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The Evil Within Ch. 01

By: jjsharshaw



The Prelude

~~~~~~~~~~

Yvette Harriman

Yvette Harriman stood nude in front of the full length mirror in her walk-in closet and looked at her body. She didn't need to pull in her stomach; three times a week at the gym and 2 miles of running a day (spring, summer and fall) plus a simple diet kept her body proudly firm. She was self conscious about her hips; she barely had any she thought. But as she stood sideways and ran a hand over her ass she thought, Well, at least I have nice, tight, well- defined buns.

Her hand and gaze moved over her flat belly and up to her breasts. She cupped a breast and hefted it; Nice size, nice feel but they sloped a bit. Gravity? she wondered. She tsk'd. Hey, she was 37 years old, she didn't have anything to be ashamed of.

Well, there was her tan or lack thereof. Given her brown hair (cut razor close to her scalp) to match her richly deep brown eyes she tanned nicely; almost to the point of people mistaking her for a Creole mulatto in summer. But this was February in Milwaukee and she detested tanning salons. She looked a bit pasty, she thought, though in reality, she still had a nice dusky hue to her skin that still made her look quite exotic.

"Vette, you're gonna be late for your first procedure if you don't move that fine ass of yours," came the voice of her husband, Herbie, from the bedroom.

"Yes, dear, I'll hustle my ass. Sure you wouldn't want to make me a little later by abusing my body?"

"Christ woman! Like Cleavon Little said in Blazing Saddles I'm gonna need to get my hands on some vitamin E!"

"Don't say...Oh, hello there..."

Herbie came into the dressing room and hugged his wife gently from behind. She twisted in his arms, enjoying the warm, dry feel of his skin against hers. She went up on tip-toes, her hands on his shoulders, to kiss him. Yvette was not short. Herbie was six feet, eight inches tall and tipped the scales at 315 pounds. All of it muscle. And at 50 years old, he was proud of what he had too.

"You know how you hate for people to keep you waiting, babe. So, as appealing as the offer of your delights is, you need to get dressed and get going."

She kissed him again. "Well, okay, if you insist."

"I do."

"You're taking me to that party tonight, right husband?"

"You still wanna go? You're sure?"

"Very," she said as she quickly pulled on her bra and panties.

"Well," he smiled a huge smile, "okay. Just remember I asked; you said yes. And, remember we can leave whenever you want."

She smiled her approval as she pulled her scrub top over her head. "I am going to close the place down. I've already decided."

"Riiight. Well," he reached down under his hanging clothes and pulled out a small gym bag, "here, hold this."

Yvette quickly pulled on her scrub pants and tied them then took the bag. Herbie reached for her clothes rack and took a short, satin green slip, the color of which complimented her dusky skin and brown eyes, and a pair of Italian leather shoes with ankle straps from the shoe tree and dropped them in the bag.

"After office hours, shower, douse yourself in my favorite scent and put these on; it's your party outfit. I'll meet you at the Pfister Hotel bar at about seven?"

Yvette looked in the bag. "Uh, Herb, I'm wearing my comfort underwear for the day. I don't think my gray cotton panties and running bra will go well with the slip."

"You are absolutely right, my pet. So don't wear them."

"But...This - in the Pfister?"

Herbie took the bag back from her, zipped it closed and handed it back to her. Yvette stared at the bag in her hands for a moment and then looked up at Herbie. He shrugged. "You wanted to go missy. I'm picking your wardrobe. And you know you'll turn many a head in the Pfister."

Yvette felt her face flush and then smiled coyly. "Okay. See ya tonight." She kissed him again and headed out, picking up a cup of coffee in the kitchen as she headed for her Hummer. It was 5:36 A.M.; Yvette Harriman was a cardiologist. She was headed for her hospital where she was scheduled to do six cardiac catheterizations.

~~~~~~~~~~

Claire Benton

"David," her voice pleading, "please don't be this way. Please. I'm sorry. We can have the light on. I, uh, just thought it would be sexier in the dark, that's all." She reached out and touched his back. He flinched ever so slightly. He was seething with anger, at his wife and himself. Why couldn't she be more spontaneous? Why did she have to have everything just her way - or not at all he wondered?

He felt Claire's hand go over his shoulder as he sat with his back to her on his side of the bed. Then he felt her press her breasts against his back and she breathed in his ear. 

"Come on, David. Let's make love," she half whispered, half sighed into his ear. "I'll do anything you want, really."

"Anything?" he asked, a little anger still in his voice - but it was more filled with anticipation.

"Anything," she breathed as she gently bit his earlobe.

He drew her around him and kissed her deeply. They fenced with their tongues and bit each other's lower lips. David, who'd lost most of his erection when Claire insisted on having the bedroom lights off before they made love, was hard again. In between kisses he pulled back from her face ever so slightly and breathed, "I want you on your knees on the floor and I want you to suck me. Now."

She did not reveal her disappointment or her queasy feeling to him; she used every ounce of her self control not to flinch, let her smile change or change her body tension or posture. She hated giving oral sex with a passion but she made the peace overture and so she was going to do it. As sensually as she could she slithered to the floor, took his cock in her hand and started slowly to blow him. 

He hummed his appreciation, the fingers of one hand sliding into her page boy cut, soft chestnut brown hair while he leaned back slightly on the bed and supported himself with his other hand. He looked down at her and then closed his eyes and imagined her older sister, Lisa, between his legs, licking and sucking his cock with her warm tongue and mouth.

Claire's performance was satisfactory, David thought. He felt his orgasm coming. She'd been good but he knew how badly she hated blowing him and that flash of knowledge dampened his pleasure somewhat. 

Will she swallow or spit? he wondered with some resentment. Resentment filled him. He had dated both Claire and Lisa and for some reason he couldn't remember now, he married Claire instead of Lisa. Lisa, now divorced, was getting quite a reputation in their small suburban New Jersey town. Lisa was quite the whore and a great one too, now that she dumped her husband; that was the word on the street. One of David's coworkers told him that at the end of his date with Lisa she had blown him and then let him fuck her in the ass on the trunk of his car! "Wildest damn sex I have ever had!" boasted David's friend. And in his mind's eye David wanted to see Claire spread like a whore on her belly on the back of their car, his cock painfully stretching her ass and she begging and grunting for him to fuck her harder, because she craved it and not because she was doing her wifely duty. 

He looked down at Claire, her head bobbing, fist pumping and her other hand fondling his balls. She must have read that article in one of her women's magazines about how to suck cock he thought. Could he pull her up on the bed, get her to kneel, doggy style, and fuck her ass without having to stop and let her get her KY or wash 'back there' or turn off the bedside lamp or... David came with a groan, his cum flooding Claire's mouth.

He savagely pushed her head down on his cock and she choked once but to David's surprise, she swallowed it all once she got accustomed to his length.

As she felt him start to go soft she fell back on the floor, pressing her back against the wall. She proudly smiled up at him, her hair stuck to her forehead from sweat, her chin coated in saliva and a small amount of his cum oozing from the corner of her mouth. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, whorishly David thought. He was quite pleased and momentarily forgot about Lisa. 

David smiled down at her, "Not bad, baby. Not bad at all."

She was so happy inside; she had really impressed her husband. He had praised her for her blow job. But then David drew his legs up and lay down in bed. "'Night, babe. Thanks! That was great."

He was going to sleep! Claire didn't say a word. Her smile flagged only for a second and he never noticed. She wanted to come too. But she didn't want to masturbate; she wanted his cock inside her and not one of the sex toys he bought her. But, playing the peacemaker she slowly got to her feet. "Good night, David. I love you," she managed to say completely disguising the disappointment in her voice.

David sort of hummed his agreement, his expected response to "I love you" without opening his eyes to look at her.

Claire looked at him for a few seconds and then, fighting off bitterness and disappointment, she went to the bathroom, peed, rinsed her mouth out and lay down in bed on her side, her back facing David's back.

Sometime later in the night, Claire awoke with a start as David roughly pulled her panties down and pushed her t-shirt over up over her breasts. He was between her legs and ready to mount her when she came fully awake, "David! No! What are you doing?!" She pushed him off; he did not resist. 

With a disgusted grunt he pushed off her and heaved his body back to his side of the bed. "David...I'm sorry. You just surprised me." She reached out and touched his back, trying to make up.

"Don't touch me!" David grumbled angrily. 

Claire withdrew her hand, found her panties around her ankles, pulled them back on, rolled over, tears welling up in her eyes, and went back to sleep. She just didn't understand why David had to be this way.

Claire's alarm went off - too soon. She rubbed her eyes, got up, pulled her robe on and went to the girls' room.

"Time to get ready for school, girls," she said, sticking her head in their room on her way to the kitchen. 

David got up, the anger and resentment he felt last night, coupled with the humiliation of trying to fuck Claire in the night and her rejection of him, were all in his head with a vengeance. As he stepped into the shower he thought maybe he'd dump Claire and pursue Lisa. But Claire and Lisa were extremely close; the whole family was. If he hurt Claire by divorcing her he wouldn't have a snowball's chance in Hell with Lisa. Lisa would never have anything to do with him. 

Claire and Lisa's old man would likely come over and try to beat the shit out of him. Hell, David mused bitterly; Claire's old man wouldn't try to beat the shit out of him. He would easily succeed. Charlie Nelson was a mean son-of-a-bitch, who, at age 67, waded into a bar brawl of Lisa's creation once last year just before Christmas, with a number 8 Louisville Slugger and sent Lisa's four competing drunken, biker paramours to the hospital before dragging his drunk, whoring daughter home. He'd given her a couple of whacks with the bat as well "just for good measure."

He'd have to think of another way of having Lisa David concluded as he turned the shower off.

Claire brushed her mop of wild hair back from eyes and sat at the breakfast bar, waiting for David to get his breakfast. She sipped her coffee, reflected on the events of the night, felt badly and knew she'd have to make things right. David was a good man, a great man, husband and father. She wanted to be an equally great wife for him. Maybe she could get some bedroom pointers from Lisa though Claire didn't think herself a prude.

29 years old, the mother of two beautiful little girls and a senior administrative assistant for a Trenton law firm, Claire Benton felt her life was good with the minor exception of her husband's recent increase in libido and her problem in keeping up. She was a member of her daughters' PTA, taught her daughters' Sunday school class at church, sang in the choir and helped with baptisms. Everyone who met Claire instantly liked her; she was kind, thoughtful, considerate and polite to a fault. She was bright eyed and pretty in a very proper way and extremely modest in the way she dressed and how she presented her body in public and private. In short, she was exactly the polar opposite of her beloved older sister, Lisa. Lisa was the black sheep and Claire was the good sheep of the Nelson family. 

She never knew the depths of David's dissatisfaction with her as a lover; never knew the depth of his sexual desires until it was too late. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Roxanne Sommers

Roxanne Sommers, an orthopedic surgeon who lived in a small bungalow in the Hollywood Hills, popped the ammonia capsule under the nose of the 19 year old UCLA co-ed who was unconscious in her bed. "Time to rise and shine, whore," Roxanne said firmly. She couldn't remember the girl's name. She had picked her up in a lesbian bar near the campus the night before.

The girl reacted to the ammonia capsule by coughing and quickly pulling away from it but Roxanne kept it under the girl's nose until the girl sat up. The girl sat up, clutching the sheet to her naked breasts, and moaned. The girl couldn't remember where she was or how she got there; she just felt like Hell. 

The girl's first question was, "Where am I?"

"My place, you came home with me from the bar last night, remember?"

The girl's voice was small with a bit of a whine in it, "No. Did, uh, did we have sex?"

Roxanne smiled, "Yes we did. You were very good. Did you like it? Was I your first?"

"Uh, did we practice safe sex and uh, 'first what'?"

"Woman, was I your first woman? And safe sex, you gotta be kidding me!" Roxanne laughed. I wanted to taste your tangy little pussy and not some mint flavored goddamn dental latex! And I wanted your tongue - that long, golden tongue of yours babe, as far up my cunt as you could get it and you were a champ! 

The girl looked at Roxanne, still trying to focus on her clearly and trying desperately to understand what Roxanne was saying. She stammered quietly, "Uh, yeah."

"Yeah you liked it or yeah I was your first?"

The girl brushed her blond hair from her eyes and briefly looked around the bedroom. She was disoriented and didn't know what to do or say. Finally, "Uh, I really can't remember what we did but uh, you were my first."

"That's too bad you don't remember the sex; you were great for a virgin. Hey, I've got time, now that you're awake, let's fuck some more."

The girl finally was able to focus her gaze on Roxanne for the first time and took in the big woman. Roxanne was tall; her legs beneath her short robe were long and tanned but thickly muscled. It looked like she had large breasts and was a bit overweight. Her hips were broad. Her hair was dirty ash-blonde and cut boyishly short. Roxanne took her robe off as she approached the bed confirming that she had a bit of a belly and medium-large, breasts with big areolas and nipples that hung low and swayed as she walked. 

"Well, uh, no. I really think I should go. I," the girl was clearly nervous as Roxanne sat on the bed and, putting her arm around the girl's shoulders, kissed the girl tenderly on the forehead, Really I need to go. Please?"

"Nonsense, you sweet little whore; you get me off one more time. Maybe I get you off and then when I go to have a late lunch you can take off. Besides, it would be rude of me to let you, a freshly deflowered virgin, to go before fucking you again."

The girl drew her legs up to her chest and clutched the sheet tighter to her breasts. Roxanne didn't seem to be paying attention; she had an odd smile fixed on her face as she idly played with the girl's hair and caressed the girl's face.

"Wha-what do you mean fucking?" The girl was on the verge of crying, her eyes welling with tears and her voice sounded even smaller with a slight quiver in it; the plaintive whine gone replaced with the voice of a frightened girl.

"I have a big dildo and you have such a sweet, tight cunt. You're going to be a big hit with the big girls on campus. You will be very popular as a dildo slut."

Roxanne's words echoed in the girl's ears and she felt sick. She wasn't completely clear on what Roxanne had just told her but she didn't think she liked it. She didn't think true lesbians fucked; that was the way the male animal copulated. It was crude. She thought lesbians were refined and their lovemaking was always sweet and tender, never crude and male like fucking! 

Roxanne got up from the bed and went into the bathroom. The girl stayed put, not seeing her clothes anywhere and self conscious about bolting out of the house with just the sheet around her. She heard water fill a glass and then Roxanne came to her with the glass of water and a pill. 

Oh, God! the girl thought. She's going to drug me! They'd covered this situation both in the official UCLA Freshman Orientation and in her dorm too. It suddenly dawned on the girl that she thought she was only in danger of being date raped by men; it hadn't occurred to her that lesbians could be sexual predators too. She was from Sioux City, Iowa and had only decided on her high school graduation night when one of the football jocks tried to rape her that she thought her true sexual orientation was lesbian; that she was a proudly defiant, sophisticated lesbian - from a dairy farm in Iowa. Lesbians, she fantasized, were refined and made love slowly and gently she thought again. Fucking? No. How could this be possible?.

"Take this, whore," Roxanne said gently, "because you really don't want me to force you to take this little pill. It'll make you relax and feel better. We'll be able to enjoy our time together more."

The girl's eyes widened in terror, her upper lip was quivering and shiny with snot from her tears and runny nose. 

"Come on baby, take the pill and let's play."

The girl opened her mouth, her eyes locked on Roxanne's. Roxanne put the pill on the girl's tongue and held the glass of water to her lips. "That's it," Roxanne gently encouraged as the girl drank. 

"Please don't hurt me. Please," the girl pleaded in barely a whisper. 

Roxanne smiled an evil smile, "Oh, baby, I'm going to enjoy working you, you have a sweet slut body; I'm going to fuck you up, bitch. You'll hurt - I'll mark you - and I'll enjoy it but you won't remember it. I like to hear little girls like you scream."

Nothing in the girl's limited sexual exposure had even remotely touched upon S&M.

The girl swallowed then whimpered as Roxanne put her long fingers around the girl's throat and pushed her on her back while stripping the sheet (that the girl clasped like armor) from her prey. Roxanne pressed the girl to the mattress, shushed her whimpering, and kissed her tenderly. This quieted the girl. 

Roxanne ran her fingers through the girl's fine blond hair and smiled, this time, like a lover, "You stay put for just a minute, whore. Don't move."

The girl lay still in the bed, her long, slim legs spread, her arms akimbo and her eyes still wide, watching every movement of the big dyke. Roxanne thought the girl looked like such a sweet morsel as she stepped into the harness of her strapon and snugged it tightly inside her and against her clit.

This is where the drug took the girl; Roxanne saw the girl's eyes glaze over and chuckled to herself. She held out her hand to the girl, "Come on baby, and let's go to the bathroom." The girl reached out with her small, delicate hand and took Roxanne's hand. Roxanne pulled her off the bed and helped her into the bathroom and then into Roxanne's shower stall. "Here," she said to the girl, "put these on." Roxanne held a pair of handcuffs out. In her drug induced dream the girl looked at them like they were foreign objects and then took them, holding them while Roxanne snapped each cuff around the girl's slim wrists. 


The Evil Within Ch. 01



The cuffs were attached to a strong spring in an eyehook in the ceiling of the shower. The girl's lean figure was stretched out and Roxanne felt her cunt flood with blood from her desire. God, Roxanne thought, I can barely wait to use her!

Roxanne stood behind the girl, her hands on the girl's hips, "Nice, boy hips you have little whore."

The girl giggled a bit and then slurred out a 'thank you'."

"Now let's see how high you can stand on your tip toes, sweety." Roxanne slapped the girl's flank and instantly the girl obeyed. Roxanne pressed herself to the girl's back and ran her hand over the girl's front: the small, almost bud like breasts, the flat belly and ending up at the girl's hairless cunt.

The girl gasped in pleasure as Roxanne worked her fingers roughly and deeply inside the girl. Roxanne played with the girl, worked her for a minute or two and then forcefully mounted the girl with her strapon.

Under the drug, the girl simply moaned in pleasure and pain as Roxanne penetrated her. Roxanne felt so out of control. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Around one that afternoon Roxanne's Mustang GT Convertible pulled up near one of the entrances of UCLA on Sunset and let the girl out. Roxanne was headed to Malibu for lunch with her girlfriends. The girl wore her clothes from the previous night. She was still disoriented. Passersby starred as the girl, her eyes vacant, stumbled down the sidewalk. Her t-shirt was torn exposing a small, bruised breast, she had a black eye and a fat lower lip. There was a dark, wet stain on the insides of her thighs - it wasn't known until later if it was blood or urine, or both. As Roxanne's GT sped west on Sunset a UCLA Campus Police car pulled up to the girl. They took her to the ER at the Med Center.

On the veranda of a private club in the hills around Malibu that overlooked the Pacific, three girlfriends sat waiting for Roxanne to arrive for their weekly late afternoon lunch. Physically, the three were all cut from the same cloth: tall, lean, tanned figures with modest but perfectly shaped breasts; faces without wrinkle or blemish; clothed in designer dresses, mostly sleeveless, made of light fabric that maximized their beauty and the suggestion of their sybaritic sexuality while simultaneously being "proper"; and shoulder length or longer hair, meticulously cut and styled to look soft and natural as if they'd done nothing more that to run a brush through it after they dried it after their morning showers.

Cynthia Knowles, a Beverly Hills plastic surgeon, was the alpha female; the convener of the lunches and the facilitator of the women's pleasures. Amy Chang, an oncologist, and Deb Baker, an infectious disease specialist rounded out the trio. 

Roxanne Sommers was the proverbial "odd man," the shape that didn't match the other shapes on a psychological test. The big woman was clothed in a man's white oxford button down dress shirt, open to her belly, showing her white, lacy, heavy under wire bra and a vast expanse of Roxanne's upper chest and belly. Her skirt was tight, black linen that simultaneously accented her full hips and ass while camouflaging - but only just a bit - her stout belly. 

