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From: "Leviticus" <leviticus1@uswest.net>
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Subject: {ASSM} To Catch Rhianna   Part 19  (BDSM)
Date: Wed,  9 Aug 2000 16:10:13 -0400
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To Catch Rhianna   Part 19



After five impossibly difficult days, Matthew Anderson's plan bore fruit,
and he and Bart found themselves getting off a plane in Tampico, Mexico.

That the two rivals for Rhianna's affections were still together was a
testament to their commitment to getting her back safely, especially for
Bart.

Matthew, without a job or a pressing need to be any place else, had all the
time in the world to do the legwork of his investigation.  But Bart had
needed to call in every favor he had in order to stick with the search,
including a personal and passionate plea to his boss, the Sheriff himself!

Bart was on a short rope as far as time went, a rope getting shorter every
minute.  He knew he would soon have to make a decision as to what was more
important, his job, or the search for a woman who might not feel the same
way about him that he did for her.

But he was determined to stick to Matthew's side for as long as he could, if
only to be there when they found Rhianna, so that Matthew couldn't take
advantage of him.

It was an unworthy thought for Bart, but then the revelations of the past
week didn't have him thinking as straight has he could have been.

The sun was hot in Tampico, and Bart hardly listened when Matthew told the
cab driver where they wanted to go.  Bart was amazed that Matt's plan had
actually worked, at least to this point.  It would remain to be seen if it
produced any results.

Bart had to admit, though, it was not an approach that could have been used
by many other people, including the police.

Who would have thought that the old axiom of "Set a thief to catch a thief"
would work, although in this case it was set a smuggler...

The cab took them to the docks and they spent twenty minutes cruising around
before Matthew saw the ship he was looking for.  Bart looked up at the
freighter as they approached it, and went over in his head what he was
supposed to do.

A workman met them at the top of the gangway.

"What do you want?" they were asked, the workman's voice heavily accented.
To Bart, he sounded French.

"Is your captain aboard?" Matthew asked him, a confident smile on his face.

"What do you want with him?"

"I want to talk to him, we're old friends."

The workman looked both Matthew and Bart up and down.  By his expression,
they saw he thought the two men didn't look like friends of his captain.

"He's not here," the workman said eventually.

Matthew knew better, he really did know the captain of this particular ship,
and he knew that the man loathed going ashore in a strange port.  He stepped
closer to the workman, who regarded him suspiciously.

"My friend," he said, switching to fluent French, "Go tell Captain Bouchard
that Matthew Anderson is here, with a special deal for him that he knows
better than to refuse!"

"He's not here," said the stubborn man.

"Then go deliver the message to whomever is in charge!"

The workman stared at Matthew for a moment before yelling out a name.
Moments later another sailor appeared, and the workman gave him the message
and sent him off to deliver it.

Ten minutes later Matthew heard his name being called out.

"Matthew, Matthew Anderson, vous fils d'un porc!  Ou avez-vous ete pendant
les dernieres annees?  Monte a la passerelle de commandement ainsi a nous
pouvons parler.  Gerard, obtenez outre de votre derriere et apportez-les
vers le haut ici."

Matthew smiled at the workman and waved up at Captain Henri Bouchard, who
was yelling at them from one of the bridge wings.

The workman grimaced, and led the two men inside the ship and up to the
bridge.

"So far so good," Bart said quietly.

Matthew nodded.

"Mon ami, il est tres bon de vous voir.  Vous etes en bonne sante, tres
vigoureux?" the Captain said as they entered the chart room.  He came
forward and the two men shook hands.

"You're looking good too, Henri," Matthew said, forcing the conversation
back to English.  "This is a...friend of mine.  Bart Maxell."

Henri smiled and took Bart's hand.  Bart felt a strong grip and gave one in
return.

"What are you doing in Mexico, mon ami," Henri asked Matthew, "hiding from
the law?"  He laughed, and Matthew joined in.

"No Henri, I'm here looking for you."

"For me?" the Captain said, puzzled, and now a little on guard.  "You came
all the way to this God forsaken little country to look for me?"  Henri
Bouchard, world traveler, did not have a good opinion of any country that
wasn't French.

"That's right, Henri.  I needed some information, and after a little
digging, your name came up, so I thought I'd pay you a personal visit."

Henri glanced over at Bart, who was following Matthew's instructions.  He
had been told to find a wall where he could watch the room and the door, and
stand against it.  He was to do nothing but look a little menacing.

He was doing an admirable job, because Henri suddenly looked nervous.
"Matthew, you know I don't deal in information.  A man in my position..."

"A man in your position, Henri, would do well to listen to what I have to
say," Matthew interrupted.  "I have a friend who's gone missing.  A woman;
very beautiful, very dear to me.  She was last seen in the Bahamas, and I
know now that she is someplace in the United States.

