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From: Thinking Horndog <im_a_thinker@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Strange Relationships 01/61 {Thinking Horndog} (D/s voy F-solo)
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Date: Fri, 24 Mar 2006 03:10:03 -0500
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Chapter 1 of a new novel...

Thinker

Thinking Horndog
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Thinkers_tales/www/

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<1st attachment, "Strange_Rel_1.txt" begin>

Author: Thinking Horndog
Title: Strange Relationships
Part: 01
Universe: Second Best
Summary: A full-length novel that follows several young couples from Second
Best and their families.
Keywords: D/s, voy, F-solo

Keywords for full story:  rom, mf, MF, mmf, MFF, M+F, mm, F-solo, ir, D/s,
bdsm, mdom, spank, oral, anal, 1st, reluc, nc, voy

Strange Relationships

Copyright (C) Thinking Horndog, 2006 im_a_thinker@yahoo.com

Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyrighted with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. Reproduction for profit is
forbidden.  Any distribution must include this note and the author's email
address. Don't be caught attempting to make a buck off me!

Warnings and disclaimers:

This is adult entertainment!  Be warned!  If you're not into graphic
depictions of sex, this is the wrong story for you!  If you're too young to be
legally reading this, move along!

This is a work of fiction.  It is not intended to reflect any particular
person or persons, and the incidents portrayed exist in their current form
solely in the writer's imagination.  You get the idea.

Chapter 1
As You Remember Last Time...

	Sharon Wilson sat on her bed, slowly dragging on her nylons.  It was
Wednesday, only a couple of days after her daughter Nora's Senior Prom - an
event which had triggered several unforeseen consequences.  Certainly, when
she'd seen Nora to the door Saturday night under the somewhat reluctant
escort of little Teddy Frick - who was lending a thin air of credibility to
both Nora and her rather unfortunately shaped friend, Mary Nally, despite
the fact that Sharon suspected that he had little interest in girls -- she
hadn't expected the circumstances of Nora's return home!  Sharon hadn't even
bothered to take photos of Nora and the Frick boy -- she had known that as a
couple they weren't memorable.

	Early Sunday morning, though, the Frick boy was nowhere to be seen;
Nora's replacement escort was a lanky black boy named Nate Adams.  To say
that this development had surprised Sharon no end was to understate the
case; she'd been beside herself when she'd snatched them in off the porch in
an attempt to keep Armand from discovering the sideshow . . .

	Armand.  The fact that she'd been divorced from the man for almost
eighteen years didn't keep him from occupying a central position in Sharon's
life.  He'd divorced her when Nora was a baby, but that didn't mean his
influence over either of them was at an end; in fact, to know Armand was to
be influenced by him -- and to be married to him was slavery.  Sharon had
managed to survive for almost three years, but she was permanently marked --
and no one knew better than she that she would never fully escape Armand's
control.

	This morning was a case in point; Sharon had an eleven o'clock
appointment to see her ex-husband at his offices in the City -- an
appointment dictated by Armand.  Sharon was, therefore, wearing hose and a
garter belt.  Why?  Because Armand did not like pantyhose; they brought out
his mean streak.  He'd shred them thoroughly, and probably gag her with them
or something equally fiendish.  True, she'd wear panties, and he'd shred
THEM, too, but that was a game; Sharon wore them as an act of defiance, and
Armand shredded them to prove his control.  It was a dance they'd repeated
many times; Armand expected the token resistance, and took some mild
pleasure in reducing the meager defense.  Pantyhose, however, irritated
Armand, something you did at your peril; the time he'd bound her to a chair
with them and left her for several hours, ultimately to soil herself, had
made his position in the matter quite clear.  In fact, she'd borne marks for
a month after from the bindings, not to mention the embarrassment and
humiliation. . .  The stained chair was present in his office for months
after the incident, although she was certain that it only appeared just
before she did, and disappeared soon after.  And it would be the ONLY piece
of furniture in the room available for her use, too -- Armand was like that;
he loved to twist the knife, reminding her of her failures...

	Armand ALWAYS met her in his office -- but that didn't keep him from
renewing his hold on her in some manner, every single time.  Sex was a
favorite; he'd cow her into some act, and then, in the middle, he'd add to
her misery by inviting in his latest 'toy' -- usually a competitor for the
position she'd held so long ago.  On the odd occasion, positions would be
reversed -- Armand would have her watch in embarrassment while he throat-
fucked or ass-fucked some model (who was usually on the way out --
humiliation before Sharon was a sure sign of failure).  Armand could be
brutal, and often was, particularly after he'd destroyed his victim's
resistance; boredom would set in and he'd content himself with torturing
their bodies, having broken their spirit.  Sharon mentally reviewed the list
and shuddered; Armand appeared to have no limits as a dilettante.  Once,
he'd entertained himself with some unfortunate male in her presence -- God
knew what Armand had had on the poor man that he allowed Armand to ram his
cock down his throat and then brutally sodomize him while obviously being
traumatized by the experience.  The act had been particularly disturbing to
Sharon, and she'd stayed away for over a month afterward -- until Armand
would no longer take no for an answer -- but on her return, things were back
to normal, more or less; he'd bent her over his desk, and with his cock in
her ass, called in some big-titted blonde on some pretext...  Sharon
supposed that Armand had had a couple of transvestites in his time, too...

