradle.
He stripped off his clothes. Nature had blessed him with a rock hard
body with well defined muscles and a large, uncircumcised cock. They had
been married three years, and he had never seen her drunk before. The
sight turned him on. More than that, seeing her unconscious and helpless
gave him a sudden, tantalizing inspiration.
He picked up the receiver and dialed a number he knew by heart. Then
slipped on a pair of trunks.
Twenty minutes later a car pulled up in the driveway.
Rick Matthews had been Barry's buddy since their college days and
throughout law school. They'd shared a lot of good times together,
including their women.
Rick sipped the whiskey neat Barry gave him. He was bigger than Barry,
but soft. In a few more years he would be fat.
"Are you serious?" Rick asked, when Barry had explained what he had in
mind.
"Damn straight. She's out of it. She'll never know what happened."
"I don't know, man. If Barbara ever found out, my ass would be grass."
"Who's going to tell her, old buddy? Not me."
"It would be rape." Rick said absently, staring down at his drink.
Barry grinned as Rick glanced up. "Yeah, but you and I both know you'd
like to do her. I've seen the way you've looked at her, old buddy. You
can't fool me."
Rick raised the corner of his mouth in a half smile of concession.
"All right, amigo!" Barry whooped as they high-fived each other.
Rick's prick was already hard by the time he had his clothes off. He
couldn't believe how pretty, how sexy Allison looked, lying there naked.
Her thick, gorgeous, reddish brown hair was fanned out on the pillow. Her
lips were slightly parted, revealing smooth white teeth. The tits were
large and round with thimble shaped nipples. Her whole body was deeply
tanned to perfection, no doubt she spent a lot of time in the tanning bed
at her health club.
He feasted his eyes on her firm flesh, the narrow waist, the womanly
hips, the triangle of cunt hair and the long, shapely legs. His heart was
racing. His cock tingling with anticipation. He touched the swollen head.
It was so sensitive that he almost came.
Nervous, that she might come to, he climbed cautiously onto the bed and
slowly spread her legs. He was so excited, his hands were shaking.
Gingerly, he touched a breast, then softly palmed it, kneading the supple
flesh between his fingers. God, he was actually going to fuck his best
friend's wife. And she would never know it. Everytime they met from now
on, he would remember knowing the most intimate look and feel and taste of
her, and she would be totally unaware of it. He rolled a pink nipple
between his thumb and forefinger and was surprised to feel it begin to
swell.
Was she conscious enough to get turned on? he wondered.
He lowered his face to her, detecting that primeval smell of womanness,
covered over by a faint, bath-scented smell of talc. He could smell the
whiskey on her breath. Her lower lip was swollen. Her upper lip was a
perfect bow shape with its delicate twin peaks. There was still the faint
trace of pink lipstick on them. He slid the tip of his tongue between
their furrow gliding over the milky white teeth beneath. Her body stirred
slightly, almost quivering. She moaned faintly.
Her legs moved farther apart, and she arched her back as if inviting him
to take her. For a moment, he wondered if she really was unconscious.
Maybe she and Barry had planned out a kinky scenario for their own
amusement. But, then, if true, so what? He was still going to get to fuck
her, and that was all that really mattered.
He leaned forward and spread the lips of her cunt and began tonguing
her, enhaling the pungent, musky odor, lapping like a dog up to the clit
and nipping it gently between his teeth. Her body gave off a series of
tiny, electric shudders. And she mumbled something incoherently. Her
fingers became lost in his hair. Her ass began rotating up off the
mattress.
He moved up on her and positioned his cock at the hole of her cunt. Her
eyes were still closed, but her face was grimaced. Her breasts were rising
and falling rapidly, her belly sucking in and out.
Conscious or not, this bitch wants it, Rick thought. And I intend
giving it to her. As she brought her hips up, he shoved his cock in. She
was wet. And it was a good thing, for she was really tight. It was as if
the whole depth of her cunt was a huge fist gripping him. Had he wanted
to, he couldn't have pulled out of her. Then, her cunt muscles relaxed and
he withdrew, leaving only the head in. Her hips continued to rotate
hungrily as she moved upward meeting his thrust with her own. It was too
good to endure. He felt a tremendous surge of excitement coarse through
his body, and cum began spurting from his cock greasing the insides of her
tube. He worked furiously up and down on her. Sweat formed and dripped
from his body. Her moans and cries filled the bedroom. Her fingers
gripped his ass, the long nails sunk into the tender flesh. And somewhere
in the back of his mind he wondered what Barry must be thinking, feeling,
for he had to be able to hear them. What would any man think knowing
another man is fucking his wife--and pleasing her?
Suddenly, he heard hands clapping behind him, and glancing over his
shoulder, he saw Barry standing in the doorway naked, his huge cock fully
extended up at a forty-five degree angle.
"That was really great, old buddy. I got it all on tape." he said,
grinning.
"Tape?" Rick grunted, still slightly confused from the rush of hormones
he had just experienced.
