Chapter 10
Diana's head ached. Jesus, did her head ache! And, her wrists ached, her arms ached, and her ankles ached.
Her wrists, arms, and ankles! Yes, goddamn it, her wrists, arms, and ankles! So, why in the hell were they aching? The headache was possibly easily accounted; for, wasn't it? Diana, after all, had had a few drinks that evening, hadn't she? However, she had often-drunk more than the few cocktails she had had that evening without having come down with the hangover she evidently had now.
And, speaking of that evening, how in the hell had it ended-if it had yet ended? Strange, but Diana couldn't remember going home. The last she remembered was sitting at that small table with David, Helga, and Kyle. David had aeemed nervous; and, well he might have been. Because, Diana knew who Helga was; she, also, knew that Helga wasn't supposed to have met Diana until later that evening.
"Ohhhhhh," Diana groaned. And, where in the hell was she? At her own apartment? In her own bed?
No!
And there was something damned funny about just where she was, wasn't there?
Diana opened her eyes, without having realized they had even been shut. What she immediately saw didn't really make sense; because what she saw was her lower body, chains hanging from her ankles to the floor. The other end of the dropped chains were attached to brackets embedded through the linoleum and into the wood beneath.
"Ooooooooo," Diana moaned again, shaking her head to clear it. Her headache was a little better, but not much.
"Welcome back to the world of the living," someone said. But who?
Diana's head snapped up, sending a pain through the back of her neck and into her brain. She shut her eyes momentarily to the fireworks going off inside of her drug-numbed mind and then opened them again to see....
To see what, for God's sake? My God, what kind of a dream was she having?
"The headache," Helga said, concealed as she was behing a black hood that covered-except for eyes and mouth-her whole head, "will be short-lived. I promise."
"Where am I?" Diana asked, knowing full well where she was. She was right in the middle of some goddamned nightmare, wasn't she? Well, wasn't she?
"In a special place," Helga said. "With some very special people."
And Diana realized, for perhaps the first time, that she and the other woman (she knew Helga was a woman, because the blonde's large breasts were naked) weren't alone in the room. Off to one side, there were two men (she knew they were men, because both, while covered from head to toe in what looked like black leather-had open pants crotches that revealed large and blood-glutted erections).
"I'm dreaming!" Diana told herself, even if it did come out verbally. "I'm goddamned dreaming!"
"No," Helga assured her. "You aren't dreaming at all."
"I tell you, I'm dreaming!" Diana insisted, shaking her head in an attempt to free it of existing cobwebs.
And David, sitting on a workbench (Kyle was on a wooden chair) could sympathize with his sister's temporary disorientation. David, after all, wasn't all that long into consciousness himself, and he was still a little blurry on just how he had gotten where he was. He only vaguely remembered following Helga and Kyle's instructions which had gotten David stripped down and decked out in black leather.
"So, you're dreaming," Helga said, giving a shrug of disinterest. She knew it wouldn't be all of that long before Diana woke up to the reality. This dreaming shit usually carried over only until the first lash of the whip brought a woman out of her stupor.
Diana's head was finally clearing, which didn't make her find anything any the more real. As a matter-of-fact, correctly focusing in on her surroundings and her companions only made the who-le goddamned thing even more macabre.
Diana looked as if she were in a dungeon. Yea, in a medieval dungeon down in the bowels of some castle somewhere other than in America-that was sure. And all around her, Diana could see instruments of torture (stocks, stretch rack, pillories) that she was used to seeing only in movies. On the stone walls (my God, even the walls looked wet!) were hung whips and chains and strange things of which Diana couldn't even begin to imagine the use.
Yes, goddamn it, a dungeon! Which meant this HAD to be a nightmare! There was no conceivable way that Diana could have gotten from that table in the disco to this horror spot....
Wait a goddamned minute!
Diana gave the scene another quick once-over, which included taking in her three companions. Those other women had been chained up, hadn't they? They had been chained, then whipped, then fucked!
But ... this ... simply ... wasn't ... possible! It wasn't supposed to ever get this far-certainly not with Diana, was it?
What had been the plan? There had been a plan, hadn't there? Sure, there had. Diana and David were supposed to feign a meeting in the disco. David was supposed to buy Diana a few drinks, ask her for a few dances, invite her home for a little sex. David was then supposed to take Diana (after first pretending to drug her) to an apartment Helga Svenson had rented across town. Shortly after David and Diana got there, the cops were going to raid the place and....
And, this didn't look like any apartment. And, Helga had turned up at the disco with Kyle. And, David had looked worried.
And, something had definitely gone wrong!
"Even with good people like Miller and Wellington on the job to watch out for you, we can't make any guarantees of safety," Captain Harry Morgan had told Diana when he had asked her to volunteer for the job. "We're dealing with smart people here. What they're doing, they have done plenty of times before; and, none of them have been arrested for it yet."