	Why did she continue to expose herself to his depredations?  Well,
there were three reasons:  First, and foremost, unless Armand willed it,
escape was absolutely impossible.  There was nowhere to run, nowhere to
hide...  Second, the hand that lay so heavily upon her every few days also
dispensed the good things in life for herself and her daughter.  The alimony
and child support that Armand's lawyers had bullied her into were meager,
and she was unfit for normal work (she thought - the reality differed by a
great deal), but the arrangement that they'd stumbled into wherein Sharon
discovered charitable outlets for Armand's empire that managed to convey
commercial advantage to him brought her 'gifts' -- additional monies that
eased them through the tougher times and allowed occasional holidays or
sprees.  Last...  Sharon shied away from an examination of that final
reason; she knew it was there, but she couldn't deal with the admissions
involved.  Sharon had been raised in a tight, dark box bounded by her
parent's Puritanical superstitions; Armand, from the first, had cared little
for such foolishness -- except in the fact that it fueled the fires of her
resistance to him.  He would snatch her out of that box and use her without
mercy, then allow her to return to the security of its confines and deny
that she had the power to resist the awful acts while insisting that she'd
TRIED -- and refusing to admit that she'd enjoyed both the acts themselves
and the humiliation and sometimes pain that went with them immensely.

	And enjoy them she did; Armand had seen to that from her earliest
training.  The night of their first date, he took her virginity, brutally,
but he saw to it that she had one orgasm, and approached that point a second
time -- then emptied himself in her, leaving her hanging, frustrated.  Her
mind remembered failure -- but her body remembered success, and it was
traitorous forever after.

	Events prompted by Nora's Prom Night escapade had made denial
seriously difficult, for a number of reasons, first among which being that
it is difficult to deny enjoying something when you've SEEN yourself awash
in the throes of passion!  Armand's telephone call early on that Sunday
morning following the Prom had been thoroughly unexpected from the
standpoint of his reaction to Nora's choice in boyfriends -- Armand had
surprised them both with his approval of the Adams boy, despite his race and
other apparent disadvantages -- but his dealings with Sharon over the phone
had been pure Armand -- thoroughly fiendish...  Sharon sat there on the bed,
stocking in hand, replaying the event and those that followed in her
memory...


      Nora wordlessly passed the phone to Sharon, who took it gingerly.
Having the advantage of being able to see her via hidden cameras, Armand
announced without preamble, "It appears that you may have periodically done
something right, after all!  While I will continue to investigate him, I
have no issues with Nora's choice in male companions at this time.  In fact,
I'm highly pleased that she had the backbone to take on such a challenge!"
He paused a moment, enjoying the play of expression on his ex-wife's
features, then: "You will write her a note excusing her from school starting
at," he glanced at Jason's notes, "10:00 a.m.  Jorge will pick her up in my
limo to take her to my staff gynecologist, who will examine her and
prescribe methods of birth control.  She is to telephone my office regarding
future needs in this area -- I will see to it that she gets the best.  Are
we clear?"

      "Yes, Armand," Sharon murmured tonelessly.

      "Nora's exercise in team calisthenics reminds me that your sexual
horizons have been somewhat limited for some time.  That doesn't seem fair
to me.  You DO appear to enjoy sex, still - even with me..."  Armand smiled,
watching Sharon's vain attempt to hide her reaction to his teasing.  "Isn't
that right?"

      It killed her to admit it, and she blushed crimson, but she uttered
the only possible answer, "Yes."

      Armand pretended to be pensive, "Yet I have no evidence that in
between your visits to me you conduct any sexual activity at all -- even
playing with yourself!  Why is that?"

      "I-I," Sharon stopped, unable to continue.  How could she answer with
Nora sitting right there?  "Uh, because I don't!"

      "Why not?  Surely you don't think I expect to approve your sexual
partners?"  Armand watched Sharon sit staring at Nora, fearful that she had
divined the subject of the conversation.  Sharon finally opened her mouth,
but he forestalled her, smoothly, "Yes, you do -- and you would be correct."
The steel under the velvet in his voice was distinctly detectable.  "Still,
I don't think I'm doing you justice.  How long has it been since our last
encounter?"

      "Uhhh, two weeks," Sharon replied, voice beginning to shake.  Where
was he going with this?

      "Seventeen days is more like it," Armand corrected.  "Did you enjoy
it?  Hmmm, probably not -- as I remember it was just a blowjob, more for
little Felicia's entertainment than anything else.  Remind me to discuss
Felicia with you next time -- she's been a surprise, and I think you may
have contributed to it."  Armand turned and locked gazes with the redhead,
who was present in his media room with him.  Yes, the realization that there
was no possibility of escape that Sharon's treatment had engendered had
probably been pivotal...