"That's right." He pointed to a digital clock sitting on a chest of
drawers. "Hidden camera. The monitor's downstairs in the basement. I've
been thinking about something like this for several months. I was planning
on drugging her, but her getting drunk has made everything much easier."
"Yeah, really great." Rick answered sarcastically. What if she sees the
tape sometime? I'll be doing twenty-to-life for rape."
"Relax, amigo; you worry too much. I watched the whole thing on the
monitor. There's no way anyone viewing that tape would believe she wasn't
loving it. Man, she was all over you."
"Yeah, well, maybe so, but I just as soon not put it to the test, if
it's all the same to you."
Barry rubbed at the patch of brown hair on his chest. "Maybe someday we
can do this again...only with Barbara."
"Uh, uh. No way I'd take that kind of chance."
"Well, just a suggestion. Think about it."
As Rick drove home that evening, he did think about it, and, as he
kissed his beautiful, blonde wife goodnight, he pictured her naked under
Barry as he rammed that huge cock of his in her for the first time.
Chapter 3 Chez 69
When Allison woke up the phone was ringing insistently. She reached
over to the night stand and dragged it onto the bed with her and picked up
the receiver.
"Yes?"
"Made up your mind, Allison?" It was the raspy voice.
At first, she couldn't focus on the meaning of the question. Then,
suddenly, it all came rushing back into her. The whiskey. She had drunk
too much. She wasn't used to it. She felt sick, and her body ached all
over. She struggled to pull her thoughts together. Her hand moved down
her belly. She was still naked. Her hand paused at her pubic mound. It
was swollen and tingly. The slit was open and moist. The hairs had a
crusty feeling to them.
"Well?" the raspy voice prodded, interrupting her thoughts.
* * *
It was rainy. So the overcoat became a raincoat. She rolled her hair
up into a bun and, after putting on her make up, selected a pair of high
heeled, white pumps. She rolled up a wad of hundred dollar bills and
placed a rubber band around it. This she shoved into her coat pocket.
She called a cab, and told the driver where to take her, trying to
ignore the salacious look he gave her when she'd told him the address.
Chez 69 was located in a sleazy red light district. Here and there a
miniskirted whore stood in the lee of a doorway, out of the rain, waiting
for a trick to drive by or a cop looking for a kickback. Young black
youths, gang bangers, were hanging out on a nearby corner, ignoring the
rain, in their oversized clothes, gold chains and expensive sneakers. The
occasional hiss of tires sounded on the wet pavement.
"Hey, mama," one of the youths called out to her. "Why doncha come
upstairs with me and my bros. You a fine lookin' ho. We show you good
time."
She hurried to the entrance of Chez 69, hearing their taunts and
laughter behind her.
A man, dressed in black, stood at the doorway. She asked for Sid, the
name raspy voice had given her. Dull-eyed, chewing on a toothpick, he
jerked his head to the side, indicating that she go in.
Chez 69 was, she saw, a strip club. A runway divided the small room in
two. There was a bar on her left and a scattering of tables. Stools,
where patrons could sit, lined both sides of the runway. To her right was
a series of booths. It was early, so there were only a few customers
sitting about drinking. She peered around in the semi-darkness of a blue,
neon glow. Men, naturally, were sizing her up. But no one in particular
showed any sign that he was the special one expecting her.
Being in a sleazy bar alone was enough to make her nervous, but knowing
that she was also naked under her thin, vinyl raincoat made her feel
panic-stricken. It was only an effort of will power that kept her from
turning and running out the door. Plus the knowledge that the gang bangers
were still out there.
Taking a deep breath, she weaved a path around the tables to the
bartender.
"What can I do for you, lady?" he asked.
She told him.
Chapter 4 An Easy Lay
Sid saw her when she came into the club. He waited for Roy, the doorman
to give him the OK. Then he watched her as she stood, indecisive, looking
around, no doubt, for him.
She was a real looker. The light wasn't good, but he could see she had
copper-colored hair rolled up into a bun. Unloosened, he'd bet it hung to
her jutting ass. Her face was classic: the rounded forehead, the slightly
concaved nose, the delicate chin. If she'd followed his instructions, she
would be naked underneath the red raincoat. He could see the round thrust
of her tits against the fabric. He'd had many years handling women in his
business. He guessed she was a 38D. He couldn't be sure of the waist
because of the straight line of the coat, but judging by the way her hips
filled it, he guessed them to be 34 inches. He had no doubt the waist
would prove to be nice and narrow.
He lit a smoke, holding it Turkish fashion in his right hand with thumb
and forefinger, the butt pointed to his left. He watched her walk over to
the bartender, and when the bartender glanced at him, he gave a faint nod.
She came to the corner booth, in back, where he was seated. She kept
her head bowed to avoid the frank stares of the men sitting at the tables.
"Are you Sid?" she asked, looking down at him.
He didn't answer right away. He gave her the once over, slowly, with
his eyes, letting her know what he was thinking, what he'd like to do to
her.
