I arrive at the address and notice a faint light up in one of the warehouse windows. Pulling up to a pay phone, I pretend to make a call as a cover in case of prying eyes. He has a setup similar to mine. Knowing the way I work, I can about guess how he’s secured his own lair. I spend at least fifteen minutes studying the place, noticing the undercover agents that will also be watching. I’ve already spotted three of them, and at least another two vehicles that are suspicious. After another five minutes or so, I’ve decided how to proceed. There are several buildings surrounding the warehouse, and I’ve narrowed down my choices to two of them. Guessing, I pull the motorcycle out and head down the street. A few blocks further on, I pull into an alley behind one of the city’s ever present dumpsters and shut it down. Carefully keeping to the shadows, I go back to the warehouse and creep up behind the first undercover agent.
“Agent Jones reporting in. Still no signs of activity, over.” I repress a silent chuckle at the sight of a street bum with three hundred dollar shoes and an expensive raincoat hunched down on the sidewalk talking on a two way radio. After he gets a reply and settles back down to his surveillance, I slip up behind him. A quick snap and his neck is broken. I pull his body into the alley and stoop there hyperventilating from the exertion and excitement. Regaining my composure, I proceed to the next location and repeat the process.
After more than an hour, I’ve finally satisfied myself that all prying eyes have been eliminated and proceed to the small building next door to the warehouse. A little effort on my part and the locked back door stands open and I’m through. I search quickly and efficiently in the darkness with a small flashlight. It doesn’t take me long to find what I’m looking for. A small panel on the back wall conceals a hidden compartment. I only noticed it because the room dimensions were too short when compared to the next room, and realized that there had to be some sort of hidden compartment between the two.
When I remove the panel, I see narrow stairs descending into the darkness below. There is a light switch on the wall, but I decide it’s safer not to announce my arrival, and instead rely on my flashlight as I pull my gun and make my way down.
I descend perhaps twenty feet until I reach the bottom and look around. I’m at one end of a fairly good sized tunnel, which unfortunately is lit up with wall mounted lights protected by wire guards. The tunnel has a flat concrete floor and a curved vaulted ceiling, also of concrete. Careful not to make any undue noise, I proceed quietly down the corridor. After perhaps one hundred yards, the corridor begins to curve gently and I can’t see what’s at the end. While I can’t see what is ahead of me, nobody should see me coming either. Careful to watch out for booby traps and surveillance systems, I proceed cautiously.
Finally, I reach the end of the corridor, and find myself at a steel door. Because of how far I‘ve traveled, I know I’m somewhere under the large building the cops had under surveillance. Oddly, it’s unlocked and my suspicious nature is aroused. All of my secondary escape routes are well locked and guarded, and I have a hard time imagining that my competitor would do otherwise. Still, he obviously had screwed up already in order to be under investigation. I slip in through the door cautiously, taking my time, checking for monitoring devices and trip wires. There’s nothing.
I’m in a stairwell now, on a middle landing. A rusting metal staircase climbs upwards, and an equally rusted staircase descends further into the basement level. I know what he probably has in the basement, but I also know he probably has monitoring equipment and living quarters stationed upstairs.
I elect to go upstairs.
The stairs creak and groan occasionally as I proceed, and I wince at every sound. Finally, figuring he would either already know I was here or was completely ignorant of my presence, I give up trying to be silent and simply climb the stairs. I bypass the ground floor and continue up to the top level where I find relatively functional living quarters. The furniture is quite tacky, and a rather juvenile assortment of electronic games and stereo equipment is abundantly present. Cheap posters cover the walls in a feeble attempt at decoration. I stand quietly at the entrance and survey the room. Overstuffed leather furniture is arranged haphazardly about, and a huge lamp is squatting behind the couch. It is one of those types that consist of individual lamp heads on spindly metal stalks. Again, it appears quite tacky.
There’s also drug paraphernalia on the cocktail table in what passes for his living room. Suddenly a lot of what has happened is crystal clear to me. A quantity of cocaine is present, and it appears as if someone got only half finished with their hit. A bottle of booze is laying on it’s side, most of it’s contents having drained down onto the cheap outdoor type carpet that covers the floor. There’s not even a drip now, so I know it’s been a while since the occupant has been here.