      Actually, Sharon HAD enjoyed it -- at least that part of her that
reveled in Armand's abuse had...  But she couldn't admit it, and that
inability was one of the things about her that gave Armand pleasure -- that
and the fact that her face gave her away...  Grinning, he continued, "Next
time, we'll do anal -- be ready.  In fact, why don't you come around on
Wednesday?  We can discuss our offspring, before -- or during..."  Sharon
was endlessly entertaining, he mused, as he watched her shudder with arousal
and cringe simultaneously.  Sharon DID enjoy anal sex -- but was even less
capable of admitting it.  It was wrong, and dirty -- and it was capable of
generating powerful orgasms in her when Armand cared to do it right.

      Armand chuckled and set the next needle: "In the meantime, what can I
do for you?  Send you some toys?  Jason, make a note."  He flicked a glance
at his second in command, who began writing busily on the pad he was
carrying.  "How about a nice black buck of your own to keep you in tune?
Someone decorative, that you can take to bleeding heart charity functions,
but with a nice long, fat cock to stick in your holes?"  Armand's pleasure
was more than evident as the woman's image on the video screen shaded toward
the red.  "But why be stingy?  Maybe I should round up two or three, to
visit you in rotation, or -- dare I say it? -- simultaneously?"

      Nora looked on, amazed, while her mother, beet red, clutched the phone
in a white-knuckle grip and shook.  What was he saying to her?

      "I-I really don't need that, Armand," Sharon forced out.

      "Nonsense!" Armand disagreed, "At a minimum, you can expect the toys
and some videos this afternoon, by courier.  Use them, or I will send
someone along to help you, understood?"

      "Yes, Armand," Sharon choked out.

      "And another thing," Armand pressed, "It is past time that you
informed our daughter that our sexual relationship continues in force --
I'll not have her holding your weak bones up for sainthood."

      "B-but...!" Sharon sputtered.

      "Do it, my Dear," Armand ordered, "or I will -- and I'll show video
footage to prove it!"

      "V-video?" Sharon was aghast.

      "Of course," Armand replied, unperturbed, "I'll tuck a couple in with
the other videos in this afternoon's delivery."  He paused a moment,
enjoying the visual effects of this new revelation.  Sharon was near
apoplexy.  With artificial gentleness, he continued, "I know this is a big
step for you, so I'll give you a couple of days -- but if you don't comply,
I WILL show her, and then send her home to find you being checked for air-
tightness by three big black bucks!  Do you know what that means?"

      "N-noo..." Real fear gripped Sharon.  Whatever it was, it couldn't be
good -- and she had a sinking feeling that it would be Armand's new favorite
threat.  And he ALWAYS followed through, eventually...

      Armand chuckled, "It means that each of them will be filling one of
your available holes with cock!  Now are we clear?  Or do I start looking
for candidates?"

      Sharon shook like a leaf; the threat was classic Armand -- horrible,
yet magnetically compelling.  It would live in her dreams, good and bad, for
the near future...  "I understand," she choked out.

      "Good," Armand purred.  "I'll see you Wednesday, then -- at eleven, I
think.  Unless something else comes up...  Remember to use the toys -- but
not on your ass, I want it nice and tight!"  Armand hung up.

      So badly shaken was Sharon that Nora managed to pry an admission of
her ongoing sexual relationship with Armand from her within moments.

      Jorge, Armand's chauffer, delivered Armand's little care package that
afternoon, his grin showing nearly every one of his perfect white teeth.
Obviously, the little Puerto Rican knew the box's contents.  Sharon managed
to limit the revelation of her humiliation to a mild blush as she took it
and thanked the dapper little man politely.  Jorge nodded and made himself
scarce without comment.  Nora was present, and the women had shared a
significant glance, but Sharon had retired upstairs to inventory the box's
content in privacy.

      There were several items:  a large, 'realistic' black dildo; two
different 'normal' vibrators and a butterfly clitoral stimulator; some large
beads on a string that Sharon didn't know what to make of -- and several
DVDs.  The lurid cases of the first half-dozen proclaimed their contents
pretty clearly, but there were two at the back in plain cases...  Opening
one, she noted that the disk was marked with a series of dates -- that was
all; but a little thought told her that she'd been in Armand's office on
each of them.

      That night, two glasses of red wine had fortified her to the point
that she could attempt compliance with Armand's instructions.  Selecting the
least imposing of her new collection of vibrators, she bent to an
examination of her viewing materials.  The homemade items were rapidly
returned to the box; Sharon would require some desensitization to porn
before she could countenance anything so personal.  Flipping through the
other selections, she discovered a variety:  some BDSM, gang-bang compendia,
bisexual, interracial -- even something with dogs and horses, apparently.
Well, interracial seemed to be the hot topic...  Sharon had settled back and
gingerly applied the vibrator while watching two sequences in which hugely
endowed blacks plowed somewhat submissive if not actively masochistic white
women.  Orgasms turned out to be relatively easily produced; Sharon had four
before she fell asleep, exhausted.

