Chapter 7
The old man leaned back in his chair, trying to suppress his growing irritation.
"I'm telling you," he said, speaking carefully into the speaker so as to make certain that every word would be understood back in Washington, "the man is the best. Perhaps one of the best we've ever had. But no one is that good. There is some combination, some match-up that will trigger the link. Somehow, he has to have tipped his hand. I'm telling you, he is in there somewhere. All you have to do is unlock the puzzle."
"We're trying our best, sir. I assure you, if the information is here, and if you can figure out how to find it, you'll have it."
The old man closed his. eyes and waited for the pain to pass. Is this what we've created, with our computers, and our technicians, he wondered, a sub-class of semi-literate fools who actually considered that to be a profound observation? It gave him a severe case of gas. That's exactly what it did."
"Very good. Then let us start at the beginning again. Match up all the assignments of the agent in question with the dates of all known assassinations by the Wolf."
A column of dates appeared on the left side of the screen, accompanied by a similar column of dates on the right side of the screen.
"Not a thing," said the assistant next to him.
"Exactly. Look at that. Every time the "Wolf has been operating, Jack manages to start an assignment six days prior, and finish it around three days afterward. You wouldn't expect that kind of consistency, would you?"
The assistant deferred, knowing that it proved nothing.
"And another thing, if I may point it out," said the old man, "you'll notice that every one of Jack's assignments are quite conveniently located far from the vicinity of the site of the "Wolfs" activity. All of them. Fine alibi, actually. Wouldn't you say so?"
"Excuse me sir, but that would seem to be convicting him on the basis of a lack of evidence, precisely because there is no evidence."
"Good point." He leaned into the speaker. "I'm interested in the airlines that connect each matched site: agent's and "Wolfs", on the dates in question."
He turned to his assistant. "I find that whenever possible, people tend to use the same airline. They're comfortable with familiarity."
"If this man is as good as they say, do you think he would too."
"I do. Because he would know how suspicious it would look to deviate."
Again the assistant patiently waited.
Three airlines appeared on the screen. "These are the only three that have service between every two sites matched up?" he asked, and received a patient affirmative. "Fine. Now, run through every known alias of the agent and check to see if he used any of these airlines during the period in question, either to the site of the "Wolfs" activity, or out of his own vicinity."
Soon the reply came up negative.
"I see. All right. You're just going to have to plug into the airlines' data banks and see who matches up. It's difficult to believe that the man has an alias we might not know of, but one does come to mind."
"What's that sir?" asked the assistant, still trying to be patient.
"His authentic identity. We've never known, you know. He's always been the man without a past."
The assistant pondered, while the computer wizards in Washington began their complex search. It was massive, almost to the point of incomprehensible. It would take at least a half hour for results.
Rixie slowly opened her eyes, and felt her arms painfully pulled above her head. There were tight cords about her wrists, binding them tightly together. Her legs were spread apart, and cords were similarly around her ankles. Pulled tightly. She suspected that she might be totally naked, feeling no clothes against her skin, but she couldn't be certain of this, because she was tightly blindfolded. A gag had been stuffed in her mouth.
She wanted to scream, but could only produce muffled groans. She could hear, however, and what she heard made her want to die.
It was Trixie, also moaning, although she was not gagged. It was impossible to tell where she was being held, but Trixie seemed to be on a bed, because Rixie could hear bed springs creaking. Every time there was a creak of the springs, there was a corresponding moan from Trixie. They were pained, deep throated moans, seeming to well up out of the depths of her soul, but as the sounds continued, Rixie noticed that they were taking on a more urgent sound, a more intense ... my God, thought Rixie, she was becoming aroused. She was having an orgasm! Was it possible!
But of course.
She herself, so fiercely conditioned as a child, could only respond to the bonds around her wrists and ankles in the same way. The feeling of the ' ropes, biting harshly into her soft flesh, the restraint, the feeling of utter helplessness ... the sharp pain in her jaw ... she wondered, had it been broken? She certainly hoped not, but the gag in her mouth was pushing against the very spot where the man had struck her and knocked her out. How long had she been out? No idea. But judging from the feeling of tension in her shoulders, it had been some time since their tormentor had strung her up.