Careful not to get into the pool of liquid soaked into the carpet, I enter the next room. It’s a kitchen, and filth covers everything. Fly’s are buzzing about, and half eaten scraps cover the laminate counters. Again, careful not to touch anything I search the rest of the rooms. Most are devoid of furniture and they’re all as deserted as the first. Finally, I find a wall with a bank of security monitors on it. Switching the system on, I see a half dozen monitors come to life and get a decent view of the rest of the facility. I even see the insides of the small building I broke into and the underground corridor I traversed. I‘d been under surveillance after all, at least I would have been if the system had been turned on. Finally, the monitor labeled “Basement” comes on and I see my counterpart and realize why he’s so careless.
Mr. Antoine is obviously in a drug induced haze, and has one of his captives on the floor in the middle of a bare block walled room. I can barely make out additional figures surrounding them, and they are all obviously chained to the walls. The object of his attention is chained by her neck to a steel ring set in the floor, with only a few inches of chain for movement. Her arms are bound behind her and he has her at the end of her short neck chain now, and she’s obviously gasping for breath as he rapes her. She is struggling with him, but this is apparently not the first time she’s experienced his affections as her movements are more mechanical than a real effort at resistance. She continuously raises her buttocks off the floor and raises her hips up to try to take the strain off of her bound arms, pinned between her back and the concrete floor. This only serves to make her even more accessible to her rapist.
Realizing the advantage I have, I quickly head back down the stairs. It takes me several minutes to make it the five flights down, and by the time I arrive at the lowest level, he’s already finished and laying draped across the weeping form of the woman.
Without preamble I walk up to him and aim my weapon at his head. He raises up on his arms and hands and looks dumbly up at me, a look of confusion rolling across his face. It’s comical the way his head bobs and his eyes cross as he tries to focus on the muzzle pointing down at him. That look is erased forever when I pull the trigger.
His body spasms and stiffens out straight as he tumbles further away from the woman on the floor. His blood spatters across her face in a massive gush. Naked and flat on his back, the dead man makes a ridiculous looking corpse. To be sure, I pump two more rounds into his heart at point blank range then turn my attention to the room’s occupants. It is only then that I realize just how many of them there are. He must have at least thirty women chained down here! I‘d planned on simply eliminating his stock and figured there would not be that many of them. But as I look around my greed takes hold. They are typical looking specimens, but there’re quite a few of them. The hard work has already been done, and they would not bring the same kind of price that my own work would, but it would substantially offset the cost of the evening. I do a quick head count and realize there are thirty-two women, including the one chained to the floor. I also have to consider how this will look when the police actually do make it inside. I plan to torch the place, but I know there is only so much destruction I can accomplish before the fire department arrives to put the fire out. If they see this much criminal activity, it could alert them to my own business ventures, moving a white slavery ring from the theoretical to the probable. This has suddenly gotten very complicated.
The woman on the floor is a slightly built red head. She has a large bruise on one side of her face, and one eye is swollen shut. She, like all of the other women, is covered in bruises and whelps, and is as filthy as the surrounding room. A strong smell that is a mixture of sweat, fear, vomit and human waste is in the air, and now that I notice it I almost gag. All of the women have massive quantities of tape covering the entire lower portion of their faces and mouths, and it is impossible for them to push it out with their tongues. Their arms are bound behind them in leather arm binders, which cause their elbows to be pinned together behind their backs and keeps their arms straight down, with their wrists together. All of them are wearing tight fitting collars. I turn back to the woman on the floor and try to decide what to do.
She looks up at me hopefully, thinking I‘ve saved her. With her rapist now growing cold only a pace from her on the floor, she has rolled onto her side and is looking up at me now with light hazel eyes. I almost pity the poor wretch. The other women are now rousing themselves up from their stupors, realizing that a stranger is among them that can release them.
I turn and walk back out of the room, stunned silence following me. I search the basement level quickly, then move up to the ground floor. I find a large freight truck parked just inside the garage doors. Checking it, I find that the keys are still in it and it has a full tank of gas. Checking the back, I raise the freight door and find that this was a slightly modified vehicle, as chains and restraints are welded into place along the inside walls of the cargo area. The vehicle has sprayed in foam type insulation lining the inner walls, I assume for sound deadening purposes.
A plan begins to form in my mind.
I find the outside door and slip outside. I discreetly round up all of the bodies lying around the building and bring them back inside one at a time. I constantly keep a check for any new surveillance types, but find nothing to be concerned about. I bring the bodies one at a time down to the basement level and prop them against the wall and away from the terrified women. When I’m done, I go back upstairs and leave once more. Walking the few blocks back to my bike, I rev it quickly and ride back to the warehouse. Pulling in, I already have a ramp in place and drive up into the back of the freight truck. Removing the key, I tie off the bike to some floor mounted stanchions in the bed of the truck until I am certain it won’t shift.
