Chapter 7

A person can only maintain tension so long. After a time the body overloads then relaxes in spite of fears. It happens all the time on battlefields. And it happened to Suzanne that day. Along toward noon, she simply gave out. She found that she did not care any longer what sort of strange place she was in, nor what kind of people her neighbors were. She'd had enough of shame and pain for the moment. She would just relax and enjoy herself. Time enough to worry later. The hell with it for now!

There was a small radio in the pile of things Craft had brought her that first day and she turned it on now. She found a station with loud, happy music and turned the sound high. Then she fixed herself a hot cup of tea and took it to the bathroom, drew herself a steaming hot tub and climbed in. She was determined to stay there all day, just luxuriating.

Along with her tea, Suzanne had brought the book that Craft had left her, the copy of de Sade. When she had lowered herself into the vaporous water and wiggled herself comfortable, she opened the volume and began to read. When she realized what sort of material it was, she became first angry, then furious. What did she have to do to escape sex? What right did Craft have to give her a book like this? It was lewd. It was obscene. It was perverted!

But, she had to admit, it was also interesting. She found herself continuing to read even though she was angry. As each scene followed another, she found herself becoming engrossed in the concepts involved. Here were people engaging in all sorts of torments and painful happenings, suffering degradations similar to her own. And they were enjoying them! True, it was only a book. But the very existence of accepted names for the odd and torturous acts it described proved that there was a considerable body of people who practiced these rites. And all in the name of pleasure!

Suzanne felt something deep inside her that said, "This is right. This is the way it is. This is what sex is all about." But her revulsion at her own experiences made her rebel against the inner voice. Right or not, she wanted no part of it.

Still, the book was fascinating. And the illustrations were very explicit. And she was, after all, sitting safely in a warm tub, in broad daylight, in her own, locked apartment. She was alone and comfortable, there was nice music on...

Suzanne realized with a start that her hand had strayed of its own volition to her crotch, the fingers playing idly with her sex. Guiltily, she started to snatch the offending member away. Then she halted her motion. Why not? she asked herself. What reason was there not to do something sexual that she'd enjoy, for a change? With the stimulating book, the privacy of the situation; why not masturbate? She could think of no reason to prevent her so she allowed her hand to slip once more into the matted "V" of her bush.

Somewhere between chapter three and chapter four, Suzanne climaxed, bringing herself off with her hands between her thighs and her ankles hooked over the edges of the tub. Her body jerked with ecstasy, splashing water on the tile floor of the bathroom. Her head was thrown back so that her long hair lay spread like a halo on the surface of the water. Her breasts floated like icebergs, the nipples alternately submerged and bobbing to the surface.

She came and then came again, caressing herself with one hand and manipulating her pudendum with the other. As she subsided, her whole body relaxed. The tenseness left her face and she lay with closed eyes and a cherubic smile, breathing deeply and evenly. She was content.

And then the bathroom door opened. Her first impulse was to scream. Then she felt a swift wave of indignation. It was Craft, grinning his curious grin and staring at her with those burned-out eyes.

Suzanne sat up swiftly and covered herself with her hands. "Get out of here!" she yelled. "What do you mean coming into this room? What are you even doing in the apartment? Get out, I said!"

But the manager didn't leave, nor make any motion. He just stood near the tub grinning down at Suzanne's mostly exposed body.

Awkwardly, Suzanne snatched a towel from the hanger and tried to cover herself, soaking the fluffy material in the process. "I swear," she exclaimed in deadly earnest, "that if you do not get out of here this instant, I'm going to call the police."

Craft said nothing. He seemed to be enjoying himself. Suzanne wondered fearfully if he were on drugs. With the light of day on his face, he looked wasted away, only half alive.

For the first time, anger began to give way to fear. Suzanne suddenly realized her position. In all probability, there was no one in the building but herself and Craft. It was a work day and they'd all be gone. And with her radio so loud there'd be precious little chance of anyone hearing her if she screamed - especially with the house being so isolated by the wall of trees and thick bushes. There wasn't much chance of outside help, if it came to that. And it looked as if it might.