"I had to ask myself how they got her in.  She wouldn't go through customs
voluntarily, so she had to be smuggled through, something I happen to know a
little about, as you well know.  So, Henri, I did some calling, checking
around as it were.  I know many people in the business, Henri, maybe as many
as you do.  I've done business with a lot of them, including yourself, so I
had little problem asking a few favors to gain information I needed."

Actually, getting his fellow smugglers to talk had been like pulling teeth,
and in the end he had resorted to promising things he had no way of coming
through on, just to get this far.

"Henri, it occurred to me that someone would have to smuggle my friend over
the U.S. border, and that someone had to have had experienced doing such
things before.  The people my friend is currently keeping company with are
no amateurs; they would work with professionals like yourself to get the job
done.  So I asked around, who's working the Caribbean nowadays?

"Now I know you're going to say that down here smugglers are as thick on the
ground as sand on the beach, but I knew that only a professional of your
grade would attract the attention of the people who have my friend.  So when
your name kept coming up in conversation, you can see how I wanted to talk
to you personally."

During Matthew's speech, Henri slowly sat down on a stool, a worried look on
his face.

"Mon ami, if I could help you I would, but I have retired.  I run this ship
now, honest cargo.  I am no longer in the business."

"Don't GIVE me this CRAP right now, Henri!" yelled Matthew, and Bart almost
gasped in surprise.  Suddenly Matthew had switched from the calm analytical
person he had known from the beginning to a very angry and dangerous looking
man.

Henri's eyes opened wide.  "It is the truth..."

"BULLSHIT, HENRI!" Matthew yelled again.  "Your name is still out there,
still spoken of as being available for work.  No one has said anything about
you retiring.  You sack of shit, don't you make a bad situation worse by
lying to me again!"

Henri suddenly switched tracks himself.  He went from worried innocent to an
angry sneer.  "Who the hell are you to yell at me, eh?"

"You know who I am, Henri, you know very well!"  Matthew leaned forward
until he was nose to nose with Henri.  "Remember Costa Rica," he whispered.

Henri swallowed.

Matthew stood up straight again and walked around the room.  He stopped, his
back to Henri Bouchard, and looked at a map tacked up on the wall.

Bart kept his eyes on Henri.  It seemed to Bart that the Captain was
seriously considering some kind of physical action.  Henri saw Bart watching
him however, and the moment passed.

Henri smiled, and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.  He waited until he lit
one before speaking again.  "A beautiful woman huh?" he said.  "Votre
amoureuse, peut-etre, ou peut-etre votre epouse?  Elle vous maintient chaud
la nuit, eh, mon ami!"

Matthew didn't turn around.  "You had her, Henri, don't tell me you didn't."

Henri sucked on his cigarette for a moment in thought, then he nodded and
stood up.  "Come, follow me!" he said.

"Where to?" Matthew asked him.

"I'll say nothing to you, mon ami, but I'll take you to someone who will
talk."

Matthew turned to look, and nodded.  Bart and Matthew followed the captain
down into the bowels of the ship, and the deeper they went, the more nervous
Bart got.  But he took his cues from Matthew, who appeared calm once more.

Henri led them down to one of the engineering decks and up to the door of a
storage locker.  He pulled out an impressive set of keys and opened the huge
padlock that kept the door locked.  He then swung open the heavy door and
stepped back.

It was dark in the locker, which wasn't much bigger than a closet, but there
was enough light to see the form curled up on the floor.

It was human, a woman, naked, with blood and oil smeared over most of her
body.  Someone had hacked at her hair with a knife, and she was half bald.
Her skin was covered in bruises and a few burns, and one of her ankles was
swelling up.  She stank of urine and booze, and Matthew and Bart both had to
look away and gather themselves.

The woman appeared to be alive, and a moment later, she showed that she was,
when the Captain opened a hose on her and began to wash away the worst of
the dirt and blood.

"Please...no more," she begged, keeping her head down and waving one arm in
an effort to stop the spray.

Eventually, the Captain stopped.  "Ask her your questions," he said.

"Who is she?" Bart asked.

Henri shook his head.  "You can ask her about your friend, nothing more."

Bart did want to ask more.  His anger swelled at the thought of yet another
helpless woman, but a hand on his arm stopped him from making any move.
Matthew pulled him back and shook his head.  "Not now," he whispered.

Bart stood in angry silence as Matthew went to the door of the locker.  The
woman lay still on the floor, and Matthew could hear her crying.

"Tell me what I want to know, and your nightmare ends," he said.

Henri gave a start, but Bart was quicker on the uptake.  He moved to stop
Henri from interfering, in the same way Matthew stopped him.

Matthew crouched down to get closer to the woman.  Both her eyes were almost
swollen shut, but she was still able to look at him.  He saw her eyes focus
on him.

"What...you want?" she whispered.

"Rhianna Summer.  Where is she?"

The woman held her breath for a moment, then let it out.  "Don't know," she
said sadly.

"You do know who she is though, right?"

The woman nodded.  "She...was mine for a while."