Her hair, that Deb Baker swore in private with her other friends Roxanne must cut at home with kitchen scissors, was slicked straight back and shiny with styling gel. Her face was mostly devoid of makeup except for some garish shade of red lipstick that made her full lips look almost obscene. With just a little more makeup she could have covered some teenage acne scars and some of the "ravages" of age as she neared 40. But that was Roxanne. You took her as she was or not at all.

"It's about time, Rox," chided Deb Baker as Roxanne took long strides through the dining room toward the trio. "We could have starved to death waiting for you."

Roxanne snorted as she sat down at the table, "If you girls would put a little more meat on your bones, starvation would not be such a pressing issue."

Amy Chang leaned over to kiss Roxanne on the cheek, "Bitch," she said with a friendly smile. Cynthia sat on the other side of Roxanne and she too leaned over to kiss Roxanne's cheek. "You've been fucking, haven't you? I can smell it; sweet and salty. Mmm," she half whispered, but loud enough for the other women to hear, prompting a chorus of oooo's and ah's. 

Roxanne sat upright, fished in her bag for her cigarettes and lighter and then caught a sensually exaggerated air kiss from Deb Baker sitting opposite her.

"Don't tease me, Deb. I have spent the last 24 hours in some serious debauchery and I am not yet satiated. You wouldn't want to take a walk would you?"

"Well, you big dyke, it's tempting, but my tennis instructor took very adequate care of me before I came over."

"Hey, I don't mind some spunk if it means getting to eat that sweet pussy of yours," Roxanne said as she lit up, took a drag and blew it out.

More oooo's and ah's.

"Sorry, Roxie, my love, I am just too tired to service you."

"And your point, Deb?"

The girls all giggled.

"So, Rox, tell us about her," Cynthia leaned close, grasping Roxanne's upper arm, her fingertips discretely caressing Roxanne's sensitive skin on the underside of her arm.

Roxanne leaned back in her chair and proudly began to recount her latest adventures. The other women leaned in, with smiles on their faces, eager for the details. 

"Ladies, I definitely scored last night. She was literally fresh off the farm, from Iowa, no less. Tall, skinny; long, fine blond hair, tiny breasts and hardly any hips - nice boy hips. She had a tight ass and an even tighter cunt. She was nicely shaved too; smooth as a baby's ass. She's probably here on a volley ball scholarship - she looked a little "jock- ish," if you know what I mean. 

"God, she was so eager all night but I had to put the hammer on her this morning. I just couldn't resist; she was really a virgin. God damn bled when I popped her cherry! So I had to have that twat again now that I had made her a woman. Sadly - well, no not really - she resisted this morning when she woke up."

"Apparently, you either forgot to dose her or you're experimenting with different agents," Deb said, cocking her head toward two women moving toward them from the dining room.

Roxanne turned and looked. "Shit. Yeah, used a new mixture this morning; it made her nicely cooperative and she really seemed to enjoy it but apparently didn't do much to erase her memories."

"Maybe it just needs refinement," Cynthia commented professionally. 

"Yeah, I really loved what it did to her."

"Doctors, Rox," the lead woman greeted the foursome, deliberately snubbing Roxanne, as she put her fingertips lightly on the backs of Cynthia's and Deb's seats and bent slightly at the waist.

"Deputy D.A. Masters and..." Cynthia started to return the greeting but didn't know the other woman. 

"Oh, I'm sorry, Dr. Knowles, where are my manners?" The Deputy L.A. County D.A. and the foursome had been through this conversation before. It was a highly stylized play; a game. "Allow me to introduce Dr. Monica Small, - uh, Ph.D. - the newly created Provost for Women's Student Life at UCLA. Dr. Small, Drs. Knowles, Baker and Chang - and of course, you know Dr. Sommers."

Dr. Small smiled politely and nodded at each of the women and then commented, "Well, I certainly know Dr. Sommers by reputation." Her tone of voice carried just a hint of loathing, but only a hint. Dr. Small had been thoroughly briefed on how this meeting had to go.

Cynthia played the ever so proper and polite hostess. She stood and politely shook Dr. Small's hand and then gestured at the table and asked Deputy D.A. Masters, "Would you ladies care to join us?" 

"Thank you Dr. Knowles but we just came to have a little chat with Roxie."

"Oh. Would you like us to leave for a moment so you can talk to her and enjoy the sea breeze?"

"No thank you, Dr. Knowles, this won't take long." Cynthia sat down; Deputy D.A. Masters helped scoot Cynthia's chair to the table. 

"You're always so gracious, District Attorney Masters. Thank you."

"My pleasure, Doctor," the Deputy D.A. turned to Roxanne, "So, uh, Rox, where've you been this morning?"

"Why do ask Stacy?" Roxanne winked at the Deputy D.A., again all part of the play.

"A 19 year old Iowa freshman turned up in the Med Center just before noon. She'd been sexually battered, rather severely. She described her attacker as," the Deputy D.A. hesitated a moment as if searching for the proper, non-offensive word, "a very, ah, substantial woman who drove a convertible Mustang. So I immediately thought of you Rox."

"And that's it, District Attorney Masters? That's all you have?" Cynthia asked in a tone of professional concern.

Dr. Small interrupted, but with just the right timing and inflection to fit the "high" tone of the meeting though she detested this charade; she had a six and a half inch thick file of sexual assaults likely all attributable to Dr. Sommers. She knew beyond a reasonable doubt that Roxanne was a sexual predator of UCLA female freshmen. "Well, she was drugged heavily. I'd say she had some ex, roofies and some sort of mood altering amphetamine in her system. We're waiting on the toxicology report."

Amy Chang shook her head, her voice full of concern, "It is such a shame that these young girls from the Midwest come here and experiment with such dangerous drugs and then get in over their heads sexually."

The other three women nodded their heads, gravely, in agreement. Dr. Small bristled inside. Deputy D.A. Masters smiled to herself. She had warned the Provost that this would be exactly the way this conversation would play out. Amy Chang always took the high ground of "concern."

"Well, Stacy, I got here about an hour ago and before that I was with Cynthia at her house."

"Mmm," Cynthia quickly cut in, "oh, yes, District Attorney Masters, that's true. Dr. Sommers was helping me do some research."

"Well, I knew Dr. Knowles that there would be some reasonable explanation," said the Deputy D.A. "Rox, another time perhaps?"

"I always look forward to our visits, Stacy."

To the shock of Dr. Small, Deputy D.A. Masters was winding up the interview. "Doctors, Rox, I'm sorry to have disturbed your lunch."

"Oh, not at all District Attorney Masters, we're just sorry we cannot help. And we feel so sorry for that young girl," Cynthia said.

"Right, well, ladies..." And with that the two women left. When they were gone, the women all tittered. 

"So what was the mood altering amphetamine, Rox?" Deb asked with professional interest.

"I got a hold of some of that French Survector, you know the antidepressant that the FDA pulled because there were reports of spontaneous orgasm; thought I'd give it a try. I think it enhanced the little whore's response very nicely but it seems to have co-opted the amnesiac effect of the roofies."

The women all nodded in professional agreement. Cynthia said, "Well, I'm having some freshmen girls from Pepperdine and some upper classmen - men and women - from Mary Mount over this weekend. Protestants versus the Catholics," Cynthia smiled as if she were picturing the bacchanalia in her mind, "maybe you could refine your pill and try it out this weekend?"

Roxanne licked her lips, a wicked smile on her face, "Promise me the tenderest frosh and you have a deal Cynthia." 

Cynthia laid her hand on Roxanne's bare thigh through the part in Rox's skirt, "Have I ever denied you anything, by sweet, beautiful dyke?"

~~~~~~~~~~

In the parking lot Dr. Small was agitated and about ready to go off. "Ms. Masters, how in the world can you let them off like that?!"

"Dr. Small, spare me the attitude, please; I brought you along strictly as a courtesy. I told you how this was going to go down. You didn't believe me until you saw it with your own eyes."

"I thought you were bringing me as a warning," Dr. Small protested. 

"Yeah, uh, right. I doubt whether the Devil himself would scare any of those women, especially Cynthia Knowles. After she'd give Satan a blow job while she finger fucked his ass, she'd tell him to go back to Hell and she'd call him sometime."

"Then why the charade at all?!" Dr. Small practically shouted in frustration.

"As tough as those bitches are they do need to know the law is watching. They're all fairly benign, relatively speaking; there are worse predators in Southern California than Roxanne Sommers. I suppose I should tell you that Rox and I were roommates as undergrads. And I spent nine months of my freshman year being her fuck toy."

Dr. Small was stunned beyond words. When she finally found her voice she said, with all the self-righteous outrage she could muster, "So you're letting that sexual predator off because you were lovers?"

Deputy D.A. Masters stepped close in front of Dr. Small; her face had taken a hard set and her voice was icy and malicious, "I didn't arrest Roxanne Sommers because all we have is a frightened Iowa farm girl, drugged to the gills, who likely willingly got her cherry popped by a piece of leather instead of a boy's dick, like her ma and pa think would be proper. 

"She can't positively identify Roxanne and remember when we talked to her roomie, she said that the girl was going to a lesbian club last night in hopes of getting picked up and what was the quote? Oh yes, have her cunt sucked and fingered until she couldn't come anymore.

"And, Dr. Small, I said I spent nine months as Roxanne's fuck toy. I was most definitely not her lover. Being her fuck toy meant I was on 24 hour call to be used anyway she wanted me and in case you didn't notice from her body size, she has large appetites; she wanted me often and used me hard, like a piece of meat. So until you've had a leather dildo shoved up your ass, your face banged against the wall until your eye blackens and blood runs down your thighs from rectal tearing while you are being fucked - in the bathroom of a church - during a very, very close relative's funeral, you can just GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY FACE, Dr. Small!" Dr. Small gasped and shrank back at Masters' command. 

Masters laughed quietly and bitterly, "You are so fucking far out of your league it would be funny if the circumstances weren't so serious!" Stacy Masters' face was red, almost purple, with fury and Dr. Small shrank back further, trying to take in the apparently calculated and casual violence that was - and is - Roxanne Sommers. "By the way, Dr. Small, do you know Dr. Sommer's preferred method of lubricating a dildo before fucking a girl in the ass?"

"Uh...I-I'm very sorry for your pain and ordeal..." Dr. Small said, averting her eyes and feeling profoundly uncomfortable. 

"I didn't ask for your pity Dr. Small; do you have any idea what Roxanne uses for lubrication?!"

Her eyes wide and her tanned complexion drawn almost yellow as she paled, Dr. Small shook her head. She was more than uncomfortable; she felt sick now.

"Spit. She only uses spit; the spit of the victim. I can probably give the absolutely best blow job in all of L.A. - hell, maybe North America - because you know what doctor? When the degree of your pain and the amount of rectal tearing and bleeding is almost completely dependent on how well you can get a dildo wet and slimy with your mouth, you learn to do it really, really well because spit is a piss poor lubricant for those purposes! 

"Someday Rox will slip up. Rest assured that when that day comes, I will be there. And she will pay for her sins. I know a good many of them. I roomed with her for four years."

Dr. Small was stunned even further. "My God, four years? But why would you stay with her?"

"By my sophomore year I was too old and too experienced for her tastes; she likes young, pliable virginal girls. 18 in her target age." Masters sounded bitter and melancholy at the same time, "By 19, I was over the hill. So I was safe, in a way, rooming with her the rest of college." 

Stacy Masters looked intently at Dr. Small in a way that Dr. Small took as both extremely sexual and extremely threatening. Masters reached out and gently ran her index finger along the lipstick of Dr. Small's lower lip while touching the tip of her own tongue to her own upper lip. Masters made a noise that Dr. Small interpreted as intense sexual desire for her. 

Masters shifted her stance, pulling herself into Dr. Small; Masters rubbed her thighs together, shifting her weight and sexually posturing. She barely whispered, her breath softly caressing the doctor's face, "You see, Dr. Small, I liked it. I liked the way she used me after nine months of almost continual rape, sodomy and torture in her sadistic embrace. I begged like I was begging for my life for her to whore me out when she wasn't using me; when she grew tired of me. I would have done anything, and just to be clear, I would have literally done anything she had told me to do, no matter how degrading or depraved or illegal. At that point in my life I needed it. It's a level of desire you will probably never experience. I don't know whether I pity you or whether I should tell you how mind boggling lucky you are for not having to feel it. 

"God, I wanted it so badly - and well, it's no fun for a true sadist if their victim gets off on their torturer's depravity. And you know what else, doc?" Stacy Masters barely touched her lips to the doctor's lips, feeling the slightly older woman quiver. Her whisper was so soft, "I spent more time in therapy after I graduated over wanting sex; kinky, rough, violent, predatory sex than I did for what Roxanne Sommers did to me." In a voice devoid of humor but still thick with the memory of the lusts that she had experienced, Masters smiled, her eyes locked with Dr. Small's, and whispered, "Ironic, don't you think?"

Then Masters' overt sexuality disappeared and her anger returned as abruptly as it had appeared. Masters turned away from Dr. Small, her hand ready to open the driver's door, and said, "Now get in the fucking car!"

~~~~~~~~~~

There was a new parking valet on duty at the Pfister Hotel in Milwaukee. When Yvette Harriman slid from her seat in her Hummer the valet got quite a sight and he actually gawked. He couldn't help it. Likely, few could have. Yvette's slip was sticking to the Hummer's seat. As directed by her husband, it was the only thing she was wearing under her arctic parka. And so the valet witnessed the progressive baring of long, bare legs, a shaven sex that was so wet and swollen that even the young valet could tell the woman's arousal, and a flat, almost concave, belly - with a belly button ring - elegantly framed by prominent, slim hip bones.

Yvette was so self-conscious of the way she was dressed she didn't realize what was happening or why the valet was staring at her, wide eyed and with his mouth open. When her feet were finally flat on the ground and she felt the hem of her slip fall past her belly and touch her thighs she realized and blushed. 

"Oh my God!" Yvette genuinely shrieked in embarrassment, "I'm so sorry! I'm really...uh...my husband...I-I'm uh..."

The valet finally found the aplomb he was told was the hallmark of a Pfister valet. "No need to apologize ma'am. I apologize for watching instead of averting my eyes and warning you about your clothing, uh, situation. Please accept my apologies."

Yvette sort of giggled. She felt embarrassed, not so much for herself now but for the valet. In a deep twist of irony, Yvette Harriman never considered herself that sexually desirable, despite her life history and her looks. "Um, thank you. But, uh, no, please let me apologize. I was so improper." She handed the valet her key, waited for the receipt and headed inside.




The Evil Within Ch. 01



She left her coat with coat check, reached into her bag, pulled out her glasses - thick, black, no nonsense frames that she wore in the office and cath lab - slid them on her face and then turned around to see the astonished stares of no fewer than a dozen men and women. She smiled. Then felt herself blush from her breasts to her hair line as she went in search of the bar and her husband.

Yvette was proud of the stares. With each step she took, the feel of the satin slip caressing her body, her nipples erect and pulsating, literally, millimeters below the lace at the top of the slip, she felt so alive, so free and so very, very, aroused. When she found Herbie in a secluded corner of the bar she held out her arms and did a model's turn for him. She wore a huge smile on her face. 

As Herbie handed her a Jim Beam, neat, he said, "There isn't a person in here that doesn't want to throw you on your back or make you kneel like a bitch in heat and fuck you, you realize that don't you?"

She accepted the drink, sat down and crossed her legs, causing an older man at the bar, who was watching her every move since she came in, to almost fall from his stool as he tried to spy her sex at the juncture of her thighs. "And you realize, that at least half the men in here are insanely jealous that you are sitting with me."

Herbie laughed, "Including that one lesbian business woman sitting to our right.

"So, one last question: are you up for tonight? Because as badly, Sweet Jesus, as badly as I want to see this and experience this with you tonight, it is NOT worth your mental health. You understand what I'm saying little whore?"

Herbie had deliberately emphasized the word whore and watched Yvette with the practiced eye of the psychiatrist he was. Yvette flinched ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly, but she flinched none the less. He'd wait and see what she said.

She took a deep drink, averted her eyes and came up with a cigarette and a lighter from her bag. "You're testing me, head shrinker," she said as she watched the flame light the end of her cigarette.

"And...? What you gonna do about it, you horny little whack job?"

She pushed her thick framed glasses up her nose and slowly blew out her drag through her lips and nose. Then she uncrossed her legs and sat with her legs spread and her elbows perched atop her knees. "When I stand up Herbie, I'm going to have a big wet spot where I've been sitting because I want so badly to fuck and be fucked. I want it all tonight, dear. I want to be abused, to be called all sorts of filthy depraved names while sperm and cunt juice slathers my body and fills my mouth... "

Herbie smiled, "You want to be called a dirty cunt, a fucking slut and a," Herbie paused for effect, skanky whore."

Yvette choked slightly on her drink when she heard whore again but she leveled her gaze over the rim of her glass at Herbie, pulled the hem of her slip up a little higher on her thighs and smiled provocatively, "I'm going to have to start fingering myself right here and now if you keep talking that way my dear."

"All right, all right," Herbie laughed, "just checking one last time; let's get going then. I can't wait to see and hear you in action." 

Yvette downed the rest of her bourbon in one smooth gulp, stubbed out her cigarette and stood up. Herbie finished his drink and stood too, motioning for the check. The waitress came with the check and a long, navy blue, wool overcoat. "One last test, baby; Rita here is going to hold this very warm overcoat open as sort of an attempt of a privacy screen. You are going to drop those spaghetti straps and step out of your slip and slip into the coat."

Yvette didn't wait for the waitress to get into position with the coat open. Yvette simply dropped the slip - while those few who could see them in their secluded spot in the bar watched. 

Herbie laughed and for a moment didn't think he'd be able to stop laughing. "I'll certainly give you points for audacity, Vette."

"Why, thank you, husband."

Herbie turned to the waitress, a pretty African American, "So, my sister, what do you think of this white whore."

This time there was no flinch.

"Well, my brother," the waitress said with a lustful smile directed at Herbie, "if I were into women, especially white women, she'd definitely get me off." The waitress cocked an eyebrow at Herbie and then looked into Yvette's eyes, "I think I'd know exactly how to keep a white whore in her place, baby, when you are such a fine specimen of an African man." 

Herbie, thinking of getting his cock in the waitress, didn't notice the ever so slight flinch in Yvette at the waitress' mention of whore.

Yvette smiled at them both and slipped into the coat but before she wrapped herself into it warmth she pulled the waitress inside the coat in an embrace. "I couldn't change your mind, sister?" Yvette whispered as she ground her mound against the waitress.

"Mmm," Yvette's aroused scent filled the waitress' nose and she slipped her hands around Yvette's slim hips, "maybe you could change my mind, baby. If your man came with the deal, I'd fuck him like he needs to be fucked by an African woman and then, little white bitch, I'd deal with you; make you my slave and I'd have you clean me up after your man had fucked me - bare back. What do you think of that, white cunt?"

Yvette kissed the woman passionately, thrusting her tongue into the woman's mouth that the woman sucked eagerly. Yvette then rubbed her body lasciviously up and down the woman's body and then gently pushed the woman from her embrace, closing the coat. "I think you make me hot. Herbie, give this fine sista a $100 dollar tip and your business card. She wants to do you and teach me some racial history lessons." 

Herbie did as he was told to the pleasure and astonishment of the cocktail waitress. He mouthed, "Call me tomorrow," as Yvette and he left the bar.

30 minutes later Herbie and Yvette were at a mansion on Milwaukee's north shore. A butler met them at the door, took Yvette's coat - without comment at her nudity - and led them into the main salon. 

Yvette looked around the dimly lit room. A piano player, blindfolded like in the movie Eyes Wide Shut, played at a baby grand in the corner of the large room. There were couples and small groups spread around the room, in various states of undress and in various states of activity. There were several men and women, completely nude, at the bar talking and sipping their drinks. Of the faces she could see, she knew most of the people. 

