Chapter 13
An hour after Diane Wilson had been returned to her cell following the exercise" in the "rumpus room" opposite her own narrow cell, she began to feel an excruciating need. And this time, with shame and horror, she realized that she couldn't very well use the washbasin. Her digestive system demanded outlet and she needed a toilet badly.
Sweat began to break out on her forehead and in her armpits as she twisted her handcuffed wrists frantically and squirmed on the edge of the hard, narrow cot. She tried to clamp her thighs tightly shut, but gradually the cumulative pressure inside her bowels grew and she groaned aloud in her despair and humiliation. And then, frantically, twisting her face towards the wall, she found the little black buzzer which would summon aid. Tears of resentment and frustration glistened in her dilated eyes as she pressed her nose against it with all her strength.
A few moments later there was the sound of footsteps, and Joe appeared, clad as before in only a jockstrap and sandals, wiry and sensual.
"What can I do for you, Diane baby?" he jocularly demanded.
"Oh please, I-I have to go to the toilet so badly-there isn't one around here-please!" she whimpered.
"Sure, honey. Only, like Mr. Torrance told you, you gotta pay for every little favor we boys do for you. 'Specially after you called us dirty niggers, you know."
"Oh, but I apologized yesterday, you know I did, J-Joe! oh, for God's sake, this is terrible!" Diane squirmed frantically, her heart pounding wildly as the agonizing pressures intensified.
"I know you did. But still, you gotta beg me real nice.
Go down on your knees and ask me real humble-like to take you so you can have a shit for yourself. Go on, say it just like that. And then tell me you're gonna do whatever I ask when you're done. You see, you still wear those cuffs, and somebody's gotta wipe your ass when you get finished, and I don't do that for no broad, baby, not for nuttin'! "
Pondering her despairing shame, because the urgent physical need over powered everything else, the brown-haired heiress at last gasped, "Oh, all right, but for God's sake hurry!" Then she sank down on her knees and faltered in a faint voice, "Please, Joe, please take me to the toilet so I can sh-shit ... I'll-I'll be awfully grateful and I'll do what you want-only please hurry please!"
"That's good enough for me. Okay, honey, here we go." The Negro unlocked the cell door and Diane hastily walked out. He took her by the elbow and led her down the other end of the corridor, where there was a black metal door. This he opened and shoved her inside.
Diane saw a toilet, a long, low bench, a leather padded footstool, and then, through a sliding glass door, a shower stall and tub combination. With a gasp, she hurried over to the toilet and sat down, then gasped, "Oh please-won't you get out for a minute?"
"Sorry, can't do that. It would mean my job. You just go ahead-I'll take care of you, don't you worry."
Groaning in shame, she closed her eyes and clenched her thighs frantically together, to show him as little of pussy as she could. Then came the easing relief, and she winced and groaned as she heard the telltale sounds of her ejection. But the blessed relief almost compensated for the moment for her humiliation. Yet as soon as it was done, she began to tremble at the thought of what "payment" he might exact.
He now strode forward, bent to the roll of toilet paper beside her and tugged off a wad. "Now raise up that cute ass so I can wipe you good," he ordered.
Diane Wilson thought she had fallen to the very lowest abyss of human degradation that could exist for her anywhere, as she half-rose from the toilet seat and felt the Negro's left hand palm her belly while the right hand began to wipe her deftly and efficiently. Then he flushed it down, took another wad and completed that hygienic task.
"Now, I bet that feels better, baby, don't it?" he grinned. "Now you gotta pay me. Git down on your knees."
When Diane Wilson obeyed, he slipped down his jockstrap and revealed his massive prick. "Go on and suck and lick it now," he instructed. "That's the payment I want now."
"No! Oh for God's sake, Joe, I couldn't ever do a thing like that-for God's sake, Joe, be merciful-I'll pay you well-I've got lots of money-"
"I don't want your money, bitch. You said you'd say me-well, that's the payment I want. Now if you won't do it, you're gonna git yer ass whupped good and hard. Well?"
Tears flowed down her flushed cheeks as she shook her head. The nauseating thought of putting her mouth to a Negro's prick was absolutely anathema to the pampered heiress.
"Okay by me. I'd just as soon whup ass anyway," he chuckled. Then, putting down the cover of the toilet seat, he seated himself on it, reached for her and lifted her up, then hauled her over his lap.
"Oh, don't! Please don't whip me! Oh, for God's sake-please-I'm a decent girl-I've never had a man-I can't do a thing like that to you-"
"You're going to learn to do a great deal more than that before you leave here, bitch. Now shut up and take your whuppin' you got comin'! " he jeered.
