Chapter 1
The large basement room was comfortably furnished with a bed, sofa, and enough kitchen utilities. The walls were bare of decoration and were painted a hot pink. The girl lying on the bed was young, about nineteen, and she had blonde hair that reached halfway to her wasplike waist. Her face had a pretty but used look. She was nude and her body appeared none the worse for the wear it had suffered at the hands of Vincent Kingston.
She sat up and stared at the barred window, then she looked toward the thick oaken door.
It was secured from the other side with an iron bar and heavy lock.
She put her hands over her face, trying to blot out the sight of the torturous pink walls.
She'd always liked pink before--until Vincent had thrown her down there two weeks before. It was unfair. All she had done was threaten to leave him.
It was difficult for her to remember how it had all begun some three months before. Like a dream--or a nightmare.
She'd been selling magazine subscriptions, trying to help pay her way through college.
When she'd approached the stately, obviously renovated old mansion, she'd expected to be greeted by an elderly goateed gentleman wearing an immaculate white suit. Instead, a handsome, dark-haired man of thirty-five had welcomed her spiel with an instant purchase of more magazines than she had sold in a month.
He had been so damned smooth. Maybe he had drugged her. She'd had a drink with him.
Anyway, it had seemed like a dream when she'd found herself in his bed. The nightmare began when he fucked her, shattering her precious virginity. She remembered thinking that it had been a lousy trade: A few magazines for her cherry.
His lovemaking had captivated her and she had willingly become his mistress. The things he could think of doing to a girl's body! She had discovered that he was insatiable and she'd been amazed that her own body had hungrily met his demands. And then something happened. She had tired, and his interest in her had waned. They'd argued, she threatened to leave, and he'd thrown her into the basement like a common prisoner, stripped of both her dignity and her clothing. She looked across her belly and studied her plush pussy-mound. He could have at least left her a bra and panties.
She looked toward the door again, then at the clock beside her bed. The minute hand was moving rapidly. A red blur. The time had passed when she'd have been impatient for Vincent's coming. Not any more. She stared at the door again, her eyes large and empty- looking. He would arrive in minutes and she hated the thought of what he would do to her.
Footsteps sounded. She heard the lock being turned, the bar being lifted. Vincent walked in.
He smiled at her with those even white teeth but did not speak. The ritual disgusted her.
He took off the jacket of his two-hundred-dollar suit, pulled the knot of his tie loose and unbuttoned the collar of his stiff white shirt. He went to the whisky cabinet, poured himself two fingers of Scotch and took it straight.
He studied the bottle. "You've hardly touched it," he remarked.
She sat up and ran her fingers through her long blonde tresses. "I know what you want.
You want me to drink myself to death."
He chuckled. "I just want you to drink enough to keep your blood warm. You've become as cold as a fish, Becky."
"And I'll stay cold," she said.
"Once a woman's cunt has been heated by passion, it never grows cold again," Vincent approached the bed. He ran his fingers along the nape of her neck and she shuddered slightly. "Repulsion?" he asked.
"Just weary," she said, but the very touch of his hand had started a reaction inside her and she couldn't stop it.
He fingered the nipple of her left tit. "Ill have to give you due credit, Becky. You tried." Her nipple stiffened. "You tried as hard as any of them" She felt less disappointed with herself. "There were others before me?" she asked.
His fingers moved to her right nipple but it had already hardened of its own accord. It was a dainty, succulent little red knob on the tip of her large uplifted tit. He leaned over to kiss it. She felt the roughness of his tongue and pushed him away.
"Were there others?" she asked.
"You know there were," he said. "I'm a patron of the arts. I collect beautiful things. And nothing is more beautiful than a young girl. A collector isn't satisfied with one painting or one bit of sculpture. Why should you expect him to be satisfied with one girl?"
"How many, Vincent?"
"Does it really matter?"
She hated herself. She hated the emotions she couldn't control. As much as she despised him, she wanted him to suck her nipple again. She wanted him to suck it until she cried out with ecstasy.
"It matters, Vincent," she said. "It matters how many like me you have ruined."
"Ruined?" His lean jaws were set. "You should thank me, Becky. I've taken a shallow slip of a girl and given her life new meaning. Given it a depth she's never known before."
"I'm no good for anything or anybody," she said. "You've made a shell of me. I'm all empty inside."
He fondled her tits again, his fingers trailing over the tingling globes. "Don't blame me," he said. "You're victim to your own desires."
"I didn't want to," she said falteringly. "I didn't want to do any of it."
He backed away from her. "I think you really meant to leave," he said.
"I did."
Vincent stripped away his shirt, then paused. "You don't want to make love?"
"You've never asked my opinion before," she said. "You've just taken me."
His eyes burned into her. "I'm asking now."
She eyed the awful cock-bulge that pushed against his neatly pressed trousers, and she thought of how his tongue had felt on her nipple. Her belly churned with revulsion, but her cunt was a hot, hungry mouth between her legs. "I don't care what you do to me anymore," she said.
She watched as Vincent finished undressing. His body was lean and muscular, almost free of hair except in the pubic area. His cock-shaft jutted out from his groin, a deadly lance designed to penetrate, punish and degrade all womankind. As he approached the bed, the facade disappeared. He was no longer a well-dressed, dignified executive. He was a naked animal, his eyes brimming with lust.
He put his hands on her shoulders and forced her to her knees beside the bed.
"Kiss my prick with your pretty red mouth," he said.
"Vincent... " Just this once she wanted to protest, wanted to refuse him, but she could not bring herself to do it. Her will was gone. The homy bastard thrived on cock-sucking. The second night she'd been with him, he'd forced her to take his prick in her mouth. She'd hated it then, but gradually learned to love the taste of his cock.
