Chapter 5

The most pathetic type of rape-seeker is the woman who not only needs to be ravished, but craves a maximum amount of humiliation and degradation along with it. Simple rape is not enough for her. If the man forces her to perform perverted sex acts, so much the better. There is no limit to the masochistic lows such women will sink to, allowing themselves to be beaten, tormented, branded, tattooed - even disfigured and mutilated in their never-ending search for more and more debasement.

The following case is a particularly strange example of this kind of sick drive at work in a very attractive and cultured twenty-eight-year-old woman. Andrea B. in her early twenties was an associate editor of a fashion magazine, wife and mother, but her perverse drives and the terrible consequences of them have ended her career and her marriage and have taken her children from her. She has been in and out of therapy several times, twice committed to hospitals, but there seems to be no permanent help for her. Once she is on her own again, she always has reverted to her old habits of self-destruction.

She lives alone now, still supported by her ex-husband, although he has nothing to do with her otherwise. Her only "friends" these days are a coterie of perverse "artistic" young men and women who amuse themselves with her and abuse her hospitality by using her house as their headquarters, party grounds and dope cache, while providing her a full measure of the degradation and sexual abuse that she requires.

I arranged an interview session with her through an associate of these friendly parasites, a piano player named Spooks, and prior to that he was able to supply much basic information to me about Andrea's history and habits. He also warned me that her consciousness was a bit fuzzed these days, with all the chemical mind-benders she was into, and so he sat in with us at the interview to help interpret and embellish her sometimes surrealistic recollections.

The following account then is a compilation of what Spooks first told me in private conversation, and then later what they both told me together, in the most bizarre interview situation I've ever run into.

Case 5 Andrea B.

Spooks - I first saw Andrea at an arte bizarre party - a gathering of very far-out cats on the sick-fringe of the art world. The costumes were supposed to be futuristic - mostly pretty much on the naked side, with psychedelic designs in body paint and all that super-arty shit.

And the decorations all around the place were erotic works of art of all kinds - painting and sculpture - mostly in the area of sadistic eroticism.

But the piece of "sculpture" that attracted the most attention was a living, breathing specimen, featuring our good friend Andrea in the stark bare-ass nude. At that time I didn't know who she was though. It looked at first glance like an exhibit from the horror dungeon of Madame Tussaud's Wax Museum, only you soon noticed that this was no wax figure you were looking at. Somebody had strapped up this lovely woman, spread-eagled against a big old wagon wheel, which was slowly turning around and around. And all over her body were bloody stripes-burn-marks-purple bruises, including the ugliest-looking black eye I've ever seen. She looked as if she'd been tortured every way there is, but it was all done with makeup. It made my stomach turn over to look at her, but everybody else seemed to think it was a hell of a joke. They all seemed to know who she was, and that apparently made the joke all the more hilarious to them.

All I could think of was that it had to be goddammed uncomfortable for that poor girl, whoever she was, hanging there like that for a couple of hours, all stretched out in four directions and turning over and over endlessly. She looked as pale as death, although that could have been makeup too. She sure had incredible self-control though- I never once saw her move a muscle or blink her eyes.

I told someone that I thought the whole thing was pretty sick, but he said, "Don't worry about her. That's only some whore they picked up. She's collecting her usual fee for the night. She's had rougher times than this in her career, you can bet."

But then somebody else told me, "She's no whore. That's the notorious Andrea. Just a weird bird, doing her thing. She digs that bondage and torture shit for real."

I remarked, "She's one hell of a beautiful-looking chick, by God-even with all the black and blue makeup."

He laughed and said, "Don't make any bets that it's all makeup, baby. Black and blue is her natural skin-tone."

I was kind of fascinated-I said I'd love to meet her.

"That won't be hard at all," he said. "She's available to be met. Just snap your fingers and tell her what's your particular pleasure."

"I thought somebody said she's not a whore," I said.

"No-she's not. Whores are for hire. The lovely Andrea is absolutely free. Have you read The Story of O? That's exactly like Andrea. Completely passive-completely submissive. I don't know who it was that trained her that way in the first place, but he did his job to perfection. Or maybe she was just born that way."