She began to struggle, she began to pull, she began to yank hard, each futile effort simply fueling her fear, increasing the pain, and correspondingly driving the perverse level of eroticism that much higher.
No, she wasn't imagining the pain. It was real. Her body was a sheet of fear. Every muscle was totally clenched, and she was already feeling exhausted from the struggle to relax, one that she was losing completely.
But nonetheless, she felt the dripping between her legs, and she knew that it too was real. Inexplicable, perhaps, but nonetheless real.
She felt a slow burn growing in the very center of her clitoris, and the rising sounds of Trixie's passion only served to fuel it.
It was already something that her sub-conscious mind had accepted, had already figured out. But she still couldn't accept it.
Even so, there was only one person in the world capable of this, who could have her bound in this way (in EXACTLY this way!), and at the same time be making love to Trixie. And more than that, be drawing her closer and closer to an orgasm! Only one person! Oh God, she thought to herself, spare me this. Spare me this ordeal. It didn't seem possible. But now, everything suddenly made sense. But why had he killed Marjorie, she wondered. And did it mean that he was going to kill them also? She felt the twin, incompatible sensations, her growing lust, and her paralyzing fear, rising in her loins, making her legs weak, and at the same time, making her soft cunt wetter and wetter.
And then, if there'd been any doubt, it was erased, as Trixie, rising up now to her peak, cried out, (so familiar a cry!), "OH GOD. I'M COMING! I'M COMING! OH DADDY, I'M COMING!"
And Rixie knew that a long ordeal awaited them.
The old man was studying the screen intently. Suddenly, a name flashed. One name. He waited. It remained the only name on the screen. "Is that all," he asked softly into the speaker, already knowing the answer.
"The somewhat amazed voice of the computer tech in Washington replied, "Yes sir. He was on a hook-up within every single time frame. The odds of that happening are...."
"Don't bother. It was no coincidence. I want a full background check on this name. I have a feeling that at one time, he walked in the real world, and was indeed the same person as our agent in question."
Two blocks down the road from the house where Trixie and Rixie lived, Dennis made his slow way towards his objective. He knew that the man he'd tracked endlessly over the past two years would have taken precautions. There would be lookouts. He'd seen ho one yet. That's what bothered him. He feared that already they would have seen him.
It was starting to snow, and he wished that he'd had his thermal windbreaker, but it was still in the pack back in Rixie's room.
It was getting even colder, if that was possible. The snow began to fall in fast, hard gusts. The wind was rising. Great, he muttered to himself. He wanted to move on, but he didn't dare. When entering an area you know to be under surveillance, it doesn't matter how good you are. You wait. If you've been seen, and you wait long enough, they'll make their move. But damn, there were exceptions to the rules, weren't there?
Rixie felt fingers on her face, and then, felt the knot on her blindfold being untied.
It fell away, and at first, she expected a blinding rush of light. But he'd turned the lights off, and replaced one or two with very dim bulbs. Bright enough for them to see each other, but dim enough to be unnoticed outside.
He stood in front of her, grinning, as usual.
It was the same grin that she remembered, but with a difference. What had before been interpreted as a friendly, paternal grin, a comforting presence, was now obviously the look of a madman. A totally deranged lunatic.
She'd never seen anything so chilling in her life.
Never.
"Rixie, dear Rixie. How are you. My, my, didn't I tell you once that you were growing up to be a beautiful woman. Well, let me be the first to assure you that you've made it. Without a doubt, you've made it."
He stood back to survey her bound body. Rixie looked over on the bed and saw Trixie splayed spread eagle on the bed, each arm and leg stretched wide and tied to a corner of the poster bed.
She had marks on her body. Deep red welts. Rixie cringed inwardly, knowing that more would be in store for her.
"Do you know how long I've thought of you, my little dear," asked her father, keeping his voice calm and patient, sounding almost like her doctor going through routine examination questions.
She couldn't answer, for the gag was still in her mouth, but she knew that her father would not really want to hear her. They'd never been anything but outlets for his vicious fantasies.