His large prick was but an inch from her mouth. Her lips trembled, then touched his heated prick-knob. Immediately, she felt a surge of desire sweep through her. Quickly she slipped her lips over the throbbing cock-head and began a hungry sucking.
Vincent grimaced with pleasure. "At least you've improved in some ways," he said. "You know how to use your tongue."
She angrily removed her mouth from his cock-head. He was always trying to make her feel small and cheap. "Kiss my ass," she said. --His laughter was lascivious. "Such language," he chided. "What happened to my innocent little college girl?"
"You shredded my innocence," she cried. "You tore it up into small pieces and I'll never put it back together again. You're a dirty bastard, Vincent Kingston!"
He slapped her and her teeth chattered from the blow. A tiny bit of blood appeared at one corner of her mouth.
"I know what I am," he said. "I don't like to be reminded."
The girl looked chastised. He had struck her perhaps four or five times since she'd come to live at the mansion, but this time had hurt most of all. Psychologically, if not physically.
"I don't like for anything to go unfinished," he said coldly.
She reached for his thick shaft with both hands and welcomed his hot prick-knob back into her mouth. Her tongue curled lovingly around the underside, and she was soon sucking with abandon. God, she thought, hating herself more than ever, I love it. How I love it!
"Ahhhh," he sighed. "Wonderful." He drove forward, filling the girl's jaws with his big cock- shaft.
She hesitated for a moment, made a slight gagging sound, adjusted, then resumed vigorously sucking his throbbing cock-meat.
Vincent continued to ram his prick into her throat. Her head bobbed, her eyes shook in their sockets, but her lips still tightly clasped his thrusting prick-shaft. It was no longer simple cock-sucking. He was virtually fucking her mouth.
"Mmmmm... oh... mrnmm." Her lips moved, gasping for air, but she did not try to escape the impalement. He was tugging at her tits, trying to bring the nipples up against his balls.
Her arms went around his hips. She was enjoying the pain in her pale, stretched globes.
Her fingernails dug into his tensed ass-cheeks. He cursed and humped madly into her warm, wet mouth.
She was no longer human. Not a shred of decency remained. Her mouth was a voracious, flesh-engulfing whirlpool of lust as she strove to bring Vincent to an orgasm. His cock-juice had become an elixir, a maddening drug. She could not live without it.
Her eyes were hot, her cheeks flushed. Small tremors of excitement ran down her slender throat and shook her breasts.
"Come, Vincent," she gurgled. "Come!"
She concentrated on his swollen, deeply pulsating prick-knob. She teased it with her tongue, she nibbled, she dug her sharp teeth in at its base. Her lips caressed it, cooed over it, then encircled it with a powerful suction.
"Ahhhh! Mmmmm!" She savored the powerful volley of cock-juice that lanced hotly across her tongue. She slurped at it, swallowed strongly, then began a steady sucking that was meant to take every drop of his lovely cum.
Vincent gnashed his teeth, pulled away, then jumped her. She lay on the bed, her thighs widely spread, her cunt a gaping red slit, the crest of her clit shining like a lusty ruby.
"Oh, fuck me quickly, Vincent! Fuck me!" she cried.
Vincent was already driving. He struck her twitching pussy-hole, embedding his thick cock to the balls as his victim squealed with delight.
"Eeeee!" She closed her eyes, sobbing with ecstasy. "Fuck me," she said deliriously.
"Fuck me to death!"
He rammed her cunt-channel with long, vicious thrusts. She writhed and pushed her ass at him in a pounding counterattack. She loved it. She lived only for his cunt-filling prick.
She forgave him for all the degrading things he had done to her.
He loomed above her, laughing down at her passion-contorted features. As her climax approached, she looked almost ugly to him. She was blue in the face. Her mouth flopped loosely and she groaned as she strained to climax. Sweat dotted her forehead and dampened her tit-flesh.
"Lost innocence?" he mocked. "You little slut!"
"I don't care what you call me," she gasped. "Just keep fucking... "
Her pussy-walls suddenly gripped his cock in a series of powerful milking contractions. He timed his orgasm then let his cock-juice shoot into her cunt just as her eyes went sightless with pleasure.
"I'm coming," she moaned. "Oh, shit, Vincent, doll! I'm coming!"
He slowly withdrew from her warm, wet pussy-hole that sucked at his cock. When he had completely extracted his prick-shaft, a surge of cum-juices sprang from her twitching pussy-hole and bathed her pale, trembling ass-cheeks. He shook his head. She had the wettest pussy on earth when she came.
The girl remained sprawled on the bed. After a few moments, she delicately closed her thighs. The remorse was creeping back into her system as the warm glow crept out. She felt dirty. She felt useless. She wanted to die.
Vincent walked across the room, poured himself two more fingers of Scotch and downed it. He picked up his pants, took out his wallet, and approached the bed. The girl was sitting up, staring morosely at her cum-saturated pussy-hair. Her face was expressionless.
"You wanted to leave," he said, his voice void of emotion. "Go. I won't keep you under lock and key any longer."
"You're through with me?"
"We've taken a keen edge and blunted it," he said.
"I'm glad it's over." She tried to smile but couldn't. "I'm glad it's time for a change."
"You can go upstairs and get your clothing as soon as you're rested," he said.
"I... I'm rested."
He took five one-hundred-dollar bills from the wallet and handed them to her.
She looked hurt. Five minutes ago she couldn't have torn herself away from him. Now she never wanted to see him again. She took the money and gave him a scathing look. Her final smile was bittersweet as she clutched the money to her breasts.
"This is your final act of degradation, Vincent," she said. "This makes me your whore."