He couldn't exactly tell in the dim light if she blushed, but he would
bank on it, the way her eyes suddenly darted away from his.
"Yeah, I'm Sid, baby." She recognized the raspy voice. "Sit down."
He patted the area of the seat next to him.
"Slide over here next to me. We don't want people to hear what we're
talking about, do we?"
When she was next to him, a naked woman wearing nothing but a
yellow-glow G-string came over to their booth.
"Whadayah want to drink?" he asked her, blowing smoke from his nostrils.
"Nothing," Allison said.
"Give us two Easy Lays," Sid said, ignoring her request, "and make hers
a real easy lay." He chuckled.
The naked woman smiled at Sid, then gave Allison a smug, put down look.
"She thinks you're competition, " Sid explained, after the waitress
left.
He crushed his cigarette out in the ashtray. "Did you do what I told
you to?" he asked, after a pause. This time he was certain she blushed.
Up close, he could see her cheeks darken slightly.
"Yes."
"OK, let's see. Take your coat off."
He watched her freeze. A thrill raced through him, stirring his cock to
life.
"No."
"No?" he mocked her.
"Why?" The tone of her voice was that of a child not wanting to do
something its parent has ordered but knowing it will have to anyway.
Petulant.
"Because I have to make sure you're not wired." That was the truth, in
part, but he also wanted to see her naked.
"I can't," she pleaded. "Not with other men watching."
But you would if we were alone wouldn't you, you little slut? he was
thinking.
"Relax they've seen plenty of naked women before. You're nothing
special. They'll just think you're one of the strippers or somebody
auditioning."
At that moment, the yellow-glow returned with their drinks.
"Here drink some of this." he said, pushing a glass over to her. "It'll
make things easier."
She took a couple of sips, then, waiting until the waitress was gone,
slowly began unbuttoning her coat.
"OK," she said, when she had it unbuttoned.
"No. No. Take it all the way off. I have to make sure you aren't
hiding anything."
She hesitated, then reached up with her hands and pulled the coat off
her shoulders, letting it slide down her naked back, then leaned forward,
her nipples touching the cool, plastic surface of the table, as she
shrugged her arms out of the sleeves.
She had suddenly become the center of attention. The few men sitting at
the tables focused their gaze upon her. The waitress, was grinning
snidely.
She took a large gulp of her drink. Anything to kill the humiliation
she was feeling. It seemed to help. Feeling a momentary need for
defiance, she stared at Sid. In the blue, neon glow, the skin of his face
seem cadaverous. He was wearing a dark gray suit with a black tie. She
estimated that he was in his late fifties. There were heavy bags under his
dark eyes. He was stocky, with broad, powerful-looking shoulders. His
hair, which he probably dyed, was coal black, combed straight back into a
short pony tail. The hands were thick and the stubby fingers were
decorated with flashy diamond rings.
Hands and fingers to make a woman...what? she wondered fleetingly.
Oddly, the word `beg' came to mind, but for exactly what she wasn't sure.
The palms of his hands moved over her tits. They were hard as if he had
walked on them for years. The fingers expertly tweaked and kneaded her
nipples, making them swell.
"Nice." he said. "You like that don't you?"
She looked away.
Across the room, she could see yellow-glow feed the jukebox and began
swinging her naked body from side to side, arms over her head, as the
thumping beat of Venus filled the room:
...summit of beauty and love,
and Venus was her name.
She's got it.
Yes, baby, she's got it.
The leathery palm moved slowly down to her stomach and began making warm
circular motions, fingers gripping the firm flesh gently, then releasing
it. He leaned to her and kissed her on the neck, just below her earlobe.
She could feel the moist heat of his tongue and breath. She turned her
mouth to him, and he filled it with his tongue. She gasped softly,
quivering.
He lowered his hand farther.
It warmly cupped her newly shaved cunt. "You follow orders well." he
said. His thick fingers spread the tight labia. He felt her whole body
shiver then go lax. He pushed his fuckfinger up inside her to the knuckle.
He held his ear to her throat, listening to the faint murmuring sounds she
made, like a small, wounded animal.
His hand moved around behind her neck and pushed her head down while
with his other hand he unzipped his pants.
The cock was thick and stubby, like the man. The foreskin slid back
revealing a glistening head. There was a faint scent of ammonia in her
nostrils. She felt his hand nudge the cheek of her ass. She raised her
hips, off the leatherette seat and felt his finger slowly sink into her
asshole. With his other hand he stroked her clit. She had never felt so
hot in her life. Like the drink's name, she was proving to be an easy lay.
She was humiliated, ashamed, but she was powerless to resist. With a sense
of breathless awe, she realized she would, probably, do anything he asked.
Anything.
And then he was cumming. She swallowed the hot spurts as fast as they
came, gurgling the viscous fluid around in her throat, gulping, sucking it
down, choking, feeling it dribble, too quick, from the edges of her lips,
onto his slacks.