She wondered who he'd been using in the years since she'd last seen him.
He brought his face closer to hers now, and smiled, showing a row of teeth that was far straighter than what she remembered of him.
He'd apparently had some dental work done on them, perhaps out of necessity. He would be just the kind of person to get into a fight and wind up with a lead pipe stuck in his mouth and pieces of his teeth scattered all over the floor.
She remembered that he'd always been meticulous about his hygiene, and now, as he brought his mouth right up to her face, she smelled a faint trace of mint on his breath. His hair was perfectly washed, styled and combed. His clothes looked like they'd been tailor made for him.
He looked like any harmless, sterile business executive.
But as his fingers grabbed at her breasts, she knew that there was a profound difference.
He was a lunatic. She could see it in his eyes, could see it in the way his lips curled and twisted slightly, not enough to make him look like a caricature or a grotesque monster, just enough so that he did not look normal. The effect was decidedly more chilling.
Then, his lips were on her. She felt her skin crawl at his touch, but though she pulled back, she simply had no room to move. There was no way to avoid that sickeningly sensual wetness the moist mushy feeling as his lips pressed against her naked flesh, first running down her cheeks, and then kissing her neck, moving down the line of her back, and then finally, working around to the front of her body, working their way along the side curve of her breasts, moving up to her nipples, closer, closer, closer....
Oh God help me, she thought to herself. Even though it forced waves of self-loathing through her, she found the touch of his lips to her nipples one of the most exquisite pleasures she could ever recall.
It was perfect, it was exactly as she remembered, it was a reaction so basic to her nature, burned into her brain at such an early age, that it had no relation to the fact that she would have like very much at that moment to tear his eyes out and rip out his tongue.
She couldn't control her body. As he locked his teeth around her nipple, she felt her breasts responding wildly, felt electric surges of energy tearing through her entire nervous system, felt all her nerve endings beginning to tingle, and then to sizzle.
She began to writhe, not from pain, but from the sheer physical pleasure of it.
No no no no, her brain wanted to scream.
But in her breasts, and between her legs, where her sweet pussy was now beginning to drip a flooding current of passionate excretions, there was a different cry. A more impassioned cry, a yearning cry. Yes, yes, yes, yes, it whispered, scarcely breaking through to her conscious thoughts. Yes yes yes yes, it is perfect. It is perfect.
Her father began to bite harder. She felt the edges of his teeth begin to press deeper and deeper into her naked flesh. The hard brown rings and the softer pink nipples responded to every burst of pressure, sending her body into further spastic twitching that were beyond her ability to control.
She felt his fingers starting to slither into the space between her moist thighs. It should have horrified her, and when she was able to think about it later, it did exactly that, but at that particular moment, she simply jammed her hips forward as far as she could and tried to work his fingers between her pink wet lips, wanting to feel the pressure of his stimulation as his fingertips massaged the entire length of her wet gash.
She no longer was even aware of Trixie, still hanging limp from the other frame. Whatever he had done to her, she knew that she had no reason to expece anything different for herself. Why then, did the prospect fill her with such anticipation? Why did it increase the already intense level of her lust?
She had no way of knowing, nor did she even bother to wonder. She existed at that moment purely for the touch of his fingers as they roamed her body, returning always the dripping wet slit between her legs, for the sharp bite of his teeth, chewing harder and harder now on her enflamed nipples, and for the memories ... the past reformed, given substance ... it was as though she'd returned over the years, returned to a time when things made sense, when there was an order to events, however perverted. She was comforted. She was relieved of all responsibility. She was home.
He now jammed several fingers between the lips of her cunt hole. She couldn't tell how many, only that she felt all at once totally filled.
She began to moan, and her father, perhaps recognizing that she had crossed the line once more, was again the docile daughter that he remembered, took a chance and pulled the gag from her mouth.
"Oh Daddy," she gasped as soon as she could speak, "that's wonderful. Oh, GOD! it's so fucking wonderful...."