Dr. Jane Samuelson, a pediatrician and (to Yvette's complete surprise) Mary Todd, Dr. Samuelson's nurse, came to Herbie and Yvette. 

"Good evening you two; Yvette, we're so glad you came tonight." Dr. Samuelson gave Yvette a slight hug and a kiss on the cheek; their breasts rubbed lightly together and Yvette felt a thrill run through her body. She gasped quietly at the pleasure. Jane felt Yvette's shiver and heard her gasp; she smiled but then directed her attention to Herbie. "Herb, you're a little overdressed, don't you think?"

"Hmm, well, now that you mention it."

"Mary here has been dying to "go black" you know but she's been too embarrassed to ask in the past. So why don't you two go get comfortable and I'll get Yvette involved somewhere?"

"Sounds fine to me," Herbie said with a huge smile, eyeing the small, young brunette nurse.

Jane Samuelson caught Herbie's arm as he took Mary's arm, "Just remember Mandingo, she'd better come back to me tonight. Don't spoil her with that big cock of yours."

Herbie did his best slave voice imitation, "Yes'um, missus, I be sure to bring your woman back to you." And then the two were headed off to an unoccupied corner of the room. 

Jane touched Yvette's arm and Yvette jumped and then giggled nervously. "Yvette, uh, Herbie didn't force you to come here did he? I'll have his ass if he did. The rules strictly forbid..."

"No," Yvette interrupted, "Jane, I wanted to come, really. It's just that the fantasy and the reality are a bit, uh, different and I'm feeling a little social vertigo. I'm just a bit giddy, that's all. And, uh, it kind of surprised me - you and Mary being lovers."

Jane faced Yvette, put her hands on Yvette's hips and pressed her naked body to Yvette's. "You are really so unbelievably serious when you're at work aren't you? Jesus, Vette, I didn't think there was even a candy striper at the hospital who didn't know I was a lip stick dyke and that Mary and I shacked up. She's my little pet, you know." Jane made a soft noise then nuzzled Yvette's throat just below Yvette's ear lobe while pressing her breasts into Yvette's. "Oh my God Yvette I can't tell you how long I've wanted to do that to you!" Jane pulled back slightly, admired the rich sexual flush spreading over Yvette's upper body. "So, you wanna start with boys or girls," Jane asked.

Yvette looked at the pediatrician and smiled, "Why don't you get me warmed up for the crowd; show me what you've wanted to do with me all this time?"

"It will be my pleasure, Dr. Harriman." 

Shortly, Yvette was breathing hard, trying to suppress a scream as Jane Samuelson fingered and tongued Yvette to an orgasmic frenzy. Jane slid her body over Yvette's and took Yvette's mouth in a deep, slow kiss. "Ready for a boy now, baby?" Jane asked quietly as she looked at Yvette's wide brown eyes and wiped some sweat from Yvette's forehead.

"Um, sure," Yvette half whispered, still a little short of breath, "but what about taking care of you?"

"Oh, Vette, you will take care of me; believe me baby." Jane slid on up Yvette's body until her thighs were on either side of Yvette's face. "The cock you feel taking your sweet cunt now belongs to Richard Markum from Nephrology. But while he's banging you, you start licking, you sweet bitch."

Yvette arched her back as she felt the warm, hard cock press between her slick labia and enter her in one long, smooth stroke. Her moan was stifled as Jane Samuelson lowered her cunt onto Yvette's mouth. No one in the threesome was left unfulfilled afterwards. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Three hours later, Yvette had lost track of the number of cocks and cunts she had sucked and the number of times she had come from tongues, fingers or cocks. When two Orthopedic surgeons got finished double teaming her and pulled out, leaving Yvette a sweaty, exhausted heap on her belly, Herbie intervened before the next person could take her. "Break time," he said. 

Herbie tossed his wife a towel as she slowly (and with a groan) turned over and Herbie sat down beside her. Herbie was also bearing a glass of fruit juice and a plate of cheese and crackers. Yvette slowly toweled off and took the glass of juice and gulped it down. "Ah God, I needed that."

"I bet. You've been a busy little girl. So, what do you think of the bi-monthly meeting of the Milwaukee Specialty Physicians' Study Group?"

"I love it! I'm just sorry it's taken me so long to get into the swing of things, so to speak. I feel so delightfully wicked."

Herbie got up and got Yvette another drink and they shared some of the cheese when an unlikely couple presented themselves.

"May we join you two?" 

"Golda," Yvette was stunned, "uh, sure!" Golda Ribicoff was a 60'ish year old, pleasantly plump, attractive psychiatrist who was in practice with Herbie. "Uh, who's your friend?"

"This is Debbie Myerson; she's Chuck's wife." Chuck was a 50'ish urologist who had a Svengali way with young women; Debbie was 18 when they had started dating and only 19 when they married. She was now 24 but still got carded whenever she wanted a drink. "I guess you two have noticed you've been quite the attraction tonight?" Golda asked

Herbie smiled; he knew where his partner was going with this but Yvette had literally been too busy to notice. "Why, uh, no; we have?" Yvette was suddenly hit with a wave of anxiety as if she had done something wrong or something. Golda picked up on Yvette's apprehension and laughed gently as she sat down next to Yvette, putting a hand on Yvette's breast and massaging it as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"Since word got around that you had consented to join the study group, practically every man here and a good number of women have wanted to get their rocks off with you. And since Herbie is one of only six black male physicians in the group and certainly the biggest - but hasn't been a regular attendee because he didn't want to leave you out - practically every young woman here and a few men have been dying to either suck him or fuck him or both."

Debbie Myerson made a nervous movement and cleared her throat. Herbie looked up and smiled at her, "So Debbie, come on down." Debbie dropped to her knees, picked up Herbie's half erect cock and began to lick and suck it like a kid with an ice cream cone on a hot day. Golda laughed, "See what I mean? Now, my dear, may I do you? I know I'm not young and nubile like Debbie here but..."

Yvette leaned forward, put her hand on one of Golda's heavy breasts and kissed her. "I am all yours to use Golda."

Debbie stretched out on her belly between Herbie's legs and was busily and quite noisily working Herbie's thick, uncircumcised cock. Golda, meanwhile, stretched her body out against Yvette's and was slowly sucking her tongue, nipping at her neck and smothering her face with kisses while she worked three fingers quickly and roughly in and out of Yvette's open, very wet sex, the woman's thumb applying just the right amount of pressure to Yvette's clit such that even after all the people who had used her Yvette felt like she hung between Heaven and earth.

When the woman felt the contractions begin in Yvette's cunt she sat back a little and watched Yvette enjoy the pleasure sweeping through her while the woman furiously fingered herself. Yvette's body sagged as her orgasm ebbed. The woman smiled and touched Yvette's sweaty face, "We'll have to do this more often. You are so unbelievably beautiful and erotic in orgasm. Has Herbie never told you, my love?"

Yvette blushed a bit at Golda's praise, "Uh, no, Herb's never mentioned it." She then took Golda's hand in hers and put the woman's fingers in her mouth. Yvette quit sucking her own cum off of Golda's fingers long enough to tell her, with a very satisfied smile, 

"We certainly will Golda, you have magic fingers and a wonderful tongue. I love the way you kiss me."

"I'll see you tomorrow maybe?" Golda asked hopefully as she extricated her hand and stood. 

"You really want to?" Yvette asked, surprised that  she had just made a date for sex. 

"What's that golden cunt of yours tell you, my dear?"

"Sure," Yvette giggled, "I'd be more than delighted."

"Meet you at my boat in the marina at say two?"

"Uh, Golda, the lake's a little - icy - this time of year..."

"Oh, silly girl, we're not going out on the lake. It's just fucking in the confines of a boat is something you need to experience. Besides, every since I've met you I've fantasized of fucking you there."

"Two it is then," Yvette said as she gave Golda a small kiss on the cheek. Golda moved on to another man or woman and in her place appeared an attractive, older man. Herbie, between gasps, moans, and obscene instructions and encouragements to the hyper- enthusiastic Debbie between his legs introduced the couple, "Gary, a general surgeon; Yvette, my wife. Have fun."

Gary held out his hand to Yvette, "Let's find someplace quiet, shall we?"

Yvette took the surgeon's hand, noticing his very fat, half erect cock, well coated in saliva and sticky cunt juices. The surgeon led her to a bay window on the second floor of the mansion that overlooked the lake. They appeared to be alone here. There were pillows spread about the floor; Yvette lay down and wantonly spread her legs. She wanted another cock and she wanted to play the whore; an idea that both thrilled and frightened her. The two didn't exchange words and Yvette liked the ambience of a rough, pseudo-anonymous fuck. 

The surgeon knelt by her head and ran his fingers down her body until they reached her sex. He worked her gently at first and then more aggressively. With his other hand he petted her hair, caressed her face and breasts and then gently moved her head toward his crotch. He lifted his half erect cock toward her mouth; she reached out, took it delicately in her hand and guided it into her mouth.

Yvette sucked the surgeon slowly, enjoying the many different tastes and textures on the man's cock while it expanded in her mouth. When she felt him completely hard she pulled the cock from between her lips and barely audibly whispered, "Fuck me and make me feel it. Do it now. I won't break."

Faster than Yvette could track the surgeon had her on her belly, a fat pillow under her belly propping her ass in the air. She felt her labia spread and the cock penetrate her. My god! Yvette's mind marveled; this guy was bigger than Herbie! She groaned her pleasure with a tinge of pain as the surgeon pulled her to her hands and knees by her ultra-short hair. 

Meanwhile, Debbie was downstairs with Herbie. She was bobbing her head, pumping his shaft with her fist and moaning loudly and feverishly, trying to coax an orgasm from his cock. She had him almost to the point of no return. When shortly he reached it, he held her head with both his hands and began thrusting his hips toward her face while simultaneously pulling her face - and mouth - down toward his pubic mound. She struggled, her body flailing as much as was possible in Herbie's grip; her moans took on the quality of pleading. 

Herbie erupted in the woman's mouth with a muted roar; she took as much of his load as she could while some seeped from the corners of her mouth. Herbie smiled his assent to a man who reached to roll the woman off of Herbie and mount her in her post face fuck stupor; it was then that Herbie thought he heard something. 

Herbie sat up to listen. He heard the noise again. He was certain it was Yvette and her tone was angry. He jumped up to find her. 

Gary Marsten, the surgeon, had his cock deeply buried in Yvette's sex and she was now pinned flat on her back on the thick carpet; Marsten had her pinned by gripping her throat. He was more than a little drunk and more than a little stoned. He didn't understand why, after how nicely they had progressed together, that she had now turned ugly and violent. 

"Now look, you kinky whore..." Yvette growled ferally and shook her body trying to get loose from his grip. Had the man been sober and the light in the room better he would have seen that she looked at him with a murderously insane look that would have indicated to a prudent man he should attempt to flee.

"Gary," Herbie said softly from behind him. 

"Ah, Herbie! I'm not usually into sharing but since this whore has suddenly turned nasty on me, maybe you could help me handle her. I mean, who better than her husband to handle a recalcitrant bitch, eh?"

"Gary...listen to me very carefully," Herbie's voice was soft and slow. He'd already seen his wife's face and knew there would be no reasoning with her; she had gone over the edge. "Gary, I've been Yvette's shrink since before we were married. Yvette was sexually traumatized in her youth, repeatedly over years. You have to quit saying w-h-o-r-e," and Herbie spelled out the word.

In Marsten's altered state of consciousness he spelled out the letters silently and then smiled drunkenly, "Ain't no fuckin' way you're getting me out of the best piece of ass here tonight until I dump my load in that messy, well fucked pussy of hers. No fuckin' way, Negro. She's the best god damned whore here."




The Evil Within Ch. 01



Those words were the last words Gary Marsten, the last thing Gary Marsten could remember of that night on the North Shore. 

With strength disproportionate to her size and speed disproportionate for a woman, she put Gary Marsten on his back. She elbowed his solar plexus so hard he couldn't breathe and then proceeded to grab his testicles and pull. When Yvette's broken mind came to the realization she couldn't pull this man's testicles off she stood and kicked. It only took one kick.

With amazing speed she broke all the fingers and thumb of Marsten's scalpel hand before Herbie could act. Herbie had no doubt that in another few seconds she would have killed the surgeon, likely by crushing his Adam's Apple with her bare hands. 

Herbie wrapped one of his giant arms around her midriff and flung her, belly down, on the floor next to Marsten. He sat on the small of her back, covered her back with his massive body and put his wife in a sleeper hold until she lost consciousness. Still, before she lost consciousness and with Herbie's 315 pounds squarely on her back, she fought and screamed as if she was possessed by the Devil himself. In a manner of speaking she was. 

Gary Marsten spent three days in the hospital. It would be six months before he could wield a scalpel again but the orthopedic surgeon who set his fingers thought Marsten would be able to ply his surgical arts again. Also, Marsten walked rather gingerly, having had one of his testicles removed; swelling on the other one was going down - it was now the size of a small lemon. 

Before he checked out of the hospital Marsten went to see Yvette who was on the locked ward of the Psych unit, in four point, leather restraints. The nursing supervisor told Marsten that Herbie was with his wife and that he could see Yvette for a couple of minutes. He was warned not to say whore. Marsten bristled inside because he thought everyone knew the events that brought him to the hospital but there was no sign of joking with the supervisor. He thanked him and went to Yvette's room. 

Herbie stood and patted Marsten on the back. "Gary, you didn't have to come. Really."

"No, Herb, I wanted to see how she was. I had no idea. I'm so sorry."

"I know. I appreciate that. Since she was very young, and the most beautiful girl in her family, her father first, then her brothers, her cousins, two uncles and at least one aunt sexually and mentally abused her until she was 18, at which point her trauma caused her to snap and she killed the aunt and uncle who were doing her at the time. To keep her down, to make her feel needy, they'd call her an ugly whore and twenty years later, she still has difficulty thinking of herself as sexually attractive."

The two men stepped to Yvette's bedside. Her eyes were open but vacant. She was heavily sedated. Marsten spoke her name softly and she turned her head toward him and started to cry softly, repeating, "Oh Gary, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry. Please, please forgive me," over and over again.

~~~~~~~~~~

In Chapter 2, Claire Benton's ordeal begins and Yvette moves to L.A.

Please remember to take a moment to vote, send a comment or leave a comment on the comment board. And thanks for reading.



The Evil Within Ch. 02



Terrors Revealed

~~~~~~~~~~

The Sale of Claire Benton

As they drove up the The Garden State Throughway Claire Benton was frightened. Her husband David had picked her up the law firm she worked at and taken her to lunch; he was quiet and agitated. After lunch, he turned back onto the highway but he wasn't going back to her office.

They pulled off at one of the Newark Airport exits and drove to a rundown motel. David parked in front of a room, got out, went around the car and opened Claire's door, taking her by the hand. David knocked on the door of a room; the door opened and David pulled Claire inside.

It took a moment for Claire's eyes to adjust to the light in the room. The smell of sex, cigarette smoke and sweat filled Claire's nose. She thought maybe David was going to force her to play out one of his favorite fantasies of raping her in a cheap motel but then she noticed the pleading eyes of the young woman who was bound spread eagle to one of the queen beds in the room, her mouth gagged with what she recognized as an S&M ball gag. (She recognized the gag because David once wanted to use one on her; she thought it was silly and refused. He was angry with her for a week but never brought the gag up again.)

There were two men in the room: one on the bed with the woman. He was nude; his cock half erect, shiny with moisture; Claire was sure he had just finished having sex with the woman; there was a video camera pointed at the bed. The other man was dressed in a polo shirt and jeans. David whispered something to this man.

The man nodded. "Okay, bitch, let's see the goods," the man said, "Strip." Claire looked first at David and then at the man. The man's casual tone was so different from what he'd just told Claire to do.

"Uh...excuse me?" Claire asked the man; maybe she'd misheard him. But when the man ignored her Claire turned to her husband, "David?" There was quiet pleading in her voice.

"Do what he says Claire; it's very important for you and the kids." David placed emphasis on the kids and that chilled Claire.

Claire stared at David for another minute and then silently and slowly began to remove her clothes. She wore the standard business suit: white blouse buttoned at the throat, blue jacket, blue skirt, hose and low heeled black pumps. She took care to fold each piece of clothing neatly and put them on the room's suitcase stand.

The man paid little attention at first. He was looking through her purse. He found her driver's license. By now Claire was to her camisole, bra and panties and the man stopped to watch as she finished and stood trembling in front of him and her husband; her arms crossed over her naked breasts. The man reached out, moved one of Claire's arms away from a breast and hefted it. He thumbed one of her nipples and then pinched it lightly, roughly rubbing her areola. He hummed his approval. Claire was both shocked and repulsed that her body responded to the man's fondling.

"Turn around and bend at the waist; hands on your knees."

Haltingly, with tears starting to flood her eyes, she obeyed. The man produced a flashlight from his pocket and pointed it at her sex; he probed her sex and ass with his finger. "David!" Claire cried out at the man's rough probing.

"Shut up Claire! Don't make this any worse than it has to be."

"Okay," said the man, "stand up and face me." Claire obeyed but kept her head bowed. The man addressed David, "I thought you told me she'd be suitable for my needs. I mean she looks young, sure, but she's way too old for what I need."

"She's only 29."

The man pointed at the woman on the bed, "And she just turned 18. Your woman's way over the hill, friend."

David became agitated, "So does that mean you won't take her?"

"Easy sport, I can find other uses for her. But instead of the 50 percent off, I want full price."

"Half?! She fucks like a whore! Sucks cock like a pro! She'd make a pile of money for you if you sold her to some brothel in Russia or Greece."

"That's not my line of business, sport. Ten large; take it or take her home and figure out something else to do with the bitch. Why don't you just kill her?"

Kill me? Claire's mind boggled.

"But...No, I can't kill her and...I don't have ten grand," David stammered.

The man looked at Claire and then back at David; he wasn't sure who was most pathetic but he was leaning toward the man. The man took a drag on his cigarette and flashed a gun stuck in his belt.

"All I've got on me is $7,500. I...I, uh, I think I can get more in a day or two."

The man held up his hand, "Give me the $7,500 and get the hell out of here."

As David nervously counted out bills the man asked, "You got something to say to your woman before you go?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Just like we discussed, sport. Nothing extra, nothing less."

David swallowed hard and then faced Claire who was wide eyed with terror. "Claire, you're going to go with these men. You're going to disappear. If you ever try to escape from these men in any way, they'll either call me and tell me to kill the kids or they'll come and kill the kids and me. Don't ever try to contact us. You're dead to me. How long you live from here out depends on how well you obey these men. Do you understand?"

Claire was shaking, tears running down her cheeks smearing her makeup. David was getting agitated again because Claire wasn't answering; not realizing she was so stunned and frightened that she couldn't speak.

David raised his hand to hit her. The man grabbed David's wrist, "She understands, sport. Now, get the fuck out of my sight before I decide to call this deal off and kill both of you. Do you know in Tanzania that your hide is worth over $10,000 at current prices?"

David stared at the man for a moment, the man released David's wrist and David bolted out the door.

The man closed the motel room door and walked back into the room. Without even looking at Claire he said, somewhat kindly, "Get dressed. We'll be leaving shortly."

It was as if Claire had not heard the man. She called to the door of the room, "I love you...David."

"Lady, your slug of a husband has just paid me $7,500 to make you disappear; his original deal was going to be $5,000 because he told me you were young enough but he lied. I'm a fucking serial killer, among other things that you'll find out about later but you really don't want to know about now. So I wouldn't waste your tears on that piece of shit. Now, get dressed."

Claire starred at the man, her mind only barely comprehending what had just happened, and then silently she forced herself to bend down, pick up her clothes and start to dress.