His fingers popped out of her, leaving her wet in a hot, unsatisfied
void. He pulled her bun loose and wiped his dick off with the long reddish
strands.
How? she wondered, could she have allowed herself to go off in this
totally uninhibited manner? She had never done anything like this in her
entire life. How?
Just as the word `drugged' came to mind, she passed out.
Chapter 5 The Exchange
Sid carried her out the rear exit, and waited while yellow-glow popped
the trunk. He lay her down naked inside, then carefully removed all her
jewelry. He'd already taken the two thousand out of her coat pocket.
Not bad for a day's work, and there's more to come, he thought, happily.
He closed the lid with a thump and handed yellow-glow the jewelry.
"Take care of this, darling. Should be worth about six grand all tot.
"She kissed him on the cheek. "Be careful, Sid."
"Yeah, yeah. Now get that naked ass back in there and make us some
money, bitch," he laughed.
* * *
Sid waited on a narrow, dirt road about half-a-mile off the interstate
until a white van drove up and two men in dark suits got out.
"You got her?" the tall, slender one asked. Slender, but Sid knew that
he had muscles like coiled steel.
"Just like always," Sid said, in his raspy voice, a cigarette in the
corner of his mouth. Underneath his jacket was a fully loaded .45
automatic with illegal Black Talons. He'd dealt with The Followers of
Anubis for a long time, but he wasn't taking any chances. He didn't know
what they did with the women he brought them, but he could guess, and he
was certain of one thing, he wasn't going to turn his back on them.
"Well, let's take a look at her," said the other guy, a blond who had
the physique of a body builder. "She's got to be pretty or it's no deal."
"Yeah, you don't have to worry about that," Sid grunted. "She's prime
pelt."
They stood back as Sid opened the trunk. They knew better than to try
anything with him. In truth, they had no desire to, for Sid would be hard
to replace. As long as he was well paid, he could always be counted of to
deliver quality merchandise. A rare trait even in legitimate markets.
When he had the trunk open, he motioned for them to take a look.
"She'll do." the slender man said without hesitation. They looked at
each other and grinned.
Muscle boy got a stretcher out of the van, and they loaded Allison onto
it. They paid Sid, then hefted her into the van.
Chapter 6 What Does a Gal Wear to a Snuff Party?
Janet Turner was working off-line on an article slated for the next
morning's edition, when the phone rang. She was a petite, sexy-looking
woman, with short, curly brown hair, and blue eyes.
"Yep?" She hooked the phone between her ear and shoulder and kept on
typing.
"There go to be a Circle tomorrow night, senora," a voice said, with a
Mexican accent.
Janet stopped typing suddenly. Her heart went pitter pat. Excitement
surged within her. She took the phone in her hand.
It was Miguel, her latest contact. For a year she'd been working on a
story about snuff parties, but so far she'd turned up nothing. This could
be her big break. The story of the decade--if she could actually attend
one.
"Can you get me in, Miguel?" she asked, almost on the verge of begging.
"Maybe...si," he considered, "but it is risky. "If they think you not
right, you dead meat."
"I know. I know," she said, "but it's now or never. You've got to
arrange it, Miguel. It's important."
She heard him sigh. "OK, I try it, senora, but price be forty thousand
dollares."
"Arrange it, Miguel. I can get the money."
* * *
"It's crazy, Janet, goddamned crazy," Jake Turner, her husband, cried
out. "You could get killed messing with people like that."
"Well, there's some risk," she admitted, placing a hand on her hip, "but
that's my job."
"No it isn't. You're job is to be a reporter, not go out messing around
in weird cults or whatever the hell they are."
"But that is my job: to uncover the news, to let people know what's
going on in this crazy world of ours. Somebody's got to do it. And right
now it seems I'm elected."
Jake groaned and glanced over at Janet's father, Matt Larson, former FBI
agent, now semi-retired. "Can't you talk some sense into her, Matt?"
Matt grinned. "'fraid not. Takes after her mother. Stubborn as a
mule."
"You're both crazy," Jake said. "Don't either of you realize the risk
envolved? This isn't some fucking pop fiction novel we're talking about;
this is real life. There won't be any calvary-to-the-rescue ending if
something goes wrong."
Matt's face took on a peevish look. "We know that Jake, but thanks to
Janet's hard work and determination, we, at the Bureau, finally have a
chance to crack an obscenity that has spread its tentacles throughout the
nation. It has got to be stopped. And right now Janet is our only hope.
There's some element of danger; I won't try to con you on that, but we'll
have her under continuous surveillance. At the very first hint of trouble
we'll move in."
Jake collapsed on the sofa, placing his head in his hands. "And what if
you don't move in fast enough?" he asked, raising his head to stare at
Matt.
"I know she's your wife, Jake, and believe me, I understand your
concern, but she's, also, my daughter, and if I doubted for an instant that
we would be able to protect her, I'd be the first to talk her out of it."
"Well," Janet said, folding her arms across her breasts, "if you two
macho guys have finally decided what the little woman is going to do, will
you tell me where we can get forty thousand smackers?" She looked at her
father.