Pocketing the keys to both vehicles, I head back downstairs. When I get to the basement, I start with the red head. She’s a surprisingly small female, and when I release her, she looks at me uncertainly. I had found a leash while searching the garage area, and clip this to her collar. A sharp tug and she’s stumbling behind me back up the stairs. I realize that the grating is harsh on her bare feet, but I am in a hurry. When we get to the freight truck, I lead her in and secure her to the wall. Bound as she is, a snap link is all that’s required to keep her in place, and with her arms and mouth secured it might as well be a padlock. I repeat this thirty-one more times. When I’m done, the freight truck is sagging from the weight and the women are packed inside with little room to spare.
I stand back a moment, looking one last time into the back of the truck at them, huddled together completely unashamed of the idea of being in close nude contact with other women. Their wide open eyes were darting back and forth from the inside of the truck to me and back again, and their sweat streaked bodies are packed in like sardines. Everywhere I look it‘s tits and asses. Their only thoughts, clearly visible on their expressions, is an abject terror of what the future holds for them. I slam the door shut and lock it securely. I notice their eyes following the truck door down as I close it, but there is not so much as a whimper from them.
Moving back down to the basement, I set up a fake death scene. I scatter the bodies about a bit, making it look as if there were a struggle. I even wrap Mr. Antoine’s dead fingers around one of the detectives necks. Anyone trying to make sense of the scene will find one body after the other, until they finally arrive at the basement where they will find the suspect locked in a drug crazed death match with the final officer. To be on the safe side, I pull the officer’s weapon and discharge it several times into Mr. Antoine’s face to cover the effects of my own weapon.
Finally, I set up the incendiaries. I found a timer device among Mr. Antoine‘s arsenal, and set up the grenades I brought with me on the timer. I splash copious amounts of fuel about, and make sure that Mr. Antoine’s body is thoroughly soaked with it. I find more gasoline, and even some crude bombs that he had been experimenting with in his garage. As an added measure, I begin opening every natural gas valve I can find. When this place goes, it’s going with a bang!
As a final measure, I carry his computer down from the apartment to the freight truck and pack it in the cab. I do a thorough search and find a few paper references to my clients, and surprisingly one vague reference to me. It’s not enough information to track me down, but obviously one of our mutual clients had been talking out of school, and from the evidence I’m pretty sure which one it is. I take everything, and make sure there is nothing left. As a final measure, I dump additional gasoline about the apartment area and leave a chemical type incendiary in the center of the room. When it goes, there will be little left except some residue to indicate what started the fire.
Now it’s time to leave. I return to the garage and open the exterior freight door. I climb into the cab and start the vehicle and pull it out. Jumping back down from the cab, I go back inside and lock the freight door from inside. I leave by a side door and lock it behind me before climbing back into the cab.
The truck is balky at first, but as it warms up it begins to run more evenly until I am making excellent time going down the deserted roads. I‘ve already crossed over the bridge in the center of town when there is a faint boom and the sky glows in the distance. I have to admit that even I’m impressed by the display. They’ll probably find pieces of the building a mile away!
I zigzag back and forth as usual, making sure I’m not followed, and find myself out in the country. I pull over on the far side of a truck stop and consider my situation once more. There’s a public pay phone under a dimly flickering street light nearby. I go check the phone number on it and return to the vehicle. Pulling my cell phone out, I make a short call then wait.
I don’t have to wait long. The public phone begins to ring and I immediately get out and answer it. Affirming my plans, I wipe the handset down for prints and hang up. It’s getting cold now, and I pause to consider my next actions carefully. If I’ve guessed wrong, I’m about to create more trouble for myself and the police will be the least of my worries. Getting back into the truck, I start it up again and begin driving.
After arriving at the end of a deserted two-lane asphalt road, I turn down a gravel lane. My headlights bounce in the darkness as I weave through high stands of dried grass that reach the height of the roof of the truck cab on either side of the lane. This is less a driveway than a private road, and I drive for several miles before I see lights in the distance. Finally, I can make out the lights of the residence complex. A few moments later and I’m idling the vehicle in front of a huge iron gate. It slowly swings open and I drive through. It immediately swings shut behind me. Driving deeper into the property, I arrive at a second gate that is just as imposing as the first, only I know for certain that this one is electrified, and rods extend into the ground at least six or eight feet. The gate swings open just as the first one did, and I drive through. This time I barely clear the gateway before it begins to swing shut. Immediately, large dark shapes begin to run alongside the truck. Yellow eyes glare back at me from the darkness. The eyes belong to wolf hybrids, and the second perimeter territory is full of them. I have to drive several minutes before I reach the next gate, which is also electrified. Pulling through it, I notice the animals hang back and don’t come near the gate. This is the reason they are not full blood wolf, otherwise it would have been too difficult to train them. The last part of the journey is through fairly clear woods, with trees trimmed carefully and absolutely no low lying vegetation. It’s almost like a park, but it’s intended for more serious matters than simple picnics.