Craft's grin broadened. "Hi," he said. The word was friendly but the tone was pure malice.

"Get o-out, God damn you. Get out of this apartment before I call the police!" Suzanne wished she were as angry and brave as she sounded.

Craft lowered himself to the edge of the tub and looked Suzanne up and down with his strange eyes, taking his time about it, making the thing obviously sexual. There was a fine sheen of sweat on his brow that somehow made everything more deadly. Suzanne realized that he was tremendously intent on something. And it wasn't likely to be anything good for her!

"Mr. Craft, please get out and let me dress. Whatever you wish to discuss, we can discuss in the living room."

Craft shook his head. "No," he said softly. "We ain't going into the living room. And we're not going to do much talking."

For the first time, Suzanne noticed something in his hand. It was a bottle, wrapped in a fluffy washrag. Even as she speculated on the bottle's contents, she realized what it was. Chloroform! Before she could do more than open her mouth to scream, Craft lunged forward and clamped a hand over her mouth. She writhed and twisted desperately but it was to no avail-the little man was stronger than he looked. He held his hand over her mouth and clamped her jaws. When she grabbed his hand, he shoved her underwater. She struggled a moment longer, then realized that he would drown her if she didn't relax. She let herself go limp and Craft let her rise. The instant her head was out of the water, he clamped the pungent rag over her nose and mouth.

"That's it," he crooned. "Just take a deep breath. Everything's going to be fine. Just breath deep."

Suzanne held her breath as long as she could, but it was useless. In the end, she took a couple of tentative, almost gagging inhalations, then her lungs demanded more and she inhaled deeply. The last thing she remembered as the world swam into darkness was Craft's soft hand caressing her breasts.

She awoke to blackness. For a moment she wondered if she were dead. But she was cold, and somehow she didn't believe she would be feeling cold if she were dead.

Then other sensations began to filter in. The hum of an air conditioner nearby explained the chill. She realized also that she was naked.

There was something brittle and rough beneath her which rustled when she moved. Then she heard the scrape of metal on stone and realized with horror that she was chained! There was a heavy collar around her neck, and another around one ankle. Both were connected to thick links of chain that trailed off in the darkness.

Suzanne began to feel along the chain from her ankle cuff. It led across what felt like a straw-covered stone floor. She followed it a short distance to a ring set into the floor. Further exploration showed that her neck collar was chained to a stone wall, also a short distance away. Her total range of movement was less than six feet.

Cold, naked, and in despair, Suzanne gave in to tears. She cried and cried until nothing more came. Then, exhausted, she sank into a fitful sleep peopled with black-suited visions of her uncle bearing a whip and a whiskey bottle, his sex standing obscenely before him as he urged her to take just a little nip from his bottle.

She woke and slept twice more. When she awakened the third time, there was a candle on the floor, illuminating a pan of some heavy bread and a jug of water. Suzanne realized that she was famished and dove into the food. The bread had been soaked in broth of beef and something vegetable that she couldn't identify. But it tasted like the finest meal she had ever eaten, such was her hunger.

As she ate, she assessed her prison. It was a small room, perhaps eight by ten feet. The walls and floor were of flagstone, with straw carpeting the floor. The ceiling was of common plaster, with a light fixture in the center. There were no windows, but an air conditioner had been set high in one wall. Directly across from where she was chained, Suzanne noted a single, quite ordinary door. There was one piece of furniture in the room. A low, massive table, made of some dark wood. It had what appeared to be a large sheepskin thrown casually over its top.

Just as she was finishing the last of the broth-soaked bread, Suzanne heard a faint scrape at the door and it opened to admit Craft. Suzanne could see bright daylight beyond him and a featureless gray wall. He closed the door behind him, shutting out the light, and stood looking pensive.

Suzanne said nothing. She made one, abortive effort to cover her nakedness, then quit. What was the use? She would only look ludicrous. She would at least have the satisfaction of denying him her embarrassment.

Craft walked over and stooped for the pannikin and jug. "Well, I see that you've eaten, Did you have enough?"

"You can't possibly get away with this, Mr. Craft. Someone will find out. Dr. Watlington will look for me."