And, had the cops botched this one? Had Diana somehow slipped free of her police guard and into the clutches of those perverts who molested those other women?
David ... where in the hell was David?
Diana's eyes were drawn to the male body clothed in black leather and sitting on the nearboy workbench. And, was that David? There was admittedly something very familiar about the size and the shape of that huge sexual truncheon jutting upward from the gaping opening of the man's trouser fly. Was that the same large cock Diana had lovingly stroked so long ago in the woods behind their house? Was that the same massive prick that went into convulsive jerks and spat comets of creamy male cream to web Diana's fingers?
What in the hell was David doing all dressed up in that costume-if it were David? He, after all, wasn't coming across as a prisoner like Diana was coming across as one. Whoever he was, he gave all appearances of being one with the woman and the other man in the room.
Get hold of yourself Diana! Diana told herself. She couldn't panic. Jesus, no, she couldn't panic. She had to remain cool. She had to think this out. Somewhere-somehow-things had gotten screwed up. If Diana had been unconscious (and, there had to be some explanation for the gaps in her memory that failed to cover all that transpired between the disco and here), then David might have had to improvise to save the both of them. Maybe-if Helga (was this big-breasted woman Helga?) had eluded the police assigned to tail her-David was forced into continuing his charade of being one of Helga's people. If that were the case, then Diana was going to have to be damned careful what she said, or she was going to blow David's cover and (if they didn't already know Diana was a policewoman) possibly her own.
"Feeling better?" Helga asked, her pink-colored lips visible through the hole cut in the hood over her head. Besides the hood, Helga was wearing a pair of tight leather pants that molded sexily along the contours of her hips and over the enticing swells of her buttocks. She was also wearing a pair of leather gloves and a pair of leather riding boots.
"Where am I?" Diana asked. Had she asked that question before? If she had, she couldn't remember. When had they drugged her? She was certain that they had drugged her.
"Where is unimportant," Helga told her.
"Who are are you?" Diana amended.
"Who is unimportant, also," Helga told her.
"Whatever you're up to, you aren't going to get away with it," Diana said, not at all certain she was correct. After all, how many women besides Diana had been hung from these very chains while the culprits responsible were still free as the breeze?
Helga, who was correctly assuming Diana was talking purely to hear herself speak, didn't even deign make comment on Diana's ridiculous threats.
Because, now that both Helga and Kyle had shaken off the police, there was no chance at all that anyone was going to trace them here.
Helga turned to Kyle, able to tell that the man was paying no attention at all to Helga. Kyle was focusing his entire attention on the hung Diana. Helga knew that this broad really turned Kyle on-which was good; because, Kyle paid good money for these sessions: so good, as a matter-of-fact, that Helga could often afford to book sessions exclusively for Kyle (and one victim, and one other master).
Kyle Harrison, at forty-two, had very special sexual tastes. Until he had chanced on Helga Svenson, through a mutual friend in LA, Kyle had been at a loss as to how he was ever going to adequately indulge in the only fun and games which seemed to get him off. But, he had found Helga; and, as long as he had Helga, there was no problem, was there? Diana and David, after all, were just what the doctor ordered, weren't they?
"You had better let me go, goddamn it!" Diana proclaimed, jiggling her chains. She cast another glance in David's direction. She was almost sure now that it was David. So what, she wondered, was he planning. By the looks of him, he didn't seem all that ready to come jumping in to Diana's rescue.
David, in fact, like Diana, was wondering just what he should be doing with this situation. He did, of course, have alternatives. One alternative being his suddenly turning into the big hero, wherein he tried to knock Helga and Kyle flat and rush off to freedom with Diana. That alternative wasn't the best one, however. It seemed hardly likely that David, even catching his companions off guard, was going to overpower both Helga and Kyle, without their delivering some damage in return. David, after all, didn't even have a gun, did he? And while he was pretty good in the. physical-combat department, he suspected-if just by what he had seen of Kyle's excellent physical build (Kyle, in spite of being older than David, could take care of himself in any bout of fisticuffs)-that Kyle wasn't going to be any pushover. And Helga's long fingernails certainly couldn't be overlooked as formidable weapons.
Besides, David didn't have the foggiest notion where he was. Except for the decidedly modern dressing facilities wherein David had changed into his present garb (he had come to consciousness in that room), David could well believe they had left the twentieth century completely and come barreling through a time warp.
So, what if he sat around and waited for the help that was supposed to arrive when this little operation had originally been thought out? Where was Wellington and the other guys? Had Helga and Kyle actually managed to somehow slip away from this city's finest?
It certainly was a peculiar dilemma, not at all made any easier by the fact that it was David's own sister hanging naked from those chains.