"Would you call her a nymphomaniac?" I said.

He laughed. "Not at all. A nymphomaniac is serving her own passions. Andrea exists only to gratify yours. She begs to be used or abused for your own pleasures. Just tell her what you desire. She'll do anything at all-literally anything."

"Anything within reason, you mean?"

"No, I mean anything. I don't mean commit murder or do anything aggressive, but anything at all submissive-sexual or otherwise."

"She sounds like a sadist's dream-girl."

"No-Wrong again. Sadists don't like her at all, in fact. They want a victim who suffers and weeps and begs for mercy. Andrea accepts everything with complete calm and resignation. That would drive a sadist right up the wall with frustration."

So I was more intrigued than ever. I couldn't wait to meet this elegant freak. I was told to talk to Peter, who was sort of her "keeper" for the moment. It seemed that Andrea was being passed around as a kind of pet from one guy to another in this arty circle. So Peter invited me around to his gallery next day for a demonstration of the trick lady in action.

He was a portrait painter who did pretty well for himself. When I got there he brought me into his studio and gave me a drink.

"So you don't believe the lovely Andrea is for real?" he said.

I said, "It's hard for me to believe all that I've been hearing about her."

He laughed. "Nobody believes it till they see it. And then when they do, they start pitying her. But she's perfectly happy. She like the slave in A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Fovum- she lives to grovel. There are a lot of people like that in the world, but few dedicate themselves to groveling as completely as she has.

But let's get her out here and you can give her a try. I'll start her off, and then I'll turn her over to you and you can tell her whatever you'd like her to do for you or to you. Don't be afraid to let your imagination run riot. And remember-as I'll demonstrate for you-she's absolutely uninhibited- not a vestige of shame in her."

He pressed a buzzer button and immediately Andrea came in. I was completely bowled-over. She looked like a young duchess-very elegant and chic- head high, aristocratic bearing, flawless beauty, her hair sleek and shimmering. She looked as if she had just stepped out of her box seat at the Metropolitan Opera.

He snapped his fingers and she came over to him and stood waiting, her head bowed in submission. Then he said to her, "Down!" as if he were ordering a dog, and immediately she dropped onto the carpet on her hands and knees. He held up his foot in front of her face and she began licking the sole of his shoe with her tongue.

Then he took a piece of chocolate candy from a bowl and held a piece over her head. She came up onto her knees in a begging posture, her mouth open, her tongue out, reaching for the candy, but he held it out of her reach, teasing her for awhile, and then threw it down onto the floor behind a chair. She went onto hands and knees again and scurried away across the carpet to where the candy was, and then bent down and ate it right off the floor like an animal.

"You see, she knows her place," Peter said. "Too bad all women aren't trained this well." He laughed, but I'm not sure he was kidding.

He stood over her where she crouched with her fanny thrust up in the air, and he picked up the skirt of her dress and tossed it over her back, displaying her naked ass. She had nothing at all on underneath the dress.

He began stroking her sleek ass-cheeks and pinching and tweaking the soft flesh and then he ran a finger up and down the crack and teased the dainty little shit-hole.

"I'll have her fart musical notes for you if you like," Peter said to me. "She does it beautifully in the key of B-flat."

Andrea went on munching her chocolate, her face still down on the floor, paying no attention whatever to the indignities being inflicted on her nude bum-end.

"Would you like to pat the dog?" Peter asked me. "She's quite friendly. She won't bite you."

I said no thanks-I'd just sit and watch awhile, if it was all the same to him. I found the whole "dog" business pretty sick, frankly. But the real sick show hadn't even begun yet.

"Perhaps you think it's a terrible thing to treat a woman like a god?" he said. "But you're wrong about her. Andrea may look like a woman to you, but she actually is a dog. I'll demonstrate for you. Speak, Andrea-speak!" he commanded her.

She raised up her lovely head and said, "Arf arf arf," in a perfect dog imitation.

"Louder," Peter said, swiping her ass hard with the flat of his hand. "Benjy didn't hear you. Speak up!"

"Arf arf arf!" she repeated in a higher pitch.