Craft sniggered. "Yes, I'm sure he will." He stood and carried the vessels to the table. "You really have a lovely body, Suzanne. Did you know that?"

Suzanne remained mute. She was frightened but knew that panic wasn't going to help.

Craft walked slowly over to her, his hands in his pockets. "In fact, I think you have the best body of anyone who's ever been here."

Suzanne felt a thrill of fear. "There have been other women here?"

"Surely you don't think I went to all this trouble just for you?"

Suzanne felt, for the first time, a feeling of real doom. If there had been others, and surely Craft was telling the truth, then there was likely to be a method of disposing of them. It occurred to Suzanne just how vulnerable she was. No friends, no family. No one knew she existed in Los Angeles except Dr. Watlington and the girls. And there had been something in Craft's voice when she had brought that point up that made her believe she wouldn't get any help from that direction.

She risked a question. "What happened to those other women when... when they left here?"

Craft smiled again, a cold, cruel smile. "That depended entirely on how they acted while they were here, Suzanne, if you take my point."

"Yes. I t-t-think I do."

"Good. Then perhaps we will get along nicely, you and I, with no fuss and no foolish attempts at heroism, right?"

Suzanne nodded. "Yes, I suppose that is how it must be." Inwardly she was more determined than ever to escape this house of horrors. But she knew that to preserve her life, she must at least give a semblance of submission. Craft was not a sane man and she did not want to risk her life on the whims of a sick mind.

"All right, Suzanne," Craft said. "I think it's time we began your instruction."

That was the second time she had heard that particular word. It was the same thing the grotesque little man in black had said. Suzanne wondered what the connection was between this dead-eyed man and the people in her nightmare - if nightmare it had been! And it seemed that she was about to find out.

Craft began to unbuckle his pants. He was wearing chinos and a tee shirt and, as he dropped his pants, Suzanne saw that he wore no shorts, his legs and belly were fishy white, and his cock was flaccid. He had small balls and a small peter.

Craft removed his shoes and socks also, all in complete silence. Then he stood before Suzanne in his tee shirt and skin and grinned his malicious grin. "You will note that my member is not erect," he said. "It requires more than a mere beautiful body to arouse me, Suzanne. You will have to work at pleasing me."

She shook her head. "I-I don't know what to do."

"That is easily cured." Craft stepped forward and stood with his organ dangling in front of her face. "Just take it in your mouth, Suzanne, and caress it with your tongue."

Suzanne tried but couldn't make herself touch him. It wasn't the idea of sucking his dick; her previous experiences had inured her to that. It was the unhealthy color and look of the man. He seemed to exude a sickness that revolted her. She felt that touching his flesh would be like touching something dead or decaying.

"N-no," she said. "I can't."

Without warning, Craft swung his open hand and backhanded Suzanne across the face. "You will, damn you!"

Stunned more by the suddenness of the blow than its impact, Suzanne fell to the straw. She lay there a moment, her eyes tearing and her cheek numb. At last she realized that there would be no escape from the humiliations she was confronted with. She raised herself on her hands and knees and caught a breath.

Craft twisted his hands in her hair and jerked her head upright. "Now," he said, "shall we get on with it?"

Suzanne dropped her eyes in submission.

Craft's cock was semi-hard now, the excitement of striking the girl giving him a slight erection. "Don't close your eyes, Suzanne. Look at it. See what you're doing."

Obediently, Suzanne opened her eyes and watched in numb fascination as Craft's tool inched toward her face. It was swelling by the minute, until it filled her vision and pressed against her lips. Softly, resignedly, Suzanne let her lips part. The fish-belly white cock oozed into her mouth. It was almost as cold as it looked. There seemed to be no heat in the man at all.

As Craft's dick entered her, Suzanne noted its curiously flat taste. At least the other dicks she had had forced into her mouth were warm and salty; at least they felt alive! The memory of her former humiliations set a strange feeling coursing through Suzanne. Almost a friendly feeling. Compared to Craft's tool, those had been nearly fun. They had been... exciting.

A wave of what could only be sexual arousal swept through Suzanne's body. Her belly tightened and a ripple coursed through it. Her breathing became faster, lighter. She could feel her nipples hardening. Involuntarily, she sucked Walter Craft's cock into her mouth.