They drove south to Virginia. The two men sat up front with Claire and the young woman in the back seat. Claire looked at the woman; Claire thought she was very pretty. The men had made her wash her face, put on some makeup and brush her hair before they left the motel. But, though her eyes were open they were glassy and defocused. The man who David paid caught Claire looking at the girl from the rear view mirror. 

"Wondering about your compatriot, eh?"

Claire looked at the man and then his eyes in the mirror and nodded hesitantly. 

"She's 18, don't know her name - not that it matters. We had to give her some drugs to calm her down. It would be best if you left her alone; she's in her own little world right now. And, if you don't want a chemical vacation, dear, I'd be just as good and as quiet as you have been. Understand?"

Claire nodded though she didn't think being completely oblivious with drugs was necessarily a bad idea.

Somewhere along the road the car pulled into a rest stop. The driver, the other man, the man on the bed, got out and took Claire from the car and took her into the men's room.

He pushed her into the handicapped stall and closed the door behind him. "All right, sweet cakes, down on your knees," the man commanded as he unzipped his jeans and pulled out his half erect cock.

Claire shook her head and whispered, "Please don't make me do this. Please."

The man dropped his jeans to around his ankles and slowly jacked his cock to a long, hard erection. "Remember; do as you're told or bad things that you can't even begin to imagine will happen to your kids. 

"No. No, please don't hurt them."

"Then down you go. Come on babe; show me what you can do with your mouth."

Claire slowly dropped to her knees as the man stepped toward her, holding out his erection. Claire licked it tentatively.

"Take it in your fist, bitch, and put the head all the way in your mouth."

Claire slowly did as she was told and gagged as the head slid back on her tongue. She pulled backwards coughing. The man started to pull up his jeans, "Well, okay. I gotta make a phone call. C'mon."

Claire tilted her head, tears filling her eyes, contemplating what the man had just said. When the man's implication hit her, she scrambled to grab for the man's jeans to pull them down and then took his cock. There was no more gagging. In desperation Claire gave the best blow job she could. She thought he was about to come; her mouth was filling with salty fluid. But suddenly the man pulled away from her. 

"Jesus! You're good. I think you just need a little training. Stand up. Take off your shoes and hose."

Claire scrambled to her feet and complied.

"Turn around, put your hands on the wall and stand on your tip toes."

Claire complied, putting her face against the cool of the tile wall. She felt her panties roughly jerked down and then the man pulled her hips back and fumbled with mounting her. When the man was finally in, he sighed.

It didn't take him long to come. While he was fucking her Claire's mind drifted; she took comfort in the coolness of the wall against her face. But then she heard him grunt. The man's cock jerked inside her; he was coming inside her. She felt the extra slickness. His sperm was now in her womb. As she heard the sounds of her increased wetness with the man still thrusting vigorously inside her and she felt wetness run down the inside of her thighs her mind thought it all signaled the completeness of her taking.

If the man's orgasm had not sealed Claire's hopelessness then the next man in the stall, a long haul trucker thinking he was breaking in a pimp's new bitch, did. The trucker bent her over the stinking toilet, ripped her camisole off, fumbled with her bra, roughly massaging her breasts and then held her tightly by the hips as he fucked her violently. He was crude and was enjoying using Claire's body immensely. 

When the trucker was done he pulled out of Claire without ceremony. She collapsed into a sitting position on the toilet, her knees together and arms covering her naked breasts. He opened the door to the stall and paid the man $20 bucks.

"Hope you liked her."

"Hell, she's the best $20 I've spent in a long time. And she's not one of them skanks either."

"Thanks."

Claire stood, her skirt around her waist and her blouse and bra open. So, this is what Lisa does, kind of Claire thought, I can be a whore if I have to.

"Clean yourself up bitch, we gotta move."

Claire took some toilet paper and wiped her sex as best she could. She pulled off her bra and dropped it on the floor then buttoned her blouse, pulled her skirt down, slipped on her shoes but left her panties and hose and followed the man back to the car.  

This was the pattern for their drive to their destination; anytime the car stopped at a rest area or pulled off onto a country road at a park or just by a field, one of the men would rape her.

The driver's partner had her bent over the trunk of the car off a side road. He lasted almost long enough that Claire was close to orgasm. 

On the third stop, Claire unbuttoned her blouse before she got out of the car. She came that time, kneeling in a ditch somewhere in the Carolinas as the driver did her doggy style. 

Before the car stopped a fourth time, Claire was fingering herself to get wet and closer to orgasm. Before they got to Virginia, Claire was masturbating, discretely, almost continually. The man driving smiled. Well, I may keep her around he thought. I bet I can train her to do the work, maybe even use her as a lure and maybe even get her to calm some of his steers down before they met their fate.

They drove to a farm house just south of Richmond. The car pulled up to a barn and they got out. Walking through the door of the barn was like stepping from the nightmare she thought she was in into a new level of unimaginable horror. Claire thought maybe she was hallucinating.

She heard a steady drip to her right as she entered the barn. She looked and immediately wished she hadn't.

She starred at the scene until one of the men pushed her forward. The sight ahead of her was not as horrific but still it made her skin crawl. Where she expected to see stalls for cattle she instead saw two parallel rows of chain link dog runs. As she walked down the aisle between the cages she saw each cage held a woman; all were naked, some wrapped themselves in army blankets. The women didn't speak to her or the men, those who paid them any attention at all simply starred. Their stares said, Here's two more. The women's faces were devoid of any hope.

Claire did not get a cage. To her surprise, she had a small room with a full size bed. They gave her a thick denim shirt as clothing that just covered her ass but no shoes or underwear.

To her captors' extreme pleasure, Claire did prove to be very useful. They trained her to work with the women in the cages; to clean them up, feed them, to offer some sort of consolation. It was now the only time she ever spoke and her voice was small and breathy; the men reflected that it had a spooky yet comforting ethereal quality to it as if she were an angel in a slaughterhouse and in a very real sense she was.

"You know who we're doing tonight, right?" one of the men asked Claire.

She nodded. 

"Then go get her. Calm her down. Get her ready."

Claire turned and went to a cage. There a small girl with bright red hair huddled in the far corner. Claire opened the door and stood at the threshold. "Ginny, come on. I'm going to take you to my room. It's all right.

The girl tried to hide her face, her body trembling as she whimpered quietly. Claire came in and touched her shoulder. "Come on. It will be all right. I want to make you feel better before it's your time."

"The-they're going to kill me, aren't they? I'm not going home," the girl cried.

Claire knelt beside the girl and put her arm around her. "Yes. They're going to kill you in a while. But the pain won't be much at all. And you'll be home with God and there'll be no more pain."

"I don't believe in God."

"That's all right. I know He exists. He knows you exist and soon He'll end your pain and someday these men will get their rewards."

"How? How do you know?" the girl sobbed.

"I know because these men who have taken us are demons from Hell. If there are demons there is also a God. You'll be with Him shortly. Now come on."

The girl took Claire's hand and followed her to Claire's room. "Why don't you go to the bathroom, Ginny? It's right over there."

A short while later Ginny came out of the bathroom. Claire was sitting on the bed. She patted the mattress beside her, "Come lay here," Claire said in her small ethereal voice.

The girl walked across the small room and sat on the bed. Claire kissed her gently and then guided her to lie on her back. For the next 20 minutes Claire gently washed the girl's body with sweet smelling soap. After the sponge bath, Claire slid her naked body over the girl's and began lightly kissing and caressing her until Claire was between the girl's legs, her mouth on the girl's sex.

The girl's orgasm came slowly and she lay in Claire's bed, breathing deeply, and feeling relaxed. She never saw the rubber mallet in Claire's small hand that hit her in the temple, knocking her unconscious.

Two hours later the girl had been "processed."

They trained Claire to actually do the "processing." They made her do several of the women by herself. She was a quick study and soon she was quick, neat and efficient. On the girls she especially liked or felt sorry for, she insisted that they let her do them.

When she wasn't working with the captives the men would use her sexually, sometimes six to ten times a day. They would rape her or sexually abuse and humiliate her, making her masturbate with objects or binding her hands and torturing her while they masturbated her and watched her come despite her torment. It all usually took place in a spot between the two rows of cages where they forced the women to watch.

But Claire took comfort in the routine. She was mentally beyond responding to the horror that was around her; that she now willingly participated in.

Two times when it appeared Claire was pregnant they had used a coat hanger on her and used her mouth and ass for their pleasures for a day or two while she healed.

The one thing that Claire could still comprehend in her ravaged mind was that as long as she was not in a cage and as long as they continued to use her for sex and to fulfill their sadistic desires, she would live. The men never had sex with the women that they captured once they arrived at the barn.

At the end of six weeks of captivity, Claire's fortunes changed - for the better. Although, at this point in her life, she had forgotten her name, where she came from, her life prior to the barn; she had no sense of time. She didn't know how long she had lived in the barn. 

But she was going to California now. She had been sold to a woman. She would have babies for the woman. This seemed like a good thing. She thought she had been a mother before and having babies would be nice.

~~~~~~~~~~

Three Years Later

Cynthia Knowles was very happy. She was driving Yvette Harriman to meet "the girls" for their weekly lunch. A year of intense coaxing had finally paid off; Yvette Harriman and her husband were moving to Pacific Palisades and Yvette would do cardiology and internal medicine consults for Cynthia's older plastic surgery patients plus Yvette would be in practice for herself.

Sitting around their favorite table on the private club's veranda were the girls: Amy Chang, Deb Baker and Roxanne Sommers. Cynthia made the introductions. Yvette politely smiled and shook each woman's hand. Deb Baker could have sworn she saw literal sparks fly between Yvette's eyes and Roxanne's eyes when they shook hands. The handshake lingered a moment. Amy saw it too and the two women tittered.

Yvette sat down, "What?"

"It looks like Roxanne has eyes for you Yvette," Amy piped up. "Have you warned Yvette about our Roxie?"

Cynthia made a face and turned to Yvette, "Pay them no mind. You get up here in the hills with the Pacific laying out there and they get as silly as school girls."

"So what brings you out to Southern California - besides Cynthia?" Deb asked.

Yvette Harriman turned back to the waiter standing by her shoulder, "I'll have an extra cold, extra dry, Beefeaters martini, three olives. Thanks."

"Well, isn't Southern California a reason unto itself? But seriously, I was attracted to just the raw decadence. Pretty staid back in dark, cold, Milwaukee, you know. I hear you all do a pretty fair job at decadence and debauchery. Don't disappoint me; I'm looking forward, in my off hours, to lavishly practicing and being exposed to decadence that would make a Lutheran minister sick and," she paused, looking reflective, "I want to be debauched and maybe do some debauching myself." Yvette smiled at the group as if she had just commented on the weather and then reached into her bag and came out with cigarettes and lighter.




The Evil Within Ch. 02



The girlfriends didn't know what to make of this statement; Yvette was so out there.

Yvette lit up, snapped her Zippo closed and looked casually at the women around the table. They all had polite but inquisitive smiles fixed oddly on their faces.

Since no one took the bait Yvette blew out a cloud of blue smoke and continued, "How's that medical pot thing work? Do we write scripts for each other or what? And, I assume we're all at least bi, if not," she smiled slightly in Roxanne's direction but not at Roxanne, "openly gay, sitting at this table. Dreaming about the sweet flesh between each others' legs as well as the cocks of husbands, lovers, pool boys, tennis pros and golf caddies - or is there some sort of caste system over whom it's fashionable to fuck and carry on with and with whom it's forbidden?

"You know, like, 'Ewwww, she sucked off a limo driver while waiting to get into the Whiskey A-Go-Go! She was down on her knees in a back alley where the drunks piss!' Or is that okay? Anyway," she gestured with her hands, "you know those sorts of things. Oh, and do we have any, you know, group activities together?"

Yvette took another drag off her cigarette and waited, straight faced.

Roxanne Sommers finally broke the silence. She gave a low, throaty laugh and nodded her head, a sly smile on her face. "Oh Cynthia, dear Cynthia, Yvette's going to fit in quite well. And, uh, Yvette, yes, I am the bull dyke here and you may rest assured I have been most definitely thinking of that tender pink flesh between your legs since Cynthia showed us your picture. Now I am even more interested in it. Like, when I finger myself thinking about you, are you shaved or do you have a little hair?"

Yvette vamped for the girlfriends, "Oh, Dr. Sommers, I shaved it all for California. Isn't that the style unless, of course, you like your girls with a little decoration? I also got a clit ring too before I came out. I love it, especially when I masturbate."

There were ooo's and ah's together with pleased sounding tittering.

It was difficult to tell whether Roxanne was vamping or was extremely aroused or both. She locked eyes with Yvette, her face emotionless: "Smooth as a baby's bottom, Dr. Harriman; that's how I like my girls' cunts - and I can do wonders with clit rings. I'll have you begging me to be my bitch after our first fuck."

"I have butterflies in my belly," Yvette kept the eye lock with Roxanne, "and you have no idea how incredibly swollen and slick I feel right now but, uh, we'll have to see who's going to be whose bitch. I can play the whore, Dr. Sommers, but I'm not easy."

There was a long silence and the girls watched Yvette and Roxanne hold each others' gaze then there was an intense burst of ooo's and ah's. There'd be no trouble with Yvette fitting in and, to the group, Roxanne had just staked out her territory even though quietly, all the women wanted her.

Cynthia Knowles couldn't have been more pleased with her friends' reaction to Yvette. "Yes, Roxie, I believe she will do quite well out here with us."

Deb Baker put her hand over Yvette's, her finger tips playing lightly against Yvette's skin, "Then again, Yvette, if big bull dykes aren't your cup of tea, I am, as you can see, most feminine and I've been told I have a very sweet tasting cunt. My husband is a workaholic. I, on the other hand, take Wednesday afternoon and all day Friday off. You know; if you'd like to uh, hook up. Unlike some," she cast a glance at Roxanne, "I'll even let you lead." Doing her best Mae West she said, "You look like the strong silent type."

"Bitch," Roxanne retorted in false anger, "You're just jealous because I'm fucking your Guatemalan housekeeper and you wanted her all to yourself 'cause Cynthia's got to give your hubby a bigger dick - that actually works," the orthopod added with a Cheshire cat like smile.

No caste system, Yvette mused to herself.

Deb yawned and then said to the other women, ignoring Roxanne, "At least I wasn't recruited to play middle linebacker by USC when I was pre-med," her voice and smile carried enough saccharin to have killed a lab rat instantly.

The butch surgeon simply flipped Deb off. 

Cynthia interrupted the friendly cat fight, "Girls, girls, let's not give our new colleague a bad impression on our first lunch."

To get the conversation moving in a different, more agreeable direction Cynthia said, "Yvette's thinking of having a baby too."

"Oooo, is she going to go your route, Cyn?" Amy Chang asked. 

Cynthia looked at Yvette with a smile, her fingertips now delicately playing on the back of Yvette's other hand as if to stake her territorial claim, "Well, I haven't discussed my route with her yet but once I explain it I think she might just go for it. She'll be able to keep working and keep that wonderful figure of hers."

"Speaking of your route," Roxanne asked, what's it doing today?"

Cynthia looked at her watch, "Mmmm, right about now, I think my pool boy is using it. I'm bartering his services."

"What's your accountant think of that?" Deb asked with interest.

Cynthia leaned in to the table conspiratorially, "I'm bartering it with him too."

Amy asked with enthusiastic anticipation, "Are you not going to use it anymore? Are you lending it out?"

"Well, I'm hoping I can get sweet Yvette here to take it off my hands and get some capital investment back. But I need to talk to her about itfirst."

The women tittered guiltily and elbowed each other. Yvette was taking it all in with a polite smile, thinking about the sweet flesh and undoubtedly sweaty skin in the heat of passion of the buxom orthopedic surgeon sitting across from her. She had absolutely no idea what anyone was talking about though she knew she would find it interesting. She had come for the decadence and whatever it was definitely sounded decadent. Little could she imagine.

Yvette's martini came and the conversation slowed as the women looked over the lunch menu.

~~~~~~~~~~

Though it was early afternoon, the woman - Claire Benton though she had long forgotten her name - lay naked in a room in near darkness. She blinked and squinted when the door opened and silhouetted a figure holding a large wooden mallet in its hand.

The woman abstractly wondered if the person standing in the doorway with the mallet knew how to use it properly and if they would be humane; stunning her completely so that she would not be conscious when her Achilles tendon's were cut and the hooks were inserted into the hollows of the back of her heels as she was hoisted up to be bled.

But the silhouetted figure, a girl, put down the mallet and picked up a leash. "Come on," the girl said as if she were bored, "Jimmy wants to get his rocks off with you." The girl clipped the leash to the woman's dog collar.

Sometime later the girl returned the woman to her room and unclipped the leash. The woman had been well used; sweat and cum dripped from her body as she had been used out in the hot noonday sun by the pool.

"You did well today," the girl casually commented. "Maybe you'll get off the clear liquids tomorrow."

Though Claire was high and in a daze from whatever drugs the pool boy and the girl had given her and from her intense sexual arousal from the session, she took this news happily. Getting food meant the ordeal would be postponed, at least for another few days. They didn't want to risk the chance of her defecating during the butchering process; it tended to spoil the meat and make the job messier. 

Claire whimpered and grasped one of the girl's ankles and began kissing the girl's foot.

"Whoa!" the girl laughed casually - the way a person talks happily to an overeager dog. The girl broke from Claire's grasp and stepped back. In the light from the door she looked at her watch and then back at Claire.

The girl, a graduate of UCLA and formerly from a farm in Sioux City, Iowa, slid her thong off and then, from several keys on a lanyard around her neck she unlocked a drawer and removed a strapon dildo and stepped into the harness. Still tender from the fucking she had taken from the pool boy's associate; the girl shuddered in pleasure and a little pain as she pushed the small penis end of the dildo past her sex lips and into her pussy. As she tightened the rig onto her body, pulling the base of the dildo snuggly against her clit she commanded the woman, "Go kneel in the corner, cunt." 

The girl put one hand on the Claire's hip and one hand in Claire's hair and pressed her pelvis into Claire. The large dildo slid easily into the Claire's swollen and sperm slickened cunt without any guidance from the girl's hands. Claire panted and moaned; the feeling of the soft, dry skin of the girl's belly and thighs against Claire's ass and thighs and the filling of the dildo - the pleasure was almost overwhelming.