      Sharon would have been a lot less at ease had she known that her every
move was being taped from two different angles!  While she was aware that
Armand had both her and Nora under surveillance, she'd not been allowed to
realize the intensity of it; Armand had her entire house wired for sound and
video, along with a dedicated team of private investigators that tracked
them EVERYWHERE.  Sharon's gingerly executed antics with the vibrator went
straight to DVD, to be delivered to Armand with his morning paper and coffee
-- for Armand was a bit of a voyeur, and Nora and Sharon were the stars of
his favorite TV show...


	Monday went pretty much per Armand's instructions; the first part of
that Sunday telephone call had included instructions for Sharon and Nora to
facilitate Nora's appointment at Armand's staff gynecologist to acquire
birth control.  Jorge, Armand's chauffer, picked Nora up at school at 10:00
and delivered her to the posh offices of an uptown gynecologist, who poked
and prodded her and wielded a speculum.  "This looks recent," he announced,
examining the remnants of her hymen.

	Nora, already blushing at the unaccustomed invasion, (being examined
in bright light, nude from the waist down, on a table with her feet up and
spread was a new experience), replied, "Yes, Sir, Saturday night."

	Doctor Beckman frowned, and announced, "I would normally launch into
my standard lecture about the perils of STDs, but since you're coming from
Armand Wilson, I'm going to assume that that's the least of your worries..."

	"Oh?" Nora replied, interested, "My father sends you many patients,
then?"

	Doctor Beckman blanched.  "You're his daughter?"  Somehow, he
managed to keep from bursting out with, "This is a new low!"  In nearly two
decades of dealings with Armand Wilson, he'd seen about everything, but
deflowering his own daughter?

	Nora, wondering what occasioned the response, murmured "Yes...
Since I'm here for birth control so my boyfriend doesn't have to wear
rubbers, I imagine Daddy would want you to give it to me anyway..."

	"Oh.  Hmmph."  Settling in to do the cervical exam, Beckman
proceeded to deliver his lecture, "Birth control protects you from
pregnancy, but not disease.  Rubbers, as you call them, protect you from
both, despite the discomforts.  HIV is only the worst of the evils out
there; there is also herpes, which is equally incurable, and half a hundred
more minor infections.  Seventy-five years ago, syphilis would have been the
most serious, but it's a brave new world.  Do you intend having more than
one partner?"

	"Not at one time," Nora responded, combing her mouse brown locks
with her fingers.  "I have only one in mind, for now."

	"Hmph.  Good," Beckman responded.  "Do you know where he's been?" he
asked, while collecting Nora's first PAP smear.

	"I have a pretty good idea," Nora responded.  "He'd probably be
reluctant to admit it, but I think I'm his only partner, ever.  Certainly,
he's been doing without for a while..."  Nora smiled fondly.

	"Hmph.  Well, if things stay that way, it's better than nothing,"
Beckman responded.  "If you can't abstain, and won't use prophylactics,
keeping the number of your partners down is the next best thing.  Of course,
you have to control HIS, too..."  Beckman gave Nora the fisheye.  "Of
course, being Armand's daughter, you'd know all about control..."

	Nora rose up on her elbows and engaged Beckman's eyes.  "Not really
-- maybe you can tell me? You see, I don't live with my father -- yesterday
was the first time I spoke directly with him in years.  I know how he works,
though..."  She eyed Beckman for a moment, then:  "What's he got on YOU?"

	Beckman's blanch told her she was on target, but he refused to
reveal anything.  "Hmmph -- never mind.  You're right, though - nobody ELSE
gets next-day appointments.  He can be VERY persuasive."  He finished up and
removed his gloves.  "You appear to be fine, although I'm going to have my
lab tech draw blood and test you for everything under the sun; it's too
early for most diseases to show up, so if you start having any symptoms of
any type, call me."  He inked a number on a prescription slip and passed it
to her, murmuring, "Take it easy on that -- it's my private number."  Nora
nodded, silently recognizing more evidence of her father's hold on Dr.
Beckman.  "Go ahead and get dressed," he added, handing her another slip
with a Pill prescription and a third with a morning-after contraceptive
prescription.  "The Pill takes a bit; don't expect it to be fully effective
until your next period.  This should tide you over, although it tends to
cause cramps.  Best if you continue to use prophylactics until then.  If
your relationship is stable then, fine.  If not, and if you're NOT sexually
active, I'd advise not using the Pill.  Tell my assistant I said to give you
some foam samples on the way out, in case you just can't handle rubbers.
And you can get THEM from my assistant, too."  He turned and walked out.