"Ah!" he exclaimed. "That's more like it. See. You really do love to suck my dick, don't you? Your needs have betrayed you, Suzanne. Lust for me has overcome your fears."

Suzanne couldn't speak if she wanted to; her entire mouth was filled with Craft's cock. And she saw no reason to disillusion him. He could have his fantasies and she would have hers.

Craft drove his tool to its full length in Suzanne's mouth. It did not quite reach her throat. Suzanne felt a wave of contempt for the dead-eyed man. The black-clad man in her hallucination had at least possessed a penis of manly proportions. That massive organ had nearly choked her. Craft's tool was much like the man himself; small and mean, of no real size, inside or out.

As if sensing her disdain, Craft took Suzanne by the ears and jammed her head onto his cock. "Suck it, damn you. Suck it good. Lick it all around."

Obediently, Suzanne licked at the head of Craft's dick with her tongue and made slurping sounds as he moved in and out of her. She turned her head slightly so that his cock pushed into her cheek instead of down her throat. He didn't seem to notice - or to care, if he did. He was too intent on his fantasies.

Suzanne risked a glance upward. Over the white, quivering mass of his belly she could see his face contorted in desperate lust. His eyes were screwed tight shut and his teeth were clenched.

Experimentally, Suzanne nipped at the head of his cock as he withdrew. A look of delight came over his face. She did it again as he thrust in, sucking hard at the same instant. The look of delight intensified. Craft couldn't seem to believe his luck. Was this exquisite girl actually going out of her way to please him?

Suzanne, however, had other things than Craft on her mind. She was practicing. Practicing for the black-clad demon lovers she had known in her dream. Practicing for the people who had abused and humiliated her so badly. And whom she had enjoyed so thoroughly.

Suzanne came to a realization, there on her knees with Craft's cock in her mouth. A realization compounded of her rape, and the dream of leather-bound tormentors, and the copy of de Sade. She realized that whether it was right or wrong didn't matter. That nothing mattered but the fact that she had enjoyed her ordeal! She was erotically stimulated by her binding and subsequent humiliation. And this was enough. Perhaps there were other ways. Perhaps better ways. Ways which did not demand the torture of the flesh and spirit. But for now, at this point in her life, submission was enough! She was turned on by it, and achieved her sexual arousement and fulfillment through it. And that was sufficient.

But it wasn't enough with Craft. The slimy little man brought her only revulsion. There was no class about him. He was a nasty, sick person and Suzanne felt outraged and truly humiliated by having to service this creature. But there appeared to be no help for it. Craft had her thoroughly at his mercy. Chained, trapped and naked, there was very little she could do. She didn't even know where she was.

Craft seemed about to come to climax. His motions had reached the proportions of frenzy. His hands gripped her head spastically. His legs trembled violently. She could hear his breath whistling in and out of his clenched teeth. Suzanne's mouth was beginning to ache, and she was having trouble getting her breath. Craft's strokes were erratic enough that she couldn't time her intake of air and she was gradually building up an oxygen deficit. She tried to push herself away long enough to catch some air, but Craft held her head in a grip of desperation. "Hold still," he hissed. "Don't move. Just keep sucking."

Try as she might, Suzanne couldn't catch her breath. Finally, in desperation, she lunged and sucked in a huge lungful of air. Almost instantly, Craft descended on her and began to beat her about the face and neck.

"Goddamn whore!" he yelled. "Slut! Bitch! You hold still when I tell you. I'll kill you if you don't."

Suzanne warded off his blows as best she could. "I couldn't breathe. I was just trying to get my breath."

Craft stood up, breathing heavily, and looked coldly at the girl who cowered on the straw, sobbing. His hands twitched as if around an invisible neck. Then, gradually, his look of hatred was replaced by one of cunning. "All right, Suzanne. Well just find some way you can please me that will allow you to breathe."

Craft lowered himself to the straw and sat on his haunches, facing Suzanne. His face was a mask of anticipated delight. "Come over here, girl."