"No problem. The Bureau will come up with it, and gladly, to get these
creeps."
"Good. It's all settled, then. We just have to wait for Miguel to call
and hope he is able to arrange it." She sat down next to Jake. "Darling, I
love you," she said, kissing him on the cheek."
"I know," he patted her knee, then squeezed it.
She smiled. "And now that we have got it all settled, can anybody tell
me what a gal wears to a snuff party?"
"That's not funny," both men chimed.
Chapter 7 Preparations
The undercover woman agent finished taping the transmitter to Janet's
chest just below her left breast.
"OK, that'll do it," she said, stepping back and observing her handy
work. "Unless you decide to do a striptease, they'll never know you're
wired."
"What if they frisk me?" Janet asked, feeling self-conscious standing
naked before the agent.
"It's not likely. They have no reason to think you're not the rich
bitch you're portraying yourself to be, out to sample the perversity of
life."
"Maybe I ought to wear jogging shoes just in case I need to do some
running," Janet joked.
The agent smiled. "Don't worry. We have you fully covered. We'll be
there if you should need us. Count on it."
Janet walked over to her bed where a black strapless mini dress lay. On
the floor were a pair of spiked heels with T-straps. Thong-backed bikini
panties lay next to the dress. On her vanity was a three-strand choker of
genuine pearls and a three carat diamond ring easily worth thirty thousand
dollars. The Bureau had spared no expense to make her look like the rich
bitch she was supposed to be.
They had even brought in a team of make-over artist to redo her from
head to foot: sauna bath and fragrant oil massage followed by
professionally applied make up, a new dyed-blonde hair style and a manicure
and pedicure. She hardly recognized herself when she looked in the mirror.
She was shocked to see how devastatingly sexy she looked.
"I don't have to give these back, do I?" she said pointing toward the
jewelry with a long, glossy, red-nailed finger.
The agent glanced at her with a raised eyebrow and pinched lips.
When she had put on the mini dress and shoes, slipped the ring on her
finger and placed the choker around her neck, she walked into the living
room where Matt and Jake sat on the sofa surrounded by a cadre of agents.
She couldn't help noting with satisfaction how the eyes of the male agents
took on lusty hues when they glanced at her. Even her husband, she noted,
wasn't unaffected by her new appearance. But he seemed more distraught
than anything.
After a moment, she became self-conscious under their intense stares.
She was, by nature, an attractive woman, and she had had her share of male
attention, but this was too much. It was as if she was no longer a person
but an object. She suddenly realized how famous sex symbols must feel.
Yet, deep down, she felt something primal stir.
Jake came to her and held her in his arms. "It's still not too late to
back out, babe, if you want."
She shook her head. "We have to stop them, Jake. The Followers of
Anubis is an evil that can't be tolerated in a civilized society."
He sighed, realizing her mind was made up. "All right, but I'm going
along," he said, as Matt came over."
"Wouldn't have it any other way," Matt said, gripping his shoulder.
Chapter 8 The Screw Up
Janet stood on the corner of 7th Avenue and Readmore as she had been
instructed over the phone by someone claiming to be a Follower of Anubis.
She knew undercover agents were everywhere, but look as she might she
couldn't detect them. Which was a good thing, since she didn't want her
contact to spook.
She was scared, but at the same time, excited by the prospect of having
an expose to end all exposes. Her name would become a household word.
There would be book rights. Slews of articles by her and about her and
maybe even a movie deal.
As her head spun with all the possibilities. A black sedan abruptly
pulled up to the curb in front of her. The rear door opened and a
muscular, blond headed man, in a dark suit, ordered her to get in.
"OK, guys, this is it." Matt Larsen said. "Let's get rolling. But stay
back and keep a low profile. We don't want to alert them. Remember we've
got helicopters and spotter planes discreetly observing them, so we're not
in any danger of losing them."
A few minutes later, the driver called back over his shoulder to where
Matt and Jake sat. "They're turning into an underground parking lot, sir."
"Damn!" Matt exclaimed.
"What's the matter?" Jake asked, suddenly alarmed.
"They're going to switch cars, the bastards"
"You can't let them, Matt! We've got to stop them!" Jake cried.
"It's all right, Jake. Calm down. As long as Janet's wearing the wire
we can home in on it and keep track of them. These assholes aren't as
smart as they think."
* * *
"What are we doing?" Janet asked, as the sedan pulled into the
underground parking lot.
"Just taking a routine precaution," the blond-headed man smiled, "in
case somebody's following us.
There were five men in the car with her. Three up front and one on each
side of her. Janet was beginning to wish she'd never undertaken her
crusade.
When they were inside, they pulled up next to a gray Caddy and got out.
The blond-headed man went over to the driver and said something. The
driver glanced at Janet, then nodded, backed out and drove off.
"Is anything wrong?" Janet asked, beginning to feel uneasy.
"No," the blond said. "Everything's going according to plan, Mrs.
Turner."