The house is huge and imposing, and the acreage immediately around the dwelling is immaculately cared for. The grass is kept short and even, and the trees are all strategically and deliberately located around the property. Live oaks line the drive up to the mansion, and a fountain gurgles happily in a center turnaround area immediately in front of the steps. Landscape lighting glows against the cream colored masonry walls of the mansion, and tall white columns loom upwards to support the roof above. A wrought iron balcony is cradled between the columns, and yellow light shines through the stained glass windows above and to either side of the doorway. I don’t drive up the formal driveway, but instead pull onto the service road that meanders away from the house from just immediately inside the gate.
This service road leads around back to the stables, which I find well lit. Both inside as well as outside lights are shining brightly, and I would not even have needed the trucks headlights to find my way. As I pull up to the red and white barn, the door slides to the right and a dark figure waves me inside. I pull in as directed and drive to the center of what is actually an arena and stop, shutting off the engine. Opening the door, I jump down onto the soft mulch covering the floor of the arena and turn towards my host.
I wave to the man walking towards me and greet him. “Thanks for helping me out on such short notice. I know it’s risky, and I appreciate it.”
“Oh, think nothing of it. You’ve always been a reliable business associate, and I know you wouldn’t have called me had you not had good reason. Speaking of which, exactly what is the reason?”
“Ah, Walter, right to point as always.” I simply walk to the back of the truck and sling the door open. The captives are still standing as I had left them, chained as they are to the insides of the vehicle, their eyes staring wildly out at us. I can tell they are exhausted from the way they lean against each other and the sides of the truck. I see no hint of embarrassment in them at the thought of being naked before strangers. These are promising signs.
“Oh my, this is an unusual situation. Very well, what do you wish of me?” The older gentleman was eyeing the merchandise with a critical eye already.
“Well, here’s the problem. These are tainted goods.”
“Oh really, what do you mean by that?” His eyebrows had shot upwards, and I had his undivided attention.
“These used to belong to Mr. Antoine.” This was all I had to say, as Walter immediately began to shake his head.
“I knew there was going to be trouble with that one. He was just stupid! So stupid! What happened?” It was a statement full of resignation rather than anger. He knew I would never do anything to endanger him, so there was no fear in his voice, but I could tell that I needed to proceed slowly and carefully. If I didn’t handle this right, I’d find myself back on the road again.
“You watch the news this evening?” I asked.
“Why yes I did, why?” his eyes narrowing.
“Did you hear about an explosion on the north side of town?” I asked.
“Yes, why. I assume by your comment that you had something to do with it?” His eyes were even more narrow now. I proceeded to explain everything to him, and the extent to which I had to go to clean up the mess. He nodded occasionally, and kept glancing up at the women in the truck. Finally, I finished the narrative and hit him with my proposition.
“I’ll give you a percentage of the profits, as well as your pick of the lot before the auction. But I need somewhere to keep them and a place to show them. Are you up for it or do I have to keep driving? If you want no part of it, I understand and won’t hold it against you. I’m pretty sure I cleaned things up well enough, but there’s always the possibility of something going wrong, and obviously Mr. Antoine had far too cozy a relationship with one of my clients. So, are you game or not?”
“Certainly, we’ll take care of them right away. I’ll have my stable foreman take care of them immediately. How soon do you want to have the auction?”
“I figure the sooner the better. We need to do it quickly, before the cops can get a clue about how to look for Antoine’s associates. Suddenly having a lot of very wealthy local people having a clandestine meeting in the middle of the night might draw undue attention. But we can’t have it in the middle of the afternoon either, otherwise it might be questioned on the local newspaper society page.”
“Good point, I’ll personally deliver the message to the buyers. In the meantime, have you given thought as to how you’re going to train all of these prospects and have them ready in time for top dollar? They’re not up to your usual standards, but they are perfectly serviceable just the same. With a modicum of training, the payback can be greatly increased. I’ll have to charge you a nominal fee of course for my services, but I would think that you would feel it is perfectly justified under the circumstances.”