Fearfully, Suzanne did as she was told, scooting on her bottom to the length of her chain. Craft held his hand out and motioned her to the floor. "Lie down on your stomach, Suzanne, facing me."

She did as he commanded. Craft lay back on his elbows and spread his legs. His cock stood up, tilting slightly to the side from its own blood-gorged weight. "Beat me off," he ordered.

Suzanne gingerly grasped his tool and began inexpertly to stroke it.

"Harder!" Craft commanded. "Knead it a little."

Suzanne increased her stroke and squeezed rhythmically. She could feel the member throb with each pulse of his heart. He raised his legs, drawing his knees up and back almost to his chest. The look of malevolent pleasure increased. "Now," he said softly, "lick my balls."

"W-what?"

"Lick my balls. Take them in your soft little mouth and lick them. Suck my nuts, Suzanne, while you beat me off."

A wave of pure revulsion swept over Suzanne. She didn't think she could do it.

As if reading her mind, Craft spoke. "You can do it, Suzanne. You'd better do it, if you want to keep that face as pretty as it is. Suck them, girl."

With no other choice, Suzanne lowered her face to the wrinkled sack and licked lightly.

"Harder. Take it in your mouth - and don't stop beating me off."

Suzanne, feeling that she was going to gag at any moment, stretched her lips wide and placed her mouth over Craft's hairy sac. A shiver went through his body as her warm lips encompassed his genitals, and Suzanne felt his nuts shift and contract. It surprised her. She had never considered that the testicles might move. That they did was a revelation. Again, the image of the black-clad aggressors flashed through her mind. Had her assailant's balls contracted when he had so brutally thrust his shaft into her throat? Had her warm breath caused his nuts to move and climb into his body? Strangely, she hoped so. She hoped she had given him pleasure.

Craft was trembling all over now, lashing his body back and forth on the straw as Suzanne sucked his nuts into her mouth. He was moaning and making low, animal sounds. Suzanne noted that there was a slight, salty taste to his nuts. It was the first touch of humanity that she had noticed about the man, and it was somehow more revolting than his lifelessness. It emphasized, rather than alleviated, his overall sluglike quality.

But Craft didn't seem to notice the revulsion in his captive. He was intent on his orgasm, building now inside him. Suzanne could feel it coming. She could feel the tension building in his body until it trembled and he shook like a leaf.

At the last instant, Craft swung his legs down, grasped Suzanne by the neck, and forced her head over his cock again. Then he came in her mouth, his sperm pumping out in hard shots, drumming against the back of her mouth. He held her head over his penis, with her face buried in the hair of his crotch, until he was done, then eased off a little. "Suck it dry, Suzanne," he commanded. "Keep your head there and suck it like a tit until I tell you to stop."

Obediently, Suzanne sucked at his tool while residual trickles of cum dribbled out of his cock onto her tongue. It wasn't as bad as she had expected. Craft's sperm was like any other man's; thick and salty and slightly sweet. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine that it was someone else's dick between her teeth. Perhaps the black-clad man's...

Craft didn't give her long to fantasize, however. After about five minutes, when his cock had once again become limber and small, he lifted her head off his tool and grinned down at her. "How'd you like it, Suzanne? Was it good?"

For a moment she was tempted to tell him exactly what she had felt, and what she thought of him and his ugly little cock. But she realized instinctively that such a move might be fatal. This was not a sane man. "It was... good." she said, forcing the words out.

"Ahhh," Craft said, a dreamy look on his face. "You see? Once I prove my mastery over them, they all realize that I am the greatest lover in the world. There are no other men who can compete with me. Isn't that right?"

"That's r-right, Mr. Craft."

"You may now call me Walter, Suzanne."

"All right."

"All right, what?"

"All right, Walter."

"That's better. You may even call me Walter dear."

"All right. Walter dear."

"That's excellent, Suzanne." Craft stretched luxuriously. "Now, let us proceed to the final stage." He raised his legs again. "Lick me dry, Suzanne, my love slave. Lick my stomach and my loins. Lick the mighty tool that you love so much." He grinned dreamily. "Then lick my asshole until I come again."