Claire was nearing orgasm from the frenzy of the girl's fucking and abuse. As the wave of her orgasm broke and filled her belly Claire thought, blissfully, at least another couple of days. At least another couple of days.

~~~~~~~~~~

"So, you want a baby, huh?" 

Yvette pulled off her surgical cap and exhaustedly flopped down next to Roxanne on the leather sofa in the doctor's surgical lounge. She'd just finished a long, tedious, cardiac catheterization that was supposed to be easy. She had three more to do plus make rounds before she could call it a day.

"Yeah. The clock's ticking, you know? What about you?"

"Maybe someday, if the right girl comes along; I'd have her artificially inseminated, you know. Hey," Roxanne said with a glimmer in her eye, "got a husband?"

Yvette grinned, "Uh huh. Sorry. His name is Herbie."

"Herbie? Who's named Herbie these days? What is he, a geezer?"

Yvette laughed, "It's a long story, but he's most definitely not a geezer."

The surgeon grinned. "Damn, just like they say, all the good ones are married."

"Well, stud," Yvette slapped Roxanne on the thigh, "Herbie lets me play around. We have a relationship but I can have sex with other people - you know, grown up boys and girls. Besides, this is Southern California but...ah, you don't have the right equipment to knock me up - not that the idea doesn't get me a little wet - and I don't go for that artificial stuff. I mean Herbie'd love to jerk off in a cup but I do not find being spread eagled in stirrups while I get Herbie's load in a modified turkey baster up my cunt, uh, appealing. Sorry."

"You know they don't use turkey basters, right? And, does the thought of me knocking you up really get you wet."

"Uh, yeah. Yeah it does. I love strong women like you; you knocking me up somehow makes for an interesting fantasy. I can really tell when I'm ovulating and the thought of you on top, pumping your jizz into me - breeding me like a bitch - I say HooAhh, girl!" Yvette smiled; she could see Roxanne's mind working and suddenly a nipple pressed its outline against Roxanne's scrub top. 

"Are you teasing me or would you really like to hook up?"

"Well, stud, what do you think?" Yvette asked.

Roxanne leaned over, put her hand behind Yvette's head and kissed her, pushing her tongue deeply into Yvette's mouth. Yvette gave a little sigh and hungrily sucked the intruding tongue before pushing it back into Roxanne's mouth and following with her own.

Just as Roxanne was getting into the kiss and feeling Yvette's smaller body press into hers, Dr. Gary Marsten, a general surgeon, came in and took notice of the women on the sofa. 

"Jesus Christ, Roxanne, get a fucking room, would ya?."

Reluctantly Roxanne broke the kiss to taunt the older male surgeon, "Whatsa matter One Nut? I thought you liked girl on girl action."

The other surgeon paused in thought for a moment then turned his back to the women and dropped his scrubs, mooning the two. Then he farted, loudly and wetly. 

"God damn Gary! Go wipe after that one!"

He looked over his shoulder. Yvette's face was obscured as she nuzzled Roxanne's throat. "Why don't you just take your tart of the week somewhere else and let a man fart in peace?"

"Priss! Or are you just jealous because I won't let you ball me? He thinks if he can fuck me with his massive tool I'll switch teams." Roxanne retorted as she got up, taking Yvette's hand in hers.

"He might be right, Rox; he's almost bigger than my husband.

Hey Gary, how's it hanging?" Yvette smiled warmly with a mischievous wink thrown in for old times' sake.

Gary Marsten looked at the other woman for the first time."Jesus H. Christ! Vette, is that you?" the surgeon asked excitedly. Yvette broke her hand hold with Roxanne and went to hug Marsten. "I heard you and Herbie were coming out here to Lotus Land, I just didn't know when. How are you? We'll have to catch up some time."

Yvette kissed Marsten on the cheek and then went back to Roxanne standing at the door of the lounge and put her arm around Rox's waist.

Marsten laughed knowingly, "Cruising in the fast lane again, I see. Give Herbie my regards. Roxanne has a need now. Watch her, she likes it rough. And, uh, it's hanging comfortably, thank you."

Roxanne looked at the surgeon and Yvette with surprise, "You two obviously know each other." 

Yvette grinned slyly and winked again at Marsten, "Gary and I, uh, have been colleagues for a while from back in Milwaukee. He has the scars to show for it too." Gary blushed just a bit and laughed.

"Come on, Rox, I've got a procedure in 30 minutes. We can chat later." She turned quickly back to Marsten, a wicked grin now on her face, "I'll see if I can accommodate her taste for roughness."

The male surgeon smirked as Yvette took the lead out of the lounge. "Uh, watch out Roxanne, she's pretty slick - and not in the way you're accustomed to. There's a reason we called her Vette, among other things, back in Milwaukee." He thought Roxanne had met her match. He sort of wished he could watch.

Roxanne found herself being pulled out the door by the pretty cardiologist, Gary Marsten's words echoing in her head.

Roxanne soon found out what Marsten meant. Yvette pulled Roxanne into one of the unisex, handicapped bathrooms outside the surgical suite, locked the door and slammed Roxanne against the wall. Roxanne hit her head against the wall, stunning her and knocking the wind out of her.

Yvette said nothing as she untied and then roughly pulled down the Rox's scrub pants and panties. Roxanne attempted to move off the wall and just look down at Yvette as she worked but Yvette put her palm directly on Roxanne's breast bone and shoved her back, causing her to hit her head and knocking the wind from her again. Roxanne slid down the wall, dazed.

"Come on, bitch; time to give it up for the Vette, baby. Spread," Yvette commanded.

Roxanne obeyed.

Yvette dropped to her knees; lightly ran her fingertips up and down the insides of Roxanne's thighs and then put her hands on the insides of the thighs, bent down and put her mouth directly on Roxanne's sex. When Roxanne felt Yvette's tongue flick slowly over her clit she had to bite her lower lip to keep from crying out.

Roxanne tried to put her fingers in Yvette's ultra short hair and hold her tightly to her work. But Yvette swatted Roxanne's hands away and then she sat back momentarily, a hard, determined look on her face, "Huh uh, this is my party, bitch. Maybe I'll let you fuck me over some time but not now."

Roxanne was speechless; Yvette went back to her work.

30 minutes later Yvette slowly got off her belly with a groan on the bathroom floor. She stretched when she was on her feet; went to the sink to wash her face and hands. She rubbed a handful of water through her hair and put her "geek" glasses on, taking time to straighten her lab coat.

Roxanne sat exhaustedly on the floor, soaked in sweat; the remnants of her orgasm slowly ebbing though her belly. She still had her long, well muscled legs spread wide, her sex gaping after Yvette vigorously had worked Roxanne's cunt. 

Yvette stood over Roxanne and looked at her watch in irritation. 

"You know, I don't want to sound bitchy," Yvette stopped and thought a moment. "No, I do want to sound bitchy - you've got a beautiful cunt, a fabulous clit and nice thighs too - but, uh, why didn't you tell me? My jaw is going to bother me the rest of the fucking day and my schedule for today is fucked too."

Roxanne was disturbed by Yvette's tone; she didn't have a clue what Yvette was talking about. "Uh, I'm sorry Yvette, tell you what?"

"Is it Zoloft?"

Roxanne blinked in confusion and then astonishment, "No, it's Paxil."

Yvette gently worked her stiff jaw. "All the SSRI anti-depressants retard orgasm, some even completely inhibit them. Jesus, you orthopods really don't read much outside your field do you? Plus, it makes a subtle change in the taste of your urine and you leaked a bit when you were finally able to get off. You should see a urologist about that weak bladder.

"I'm late for a procedure; the head hell bitch in the cath lab is going to give me grief. You should have told me our little bathroom tryst was going to take, like, fucking forever. Plus I am all wound up and no way to come and that pisses me off with a casual fuck buddy. Lovers can leave each other hanging, you know? But fuck buddies - hey, it's tit for tat, bitch. I get you off, you get me off and everyone is happy. Are we fuck buddies, Rox?"

Roxanne was used to being in control, very used to it. Yvette's handling of her took her by total surprise but despite Yvette's dominance of her; she really liked how Yvette did her and made her feel. So her tone was a bit uncertain and a little shaky when she answered Yvette, "Yeah. Yeah, uh, look, I'm sorry about, you know, uh, taking so long to come. I just never..."

Yvette sat on her haunches in front of the big surgeon, her elbows on her knees and her fingers idly playing with her "geek" glasses. She interrupted, "You've never had some little mouse, like me, turn the tables on you before. New experience; how did it feel?"

"I, uh, I really liked it. Thanks," Roxanne said quietly.

"Well, here's a condition of our buddy-ship: Since you kinda fucked up the rest of my day and got me all hot and bothered and I can't do a damn thing about it, you're gonna be my bitch for a while. Okay?"

"Uh, yeah, sure, Yvette; whatever you want baby."

Yvette bent forward and kissed Roxanne tenderly on the forehead trailing her fingertips around Roxanne's face. "I'm glad. But speaking of baby, there's one other thing and it's very important, just don't ask why: Don't ever, ever call me a whore. I'll break both your hands - slowly. I'll enjoy it too and as they say in the movie biz, 'you'll never work in this town again'," Yvette was so casual, so matter-of-fact in her threat of violence it made Roxanne shudder from fear - and for some strange reason, arousal.

"I'm the reason you call Gary Marsten One Nut; just something to keep in mind."

Roxanne desperately wanted to ask but didn't. Instead she asked, "Why do they call you Vette?"

Yvette smiled, "Two reasons. Like a Chevy Corvette I'm good looking and fast. And like a navy warship known as a corvette, I can be incredibly mean and swift in a fight. And, just a warning my large dyke fuck buddy, I'd say I win an average of 95 percent of my fights. You might want to remember that if you think you're going to take me by surprise sometime."

"Shit. I will. Will you marry me?"

"I'll have to ask Herbie," Yvette said enigmatically without missing a beat.





The Evil Within Ch. 02



Spooky, Roxanne thought as Yvette held out her hand to help Roxanne off the floor.

~~~~~~~~~~

Yvette rang the doorbell at Cynthia Knowles' house in the hills. When the door opened Yvette took notice of Cynthia Knowles' au pair, Christina. Christina was a younger, slightly smaller carbon copy of Cynthia. She was stunningly beautiful in her midriff top and thong; her blond hair long and flowing. The girl had a long, lean body and nice, small breasts.

"Dr. Knowles is out by the pool. She said for you to join her. Do you need a suit ma'am? Or," Christina quickly added before Yvette could answer, "You can go nude. Most of the doctor's guests do, ma'am."

When in Rome..., Yvette thought. "Uh, where, uh, do I, you know, uh strip?"

"Right here is fine ma'am. I'll fetch you a robe and take care of your clothing for you."

"Thank you."

There wouldn't be much clothing for the 20 something girl to take care of. It was a hot day already shortly after noon and getting hotter. Yvette was dressed in a simple, sleeveless white linen sheath dress with only panties underneath. Yvette slipped the sheath over her shoulders and let it fall in a puddle around her feet; she quickly shucked out of her panties, collected dress and panties and handed them to Christina. She took the silk kimono Christina held out to her.

Christina took a long, obvious look at Yvette's body as she pressed the crotch of Yvette's panties to her nose with both hands. Yvette stared amusingly at the audacity of the girl.

"You had sex this morning. I can smell it. He tastes good. Is it your husband or have you taken a male lover?" Christina bore an intense look and spoke in a quick, flat tone.

"What a strange girl you are. It's my husband. What about my smell?"

"I love it too. Musky, very musky and I like it."

Christina moved closer to Yvette. With her eyes shifting from side to side she quickly whispered in her flat tone, "The nanny has the children on a trip to the beach. My room is the last door on the left down the main hall. I want to fuck you. I'll make you scream. You'll like it; I'll make you like it."

It was difficult for Yvette not to laugh out loud, the girl was so outrageous, but then again, so was her employer. Yvette arched her eyebrows and managed a polite but amused smile while reaching for the top of the girl's thong.

As Yvette gave a strong upward jerk to the thong, pulling the material tightly between Christina's labia she said, "Maybe, little bitch; I'll think about it. Maybe you'll scream for me though. You look like fun meat to fuck." With that Yvette turned, pulled her sun glasses down over her eyes and walked out toward the pool, the kimono folded over her arm. Christina was trembling; urine began to run down Christina's thighs; she let her orgasm come as she peed on the floor of the entry way. Christina would have it clean the piss puddle up. 

As Yvette saw the plastic surgeon stretched out, nude, on her back on a lounger she wondered to herself if David Lynch was going to pop out of the shrubbery. She reflected she wanted decadence when she came to Southern Californian not just weirdness. Maybe it was some sort of requirement that, at least in California, decadence and weirdness had to go together.  "The last thing in the world I would expect to see is a tall, perfectly proportioned, absolutely beautiful plastic surgeon stretched out nude, in the sun."

"Yvette, my dear! How good to see you! Come; lay out with me for a while. 

"The reason I am out here is very good sun block and I simply cannot resist the caress of the sun on my body. It's, it's like being wrapped in my lover's arms and having a continuous orgasm."

"Well, if you say so." She sat on a chaise, kicked off her sandals and laid back.

Cynthia was sitting up on the side of her lounger, admiring Yvette's body. "We'll get you some sun block and then we can talk of babies!" Abruptly - so abruptly that Yvette jumped - Cynthia called out, her voice harsh: "On the deck NOW! With a towel and sun block!" 

Jesus, Yvette wondered, what was with the attitude?

Shortly Claire, nude, appeared with a towel and bottle of sun block in hand. She gazed at the ground as she stood at the foot of Yvette's lounger stone still. It struck Yvette that the woman almost looked like a well trained dog waiting for her master's next command.

"Rub her down," Cynthia commanded in her harsh tone. 

With dog-like eagerness Claire knelt on the deck and began rubbing sun block on Yvette's feet and then slowly and sensually moved up Yvette's legs. Claire knelt between Yvette's feet when she couldn't reach Yvette's thighs. When the lotion and Claire's soft hands rubbed up the inside of Yvette's thighs Yvette felt her cunt fill with blood and her nipples stiffen. Yvette noticed an almost imperceptible smile on Claire's otherwise emotionless face. Claire had immediately noticed Yvette's arousal.

The lotion applied to Yvette's thighs, Claire chanced a look into Yvette's eyes for her next move. Yvette smiled and shifted her body slightly, arching her breasts and belly toward Claire. Claire repositioned by straddling one of Yvette's thighs and began kneading the lotion over Yvette's bare mons, her hips and belly. Yvette moaned her approval.

Cynthia laughed softly, "It's doing a good job from the sound of it my dear."

Yvette hummed her assent as Claire repositioned to rub the sun block over Yvette's breasts and then gently massaged the lotion into Yvette's throat and face. When she was finished, Claire stood up beside Yvette's lounger, her gaze to the ground, emotionless.

Yvette really looked at the woman for the first time. There was intelligence in Claire's eyes. Her body was neither tanned nor toned as Cynthia's and every other woman's body in Cynthia's circle of friends were. Claire's body was very white; she had a bit of a paunch with prominent stretch marks and her breasts were long, almost banana shaped while still seeming flat. Yvette decided the woman had obviously had children and nursed them. Yvette also noticed the marks on the woman's body: cigarette burns around her breasts, clamp marks on her nipples and rope ligature marks around her throat and wrists, thighs and ankles. When Claire finally turned to leave, Yvette noticed the red linear marks on Claire's back. Whip marks? Yvette wondered.

"Thank you, that was very nice of you to massage me like that," Yvette said, looking for an emotional response in the woman's face. There was none, in fact it appeared as if the woman paled some.

"Yvette," Cynthia said with exasperation in her voice, "It should not be praised or encouraged in any way."

Yvette turned her head toward Cynthia. Cynthia had her eyes closed. Yvette quickly reached, ran her fingertips up the inside of the massage girl's inner thigh and then squeezed the woman's hand to show her appreciation. "Gee, Cynthia, sorry about that; I didn't know."

Cynthia smiled into the sunny sky, "You'll learn dear."

~~~~~~~~~~

"Roxanne?" There was a long pause on the phone and Roxanne was about to hang up when the voice returned, "This is Stacy. Stacy Masters." The voice on the other end of the phone was small, strained and desperate. 

"Stacy! How they hangin', bitch?" Roxanne said happily and cruelly. 

Masters pressed the phone to her forehead and leaned against the wall, tears flowing down her cheeks. She thought about hanging up but she was desperate. When Masters didn't answer Roxanne got a bit concerned, but only a bit. "Stacy?"

"Do you know where I'm at?" Roxanne could hear the tears and sniffles in Masters' voice.

"Uh, no. Should I?"

"I'm at the Rampart Division and I need to make bond. I don't have the cash and I need someone to help me."

"Jesus Stace, we've been adversaries for all these years, why are you calling me?"

"Roxanne, I...you had to know...I never stopped wanting you," Masters blurted out. "All my friends are running for cover. I need some help, now! You were the only one I could think of...if you can't help then..."

"What are they holding you on?" 

"Uh, first degree manslaughter."

"Stacy, you're putting me on. You're a senior assistant D.A. Surely you've still got friends; surely somebody's going to cut you some slack. I mean, Christ, aren't they releasing you on your own recognizance?"

"No!" Masters almost screamed into the phone. "No slack, no friends, no RO. Roxanne, I'm desperate. I'll beg if you want me to. I'll do anything you want; I just can't be in jail!"

There was a long pause. Roxanne didn't know what to think. Stacy Masters had been trying to bust Roxanne and her girlfriends for various sexual crimes involving the drugging and sexual assaults of college women over the years. Now she was begging Roxanne for help.

"Uh, Stacy. No preconditions except that you tell me what's going on. I'll come bond you out. How much do I need to bring?"

"It's uh, $50,000 cash."

"Christ! I'll be there."

~~~~~~~~~~

Stacy Masters looked terrible. Her eyes were bloodshot; she wore no makeup, her hair was in a mess and she was in a torn, over sized t-shirt (that bared a shoulder and almost a breast) and a pair of old sweats. She was bare foot. The police arrested her at dawn. They raided her house with a full SWAT team as if she were a dangerous felon and not an assistant district attorney with a spotless reputation. They cuffed her in her bed and took her to the Rampart Division station in the clothes they had found her. She settled into Roxanne's GT, a stunned, disbelieving look on her face.

"So Stace; what's the story, babe?" Roxanne asked gently as she regarded her passenger and started the car.

"I'm being framed for murder. They have a tape showing me having some very rough sex with a girl and it shows me strangling her while I'm fucking her doggy style. But she was alive! I...I just can't remember much about that night though. I keep drawing a blank. If they hadn't showed me the tape, if I hadn't seen myself fucking the bitch, I'd have never believed them."

"So this didn't happen last night then? Or did it; Christ, you look like hell."

"No, uh, it was a week or so ago. I don't remember leaving the girl's apartment; I just remember waking up in my bed and thinking what a wild night I must have had."

"Sounds like you were drugged."

"Yeah, sounds like." Masters looked at Roxanne and spoke carefully, "You like to drug your bitches Roxie, are you framing me? Is this the coup de grace for all the years I've tried to bust you?"

Roxanne abruptly pulled the car over to the curb and took Stacy Masters' face roughly in both her hands. "You fucking listen to me, Stacy! Listen goddamned good! We've had our history, sure. You've been a pain in my ass since I kicked your needy cunt out of my bed our sophomore year at Duke but I wouldn't do this to you or anyone. I'm kinky. I'm not depraved; at least not that depraved. Understand? Besides, if I were framing you I wouldn't have just plunked down fifty large to bail your ass out. And if you jump, by the way, I'll have you hunted down and killed."

Masters slowly nodded her head, tears welling up in her eyes. 

"Let's get you home."

Masters bowed her head and spoke quietly, "I can't go home. Crime Scene Investigation is picking it apart. No doubt they're expecting to find more evidence."

"Got a favorite hotel then?"

"I uh, I don't have any money either. My bank and credit accounts have been frozen."

"Jesus Christ! All this fuss over one college cunt? Who was she for Christ's sake; one of the President's daughter?"

"That's what's funny, I can't remember her name. She was just someone I picked up. She was fun to fuck. We were having fun. They, uh, they apparently think this girl is not my first. That's the big deal.

"They're going to make the case I'm a sexual predator and a serial killer of young college girls. When it hits the L.A. Times tomorrow, O.J. is going to seem like a goddamned model citizen. I just don't know what the hell is going on."

Roxanne pulled away from the curb and headed for Sunset. "Huh. The irony is not lost on me, not that you really wanted or needed to hear that. Uh, I can't put you up at my place; I'm seeing someone on a regular basis now. But I'll put you up for a couple of days in a hotel until you can get your head together, okay? Have some room service; it's on me."