Janet's mouth opened, but no sound came out. They knew who she was!
They had formed a loose circle around her. Even without the spiked
heels, she couldn't have outrun them. All of them looked like they worked
out on a regular basis.
"How did you know who I was?" she heard herself ask in a dazed voice.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, she frantically realized that she had to
stall for time. She knew, hopefully, that their conversation was being
monitored, soon help would be on its way. Don't panic. Just stall them
for as long as possible, she told herself. But she was scared. Suddenly,
really scared. She felt her legs tremble.
"Oh, The Followers have been aware of your meddling for a long time.
You should have stuck to your daily, routine reporting instead of sticking
your nose in where it doesn't belong. You've alarmed and angered some very
rich and influential people. Now I'm afraid you'll have to pay the price."
"What are you going to do with me?" she asked, not relishing any of the
possible options her vivid imagination was conjuring up.
"Um, that'll be up to The Followers, but if I were you, I'd forget about
any long term plans I'd made." He chuckled. The others grinned. Their
eyes moved over her, and she knew what they wanted to do.
"Oh, and by the way, you can forget about being rescued. We relaid the
frequency of your transmitter to one in the Caddy. Right about now your
FBI buddies are engaged in a wild goose chase. By the time they realize
it, it will be too late for you."
The blond took her by the upper arm, and they led her to a green, steel
elevator door. Inside, he ran a key card through a slot. "That'll take us
to the penthouse, Mrs. Turner, which," he added ominously, "is completely
sound proof."
Janet wanted to beg them to let her go, to strike any bargain, to do
anything they wanted, to fall on her knees, but she was intelligent enough
to know it would do no good. Besides she had nothing to bargain with.
They could take what they wanted.
High up, the elevator door opened onto a Spanish tiled foyer. The blond
pressed a button next to an intricately carved door and Janet could hear
the faint sound of chimes inside.
The door opened and the blond shoved Janet inside, roughly. Then they
turned and went back to the elevator. Fadela was playing from the
speakers.
Chapter 9 Three Weeks Later
Jake Turner sat on the sofa staring vacantly at the TV, the sound turned
off. Empty beer cans littered the coffee table in front of him. An
ashtray overflowed with butts. His face was bearded. He hadn't shaved for
three weeks.
He was about to pop another can, when he heard the mailman drop
something in the box.
It was a small package. When he opened it, there was a video tape. The
label affixed to the side said, The Necrophiles Have Your Wife.
Not wanting to, but unable to help himself, he slid the cartridge in the
VCR.
He knew it was Janet's scream even before anything visual appeared on
the screen.
A door was open, and he saw a muscular, blond man shove Janet into a
room full of old, bald men. They obviously weren't worried about being
recognized, for none of them wore masks or disguises of any kind. He could
tell by the expensive looking gold watches and diamond rings, they sported,
and well-fed looks, that these were wealthy and, no doubt, powerful men.
The door closed and Janet, in her skimpy, black dress, was left alone
among them, unsucessfully trying to fend off their groping, clutching
hands. Laughing, a couple of the old geezers grabbed her. Jake could hear
her pleading with them. Tears fell from her eyes. The beer can imploded
in his hand. But there was nothing he could do now. What he was seeing
was history. He ground his teeth together, crying out in rage and
frustration at his impotence. Was there no God in heaven who gave a shit
what happened to his creatures?
Working behind her, one of the old bastards started unzipping her dress.
Frantically, eyes wide with fear, she tried to turn and stop him with one
hand, while holding the hem of her short dress down with the other, but too
many hands worked against her. One of them yanked the front down revealing
her medium sized, well shaped breasts. Others ripped the taped-on
transmitter from her body.
"Oh, my God," Jake moaned.
He watched in horror as Janet tried to cover her breasts with her hands,
but old, wrinkled hands grabbed her wrists and pulled them away. The old
man behind her finished unzipping the dress. It fell down to her hips.
She twisted from side to side, her breasts jiggling profusely as she
attempted to avoid pinching, poking fingers. One grinning old man grabbed
a pink nipple between his thumb and forefinger and stretched it out as far
as it would go. Janet's screams filled the room. There was a
popping-ripping sound as the dress was jerked loose, falling down to her
ankles.
Wearing only thong-backed panties and her spiked heels, Janet's
struggles increased dramatically, for it was apparent, now, that they would
soon have her naked.
What they would do to her then, Jake didn't want to think about.
Now aroused to a fever pitch by the sight of her near nudity, they
crudely yanked away the skimpy covering of silk, leaving red marks on her
totally naked body.
Two men held her arms while two others grabbed her legs at the back of
her knees and raised her off the ground, spreading her legs apart.
Jake didn't want to watch what was bound to happen, but he couldn't look
away. It was as if the TV were a magnet drawing him into the depths of the
depravity it was revealing.