Suzanne couldn't believe her ears. Could this man actually expect her to... to lick his asshole? Could and did, apparently. Craft lay back with his knees drawn up, totally confident that his whims would be carried out.

Suzanne felt herself trembling. She simply couldn't do it. She could not bring herself to this final, utter degradation. But the memory of those stinging blows on her swollen cheek, of the threats the dead-eyed man had made, of her precarious position, all brought home to her the hopelessness of resistance.

Resignedly, Suzanne dragged herself forward again and lowered her face to Craft's repulsive belly. She licked him as a cat licks a kitten, moving her tongue in long sweeps across his soft white belly. She licked his flaccid cock, feeling it stiffen again beneath her tongue. She lowered her face and licked his balls, feeling the roughness of her tongue against the wrinkled skin of his sac. Then, with the gorge rising in her stomach, Suzanne lowered her face still further and confronted the puckered brown outlet of his intestines. It took her three tries before she could force her tongue to caress Craft's rectum. She felt him jerk twice at her touch, and heard a cry of pure erotic delight escape him.

"Yes," he cried. "That's it! That's the way. Stick your tongue in it. Stick it in and wiggle it around."

With no other choice, Suzanne did as she was told. She forced her tongue against the tight sphincter until it parted slowly. She felt the inner heat of his body oozing around her tonguetip, felt the almost sweet odor engulf her. For just an instant, she was sure she was going to throw up. But somehow it passed, to be replaced by a curious detachment, as when she had nipped Craft's cock and dreamed of the black-clad man who had raped her mouth so thoroughly. It was as if she were again rehearsing or practicing for him.

Of her own free will, Suzanne reached up and cupped Craft's balls in her hands and began to knead them. It was no longer a question of servicing this horrid creature, but of practicing for her demon lover. Craft went into ecstasy. He began to beat himself off, crooning to Suzanne as she manipulated his balls and licked his asshole. His widespread legs vibrated and spasmed.

Suzanne discovered, quite by accident, the strong cord of muscle that ran under Craft's cock. She recognized it instinctively as the source of power for ejaculation. She took her free hand and began to press on it in rhythm with Craft's spasms. The effect was immediate and violent. Craft's body arched off the floor and he began to throw himself about. "Oh, shit! Oh, that's good. Oh, goddamn!"

Suzanne, caught up in the power she had over the man, renewed her assault, licking and squeezing furiously. Craft was helpless in his heat now, twitching and shaking violently. Then he came again. Not as full a flow this time, but more violent. The sperm shot into the air and Suzanne could feel it falling like warm rain on her back. As soon as she could do so, she removed her face from his buttocks and drew a deep breath. Now that it was over, she felt unclean, used. Dirty.

Craft lay in a stupor for long minutes. Suzanne thought idly that she could probably drag him nearer and strangle him in her chains without his resisting at all. But what then? She was still chained, and there was probably no one besides the white-bellied man who knew her whereabouts. In all likelihood, she would simply starve to death where she lay.

She was startled by Craft's cold voice. "That's a wise decision, Suzanne. And you're perfectly right. You'd starve."

"H-How did you... "

"It's written all over your pretty face, my dear." Craft rose swiftly and began to dress. "And you aren't the first girl to imagine that she could escape by killing me.

Suzanne's face registered complete despair. He was a step ahead of her.

"I always give the girl an opportunity - as I just did with you - to make her attempt. Those who choose wisely continue to enjoy my comfortable accommodations."

"And those who d-d-don't?"

Craft tightened his belt and smiled nastily. "Let's hope you do not have occasion to find out, Suzanne." He strode to the door, then turned. "You will find a drain within reach, under the straw over there, when your body functions demand release."

"Just like a horse," Suzanne said bitterly.

"Yes, in fact. This was once a carriage house. I have retained much of its original character, you see. I find it appropriate to its present use, don't you?"

Suzanne said nothing.

Craft tilted his head. "Well, until later, my dear. He paused once more. "I will bring you your copy of de Sade, and other light reading, to while away the time. And periodically I will leave the light on for you."

With that, he was gone, leaving Suzanne hopeless and shivering in the cold air of the stone room.