	Dr. Beckman's assistant directed Nora to his lab where his tech
fulfilled the promise of the blood draw, after which she returned to the
assistant for the product samples.  On the way out, however, Beckman was
standing there, scratching notes on her chart.  Handing it to her, he
directed, "Give this to your driver."

	Nora gave it a glance; yes. it was hers.  "Why?"

	"It's a duplicate.  He'll want to know."

	Nora frowned, but compared this with her mother's comments of the
day before.  "This seems to be old hat.  How many women has my father sent
you?"

	Beckman eyed her for a moment.  "I take care of the women on his
household staff, and he habitually sends me his current partners to check
for disease."

	"You're not telling me something -- maybe several things.  How many
is that?"

	Beckman sighed, "Come with me."  The entered what was obviously his
private office, and he waved her into a chair.  "You don't live with him,
then?  What do you know of your father?"

	"I know that he is rich, but he keeps us on a tight leash.  I know
that he divorced my mother when I was a baby, but he controls us -- usually
just my mother -- nonetheless.  I recently learned that he still has sex
with her, but it is mostly a control thing, I think.  I know we're watched
constantly, but I don't know why."

	Beckman eyed her for a bit, then:  "Okay, I'll answer a few of your
questions.  You understand that this might actually be dangerous to me?"

	Nora's eyebrows rose.  "Really?"

	"If he doesn't want you to know..."  Beckman was pensive for a
moment.  "You father is... predatory.  He has an iron will, and he enjoys
controlling others, preferably against theirs.  I've treated your mother;
apparently, she was among his first victims.  She apparently has a
submissive streak, and in their years together, he thoroughly controlled her
-- I doubt that she could ever break those chains, now.  But I've also
treated a couple of hundred other women..."  He smiled without humor.  "But
seldom more than once."

	Nora blinked.  "That many?"

	Beckman nodded.  "Armand goes through them quickly.  Women are
attracted into his orbit by the idea of being Mrs. Armand Wilson, but it's a
trap.  Armand pulls them in, and uses their greed and stupidity to slowly
degrade them to a state where they will do absolutely anything he tells them
to -- and then he usually puts them back out on the street, bored with their
lack of resistance.  They seldom last a month; the more successful ones
enter his household staff, where he uses them in rotation between interludes
with his other 'toys'."

	"Anything?  Kinky stuff?"

	"Anything and everything.  Your father is into sadomasochism,
dominance and submission -- if there is a name for a particular sexual
perversion, he's probably tried it -- and a couple without names, too, no
doubt.  I've treated women that he tried experiments with that went too
far...  Women who had obviously been used by a football team...  A large
number who had simply been ridden hard and put up wet, vaginally or
anally... He hasn't killed anyone that I know of, but he's injured a few.
And I'm certain that there are a few males out there, too..."  He paused a
moment.  "I, uh, actually assumed that HE deflowered you..."

	That last one stunned Nora.  "He's THAT BAD?"

	Beckman shrugged.  "Well, to be fair, they usually ask for it, one
way or another.  The smart ones get out early.  But your father is a
wholesale dealer in blackmail -- many simply may have had no choice..."

	Nora looked pensive.  "Thanks, Doctor.  You've given me a lot to
think about."

	"If he's been watching you all your life, you're probably immune to
most of his antics," Beckman observed.  "Your mother occupies a special
place with him -- he's still interested in her.  If he's been content to
keep an eye on you, I'd assume that incest isn't on his hit list, and
eventually you may even accrue some benefit from being family.  It's just a
guess, though."  He got up and showed her out of the office.  "Good luck!
Call me if you need anything."

	"Thanks, Doctor."  A thoughtful Nora returned to the parking garage
and surrendered her chart to Jorge.

	"Back to school, Miss?" Jorge inquired as they pulled away from the
entrance to the garage.

	"Yes," Nora returned, distractedly.  After a moment, she slid up and
hit the intercom, "Jorge, tell me about my father."

	"Miss?"  Jorge was instantly nervous.

	"I've been told that my father sees a lot of women, and... abuses
them.  Is this true?"

	Jorge sat a moment, thinking furiously.  No, it wasn't safe.  He
opened his mouth -- and the phone rang.  Jorge picked up, and a familiar
voice said, "Tell her what she wants to know.  There will be no
repercussions."

	"Yes, Sir."  Jorge turned his attention to the rear view mirror to
find Nora looking around, wide-eyed.  "Miss?"

	"My father called you?" Nora accused.

	"Yes, Miss.  What are you looking for?"

	"The bug.  The car IS bugged, isn't it?"

	"Yes, Miss."

	Nora nodded to herself.  "Video, too?"

	"Yes, Miss."

	"So I can expect nothing from you," she theorized.

	"No, Miss -- he told me to answer."  Jorge eyed her through the
mirror.

	"What else did he say?" Nora demanded.

	"That there would be no repercussions."

	Nora sat back, musing.  "That's important, isn't it?"

	"Yes, Miss."