A fat man with an enormous cock, fully erect, got between her legs. The
camera did a close up of Janet's face as the guy entered her. Her eyes
suddenly went wide, her mouth slack. Jake could hear her gasp sharply
several times. Slowly, the camera moved down to her heaving tits, then
farther down to the firm, undulating belly, and then farther to her-
Jake couldn't believe it. Her cunt had been shaved completely clean!
When had that happened? And why? Had that dyke FBI agent shaved it? And
why had Janet let her?
Janet's cries diverted his thoughts. They had raised her up so that her
tits were pressed against the chest of the man who was fucking her.
Another man moved behind her and attempted to ram his cock in her asshole,
after several jolting thrusts, he succeeded. Janet's face wrinkled into a
tormented grimace. She cried out screeching like a wounded animal.
Jake could hear laughter. Smacks of naked flesh on naked flesh.
"You bastards!" he shouted. "You miserable bastards!"
Then his anger gave way to a sudden, sinking sensation.
They drew her back, placing her flat on the floor. One of the men took
a gold lighter and lighted a cigar, puffing on it until the head was
glowing bright red.
"You have nice tits, Mrs. Turner," the man said in a mocking voice.
"It's a real shame you couldn't have minded your own business. Cause now
you're going to have to be punished.
"No, please don't hurt me!" she cried. Her eyes, wide with terror, were
fixed on the glowing head of the cigar. "Please!"
"Whadayah think, guys, should we give the cunt a chance to make amends
or torture her?"
"Why not do both?" someone offered.
Jake threw up as the man pressed the cigar to her left nipple.
Her scream was piercing. Her ass rose up off the floor. Veins stood
out on her neck. Her face flushed darkly. The old men cackled and held on
tightly to her wrists and ankles.
He put the cigar against her other nipple.
Her body flopped about crazily on the floor, reminding Jake of someone
having a spastic fit.
"Please! Please! Please!" she begged, screamed, frantic, half out of
her mind with pain.
"Pleeeeaaaasssseee!"
Her screams turned into a squeal.
An ice pick was jabbed through her breasts several times.
"Turn her over," someone said.
"Spread her legs."
An old man with a gold hoop in his ear mounted her, fucking her hard and
fast in the ass.
"Oh, Godddaaah!" he gasped after a dozen seconds, then, accidentally
withdrawing, spurted a secondary stream of cum up the back of her ass.
Another man yanked her head up by the hair and shoved his cock in her
mouth. "Don't even think about biting, young bitch." he warned.
Jake could tell when the man came. Her body suddenly convulsed and cum
spurted from her nostrils and foamed from her mouth.
Later, as the rape drew on and on, her attitude gradually became one of
passivity. She stopped struggling. She allowed them to do whatever they
wished. She even cooperated.
She got on her hands and knees while they kneeled in a circle around
her. One man would fuck her in the ass or cunt while, at the same time,
another man fucked her in the mouth. What she couldn't swallow dripped
from her mouth. Trickles of blood and cum glistened down the insides of
her thighs.
Later, one of the men brought out a butcher knife. They ordered her to
beg for it, and she did.
* * *
The tape had been set on extended play, and there were time lapses
between some frames. So it would have been hard to determine how long the
rape and torture went on, but it was definitely for a period of over six
hours, perhaps a dozen or more. Numb, half-crazed, Jake got another six
pack out of the freezer. He replayed certain scenes. He drank. He smoked
one cigarette after another, until clouds of bluish vapor hung in the air.
The lights were off and there was only the flickering glow of the TV
screen. He drank. His thumb continually moved from one remote button to he
next: Rewind. Stop. Play. Pause. Play. Pause. Rewind. Stop. Slow
mo. Play. Pause. Play. Pause. Slow mo. Pause. Rewind. Stop. Slow
mo. Pause. Slow mo. Pause. Slow mo. Slow mo. Slow mo. Slow mo.
Pause. Pause. Pause. Pause. Pause....
He took his shirt off...kicked off his shoes...pants...
...shorts....
His hand gripped his swollen cock.
She was looking straight into the camera. An extreme close up. Her
eyes were full of vacant wonderment, loss.
Staring.
Occasionally, the side of the man's face, who was fucking her, would
come into the frame. Her head quivered laxly as he humped her. The camera
pulled back slowly. Her lolling head was on a silvery satin pillow. More
of the man came into the frame as the camera pulled back. He had blond
hair and muscular shoulders. She was no longer in the room with the old
men, but some place else.
There was the sound of organ music, a requiem, coming from a speaker.
The man continued to fuck her. The camera pulled back more. His hips rose
and fell on top of her naked body. Her breasts jiggled each time he
entered her, but she remained passive. Her mouth open, slack.
They were in a casket.
The camera panned around the interior of a small, private-looking
chapel. Well dressed men and women sat in rows of pews, rapt looks on their
faces.
Chapter 10 Barbara
How long has it been?" Barbara asked. She sipped at the Hot Toddy Barry
had prepared for her.
"Almost sixteen weeks now," he answered, facing her from the kitchen
side of the bar that separated it from the spacious living room.