And with that a huge brown shepherd dog came bounding into the room, tongue lolling out of his gaping jaws, and he went straight for Andrea and began sniffing and drooling around her still-exposed fanny as if she were actually a bitch in heat.

I had to laugh at that. "Looks like he thinks she's a dog all right," I said.

"No thinking about it," Pete said. "Benjy and Andrea both know that she's a dog. And if you need further proof, just keep your eyes open."

The next thing I knew Benjy, who had suddenly come up with a fantastic hard-on, climbed up over Andrea's back with his forepaws and began maneuvering his rod into position to shaft her ass. She squatted lower and spread her knees farther apart to give him his opening and after a couple of jabs and misses, damn if he didn't drive it home and bury his prick up to the hilt in her pussy.

I never thought I'd live to see this kind of scene outside of a Tangier whorehouse, but there it was, happening right before my eyes. Benjy's hairy ass started bucking and driving and sure as hell he was fucking her lovely cunt as if she was some kind of a big old hairless she-dog.

The weirdest thing was that both Benjy and Andrea had their tongues hanging out, dripping saliva, and both of them whimpering and whining in the same tones of voice. I wondered if maybe somebody had hypnotized Andrea into believing she was a dog-that could have been. But I couldn't see why anyone would want to waste the sweet cunt of a beautiful creature like that on dogs.

Then Peter said, "Now that she's all hot and passionate, she gives tremendous blowjobs, if you're interested. Just lay whatever you've got to offer right on her tongue here while she's slobbering like this, and she'll suck you onto cloud number nine."

I wasn't quite ready for that one. "No thanks," I said. "If she's so sure that she's a dog, she just might decide to take a bite out of my bone, and I can do without that bit of surgery."

Peter laughed and said don't worry. He'd show me what I was missing. He proceeded to drop his pants right on the spot and he knelt down in front of her, and damned if she didn't take his prick in her mouth and start licking away on it-more like a dog would lick though than a woman-but it sure seemed to be doing the job for him.

But this whole show was a little too sick for my taste, and so I snuck away while the performance was still in progress-the dog humping Andrea's fanny from behind and her lord and master fucking her face in the front. I'd seen more than I bargained for already and I didn't need any more to convince me that she was every bit as weird and wiggy as I'd heard she was.

Isley-I presume this was after her marriage had broken up.

Spooks-Oh sure-her husband and kids were long gone out of her life by then. Her whole existence at that time was totally involved with these arty party cats. She was their latest novelty diversion-just an exotic dolly they passed around among themselves for kicks.

Isley-You mentioned hypnosis. Was she in a hypnotic state or under some kind of drug influence or anything of that kind?

Spooks-She was on and off various kinds of drugs always, then and now-but this submissiveness of hers-her need to be used and violated and humbled-this had nothing to do with drugs. That's just her basic nature. Always has been. Maybe drugs just helped to strip away the last bits of inhibition and shame she might have had left.

Isley-How long ago was this when you saw her doing her dog act?

Spooks - Couple of years. I didn't see or hear of j her again until she came into a club where I was j working with my trio last spring. I recognized her ' right away and said hello, even though there'd been a few changes in her appearance since I saw her last. She'd been through a pretty rugged two years in the meantime and they'd taken their toll.

But you should meet her and see for yourself this fantastic fucked-up creature. She can tell you about the things she's been through, and it's quite an experience, hearing these things right from her own lips. She's a walking, talking example of what kind of hell it is for a woman to have the compulsions driving her that she has. But she'll never admit that it's hell.

I went out to Andrea's house next day and met the celebrated lady herself. No appointment was necessary. It was always open house at Andrea's, I was told. Spooks came along to introduce me and help me get through to her in case she was in one of her remote wigged-out states.

Inside the house there were several young dreamy types lounging against the baseboards in the living j room, and a pot-bellied boy in a g-string and a stick-thin nude girl were dancing a pas de deux in the middle of the floor.

Andrea was in her bedroom and Spooks threw open the door without knocking and waved me in. I started over the threshold and then stopped short with shock and embarrassment.

The bed covers had all been tossed onto the floor, and there on the raw sheet nude Andrea and a long-haired boy were in the middle of a violent, bed-rocking fuck, with him flat on his back and her sitting on top of him, riding his prick. And a second boy lay on the bed beside them, dragging sleepily on a weed.