"Uh, thanks, Roxanne."

~~~~~~~~~~

Yvette had just about enough sun. Her body was warm and her skin was nicely brown and glistening. She sat up from the lounger and took several steps and dived gracefully into the pool. 

Cynthia Knowles sat up too and watched Yvette's hips and beautiful ass sway as she moved to the pool. Cynthia wondered what Yvette would be like in bed. She then decided she'd find out after Yvette's swim. Yvette undoubtedly appreciated Cynthia's perfect beauty. Cynthia thought Yvette must have great self control not to have begged Cynthia to make love to her. Cynthia smiled to herself.

Yvette swam a few laps, barely disturbing the water with her graceful form, and then stood near Cynthia's lounger in the water, her breasts resting nicely on the edge of the pool.

"So, Cynthia, what's your deal with having babies?"

Cynthia was sitting on the side of her lounger. "Come here!" she commanded in her harsh tone. The woman came from the shadows of the house, still nude. "Stand in front of the doctor."

Yvette pulled herself out of the pool and looked at the woman, still looking for a sign of emotion. All she saw this time was the woman appeared to be quite aroused and possibly stoned. Cynthia came and stood beside Yvette. 

"You probably think I'm cruel with it."

"I did kind of pick up a vibe there. Why don't you call her by name?"

"It's better to not let it personalize. It's best for it. It's just modestly human. It's more an animal, a steer, or breeding stock."

What an unbelievable crock of shit, Yvette thought.

"It's been the incubator and womb for my two children. I had it artificially inseminated with my fertilized eggs. I mean Yvette; I can't afford to have my beautiful body scarred up with stretch marks, my perfect tits stretched out like a cow's udder! With it carrying the children, I still keep working and I maintain my exquisite beauty."

"You've, uh, certainly thought this through," Yvette was mildly sarcastic but Cynthia didn't pick it up.

"Thank you."

Yvette moved a piece of the woman's hair to get a better picture of her face and noticed a ligature mark across the Adam's apple and extending under her jaw.

"So, how'd you come by your, uh, good fortune?"

"It was a runaway wife. Two children by age 17 but had no sense of responsibility. You know with cats who can't mother you euthanize them; they ought to make it the same with these sub-human types in my opinion. But anyway, turns out she's not quite all there. Her IQ is sub-par; she's not retarded but she's a bit slow except at certain things, like sex. I've trained her well, I think. And she takes to sex like a duck to water; it's incredible."

Yvette marveled at Cynthia's absolute arrogance. She'd never really noticed it before. Now, it was starting to annoy her.

"It was living as a sex slave to a man in Manhattan. He said the only thing it was good at was being a cunt." Cynthia shrugged as if to say she knew better. "But once I had it checked out medically, I knew I had I something. It was a stroke of genius really. I mean, its white, no name, no family, no social security number, no life except what I provide. Maintenance is minimal; she barely eats anything and except when it's absolutely necessary, she's always nude."

"You're not worried about her lack of, uh, intelligence?" Yvette could see intelligence in Claire's eyes; she didn't buy for a second the line that Claire was sub-human.

Cynthia gave a thin laugh as if Yvette was so out of her league. "Yvette, dear. They're my eggs, my husband's sperm. I'm beautiful and extremely intelligent and my husband is handsome and intelligent. The children, consequently, are just fine."

"Wow," Yvette said in a mocking tone that Cynthia never picked up on, "kind of god-like, eh Cynthia?"

"Yvette, you flatter me. You can have her for $25,000. Half now and half when you check to make sure she's viable to breed."

Yvette felt a little sick. She didn't know whether it was from wondering if Cynthia was completely insane or whether it was from the idea of actually owning a human being and using her like a mindless animal for her own vanity that aroused her.

"Look," Cynthia said. "Run your hands through its hair; full and lustrous." Cynthia yanked the woman's head back, slapped the woman's face and commanded "open!" 

"See, nice teeth and gums." 

Yvette noticed the prominent ligature mark again and couldn't help herself. "What's up with this? She - I'm sorry, it try to hang itself?"

Cynthia appeared to be momentarily perplexed and then she got it. "Oh! That. We were using it at a party the other night; all the girls and their husbands or lovers." Cynthia gasped, "Oh. Oh, Yvette, I'm sorry. I forgot to invite you and your husband. Well, next time?"

"Uh, yeah, sure. So you were using it, how exactly?"

"Oh!" Cynthia stood closer to Yvette and laid her fingertips on the slope of one of Yvette's breasts, "we would hang it by a rope from the rafter's in the pool pump room and masturbate it with a dildo on the blade of a reciprocal saw. When it orgasms it becomes oxygen deprived and its body starts to twitch in the noose. God," Cynthia sort of husked out while moving her fingertips down Yvette's breast to her nipple. "It is so hot to hear it and watch its body twitch in pleasure.

"But anyway," Cynthia stepped behind Claire and put her hands on Claire's hips, "nice wide pelvic girdle for breeding." Cynthia ran a hand up Claire's belly to one of Claire's breasts and held it out toward Yvette, "Breasts are great for milk. And," Cynthia said as she stepped back around and re-established contact with Yvette's breast, "nice strong thighs below a very tight cunt and ass. I personally tightened it up after each child. It's absolutely perfect as a sex toy; sucks cock and cunt equally well."

Yvette was completely appalled but Cynthia's touch was getting to her and Yvette found herself wanting sex. Gently she put both her hands around Cynthia's exploring hand and looked Cynthia in the eyes; Yvette could feel Cynthia's breath on her lips. "You know, Cynthia, you keep touching me like that and I'll need to, uh, you know, come."

"So I'm having the desired effect?" Cynthia moved her fingertips up across Yvette's collarbone. Cynthia felt Yvette shudder slightly and saw goose bumps rise over her Yvette's chest, her nipple swelling even more. "I bet though you're from the Midwest you fuck like a thoroughbred."

"I have my moments. (Were Midwesterners sub-human too? Yvette wondered.) I can please you too, Cynthia." Yvette intoned with just the right degree of submission and promise in her voice that made Cynthia almost literally purr.

"I want to watch my husband Robert fuck you while you pleasure me."

Yvette shrugged, "If he wears a condom, he can have his way."

"Umm, no, dear, bareback only; his skin on and in yours, filling you up with his cum. I'll guarantee that he's clean; all my party guests are free of disease and none of them use IV narcotics."

"Then he can fuck my ass; I've quit taking the pill; I had no idea of your surrogate method so Herbie's doing me a couple of times a day."




The Evil Within Ch. 02



Cynthia chuckled to herself and smiled. "He'll be pleased. He likes ass. Poor thing, I don't give him enough and I fear he's lost interest in abusing himself with it."

She turned to it, "Go get my husband."

In the same tone Cynthia had used with it she now spoke to Yvette, "Eat me out bitch and get me off or you won't like what I'll do to you, you simple cunt."

Okay, a scene, Yvette thought, but Cynthia had a deadly serious tone.

"What's our safe word?"

Cynthia laughed an ugly laugh as she lay back on her lounger, spreading her legs wide and fingering her swollen sex. "Yvette, dear, you wanted debauchery; this is it. I want you to stick that beautiful, smug little face of yours between my thighs and I want your tongue and your fingers in my pussy. And if you don't get me off the way I hope you are going to, well, we're going to put you in that noose and introduce you to the joys of a dildo on a reciprocal saw."

"Is that a threat?" Yvette asked incredulously.

"No dear, just a reality. Now get down here and do me."

Yvette hesitated for a moment. She was used to the BDSM mantra of "Safe, Sane and Consensual." This encounter didn't appear to be any of those things but maybe that was just how they played out here. So she knelt on the deck and slid her body up the lounger. When Yvette's face was near Cynthia's cunt Cynthia became impatient and pulled Yvette the remaining few inches by her ears. Though annoyed, Yvette did not resist and made noises indicating pain and pleasure that pleased Cynthia.

Cynthia wrapped her long thighs around Yvette's head and crossed her ankles over Yvette's slender back. 

Yvette fought off a combination of rage and panic as she felt hands on her hips and then a needle in her ass cheek and a hot, burning sensation as the drug went in.

"The shot's just a little something to help you enjoy your first time with me and Robert." Cynthia's voice was normal and reassuring but then it snapped back to vicious. "Now get to work you whore!"

The combination of Yvette's fear and anger brought back her old issues when Cynthia called her a whore. Yvette started to try to pull away and to fight but Cynthia laughed and flexed her pelvis by arching her lower back, keeping Yvette effectively trapped. And then Yvette began to feel the narcotic effect of the drug. Whatever it was, it aroused her tremendously and made her feel like she was floating. 

Cynthia popped a popper of Amyl Nitrate under Yvette's nose as Cynthia's husband pushed his cock, with barely any lubrication, into Yvette's ass. Though the popper helped loosen her up, there was still an incredible amount of pain but Yvette didn't seem to care and moaned an ecstatic moan that made both Cynthia and her husband laugh.

Time seemed to compress for Yvette. She felt the man in her ass withdraw and enter her cunt in one, long push. Then she felt the contractions in Cynthia's cunt at about the time she felt Cynthia's husband fuck her and come inside her. He kept calling her whore.

And then she must have blacked out. Suddenly Cynthia was standing over her; Cynthia held Yvette tightly by the back of the neck. "Bob's finished sperming your dirty little cunt, dear. Maybe he gave you a baby whore in there; he came a lot. And he positively enjoyed ripping your ass. I hope his modest lubrication was enough. Now my darling au pair, whom you met when you came in is going to play in your ass with a giant dildo while doing other painful but pleasurable things to your body. I do so hope you enjoy the pain. Try to relax and enjoy it, you arrogant little bitch; you said you wanted to be debauched. This is debauchery at its finest; and it's all my pleasure."

Cynthia let loose of Yvette's neck and suddenly she was being whipped around onto her back on the hard, hot surface of the pool deck. Just before the blond au pair slapped Yvette with enough force to knock her momentarily unconscious, fasten nipple clamps onto Yvette's nipples and thrust the giant dildo into Yvette's ass Cynthia bent down again to Yvette's face. Her voice was normal and conversational. Yvette tried to blink Cynthia into focus. "Stop by my office tomorrow and I'll take care of any cosmetic damage, okay, dear?"

~~~~~~~~~~

Yvette awoke on the floor of Claire's darkened room. She had no idea where she was or what time it was. She ached all over. When she tried to sit up the pain in her head was blinding. She managed to stagger to her feet and half walk, half fall against the door to the room.

When Christina, the au pair, opened the door it knocked Yvette back to the floor. The light from the open door was blinding so she didn't notice Christina kneel in front of her. Yvette tried to sit up but Christina slapped her, knocking her back to the floor again.

"Spread your legs and hold still, cunt."

Yvette felt Christina's thumb and a bottle pressed into her sex. The thumb came out and a spray of cold fluid filled her sex. Yvette screamed and reflexively scooted away from Christina. "What in the FUCK was THAT you little rapist?!"

"Cola; worked great for me in college to prevent pregnancy. I so love bareback sex; it's so primal, don't you think? Plus, lying next to your sandals and dress are two morning after pills. Just in case. I'm keeping your panties. 

"Dr. Knowles says she's so sure you'll take her offer for the breeder that you can take it home with you tonight. There's a list of instructions for its care and feeding next to your dress.

"Do you need any help out, Dr. Harriman?" Christina asked in a conversational tone as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. 

By this time Yvette was alert though still in pain. A few years back and things now would have been much different but Yvette felt like she needed to simply leave rather than "straighten things out."

"No, bitch, I'll be fine. Thanks for asking."

"Sure. I'll have the breeder in your car waiting for you to come down. We'll have to fuck again - when you can remember it. You really did scream quite nicely and you ate my ass so well. And, oh yeah, I don't ever scream for a cunt like you; you're for my use and pleasure, not vice versa. Don't forget it; ever."

Christina had no idea how close she was to death at that point but Yvette managed to maintain control and stayed resolute simply to get out. She stood shakily and slid her dress over her head as soon as she could stand, grabbed her sandals and half lurched, half ran to her car.

She pulled out of Cynthia's drive and sat in the street in front of her house. She considered her 9mm Glock pistol under her seat with three 17 round magazines and the 12 gauge riot gun in the trunk loaded with a full tube of double ought buck shot and she thought of going back in and doing some "house cleaning." But she looked at Claire, clad only in a slip that barely covered her thighs or breasts; Claire looked frightened. Yvette instead made a cell call.

"Frannie? Vette. I need to talk to Herbie immediately!" 

Yvette's body began to shake almost uncontrollably.

"Uh, Yvette, he's in a session right now..."

"THEN FUCKING INTERRUPT HIM , Fran, I've been beaten up and raped."

"Oh! Vette, do you want me to call the police?"

"No Frannie, just get Herbie on the phone!"

"Sure. Right away."

~~~~~~~~~~

In the last chapter Yvette evens the score and Cynthia's jealousy is exposed.

Please don't forget to vote and send or post a comment. And please take time to read the last chapter. Thanks for reading.



The Evil Within Ch. 03



All Scores Are Settled

~~~~~~~~~~

Herbie, AKA, James Madison Wilkins Miller, M.D., Ph.D., was sitting in his office in Westwood, west L.A., when he reluctantly picked up his phone. Politely he asked the client he was with to excuse the interruption. 

"This is Dr. Miller, may I help..."

Yvette's voice cut in, loud and on the verge of hysteria, "Herbie! I'm in trouble baby! I need help! NOW!"

Herbie glanced at his client, a young Latina trying to escape gang life, and then quietly asked, "Is anyone dead?"

"Not yet, baby! But..."

"Yvette!" Herbie cut her off, his voice was firm but gentle, "you listen to me girl and you do exactly what I tell you to do. Understand?"

There was a sob, a muttered obscenity and then weeping on the phone.

"Vette! Do you understand what I'm saying baby?!"

After a short silence Yvette said, "Yes."

"Baby, you just got to hold it together and either get home or get to the nearest hospital. Okay?"

"Yes. I'm, uh, I'm closer to home I think."

"Okay. You go there. You stay there. You don't do a god damned fuckin' thing till I get there for you girl. You understand what I'm telling you?"

"Yes. Please, Herbie, please hurry!"

"That surgeon you've been fucking; she be close to you?" 

"Um, yes. Roxanne is a friend."

"Call her. Tell her to either come to you or meet you at the house. If she's any sort of friend, she'll be there for you. I'm on my way."

Yvette clicked off her phone; she wiped tears from her eyes, called Roxanne at her office, then burned rubber off the tires on her fire engine red, '67 classic Corvette all the way down Cynthia's street.

~~~~~~~~~~

"Jesus H. Christ!" Roxanne yelled as Herbie came through the front door of his home. Roxanne considered her options: try to tackle this huge, black home invader and hope to beat him to submission or try to call the police. She didn't think she'd be successful either way. The guy was way too big and moving fast with a scowl on his face. Roxanne was frightened.

Yvette was curled into a semi-fetal position on the sofa; her head nestled in Roxanne's lap. Roxanne had been stroking Yvette's hair and talking quietly, trying to be reassuring. Yvette had been virtually speechless since getting home. She sat up when she heard Roxanne yell. Yvette held out her arms for Herbie and sobbed.

Herbie knelt beside the sofa, holding Yvette as she sobbed in his arms. He looked at Roxanne, who still looked frightened, "You Roxie? Vette's bitch?"

"Uh...yes, sir?" Roxanne felt, in the pit of her stomach, that it was vitally important and altogether appropriate to answer Herbie with sir. 

"I'm Herbie. Thanks for coming over. Would you mind staying for a bit? I want to talk to you."

"Not a problem."

"Thanks."

Herbie bundled Yvette into his arms and carried her to their room where he sedated her and stayed with her until the drug kicked in and she was asleep. It was when he came back down the stairs and noticed the naked woman sitting on her legs, head bowed, masturbating near the kitchen, that he realized how strange things actually were. 

"Who's that?" Herbie pointed to Claire. 

"Uh," for the first time since Roxanne had known the woman from Cynthia's she was uncomfortable talking about her, especially to Herbie. "Well, she was Cynthia Knowles' sex, uh, you know...slave."

Herbie stood halfway between Roxanne and Claire with his hands on his hips and an angry look on his face. "Uh huh. What's her name?"

Roxanne got quiet. "Uh, I don't know - sir."

"Sex slave," Herbie asked, contempt dripping from his voice. "Did you use her?"

Roxanne bowed her head and said, "Yes," very, very softly.

"And you don't know her fucking name?" Herbie's voice was deadly quiet and Roxanne felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. She looked over at Claire and then bowed her head again.

Roxanne kept her head bowed. "No, sir, I, uh, I never heard Cynthia use her name; we always called her it or the breeder."

"Uh huh; do you feel ashamed at this moment, by any wild chance?"

She did. Roxanne felt sick with shame although she wondered why. Tears flooded her eyes and she sobbed. Roxanne had never cried over a woman, especially a woman she was just using as a sex toy. "Yes...sir."

"But you don't have quite a fucking clue why, do you?"

"No...sir."

"Tell you what...Roxanne, is it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Did you leave patients to come here?"

"Yes."

"Go back and finish up office hours. If you really have any sort of feelings for Yvette you'll be back in about six hours. I want to get some things clear. If you don't give a fuck about Yvette other than her fucking you then I don't want to ever see your face again. Is that clear to you?"

"Crystalline. I will be back. I love her."

"Uh-huh. Is there any doubt in your mind that if you piss me off, I'll fuck you up beyond all recognition?"

Roxanne was trembling, something else that was new to her. "No, sir; no doubt at all," and Roxanne bolted from the house, leaving her shoes by the sofa.

~~~~~~~~~~

Around 9:30 that evening Roxanne and Stacy Masters rang the bell at Yvette's house. Yvette opened the door, clad only in a t-shirt, looking wiped out and just barely alive. She saw Roxanne and flung herself into Roxanne's arms with a sob. Roxanne held her and gently stroked Yvette's hair. Herbie appeared in the doorway, a scowl prominent on his face. Stacy Masters looked at him with wide eyes. "I'm Stacy Masters," she quickly said to Herbie. "I'm with Roxanne."

Masters had brought a file; one of the few things the police hadn't found and confiscated as evidence. They all sat around the dining room table as Masters showed them pictures from the file. Claire stood close to and behind her new mistress, Yvette, looking at the photos too.

"This, of course," Masters said as she flipped an 8 X 10 glossy photo on the table, "is Cynthia's family. The two children that...uh," Masters glanced at Yvette and then Claire. 

Yvette realized Masters was waiting for a name. "Uh, Maggie; I'm going to call her Maggie." Claire's face seemed to brighten ever so slightly at having a name. 

Masters continued, "These are the two children that, uh, Maggie had for Cynthia and her husband Robert. This is the nanny, Consuelo, an illegal from Belize. This is the au pair, Christina Brown, from Sioux City, Iowa. Roxanne, umm, raped the girl - or had very rough consensual sex with her, depending on whose story you believe - in the first three days after the girl arrived in L.A. and enrolled in UCLA. Somehow though the girl ended up with Cynthia," Masters looked at Roxanne but Roxanne only shrugged and didn't say anything. "Cynthia is paying for her schooling. Christina graduates next year with a degree in psychology. And of course, this is Cynthia.

"The weird thing is I can't find anything on Mr. Cynthia prior to him marrying her three years ago."

"They didn't get married and Robert's not his real name but I can't remember what it is."

Masters and everyone looked at Claire/Maggie; Roxanne felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. Yvette felt goose bumps too. In the three years Roxanne had known Claire, she had never heard Claire speak, ever. Claire would make noise during the times someone at Cynthia's house was using her but Roxanne had never heard a word. In fact, Roxanne bought Cynthia's explanation that Claire was mildly developmentally disabled and was only good for sex. 

Yvette felt odd because through all she'd just been through at Cynthia's house Claire had never said a word and after Yvette got Claire home, with her emotionless face and submissive demeanor, Yvette was thinking maybe Cynthia had been telling the truth about Claire too. 

But Claire's voice was first of all intelligent and matter-of-fact. It also had a spooky quality to it that was vaguely unsettling. Claire's voice was small, breathy and gravely and the combination gave it an ethereal quality. 

"What?" Masters asked.

"They never got married; it's a sham. Cynthia just took him in when she bought me from his business partner. He fucks really well and he gets Cynthia a lot of pretty girls to play with before he kills them."

"Kills them?" Roxanne asked. "You mean the girls that show up on the weekends at the parties; Robert gets them and then kills them?"