	"What could he do?  Fire you?"

	The intercom came on, and the voice was NOT Jorge's.  "No.  I would
probably take more punitive measures.  Jason, my assistant, is in charge of
the household staff.  He can be quite cruel in delivering lessons regarding
disobedience or unauthorized confidences."

	Nora, to her credit, recovered quickly.  "Hi, Daddy."  After a
moment, she theorized, "Doctor Beckman is in trouble, isn't he?"

	There was a pause.  "Yes, and no.  I have no problem with the
confidences themselves.  I DO, however, have a problem with his delivering
them without authority."

	"Daddy, I think that he considered the fact that I'm your
daughter... relevant."

	Another pause.  "I will take that into account, and limit my
reaction.  Your efforts to protect your sources do you credit, Daughter."
Another pause.  "I will take my leave -- I have other pressing business.
Jorge, you may answer ANY question my daughter puts to you, understood?"

	"Yes, Sir."

	"Goodbye, then."  The intercom clicked off.

	Nora sat a moment.  "That isn't all there is to it, is it?"

	"Miss?"

	"He's recording this, isn't he?"

	"Yes, Miss.  Almost certainly."

	"Just how closely ARE my mother and I watched?"

	"Very closely, Miss.  Very, very closely.  Um, you have no secrets."

	"Our house is bugged?"

	"Yes, Miss."  Jorge eyed her via the mirror.  "Completely."

	"My mother tells me he took videos of them having sex in his office.
Should I assume...?"

	"Yes, Miss."

	"Does my mother know?"

	"Yes and no, Miss.  She knows that she is being watched.  She does
not know how closely.  Mr. Wilson has not seen fit to tell her; I believe
that this is because it would be... unsettling to her."  Jorge's eyes again
left the road to engage Nora's.

	"There is more."  It was a statement, not a question.

	"Your father has discussed your mother in my presence several times.
I think that he divorced her because being in his presence daily was
threatening to destroy her.  It might be... unwise for her to discover that
she is even less free than she imagines."

	"Why does he do this?  Does he do it to everyone?"

	Jorge hesitated, then shrugged.  "I think that he watches you and
your mother more closely than anyone else -- even the household staff."

      Nora thought back to a comment that her mother had made the previous
morning:  ' "Maybe we should be flattered -- undoubtedly the surveillance he
places on us is fantastically expensive.  In his twisted way, I suppose he
loves us." '   "This has to be expensive, Jorge.  Why didn't he just keep us
at home?"

      "I cannot say, Miss.  Perhaps..."  Jorge mused for a moment.  "Mr.
Wilson does many things that it would not be a good thing to do in the
presence of children...  Perhaps he did this for your protection."

      Nora realized that they had arrived at their start point.  "Like what,
Jorge?  This is where we came in; I was told that my father goes through
women pretty rapidly..."

      "Si.  Uh, yes, Miss.  They come, and he... uses them.  Many times, he
uses them up -- pretty quick!"

      "He plays rough?"

      "Rough, demanding -- love is not your father's way, Miss.  He must
take what he wants, and he prefers to have... resistance."  Jorge glanced up
to see how she was taking this.

      Nora, however, was bearing up well -- and interested.  "We're
pussyfooting around, Jorge.  I understand that my father is into S and M --
beatings and torture and such.  Mass rape, maybe?"

      "Your father does many things," Jorge admitted.  "Mostly, it is about
controlling people, more than sex.  He likes to see them... stressed."

      Nora eyed him sidelong via the mirror, "Has he ever mistreated you?"

      "No, Miss.  He CAN abuse men sexually -- I have seen it -- but it was
always about humiliation, not pleasure.  Usually, it is a rival, or someone
who caused a problem."  He mused a moment.   "He may have directed that it
be done -- or Jason..."

      "... May have decided to act on his own?"  Nora finished the thought.

      "Si -- yes, Miss."  Familiarity and stress were taking a toll on
Jorge's speech patterns.

      "So you HAVE been mistreated -- and you're still here."  Nora awaited
an explanation.

      Jorge shrugged.  "Mr. Wilson is very generous to me and my family.
Things are good as long as I serve him well."  He glanced up in the mirror,
and saw that it wasn't enough.  "And he... knows things..." he finished
lamely.

      "Huh."  Nora's eyes hooded.  Beckman was right; Daddy was a wholesale
dealer in blackmail.  Well, he wanted her to know...  The car pulled into
the school parking lot, and Nora glanced up to meet Jorge's eyes as he
opened the door.  "Thanks, Jorge -- this has been enlightening.  I'm sure I
will see you again; I'll be interested to know if my father keeps his
promise of amnesty."  She collected her bag of samples and exited the car.

      The phone at Jorge's hip buzzed, and he answered it.  "Yes, Sir."

      He held out the phone to Nora, who took it gingerly.  A chuckle
sounded through the earpiece.  "You DO have the family instinct for
protecting your sources," her father announced.