Clamping his right leg over her stockinged calves and tucking his left arm around her waist, Joe began to spank Diane Wilson's upturned, naked behind. Although the marks of her previous spanking and the additional strokes of the dogwhip had largely faded, it needed only about five or ten hard smacks from his palm to revive the brilliant hue which turned her white skin to bright crimson. She wailed and tried to kick and struggle, but he held her in a vise-like grip and his hand continued to rise and fall while her hips began to weave and lunge and she screamed for mercy. The pain was indeed intolerable, and her words, intermingled with her screams, were unintelligible by the time he had administered almost forty solid spanks.
"All right," he growled. "Now you just get right down on your knees and thank me for spanking you. I could have used a whip, and Mr. Torrance wouldn't have minded none, seeing how bitchy you are and don't keep your word after you say you will. Go on, lemme hear you thank me good!"
Dying of shame and pain, she stumbled down to her knees and, bowing her head, hysterically faltered, "Oh God, th-thank you, J-Joe, for sp-spanking me. Oh please, please don't hurt me any more!"
He laughed brutally. Putting his left hand on her head and twining his fingers in her hair, he raised her to her feet while she shrieked in pain, and applied a stinging slap to one of her titties, making it rebound.
"Back to your cell, baby," he growled. "This afternoon, you're gonna have visitors!"
And once more back in her cell, lying on her side, Diane Wilson wept hysterically as she was left in the darkness to ponder over her martyrdom and humiliation and to dread with growing anxiety what would happen to her next. . .
It was not, actually, until about five o'clock that afternoon that the lights went on and the sound of footsteps was heard. She had had no lunch, nor water, and she was both hungry and thirsty. She sprang up from her cot, her eyes huge with apprehension. Then she saw Gregson Torrance, Myrna, Ben and Joe, and a newcomer.
Accompanying the familiar group was a lovely blonde, long-legged, a saucy and provocative face, wearing a black minidress and smoke-colored pantyhose and high heeled pumps. At Gregson Torrance's sign, Ben unlocked the cell door and gestured for Diane to come out. Blushing scarlet, head bowed, the naked heiress walked hesitantly out into the larger basement room.
"Do you recognize your visitor, Diane?" the banker asked with a cynical smile.
Slowly Diane Wilson raised her eyes, then uttered a gasp of horror. It was Betty McDonald, the girl who had brought her the airline tickets and reservations for her Los Angles trip, the trip into fatal downfall.
"Hi there, Princess!" Betty McDonald greeted her derisively. "I like you better this way, you know." Then, turning to the banker, she asked, "You mean I can really help train her, Greg dear?"
"Of course you can. You and Myrna are going to get to do it. Well, Myrna, you're not too jealous of my little fling with Betty, are you?"
"Of course not. She's a darling. In fact, I'd like to go to bed with her myself," the lovely mulatress slyly declared.
Betty McDonald giggled. "I think that can be arranged. Perhaps we can both go to bed together at the same time with Greg. That'd keep him busy!"
All this time Diane Wilson stood before them, head deeply bowed, wrists manacled behind her back, her face crimson with shame.
But now Betty McDonald's voice grew crisp and authoritative.
"Get down on your knees when you're in my presence, bitch!" she snapped.
"Oooohhhh!" Diane groaned.
Betty McDonald turned to Gregson Torrance with a questioning look: "Has she been taught anything about obedience, darling? "
"Quite a good deal, considering the short time we've had her. I think she's found out that if she doesn't obey, she gets the whip. Have you learned that, Diane?"
"Y-yes," Diane sullenly muttered.
"Ben!" Gregson Torrance looked at the squat Negro. "Give Diane's ass five swats with that leather paddle. She forgot to call me master."
"Oh no! Please don't let them-I'm sorry-I forgot-please, master, don't have me beaten anymore-I just can't stand it-help me-oh please, won't someone help me-please-aiiiiiawrrrr! Oh, it hurts me-oh, no more-oh, you're killing me-aiieowwwwwww!! ! "
For, disregarding her agonized entreaties, the smirking Negro had seized her with his left hand by the scruff of the neck and, forcing her to bend down still more towards the floor so that her naked bottom stuck out at the most vulnerable angle, he applied five stinging smacks with the ovalshaped paddle. Under these, Diane shrieked and twisted, wriggling her hips lasciviously, her titties bounding and jiggling excitingly. Betty McDonald watched, her eyes blazing with sensual pleasure. When the spanking was over and Diane crouched there, weeping bitterly, shifting about on her knees and twisting her hands behind her back, Betty commanded, "Now crawl over here and lick my pumps and tell me you're going to obey your new mistress, bitch!"
And Diane Wilson obeyed, whimpering and trembling, her bottom burning and the cheeks involuntarily contracting and yawning, for by now pain and terror had superimposed their mark upon her and begun to drive away all thoughts of insolent superiority and arrogance which had always characterized her carefree life, until this moment.