"Not all of them; only three or four each month He has a quota to make but he can't draw suspicion. With the right girl he can get sixteen to twenty thousand dollars from the right buyer."

Herbie chimed in, confused, "But I thought you said he killed them. How can he be a white slaver, make that kind of money and kill them?"

"He's not a white slaver. He kills them and skins them. The skins go to buyers in Somalia and Tanzania; the meat goes to South East Asia. He's had quite a few Chinese buyers lately. I don't know who buys the brains, uterus and ovaries but he usually finds a buyer. And he sells the hair, all the pretty girls' hair, to a company back east that makes wigs for cancer patients. Ironic, in some ways, I suppose."

The others simply stared at her in disbelief.

Yvette and Masters were both about to ask how Claire knew these things when Roxanne's cell phone rang. Roxanne got up from the table to take the call; it was Cynthia's home number in the caller id.

"Roxanne, dear; are you near a TV?"

"Uh yeah, Cynthia. Why?"

"Turn on the news. As a token of my love for you, dear, I've done you a little favor. Maybe we could get together tomorrow and spend a little quality time?"

"I'd really like to Cynthia but I'm helping Yvette out. I guess you guys kinda played rough with her and she's a little shell shocked," Roxanne said, not wanting to reveal what was happening at the moment in Yvette's dining room. 

"Oh, Roxanne, leave poor Yvette. She's nothing but a whore, a cheap whore at that, like the other provincial bitches who live back east. I'm reticent to admit my failures but I misjudged her. I really need you, Rox. Come see me tomorrow; make love to me."

Oh My GOD! Roxanne's mind screamed when she realized Cynthia was jealous! Roxanne modulated her voice as if she were trying to keep a college freshman calm before taking her, "Hey, Cynthia, I'd really like that - to be with you. Just us?"

"Well," Cynthia sort of drawled out, "I may let you rough Christina up a little after you worship me. She's been getting a little above her station in life and needs to be taken down a peg or two. How does that sound, lover?"

"You know what I like," Roxanne said with faux enthusiasm. 

"Well, dear, turn on the news. I think you'll be pleased. I did it for you."

Roxanne clicked off her cell and went in search of a TV. In Yvette's family room she found one, clicked it on and ran through the local channels. All of them were carrying a live story. Roxanne was stunned speechless. Finally she found her voice and called for the group: "Guys...Guys! Get in here! Now!"

The group rushed to Roxanne and looked as Roxanne pointed at the TV. 

...Once again, Los Angeles Police are at this hour inventorying a rental storage unit here in Culver City after receiving an anonymous tip late this afternoon. They have made a truly grizzly discovery. 

The police located two 55 gallon drums filled with human bones. An anonymous source with the police said there are at least enough bones to account for up to 20 people. The major shock tonight is that the storage unit is rented by senior Los Angeles assistant district attorney Stacy Masters. The manager of the storage facility told this reporter that Masters was here late yesterday afternoon and unloaded the drums into the unit from a rented truck.

Police arrested Masters late today on suspicion of manslaughter in the death of a UCLA coed during a lesbian sexual tryst with Masters. At the time they were unaware of this new evidence apparently linking Masters to a number of unsolved disappearances and she was released on bond. The District Attorney's office tonight has said they will get a judge, within the hour, to revoke Masters' bond and they will take her into custody on suspicion of committing much greater crimes.

I'm Leslie Sykes, Channel 7 Eyewitness News in Culver City.

There was stunned silence in the room as Herbie turned the TV off. Stacy Masters jumped as her cell phone rang. 

"Stacy? This is Michael. For Christ's sake, where are you?!"

"Michael," Masters could barely whisper. "I...I'm uh, I'm with a..."

Herbie jerked the cell phone from Masters as she broke into tears and fell to her knees on the floor. "She's receiving psychiatric treatment. To whom am I speaking?"

"Michael Winston, I'm Stacy's attorney. You would be?"

"Who I am and where she is at the moment is completely irrelevant to you. And just where the fuck were you when she needed bonded out, attorney?" Herbie sneered with a singular contempt. Herbie hated lawyers with a passion. "Don't call back; we'll call you when we need you."

The caller started to protest as Herbie clicked the cell phone off. 

"She did this because she's jealous of Yvette and me. My God, I never knew...," Roxanne whispered. Her eyes were wide in stunned disbelief.

"Who did this, Rox," asked Yvette. 

"Cynthia." Roxanne fell against the sofa. She was flushed and suddenly it was hard to breathe.

"You didn't know Cynthia wanted you?" It was Claire. 

"I don't think its love. I think she just gets jealous when somebody pays too much attention to you and takes you away from her. The only time I'd hear her talk about you was when you were more involved with someone else. It wasn't Christina who turned you in to the D.A.'s office when you raped her three years ago. Cynthia paid someone off the street to make the call the day you had lunch and Ms. Masters visited the group at the club to try and bust you.

"Cynthia gave me to Christina that very night to play with. Cynthia taught her how to be cruel and how to get off on the sadism. She moved in a couple of days later. You didn't know?"

All eyes were on Claire, with her emotionless face and spooky voice. 

"No," Rox whispered, tears now in her eyes.

"Tell us more about your life and what happened at Cynthia's, Maggie," Herbie said flatly as he sat on the sofa. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Consuelo, the nanny, answered the door. Herbie's frame filled the doorway. 

"Woman, you believe in Jesus Christ and all the Saints?" Herbie asked menacingly in Spanish, in his deep voice.

"Yes, Senor, I do believe and I serve Him."

"Then why do you live in the house of the Devil?"

"I had a vision one night. An angel came to me and said Dr. Knowles's children had to be protected from El Diabolo."

"Where are the children?"

"They are in the playroom. It is about time to take them to the beach."

"Take them then, when it's time to come home, go to this address and wait for me." Herbie handed her a piece of paper with an address. "Will you do this?"

"Yes. Are you going to send these demons back to Hell, senor?"

"If Hell will take them back, yes I will."

"Gracias, senor, mucho gracias."

20 minutes later, Consuelo and the children left for the beach. Herbie, Yvette, Roxanne, Claire/Maggie and Stacy Masters, waiting in Herbie's black Escalade, went inside. Cynthia, her "husband" Robert and Christina all were sunning themselves, naked and like snakes by the pool.

In the 10 days since the police had discovered human bones in a rental storage unit in Culver City an intense nationwide manhunt was initiated for Stacy Masters. National news reports placed the death toll of young, college women higher and higher each day. From the safety of a beach house on the Pacific Coast Highway that Herbie had just purchased the group plotted their revenge.

Claire/Maggie had been a fount of information; horrible, nightmarish information about the goings on in Cynthia's house. The only thing Claire/Maggie couldn't remember was her name and her life before being sold as a slave. Herbie offered her psychiatric treatment, certain that with therapy and under Amytal he could find her former life. Claire/Maggie declined. 

She instinctively felt that she came from a happy home where something had gone horribly awry. Now she was addicted to sex and was accustomed to her simple life of living naked all the time, being used for sex at anyone's whim and being fed and cared for like a pampered dog. Plus she couldn't imagine going back to a loving "normal" home having seen and done the things she had seen. She said she would be glad to carry Herbie and Yvette's children for them.

Claire/Maggie had but one request of Herbie and the group: she wanted to "do" Robert. Herbie asked if she meant if she wanted to have sex with him one more time. In a calm voice, so full of incredible malevolence that even Herbie was disturbed by it, Claire/Maggie said simply and clearly, "I want to butcher him just like he did to so many young women. I want to do it slow so the fucker suffers before the mouth of Hell opens to take him."

"You know how to do that?" Yvette asked incredulously. 

"Oh, yes. They trained me. Robert told me I was a natural. He used me to calm the girls down before he stunned them and hung them up to be bled. I think I have excellent technique. I probably can keep him alive for hours if he doesn't die of fear first."

Herbie exchanged glances with Yvette and the other women. "Okay, Maggie, you're on."

She smiled a smile that chilled everyone's heart. 

As they approached the sunning trio Maggie shrugged out of her clothes and ran ahead, padding silently on bare feet and hit Robert squarely in the temple, knocking him unconscious. 

Before either Cynthia or Christina could react Yvette had her 12 gauge Winchester riot gun in Cynthia's face and Roxanne held a similar gun to Christina's face. 

Cynthia noticed Stacy Masters. "Aren't you going to do something, Ms. Masters?"

Masters pulled up a deck chair near Cynthia's lounger and sat down. "You must not have been watching the news lately. I'm wanted worldwide as one of the worst serial killers in existence. I am not here in an official capacity. I'm just here to watch."

"Hey Cynthia," Yvette taunted, "put your mouth on the barrel. I want to see you suck my shotgun off."

Cynthia smiled weakly, "Yvette, I don't know what you think you know but I'm your friend."

"Suck on it NOW BITCH before I lose my patience!" 

Cynthia played it cool; she made it look like she enjoyed sucking on the shotgun barrel, like she wanted to and wasn't being forced. Christina took the tack of looking like she was feeling: frightened for her life. 

Soon both were unconscious courtesy of a needle full of sedatives meant to calm psychotic patients. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Cynthia opened her eyes. She couldn't move her body. She lay naked on her back in the pump room of her pool, her body completely immobilized by a synthetic cousin of Curare. Yvette sat beside Cynthia's head with a manual ventilator over Cynthia's mouth and nose, known in emergency medicine as an ambubag. If Yvette did not squeeze the bag, forcing air into Cynthia's lungs, at regular intervals, Cynthia would suffocate. 

The rage that she experienced when the group came into her home was gone. Cynthia's eyes held indescribable horror: above her head hung her "husband," his head a few feet above her. He was still unconscious. 

"We're just going to sit here and wait for your handsome Robert to start to regain consciousness before the party really gets started, Cynthia," Yvette said with a sweet, polite voice while she squeezed the bag and stroked Cynthia's hair.




The Evil Within Ch. 03



Cynthia could hear moaning, grunting, ecstatic whimpering and crying and the unmistakable sounds of flesh rhythmically slapping against flesh. Herbie was fucking Maggie doggy style beside Cynthia's paralyzed body.

"Cynthia, I think you can really appreciate the irony here. I named it - I know your instructions told me not to but I just couldn't help myself; I named her Maggie after the first golden retriever I owned. And Herbie, my husband - you didn't know he was so black and so big, did you - is fucking Maggie doggy style." 

Cynthia recognized the sounds of Maggie's orgasm and heard Herbie's cock make an obscene slithering sound as he pulled slowly - and a bit reluctantly - out of Maggie's cunt. Herbie knelt beside Cynthia's head. His body and shiny, slick, softening erection were in Cynthia's peripheral vision. 

"It's too bad what you and your nightmare household did to my Vette and that nice D.A. person, bitch," Herbie said conversationally. "You see, the only reason Yvette's a doctor today is because, well, partially because, I'm her shrink and when she was going through internship and residency she had quite an anger management problem. She almost killed a professor for trying to rape her. But, because she was either sleeping with most of the senior faculty or their wives, she got to stay in the program. I vouched that I'd help her anger problem."

Roxanne took two quick breaths in pleasure as she settled back against the wall of the pump room, Maggie lying on her belly, eagerly sucking Roxanne's cunt. "God, Herbie, I didn't know that. Is that why Yvette told me if I ever called here a whore she'd break both my hands slowly and she'd enjoy it too?"

Herbie laughed. "Partially. The Professor she almost killed liked to call her a whore, and not in a good way. Now, Vette, move that god damned mask and let me fuck the bitch's mouth."

"Sure thing Herb." Yvette gave several quick full pumps to the bag. "Take all the air you can take Cynthia. Herbie has a delayed orgasm problem. He may be a while."

Cynthia pleaded with her eyes, looking to Yvette. But suddenly the mask - and her only source of air - was gone. Herbie turned Cynthia's head toward him, opened her mouth wide with his fingers and jammed his soft erection all the way into Cynthia's throat. Cynthia couldn't breathe, couldn't move, couldn't cough or gag; she was totally paralyzed. Herbie fucked her slowly and with each pump his erection recovered and he got harder and longer.

"Goddamn, Vette! Ain't never been able to throat fuck a bitch without her fighting and spluttering. This is nice. She's nice and tight. Damn!"

Yvette ran her hand lightly over Herbie's belly and leaned over Cynthia and kissed him. "Babe, her eyes are starting to roll back in her head and she's pretty purple. Maybe you better let me give her some air."

Herbie didn't comment; there wasn't any point with Cynthia being barely conscious. The whole exercise was to terrify her. He pulled out and sat back on his legs while Yvette placed the mask over Cynthia's mouth and nose and pushed fresh oxygen into Cynthia's starved lungs. 

Herbie looked back over his shoulder at Christina. She was tied in a classic bondage pose: in the kneeling position, her thighs were tightly tied to her calves while her arms were tied at the elbows and her wrists were bound to her ankles. She was tied by the throat to a bar that held her head relatively immobile and a bar ran between her elbows. She also had a dildo gag firmly violating her mouth. 

Stacy Masters was kneeling in front of her, an odd expression that frightened Christina on her face. Masters was slowly touching the girl; caressing her and pinching her nipples. 

"What you think of watching this shit, Renfield? Are you having fun watching? Hey, we'll get to you shortly." Christina's eyes clouded with tears and she tried to shake her head 'no' but the bar she was bound too restricted her movements. 

Masters shushed Christina, caressing her face, "It will be all right dear. Really it will," Masters whispered, the odd smile still on her face. 

Christina wanted so desperately to scream, "No it won't be all right," but the dildo gag was so deep in her mouth that even trying to whimper risk triggering her gag reflex. Christina knew, from forcing other girls with dildo gags, that if she threw up with the gag in place she stood of good chance of suffocating on her own vomit. 

Roxanne, after bending down and kissing Maggie on the hair and telling her to go slower, asked Herbie, "Why'd you call the little cunt Renfield? Who's Renfield?"

Masters answered, her eyes still fixed on Christina and that odd smile (Christina wondered if all the stress and pressure of being framed by Cynthia had made Masters lose her sanity.) "Renfield was Dracula's roach eating, groveling, pathetic excuse for a human, assistant. Don't you think it's appropriate, Rox?"

"Oh. I think it fits to a tee," Roxanne responded conversationally. "Remember me taking the little bitch's cherry three years ago? You were all righteous and tried to bust me. Of course, we now know it was Cynthia who gave me up, but I tell you Stace, Christina was such a fine virgin. She cried a little, bled a fuckin' lot and was just so little girl like. I thought I'd never have her again but somehow she wound up here and I had her regularly but Cynthia spoiled her innocence, made her into - Renfield."

"Yeah, I remember," Masters chuckled softly. "And I can see how you'd have such fun with this little piece of cunt meat. I just want to hold her in my arms and comfort her - but maybe, I'll feed her a roach or two first. "Maybe," Stacy's voice took on a vicious tone, "I'll just piss in her pretty little mouth."

Cynthia had been concentrating on Yvette squeezing the bag and giving her another breath of life but she took in the conversation between Roxanne and Masters. She was shocked that either of them knew so much and she couldn't figure out how they knew. They must of guessed, she thought but then she heard something that startled her and frightened her even more.

"Hello Cynthia. How are you? I want to fuck your throat with that big strapon you liked to use on me."

Cynthia had never heard Maggie speak before either. Her voice carried intelligence and that was what shocked Cynthia the most: she truly had believed that Claire/Maggie was developmentally disabled. She had believed the whole story about Claire's promiscuity and her being good for nothing but to be used sexually.

Cynthia's thoughts were rudely interrupted as the breathing mask was taken away and Maggie's hips pushed the soft latex dildo past Cynthia's lips and all the way in until Maggie's mons pressed hard against Cynthia's nose. 

While Maggie was having her fun Yvette handed the mask to Herbie. "Be right back, lover." Yvette searched the cabinets along the wall of the room and found what she was looking for: the reciprocal saw with the dildo attached to it. 

Cynthia's mind registered the familiar sound of the torture device - at least as Maggie knew it - right before she lost consciousness from oxygen deprivation. Cynthia came to once Maggie withdrew and Herbie pumped fresh air back into her lungs. Then she felt the dildo sawing in and out of her cunt. With no lubrication it burned horribly but Cynthia couldn't even cry.

Herbie, Yvette and Maggie established a rhythm of sorts while they waited for Robert, hanging above Cynthia to regain consciousness. Herbie and Maggie took turns at the bag as the other fucked Cynthia to unconsciousness while Yvette fucked Cynthia with the reciprocal saw. Finally Robert started to moan signaling his awakening.

"Cynthia, blink if you can hear me, baby," Yvette said, back at Cynthia's head. She could tell the paralytic was starting to wear off. Cynthia blinked. Frantically. "Bet you're wondering what's going to happen to you. Are we going to kill you or horribly disfigure you or," Yvette shrugged, "disembowel you so that you die slowly as your guts seep out of your belly on to the floor. Well, truth to tell, I haven't decided yet. In the meantime, girlfriend, right now, we're going to play with hubby.

"Herbie, you'd better take Renfield's gag out now. I think we're going to be moving along pretty quickly now."

Herbie went to the girl, Masters moved aside, and Herbie removed her gag. Christina begged frantically with him. "Please. Please. I'll do anything you want just don't kill me."

"Now Renfield, are you going to desert your masters? That's not very nice. But then, Renfield, I don't think you're a very nice little bitch, either."

"Please. My parents will pay you what ever you want."

"But you ain't for sale, Renfield. You're just a piece of meat. I think, despite your basic lack of character, you'd make a good breeder, you know?"

Christina hung her head - as much as was possible with her throat still bound to a bar behind her - and cried softly, mumbling, Please, over and over.

Herbie got down on his knees in front of her and took her by the chin. She thought maybe he was going to take pity on her. She was wrong.

Yvette, Maggie, Roxanne and Stacy all knelt around Cynthia's body.

"Rox, let's intubate," Yvette said with eagerness.

Again the paralyzing drug Yvette had given Cynthia was wearing off ever so slightly; Cynthia's eyes widen slightly and she barely was able to vigorously shake her head, "No."

Cynthia's husband started to moan louder. It made everyone jump when Maggie picked up a wooden mallet lying nearby and whacked him in the head again, silencing him.

Yvette looked up at Maggie. Maggie shrugged matter-of- factly and dropped the mallet.

Roxanne brought the intubation kit and the small portable respirator and set them down next to Yvette. "Are you going to do it, Vette?"

"Me? You're the surgeon, I thought you would."

"Fuck, bitch, I let anesthesia tube them. I haven't intubated anyone since my first year of residency. I wasn't very good at it either."

Yvette shrugged and looked at Cynthia, "Well, Cynthia, guess I'll take a try. Rox, give her some more curare." Cynthia guessed that Yvette would have less experience than Roxanne. Maybe they'll kill me now, Cynthia thought. It was the first time since this bizarre incident began that she felt death was preferable to their tortures.

But Yvette was good, having moonlighted right up until she and Herbie had moved to California, as a trauma physician. She inserted the breathing tube into Cynthia's upper airway almost effortlessly and hooked it to the respirator. Cynthia closed her eyes in what looked like relief. 

Herbie pulled his cock from Christina's mouth and then drug her over near Cynthia and her husband by the bar between her elbows. After Herbie had removed Christina's gag he promptly sodomized her and came quickly, spraying her face with his cum. Then he stuck surgical pins into Christina's upper and lower eyelids, keeping her eyes wide open, making it so she could not close them no matter how hard she tried. And in the coming moments she would try and try hard to close her eyes.

Since Christina's fearful pleas didn't work, she decided to take another tack. Angrily (but with Herbie's cum on her nose, chin and lips and the pins in her eyelids her facial expression looked both bizarre and comical) Christina spit at Yvette - and missed. "You're doing all this because we partied with you a couple of weeks ago?! You're the insane one here!"