"Was she taken from you, stolen?"

"No...I was delivering her."

"Who did you deliver her to?"

The woman, who used to be Mandy White, took a breath and painfully told them
about the Collector, and how to contact him.

Matthew believed every word she said.  He could see that she was in no
position to lie to him.  He stood up and went over to where Bart was holding
the Captain at bay.  "Henri, clean her up, tend her wounds, and put her off
someplace safe."

"She is to go back to the Bahamas with us," Henri said.

"Then she goes back as a passenger, not cargo."

Henri nodded reluctantly.

Matthew took a last look at the beaten woman, and shook his head.  "Come on,
Bart," he said and he headed back up top.

"Can you trust him?" Bart asked Matthew once they had left the ship.

"Oh yeah, me and Henri go way back."

"What was that about Costa Rica?"

Matthew glanced at Bart as they climbed back into the waiting cab.  "Old
news."


---***---



"No, no, no!" yelled the House Mistress, "Dee, you're absolutely worthless!
I should have the Master throw you back to the pig farm for a month!"

"Oh please, Mistress, not the pig farm, not again!" screeched Dee, her voice
thin and squeaky.

"It's more than you deserve, you stupid girl!"

Dee was on her knees, a spilled tray of plastic tumblers on the floor around
her.  She crawled naked to the House Mistress, who stood in a power posture
before the assembled group of slave girls.  Of the seven women in the dining
hall, she was the only one dressed.

Rhianna Summer stood on her toes with the other women, a similar tray in her
hands.  She and the others were being taught the basics of serving, dinner
that is.  Martin Yochim was having a party in a few days, and Rhianna and
the girls with her were going to be working it.

Rhianna was still in some pain from her recent surgery, and having to stay
up on her toes was no help.  She winced at the slight cramp that usually
crept in after standing still so long like this, and watched as slave Dee
performed her daily begging session.

Dee had crawled over to the House Mistress, the woman who ran all the house
slaves for Yochim, and took hold of her ankles.  "Please, Mistress, just one
more chance.  Slave Dee will do it right, please Mistress," she squeaked.

The House Mistress grinned and pushed Dee away with one foot.  "Clean up
this mess and go sit in the corner, pig slave!  ON ALL FOURS!"

In her eagerness, Dee had started to get up, but she dropped down quickly
and began to collect the spilled tumblers one by one with her teeth.

Rhianna watch sadly as the poor girl did her duty.  Dee was not cut out to
be a slave, but then, what else could she have been?  She had a good body
but a plain face.  She had no real talents for anything, and what she did
try she usually screwed up.

Rhianna thought that the only reason she was kept around was for comic
relief.  The court jester you might say, although Dee never did anything on
purpose, she was just that pathetic.

While Dee scrambled about with her ass high in the air, the House Mistress
called on another girl, and the lesson continued.



---***---



Later that night in the slave dorm, Rhianna lay on her bed and tried to sort
out what was going on.

She was still naked, house slaves were apparently never dressed, and she lay
on a bare mattress with her ankle cuffed to the bed rail.

All the other house slaves were here, men as well as women.  And
surprisingly enough, so was the House Mistress, who had a real bed instead
of a cot at the end of the room.

It was quiet of course, because all the slaves in the room had undergone
Jolene Wessman's voice reduction surgery, all except for Dee that is.  The
slave was allergic to the toxin, so Jolene had tried a more surgical
approach.  It didn't quite succeed, because rather than take the girl's
voice away, it made her squeak like a mouse.  Yochim wouldn't let the doctor
try again though, he found the change amusing, especially since Dee used to
be a hot shot radio DJ before arriving at his yard.

She slept five beds down from where Rhianna now lay.

Rhianna was shocked at what had happened to herself over the last few days.
She had been led to a building while still in her pony gear and then given a
shot.  The next thing she knew, she had woken up in a straightjacket after
having some horrible dreams, only to find her ass and feet hurting like
crazy.  And worse yet, that she could barely talk.

Her voice hadn't gone completely at first, but as the days went on, it grew
weaker and weaker, until it just faded away.

Rhianna was frightened.  Was it permanent?  No one was talking to her about
it, and she couldn't ask.

She also wasn't sure what they did to her feet and butt, but she got a real
shock the first time she tried to walk.

Now she knew why the ponies in the stable all stayed on their toes.

Exhausted from the strain and the heavy training schedule of the day,
Rhianna looked over a few beds down to see Amy Nelson crying softly into her
mattress.  Rhianna still hadn't had a chance to explain who she was and why
she was there to the girl, and wondered if there was any point in telling.
After all, it was really beginning to look to Rhianna that this time there
was no escape.

Depressed and ever so tired, Rhianna drifted into a nightmare filled sleep.




End of Part 19.


Catch up on all my stories at http://www.dajungle.com/stories/leviticus
If you're having problems contacting me, try leviticusthebard@hotmail.com

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reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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