“Walter, leave it to you to get to the point before I have a chance to. Besides, you saved me the embarrassment of offering. How does ten percent sound?”
“Not as good as fifty percent. Perhaps you should reconsider.”
“Twenty percent.”
“Twenty-five percent.”
“Done. Can your man take care of the training himself or do I need to assist?”
“He is well qualified. Trust me, he has trained some very difficult cases for me. I’ll even call Olaf in out of semi-retirement to help with the sheer volume we‘re talking about here. I know he’s just picked up a new pony girl himself and this will be a great venue to auction her off in. Also, I’m more than happy to lend my personal assistance. It’s been a while since I had to take a direct hand in things, but I still know the process. It’ll be good to refresh my memory a bit. The biggest challenge I see is sparking a bit of fire in them. They look as if their spirit is fairly broken already. That will definitely depress their selling price.”
“Again, I leave it in your capable hands. You have far more experience in such matters than I.”
“And what of the person who was assisting our late unlamented Mr. Antoine. What is to become of them? Are you absolutely certain who this person was? And what about the young policewoman?”
“Leave them to me. I’ll figure something out.”
At this point, the stable foreman arrives and drags a ramp up to the back of the truck. Clambering in, he begins leading the women out one at a time and taking them outside. I don’t see it from here, but I know he is taking them to the stalls in the next building and securing them there. Walter and I climb into the truck and each of us leads a woman out on a lead line. Crossing the open area between buildings, I realize how cold it has become, as I can see my breath now. The woman I am leading is easily keeping pace with me and I assume she is ready to enter the warmth of the barn as well, no matter what awaits her there.
The warmth of the next building is welcome, and I stand momentarily at the doorway, wondering which way to go. Stable hands, obviously sleepy from being roused at such a late and unusual hour, are preparing the stalls. The foreman sees me and motions me to an empty stall to one side. Stepping onto the fresh shavings, I lead my charge in and secure the lead line to the back wall. Pulling on her lead line, I draw her down onto the straw until she is laying on her side, staring wild eyed up at me. I can tell she is cold from the goose bumps crawling her flesh, but figure she’ll warm up soon. She looks confused as I rise back up and head towards the stall door, and I realize she was expecting to be raped. Shaking my head, I just close the stall door and latch it.
When we finally have all thirty-two of the women in stalls and accounted for, I return to the truck. Starting it up, I back out of the barn and head back towards the city. I make another cell phone call. This one I’m not as worried about, as this is an associate that is completely unconnected to this particular business endeavor. He runs a chop shop, and can make this truck disappear by tomorrow night. I explain there are unusual circumstances, and he needs to handle the initial dismantling personally. I don’t want any of his crew gaining access to the vehicle, and I know he will thoroughly clear it of any identifying information.
I stop off at my place and pull into my garage. I unload the computer first, then wipe down the truck expertly to make sure I have left no prints. After backing my bike out and parking it, I take out my cutting torch gear and torch cut the chains off the insides of the truck. After all evidence has been removed and is rusting away in a pile on the floor, I take off the goggles and leather welding gauntlets and head upstairs. I check my surveillance system, and find the cops are in a panic. They have several dead officers, a crime scene that was completely obliterated and scattered over three city blocks, no leads and not a clue what to tell the press. Satisfied, I shut the system down again and head downstairs.
I find the box just as I’ve left it. I pull my kerchief on once more, and the rubber gloves as well. Opening the steel box, I find Agent Graham laying as I have left her. Once more she starts up and thrashes about. The odor is overwhelming, and I control my urge to slam the lid shut once more. Grabbing her by the hair, I drag her out and drop her to the concrete floor. She lays still, heaving breaths in by the lungful. Even though the air in the room is rancid, it is immeasurably better than what she was breathing a few minutes earlier.
I release her ankles and drag her to her feet. Her legs have gone to sleep, but she staggers up anyway, thankful to be able to stretch them again. I take her into the next room and note her reaction when she sees her future companions behind bars in their cells. She glances back at me, a look of comprehension growing behind her eyes. I force her to stand straight as I loop a collar around her neck, then attach it to the overhead winch. Then I release her hands. Stepping back, I pull out my pistol, ostensibly to check it, before replacing it in it’s holster.
“I want you to strip. Unless you’d like to continue wearing those rags. By the way, this is not a request. You can do it, or I can do it for you.”
Jane looks at me hesitantly, dripping fetid drops of puke onto the floor. I decide she needs a little nudge. “Now. I won’t ask this nicely again.”