Yvette looked over at her, "You see, Christina, that's your problem. You have no sense of morality whatsoever. If it mattered any at all - and it doesn't now - my psychiatrist husband would probably diagnose you as a sociopath. If you had a proper sense of morality, you'd realize that you and your masters didn't "party" with me that day. You sick fucks drugged me, raped me repeatedly, sodomized me repeatedly, beat me, someone - it was you I think - pissed in my mouth and you all had a grand old time with me like I was a piece of meat and you did it without my consent!"

Christina was stunned into silence. Only when she heard Yvette recount that day's events did she begin to realize how they had truly treated her and how far from her upbringing her lifestyle had taken her. She felt some guilt and shame, but it was too late. 

"Remember when I told you I would make you scream?"

"Y-yes. Please, Dr. Harriman, I realize now how bad things are. I'm really, really sorry."

"You know what, Christina? I actually believe you are sorry, but baby, it's judgment day. And you're going to scream. So, my advice to you is, if when you were a little girl back in Iowa you believed in Jesus, you better pray now.

"You see, Maggie here, she was kidnapped by a serial killer on the east coast and then sold to Cynthia to be an incubator for her and then be the household plaything. The serial killer was also a quite accomplished cannibal. As part of Maggie's training, he and his partner - Cynthia's "husband" here - made her help them with their work and then made her do some completely by herself."

"Do what?" Christina asked quietly.

"Girls; girls your age: Maggie had to make love to them to calm them down, then she stunned them with a mallet and then she'd hang them up like Robert here and butcher them like a pig."

Maggie turned around to Christina - Christina who loved to be incredibly cruel with Maggie - and spoke, "Christina, my first one was an 18 year old freshman from Rutgers. She looked a lot like you. I sucked her cunt, got her off then smacked her with a mallet, hung her up, bled her, skinned her, gutted her and then butchered her. I put the meat up in the freezer and cleaned up the room. Robert and his partner rewarded me by not raping me that night."

"Oh...no, oh, dear God, no, please no; please, you're not going to do that to me are you?" Christina's voice was beyond desperate.

Yvette said, "No, at least not today. Knowing what we know now, I thought I'd give Maggie a chance to avenge herself - and me - partly by carving up whatever the fuck this guy's name really is."

Yvette looked down at Cynthia, "That's right. We know he's not your husband; he's just that asshole's partner that you bought Maggie from."

Yvette turned her attention back to Christina. "So, you get to watch Maggie's artistry, along with Cynthia here."

Christina was as white as a sheet. She heaved suddenly and vomited on the floor. 

"Well, if hearing all of this is all it takes to make you hork," Roxanne interjected, "wait till you see the full show."

"Maggie," Yvette said, reaching out to touch the Maggie's belly, "Do your stuff. We'll be out by the pool. You come to us when you're all finished. Understand?"

Maggie nodded. Roxanne held out her hand to help Yvette up off the floor. Herbie and Masters were already half way to the door. "I'm a psychiatrist. Blood makes me ill."

Masters said, "Me too - about the blood," and she went back and smiled down at Cynthia. "I guess this is gotcha, Dr. Knowles. We've worked out the evidence to clear me and implicate you and the soon dead Robert - after all, whether you knew it or not, Robert was practicing his cannibal craft the whole time he was with you." 

Maggie suddenly produced a large butcher knife. "Um, please excuse me Dr. Harriman, I have work to do."

"Oh, certainly Maggie." Yvette kissed Maggie on the cheek and then headed for the door. "We are going to retire to the pool now Cynthia; get some sun. Enjoy the show."

Maggie knelt so that her breasts were level with Robert's face. She slapped him gently until he woke up and then told him, "Ordinarily I'd stun you real well and then bleed you as quickly as possible to minimize your suffering. You taught me technique so well. But not today, I think."

The man still was not conscious enough to appreciate his predicament. He struggled somewhat and made incoherent noises; Maggie picked up the wooden mallet again and gave him a light whack up side his head.

"Then again," Maggie said, "I can't have you squirming around like that until I make the initial cut."

Yvette and Roxanne stopped in their tracks; Maggie, in her spooky voice, sounded so - professional and so malevolent.

Maggie looked up at the women from her work. For the first time ever they had seen an expression on her face. It was a queer little smile. "Dr. Harriman, I'll make sure this little bitch screams really well, okay?" Maggie patted Christina on the head gently. Christina's whimpering increased and Yvette felt a sick fear in the pit of her stomach. "You'd better leave now," Maggie said, with that queer little smile. 

Roxanne kept her eyes riveted on the waifish looking woman as if she might suddenly spring upon them and kill them. Roxanne grabbed Yvette by the arm and whispered, "Let's go." 

Maggie stepped close to the man; her sex inches from his nose and mouth. "Breathe deep my scent. Maybe it will comfort you in Hell while the maggots writhe in your flesh and the demons feast on your rancid meat." 

She caressed his face as he moaned incoherently then she bent low with her knife and made a small initial cut into the man's left carotid artery so that the blood spurted slowly - directly onto Cynthia's breasts and face. If Cynthia could have screamed she would have. Then Maggie made the full cut, from ear to ear, and blood pumped under high pressure from the man's frightened and wildly beating heart. The man struggled wildly for 15 or 20 seconds because of the blood pooled, under pressure, in his head and then went limp. 

Christina screamed. An hour an a half later she quit screaming.

Yvette commented quietly, "She must be done."

Shortly thereafter, Maggie, her face once again emotionless, came to the pool side where Yvette, Roxanne, Masters and Herbie were lounging. 

All conversation stopped. 

There were splatters of blood on Maggie's face and in her hair. The splatters increased on her upper chest and shoulders and then from her nipples to her mid thighs she was solidly coated. Maggie knelt beside Yvette's lounger and laid her head on the lounger next to Yvette's thigh. 

Yvette hesitantly put her hand on the back of Maggie's head, "Good girl. You rest a while. Uh, stay."

They all got up and walked slowly toward the pump room. Just before reaching it Herbie hung back. "I got enough demons running around in my head; I think I'll pass on the post mortem."

Yvette took his hand and squeezed it silently. Roxanne looked nervous. Stacy asked quietly, in a small voice, "Rox, would you hold me, please?" Roxanne took Stacy in her arms and without hesitation kissed Stacy on the top of her head. Yvette though was resolute despite the uneasy feeling in her gut. She pushed the door open. 

The man no longer hung from the ceiling beam; he was no where to be seen. The floor was wet - but with water, except around Cynthia. Cynthia lay in a pool of blood, urine and feces and was covered from head to toe in the mixture. Yvette tip-toed to Cynthia's body and felt for a carotid pulse; she didn't find one. Despite the steady rise and fall of Cynthia's chest from the respirator, Cynthia was dead; most probably of fright. 

"My God," Roxanne whispered. "She was, uh, certainly efficient."

"Yeah," Yvette said quietly.

Christina was splattered but not covered with the gore. Her face was contorted in abject terror; the surgical pins still holding the girl's eyes wide open. She was still trying to scream but her voice failed her.

Herbie had brought along a syringe filled with a powerful sedative. He stuck it in Christina's rump and in moments Christina slumped in her bonds. Herbie took the surgical pins out of Christina's eye lids and taped gauze patches over her eyes. Herbie and Stacy then untied her and stretched her out on her back. They each started rubbing parts of Christina's body at the bondage points to get the blood moving again. 




The Evil Within Ch. 03



~~~~~~~~~~

In six months the horror that had gone on in Cynthia Knowles's house had passed into dim Hollywood infamy. Tourists found the house on their star maps just as they had found the site of O.J. Simpson's infamous home in Brentwood. But in the exclusive restaurants, bars, hotels and other places where the prominent and powerful of Los Angeles met and socialized Cynthia Knowles' name was not mentioned. 

There had been too many Angelino elite who had attended Cynthia's parties and had used the young women that Cynthia always attracted to her house. Some of those women, they realized, had died in ways that even the most jaded of them could not bear to think about. 

Christina had been made the scapegoat. She was the one who had actually set up Stacy Masters' "lesbian tryst" and after Stacy had passed out from drugs Christina had slipped her it was Christina who killed the woman on the tape. Then, with some creative film making, Christina was set up as the one who killed Knowles' "husband" and then Knowles' herself. Finally, a tape sent to the news media showed Christina being beheaded by a group of hooded people, a la the terrorists in Iraq, and thrown into the ocean in the middle of a group of sharks that had been attracted by large buckets of chum. 

In reality, Christina was alive, if not well. Yvette and Roxanne had cut the girl's long hair as short as Yvette's boyish cut and colored it black. The shock of watching Maggie at work in the pump room and then actually having to do Cynthia Knowles under Maggie's supervision had left Christina mentally traumatized. Like Claire/Maggie, Christina couldn't remember her own name or her life before taking up residence in Cynthia Knowles' house. 

Roxanne and Stacy Masters became a couple. One night in bed with Roxanne and Herbie, Roxanne whispered to Yvette that she thought she loved Stacy and she was going to ask her to move in. Herbie was Roxanne's best man and Yvette was Stacy's maid of honor at the wedding in San Francisco. The two women and Christina - carrying the couple's first child - moved into a beach house three houses down from Yvette and Herbie's on the Pacific Coast Highway.

Yvette thought a lot about the women who had partied at Cynthia's. She thought about their decadent lives. Most, she'd decided, were simply playing; giving reign to their bodies' desire for pleasure in excess. To them it was probably relatively innocent fun to get drunk and/or stoned on the weekend and to fuck and be fucked and bisexuality seemed to come easy for both the men and the women. Yvette thought none of them had likely ever given a single thought about the grotesque way some of them would die; the ones who had fallen victim to Robert's depravations. 

Yvette had come to L.A. looking for what amounted to a fairy tale life of consensual sexual debauchery where anything went but no one got hurt. She dreamed of nights spent being fucked and sucked and sucking men and women in lush places of near darkness where the sounds of the orgy were muted. Now she realized she had that fairy tale back in Milwaukee with the "study group." No fear of pregnancy or sexual diseases or doing something she didn't want to do. She had no idea of the depravity she had gotten herself into in sunny Southern California. 

Slowly, to Herbie's concern, Yvette became increasingly introverted and obsessed with the raw power of the depraved sexuality she had brushed up against, briefly had been a part of on the edge and ultimately had become its victim.

Yvette began waking up in the middle of the night. She'd be covered in sweat, breathing hard. The last image in her mind before she awoke was always so vivid. She would always be naked, standing before a naked young woman hanging upside down; Yvette was ready to make the cut in the woman's throat to bleed her. And when the cut was made Yvette would orgasm as the young woman's blood pumped against Yvette's naked skin. After awaking from the dream Yvette would always need to masturbate before she could get back to sleep.

One morning when Yvette did not have early procedures and they were getting ready to leave for their offices at the same time, Yvette provoked Herbie into an argument. Provoking Herbie, at his age and with his experiences, was not an easy thing to do but Yvette managed to do it. 

A few hours later Herbie called Yvette at her office to see what was up and apologize; he was concerned. But Yvette was still fighting; she pushed his buttons and he found himself on the defensive and madder than after their first fight. When Herbie got home that evening Yvette was waiting for him, this time she appeared drunk. She laid it on thickly, goading him to do something physical. 

"What do you want to do to me, big man?" She asked with venom. Before Herbie could answer she turned her back to him dismissively: "Whatever it is, you probably aren't up to it - no, check that - you probably couldn't do it, you fucking old bastard."

Herbie had had enough; something snapped. Herbie, who got his nickname in prison at age 18 doing five to 15 years for voluntary manslaughter when he let his anger get the best of him in a bar fight, first knocked Yvette unconscious with one punch. Herbie was stunned as he looked at Yvette sprawled on the floor but as Yvette stirred she prodded even more: "You impotent bastard..."

Even in the shock of Herbie's punch Yvette was vaguely conscious of Herbie pushing her skirt and slip up around her waist and then her panties tearing. She half mumbled, half moaned some obscenities at him and felt her blouse rip open, his hands under her camisole and her bra pushing roughly over her breasts. And then...she smiled inside...she felt her thighs roughly pushed apart and moments later she felt him enter her.

Yvette's consciousness came back to her painfully; an eye was swollen shut and the cheek under that eye ached painfully. She tasted blood in her mouth; her lower lip felt fat and she touched the corner of her mouth and felt wetness running down her chin. Blood too? She dragged herself into a sitting position and slumped against a wall. Herbie was a blur sitting against the opposite wall, his pants around his ankles and a vacant expression on his face; his cock was still partially erect. Yvette wondered for just an instant if she could provoke him to rage again and get him to rape her again. For a moment she wanted it.

"Herb? Baby? I'm sorry..."

Slowly Herbie looked at Yvette, "Why? Why did you do this?"

"Herbie, I love you. This was just an experiment..."

"JESUS H. CHRIST, VETTE! Why?! I could have killed you; hell maybe I almost did!" And then Herbie started to weep. 

Yvette painfully crawled to her husband, laid her head on his chest and slowly caressed his head. "Shh, baby, I'm so sorry...Shh, please." They sat like this in silence for minutes. 

"Herbie?"

"Yeah baby?"

"Herbie, I want you to tell me how it felt when you came inside me," Yvette half slurred and half whispered. 

"What? Have you lost your fucking mind, woman?!"

"No, tell me. Then take me over to Rox's place so she can fix me up...you brute. My stud brute."

"Flattery will get you no where you whacked bitch. You're seeing Golda next week - professionally." 

"Bullshit. Tell me how it felt."

Herbie thought Yvette's question for a minute. He didn't like the answer came up with. Resolutely he said, "I can't tell you. Now let's go to Roxanne's."

"Herbie..." Yvette slowly drawled and she took his now flaccid cock in her hand and pumped slowly.

Herbie swatted her hand away. "Don't. All right; I'm going to tell you something I've never told anyone since prison. You can't repeat it and you can never bring it up to me ever."

"Um, okay."

"When I came in you this time it felt like no orgasm I've ever had except for one. They popped me for killing a guy in a bar fight. They could have gotten me for a lot worse. Me and the guy I killed, we hung together. The night before we got in the fight we found this blond, rich, stuck up bitch that we knew in high school; she was a varsity cheerleader. It was the summer after graduation. We stopped on the street and chatted. She'd always wanted "to do" a black guy; we told her two would be really fun. She got in my car. We went to an abandoned warehouse on the West Side and we partied. 

"I'll never forget it as long as I live. My guy had her first. But watching them was doing nothing for me. Then she got pissed off when she realized he was doing her bareback. Party was over she said. Bullshit I said. When I came in her the first time...I've never felt like that until," Herbie started to cry, "until I raped you. It was fucking mind blowing."

Yvette held Herbie tighter though it hurt her face. "You got off on the power, didn't you?"

"Yeah, I suppose. It's kind of like letting the evil out; letting the demons run."

~~~~~~~~~~

Several weeks after Yvette's rape, when her vivid dreams of cannibalizing a young woman came back, she would go to Maggie's room. She left the lights off. She would silently take off her sweat-soaked tee shirt and panties and sit on the side of Maggie's bed and start caressing Maggie's body. Maggie always woke during these rendezvous. Sometimes the only indication Maggie was awake was Maggie's hushed panting and moaning; the sensuous writhing of her body under Yvette's fingertips, pulling a nipple especially hard or probing Maggie's sex and ass especially vigorously.

Sometimes they would talk, in short, hushed, urgent whispers, as Yvette petted Maggie's body. 

Then over time Yvette began to make love to Maggie. Herbie used Maggie for sex too and sometimes after those couplings Yvette would take Maggie slowly and gently, taking a long time to suck Herbie's cum from Maggie's sex. Other times when Herbie had not used her, Yvette, imagining her rape at Cynthia's, imagining Herbie raping her, would brutalize Maggie. She felt wild and out of control. Her orgasms were blindingly intense. 

But Yvette wanted more; taking and being taken, the insatiable lusts. She was addicted.

On a spring weekend when Herbie went back east for a conference, Yvette took Maggie out, cruising Santa Monica, looking for men or women. It was late and the number of people on the street was thinning. Yvette suddenly became tired and annoyed; she wondered why they were out and what the hell she was doing. She felt like taking Maggie to the beach and brutalizing her. 

Yvette had decided that it was time to call it a night when Maggie pointed out an older looking tan, lean and attractive woman standing on a corner in Santa Monica. 

Maggie looked at Yvette and lightly touched Yvette's face. "She's alone," Maggie said in her spooky, ethereal voice. "You'll like to use her though she's too old to really harvest and we shouldn't be wasteful. We shouldn't."

Yvette starred at Maggie for a moment. I never told Maggie why I we were going out Yvette thought, How'd Maggie know she wanted to kill?

Maggie tenderly kissed Yvette on the cheek where her fingertips had been just moments earlier. She pulled her fleece pullover over her head (it was all she wore), shook out her hair and crawled into the back seat. Yvette's hands would have been shaking if she had not had a white knuckle grip on the steering wheel. Yvette looked in the rearview mirror and met Maggie's calm gaze. "It's all right," Maggie said so softly that Yvette could barely hear her. 

Yvette started the car and as she pulled away from the curb she felt a thrill run through her body. The woman readily accepted Yvette's offer of a ride; the woman lived in a beach house down in Venice. 

Yvette didn't really have a plan but Maggie did. Maggie put her arm around the woman's neck and gripped the woman's chin, twisting the woman's head to the side. The woman was so surprised that she only struggled briefly; Maggie's arm lock on the woman limited the woman's ability to move much anyway. Quickly Maggie injected a drug into the base of the woman's neck and then the woman sagged in the seat.

While Robert had done some of his work in Cynthia's pump room, he had actually purchased a small farm in the Santa Monica Mountains where he had a barn, a slaughter house and a large commercial freezer for beef and pork. After the police finished going over the farm with a fine tooth comb, the county sold the property at auction for the cost of the tax lien. Yvette bought it. Yvette took her first prospective kill there this night. 

Yvette helped Maggie get the woman's unconscious body on the prep table then Yvette stripped naked and sat against the wall of the killing room. She was sweating profusely, her stomach full of butterflies and her sex was pulsating. Yvette was masturbating slowly as she watched Maggie prepare the woman; stripping her and gently, almost lovingly, washing the woman's body. 

Yvette knew the next step in the process would be to hang the woman upside down to be bled. But Maggie stopped. Maggie took one of the woman's hands in hers and pressed it to her lips. Yvette saw Maggie's body tremble and it looked like she was crying.

"Maggie? Maggie, what's the matter?"

"I - I made a mistake. This woman is way too old. I can't. We need to find someone younger. We need to take her back."

Yvette got up, annoyed, and stood on the opposite side of the table from Maggie. "What's the problem?"

"This is my big sister, Lisa. Recognize that tattoo on her hip?" Maggie's voice was trembling. 

Yvette looked. "Uh, you have one on your hip like that too."

"We lost our virginity together. After the first time we made love with each other we went and got the tattoos. She was so gentle with me after the boy who took my cherry was so rough and clumsy. She gave me my first orgasm." Maggie laughed a short, quiet laugh and looked at Yvette, "We made vows that these tattoos would bind us together forever; we would love each other forever." 

Maggie openly sobbed now as she laid her head on Lisa's breast. 

"I remember now. Oh, God, I remember it all. My name is Claire, Claire Benton. I have two beautiful children. My husband sold me like a slave to someone he thought would kill me because he wanted to be with Lisa."

Claire/Maggie fell to her knees, sobbing. Yvette rushed to her side and took her in her arms. "Will your sister talk - about this?"

"No. She won't, I promise. I drugged her. I prepped her. It was me, not you. She won't say a thing."

Yvette lovingly stroked Claire/Maggie's hair and whispered in her ear. "Then why don't we go find your husband and do him? Would you like that...Claire?"

Claire slowly looked at Yvette and smiled. 

~~~~~~~~~~

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