      "Yes, Daddy.  I guess I do," Nora agreed ruefully.

      "Well, Jorge is in no danger," Armand brushed it off.  "I'd like to
invite you to dinner, Thursday, at my home," he continued.

      "Okay," Nora agreed warily.  "When do we come?"

      "Just you," Armand demurred.  "Your mother has never been here, and
I'd prefer it for now that things continue that way.  We need to discuss
some realities -- things that I will need to introduce to your mother
gently, if and when the time is right.  You appear to be made of... sterner
stuff.  Not that your mother lacks resilience, but too much, too quickly..."

      "I see," Nora replied guardedly.

      "Jorge will pick you up at seven, Thursday evening, and return you
before your usual bedtime."  Obviously, he knew when THAT was...  "Are we
agreed?"

      "Yes, Daddy.  Should I dress up?"

      "Don't go overboard; it will be just us and the household staff -- and
any houseguests I might have."

      "Fine, Daddy.  I'll see you then!"

      Nora handed the phone to Jorge, who held up a hand.  Reaching into his
pocket, he withdrew a pad, on which he jotted a number.  "Jason's number --
in case there is a problem," he explained.  Nora nodded, took the slip, and
returned to classes.

      The day continued, basically uneventful.  Nora had returned in time
for the last lunch period, so she skipped Geometry in order to eat.  All of
her friends (and most of the Seniors) had early lunch, so she was left
alone.  The remaining class was the usual drill, not worth mentioning.  Nate
collected her after school, and the new group -- Tenisha and Draper, Mary,
Stick, and Teddy -- hung out and swapped tales in the parking lot for a bit
before splitting up to go home, Nate driving Nora while Draper took Tenisha
and Teddy handling Mary and Stick.  That last trio...  Nora couldn't wait to
get Mary alone and discover what was up, there...


      Sharon had occupied her Monday morning with early calls to the
administrators of some local charities, trolling a bit; her 'job' required
that she know the staff and inner workings of a number of charitable
institutions in order to spend Armand's largess effectively.  Once she'd
gotten settled, it soon appeared that everyone knew everyone; now, very
little got past her network of connections -- certainly nothing local.  This
year, obtaining a 'gift' from Armand might be tough; he had a full bank of
goodwill from local officials and no particular axes to grind.  That might
mean a trip or two to some of the locales of Armand's distribution centers
or something...  Nora's call to tell her that all had gone well found her
doing laundry -- a quick look at her watch told her that she'd not have much
more time alone that day.  Best to take another look at the goody box -- God
knew how Armand would determine whether she had or not, but it was best not
to take chances.  Entering her bedroom, Sharon went to the window and fussed
with the sheers -- deliberately leaving an opening facing the neighboring
house that she was pretty sure housed Armand's surveillance team -- and
crossed to her bureau and began digging in the collection.  There was a
certain amount of serious embarrassment to the idea of deliberately
facilitating the surveillance, but Sharon knew Armand; if he couldn't verify
that she was following his instructions, things would escalate.  Giving some
poor fellow a bit of a long-distance ogle through her window was better than
answering the door to a rape squad...  Little did she know that no one was
going to bother with the window when there were two normal spectrum and one
night vision spy cam set up in her room.  The operative of the detective
agency that Armand basically owned, through puppets, merely had to tune
their scans via the joystick controllers to optimize the view anywhere in
the room, and he had a fine sense of what was likely to be grist for his
client's mill -- recorders were already running.

      Sharon deliberately avoided the large, 'realistic' black rubber cock;
sober reflection had caused her to think that the interracial thing was
getting enough press -- best not to emphasize it.  Besides, the thing was
kind of lank and didn't even vibrate...  The previous evening's activity had
reminded her of the power that even a small vibrator could bring to bear; it
had been a long, long time since Armand had used one on her, and she'd
always assumed that the other components of her arousal had been what had
put her over the top on those occasions -- but last night's activities had
taught her that the device was more than adequate to handle the job by
itself.  Today, though, she selected the more robust seven-inch model,
something capable of reminding her of the joys of penetration as well as
jangling the nerves in her clitoris.  Digging through the videos, she
selected the most innocuous of the selection, a gang-bang compendium, (she
fingered the homemade videos that she'd apparently starred in, but, no, not
yet...), and slid it into her player, then stepped out of her panties and
settled herself on the bed.  Unbuttoning her blouse and popping the clasp of
her bra while the credits and phone sex ads blew by, she wondered if she was
adequately visible -- after all, more than anything else she was doing this
in order prove to Armand that she was following instructions...  Sober
reflection on the process led her to re-settle at the foot of the bed, then
stand and slide out of her skirt before re-seating herself -- after all, she
didn't want to stain her skirt...  But now she looked ridiculous -- naked
from the waist down, with her blouse and bra in disarray.  She stood again
and slid out of her loosened upper garments, placing them on the blanket
chest, and went to get a robe -- full nudity was, well, a bit much...
'Besides,' she ruminated, 'with my ass...'  Finishing the thought
consciously was a bit beyond her -- it led to the serious embarrassment she
would feel at this exercise in exhibitionism if she faced it directly,
despite the clear reasons for it.  Nonetheless, there was a tingle in her
crotch that she was careful to avoid thinking about possible sources of; the
admission that the exposure was arousing wasn't something she'd willingly
admit to.