She was babbling, mumbling incoherently, saying "Oh Daddy," again and again over and over, not really thinking about anything that came out, only feeling the stimulation in her pussy, the fire in her clit, the sizzling currents flooding her breasts.
He flared his fingers in her. He felt slippery and she knew that her juices must be flooding all over them coating his hand, and his wrist with the thick oily juice of her cunt.
He shoved harder, tried to jam up further inside her, and continued to stretch her membranes and tissues like they hadn't been stretched for years. Since the last time he'd had his hand buried up her cunt.
She had no idea how long it went on, only that he continued increasing the tension of his bites, and grew rougher and rougher with the delicate tissues of her pussy.
She'd given up all resistance long ago, and now simply hung there on the frame, much like her sister, a passive receptor for his attentions.
Finally she opened her eyes and saw that he had taken his clothes off.
"Daddy, what are you going to do to us?" she asked, when the heat of her arousal had abated somewhat.
"He turned back to her, and said nothing. He didn't even smile. At that moment, all the passion that he'd reawakened in her was transformed in the blinking of an eye, to mind numbing fear. Stark, paralyzing fear. Never had she been so totally afraid for herself. Never before had she felt such a black thickness inside her.
He held his belt in his hand. He was coming back to her. He was smiling. He was laughing. Rixie began to scream. Was she making any sound? Were her vocal cords paralyzed? Or had he just replaced the gag? She didn't know any more. She felt herself slipping away, losing control, losing touch with her reality, such as it was....
"No No NO NO NO NO NO NO NO!! ! " she imagined herself calling from a great ways off.
And then, like a thunderclap signaling an afternoon shower, her father swung his belt and brought the heavy leather strap right across her nipples.
This time, her scream was loud, and she had no doubts that she was indeed making it.
Again he swung. This time, he aimed for the flat, soft plain of her stomach, standing to the side of her so that he could achieve the maximum force with his swing.
She felt like she'd had boiling oil poured all over her. The pain was so intense and extreme that she was momentarily pushed beyond thought and speech. Nothing seemed to work. Her muscles began to twitch.
Again he swung.
And again. And again! Harder! Harder! Harder!
She looked up one time and saw that with every swing, his facial features became more and more twisted. His top lip was twisted up, exposing mot of his perfect straight teeth. He looked like a mad dog.
He swung again.
And again.
He was bringing the focus of his strokes lower and lower on her body, bringing his belt closer and closer to her pussy.
She remembered now, how harsh his whippings had been, how much he could get carried away with himself.
She'd forgotten, she'd repressed the reality of the memories, leaving in their place a fear of having to repeat them, but no actual recollection of the experience itself.
Now, she remembered.
It all came flooding back to her.
The whips, the restraints, the chains, the handcuffs, the ropes, the frames, the special benches.
How had they survived? How had two little girls managed to not only endure such treatment, but actually come out with their minds halfway intact?
She didn't know, but now, as the pain resumed, as the strap took her back to an earlier time in her life, she realized that she might not be able to survive this time.
What was it that beckoned her ... that lured her onwards, in spite of the torture, the constant lashes falling onto her thighs now, ripping through her pubic bush ... what was actually making her lean backwards as far as she could, thrust her hips forward to expose her clit....
"Oh God, Oh God! Oh God! OH GOD! OH GOD!"
It was a chant, not to ward off demons but to sustain them, for it was the kind of reaction that only fueled her father's mindless thirst for pain.
He was swinging now with a fury that she could not remember from the old days. He had shortened the length of the belt that he was using, to make it easier to bring it down onto her wet pussy, again and again ... striking against her quivering clit with the single-minded intensity that only a madman can bring to their task.
She felt the pain pushing her to greater and greater heights, until at last....
It began to grow dark. A deeper, more fundamental and lasting dark than any she'd ever known. She felt herself slipping away ... slipping into that blessed realm of peace, of sleep ... a sleep that she might never awaken from, if she was lucky.
Her last memory was of a large cock beginning to push its way past her dripping lips, shoving into the depths of her pussy, spreading all her engorged membranes....
Plunging deeper and deeper into her.
Deeper and deeper, and deeper, and deeper.