Jane looks around at the other women, and makes her decision. Carefully, she begins to draw off her clothing, one soaking wet piece at a time. She has to work around the fact that she’s chained by her neck from the ceiling and her freedom of movement is limited. She’s fumbly because her limbs are numb as well. Occasionally, the collar digs into her neck as she leans as far as she can to remove her panties. When she’s done, she stands nude, one arm crossed over her breasts and the other clasped over her groin area, the collar around her neck, and the chain from the ceiling hanging loosely down about her shoulder.
“Excellent! Now put this on.” I toss her a ring gag. She fumbles at first as she hesitates a split second before uncovering her breasts to catch it one handed, but manages to hang on to it anyway. When she has a good grip, she studies it closely, shifting her eyes up to look at me without moving her head, then looking back down at the ring gag dangling from her fingers. I walk slowly to the wall and study the implements hanging there. She doesn’t move.
“Now.” I say it calmly. To emphasize my point, I reach up and remove a cattle prod from it’s hook on the wall. Turning back to Jane, I activate it. It’s been modified, and sparks fly when I trigger it. Jane sees the prod and cries out.
“No! Stay away from me with that thing!” Her eyes have a wild look and she’s backing away from me, tugging on the end of her chain until there is no slack left. She can’t move more than two feet in any direction.
“Then put in the ring gag. You can take the easy way or the hard way, it makes no difference to me. Either way the ring is going in. Which is it going to be?”
Jane eyes me, then the prod, then the ring gag. It takes only seconds to make her decision, and then she is buckling the ring into place with shaking fingers. She is really looking a mess now, smelly, filthy, and with her mouth forced to stay wide open while her puke matted hair drips onto her shoulders, breasts and the floor. I appreciatively notice her ample breasts swaying as she raises her arms to buckle the ring gag in place behind her neck, noticing this in spite of the fact that otherwise she’s filthy.
Turning the prod to point downward, I make a twirling circular motion with it. Jane understands the gesture and turns around, slipping her hands down to face palm out behind her buttocks in a feeble attempt to conceal her nudity.
Walking up behind her, I slip polished steel cuffs around her wrists, then extend the chains down to the floor rings to either side before looping them back and slipping the other end of the cuffs around her ankles. When I’m done, she’s standing flat footed, feet shoulder width apart, and her arms down at her sides. I walk around and inspect her now.
She has a truly magnificent body. She is taut and toned, and apparently tans without a bikini as there are no tan lines. Her breasts are natural and full, and she has a well trimmed bush. All in all, she is an excellent specimen and I decide then and there that she will enjoy my company for a while, no matter what I’m offered for her.
I take the water hose out and begin to wash her down. She screams through the ring at first, then the water is splashing into her mouth until she stops. I rinse her hair thoroughly, then begin to lather her from head to toe. She continuously twitches and jerks away from my touch as I lather her body slowly. When I’m done, she’s standing with her eyes closed because the suds are running down her face. Sudsy bubbles are sliding down her body, traveling over her tanned breasts, then down her flat stomach before collecting in her pubic hair. She coughs regularly as suds slide into her gaping mouth and cover her nostrils. She knows I am staring at her, but she can’t do anything except stand there shivering, clenching her fists tightly as she pulls against the chains. Small veins stand out just inside the elbow of each arm indicating just how much she works out. Then I notice that her vaginal lips are swollen and red, and I make sure I continue to lather her thoroughly while fingering her openly. Afterwards, I rinse her off with the cold water. When I’m done, she opens her eyes to stare at me again, a look of humiliation on her face. Her cheeks are flushed a bright red even though she is shivering as if she is freezing.
I burn her clothing on the concrete floor in front of her, then cautiously slip her arms into a leather arm binder that matches what all the other women are wearing. Finally, I take her to a cell and lock her in with Marjorie before heading back up to the garage. Jane presses against the bars, her breasts poking through, looking at me as I leave before swinging her gaze across the rest of the room, obviously already trying to figure a means of escape. Shortly thereafter I am on the road again with the truck heading towards the chop shop, my motorcycle once again locked safely in the back.
Edgar drove a hard bargain. In the end, I only got a few hundred dollars for the truck, even though I knew he would make ten times that amount when he disassembled the vehicle and shipped the parts out over half the country. Still, it tied up a loose end which was more important and what I was really interested in. He assured me that the parts would be untraceable. Hopping back on my bike, I ride home and immediately hit the sack. It has been a long day and night, and Pet slept on her pallet, content to leave me undisturbed.