      Sharon's body type was a bit odd; in general, Nora shared it, although
still blessed with the freshness of youth.  Sharon's hair was somewhat thin
and mouse brown, and she had plain features -- she wasn't ugly or anything,
merely unremarkable.  When you got beyond that, things were pretty good --
to the waistline; Sharon's waist had thickened a bit with age and
childbirth, but she wasn't heavy -- in fact she was somewhat petite.  The
globular breasts that Nora sported had their counterparts in Sharon that,
while having slid just a bit on her chest over time, were still highly
presentable.  But the pair shared another feature that got them ridicule on
one hand and ignored on the other; each ballooned at the hips to a wide,
bubble butt that their otherwise petite frames emphasized, especially since
they again narrowed by knee level to quite fetching calves and ankles.  The
disproportionate layout made them look somewhat cartoonish; each had been
teased regularly with 'bubble butt' being a favorite epithet.  Sharon had no
idea what had attracted Armand to her in high school -- suddenly, he'd just
been there, and the lack of attention she'd gotten from other boys left her
unprepared to deal with him...

      Sharon settled her embarrassingly wide fundament back on the foot of
the bed and opened the robe.  The video's start was rather mechanical, so it
took several minutes before the action on the screen began to excite her.
Touching herself wasn't something Sharon did, anyway -- this was somewhat of
an adventure in that sense.  Her puritanical upbringing had been reinforced
by Armand, who had assumed control of such things for his purposes; thus,
she'd never even given it any thought as a viable outlet until Armand's
surprising announcement that he expected it of her.  Last night had been
somewhat of a revelation, but there was still an embarrassed reticence to
her actions -- a thing augmented by the assumption that she was being
watched...

      But the fires slowly built as she watched some 'poor thing' settle her
ass over the cock of a reclining male, lean back, and accept another in her
already obviously heavily used vaginal passage.  Certainly there was
something forbidden about that...  Armand had never shared her with anyone,
except visually -- there had been any number of times that he'd invited some
air-head model type to watch while he plowed one of her available openings,
and Jason, his assistant, had often been present, offering an occasional
biting bit of commentary, but no one else had ever touched her. Two men...
The thought suspended itself, and her hand closed on the vibrator as a third
moved up to straddle the head end of the existing three-body system and slid
his cock into her mouth.  God knew how they arranged that -- some kind of
stepstool? -- but the woman's (probably faked) moans assumed a muffled
quality as the man took her head in both hands and began driving for her
throat.

      The vibrator came on without conscious attention -- Sharon first
noticed it consciously as she slid it between her plump labia at the top of
her slit, awakening a flashing pulse of pleasure in her already urgently
itchy clitoris.  Soon after that, the mechanical aspects of the operation
slipped away as her consciousness became absorbed in the screen action.
Sometime later, she came to herself to find that she was propped on one
elbow, two fingers clamped over her left nipple while her right extracted
that buzzing little beast from the soaking channel between her
embarrassingly splayed legs.  Humiliation overcame her almost instantly; her
legs snapped together and she shut off the now offensive toy, quickly
belting her robe and moving to destroy the evidence of her surprisingly
enjoyable little romp by extracting the video and shutting off the player.
Fastidiousness dictated that she take the vibrator to the bathroom with her
to clean and that she shower, as much to wash away the guilt over committing
the heinous act of masturbation as to clean up any secretions her pleasure
had generated.  Twenty minutes later, she was climbing back into her outfit,
fresh, clean, and deep into the pretense that nothing unusual had happened,
in plenty of time for everything to appear normal when Nora arrived home
with her new boyfriend.

      The operative of Witherspoon Confidential Investigations, LLC,
however, got an eyeful -- and a video camera full, too.  He'd covered this
particular 'subject' for several years now, and the events collected on this
day were a complete surprise!  It wasn't just the fact that the heretofore
thoroughly repressed woman had engaged in a masturbation session -- which
was unprecedented in itself -- the big surprise was the intensity of
Sharon's response!  The woman had had two obviously HUGE orgasms in the
space of a couple of minutes; her apparent state had been one of completely
uncontrolled bliss as she thrashed on the bed!

      Actually, the whole thing made sense, after a fashion; Sharon was a
highly-sexed woman, whose early training had required her to deny herself.
This had played into Armand's hands; he made her enjoy herself, but
reinforced the guilt, shame and humiliation.  So Sharon abstained from sex
because she thought she was supposed to, but when events allowed her
sexuality to slip the leash, it did so with a vengeance!
<1st attachment end>


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