"And the police still have no clues as to what could have happened to
Allison?"
"None at all. They probably think she ran off with another man or that
I killed her," he added, laughing bitterly.
"That's absurb. She loved you. Anyone could tell that, and as for
killing her," she smiled, "You're just not the murdering type."
"Woo, and just what type am I?" Barry asked, casually sliding in next to
her on the sofa and placing his drink on the glass-topped, brass coffee
table.
"Oh, I don't know. You're , you're Barry." She laughed, awkwardly, when
he put his arm on the top of the sofa back behind her shoulders.
She was wearing a sleeveless, button-up-the-front, white blouse and a
pair of snug-fitting, blue shorts and a pair of tan leather clogs. Her
blonde hair was in a thick ponytail that hung halfway down her back.
"Ouch," he exclaimed with pretend hurt. "You make me sound kind of
wimpy."
"Oh, you know I didn't mean it that way," she said, sincerely. "It's
just that we've known each other since I married Rick. You're like
family." She patted him on the thigh.
"Close enough for our relationship to be incestuous?."
She chuckled. "We don't have a relationship."
"With very little effort, you could make the possibility of one an
alluring subject for discussion."
"You guys," she groaned playfully. "That's all you think about."
"And you women love it," he grinned.
He took her empty glass and went to the kitchen to get a refill.
"I've never had a Hot Toddy before," she said. "They're quite tasty."
"And good for you," he said, coming back into the living room with her
drink. "Plenty of apple cider, vitamin C and all that."
"I'd better not drink anymore after this. I'm strictly a teetotaler,
most of the time. I'm already feeling a bit woozy."
"When does Rick get back?"
"Hard to say. At least two weeks. Maybe longer if the case he's
working on gets complicated."
Barry nodded. "And the kids are at grandma's and grandpa's?"
"Yes, they love it down there in the country. They get to ride ponies,
fish and do all kinds of things they can't do in the city." She grinned.
"They probably won't want to come back."
"Listen, I've got an idea," Barry said. "One of those gruesome kind of
horror flicks you like is on tonight . Why don't I make us something for
supper, and we can watch it together. I can sleep on the couch and you can
have the bed. How's that grab you? Beats going home to an empty house."
"Well, I...don't know."
"Think about it, and finish up your Toddy. I'm boiling up a fresh
batch."
* * *
He had her blouse unbuttoned all the way. She had taken off the shorts
herself, during the second horror flick. He suspected the graphic sex in
the first one had turned her on. He kissed her, putting his tongue in
deep, hearing her moan softly. They made wet sucking sound together as she
kissed him back. He eased his hand down across her belly and slid it under
the waist band of her bikini panties, gently rubbing the tips of his first
two fingers against her clit. She was so turned on that her panties were
soaked. She lifted her hips so he could remove them. He quickly pulled
her blouse off, then unsnapped the bra, which she deftly tossed to the
floor. She removed the band that held her ponytail and shook her hair
loose so that it was full, hanging halfway down her naked back.
"Let's go in the bedroom," he whispered.
She had to lean on him for support. She stood weaving unsteadily as he
adjusted the clock on the chest of drawers. Then he opened the top drawer
and took out a pair of handcuffs. Her eyes grew wide.
He forced the bright red ball gag into her mouth and pulled the stretch
strap back as tightly as possible. There was no way she could get it out.
She came almost instantly. He wasn't using a rubber. What if she
became pregnant? He turned her over on her tummy and nudged her thighs
apart. Her hair fell down blocking her view. She felt the tip of his
finger touch her asshole. Then she felt him insert it slowly. It hurt...a
little. He withdrew. Tingles of anticipation bloomed in her. She felt
the much larger head of his cock. It was greasy. He'd put Vaseline or
something on it. She drew a deep breath through her nostrils to relax her
sphincter. She moaned. It was painful. Yet, the pain excited her,
causing ripples of sensations to race up and down her spine. He spanked
her sides hard while holding his erection deep in her. She felt her
sphincter tighten then relax around him. Everytime he whacked her sharply
it tightened. She'd never felt sex this good before. Never knew pain
could be so arousing. If a little pain made her feel this good, what would
a whole lot of pain do for her? She felt him coming in her. He moved in
and out rapidly. Fucking her hard and brutally. She came again. Her body
shuddered with the force of it. She would have cried out but the gag
stifled her. Her nose ran from both nostrils. Spittle drooled from her
mouth around the ball gag. Cum poured from her anus and wetted the sheet
beneath her.
"You see, I told you she would go for it if we handled it in the right
manner."
Barbara shook hair out of her eyes and glanced back over her shoulder.
Rick was standing next to Barry.
Epilogue
Meg Baxter had just finish tucking little Timmy into bed when the phone
rang.
It was probably her husband Bill who would tell her he was going to have
to work late again. She picked up the receiver.
"Baxter residence," she said cheerily.
"I know what happened to your sister, Allison," the raspy voice said.
~There are no laws to govern
the rich. Only the poor know
justice~
THE END
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