I started to back out of the room but Spooks pushed me in again. "It's okay," he said, laughing. "You might as well get a look at the lady in her natural condition, bare-ass and balling. They'll be through pretty quick. We can wait. Bonzo doesn't last all that long usually."

I started to take a seat a discreet distance away, but Spook beckoned me up to the bed for a close look.

"You can see some of the wear and tear here." he said. "Come look. She used to have incredible smooth white skin when I first saw her body, but notice the little ridges and scar marks across her back now? She's taken a lot of whippings along the way. And when you get a close look at her breasts later, you won't believe it."

It seemed incredible to be discussing the condition of a woman's body this way right in front of her while she was rocking her way to an orgasm before our very eyes, but Andrea hardly seemed to be aware of our presence in the room.

We moved off and sat down to wait for them to finish, and the action on the bed soon petered out with neither of the two apparently reaching an orgasm. They just quit their rocking all at once, still in their positions, as if they'd both suddenly lost interest in the whole thing or forgotten what it was they'd been doing.

Spooks went to the bed and took hold of Andrea's arm and shook her. She seemed to be on the verge of falling asleep, still impaled on the prick she sat on.

"Come talk to us," Spooks said, and she looked toward me for the first time, blinking, trying to focus me on her screen. He lifted her down to the floor and she followed him across the room, smiling vacantly. I noticed that her front side was also crisscrossed with scar patterns like her back, but I saw nothing unusual about the look of her breasts except that they hung low on her rib-cage, flaccid and lifeless, as if they had suffered much abuse and had long since given up the battle.

Spooks led her up to my chair and introduced us, and then he lifted one of her breasts in his hand and held it out to me.

"See what I mean here?" he said, tapping the point of it with his finger. "No nipple at all. Some hungry bastard bit it right off her. She doesn't even remember who did it."

So far Andrea hadn't said a word, but now she laughed and said, "My nipples never were any use to me anyhow. I wasn't planning to become a wet-nurse."

Spooks said, "Tell the man all about that shit you went through with Beauregard. He wants to put down all the gory details for the education of his readers. He's using you as a horrible example of a depraved woman in his book."

She laughed again. "It's not I who am depraved," she said airily. "It's the sick sick sick men who flock around me."

Spooks said, "She thinks it's the men who are sick-not her."

"They are sick," she said, "and I am their disease. Like something contagious they pass me on from one to another."

I said, "Who is this Beauregard you mentioned?"

She closed her eyes and smiled and after awhile she began her story in a flat voice.

"Beauregard rescued me from aimless debauchery and unfocused submission and turned me into a valuable rental property, serving a useful purpose in the world. He turned me from a mindless plaything into a million dollar commodity."

"Turned her into a high-priced whore is what she means," Spooks said.

"Ah, but I was much more than a whore," she insisted. "There are a million women who fornicate for cash, but men were willing to pay fabulous sums of money for the use of me. Where else could they find a lovely lady of their dreams who would submit meekly to all their most piggish, disgusting wishes?"

She went off into a fit of giggling then-on some kind of a drug-jag apparently.

Spooks picked up her story from there.

"This son of a bitch took her over completely, and everybody at first thought it was a good thing for her-that he really cared about her and was trying to straighten her out. He had all kinds of loot, and he bought her beautiful clothes-everything- and then he'd take her to all the glamour parties around town and show her off until he had a thousand guys envying him and drooling over this fabulous chick of his. But the point of the whole plan was just to set her up so he could cash in on her. She was a business investment-the kind of sick, evil investment that bastard specialized in.

"He let the word out to certain rich sickies of his acquaintance that the delectable Andrea was available for over night and weekend engagements for a flat one thousand clams per day rental fee. And they paid it too, by God!"

Andrea leaned over and laid her hands on my knees. "Don't you think I'm worth a thousand a day, Mister Isley?" she said. "Perhaps not anymore. I'm a bit shopworn and scuffed-up around the bindings. I'm only good for free loan-outs nowadays. All you need to take me out is just a library card."