It was David's own sister; and, David had one hell of a hard cock jutting upward between his legs. Did Diana recognize David's large erection and, thus, David (even though, David was hooded)? And if she did, what was she going to say at any minute that might blow David's cover all sheets to the wind and complicate matters even more? David just hoped Diana had enough sense to keep her mouth shut until David could think of some adequate solution to their mutually shared problem.
Not that David could see any immediate solutions in the offing!
"My God, what are you planning to do with that?" Diana asked, bringing David's attention back to the center stage.
Helga, as if by magic, had produced a cat-o'-nine-tails which she was dangling from her right hand, the whip tips touching the floor.
But, Diana already knew what Helga was going to do with it, didn't she? She knew, because she lid seen those photographs of those other women, their bodies striped with whip marks.
"A little pain has always been known to enhance the pleasure," Helga told her.
And, Kyle shifted slightly on his chair. His black-haired scortum was pooled on the seat between his opened thighs, his two monstrous testicles mountains within the flow of flaccid flesh. His cock, a flat-bellied mass, extended upward, shooting a fist-sized cock head completely free of the sleeve formed by a bulky, uncircumcised foreskin. Two large veins mirrored each other on the cock flanks, resembling snakes on a caduceus. A beading of translucent sex-lubricant pooled in the deeply pouting gash that was Kyle's cock mouth, holding there momentarily before breaking to ooze downward over Kyle's pulpy phallic crown.
David's gaze flitted from his sister's naked body to the whip being held in Helga's hand, then back again.
What in the hell was David going to do? What, for Christ's sake? Did he just sit here and watch? Or, did he do something and risk getting him and Diana into even more trouble than they were already in?
Of course, there was always the possibility that Diana didn't recognize David. After all, it had been over ten years since she had seen David's hard cock, hadn't it? Between then and now, Diana must have seen plenty of cocks to make hazy any accurate remembrances of David's particular erection.
And, why was David holding out hope that Diana hadn't recognized him? Was it because, he was actually sexually turned on by all of this: being dressed up in black leather while his siter's naked and vulnerable body dangled in chains there in front of him?
Was David actually entertaining thoughts of how he might make it through this to the very end without Diana knowing he was in the room witnessing her embarrassment, her whipping, her rape? Later, he might tell her that they dropped him off somewhere in the middle of nowhere, someplace that had taken him hours to get back to civilization.
Jesus, what was he thinking? This ... was ... his ... sister! How could he even think of letting her go through this ordeal rather than blow their cover? Was it because the whipping never did any great damage? None of the other women had come away with any permanent scars. Was it because he was sure getting fucked was no big deal for Diana? Hell, hadn't she played around with both her father and her brother at one time in her life? God only knew how many other men she had fucked between then and now. Oh, it would have been different if Diana had been a virgin. But, there was no way Diana could still be that, now was there?
So, what was the big deal about getting chained, getting beaten, and getting fucked? Huh? What was Diana looking so owlie-eyed about? If she just gritted her teeth and bared it until this was over (none of the women had ever been really harmed), then she could walk away from here a free woman; and, David would be in like Flint. And, once David was really in Helga's confidence, it would be easier than hell to trip her up: a hell of a lot easier than it had been this first time out.
Besides, Diana had known all along that she wasn't letting herself in for any picnic, hadn't she? And, she had volunteered for the job nevertheless. She must surely have been prepared for something like this. After all, police operations went sour more often than not, didn't they?
And, it wasn't as if David could do anything about it, was it? Basically, David was as much a captive as his sister, even if he wasn't physically secured by chains like she was.
Helga drew back her right arm, drawing the whip with it. A forward flick brought all nine lengths of leather down across Diana's naked breasts and belly.
"Ooooohhhh, nooooo!" Diana squealed, her sounding more the result of surprise at actual whip-body contact than from the pain. Because, while the lashing had supplied a good deal of noise, the whip strands had actually arrived on contact with so little real force that they didn't even leave marks.
"We've got a moaner here, K," Diana said, using Kyle's initial instead of his full name. "You like the moaners, don't you?"
Kyle didn't answer. His cock oozed more pre-seminal juices. His hands rested on his knees.
Helga used the whip again, this time harder. The resulting strokes brought red stripes to Diana's milky flesh: stripes that remained when the leather dropped away.
Why wasn't her brother doing something? How could David just sit there? If it were him. If ... it ... were ... him.
"Don't do this! Please, don't do this to me!" Diana pleaded to no avail. Because even as she begged, she could see the whip riding through the air toward her. When all nine of the leather straps again made contact with Diana's flesh, the woman groaned helplessly, refusing to believe David was simply going to sit where he was and do absolutely nothing to save his own sister from this perverted degradation.