Spooks went on. "The big attraction for them was that she would submit to anything. A lot of guys felt it was worth a grand for the privilege of playing the Marquis de Sade for one night with an elegant lady like Andrea. They had delivered into their hands just about the most beautiful woman they had ever seen-cultured, educated, charming. They could take her to a party-the theatre-show her off to their friends-and either then or later they were completely free to do any goddam thing at all to her. Play any scene they wanted. Love her up in a nightclub-slap her around on a street corner-insult her in a public place, verbally and physically, in any obscene way they pleased. She'd act like a tramp or like a lady-bold or shy-play any role they demanded of her to feed their sick egos. And in the end they could take her home or anyplace else they pleased and work off on her whatever passions or aggressions they needed to get out of their systems-rape her, beat her up, whip her-or make sweet tender love to her if they liked -whatever was their bag."

I said, "I'd like to hear Andrea's version of this. Is that about the way it was for you?"

She had sobered down now and was sitting quietly, smiling at me. But apparently we had lost contact with her altogether. She didn't seem to hear a word and she said nothing.

"Did she have a great many of these thousand-dollar dates?" I asked Spooks.

"Who knows how many?" he said. "Nobody kept records. I've heard though that Beauregard made over a hundred-thousand dollars by renting her out that way. I wouldn't doubt it."

"Did she get anything at all out of this for herself?"

"The private ecstasy was all that mattered to her. She never had any lust for money."

"I'm surprised that she came through it alive."

Spooks waved his hand at her. "You call this alive?"

All of a sudden Andrea sprang up out of her chair and whirled away from us in a graceful dance-turn. "Of course I'm alive!" she cried. "Who the hell says I'm not alive? Nothing can kill me."

"That's no lie," Spooks said. "They've tried every way there is to kill you-strangled you- sliced you up-impaled your cunt-skewered your ass-beaten you bloody. What else is there to try except a bullet through the brain?"

She threw her head back and laughed wildly. "The only thing that will ever kill me is being bored to death by goddam square creeps who treat me like a goddam hot-house flower." She gestured toward the two knocked-out boys on the bed. "And limp-dick faggots like these two." She went to the doorway and yelled at the top of her lungs, "SCOTTY! Come in here and rescue me, goddammit! I'm smothering in a sea of shit."

A big red-headed young man came shuffling into the room, blinking as if he'd just come awake. "What the hell's all the noise?" he demanded, grabbing hold of her arm and giving her a rough shake.

She laughed in his face and rumpled his hair. "Who the fuck wants to know, jelly-belly?"

He looked over at us with an apologetic expression and said, "You guys done with her?"

Spooks said, "Be my guest. She's all yours, baby."

Red laid his hand on Andrea's chest, fitting his fingers between her breasts, and then he shoved her hard over backwards, sending her sprawling onto the floor. She lay against the bed and lifted her legs up toward him, obscenely-spread, her hands rubbing on her crotch. "Come on, you redheaded motherfucker," she giggled. "Don't keep a lady waiting on her fucking birthday."

He grabbed her ankles and swung her abruptly into the air, dangling her head-downward. Then he let her head bounce twice against the carpet before he flung her body up onto the bed, sprawling over the two sleeping boys.

She squirmed about, still giggling and mumbling incoherent obscenities, while Red began pulling off his pants.

I got up at that point. "I guess I've seen enough," I said. "I think it's time I cleared out while I still have my sanity."

"Why not stick around?" Spooks said. "I thought this was what you came to see. The show's just started. Red, here, is her favorite. He gives her exactly what she wants. You haven't lived until you've seen Red screw the lady up her gut with his entire fist-clear to the wrist."

Red at that point was up on the bed, kneeling over her, holding her by the throat while he slapped her face back and forth, and she was still giggling and babbling away, on a delirious high.

It looked to me as if the interview was ended. I didn't believe Andrea was planning to answer any more of my questions that day, and I didn't figure I needed to see any more of her rock-em, sock-em act with Red to convince me that all I'd been told about her was true.

Lucky girl, Andrea! Very few people in this world get just what they want out of life, but she seemed to be getting hers in carload lots, and she had the scars to-prove it.